Risky Magic: A Trash Witch Novel

by Tori Centanni

  There was a call box next to the gate with a number pad and a speaker. I didn’t have the code. Instead, I marched up to the gate itself. I reached out to touch the gate and stopped. The black metal bars buzzed with magic. They were enchanted with protection spells so they couldn’t be tampered with.

  I tried to suss out what the specific wards were. I could probably touch the bars as long as I wasn’t trying to do magic at the time, but I doubted I could use magic to get them open. Any spell intended to disable the gate would probably trigger some kind of defensive magic.

  While I stood there mentally going through my inventory of spell ingredients and wishing I knew what, exactly, my warlock magic could do, a car approached from inside the gate and the gate automatically swung open for it. The car sped through, breezing past me, and turned down the hill before the gate began to close. I slipped inside.

  The manor house was around the corner and absolutely massive. Two identical wings with matching balconies going up four stories sprouted from a central block with a three-car garage on the bottom. The house was a dark coal color, with darker trim. Stairs ascended from the driveway to the first story where there was a double-door entry in the center of the house.

  Most of the time when I saw it, the driveway and street were full of cars and the house was lit up for a party. But as the sunset this evening (a stunning view over the water), the house was quiet and mostly dark. I wasn’t even sure anyone was home, though there had to be someone inside that massive structure. It seemed impossible a place so large could be totally empty.

  I climbed the steps, my heart a constant drum in my chest, my legs shaking. Accusing Byron Blackmore of murder was awful but it had to be done. Knowing that the enigmatic and attractive Jaden had helped him, hoping to frame me, cut deep. In a short span of time, I’d come to think of us as friends, but that had never been true. Jaden had only wanted to use me as a scapegoat. And here I’d even started to find the guy attractive. I was such an idiot. He was a great actor, that was all.

  From the landing, I could see a big blue house up the road obscured by more trees. It was smaller than Blackmore Manor, but still large enough to house a couple of families comfortably. That was, I knew, Stephen Claremont’s house. Down the hill was a red roof, and that was Renee Saito’s mansion. She was another long-time council member.

  I turned back to the door. This was it. I rang the doorbell.

  A musical chime sounded inside, echoing through the cavernous space. No one answered.

  I knew the Blackmores had a butler, and plenty of other help, but no one came to the door. My stomach twisted. I rang a second time. Maybe no one was home. It was possible the butler I’d seen only worked parties or special events, or maybe had the day off.

  “The Blackmores are out.” The voice came from behind me. I turned to see Stephen Claremont standing in the road. He wore his black council getup, complete with a rapier at his hip, which made him look like an extra in a community theater production of Hamlet.

  “Okay,” I said, not sure what else to say. Clearly I’d come all this way for nothing. But now that I thought about it, it would probably be better to make my accusation in public anyway. I climbed back down the stairs.

  “We’re having a special council meeting in a few hours to talk about Felix,” Stephen told me as I descended. “They went to get things set up.”

  “Oh,” I said, surprised he was offering up anything other than sneers and dark looks. “That’s great. Can I go?”

  Stephen Claremont could not have squeezed any more derision into his expression if he’d tried. “It’s a council meeting,” he said, as if I were particularly thickheaded.

  “I might have information about Felix.”

  “Go home, Burke.”

  Claremont’s tone was mild but his voice was commanding, the voice of a man used to being obeyed. So I turned and took two steps back toward the gate. I knew the meeting would be held at the Lodge. I’d head over there and burst in, announcing my findings in front of the entire council. It was a far better plan and it would force the council to at least hear my theory.

  Claremont cleared his throat. “You know it was a warlock,” he called after me.

  I turned around and met his eyes. “No, it wasn’t,” I said firmly. “And I’ll be happy to tell the council exactly who killed Felix tonight.”

  Claremont frowned deeply. No doubt he’d loved the warlock theory. Who wouldn’t? It freed the entire coven of culpability and gave us a new reason to loathe half-demons whose magic was more powerful than our own. Well, their own, I supposed.

