Wicked Destiny: A Reverse Harem Urban Fantasy Series (Wicked Witches Book 1)

by L. C. Hibbett

  My fingers twitched as I watched him bob and weave through the brawling witches. Something wasn’t right. The short blonde witch who’d told Nick to leave gaped at the boy in the blue hoodie as he sprinted past her. He ducked through the rabble and several more witches jerked their heads in surprise. They tried to block him, but their limbs appeared uncooperative as if confusion had made them slow. But there was only certainty in the man’s movements. He was a homing missile and somehow he had pierced my cloaking spell and set me as his target.

  I raised my hands in panic as he darted closer, but before I could release my magic, his lean body collided with mine and lifted me off the ground. A shock of recognition blazed through my mind as his hood fell back to reveal his face.

  And then we were gone, tumbling over the ledge and plummeting from the fifth floor into the street below.

  Chapter Six

  “Are you out of your fucking mind? My friend is still up there. I need to help him!” I spat a piece of straw out of my mouth and scrubbed my tongue with the back of my hand to remove the last traces of what I could only assume was horse shit. I glared at the guy in the blue hoodie as the tractor shuddered over the cobblestones. Patrick Joyce.

  I hadn’t seen his face since the night my aunt had sent him to emancipate me from my father’s care. After four years without hearing a word from Aoife, a strange boy, Patrick, had gate crashed my party and handed me a letter from Aoife with her address in Galway. A human with the fabled gift of the sight and an ability to see beyond magical charms, Patrick had been brought up by the Free Witches, but when the time had come for him to petition for membership of the coven in his own right, they had refused him and turned him out of their protection and back into the human world; a gifted human was a human all the same. Last I heard, he was training to be a doctor. And stalking me in his free time, apparently.

  I glowered at him. “Why the hell were you following me if you aren’t working for my father? And you pushed me over the ledge; we could have been killed. Five stories—who the fuck chooses to dive into the street from five stories up? Gods.”

  Patrick raised one eyebrow slightly before turning his attention to the street signs once more. “I knew the trailer would be there.”

  “You knew the trailer would be—are you taking the piss? This is Galway City. I have never seen a tractor in the city center. Never. Not once in almost three years. But you pushed me out the window because you knew there’d be a trailer of straw to break our fall?” I grabbed onto the side of the trailer and pulled myself into the kneeling position. “And not just any random city-dwelling trailer filled with straw, that would be too simple, but a trailer attached to a moving tractor. Insane. Totally bloody mad.”

  “What are you doing, Destiny?” As I hooked one leg over the side of the trailer and prayed that a sudden jolt wouldn’t cause me to regret my decision, Patrick stared at me as though I was the one might not be quite sane.

  “I have to go back,” I said. “I need to help my friend. We left him alone with my father’s beasts. And I need to find Aoife and Saoirse. My father knows where we live.”

  “Your aunt and daughter are safe, Destiny. We’re going to join them soon.” Patrick pulled his cell phone from his pocket and flicked at the screen.

  I didn’t move from my precarious perch on the side of the slow-moving trailer. “What?”

  “Aoife sent me a text. She sent you the same one—it’s a group chat. I called her this morning and told her she should take your daughter to the Silent Quarter.” Patrick flashed the screen in my direction as if his answer was entirely reasonable.

  I gaped at him. “Before or after you chased me down the street, you absolute psycho?”

  “After.” Patrick didn’t flinch. “I knew your father’s men were coming, I didn’t know it would be today until I saw them outside the parking lot.”

  My head felt like it was packed with cotton candy. My thoughts were fuzzy and blurred. “But you’d been following me—I saw your stupid hoodie. Why didn’t you warn me if you knew?”

  “That’s not how it works. I see still images—snippets of what’s to come. It’s up to me to piece them together and make a movie. Sometimes what I can create from the images is an Oscar winner, other times it’s worse than London Brides.” Before I could defend the quality of my favorite TV show, the tractor swerved suddenly and Patrick grabbed hold of my waist to stop me from falling into moving traffic. I let him lower me back onto the straw.

