I’ll never forget the look on Natasha’s face when I walked away. Close to tears, she seized hold of my arm. “What if the witches come?”
I laughed. “Witches don’t exist.” They were a product of Mom and Dad’s vivid imagination. A fantasy to keep the three of us in check. If only I knew how fucking wrong I was back then.
“Alex,” she pleaded, giving me her best puppy gaze. “Please, don’t leave me here. I can tag along. I promise I’ll be quiet.”
My heart ached for my little sister. But showing up at Jeremy’s with my baby sister in tow? Hell, I’d become the running joke.
I got on my knees, hands on her shoulders. “You’re brave, aren’t you?” She nodded. “As brave as Natasha Romanoff?” It was a dirty move, considering Black Widow was Natasha’s favorite comic heroine.
“Yes,” she replied, spine straighter.
I smiled. “Do you think she’d be afraid if Hawkeye left her alone for a little while?”
“No,” she murmured, gazing at the green grass.
“So, what do you say? Can I head to Jeremy’s for a little while?”
She hesitated.
“Natasha?”
“Yes,” she said, not particularly happy. “You can go.”
I didn’t wait for her to change her mind. “Go inside and lock the door, will ya?” Then I sprinted down the street, not knowing those were the very last words I’d ever say to my little sister.
****
The double doors swing open, pulling me out of the past and back to the present.
Bay marches in, hands shoved in his pockets, gaze glued to his boots. Not a good sign.
“What did they say?” B is the first one to ask what we’re all eager to know.
Bay pulls a chair, the wooden legs screeching over the sticky floor. “Legend didn’t answer his phone,” he explains, plummeting down. “I had to call an old pal of mine. He, too, works for the Malleus.”
I have no patience today. “And?”
He exhales sharply. “They don’t know where she is.”
Which means they didn’t ransack the Bishop mansion?
“I sense a but,” Jesse says, shoulders tense.
His instincts are spot on. “Rumor has it there’s a reward on Amanda’s head.” He draws a deep breath, meeting my gaze. “It says rather dead than alive.”
B chokes back fresh tears. “Why?” She shakes her head, unable to comprehend the events unfolding in the past few hours. “She didn’t do anything.” Bonnie looks me in the eye. “You know she didn’t.”
I squeeze her hand, reaffirming her. She needs to know I believe her, that she isn’t alone in this. Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m an asshole who claimed Manda could rot in hell a little while ago. But c’mon, cut me some slack, all right? I said those things before I understood my ex could be in real, life-threatening trouble.
Jesse pulls her against his side. “We’ll find her, B.”
We will. If it’s the last thing I do.
Queen B pulls back. “How, Jess?” She rubs her tired eyes. “How are we supposed to find her when my mom can’t?” Yup, here’s another obstacle. Mrs. Lacroix—apparently, the most powerful mamba in Nola—crushed B’s hopes to find Manda with a little help of magic. She’s an untouchable. In other words, Amanda Bishop is immune to magic. Makes her ten times more powerful. And us? Ten times more desperate.
Bay and JJ avert their gazes.
“We’re still hunters,” I grumble, not sure whom I’m trying to convince we can pull this off.
Jesse nods. “Hunters who work for the government, B.”
“Worked,” she grumbles. “Past tense, remember?”
Jesse shoots her a mischievous smile. “Will be working again,” he replies, pulling out his phone. “Future tense.” The mamba is all set to argue, but Jesse disappears inside the storage room in no time. Ten bucks say, he’s calling Carter.
“All right.” Bay folds his hands on the table. “Let’s go over this again, shall we?” Looks like he, too, is looking for the missing puzzle piece. “Amanda hijacked JJ’s car, drove to Salem, and then?”
“Melinda called,” B replies.
JJ tops our already empty mugs. “What exactly did she say? Anything could help. Even the smallest thing.” Spoken like a true hunter. In our job, the most insignificant details—a flower, a chance encounter, an unsuspecting touch—can solve the case.
“Just that Manda left your car in her driveway and we can come pick it up,” she says, voice cracking.
“Did she sound different?” Bay inquires.
