Witch for Hire

by Shyla Colt

  ***

  It’s surreal being outside the shop after all this time. It hasn’t changed. The black sign boasts the name ‘Esçhete’s Boutique’ in bold, swirling black lettering. ‘Teas, Herbal Remedies, and More’ appear in a smaller font below. We’ve always been more discrete. Mémé says announcing we’re magic wielders is tacky, and like begging fakes and frauds to come. This is the first line of defense in weeding out the exact sort we don’t want. She’s stayed stringent about keeping things unchanged.

  The historical business has stood the test of time, surviving flooding, hurricanes, and the erosion that comes with time itself.

  The gray brick building could’ve been transported from the 1890s when it was originally built, once we moved from the basement of our homestead into town. The high windows, trimmed in white wood with their black storm shutters stand tall on either side of the entrance, like soldiers guarding precious cargo.

  The thick wooden door with its slate glass panes is older than me. The upkeep has been meticulous, but no real changes have occurred. I get the feeling it has to do with the power in the original warding laid along with the foundation.

  “I used to ask my maman why we never moved forward and modernized. She told me there’s a comfort in things that never change. I didn’t understand until I saw the first ancient visitor. When you live long enough in a constantly changing world, there’s a special bond with a place that is exactly as you remembered it.”

  “Was she catering to them, even then? Our truce wasn’t even fully formed yet.”

  “We Esçhetes are long-term planners. We see what’s to come and act accordingly.”

  I nod my head. Seers often act in a manner that seems erratic to others. While we haven’t had a new one in this generation, they were once a prominent part of our history.

  “Come, let’s see how much you remember.”

  I trail behind her as she opens the shop door. Mémé is only here two days a week, so we find Mondays and Wednesdays are among our busiest. The fact that I’m booked on those dates solidly for over a month hasn’t escaped me. I’m earning my forgiveness with hard work and sweat, under her eagle eyes.

  The wards tingle as we walk through them. I’m struck mute with an overwhelming sense of homecoming. I blink back the tears as acceptance, love, and belonging hammer into me. This is my church. Where the impossible is possible, signs reveal themselves, and mysteries lie waiting to be solved. How did I ever walk away from this?

  “You have too much work to do to let the guilt eat at you. We need that fire you got inside that lead you away from this place when everyone told you not to go. Remember all those lessons you learned out there on your own.”

  The words are a salve to the wound reopened. I’m building new bridges. It’s a painfully slow, back-breaking task, but I’ve always been up for a challenge. She flips the light switch and the electricity hums as things begin to slowly come to life, illuminating the familiar space. I inhale the unique smell. The spicy sweet blend of herbs never quite fades from this place.

  My internal instincts send out a silent alarm as a power rushes toward us. Tensing, I set aside the stone mortar and pestle to free my hands.

  “Mémé, do we have any meetings scheduled today?”

  “None that were planned, but we’ve never been formal around these parts.”

  Our wards are made to keep those intending harm out, but the feel of the being sets my nerves on edge. There’s a familiarity to it. Luz. My chest aches and my stomach sours. Though I knew this moment would arrive, there’s no amount of preparation that could soften the blow.

  The door opens, and it’s like no time has passed. Her unblemished olive skin glows with health and vitality, and her midnight hair is pulled back in a ponytail. The thick stands tumble down to her shoulder blades in medium-sized curls. Black jeans encase her long, lean legs, and the black tank top with a white skull shows off the chiseled muscles of her arms.

  Her deep-set onyx eyes are surrounded by a sooty set of long lashes. Her broad forehead is softened by the glossy thick perfectly arched eyebrows. She’s stunning. The fury rolling off her in suffocating waves doesn’t detract from her beauty. “I’d heard, but I needed to see it for myself to believe the rumors.” Her lips form a straight line.

  “I’ll be in the back working on a pickup order,” Mémé states, giving us the privacy we need.

  I force my vocal chords to work. “And now that you have?” I say quietly.

