by Lola Taylor
It’s four a.m., and I can’t sleep because our little girl was born six hours ago. Labor was a bitch, all eighteen hours of it, but I’m glad I went through it. I’d go through hell and back for that little angel. Soon as she looked at me with those bright-green eyes—my eyes—I knew I was taken and I would move heaven and earth for her.
Verika’s eyes pricked with tears as confusion and longing tightened her chest. She blinked the tears away and kept reading.
She is so perfect. We couldn’t decide on Erica or Veronica, so we combined the two into Verika. Pretty, isn’t it? And unique, just like her.
Verika blinked. She’d always thought her foster parents had come up with the name. Maybe they’d lied, as a means of protecting her. After all, they’d kept the fact she was adopted from her until she was nearly eighteen. Verika had so loved playing detective growing up. After she’d come across the adoption papers while snooping around for her Christmas presents, there wasn’t much use in them denying the adoption anymore.
The penmanship warbled, as if her mother’s hand had trembled.
I’ve been praying she doesn’t inherit my gifts. All my life I’ve either been shunned or feared, except with Michael. He’s so wonderfully normal, this human husband of mine.
Verika stared. Her father had been human?
He knows about my powers—it’s what attracted him to me—but he doesn’t judge me. He accepts me for who and what I am. For once in my life, I belong. I have a family, a purpose.
The journal entry ended there.
Her mother had sketched a picture of a baby on the opposite page. It was quite good, very realistic. She’d even shaded in the shadows on the blanket swaddling the baby with crosshatching. Nestled around her neck was a beautiful, oval-shaped pendant, a polished stone of some sort wrapped in wiring.
Verika stared at the portrait of herself, and her throat grew tight and dry.
Flipping the page, she continued through the entries. Despite years of training as a cop, it was hard to be detached about the whole thing. To keep her emotions at bay and only care about the clues she may ascertain.
Her heart swelled the more she read. One thing became painfully clear within five pages—her mother and father had both loved her very much.
Her father had died of a bee sting when she was one. They hadn’t even known he’d been allergic. She vaguely remembered his smiling face, but her memories of that time were hazy. No surprise, considering how much time had passed. But it still depressed her. She wished she could remember her real father. Remember what he looked like, what cologne he wore, if any, the sound of his voice. All those little seemingly insignificant details she’d give her right arm for.
One entry caught her eye.
It was the night before her mother abandoned her.
Her powers are growing at an alarming rate. Dear God, she’s just a toddler! A toddler with the ability to turn the sun black and make the moon vanish. The other night, she caused an eclipse—an eclipse—in the middle of the day. It was all over the news, the papers. I didn’t know where the spell was coming from until I realized it was her. My sweet little angel always did favor the shadows. It was all I could do to break her spell. I feel terrible casting a sleeping spell on her, but it was the only way to get her to stop. Heavens, her magic is so strong. I can’t contain her powers anymore on my own, and I refuse to use a coven’s help. They’ll want to exploit her, as they tried to do with me. Already, they’re looking for me, hunting her because of those news stories and that stupid eclipse I let slip by.
Verika’s heart rate kicked into high gear as she read, her eyes skimming the page quicker and quicker.
I have to give her up. I have no choice. I can’t let them take her.
Verika’s eyes narrowed. Who?
The penmanship became sloppier on the next page, as if it had been written more in a hurry. And on a different day.
Dear God, save my soul. I didn’t mean to. I swear I didn’t. But I couldn’t help myself. He tried to take her, tried to take away my baby girl. So I had to kill him. My power wanted to. Oh God, Jesus, what have I done?
The ink blurred, the page darkened by splotchy stains—teardrops.
Dear God, forgive me. Oh, please forgive me. I swear I never meant to harm any living thing. But he was going to take her, take her and harvest her power, he said. I couldn’t let that happen. My power reacted according to my emotions. I can’t control it. Lord, Jesus, I fear myself, fear what I’m becoming. I enjoyed killing him. Dare I admit that?