B’s gaze flicks to him. “Yeah.” She furrows her brows. “She sounded like—” Her eyes widen.
“Like what, B?” I have a feeling she was hit by lightning.
The mamba shifts toward me. “She sounded like the day she called to say her grandmother came to see her, warning her about something awful about to happen to Manda.”
“What?” I bark. That’s the first time I hear of that. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
She cocks a mad brow at me. “When, Alex? The day you barged into our apartment half dead? Or how about on our little road trip when we tried to keep your ass out of hell?”
Good point.
“About that,” Bay says, zooming in on me. “Why aren’t you in hell?” We were so busy talking about Manda’s disappearance the whole Alex-is-still-alive topic took a back seat.
“I don’t know.” I ogle the booze behind the counter. Man, I could use some. “The clock struck midnight, the hellhound snarled. Then it vanished as if I didn’t sell my damn soul.”
JJ squints. “I’ve never heard of anyone who survived a deal, Alex.”
Bay nods. “I’ve spent most of my life studying hellhounds. Once they track you down, they leave nothing but torn flesh and blood behind.” Our eyes lock. “You should be dead, Remington.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” I signed the damn deal well aware how it would end. Sure, I’m a witch hunter and rarely came face to face with demons. Yet I grew up hearing all about dumbasses who traded their souls for fortune and fame. My grandma used to tell me stories about some dude in her mother’s village in Germany. Yup, my mom’s family is from Germany—descendants of the Arrows of Artemis, a hunter organization founded during the Trier Witch Trials. Legend has it they came together after the church killed innocent women, claiming they were witches when they really weren’t. The Arrows, according to old stories, worked with a witch who hated her own kind so much, she gladly offered them up on a silver plate. Anyway, that dude from my great-grandmother’s village worked for a rich farmer family. One sweet day, he decided working for them wasn’t enough. He wanted to own the place, needed what they had—money and prestige. So he called upon a demon, offered his soul, and got everything he ever wanted in exchange. The farmer and his family died, leaving the whole estate to their trusted and beloved worker. Too bad a year later, the dude was found dead. He fell into the silo, breaking his treacherous neck. Karma, Manda would say. The price you pay for a deal with hell, I believe. So yeah. I know I should be dead. But I’m not and with Manda gone, I don’t have time to worry about shit like that.
Bay stretches his neck, rolling his head from left to right. “All I’m saying is it’s a pretty big coincidence.”
“What is?” I bark, heat rising from my core.
“You not going to hell and Amanda vanishing,” he replies, matter-of-factly.
I curl my fists, not liking where this is headed. “You got something to say, then say it.” I’m not in the mood to beat around the bushes.
He sighs. “It’s just weird.”
Weird, huh? Bullshit. He has something else on his mind. We all know it. It’s why JJ changes the topic before my guilt drives me to beat the living crap out of the Malleus dick, who digs my ex. “What about the demon?” She eyeballs B. “Do you buy his act of innocence?” She’s talking about Demon-Boy and his it-wasn’t-me speech.
Queen B blows out a frustrated breath. “I’m not
Amanda. I can’t sense lies the way she does. But”—she looks up—“yeah. I don’t think he was responsible for whatever happened to them.”
“Let me get this straight.” JJ rubs her temples. “Manda took off, her sister called you, you guys drove up to Salem and found a vandalized home. Now, they’re all missing, the Malleus dicks”—she faces Bay—“no offense.”
“None taken,” he assures her.
“Anyway, they put a reward on her head, some red-eyed sucker claimed hell is looking for Manda, and—”
“We have no fucking clue if any of them are still alive,” B finishes for her.
“They are,” I assure her. They have to be.
Bay folds his hands around the steaming mug. “I know it’s a long shot,” he says, voice low. “Especially after the shit Manda told me, but is there any chance they could be hiding out at their mother’s?” What Manda told him, huh? Funny. We spent months together, on the road and in bed, yet she never even mentioned the woman. He’s a damn stranger and she spilled her guts immediately? Obviously, she never trusted me. The only person I have to blame is myself.
“Manda hiding out at her mom’s?” B laughs. “I can promise you, she’d rather go to hell and face Lucifer.”