  I pressed my hands against my eyelids and Patrick retreated to the other side of the trailer. My fingers were numb as I retrieved my phone from my pocket and read the message Aoife had sent. I breathed a sigh of relief as I recognized our code words tossed randomly in the text. She really was okay. I buried my face in the dirty straw for a moment to let the pain in my chest subside, but no sooner had anxiety receded when thoughts of Nick burst across my mind. I sat bolt upright. “My friend—”

  “Can look after himself,” Patrick said. His brows were drawn low over piercing blue eyes and there was a hardness about his mouth that I hadn’t noticed before. “Trust me, you don’t need to worry about Nikolai Sarkus.”

  Something about Patrick’s tone needled me and I dragged myself into a kneeling position in the straw for the second time. “When we last saw him, he was fighting twenty witches on his own. How the hell are you so sure he’s okay? More physic photos?”

  The flicker behind Patrick’s eyes told me I’d hit a sore spot and I felt a stab of satisfaction, but he didn’t let his emotions bubble to the surface. “I can assure you he wasn’t alone for long. Nick is all right, and your father’s people have been dispersed. For now.”

  Before I could ask him for proof Nick was okay, the tractor ground to a halt and Patrick hauled me to my feet. He nudged me toward the rear of the trailer. “We’ve got two minutes. There are rungs on the right side. When you reach the bottom, start walking and don’t stop until I tell you to.”

  I made a face but followed Patrick’s instructions anyway. My options were limited. Didn’t stop me from whining though. “Eyre Square? We’ve been driving around for half an hour, how are we still in the city?”

  “We’re on set.” Patrick placed his hands on my hips to help me hoist myself over the end of the trailer and I flushed at the sensation of his hands on my body. His grasp was surprisingly warm and firm for a man with such a detached demeanor.

  “On set? Like a film set? For a movie?” I asked.

  Patrick nudged my back and I threw my other leg over and began to descend the rungs on the outside of the trailer. When I was halfway down, he sprang over the barrier and swung himself to ground nimbly, reaching the pavement before I did. He nodded to the cameras attached to a truck several meters to our left. In the middle of Eyre Square, a bevy of curvaceous beauties frolicked in tiny clothes and pretending they weren’t freezing their arses off. The square was surrounded by tractors, men in flat caps, and women playing fiddles. It was like an explosion of clichés. “Not quite a movie. They’re filming an episode of ‘Babes on Tour’. The producers want to see an authentic Irish scene.”

  I raised my eyebrows as a small boy walked a lamb across the road on a lead. “Really authentic. Wow.” Shaking my head, I started to walk toward the entrance of the shopping mall. My head was spinning as Patrick fell into step beside me. My father knew where I was and that changed everything. And not just for me. Even if somebody had arrived to help Nick in the parking lot, my father’s people would track him down. And if they thought he might be hiding me—I needed to warn him.

  I turned my head toward Patrick, struck for a second by the perfection of his profile. It seemed unfair that somebody so cold should have such long, thick lashes. “Hey, do the Free Witches offer sanctuary to shifters? Like, if there was a shifter family that was in danger, would they protect them? Just until the family could make a plan. Not forever.”

  “How should I know?” Patrick snapped. I shoved my hands into my pockets and stared s
traight ahead, increasing my pace. When we reached the rear exit of the mall, I paused to wait for a break in traffic before heading toward Middle Street. Patrick didn’t speak again until we turned down Buttermilk Walk. “They might.” I glanced at him and he shrugged his shoulders. “The coven might offer sanctuary to a shifter family if there were children in need of protection. They offer refuge to all manner of supernatural and gifted children. Adults? Not so much.”

  There was no trace of bitterness in Patrick’s tone, but his fingers twisted into a white-knuckled fist. I nodded. “Thanks. My friend has a child, a twelve-year-old girl. And he provides for an elderly lady too. If my father thinks Nick is hiding me or knows where to find me—I have to talk to him before we go meet Aoife.” I swallowed hard, thinking of how hard it would be for Maya to leave her safely ordered bedroom. She hated change. Nick hadn’t even asked her to attend school since they arrived in Ireland, he homeschooled her instead to reduce her anxiety. With a little help from me—math wasn’t his area of strength. The smile died on my lips. “They’re going to hate me.”

