Risky Magic: A Trash Witch Novel

by Tori Centanni

  “She might know something,” I pointed out. But my pulse raced and my heart hammered. Kayla Cross was dangerous. She’d been exiled from the coven when I was in my teens after supposedly using demon blood in a spell that went wrong and turned two innocents—non-witches—into nematodes. Several years of trial and error turned those poor people back, but the damage was done.

  Trouble was, no one could prove Kayla had used demon blood on purpose. She claimed someone must have swapped out her lizard’s blood without her knowledge and other coven members defended her reputation. So after much contentious debate, instead of being arrested and jailed, Kayla was simply exiled from the coven.

  Most who were exiled moved very far away. Some eschewed witchcraft and tried to live as normal humans. Some practiced witchcraft alone in the woods. Others changed their names and joined covens five states away hoping no one would make the connection.

  Kayla stubbornly remained in Seattle, refusing to leave and let the local coven win. It was a sore spot to the council.

  It was against coven rules to speak with a person who’d been exiled. That was the point, after all. The council kept tabs on her, but no one was supposed to be her friend or hang out with her or whatever.

  “How can she possibly know anything about local witch affairs?” Jaden said, folding his arms over his chest. He looked foreboding but I caught a spark of fear in his emerald eyes.

  Jaden, like so many in the coven, believed the word of the council was absolute and that by simply insisting Kayla be kept apart, it would be true. Never mind that she existed in the same world and might know something useful. Not attending coven meetings didn’t make her a hermit.

  “Let’s find out.” I pulled back the lip of the tent.

  Inside sat a woman at a card table with a crystal ball at its center. She shuffled tarot cards, careful of her long, teal fingernails. She narrowed her eyes when she saw me.

  “You’re not supposed to be here,” she said. Glancing behind me at Jaden, she added, “And he’s not welcome.”

  I gave Jaden a sympathetic look and silently pleaded with him to wait outside. He seemed unhappy that I was going inside, but look a little relieved that he didn’t have to. Guess there were still some lines he, as a council member, didn’t want to cross.

  I let the curtain fall behind me. The second it shut, the noise from outside cut out, leaving us in silence.

  “Quiet spell,” she said, noticing my confusion. “Can’t think with all that noise out there. Take a seat.”

  I sat in the folding chair opposite Kayla. She was in her late forties, with fine lines on her beautiful face. She wore a purple satin blouse and a few chunky silver necklaces bearing symbols mundane humans associated with magic, including a pentagram, an ankh, and a black cat.

  She shuffled the cards and then laid five down face up. I stared at them, unsure of their meaning. Tarot cards were the tools of fortune tellers, not often used by witches whose power rarely allowed them to divine the future.

  “What do they mean?” I asked, when she didn’t explain.

  “Probably nothing.” She collected the cards again and reshuffled them. “I make it up for mortals. Sadly this,” she spread the cards out in front of her and swept them up again in one smooth motion, “is what most people want. Not real magic, but pretty lies and reassurances from a stranger.”

  “I sell potions sometimes,” I said. “Mine don’t sell well.”

  “Of course not. People who want to buy miracles in glass bottles want to be assured those miracles are brewed by the best.” She snorted. “Not a witch who rummages through the garbage for ingredients.”

  “That was one time!” Maybe twice, and I wasn’t counting scavenging because that wasn’t the same thing. “I’d rather use something someone discarded than take something someone needs.”

  Kayla smiled. Her lipstick was dark purple to match her blouse and it made her smile look even more mischievous than it might have otherwise. “Whatever you say, Trash Witch.”

  I flinched.

  “Sorry. I thought perhaps you were embracing the name.”

  “I mean, it doesn’t bother me like it used to.” Sometimes, indeed, I did call myself that, though I preferred calling my methods risky and experimental, rather than out-and-out garbage. After all, my potions and charms worked. Mostly. Of course, now that I knew it might be due to warlock magic, maybe I should reconsider and go full on Trash Witch. It was better than warlock.