There’s something dark inside me, something I’ve felt growing stronger for a long time now. It waited for the right time and then lashed out at the first appropriate victim.
My mother was right—our line is cursed. Cursed to bring death and destruction to everyone around us. I can’t bear to let that happen to Verika—I can’t. It would destroy what’s left of my soul. She’s so pure, so good. My little angel. Besides, the coven will come after me now that I’ve killed their leader. Verika would be in constant danger. I have to surrender her, for her own safety.
Verika flipped the next page so fast, she nearly tore it. Instead of continuing where it had left off, there was a new entry.
I gave up my baby girl today. I’m sobbing as I write this, even though I know it was for the best. She can’t ever know about me, can’t ever know about her abilities. Satine has promised to bind her powers. On top of what I’ve already done. It should hold, for a time. Though, Satine is certain she can keep her powers suppressed by adding new layers to the bind as Verika matures. She’ll pose as her mentor, ensure she gets adopted by a loving couple. And when the time is right, she’ll teach my daughter about magic. It’s the perfect opportunity for her to learn about her craft, as she will surely manifest some powers, and for Satine to patch up the bind as it wears with age.
Verika sat back, stunned. Satine had only posed as her mentor, her friend, so she could control her. Suppress her abilities, as her mother had said.
Her heart tore in half. She’d been betrayed by a lot of people in her life, but this felt like a knife in the back. Had Satine been pretending the whole time to be interested in her well-being? To love her?
There wasn’t much left in the journal after that. Though the last page made her breath catch, gave her newfound hope.
I saw my daughter today, at Satine’s shop. She’s grown quite fond of my little angel. Says she feels like her own child, which warms my heart. I am so very fortunate to have such a great friend looking out for her. It broke my heart to not have my own daughter know me, but I know it’s for the best. I am so very blessed to have such a devoted guardian in Verika’s life.
Satine says she’s an ace at her studies, but feels anxious she hasn’t come into her powers yet. I hate to do that to her. I know how young witches and warlocks can be to those who don’t manifest an affinity. But it is for her own protection, and for the safety of those around her. Her powers can never be unbound.
I wish I could be there for her. To watch her grow up and become a woman. But I fear my time on this earth is limited. The coven of the warlock I killed draws closer every day. They’ve hunted me across the States, Europe, and back again. My redirects and dead ends won’t stave them off for long. Magic has grown more advanced. There are so many aids we can employ now to boost our powers, get us what we want, to help us find what doesn’t want to be found.
At least my daughter has the amulet, the one Satine helped me fashion. Through my blood, sweat, and sacrifice, maybe she can be protected from
The line abruptly cut off; something dark, like coffee, had been spilled across the pages, splattering the remaining text and making it hard to decipher.
Verika squinted, angling the book differently against the light. The dried liquid was russet, almost like—
Her heart pitched to the bottom of her stomach.
Blood.
Oh God. Was this…had her mother been…
Had her mother been murdered while wri
ting this last entry?
Her mother had scribbled something else beneath the dried blood. It took Verika several long seconds before she could make out the final text.
I love you.
Verika stared at the message for several long minutes. A half hour passed. She knew the message was meant for her. It had to be. Who else could her mother have written it to?
Somehow, some way, she had known her daughter would find this book and read it someday. And she’d wanted her…wanted her to know the truth. That she had loved her, had done everything she could to protect her.
Part of her she’d kept locked up, the part made of stone, broke inside her. She let herself cry. Over the mother she’d lost.
Over the mentor, the guardian, the friend, who’d protected her.
Over the family who had been taken from her because she possessed a gift—a goddamned affinity—that she’d prayed, prayed, prayed for as a child, which the woman she’d grown into abhorred and wished to be rid of.
When Elijah finally woke, roused by her sobs, he immediately went to her. “Ssshh,” he cooed into her hair. “It’s okay. It’s all right. I’m here.”
He rocked her, let her cry onto his shoulder until she had no more tears left. Only after her breathing had evened out and her heart had calmed did she tell him what she had learned.
“Someone killed her.” Verika clutched the journal to her chest with one hand and her mate in the other. She needed his strength now, needed it not to fall apart.
Her mind wouldn’t stop turning over theory after theory.
“We don’t know that,” Elijah said quietly.
“But someone was after her. She’d said she’d killed the leader of a coven because they wanted me in order to use my powers. They would want revenge. A lot of witches and warlocks in the Underworld still believe in ‘an eye for an eye.’”
He rubbed her shoulders and hugged her. He stood behind her while she remained seated in the chair she’d been reading in. “We’ll figure it out, I promise. We’ll find out what happened to your mother.”
“Swear it?” She looked up at him.
He kissed her. “On my life.”
A long sigh left her. Elijah had a way of making her feel at ease, at least mentally. Her body was still wound up in knots.
“Do you have any idea about that amulet she mentioned?” he asked.
“No,” she said with a hoarse sigh. “I wish I did. If it’s meant to protect me, maybe we can use it against Mistress Black. I don’t know exactly what it is, but I have an idea of where to look for it.” Shaking her head, she stood. Stretched her arms, her back, her legs. “I thought we’d explore my parents’ attic. My mom is a bit of a pack rat. She likes to keep everything, especially when it comes to me. A lot of my kids’ clothes are still tucked away in boxes up there.” She smiled softly. A small pinch formed in her chest any time she talked about her family. God, she missed them so much.
Elijah gulped. “Why do I have the feeling magic is going to be involved in getting us to your parents’ house?”
She smiled ruefully. “Because wanted fugitives can’t exactly fly coach, now can they?”
It had taken some convincing on her part to get Nik and Gage to go along with their plan. The plan being they would sneak into her parents’ attic to look for this amulet that may or may not be of any use to them at all.
At this point, Verika would be willing to try a home remedy printed off Pinterest if it promised to get rid of Mistress Black—or cellulite. Both were the bane of her existence right now.
“Besides,” she told Gage and Nik, “it would be best if Elijah and I vanish in case the DPI shows up. That way you can’t be accused of harboring wanted criminals. It would only complicate the situation further, and neither one of you can do Alara or Danica much good from a jail cell.”
That logic won the argument, as Verika knew it would. There was little a wolf wouldn’t do for the protection and safety of his mate.
Elijah promptly puked the moment they dematerialized inside her parents’ attic. Verika couldn’t blame him, and almost threw up herself. Her stomach had never fully recovered from the sickness caused by the branding. Plus, spells that bent the fabric of space and time did something weird to a person, biologically speaking. It scrambled your brain and rearranged your molecules. The “putting it all back together” part was what had her nearly swallowing her stomach as Elijah wiped his mouth and straightened.
She cast him a coy smile after weaving a simple sound-proofing spell. “Green isn’t a very good shade on you. You feeling all right? I’ve sound-proofed the room, by the way, so feel free to speak aloud.”
“Figured as much, considering the lemon furniture polish smell suddenly turned into burnt ozone. But to answer your question, I’ve been better. Been worse too. You?”
“Fine.”
“Liar.”
“Yeah, well, that’s something else I’ve picked up from you Johnsons. You don’t like people to worry over you, especially your mates, so you’re inclined to bend the truth when it suits you.”
“Can’t say we aren’t noble.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far.”
He shoved her playfully, and she smiled. It still felt a bit tight, as the weight of knowing her mother had been murdered trying to protect her still pressed down on her shoulders. But holy crap, it felt good to be back home, even if it was only in her parents’ attic.
The faint smell of citrus clung to the air. She could almost imagine Elijah thinking Who the hell dusts their freaking attic?
Her mother, that’s who. Verika could imagine her lovingly running a cloth dampened with polish over the boxes, singing out of tune some song from the sixties. Not a box out of place, no mess to be found. Her mother loved this house—it showed in the polished wooden floors, in the little lace valance she’d hung over the tiny window across the room.