  “Nikolai Sarkus doesn’t need your help. Or pity.” Patrick tried to direct me toward Mainguard Street but I veered to the left, continuing on down High Street.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “What’s your problem with Nick? Do you even know him?”

  “I know enough people like him.” We crossed onto Quay Street. Patrick’s jaw was set as tightly as mine.

  I buried my fists in my jacket pockets. “Enough nice, kind shifters who are single parents? Enough world-renowned artists who offer their studios and mentorship free of charge to struggling art students?”

  Patrick pressed his lips into a straight line and stared down the street to where the black slate roof of The Paper Heart had just come into view. He spun rapidly and caught me by the sleeve. “Listen, Destiny, don’t do this. Leave it. They’re not in any danger, trust me.”

  “I don’t trust strangers!” A passing couple turned to stare at us and I lowered my voice to a hiss. “I have to check they’re okay for myself—that’s what friends do. Leave if you want; I’ll find my own way to the Silent Quarter.”

  I stomped past him and almost collided with the short, rotund figure of the flower merchant I’d spoken to earlier that morning. Her eyes danced as she glanced from my face to Patrick’s. “You still running away from him, pet? That love letter did you no good.” My cheeks burned as she winked at us, clearly misreading the situation. I snapped my mouth open to tell her I’d rather lick a toilet brush than send Patrick Joyce a love letter, but she had turned her focus in the other direction. “You’re the girl who does the coffee for that big artist fella, aren’t you? You’d want to keep clear of that place today—crawling with I.G.S.”

  “With I.G.S.?” I repeated and the woman nodded. Had Nick called the International Guild of Supernaturals? Surely they couldn’t have arrived that quickly? For a moment, I wondered what form of super the flower lady was. Something about her screamed fae, despite her atypical appearance for a fairy—the twinkle in her eye was a giveaway. And the affinity with flowers. “What is the Guild doing in Galway?”

  My mouth was dry. Maybe Nick had contacted them because they thought I’d been taken hostage by the witches he saw in the parking lot. I wondered would he care as much if he knew what I really was? The flower fairy was watching me closely, a sly smile on her lips. “I don’t know why they’re here, girl, but he seemed very familiar with them. Knew them all by name. A woman and three men. Fine looking fellas, one of them as big as the artist. They looked thick as thieves the lot of them.”

  “Knew them by name? The I.G.S. agents?” As I stared at her an unseen force began to wrap itself around my throat. Patrick’s brows were drawn together as he stared at the cobblestones under his feet. I nodded goodbye to the flower woman and shoved Patrick across to the other side of the narrow street, aware the fae was watching our every move. “What the fuck is going on here, Patrick? How did the I.G. S. get here so quickly? How does Nick know them by name?”

  Patrick exhaled in a huff but his blue eyes were gentle when he lifted them to meet mine. “Destiny, you’re a black witch. The black witch, first of your kind to be born since the Morrigan. You hold dominion over life and death. You can draw a person’s soul from their body on a whim and hold it there indefinitely. If you chose to use your power as a weapon—there’s no war you couldn’t win.”

  “I’d never do that. I don’t want to hurt anyone, I never did! I know what they say about black witches, but that’s not me. I’m nothing like my father wants me to be; nothing like his precious Morrigan. I ran from him—I chose to be the exception. I’m not wicked.” The words rushed from my mouth in a flood of emotion, but at the back of my mind, familiar fears lurked in the shadows. My father’s voice echoed in my ears. Black of magic, black of heart. I bit down on my lip.

