Witch for Hire

by Shyla Colt

  He’s yet to reach his potential. I’d put him at around four-hundred easily. I wonder what line he descends from and which sire created him. I need to keep this professional and fast.

  We come to a stop in front of the freshly dug grave. Immense power radiates from beneath the ground. It’s not pulsing, so I know it’s a member of the undead community or a fallen supernatural being. Either way, it’s not my place to ask.

  “You understand why I chose this grave?”

  I nod. The power of the person buried is directly linked to the effectiveness of the graveyard dust I’ll use to cast the spell of protection. Whoever lays here is a friend of Cristobal. Their spirit is willing to assist him.

  “Sister,” she calls to me, an older witch who was quite fond of him.

  “Sister,” I return her acknowledgment. “I would like to collect the dirt from your resting place if you’ll allow me.”

  “Consider it done, my sister. Cris was a good friend and will continue to be one to our kind.”

  I store the information to bring back home.

  “She agrees.” Reaching into the burlap bag, I remove the Mason jar wrapped in black silk cloth. I hand it to Cris— Cristobal. “I want you to place this on your bare skin, so it soaks up your essence.”

  He complies. I walk to the grave, opening my senses. The witch guides me, playing a game of hot and cold as I search for the right spot. I end up digging from the position where her chest area would be to retrieve dirt from the heart. I use the jar to scoop up loose soil. A jolt of electricity shoots up my arm. I gasp as the power flows through me. She’s given me her blessing and a bon. She really loved him. It’s strange to think of a witch so attached to a vampire. We tend to be a segregated bunch.

  “Thank you, sister.” I bow, feeling refreshed instead of drained. She leant me some of her energy. It’s an honor, and an impressive feat after death. I wonder once more who lies in the unmarked grave.

  “Are you okay?”

  I glance up and jerk back. His face is inches from me. My mouth goes dry. I swallow. “Yes, your friend was quite generous. She approves of using her grave for this. It will make the protection spell even stronger.”

  Reaching out, he tucks a stray hair behind my ear. I hold my breath.

  “Yes, I imagined she would be.” He stands.

  I screw the lid back on the jar, depositing it into my bag. I pull out a travel bottle of rum to pay my fee for buying the dirt—a tradition that goes back years and years in root working.

  “For your help,” I say as the thirsty earth takes the liquor down. He holds out his hand, and I accept his help to rise. Sparks fly between us. I drop his hand and take a step back.

  “What was that?” he asks.

  “Residual energy from the exchange.” I refuse to look any deeper into the strange occurrence.

  “Ahh. Yes, the old girl did always have a flair for the dramatic.”

  The fondness in his voice intrigues me. All of the vampires I’ve come across are so cold and closed off. I get why. Once you live long enough, you get used to saying good-bye to people. It’s best to be selective who you care about, or you’ll go insane.

  “I can tell.” I tuck the jar in my bag. “I believe casting the circle here will increase the potency of the spell. She wishes you well and is willing to lend her power to me.”

  “I’m agreeable to that.”

  “Do you have the vessel for the amulet?” I ask.

  He reaches into his pocket, and I hold out my palm for the shiny silver money clip. Smart. Small and unassuming, it’s the perfect way to hide his talisman in plain sight. The cool metal is just a touch colder than his hand. His slight warmth surprises me. Perhaps he’s recently fed. His wink sends blood rushing into my cheeks. Observant, isn’t he?

  “Thank you. I go over this with every client. It’s policy. Once I cast the circle, you may not exit until I finish the spell and open the circle again. I need you to remain quiet and allow me to concentrate. Regardless of what you see, taste, hear, or smell, I am in total control.”

  He arches an eyebrow. “Are you expecting pomp and circumstance?”

  “It takes a lot of power to protect one such as yourself. It’s a lot of energy to build up, and we’re in the middle of a graveyard full of active ghosts with a dead witch who will lend her power to us. In my mind, it’s better to be over prepared than to be caught with your ass uncovered.”