“So why’d you insist just the two of us go?” Elijah asked, making her blink. She’d almost forgotten whom she’d come with. “‘More hands make for lighter work,’ and all that?”
“Mistress Black said she’d contact us, and we had to come alone. I saw an excuse to get us out of the manor and took it.”
“Nice. Sneaky but quick thinking.”
She shrugged. “I hated deceiving Nik and Gage, but we don’t exactly have another choice, not if we want to get Alara and Danica back safely.”
Elijah grabbed her wrist, tugged her to a halt as she started to turn away. He grasped her shoulders and pivoted her to face him. “I’m not handing you over to her. I hope you know that.”
“It won’t come down to that.” She swallowed hard. She hoped it wouldn’t, anyway.
Turning away before he could see her worry, she started looking.
“Okay, going back to my earlier argument: say we let Mistress Black take us. What if something happens and we need backup?” Elijah asked.
“Don’t worry. I have that all covered,” she muttered absently, half listening and half thinking. She was missing something.
“Damn. I forgot it.” She snapped her fingers. Her mother’s journal appeared in her hand. The air smelled of cinnamon, an odd side effect of that particular transportation spell.
“It smells like snickerdoodles.” Elijah wrinkled his nose.
“You don’t like it?”
“No, it’s not that.” It’s just the fact it’s magic, he didn’t need to say.
Verika ignored his discomfort. At least he was dealing with it better. That was progress, at least. “Curiously enough, I’ve found you can actually scent some spells the way people buy air freshener for their cars or homes. My personal favorites are cinnamon, sugar, and butter,” she admitted rather bashfully, her cheeks warming at how personal it felt. “All those scents remind me of home because my mom always used to bake snickerdoodles, my favorite cookie.”
Elijah smiled. “Sounds like an awesome mom.”
“She was. Still is, if I’d let her be.” Her face wrinkled
up with pain. “I still feel bad shutting her and Dad out of my life. They’ve been so good to me.”
“It won’t be like this forever.” Elijah took her hand.
“No, it won’t. I’m going to make damn sure of that.” Her power surged as she thought of Mistress Black, as if it sensed her intense loathing of the woman. She promptly pushed it back down, but not before a few green sparks shot out her fingers. Elijah abruptly jerked his hand back, stepping away about a foot.
She sighed. One step forward, two steps back.
Feeling the air thicken with tension, she said, “How about we get busy?”
They searched in silence for a little while, being careful to put everything back exactly the way it was. She kept quiet, giving Elijah the space he needed to sort out his feelings about her magic. A lump formed in her throat. Sometimes, she felt as if her magic would always be the cause of this invisible rift between them.
A rift, she feared, that would only grow with time, should he be unable to conquer his fears.
Her heart ached as she pried open a box and took out a little yellow jumper she’d worn when she was a toddler. The fabric was buttery soft and smelled faintly of dust and lavender fabric softener.
Her hands shook faintly as her face grew hot.
Just one night. All she wanted was to be able to spend one night with her family without worrying they might get hurt. Something else she feared would never happen.
Soon, she told herself firmly. No more negative thoughts. Just keep thinking in terms of “soon.”
Elijah ransacked a garbage bag of stuffed animals. He pulled out a teddy bear that was missing an eye, as well as most of his fur. “Sentimental much?”
“You’ve met my mother. You tell me.”
He stared at the bear sadly. “I wish someone would have cared enough about me and my brothers to keep all of our childhood things.”
She couldn’t help it; she rose, slowly went over to him, as if approaching a frightened doe, and pulled him into her arms. He hugged her back without hesitation, and she at last relaxed. When she let go, she looked into his eyes. “When this is all over, I’m going to buy a camera. Then we’ll travel, settle down, start a family, whatever you want. We’ll create our own memories. And we can hoard all the knickknacks, abused stuffed animals, and anything else our hearts desire from the family we create.”