  “I ask myself for how long.” Even after all this time, the accent of her origins lightly tints her speech, lending a lilting quality to her alto.

  “For good, chaton.” The endearment rolls easily off my tongue before I can stop myself. Relationships are different when age has no baring. Despite the vast years between us, she will always be my kitten.

  She scowls. A lesser person would be quaking in their boots. She’s Cristobal’s right hand for a reason. “You expect me to believe this?”

  “It’s the truth, regardless.” It sounds lame to my own ears, and I cringe mentally. Her jaw clenches. She rushes forward faster than I can track and slams her fists onto the table in front of me. The wood groans in protest. Her eyes are a fathomless black, full of malice and—for those who know how to look—hurt. What does one say to the person whose heart you’ve broken? I flinch but refuse to look away. I owe her that much, to witness her response to my actions. I want to reach out and touch her, tell her I would take away her pain and bear it as my own if I could.

  Vampires don’t experience things the way humans do. Their longevity, predatory nature, and life experiences make it impossible. Each year, they forget what it meant to be human a little more, and it shows. When they commit to caring, it borders on obsession with its intensity.

  This is why they tend to avoid entanglements with those they view as fragile. It’s self-preservation at its most basic level. A human’s life is but a blink of an eye in comparison to their own, and not worth the emotional investment.

  Once they do decide to care, the relationship is unlike anything I could put to words.

  “I left this place, not you.” I tried to contact her once I left. Each time the phone call went unanswered. After months of no response, I accepted the reality. By severing my ties with this place, with the man who made me fall so deeply in love I lost sight of everything else, I’d lost her.

  “You expected me to choose? To continue to associate with you after what you did to him? My father?” I hear the lost little girl in her voice. My heart weeps for the damage done. I did this to us, and it’s up to me to fix it if she’ll allow me. She stands, straightening to her full five-feet-nine inches.

  Just like that, an impenetrable wall is erected between us. Her face is wiped of emotion as she reaches into the leather satchel across her body. She pulls out a scroll, sealed with the Cortez wax stamp. My heart leaps into my throat.

  “An invitation to the celebration of the autumnal equinox.”

  The celebration of summer to fall, when the days shortened has always been revered by our kind. The others who depend on the changes in weather to gain power. Whether they admit it or not. Vampires feel the pull of the moon. Even if the rumor that they can’t walk in the sunlight was a self-perpetuated myth to throw humans off their trail.

  The ones afflicted by the sun sensitivity are rare and weak, or descended from a line few talk about. The way we would dismiss a caveman whose DNA is so far from our own, or a mass murder not quite put together properly.

  “You say invitation the way most say summons.”

  Her thin lips form a wicked smirk. “Semantics.”

  “I am no longer one of his court to command.”

  Her bark of laughter is harsh, echoing in the silent space. “Did you think you could return and not play the role you agreed to? That you could disregard my father’s rules? You were allowed to remain wher
e you are in peace only because of his patience and benevolence. You will not insult him here.” She holds the scroll out until I take it. The scent of tobacco smoke and old paper drifts up to me. People who use the phrase old school , don’t’ know the real meaning. Vampires can be downright medieval with the way they adhere to ancient practices.

  Always with the damn politics. She has me. An insult from me would be perceived as being from all of the Esçhete family, and place a strain on our treaty.

  “I have my own celebration to head.” I remind her gently. She’s on edge now, a dangerous woman walking on a thin ledge.

  “How fortunate for you, our celebrations will not start until after midnight.”

  My hands shake as the walls close in around me. I’m caught in a snare. Our first reunion should not be in front of so many eyes. I’m stubborn, not foolish.

  I peer up at the ceiling and massage the bridge of my nose. “When and where does he wish to meet?”

  “Aaah, so you haven’t forgotten everything?”

  “I’ve forgotten nothing. That wasn’t what leaving was about.” I spin the silver charm bracelet on my rest slowly to relieve the tension coursing through me.