“She’s right. Manda would never ask her mother for help.” Don’t blame her. I met Maria Bishop once. Yeah, I did. No, no one knows, not even my little brother. The thing is the woman is the devil incarnate when it comes to Manda. She hates her so dearly I wonder how witch-bitch survived her childhood.
“Still.” JJ wanders off to put on a new pot of coffee. “Can’t hurt to double check.”
Bay agrees. “JJ and I can be there in a day or so.”
“You and I?” JJ smirks. “When did that happen?”
Bay rolls his eyes. “Would you rather go by yourself?”
“No,” B says. “Trust me, you need backup.”
JJ makes a face. “Whatever.” Teaming up with Bay doesn’t sit well with her. Being a woman in a men’s world took a toll on the feisty huntress. She constantly feels like she needs to prove herself to us. She really doesn’t. The girl kicked my ass so bad I couldn’t walk for days. She’s a better hunter than most of her male counterparts.
“And what are we going to do?” I ask the mamba, hoping she’s got a witchy plan up her sleeves.
And most certainly she does. “We’re going to find Madame Josephine.”
My brows fly up. “Madame who?”
Bonnie faces me. “She’s the fortuneteller Manda went to see.”
Wait. What? “Amanda Bishop went to see a fortuneteller?” I have a hard time believing that. I mean, why would super, smart-ass witch need a reading?
B swallows hard. “I kinda dragged her there. I thought Madam Josephine could help her find out why her abilities were fucked up.”
“Her abilities were what?” Why the hell didn’t I know about any of this?
B ignores my comment. “Madame Josephine sorta kicked her out.”
“Why?” JJ asks.
“She said something about her being Elliot Ness and darkness claiming her,” B replies, guilt washing over her face.
My heart stops beating. Darkness claiming her? I’ve heard this one before. It’s why—
“Carter is on board,” Jesse proclaims, stomping toward us, beaming with pride. “He’s going to fix the bokor drama and have his agents looking for Manda, her sister, and the little boy.” Jesse’s gaze darts to me. “Oh, and he says he’s glad your useless ass wasn’t wanted in hell.” Yup, sounds like the Carter I know.
“All right.” Bay jumps up, almost knocking over the table. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go find Manda and bring her back home.”
I hate that guy. Mostly because unlike me, he doesn’t mind showing his devotion to Manda.
“Go where?” Jesse is a little confused. He missed the whole Manda’s mom, Madame Josephine conversation.
I reach for the keys, throwing them his way. “I’ll tell you in the car.”
Chapter 7
Amanda
Silence bites into my skin like a slow acting poison. Here in the darkness, surrounded by iron bars and magical runes, I search my soul for a glimmer of hope—anything that brings forth the fighter I grew up to be. Shame, my soul no longer answers to me. It belongs to hell and good old Dante was right. There’s no such thing as hope in the pit.
Don’t believe me? How about this then? The runes on the walls—ancient symbols, used by witches, and demons alike—are supposed to ward off magic, to keep the prisoner from using his or her abilities to break free. They don’t work on untouchables like me, though. I feel my powers running through my system. They’re stronger than ever. Auras once blurred like rainbows, up until a few hours ago, are now sharper than any HD screen. Visions come and go like express trains. Dark, twisted images of the world going up in flames and terrifying creatures wreaking havoc. I’m as charged up as a lightning storm since I signed that freakin’ deal. Yet I don’t use my magic to get out of here. Why would I? This—I look around, inhaling the scent of mold and sulfur—is the path I chose.
God, I am the prime example of stupid. I have betrayed everything I ever believed in—my family, my friends, myself. For what? To become a whore of Satan? Way to go, Amanda. Way to fucking go!
Tugging my knees under my chin, I tense against the shaking of my limbs. It’s been only a few hours since my blood dripped onto the Knight of Hell’s contract, making it go puff in flames. A few hours in which I’ve been taken to…actually, I have no idea where I am. The asshole blindfolded me. What I do know is I’m locked away in a dungeon like a caged animal.
What in God’s name was I thinking?
Easy. I figured I’d agree to the Knight of Hell’s terms and conditions, save Alex from the infernal regions, and make sure Leandro and anyone else I care about wouldn’t be harmed by the Malleus Maleficarum Order. Too bad, I had no idea I’d become the Devil’s new toy. I should have, though. C’mon, I’m a freakin’ witch. How could I not be aware of what happens to our kind if we make deals with demons? To be fair, I’d never heard of any witch dumb enough to walk into hell or purgatory voluntarily. Books like Faust should have been a warning, I assume, but they’re hardly bulletproof evidence.
Had I known, I’d—
You’d what? the censorious voice in my head barks. You’d let Alex die? You’d endanger Leandro’s life? You’d choose yourself over the people you love?
Any sane person’s answer would be “yes” to all of the above. Especially because I have no freakin’ clue what the Knight of Hell has in store for me. What was it he said? “Don’t worry. I already have the perfect job for you.” Perfect in hell can mean just about anything. Hexing innocents, murdering babies—no atrocity is too shocking for those soulless creatures.
I should regret my decision, right? Yeah, I totally should. Only, I don’t. Because here’s the thing you need to know about Amanda Bishop. I have never been sane. I don’t do the “greater good” shit. I’d rather save one sister—or in this case ex-lover—than ten strangers. I can’t help it. It’s who I am, who I’ve always been. All I care about is myself; that includes putting the people I love at the top of my I’d-do-anything-to-keep-them-alive list. So yeah, I’d sign that damn deal all over again. In a freakin’ heartbeat.
There’s something wrong with me, I get that. Ironically, Mother Dearest recognized it before I did. The vision she had of me as the queen of darkness, it’s well on its way to coming true. I make a mental note to ask the next demon crossing my path where I can buy a post card. Mother Dearest will be delighted to hear she’s been right about me all along.
Somewhere in the distance iron squeaks.
I hug my legs tighter, aware I’m due for a prison visit. Is it lunch time yet? I wouldn’t know. The windowless box I’m trapped in is like a space-time continuum—an independent reality.
Heavy footsteps draw closer.
Chills run down my spine, raising awareness of the hellish cr
eature approaching my cell. I close my eyes, counting the steps. One, two, three, four—
“On your feet,” an unknown voice shouts.
I ignore the bastard.
Metal hits iron. The deafening sound roars through the dungeon, ready to wake the dead. “Hey,” he barks. “Move your fucking ass, witch. The boss wants to see you.”
Any other day, I’d tell him to go to hell. The saying loses its touch when you’re already there. “Didn’t your mother teach you how to say ‘please’?” I grumble, slowly moving to the bars.
Murderous red eyes stare back at me. “No.” The demon—a five foot ten, Bud Spencer lookalike—unlocks the cell, grabbing me by the hair. “She taught me how to treat whores like you,” he whispers, dragging me up the stairs.
The rough bastard pushes me through an iron door. I lose my balance, falling headfirst. My palms deflect the impact, but my knees smash against the hard cement, spilling blood all over.
“Asshole,” I mutter, inspecting my torn jeans. They were my favorite. Now, they’re just another victim of my dumb choices.
In the corner of my eye, I spot his leg aiming for my stomach. I prepare for pain and some puking, but Knight of Hell is to my rescue. “Enough,” he orders his minion.
Bud Spencer demon bows low. “Master.”
The Knight of Hell cups my elbow, gently helping me up. “I’m sorry.” He shoots his servant a killer look. “He was raised in hell.”
I yank my arms out of his grip. “You don’t say.”
Amber eyes lock with mine. “How’s my favorite witch adjusting to her new life?” he asks, smiling like a bitch.
I’d give my arms and legs to be able to cut that wicked grin off his handsome vessel’s face. But I can’t do shit. Not without sending Alex straight to hell. So I opt for a topic change. “Don’t you guys have Ikea in hell?”
He furrows his brows. “I beg your pardon?”
“Ikea,” I repeat. “This”—I point at the colorless walls in the windowless room—“could really use some Scandinavian charm.” Truth be told even the mother of all furniture stores can’t save this shithole.
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