Tires squealed as a car turned the corner in front of me. Headlights blared in my face. A window rolled down. I darted to the side just in time for another explosion to miss me. My shoes slipped on mud and I hit the ground, palms slamming against damp grass. The spell hit the road and blew a hole in the blacktop.
The van rolled to a stop beside me. With the rain, it was hard to see into the van’s open window but I could make out the outline of the driver. They wore a hooded sweatshirt. I couldn’t tell if they wore something over their face or if I simply couldn’t make it out in the shadows.
“Who are you?” I yelled.
I saw the flare of the spell ignite in the driver’s hand. I rolled onto my side, slipping in the wet grass. I wanted to stand but there was no time. I rolled onto my back and quickly removed the plastic from the mint.
I pulled my magic into my fist, willing it to go into the mint. Peppermint was usually used for cleansing spells and potions, for magic that helped with renewal. But it was a protective herb, and I sometimes included it in wards and protection spells. And right now, I needed all the protection I could get.
I pushed my magic into the round red and white candy, filling it with my intention, willing it to understand what I needed it to do. The driver’s hand reared back to throw their bomb spell at me. I took a quick breath and tossed the mint in the air. “Shield!” I commanded.
I admit, not the most elegant magic. And magic that had like a five percent chance of working. A protection spell needed to be brewed and then charms would be dipped into the viscous magical brew in order to hold the magic. My jerry-rigged spell was done hastily, with no other supporting ingredients.
The shield flew up around me just as the bomb spell slammed against it and bounced off. Instead of blowing me up, it exploded near the van’s tire, ripping the rubber right off it.
Relief washed over me. I was alive. My restaurant mint shield had deflected a freaking bomb. The attack had backfired on the jerk who’d thrown it.
I heard the driver curse. It was almost definitely a man’s voice.
But I didn’t wait around to confirm that fact or find out if they had other attack spells up their sleeves. I scrambled to my feet and ran for my life.
Two hours later, I stood at the mouth of Demon Alley.
To calm my nerves, I’d had a snifter of rosemary wine from Deanna’s Tavern, the eatery and bar that sat on the outskirts of the Underground Market. It was two blocks away from the main strip of vendors and most vanilla mortals would never stumble in the door, which was just fine with Deanna, the Tavern’s owner. She was some flavor of immortal, though which one was anyone’s guess. Deanna sure wasn’t telling. Whatever the case, she seemed to have no loyalty to any one group and welcomed vampires, shifters, faeries, elves, witches, even demons. Anyone who would pay and respected that her tavern was neutral ground. There were wards at the doorway that prevented anyone with malicious intent from entering and weapons were duly surrendered to a short, stocky bodyguard with pointy ears who was probably part orc.
The wine was strong and despite my desire to get as drunk as possible to fend off fears that I was, in fact, part demon, I’d stopped myself at the one drink. I wasn’t a good drunk. Actually, from what I’d been told, I was a great drunk: silly and laughing until I simply curled up and went to sleep. But I didn’t like being drunk. The lack of control made me itchy.
Sometimes, though, I needed to take the edge off.
And the more I’d thought about how well my peppermint shield spell had worked as I’d run from my attacker, the sharper the edge had gotten.
Jaden had been right: that wasn’t normal witch magic. Normal witch magic required time and a combination of ingredients melding together, like soup. And like soup, one might play around with ratios or exact ingredients, but one couldn’t simply pull out a pot of water and wave a hand and turn it into soup. Witch magic needed more than that.
My magic had worked just fine.
So I had stopped for a drink.
And once I’d finished, a little tipsy, my veins buzzing from the alcohol and residual adrenaline, I’d braved the trip to Demon Alley, which shot off from the market at the very end of the path. It was dark and gloomy, and the air wafting out of the alley was at least five degrees cooler than the air in the Market proper.