  He chuckles. “Yes, I like that way of thinking. You’ve left out the fact that you’re an Esçhete. Your bloodline is powerful.”

  “I am but a humble servant of nature.” I smile and press my hands together in a prayerful manner.

  “If you truly believe that, you’re a rare jewel among witches.”

  His words are a delicate caress over my skin. I lower my gaze from his. Maybe vampires can glamour witches after all.

  “I understand your rules, Louella.” He turns my name into a seduction. I’ve never heard it spoken this way before … as if I’m a refined high-born lady of days past. The air around me grows thin. I clear my throat.

  “I have everything we need. If you’ll sit, I’ll cast the circle.” I walk over to even ground and set down my bag. “Here’s perfect.” He sinks down in front of me, and I begin to pull out everything I’ll need and set it on the ground in front of him. It gives me something to focus on. I grab my stick of sandalwood incense and light the end with a thought. The smoke winds its way up into the atmosphere, and I move in a circle, waving smoke in the four corners.

  The area begins to hum. Energy surges up from the ground through the soles of my feet and up my body. I can see a nearly translucent barrier. My heart thuds as I pick up the pouch of salt and cast a perimeter mentally and physically.

  There’s something happening here I don’t fully understand; I’ve never been able to physically manifest like this. A blue aura forms a dome above us, shimmers and fades into nothing once more.

  “Did you see that?” Cris asks.

  “Yes,” I say, reassuring him it’s not his abilities at work.

  “I knew I asked for the right witch.”

  I call out to my ancestors, seeking their protection and blessing of my circle as I imagine the space we’re inside filling with a white light moving in a circle. When I end the casting, I swear the earth trembles below my feet. Glancing at him, I sink in front of him, Indian-style.

  I swear the space shrinks. His gaze locks on mine and I fight the urge to fall into his dark pools. I grab the bowl. The coolness of the green marble grounds me, pulling me back from the vortex threatening to suck me in. I place the bowl between us and hold my hands out over it.

  “Let everything flow with grace and ease, I call upon the powers of my ancestors, and the Divine goddess to grant Cristobal Cortez protection from all harm. With this blessed water, I will wash away the negative energies.” I ring my bell to welcome in the spirts, pop the cork on the water, and pour it into the bowl. I dip my fingertips inside. I anoint his forehead. Crackling energy roars to life between us.

  I take the white candle, and send out the spark with my mind to light the wick. “With this candle, I illuminate the path and banish the darkness. All negative forces be gone. Disappear on the wind, and vanish like smoke.” I place the candle in the holder and hold out my hands. “Picture the threats in your mind.” He takes them. I gasp as images bombard my brain—blood, teeth, claws, and torture. Struggling against the mental onslaught, I lift his worries up and cast them out. A streak of lightning illuminates the dark sky. Thunder booms overhead. The air charges.

  “You are safe, protected, and powerful.” My voice is eerie and disembodied. His eyes take on an eerie glow. His fangs lengthen. I should be worried, but strangely, I’m not. My breasts swell and my nipples harden, as my body comes to life. The conjuring has taken an unexpected erotic turn.

  Ignoring
the flush over my body, I release his hand, pick up the money clip, and open the secret compartment. I unscrew the top of the graveyard dust, sprinkle some into the tiny space, and add the blessed water.

  “Rip off a piece of the cloth.” He pulls it from under his shirt, tears it with his teeth, and bites into his wrist. The coppery scent assaults my nose. Blood magic. It always comes down to this with them. He lets the dark red fluid drip onto the small piece of cloth and places it into the compartment. I close it shut, spelling it to remain sealed until I release the command.

  “It is done.” I ring the bell, and I’m lifted slightly off the ground as the energy leaves the circle. As I land with a gentle thud, I release a shaky breath. My nerves are tingling. The hairs on my neck and arms stand on end. I struggle to catch my breath.

  “Is it like that every time you cast?” he asks. His unruffled exterior irritates me. Not one hair is out of place.