  “What do you think you know?” he asked in a way that told me he thought I was off the rails.

  “Plenty,” I said. After a beat, I added, “I know it wasn’t a warlock.”

  Claremont knew I was a warlock. But he probably didn’t realize that I knew and I decided not to enlighten him.

  “No? Well then. I suppose you better let me in on your theory. If nothing else so I can show you that you’re wrong. Come along.” He pivoted on his heel, his black cape catching the air.

  I froze. Claremont was friends with Byron Blackmore. He wasn’t going to want to hear what I had to say. But at the same time, he was a high ranking member of the council. If I could convince him that my theory was at least possible, that all of the pieces fit, he might be more willing to stand on my side tonight before writing it off as a warlock murder, one that I was sure Blackmore intended to pin on me.

  I followed Claremont down the road to his own small manor house. (Small relative to the Blackmore’s, not any normal person’s idea of a single family home.) The foyer of his house had marble floors and a marble statue of a man who looked a lot like Stephen Claremont, but who wore even more old fashioned clothes and held a scroll engraved with the words “Witches’ Rites.”

  “My great great great grandfather, John Allen Claremont,” he said, when he saw me looking at it. “He helped solidify the council’s rules as they are today.”

  “Cool,” I said, not really interested in Claremont’s long family history. His house was even more massive than it appeared from outside and I had to crane my neck to see the silver chandelier dangling from the foyer’s ceiling, three stories up. Through the hall, I could see all the way to the front room’s massive floor-to-ceiling windows, where a gorgeous pink sunset hung in the sky. Must be nice to come from money.

  “Let’s speak in my office,” he said, leading me down a hall and to a room at one side of the house.

  Claremont’s office walls were lined with bookshelves that held expensive looking glass sculptures, ancient books, and magical stones. The desk was a large oak piece with a high-backed black chair behind it and two sitting chairs in front. There were no family photographs. Claremont had been married, though his wife, another witch from a prominent Witch family, had died years ago and their two children were grown and had moved several states away. I knew his daughter had eschewed her witchcraft and moved into the mortal world to become a teacher. I didn’t imagine she came home to visit often. His son had moved to the East Coast and joined a coven over there. Occasionally he came to coven holiday parties, but I hadn’t seen him in years.

  “So,” Claremont said, moving behind his desk. “What is it you believe you know about Felix Prescott’s death?”

  I stood behind the chairs, arms crossed, not wanting to sit. “You’re not going to like what I have to say.”

  “You can say anything you want, my dear. I’m not convinced you know what you’re talking about but it is my duty as a council member to hear you out.”

  Anger flared inside me, but I had to keep it in check if I wanted him to take me seriously.

  “Felix drove to the site of his murder willingly. He was meeting someone he knew and trusted after a council meeting.” I paused, and Claremont turned his hand palm-up, as if to say go on. “He’d been arguing with Byron Blackmore. No one will tell me what about, but whatever it was, I think Byron wanted to speak to him in private.
”

  Claremont’s eyes widened and his jaw went slack for a second. “You think Byron killed him?”

  My pulse raced. Speaking quickly, I continued, “I think maybe it was an accident. They argued, Byron got angry and flung the wrong spell or… I don’t know. Something happened. I’m not saying he did it on purpose. But after it was done, he hid the body and the car and hoped no one would notice. Guilt must have gnawed at him because he asked Jaden to get me to help find Felix.”

  “He what?” Claremont stood, outraged.

  “Jaden was just doing his father’s bidding. And maybe he wanted to know the truth after the council voted to consider Felix a runaway.” I shrugged, trying to appear casual though my heart was beating in my throat. “Either way, I found the car and someone stole it from my garage. I think it was Byron. Jaden knew I had it. He must have told his father and Byron panicked, so he took it back and then sent an anonymous note to let someone on the council know it was at the airport. But then I found the body. So now he’s trying to claim it was a warlock who murdered Felix.”