  “Then what, Lou?”

  I close my eyes. How could I explain it in a way she could understand?

  “A human weakness. One I can’t convey in a way I’d feel you’d understand. Some is personal. Only meant to be kept between he and I—”

  “You can’t even say his name.” The disgust dripping from every word stings. Saying his name out loud makes our bond hum. It makes it harder to keep the barrier I’ve placed between us solid. To her it would be silly, fighting the inevitable. To me, it’s the ultimate act of rebellion and resistance. I’m fanning the last dying embers of independence before the coals go cold and the flame is extinguished completely.

  “You may not like my choices, but they were mine to make. When and where, Luz?”

  Her nostrils flare. “Tonight at plantation park. If you don’t show up, he will find you.” The historic site is full of abandoned wooden homes that once belonged to my ancestors, slaves who were freed and started their own community.

  It’s neutral ground. There his powers will be lessened, and I have a backup. His consideration infuriates me. I don’t want his kindness when I have none in my heart toward him to reciprocate. It makes me look petty while he maintains that cool aloofness that gives me the urge to break dishes and fling him across the room with my powers. Now I actually could. In joining us, he’d given me equal footing. Suddenly I’m looking forward to our meeting.

  “He also gave me one last thing to give to you.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a white linen handkerchief. Unfolding the square she reveals a Posy ring with a knot motif. My heart races as she sets the priceless item on the counter.

  The intricate knots woven together symbolize endless love. The pattern stands out against the gold in it’s purest form. From the fifteenth century, the ring was once given to me as a promise.

  “The unbelievable bastard.”

  Luz is gone, and Cristobal has thrown down the gauntlet.

  Chapter Four

  If I was stronger, I’d dial it in and wear the rattiest clothing I own. But I’m petty, and I know the bastard will be dressed to the nines in some sickeningly fashionable designer number. What do you wear when you’re meeting the ex from hell? Some would say literally. A skin-tight pair of jeans, shit kickers, and an off-the-shoulder fitted black top. My corset has the girls strapped in for the long ride, yet has enough give for me to maneuver.

  Studying my reflection, I roll on black lipstick. I flex my fingers as I take in the hair I’ve slicked back from my face. The ring is cool against my skin. He has me over a barrel. If I don’t wear it I’ll look weak and unwilling to move forward. If I do, he’ll see how epically I failed at purging him from my heart.

  I find no trace of the devastated girl who left with her tail between her legs in my reflection. I nod my approval and do a slight glamour to keep everything in place. What’s magic for, if you can’t help yourself out a little? I slip from the basement dreaming of the day my home will be ready for move in. Two more weeks. I grab my black purse, sling it over my shoulder, and set out to face my demons.

  I make my way across the grass, drawing strength and calm from the oak trees covered in Spanish Moss. Brushing the tree bark, I feel the faint stirrings of the men and women who came to Louisiana before me from Africa. Their presence is a reassuring hum in the background as I focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

  He’s not here yet, but I can feel him coming closer at top speed. My legs weaken as I move toward the nearest cabin and sink down on the porch. My mouth is the Sahara, and my head is light. I swallow repeatedly and breathe deeply to calm my racing heart. The sweet smell of night blooming jasmine and cedar trees blend, grounding me.

  I spot his form on the outskirts. Tall and lithe. Though I loathe to admit it, my night vision is better than a human’s. Energy crackles on my fingertips. Bright green sparks break the inky blackness of night. My stomach sours. Being in the same space works as an amplifier for us. I’m manifesting new powers. He’s turned me into something foreign. Physical manifestation of magic is rare and left to the most powerful.

  I curl my hands into fists. He foresaw this all those years ago in that graveyard. He recognized the potential the two of us could create together. My chest aches. Some wounds cut too deep to ever fully heal. Anger pools in my belly. I wanted love. I got lies and manipulation instead.

  A pulsing ball of energy forms in front of me. I’m hypnotized by the technic-color glow. How could this come from me?

  I shake under the strain of maintaining it. What was created in anger is burning off my reserves.

  “Let. It. Go.”

  The command given in a dulcet tone snaps my hold on the newly discovered power. The ball hurtles toward him. I rescind the magic, knowing the backlash of the abrupt interruption of signal flow is going to be a bitch. Lifted off my feet by a form of magical feedback, I’m pitched back violently. My stomach drops, and then I’m caught in a strong pair of arms. The gravity of seeing him in person so close up presses down on me as I drown in his chocolate-colored gaze. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.

  All thought flees as my barriers buckle like the compromised hull of a ship. High, well-sculpted cheekbones lead down to a strong, diamond-shaped jaw rounded out by a dimpled chin. His button nose gives an eternal boyish quality to his rugged good lucks. He swallows, and my gaze is drawn to his throat as my mind is worked over by years of memories.

  We’re exchanging information like two computers updating. He cups my face. “Louella.” I twitch as I ride the wave of power being exchanged between us.

  “Cristobal,” I force his name out from between my clenched teeth. This isn’t the way I wanted our encounter to go, but when have I ever held the upper hand? He’s not the vampire I once knew. His power has increased three-fold and wraps around him like an invisible shield. Master. The politics between us have just changed. In a span of moments, I see the rise of his new empire, expansion of his court, and the responsibilities that have been placed on him. Lord of several cities up until New Orleans, he’s known for being fair, and ruthless when necessary.

  Regrouped, I pull back, breaking the intense eye-lock and lessening the connection. I pull away from him, eager for space. He stands, and straightens his black hand-stitched Italian suit. It’s not lost on me that he’s wearing the Obsidian cufflinks I once charmed and gifted him for extra protection. He holds out his hand. I stare at the appendage.

  “Have things become so bad between us you won’t accept my help?”

  I grasp his hand and allow him to help me rise on shaky legs. The sincerity in his voice slices through my walls. I take a deep breath. The intense rage has dissipated, leaving behind raw emotions I’ve y
et to deal with fully. The thing about running is it only holds off the inevitable.

  “Am I to assume you’re ready to have the conversation years overdue since you’ve returned?” His lips curl up slightly at the edges. “And you’re wearing my ring?”

  I snort. “Because you’d let me get away with not having it?”

  He presses his lips together and furrows his dark brows. “I think you know me better than that.”

  “I used to think so, too.And the ring is mine, you just returned it to me.”

  He sighs. Deflated by my response.“You still hold on to this preconceived slight?”

  “Oh, there was nothing misconstrued about it. What you did—”

  “Made sense,” he insists sternly. I shake my head. He’s always so sure he’s right. It’s a good trait to have in a leader, but a poor one in a significant other.

  “For you.”

  “For us,” he corrects coolly.

  I shoot him a dirty look. “For yourself.” I’m not going to back down on this issue.

  He rushes forward, and grabs my face, framing them in his large hands. “Every move I made has been with you in mind from the moment we first met. Do you think I’ve built this empire for myself? A king is nothing without a queen to rule beside him. You think I’ve done nothing but take? Yet, you are no longer a fragile human, susceptible to illness and attacks. You’re hardier.

  Was I the only one who just witnessed your new powers? Had you stayed behind and sorted through things instead of fleeing, you would’ve learned about that and much more by now. Your anger is misplaced.”

  “Don’t talk to me as if I’m a child.” I jerk back, and he releases me.

  “Now that you’ve decided to act like an adult, I shan’t.”

  “Don’t you give me this ‘I’ll take the high road’ bullshit. I know the savagery that lies underneath that cool exterior.”

  “And yet, you’ve never experienced it for yourself. Because I always aim to protect you and place you first. Which is why you should know the reason I bound us was for your safety.” He places his hands behind his back and let the icy facade he wears like a mask settle into place.