  “That’s good. Screw what other people think. Being held in the highest esteem won’t save you if they decide to turn on you.” She set the deck of cards down. “What do you want from me?”

  “One of the council members was murdered,” I said.

  Her shoulders tightened and she sat up straight, eyeing the door to the tent like a monster lurked outside. “I didn’t kill anyone.”

  “No, I know,” I said quickly. “No one thinks you did. Not even Jaden out there.”

  She didn’t look particularly reassured. “Why are you hanging out with one of them? Don’t you know they resent you?”

  My stomach churned. “He’s helping me solve this man’s murder.”

  Kayla studied me for a long moment. I could see the reflection of my brassy hair in the crystal ball and dropped my gaze to the shiny orb. If only it were easy to get answers from such a thing.

  “They think you did it,” she said finally, as if she knew it for a fact, like a real fortune teller.

  I shivered, suddenly cold despite the warmth of the tent. “Maybe. I found the body. They might try to pin it on me just to wrap things up.”

  Kayla got up and rifled through a cabinet behind her. She placed a crystal bottle of purple wine on the table, along with two goblets, which she filled halfway. She pushed one toward me and then sat, taking a big swig of her own. I took a sip. The wine was sweet and tart and I could feel it take the edge off as tension oozed from my muscles. “All right, give me the details,” she said.

  “The man’s name is Felix Prescott. He’s married to Samantha Kinney. I think it was probably a coven member who did it, but I’m not positive. Do you know of any reason someone would want him dead? Have you heard anyone bragging about killing him?”

  She finished her glass of wine and poured another. “Darling, there’s only one reason a witch wants another witch dead. It’s because they’re a threat to the council or those in power. It was true in the old days, and it’s true now.”

  My stomach twisted again, my mind racing. “Felix was on the council,” I said.

  She shrugged. “Doesn’t mean he wasn’t a threat to someone. Find out who and you’ll have your killer.”

  I stood, my head swimming as I did. I didn’t know what was in that wine but I was glad I hadn’t taken more than a sip. I could feel it buzzing through my veins, along with the strange sensation that I was on the edge of a steep precipice.

  When I emerged from the tent, Jaden stood at the mouth of the alley, as if he didn’t want to stand any closer to Kayla’s tent than necessary.

  “Did she help?” he asked, but it was almost sarcastic.

  “She put things into perspective,” I told him. He raised an eyebrow. “Was Felix arguing with anyone on the council about rules or laws or anything like that?”

  Jaden considered. “The council’s job is to argue over such issues. It’s what we do.”

  I glared at him. That wasn’t an answer and he knew it. He checked over his shoulder, as if afraid Kayla might be listening, and then moved into the crowd. I followed, trying my best to move through the throng of people and keep up with Jaden’s long strides. Even without his council uniform, the crowd now seemed to part for him, only to close in behind him and block me out.

  Back outside on the surface, Jaden stood at his car, his face drawn tight. He looked queasy.

  “If he was having a disagreement with someone, that person might be the killer,” I pointed out.

  Jaden swallowed and looked away, opening the car door.
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  “He was having a small argument with my father,” Jaden admitted. “But my father has enough clout on the council that he’s able to win any argument he wants. He has no reason to kill.”

  He got into the car, as if to signal the end of that line of talk.

  Chapter 19

  Jaden dropped me off at home and, after checking the wards, I fed Seth before making a handful of charms and cleaning the kitchen. I had just finished heating up a pot of macaroni and cheese when Valerie came in the door. She dragged her cooler behind her and dropped it near the garage door. No doubt it was empty. I’d seen a good-sized line at her table as we’d left.

  She came into the kitchen as if pulled by the aroma of orange cheese mix and butter. Her stomach growled audibly.

  I dished up an extra bowl and handed it to her before taking a seat at the island. She hesitated but grabbed a Sprite out of the fridge and then joined me.

  “Good night at the Market?” I asked.

  “Lots of people wanting protection spells. Something’s in the air.”

  “Allergens,” I said. With the bloom of spring came the haze of pollen. It always made people itchy, even those without allergies.