  Something dark passed over Claremont’s eyes. If I’d had any doubt he knew what I was, I was sure of it now. There was sheer disgust in his expression and I wished I’d brought along a few protection spells just to feel safe. My supply had been depleted this week.

  “But it makes sense,” I continued. “Way more sense than Felix having some kind of deal or fight with a warlock. Felix was an upstanding council member with a new baby. He wouldn’t be taking those kinds of risks. He trusted Byron Blackmore.”

  Claremont was very still, like the statue of his ancestor. His eyes were dark. “That’s an interesting theory, Ms. Burke.”

  “It’s not a theory,” I said, familiar annoyance putting an edge into my words. This was exactly like arguing with Valerie. “It’s the most likely explanation of what happened.”

  “Is it?” He cleared his throat and stepped around the side of his desk.

  “It is. And whether or not you believe me, I’m going to go to the council meeting tonight and tell everyone.” I hoped Byron would admit it and save all of us—especially me—the grief of trying to prove it. But I was sure it could be proven.

  “Are you now?” Claremont’s voice sounded so sinister that it caught me off guard. The door to his office had closed at some point. I didn’t remember it closing but now I was shut in this room with a man who regarded me like gum on his shoe.

  Before I could answer, Claremont moved around the desk and reached into his pocket. I tilted my head, confused. With no warning, he came at me. Stunned, I stepped back and put my hands up, as if to protect my face. I found myself pressed against his bookshelves, struggling to think of a spell I could cast as he bore down on me with a dark expression.

  I cursed my lack of knowledge about my own magic. Warlocks had magic that didn’t require spells prepared in advance but I didn’t know them.

  Claremont grabbed my throat in his meaty fist and wrenched my head to the side. He uncapped a purple vial of liquid. It reeked of garbage.

  “What is that?” I started to ask but he pushed the vial toward my mouth, splashing a drop on my cheek. It burned. I pulled away, managed to get out of his hold, but he caught my hair in his fist and yanked. I screamed. He dumped the contents of the vial into my mouth.

  It tasted like lavender and jasmine and rotten fruit with the acerbic tinge of alcohol. I stared at Claremont in shock.

  And then everything went black.

  Chapter 22

  My head felt like an elephant had stomped on my skull. My mouth was dry, my lips cracked. Nausea swelled in my stomach. I groaned and rolled over, or tried to. I was stopped by restraints on my wrists and ankles. My eyes popped open, memories rushing back, along with total panic.

  I lay in a dark room on top of something soft. There was a window in the room—I could see the faint outline—but it was covered. I tugged on my wrists. Chains rattled. I was shackled to a bed, I reasoned.

  I didn’t know how long I’d been there but my legs felt stiff. My throat hurt from sleeping with my mouth open. Whatever potion Claremont had shoved down my throat, it had been powerful enough to knock me out cold. There were sleeping draughts Valerie and I made, but most of those took up to thirty minutes to take effect and they were supposed to promote healthy sleep, not conk someone out.

  Valerie.

  I strained to reach my pockets for my phone but my pockets were empty. Claremont had emptied them and there was no sign of my purse in the dim little room either, at least not that I could see. I swore. I didn’t have my phone. I couldn’t call for help. And with the window shut, I couldn’t use Jaden’s crow trick, either.

  My mind, hazy from the drug, struggled to piece together what had happened. The cold realization smacked me in the face like a bucket of ice water: Byron Blackmore hadn’t killed anyone. Claremont had killed Felix. And he didn’t want me running to the council to try and argue that it hadn’t been a warlock behind the murder after all, so he’d knocked me out and chained me up.

  Boy, I’d really confided in the wrong person.

  I swallowed, my mouth dry. I ached for a glass of water.

  Okay, I told myself. But Val knows I’m here. She’ll come looking for me eventually, or at least tell the council where I was last headed.

  Except she didn’t know. She knew I’d gone to Blackmore Manor. She didn’t know Claremont had intercepted me and lured me into his house. No one knew where I was.

  Panic rose in my throat and I swallowed a scream.