  Patrick reached for my shoulders but let his hands drop when I tensed. He buried his hands in the pocket of his sweatshirt. “I know you chose a different path, Destiny.” His voice was low. “I was there in the graveyard when you chose to run, remember? But you can’t have believed the rest of the supernatural world had forgotten about you? Your father kept the upper hand over the other Celtic gods for seventeen years because he had you in his possession. Whoever controls the black witch, controls the supernatural world. You’re the ultimate weapon of mass destruction. And the Guild has a vested interest in all things powerful. But they’re not impulsive, like your father, they bide their time. They draw you in. Gain your confidence. Offer you financial security and friendship—”

  “No!” I smacked both hands over my mouth and shook my head. “No. You’re wrong. Nick is an artist. He’s got a family.” My protest was limp. How had Nick known to follow me to the parking lot? How had he known the witches were looking for me? Betrayal turned to molten lava in my blood and I burst away from the wall and sprinted for The Paper Heart.

  Patrick bolted after me but he didn’t make any attempt to stop me. Black power clouded the edges of my mind as I pounded forward. My heart shuddered as I caught sight of Nick standing outside the café. His head was twisted to one side as he spoke to a tall, striking woman with long limbs and a mane of rich brown waves. She didn’t need a badge to tell me she was I.G.S. because everything about her screamed military. I closed the space between Nick and me with a leap and struck him with a blast of magic that slammed his body against the door of The Paper Heart.

  Chapter Seven

  “Destiny.” Nick’s shoulders sagged and he tried to reach for me, but my magic refused to release him. “Destiny, thank gods you’re okay. You frightened the crap out of me in that parking lot. I thought they’d taken you.”

  “You fucking liar.” I hated the tremor in my voice but not nearly as much as I hated the way Nick’s shamefaced expression confirmed my worst fears. I scraped my sleeve against my lips. “You big, fat, fucking liar. How could you pretend to be my friend? All that stuff you told me about you and Lexi—is any of it true? Does Lan really not talk or was that part of the act too? Is Maya even your real kid?”

  “Yes. Shit, yes. It was all real, Destiny. I swear. Everything. Everything. The Guild just wanted to keep you safe. I never meant to deceive you.” Nick lurched forward as I released him from my power but I shrank away from his reaching hands. “Please, Destiny, let me explain—”

  The woman Nick had been talking to cut across him. “The I.G.S. would like to offer you our protection, Miss O’ Neill. We’re prepared to pledge sanctuary for you, your family, even Mr. Joyce if you wish to remain together.”

  I stared at the tall brunette with raised brows, wondering how she knew Patrick’s name. “We’re not together.”

  Patrick snorted and shook his head. “And I don’t want help from you, Izzy. Or Blackwood. Or any of your goons. Thanks.”

  Nick’s tone was pleading. “Please, Destiny. Let us help you and Saoirse. It’s not safe for you out there. If this kid hadn’t saved you today—”


  “I’m twenty-three; I’m no kid. And if you were doing a better job, I wouldn’t have needed to save her in the first place, pal.” Patrick glared at Nick and a rush of tiredness washed over me. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except getting to the coven and pleading for sanctuary. Forget the bastards—I just needed to see my baby and Aoife.

  I turned and started to walk toward the end of the street. Nick jolted after me and grabbed hold of my hand. “Destiny, please stay, I’m begging you, just let me explain.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Izzy?”

  The woman shook her head. “Not today, Nick. Let her go. Let her do what she needs to do.”

  Nick released my fingers slowly but he didn’t walk away. His eyes burned into mine, pleading with me to stay. But how could I trust he was sincere? A bubble of sadness welled up inside my chest and I turned on my heel and ran, determined to be out of sight before it burst. Patrick caught up with me on High Street. He hovered beside me, politely ignoring the snot and tears running down my face. “I’ll walk ahead if you want a moment alone? You know where the doorway to the Silent Quarter is, right? At Lynch’s Castle?”

  Lynch’s was one of the oldest buildings in the city—a perfectly maintained medieval castle, complete with arched doorways, imposing limestone blockwork, and waterspouts projecting from the exterior walls. The Lynch clan had deserted their family home when Galway’s populace became too diverse for their taste, but the intricately carved gargoyles that graced the walls hinted at the family’s supernatural roots. I shrugged my backpack off and searched its pockets for a napkin, making do with one of the wet wipes I carried at all times to remove unmentionably sticky substances from Saoirse’s face and hands.