  “Feels a little more sinister, but maybe that’s it,” she said, jabbing her fork into the elbow pasta. “At any rate, you missed out. Probably would have sold a little. Good business tonight.”

  I took a bite of mine, warm and cheesy, and wondered if there was a more perfect food. We ate in silence for a few minutes, both of us obviously hungry.

  “Do you really think I’m a warlock?” I asked, unable to keep the question to myself.

  Valerie almost dropped her fork and quickly shoved a big bite of noodles into her mouth.

  “You do,” I said, resigned to the idea. It was looking more and more likely. I guessed I’d have to accept it eventually.

  “Did your ghost potion work?” she asked, not meeting my eyes.

  “Yeah, we found Felix,” I said. Valerie brightened until I shook my head solemnly. “Only his body.”

  “Well, that’s a tragedy,” she said, setting her fork down, no longer as ravenous. “But at least you have your answer.”

  “All it proves is that I’m good at substitution magic.”

  “Avery,” she said, finally meeting my gaze head-on. “There’s no such thing.”

  “Of course there is. Even if I am part demon, my mother—”

  “Your mother adjusted spells the way most of us do, like one might adjust a recipe. She could substitute honey for sugar, but she couldn’t substitute watermelon. What you do is not innovation, Av, it’s warlock magic.”

  Cold splashed over me. She might as well have dumped a bucket of water over my head. She pulled back from the table and rinsed her bowl in the sink.

  “How long have you suspected?” I asked. Because it was the only question worth asking now.

  Valerie shrugged, back to me as she faced the sink.

  “What made you suspect?” I pressed. Because I’d certainly never considered it and I wondered when the heck my roommate had decided my magic was too weird to be witchy and yet I’d never caught on.

  “I didn’t…” She dried her hands on a dish towel for longer than necessary. “It wasn’t like that.”

  “Then what was it like?” My voice rose in time with my frustration. The carpet was being pulled out from under me and I was losing my balance. “Why didn’t you ever say anything or, I don’t know, ask me?”

  “I knew you didn’t know.” Her voice was small and her eyes focused squarely on the tile floor. “Your mother didn’t want you to know.”

  The world spun faster. My vision swam. “My mother told you?”

  “No.” Valerie shook her head, her hair bun bobbing with the motion. “She didn’t want anyone to know but… the council found out.”

  I opened my mouth but closed it again. Jaden hadn’t known. But then he’d been only nine or ten when my mother had gone missing and wouldn’t have been privy to council business back then.

  “When?” I asked.

  Valerie sighed. “I don’t know exactly. Around the time she joined the council, I guess. Anyone who joins gets thoroughly vetted, as you know.” I knew mostly because Valerie often spoke of how she’d never do anything to mess up her chances of joining the council. “I guess in trying to explain who your father was, she admitted it or something.”

  My heart plummeted. It was true, then. Not hypothetical. Not just a possibility. But a fact. I was a warlock. My mother had admitted my father was a demon. Bile rose in my throat.

  “She swore it hadn’t been intentional and I guess they decided it was okay, because she got on the council,” Valerie said.

  I leaned against the counter. It felt like the stool I sat on had been flung into outer space and was now hurdling through the galaxy untethered.

  Finally, a thought occurred to me. “But how did you find out? You’re not on the council and even Jaden didn’t know for sure.”

  Valerie bent her head. “Councilman Claremont told me.”

  I gaped at her. “What? When? Why?”

  What I meant was, Why didn’t he tell me?

  She studied the stained tile floor. “He and the council thought maybe it would be good to keep tabs on you. For your own protection,” she hastened to add.

  “Tabs?” Nothing made sense. Blood thrummed in my ears.

  “You know, that you should have someone close by in case… I don’t know.” She wound her fingers together. “So you didn’t accidentally hurt yourself or whatever.”

  Understanding dawned. “Wait, Claremont told you to move in with me?”

  “For your own sake.”

  “And you agreed to live with a warlock,” I said, in utter disbelief. Knowing Valerie, I figured she’d rather co-habitate with a human than a half-demon. I balled my fists. “Like, willingly.”

  Valerie shifted on her feet. “He said it would impress the council.”

  It took all of my willpower not to throw my bowl at her head. She couldn’t be serious. She’d lived with me for three years all so the council might see what a good little witch she was, willing to sleep down the hall from a warlock and help keep that monster in line? My stomach churned. I felt sick. This couldn’t be happening.

  “So what, you’re working for them and spying on me?” I demanded.

  “No, I—”

  “You know what, I don’t care.”

  I didn’t even realize I’d stood. I was just suddenly on my feet, walking down the hall to my room. Seth followed, racing ahead of me and leaping onto my bed.

  “Avery! It’s not like that!” Valerie called from the kitchen.

  I slammed my bedroom door, done listening to her.

  The revelation that I was definitely half-demon, confirmed by my missing mother who’d never had the chance to tell me herself, was almost too much for me to process. I went to bed and slept fitfully, having strange and vivid dreams about my mom, Felix’s bloated corpse, and dodging exploding bomb spells.

  I awoke in the afternoon to the sun streaming through my blinds and the overpowering smell of bacon.

  Bacon was enough to get me into clothes for the day and out of my room, even though I knew it meant facing Valerie. Besides, Seth was whining at the door, desperate for his own breakfast.

  In the kitchen, Valerie stood in front of an electric griddle dotted with pancakes. A plate of already made pancakes sat beside it, along with a giant, mouth-watering pile of bacon.

  “Morning,” Valerie said, her tone soft and a little contrite. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Okay,” I said tersely, grabbing Seth’s food to get him fed before he had a little kitty heart attack. I set his plate on the ground and then got myself a cup of coffee from the pot. “What’s with opening Mel’s Diner?”

  “Who’s Mel?” Valerie asked, flipping a pancake.

  I grabbed a slice of bacon, expecting her to shoo me off and tell me this breakfast wasn’t for me. Instead, she pl
ated me some pancakes and gestured to a full butter dish and bottle of syrup. “There’s orange juice in the fridge if you want it.”

  “Thanks,” I said, a little confused but not willing to look pancakes in the mouth. I slathered them with butter and drizzled them with syrup, shoving slices of bacon onto the plate wherever they’d fit. I sat, fork and knife in hand, ready to dive in before suspicion crept over me. “This isn’t poisoned or spelled or whatever, right? One bite won’t make me forget the last week or something?”

  “I’m not the one who plays with dangerous magic,” Valerie said haughtily. “It’s just pancakes.”

  I imagined somewhere, at some time, the phrase “it’s just pancakes” had been followed by a catastrophe, but I decided to take the risk. The pancakes were light and fluffy and the bacon was salty and delicious, especially with the sweetness of the syrup.

  Valerie finished cooking and fixed herself a plate, which was reassuring—they couldn’t be cursed pancakes if she was willing to eat them, too.

  “I haven’t been spying on you,” she said apropos of nothing.

  I froze mid-chew, taking a second to recover and swallow. “No? Cause it kind of seems that way.”

  “I know it does,” she said. “But it’s not true. No one on the council even speaks to me. When we first moved in together, I thought it would be a good way to show the council that I was helpful and willing to do whatever needed to be done, plus save some money on rent. You didn’t know you were a warlock, so it’s not like you were…” She trailed off and then awkwardly cleared her throat.

  “Evil?” I supplied.

  She stabbed a piece of pancake. “Like the rest.”

  “That’s not better.”

  She leveled her gaze at me. “I know you feel the same way. We’re all taught that warlocks are dangerous and untrustworthy. Tell me you didn’t think so yourself until the other night.”

  I couldn’t argue with that, much as I wanted to. I drank some coffee instead.

  “About three months after we moved in together, Claremont called me up. He asked if I was okay. I said things were going great. Then he tried to get details about what you were doing. Asking what you were working on, what magic you’d done, that kind of thing.” She shook her head. “It left a sour taste in my mouth. I told him I wasn’t comfortable discussing it. After that, he stopped calling.”