  The house around me sounded eerily quiet, almost empty. I strained to listen for any sound that might tell me if anyone was there. Was Claremont still around, lurking in one of the house’s many rooms? Or was he off at the council meeting, lying his face off? How long had I been here?

  I lay back, defeated. I was trapped. I had no spells or potions at my disposal. No one was coming to my rescue. And if Claremont had murdered Felix, nothing was going to stop him from doing the same to me.

  I closed my eyes. It didn’t stop the pounding in my skull.

  I pictured Claremont’s dark eyes, the hatred in his face. He loathed me for what I was. He was probably thrilled to have a reason to get rid of me.

  Something clicked in the back of my tired brain.

  What I was.

  I was a warlock. I didn’t need spell stones or potions or prepared herbs to cast magic. I had magic in my veins. Sure, I didn’t know how to use it, but now was a really good time to learn.

  I tried to focus on the magic inside me, like I did when I infused it into my spells. Instead of pushing my power into herbs or a cauldron of brew, I pushed it into the cuff around my left wrist. I felt power flow through my arm and into the metal. The metal heated with the energy but I ignored the pain. When it got so hot I couldn’t stand it anymore, I willed the metal to break.

  There was a sharp crack and a flash of light. The cuff split and fell off my wrist. I pulled my wrist to my face, relieved to have it free. A balloon rose in my chest. Hope. It had taken a massive effort but I’d done it. I just didn’t know if I had the energy and magic to do three more. And I needed to save some magic for when Claremont inevitably came back to get me.

  Still, even if it took most of what I had, being free was better than being tied up for the slaughter.

  I squeezed my eyes closed and focused my powers on my right wrist. The cuff took longer to absorb my magic and I could feel the hot metal burning my arm. Finally it split and my arm flew free, though it bore a nasty red burn. That was okay. I had burn salves at home. I just had to live long enough to get there and use them.

  Footsteps sounded in the hall. Panic swelled inside me. I’d managed to free my hands but not my feet. I was still trapped. I swallowed the fear and tried to keep my wits. I would not give Claremont the pleasure of showing him how terrified I was.

  The door to the room opened with an explosion of light from the hall. I squeezed my eyes shut against it.

  “Hol
y brimstone,” a voice said. It was not Claremont’s. I opened one eye. I could see Jaden’s silhouette as he felt for a light switch on the wall. More light flooded the space. I blinked, struggling to adjust. When I could make out his face, I could see horror plain in his expression. “What in the goddess’ name happened?”

  “Is Claremont here?” I demanded, my voice high and desperate.

  “No,” Jaden said. “Not yet. We all just left the meeting. I raced here, while my father and Claremont hung back to talk but I doubt he’ll be long.”

  “I need to get out of here. Claremont is going to kill me.”

  Jaden’s eyes found the shackles and he pulled a face. “Yes, obviously you do. Where’s the key?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t have a key. Why would he show me where the key was?” I was panicking, every nerve firing at once.

  “Right. Of course.” Jaden stood, looking helpless. He had no key. He had no solution. He was used to commanding things to happen and that working.

  “Just watch the door,” I said impatiently. “I’ll get the chains off.”

  “How—?”

  “Jaden! He’ll be back any minute. Just do it.”

  Jaden shot me a funny look but turned to the door, hand on the hilt of his sword, as if that would stop Claremont, who was probably armed with all sorts of homicidal magic. I doubt Jaden had more than a few basic protection spells on his person, if at all.

  I focused all of my magic on the right leg shackle. I gathered my power and pushed it all into the metal, straining until finally there was a crack and it released. I gasped for air and a welt on my ankle burned. I didn’t know if I had anything left but I had to get out of this nightmare.

  I swallowed, trying to gather energy from the air around me. I pushed everything I had into the last shackle. It heated around my sock and I willed it to crack. It took at least five minutes for it to finally pop free, leaving a painful burn behind. I ignored the pain and I jumped out of the bed, glad to be on my feet. I swayed, unsteady. Jaden rushed over and caught me.