I passed the table Val and I rented and saw it was vacant. She hadn’t come to hock her wares tonight. I didn’t blame her but I wondered what she was doing. She had probably spent her night warding the house and entertaining Jaden, who would no doubt be impressed by her witchy talents.
I grumbled at that thought.
Jaden not being so impressed by me anymore was not the worst part of possibly being a warlock, but it sure didn’t make it any easier.
“Are you just going to stand there all night?” The voice was accented though what kind of accent, I couldn’t say. It clipped the words in a strange and unfamiliar way.
The voice had come from the shadows of Demon Alley. I stepped onto the cobblestone path. Dim lights hung over closed tents. There were no open tables in this part of the Market. You had to step inside a tent to get anything.
The woman who’d spoken stood close to the entrance of the alley. Stepping closer, I was able to make out her features. She looked young, maybe late twenties, but demons (and warlocks) did not age the way humans did. Unfortunately, their aging process only seemed to slow in their mid-twenties, which didn’t tell me anything about my own heritage as I’d yet to reach that age.
She wore a black corset that hugged her curves over trousers and a short sleeved blouse that was some dark color, maybe red or purple. She had short black hair in a pixie cut with tiny black horns sticking out of the top of her head. She wore a belt with a sword but didn’t reach for it. She was guarding the alley, I realized. Probably to discourage mortals from wandering into places they’d regret.
“What do you seek?” she asked.
A missing man. My mother. Who the heck I am.
“Answers.”
She eyed me steadily. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
I met her eyes and then flicked my gaze to her horns. “I need to know if I’m a warlock.”
She narrowed her eyes, her expression turning suspicious. I expected her to turn me away and tell me that if I didn’t know what I was, I had no business asking demons in the dark. “Ikor does blood magic. Second tent on the left.”
I swallowed. Blood magic was fairly common. Blood was the elixir of life and therefore key to many spells. But giving your blood to a demon was giving them a key to you personally. They could use that blood to appear at your side, to compel you to do their bidding, and any number of horrible and awful things. It was an incredibly stupid thing to do.
And I was almost desperate enough to do it. But not quite.
“There’s nothing else that can tell me if I’m half-demon?” I asked.
She shrugged unhelpfully. “Ask your parents.”
The snark was enough to shake me out of my sorrow and make me step back. If it was true that I was a warlock, there had to be other ways to find out. I could summon a demon on my own and demand answers. Maybe even find my father. I shuddered at the thought. That would be plan X or Y, after I tried a whole bunch of other things. Giving a strange demon my blood would have to be plan Z.
I left Demon Alley and resisted the urge to go plunk down on a stool at Deanna’s and drink the rest of the night away. Felix was still missing and possibly dead. No matter what, he deserved to be found and his family deserved answers.
I could either spend my time feeling sorry for myself because my mother was missing and I might be part demon, or I could help make sure Felix’s daughter didn’t have to grow up the way I had, without knowing anything for sure.
Chapter 16
I returned home to find my house so heavily warded that it practically glowed. It was a glow only witches could see—and would hopefully be sure to avoid—but it gave me an uneasy feeling
, like Valerie had painted a target on the roof. Not that the bad guys didn’t already know where we lived.
Inside, the kitchen and living room were dark—though the hall light was on—and I soon saw why: Jaden slept on the sofa, his boots carefully lined up on the floor beneath his feet, as if he might have to jump out of bed and throw them on at a moment’s notice. He slept on his side, his arms curled around one of the throw pillows. His mouth was slightly open and his black hair fell into his angular face.
My heart did a little dance. He looked beautiful when he slept and he wasn’t staring into me like he was trying to read my soul. Seth had curled up on the back of the sofa, his furry black body nearly invisible in the dimness.
“Little traitor,” I whispered to Seth. He curled up into a tighter ball.
I watched Jaden’s chest rise and fall and listened to his breath for long enough that it bordered on creepy. Finally, I scooped my cat up and headed to my room. I saw Valerie’s light on under her door but there was no noise and I couldn’t tell if she was asleep. I put Seth on my bed and went to the kitchen to get his food and a dish, and then fed him in my room so as not to wake Sleeping Beauty.
Seth didn’t care where he ate and happily lapped up his tuna delight while I pulled out an old photo album. In it were the few photos I had of my mother. My aunt had gone through my mom’s phone after she disappeared and had the best photos from it printed out and put into a book. Still, there had been precious few photos of us together. Most were of me, taken by her. The only ones in which we both appeared in were stray selfies or the random shot taken by my aunt when she visited or we went out together.
In one, my mom and I sat at a picnic table in a park with our cauldrons set up on it to make spells. Mom had cast a Go Away spell in the area to keep mortals from stumbling across the scene. The sunset behind us painted the sky pink and purple. I was six years old and smiling, my copper hair in cute little pigtails. I wore a blue jumper. Mom wore a black blouse and silver earrings that caught the light. Her hair, like Cecily’s, was a deep chestnut color, totally unlike the fiery red of my own. My hair had once felt like a strange connection to a father I’d never met, but now the color spoke to a more sinister possibility.
I closed the photo album and opened my laptop. I did a quick search through the police blotter, looking for signs that perhaps the mortals had found Felix. If he didn’t have a wallet on him, he’d be labeled a John Doe, so I searched for anyone who might match his description.
Nothing turned up. Seth hopped up onto the bed beside me, licked his lips, and then curled up on my pillow. “Where’s Felix?” I asked my cat, who flicked his tail in response.
When I awoke the next day still in my clothes, I could hear voices coming from the living room. I couldn’t make them out and frankly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to. For a moment last night, it had felt like Val, Jaden, and I were a team: we’d rescued Val, go Team Witch!
But now I felt like a wall had come down between us, with them on one side and me on the other.
I slipped into the bathroom and cleaned up before braving the living room, where the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air.
Val sat at the island with a mug in hand, dressed in a black blouse, her hair up in a bun. Jaden, whose clothes were rumpled from sleep but somehow still looked like a million bucks, sat on the sofa, sipping from his own mug.
The voices stopped as soon as I appeared at the end of the hall, never a good sign.
“Good morning,” I said, feigning cheer. “How’d you sleep?”
Jaden stared at me as if I’d spoken in a demon language. Valerie watched me curiously. Finally, Jaden said, “Quite well, thanks.”
That lump tried to form in my throat again. I swallowed it down and forced a pleasant tone. “Great. So, are you going to help me find Felix or just keep gossiping about me behind my back?”
Valerie’s cheeks flared faintly pink. “We weren’t gossiping,” she said defensively, though I suspected they absolutely were.
“I intend to find Felix,” Jaden said, though I noticed he wouldn’t meet my eyes. Guilty and busted. “How can I help?”
I hesitated. These people weren’t friends, per se, but they were the closest thing I had to them besides my cat. Jaden had even seemed impressed with my magic skills until he’d decided I was a warlock. What I was going to propose wouldn’t go over well, but at this point, I didn’t have anything to lose and Felix still needed to be found.
“What are your feelings on ghost potions?” I asked.
Jaden nearly choked on his coffee.
Valerie sucked in a breath. “You can’t do that. It’s illegal,” she said firmly.
“It’s illegal to work with demon blood,” I said. Even being caught with demon blood was enough to get you in trouble. Its use had been outlawed by the Greater Witch Council—the larger council that all local councils answer to—in 1780. Summoning demons was bad enough but it was legal if you kept them in a circle and didn’t let them out. Taking their blood—or buying it or having it—was a violation of the Witches’ Code. “It’s not illegal to do magic with my blood. Which, if it is half-demon, should work just fine.”
Valerie opened her mouth to argue but couldn’t fault my logic so she looked to Jaden, eyes pleading for him to find some reason why I shouldn’t do it. Jaden considered, rubbing the stubble on his chin (which was way more attractive than I wanted to find it).
“She’s right. There’s nothing illegal about using her own blood. Most witches do.”
“But…” Valerie sputtered, setting her mug on the counter with slightly more force than necessary. “It’s wrong.”
“We don’t even know if my blood has any demon in it,” I pointed out. Valerie glared at me like I was stupid. “Maybe I’ll just get lucky and the spell will work with witch blood. But I have to try. Unless you have a better idea?”
Neither of them did. We knew Valerie’s kidnapper was probably the same person who’d taken Felix, and we knew he’d meant to kill Val. Which meant it was likely that Felix was dead. He wasn’t going to turn up on his own and his body could be anywhere.
A ghost potion would replay a shadowy version of events, sort of like a real life instant replay. It was limited in what it could show as it had to be finely tuned to one person and dropped in a location relevant to what you wanted to see. So you couldn’t just brew ghost potion, drop it on a random city block and see history come alive. You had to fine tune it to a specific event and even then, it could only conjure so much.
But I still had Felix’s hair. That, combined with my blood (if it had any demon in it at all) and the right brew, could tell us where Felix had gone after he left the Lodge. Even if it wasn’t able to lead us to him, it could give us a direction to go and maybe a clue or two as to what had happened.
“It’s worth a shot,” Jaden said.
“You can’t let her do that!” Valerie scowled, folding her arms over her chest. “In fact, if you try, I’ll report it.”
“Report what? I’m allowed to experiment with magic,” I pointed out. All witches were. It was why everyone’s spellbooks had variations on the same spells, all personalized and tweaked for the witch and their family. Spells were like banana bread: there were thousands of ways to make it and get more or less the same result if you used roughly the same ingredients. That was how I knew that magic didn’t need to be so darn rigid all the time.
My tendency to use wildly different ingredients pushed that idea to an extreme and that was why some members of my coven thought I was reckless. You could only stretch things so far, a point Valerie had made many times and a point I’d always been desperate to disprove.
Now, though, all that was cast in a new light. Was my ability to stretch things further than the average witch the result of me being willing to push the limits or was it the result of demonic blood in my veins? I was scared to find out. But it was our best bet to find Felix.
Valerie grumbled and went into her room, refusing to ha
ve any part in this plan. That was probably for the best. Valerie was easily the best witch of our generation in terms of traditional magic. She worked hard and wanted a place on the council more than anything. No sense in dragging her down with me if I got caught.
I turned to Jaden. “You realize my plan to use forbidden magic to find a man that someone at the council doesn’t want found could get you into trouble, right? You might want to back out now, too.”
He smirked. “And let you have all the fun?”
A knot unwound in my chest. At least I still had someone by my side, even if he thought I was a warlock and probably only using me and this case to prove himself to the council or his father or something.
“All right. Let’s get started.”
I headed to the garden to gather the necessary fresh herbs (bay leaf, a leaf from a nightshade plant, and a dandelion stalk) and then set my cauldron up on the kitchen island. I pulled other herbs from the pantry, including golden flax seed and ginseng. Then I retrieved the last of Felix’s hair from his brush.
I put a cup of water and a pinch of baking soda into the cauldron and mixed it around, adding the herbs after infusing a bit of magic into each. I stirred it together and then willed more magic into the brew until it bubbled. I dropped Felix’s hair in and a puff of green smoke rose into the air.
Then came the hard part. I pulled out a knife and held my finger over the bubbling liquid. I met Jaden’s eyes. He nodded. I pricked my finger and let two drops of bright red blood fall into the pot. The moment they hit, light exploded and the brew coalesced into a sickly green potion. It smelled sour and pungent, like soup that had sat in the fridge a little too long and was starting to rot.
I ladled it out and into a bottle with a funnel. Then I screwed the lid on, careful to sprinkle salt in the cauldron to defuse the remnants of the spell. I’d wash the pot out later. Ghost potions had a shorter shelf life than most magic so we had to work fast.
Risky Magic: A Trash Witch Novel Page 10