  “No.” Weariness slows my movements as I open up the circle and disturb the salt. Drained, I pause and close my eyes.

  Suddenly he’s beside me with an arm around my waist. “Perhaps it would be best if you rested here a moment.”

  “You’ve gotten what you came for.” I’m uncomfortable with him viewing my momentary weakness. Despite his charm and good looks, I can’t forget his true nature.

  “Only a portion.”

  My stomach flips. I’ve never been trusted with such an important client before. If I screw up, this could be my last chance.

  I frown. “Did I not fulfill our contract?”

  “That’s not what I speak of.”

  Confused, I shake my head.

  “Don’t worry, Louella. You’ll soon understand my intentions.”

  Catching my second wind, I pull away. He releases me, yet remains close as I gather my items.

  “I will walk you to your vehicle.”

  “I don’t need—”

  “Please allow me the honor.”

  There’s a steely tone beneath the politeness I don’t have the strength to battle.

  PRESENT

  I had no clue then that the encounter would completely alter my life. Perhaps if I had, I would’ve cleansed myself and prayed to my ancestors to remove the insatiable attraction and inexplicable connection we shared. Not that they would’ve. I’m a piece on a chessboard they aim to use.

  Chapter Three

  Magic prickles along my skin as I cross the invisible barrier laid out to dissuade humans and harm those who have ill intentions toward members of the community. There are bonuses to family history. The longer your bloodlines inhabit a place, the more power, protection, and control you have over the environment. As I steer my car down the winding roads, I wonder what awaits me. I didn’t place a phone call, because they already know I’m coming.

  My heart is permanently lodged in my throat as I drive down the dirt lane roads seemingly untouched by time. Everything is crisper. Colors appear brighter, and the air smells of musky magnolia blossoms, moss, and wildness. It’s the scent of home. My eyes water as I round the curve and head deeper into the woodland area. It’s like crossing over into a different world.

  The curving limbs let light filter through the branches, casting a kaleidoscope of shadows and light. Once you leave the small town and enter the outskirts, the wilderness is untamed, and the people you meet are equally so. The farther out I go, the sparser the homes. At the tail end of the stretch of land with nothing around for miles, I spy the white center hall southern home in the middle of ten acres of land. Mémé sits in her rocker on the porch where I’ve spent so much of my time.

  A pitcher of what I know will be sweet tea sits on the table beside her with two glasses. She’s the welcoming committee.

  Her hair has turned from silver to a shocking white mass she has tamed into a braid that makes it way down her back. The closer I get, the more I recognize the new wrinkles in her dark brown skin. She’s thin, yet spry. I park my car, and quickly exit, longing for the comfort only a grandmother can give. She rises from the chair, and I keep my pace just shy of a jog as I hurry up the stairs. No words are necessary as our hearts rejoice at being reunited.

  We pull apart, and she smiles. I sense her forgiveness. It’s more than I deserve and everything I need.

  “Come, take a walk with me in the gardens.”

  I offer my arm, and we make our way down the stairs to the massive herb and vegetable garden we keep out back. I wait for her to speak as we walk the well-tended rows.

  “It’s no coincidence we find ourselves gathered together again. We’re going to need everyone pulling their weight and doing their part.”

  “Are we in financial trouble, Mémé?” I ask, concerned. I was out of the loop in more ways than one during my hiatus.

  “Non, that would be easy. This is much worse. Once again, the Esçhete family is in danger. We had a lengthy period of peace, but all things come to an end.” She shakes her head, her brow furrowed. “There’s a darkness coming toward us, and we got no choice but to fight it. There will be no real sides to take, or neutrality allowed this time. It’s a ravenous, power hungry thing barreling toward us. Division in the family will spell our end.”

  “Mémé,” I whisper, shaken by her words, “you can’t let that happen.”

  “This is not my fight, bébé.”

  “Don’t talk like that.” My throat constricts.

  “I still got years of life in me, gal. I only speak the truth in this matter. It’s time to start building a new pathway. For the first time since I took the mantle of power, I can’t see what’s coming for us. I get the shape and the feel of it, but the more I try to see, the more shrouded it becomes. That means it’s not for my eyes.” Pausing, a shudder passes through her, and she places a hand on my shoulder. Her dark brown gaze bores into mine. “It’s pure evil, cher. I haven’t felt the likes of anything like this in my lifetime. Running from what you are meant to be and do never works, bébé. Da universe puts you back in the right place every time … believe me.”

  I shake my head, unable to absorb what she’s said. “Mémé, if you can’t do this, surely we’re lost.”

  She hisses, “Have you forgotten everything while you were away? Who you are and where you come from? We make the impossible happen and do what we must. This is no different.”

  The meaning of her words are coming through loud and clear. She’s ready to pass on the torch to me. My gut aches. “Mémé, s’il vous plaît.”

  She clicks her tongue. “Do you think you’re the only Esçhete overwhelmed by the daunting task of leadership and familial responsibilities? That none of us wanted to leave and never look back? Before your grand-père, I tried. I went to a fancy school out East, tried to temper my accent, and dreamt of a new life. I got a certificate in secretarial courses and even worked and lived on my own for a couple of months.”

  My expression must have mirrored my shock. “Wait. You left?”

  “Oui. Not that it mattered. My maman became sick, and I had to return home and manage my brothers and sisters. I met your grand-père not long after, and I stopped fighting what was meant to be. Upsetting the balance of things to keep myself happy was something I couldn’t stomach. It was more than Maman’s sickness that had gone wrong during my departure. The familial power was waning. The ancestors were displeased and made it known. They can take away as easily as they give. It’s no secret we have to toe the line to keep things running sometimes. If the foundation weakens, the house crumbles and the wolves, who are always waiting on the fringes, rush in to devour, leaving nothing behind but bits for the vultures to finish off. We’re more than a powerful family. We’re the keepers of the balance, charged with peacemaking, and defending those weaker than ourselves. We’ve always served our community. In return, we’ve been blessed because we respect the agreement. I allowed you your time to experience the world outside. Now it’s tim
e for you to be the strong, capable woman you were raised to be. More than you could imagine is at stake. Remember that.”

  There’s a universe of things left unsaid with that sentence. Clouds overhead blot out the sun momentarily. A chill travels down my spine. I can sense the impending arrival of something wicked.

  “What do you need me to do?” I ask.

  “Prepare.” I nod my head and stand straighter. I see the approval in her face. “Good. Now let’s go to the sunroom. Everyone is waiting for us.”

  I follow her back the way we came.

  The smell of boiled potatoes, corn, and crawfish make my stomach rumble as we approach the sunroom. The space is crowded with familiar faces: Tante Heloise, my mom, Tante Odette, and my cousins, Vit, Aimee, and Fel. Uncle Louis and Uncle Andre man two large pots. We step inside, and I run for my mother. Jacinth Esçhete has been my rock from day one. Not being able to see her frequently has put a strain on us both.

  “Looks like the prodigal daughter has returned.” The icy voice holds nothing but contempt and ill will.

  “Hi, Tante Odette.”

  “You think you can come in and pick up where you left off? It’s not that easy, girl. Things have changed.”

  “And yet not,” I say, unwilling to censor my response. If she wants to come out the gate swinging, she’ll be disappointed to find I’m all grown up and done taking her shit.

  “I’ve never been one to beat around the bush. So, I’m not going to start now. We’ve all got to figure out our place in this world. She had to leave to do that. I won’t let it be held against her when I did the very same thing. What matters now is she’s here. The time for unification is at hand.” Her stern voice sliced through the discord like a knife through hot butter.

  A boom of thunder shook the earth as clouds blot out the sun. The wind blows in, and lightning streaks across the gray sky. The power Mémé wields with a mere thought is awe-inspiring.

  “So I will it.” Her voice is genderless as it echoes.

  “So mote it be,” we reply. The matter is closed. The queen has ruled.