The Little Lies (The Great Hexpectations Series Book 1)

by Marie F. Crow

  “Enough,” I command, pulling from the depths of my being to reach what small spark is left in the depths of theirs.

  There’s a pause, tilting of their heads, but nothing more.

  My power is the pain of death, the torture of loss, grief, everything they are revealing, and I pull that emotion, much as one would a leash on a dog. I pull it to me and pull them with it. One by one they leave their battered trophy, confused as to why they are doing it, but obeying the pull just the same.

  “Harper?” Jedrek’s voice calls again. “What do you think you are doing?”

  “Pissing you off,” I reply with a version of a smirk to match his on his best days.

  These people didn’t deserve the trick which was played on them. Demons, from what I have gathered, have rules. There is fine print, read and agreed upon. These idiots just thought they found a shortcut in life. They didn’t know it would cost them theirs.

  Still clutching their leash tightly in my closed fists, I tell Jedrek, “If all of this means there is a God or Devil, a Heaven and Hell, or just something after we die other than the holding area I find them in, then let God or the other guy sort it all out. They aren’t going to Hell simply because a trinket says so. Not today.”

  With the declaration made, I force their sparks into the beyond. I push them mentally through the veil before their flickering spark is spent, casting them forever into darkness. I do this as I watch Jedrek dissolve into a rage.

  “Those were not yours to give away.” Jedrek is staring at the spot the many were just standing. “We earned those souls. Demons were killed to steal them from us. A few of them were my friends. Most I won’t miss, but that doesn’t mean you can tip the scales on a moral whim.”

  His voice is calm and collected, but his face is not. His face tells of a war brewing, a war with me. Seeing as I already have that card played with the werewolves, I really shouldn’t be amused by how undone he has become.

  “I thought you couldn’t manipulate free will?” I ask, tilting my head, and my red curls float with the soft movement.

  Jedrek is silent, trying to figure out where I am taking this crazy train of mine now.

  “They didn’t give you their souls of their own free will. They gave their money, sure, but not their soul. Just as you told Johanna, you don’t own the souls, just the trinkets.” I turn my back to him, ready to leave this forsaken palace built on the damnable. “But I imagine, she had to sign a deal or two to start this whole scheme. What’s the soul of a witch worth down there?”

  I don’t wait around to watch another round of torture Johanna. My stomach has had its fill of the gambit today. My mind and heart aren’t far behind.

  Those who were waiting are still doing exactly that, waiting with tapping feet and drumming fingers. How the screams and chaos didn’t reach these outer rooms brags to the former mistress of this home’s power, but she’s no longer here. Just me and a demon with a score to settle. Neither of us are granting wishes today.

  “Is it my turn?” the same lady from before jumps up to ask.

  Her business suit is three different shades of black. Her heels have the visible signs of sharpie to attempt to cover the many scuffs from everyday wear. This is what the outside world sees. I see the many deep lines creeping along her skin, the thinning hair, the sunken eyes from long sleepless nights from stress and all the brown spots of southern sun damage just waiting to further whittle away her self-esteem. Remembering the rows of cars parked, the voices match her to the car with the words advertising her latest work from home failure. It’s not hard to imagine what she came for, or at least what her goals are with being here.

  “Sure is,” Jedrek says beside me, causing me to do a very annoying little jump. He covers my mouth with his hand before I have the chance to argue. “She’s waiting for you.”

  Leaving the sliding doors open, he pulls me from the room, spreading his cheer and warm smile as we exit. Flashing his baby blues to the room to keep their anxiety to a low rumble with the enchantments wearing off, his hand clamps harder around my mouth.

  “Might be a good time to pull that magic back in,” he suggests in a whisper.

  I had forgotten. I had grown used to seeing everything in swirls and their expiration date boldly displayed before me. Yet, I can’t see his. He looks the same.

  We are in the main foyer when the screaming starts. The many large bouquets, without the magic feeding them, are now rotting stems, moldy in their murky water. The white marble has become slate-like flooring, showing its true state. Even the tall painting which once stood guard, watching and tattling on all those who entered, has aged, becoming thread bare and desolate. This whole place held Johanna’s biggest illusion and her darkest fear. She was nothing without someone else’s power, someone else’s source. