by Anna Abner
“Let me out!” she shrieked. “I will tear your throat open with my teeth!”
“It’s okay, Jessa,” he assured, settling on the edge of the bed. Gently, he wiped the mess from her face and throat. “You won’t have to suffer for long.”
“Let me out.” And he could almost swear it was her real voice. If it weren’t for the wildness in her eyes. “I’m better now.”
“I’ll figure out how to break the spell.” Daniela and Willow were major league witches. And with the Dark Caster raising forces, they must be doing their research. Someone had to know something.
He heard the apartment door open and hushed voices in the other room. He wiped the last bit of puke from Jessa’s shirt and left her struggling and cursing upon the bed.
“He’ll live,” Daniela assured Rebecca. “But there’s a demon in there. She comes first. Besides,” she said, gesturing to the spell marks in the corners, “you’re a necromancer. Cast a healing spell.” At Rebecca’s furrowed brow, she added, “It’s medeor.”
Daniela swept past Derek and into Jessa’s bedroom, seemingly unfazed by the woman tied to the bed.
“You can cast in here, right?” she asked, cracking her knuckles. “Good. Focus your power into me.”
“What are you going to do to her?”
Daniela peeled the comforter from a spitting, cursing Jessa.
“You smell delicious,” she purred.
“I’m going to do what I do best,” Daniela said, her fingers turning blue. “I’m going to cool things off.”
With Jolie’s help, Derek cast.
Daniela exhaled a nervous breath as the blue in her fingers traveled up and over her body. Frost accumulated in her hair and speckled her eyebrows. Her next breath was a frosty white cloud.
Something in him recognized the magic in her and acted on instinct. A fight or flight kind of thing, though he forced himself to stay still and channel power. Derek had seen witches cast before, of course, but something was different about Daniela’s magic. He sensed the depth of her power by the static electricity in the air.
Jessa writhed, laughing and gasping in turns. But when the witch magic touched her, she stopped struggling. First, her large muscles quivered with cold. Then her lips and nails turned baby blue. Finally, her breath puffed white.
“You’re hurting her,” Derek observed.
“Wait,” Daniela said. She bobbed gently off the floor like a raft on a current.
Jessa’s eyes rolled up in her head.
“No.” Derek ceased casting and shoved Daniela, thinking too late to keep his hands off her when she was in full witch mode.
Daniela’s power zapped him, knocking him off his feet.
“Oh, my God,” Daniela exclaimed, bending over him, but keeping her hands to herself. Slowly, her body returned to a normal color and temperature. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Derek swallowed what tasted like blood and scrambled to the mattress. “Jessa? Can you hear me?”
She opened her eyes and said, “I’m going to lick the blood from your cold, dead heart,” and then giggled.
“It didn’t work,” he said. It didn’t work.
Holden crashed into the doorframe, followed by a desperate Rebecca.
“He needs you,” Rebecca said to Daniela. “Please.”
“Yeah, right. Sit down.”
Holden didn’t need any further prompting. He sank to the carpet.
“This may hurt.”
Rebecca spoke for Holden. “Do whatever it takes.”
Daniela laid both hands on the sides of his face. “Cleanse. Holden, heal.”
Finally, Holden roused himself enough to sit up. Clasping Rebecca’s hand, he looked at Daniela, and then his eyes searched out Derek.
“I’m sorry,” Holden said.
Derek frowned. He hadn’t done anything recently to be sorry for except bleeding on the carpet, which wasn’t his fault.
Holden glanced at the spell marks in the corners of the room as if calculating. “Olive?” he rasped.
“I’m here,” answered a childish spirit voice.
“Help me cast?”
Holden reached for Derek. Feeling a little silly, Derek accepted the other man’s hand. But when their skin touched, Holden said, “Redono,” and a jolt of magical energy passed from one to the other.
In a flash, memories cascaded into his consciousness. Kissing at prom. Mom and Dad. Magic. Lots and lots of magic.
With a shout of surprise, he released Holden and fell back a step.
“I’m sorry,” was all Holden said.
Derek opened his mouth to rail at him, but the words died on his lips. “I understand,” he said instead. That was not what he had planned. “You love her.” He gestured toward Rebecca. “You had to take your revenge. I would have done the same.” And then he clenched his jaws together before he said something really stupid like, I forgive you.
“What are you doing?” Rebecca asked, urging Holden to stay on the floor.
He pushed to his feet, swatting at her hands. “He saved my life. He saved all our lives.”
“He did,” Daniela concurred, giving Derek a guilty half-smile. “If you hadn’t shown up and shielded us, we would all be hostages or corpses.”
From the bed, Jessa screeched.
“I didn’t break your possession spell on Rebecca that day,” Holden said as if reading Derek’s mind. “I pulled the demon into myself.” He glanced at Rebecca. “Then she weakened us both with electricity and blasted it back to hell with an unfiltered bolt of magic.”
“It was sort of a lucky accident,” Rebecca concurred. “It required electricity, a grandmother’s love, and my complete ignorance of how magic works. I don’t know if we can combine those forces again. Not on purpose.”
“I can try to freeze it out of her again,” Daniela offered.
“No,” Derek said with absolutely no pleasure. “I remember how to break it.”
Chapter Twelve
The sight and sound of her sister in pain spurred Jolie from her near comatose state. Possessed Jessa was one thing, but tortured Jessa was something different.
“I’ll be back,” she told Derek and then blinked into Sparky’s to see whether the casters who’d sworn to assist her sister were still alive and kicking.
“Hello?” she called into what appeared to be an empty diner.
Then she heard a soft, feminine cry. Following the sound through walls and one locked door, she found Willow curled up next to the bathroom sink sobbing into her hands.
Jolie focused on somewhere else, anywhere else.
She traveled instantly to Cole Burkov’s apartment, though she didn’t enjoy the scene there any more than she had the one at Sparky’s.
Everyone was in the bedroom.
A little boy’s spirit drifted to Cole’s side. “I couldn’t do anything,” he lamented.
Before them, on the bed, Talia was the big spoon as she cradled Cole.
“Is he okay?” Jolie asked. His eyes were closed and his bare arms were crisscrossed with oozing cuts, but he seemed to be resting peacefully. Talia was the one in physical pain as she cast and prayed and held on to him.
“I couldn’t help,” the little boy murmured.
“Is everyone safe?” Jolie asked. “Did you all get away?”
Neither of the casters reacted to her question, and she asked a second time before Talia glanced up.
“Yes.” She brushed Cole’s hair from his brow. “No more bad news. So far.”
“But you’re not done, right?” She flitted from one end of the bedroom to the other and back again. “My sister is possessed. You’re not giving up, are you?”
Talia’s grimace did not inspire confidence.
“Are you?” she pressed.
“Of course not,” Talia answered with zero conviction. “Things are a little upside down right now, though. Give us some time to figure—”
“Give you time?” Jolie lost her temper, and the ground quaked. “My
sister is possessed with a demon!”
Jolie thought back to the frantic, confusing scene in front of Derek’s old house. Casters on both sides, spirits everywhere, magic thick in the air like smoke.
Talia froze at the effects of her tantrum, and then said, “We’ll help her.”
“How?” No more platitudes. Jolie wanted specific plans.
“I don’t know yet.”
Jolie’s anger burst like a wave of energy, knocking a lamp off an end table. “That’s not good enough!” Picturing Jessa’s apartment, she vanished.
* * *
“I know what to do,” Derek said, glancing from Holden to Rebecca. “But I need casters. I need everyone in one place.”
“Yeah, fine,” Holden said. “Sparky’s. Let’s go.” He nodded toward the skin-crawling screams coming from the bedroom. “Do you need help with Jessa?”
“No.” Derek pulled his cell phone and responded to some texts, explaining the plan. “I’ll meet you there.”
Rebecca helped Holden down the stairs, and Derek veered in the opposite direction, into Jessa’s bedroom.
Along the way, he gathered supplies. Duct tape. Sharp knife. Red permanent marker.
“Let me out,” she begged, her face beet red and glistening. “I only want to play with you.”
“I’m back,” Jolie said through the bedroom window. “What have you done?”
Derek couldn’t think of anything encouraging to say, so he simply shook his head to indicate the spells they’d attempted had failed.
Out of nowhere, he was struck by the memory of his first spell, a heady mix of power and pain, cast in the darkest corner of his father’s cavernous garage. He could practically smell the engine oil and feel the cold concrete through his jeans.
Returning to the present was disorienting, and he shook himself. How many memories were there, still to be relived? Because he wasn’t certain he wanted to experience every one of them.
Jessa snickered.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, gazing into her eyes. “I never wanted this.”
“Let me show you how much I love you,” she said.
He wished he could believe her. But it was the demon talking. Jessa wasn’t even there.
“Help me?” he asked Jolie. With a nod of her head, she juiced him up, and he cast another sleep spell on Jessa.
Immediately, her screaming and banging faded away to silence.
“Do you know how to get that thing out of her?” Jolie asked.
His education at the hands of the Dark Caster had included both creating black magic and destroying it. “I know what to do.” He untied Jessa.
Gently, he swept her hair from her face, and then lifted her into his arms. Supporting Jessa’s head against his shoulder, he caught a brief whiff of citrus shampoo.
“Forgive me,” he ground out, eyes squeezed shut.
Another memory swept him into the past. His and Robert’s first spell together. Even then, he’d sensed the spirit’s innate goodness. He’d been a decent man and an equally decent ghost. Like Jessa, he hadn’t deserved his fate. Derek blinked, and the memory of Robert going out in a flash of light was seared to the insides of his eyelids.
“What are you waiting for?” Jolie exclaimed.
Derek shook the memories away and locked the apartment door on his way out.
Sparky’s was quiet when Derek carried Jessa inside, and it wasn’t because it was currently closed to the public. Willow was at a booth beside her witch friend Sasha chain-smoking cigarettes. Daniela and David curled up in a different booth, clinging to each other. Holden stood at the counter, his arms all the way around Rebecca as she hid beneath his jacket. The other casters scattered around the room—people he didn’t know by name—faded into the background.
“You need help?” Holden called out.
“I got her,” Derek said. No one else was laying a hand on Jessa.
Using his foot, he kicked a stool from under the counter. One of the male casters grabbed it.
“Where do you want it?” he asked.
Derek looked up and made eye contact with a woman at the counter. Talia Jackson, one of Paul’s potential casters. Holy shit.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “What mischief are you causing?”
Talia blanched as several people looked at her with surprise and confusion. “I’m not part of the cabal anymore.”
“Bullshit,” he ground out. “No one leaves the Dark Caster. I should know.”
“She’s legit,” Daniela assured. “We checked her story, inside and out.”
There were so many things a spy could do within the coven. Curses. Hexes. Run-of-the-mill sabotage.
“Did you know they were targeting Jessa all along?” he demanded. “Did you know they were completing the summoning spell today?”
“No,” she swore. “I left the cabal. I don’t know anything!”
“Ease off,” the guy with the stool said, an undertone of threat in his voice. “She’s working with the good guys now.”
Jessa squirmed in her sleep, and Derek had no choice but to trust Talia and the entire coven. He couldn’t perform the spell without them.
“Fine.” He gestured toward the kitchen. “We need space to circle up.”
At his suggestion, everyone filed into the kitchen.
Derek sat Jessa in the stool, and then Talia’s bodyguard helped him tie her to it with duct tape.
“Thanks.” To the room, he announced, “We’re going to banish the demon inside her to hell. The spell requires sacrificial blood from a catalyst.”
“From whom?” Willow questioned, hands on hips.
Deep breath. “Me.”
“How much?” she asked.
“Enough.” He made eye contact with several casters. “Form a human spell circle.”
“Why not put Holden and Cole opposite each other?” Daniela spoke up. “Their tattoos will be our glyphs.”
“Cole?” Derek asked, looking at the dark-haired man who’d helped him with the stool. “Cole Burkov?” The man nodded. “I’ve heard of you.” Derek studied him with new interest. If he vouched for Talia, maybe she really was trustworthy. “The Dark Caster’s a big fan of yours.”
Cole said, “Sorry I can’t say the same.”
A barrage of memories, every one starring Paul Westfield, assaulted him. Good ones of Paul recruiting him. Less positive ones from the time around Rebecca’s summoning spell.
Derek stuttered back a step and drove his elbow into the corner of the stainless steel range. The flash of pain helped clear his head.
“Circle up,” he said, gesturing to the group.
They arranged themselves around Jessa, clasping hands.
“Necromancers,” Derek instructed, “channel into the witches. Witches, focus on me. I’m going to be the catalyst.”
Several people murmured their uncertainty as Derek stripped off his white shirt and took hold of the sharp knife. Then he hacked at his chest, reopening the Dark Caster’s handiwork. He dipped his fingers into the wound and drew a bloody glyph onto Jessa’s forehead.
She woke with a start.
“Colligo,” Derek chanted, getting the rest started. “Colligo.”
“Just screw me and get it over with.” Jessa fought her binds. “I love a good gang bang. Who’s first?”
The spirit power grew and grew as if they had unlimited reserves. Derek let it build until his eyesight flickered.
“Hold.” His skin overheated. His teeth rattled. Black dots appeared in his peripheral vision. “Hold!”
But it wasn’t enough. It had to be so much power no trace of the demon remained. It had to be enough power to kill the catalyst.
As his vision faded and his muscles went slack, he reached for Jessa, bloody fingers drawing lines down her arm.
Derek released the magic with a single word. “Ejicio.”
* * *
Jessa came to herself in time to watch Derek, bloody and pale, drop to one knee.
“Let me out,” she shouted, fighting the tape holding her to a stool. “Why would you tie me up?”
“Can’t risk it,” someone said. “Sorry.”
She turned on the speaker. “You’re going to let me out so I can help him, do you understand me?”
The woman glanced nervously at the caster beside her.
“Now,” Jessa snapped. “Because if you don’t, and he’s hurt, you’re gonna wish you never met me, you hear?”
“I’m already wishing it,” someone behind her grumbled.
But Rebecca got right in her face. “What’s my dad’s name?”
“Doug Powell,” Jessa answered. “And your sister’s Nelly. Any other quiz questions or can I get off this damned chair now?”
Shrugging as if she still weren’t convinced, Rebecca nonetheless untied her.
Jessa crawled through blood to get to Derek.
It was always blood between them, and she decided right then, there wouldn’t be any more.
“Derek?” She pressed her hands to his wound, applying steady pressure. He swayed, but she kept him upright. “Can you hear me?”
Someone behind her chanted medeor in Latin.
Derek’s unfocused eyes met hers.
“Did it work?” he asked weakly.
“I can’t tell,” someone said to the group. “What do you guys think?”
Jessa had had enough. “All of you need to back the hell up. I’m taking him to the hospital. I don’t trust a single one of you freaks.”
“He doesn’t need a doctor,” someone told her, “but that’s just one freak’s opinion.”
Jessa checked the wound, and it was closing before her eyes.
“Flipping magic,” she grumbled.
Chapter Thirteen
Derek stood slowly, recovering by inches from the magical ass whooping he’d taken. He blinked and Jessa’s face, framed by her long blonde hair, came into focus as she peered up at him. He opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out.
“I’m taking you to a doctor,” she said.
“No,” he said, finding his voice at last. He didn’t need a nosy doctor or even nosier police officers in his business. “Take me home.”
“Babe,” she said, guiding him around the silent, assembled casters, “your house is a death trap. I’m taking you to my place.”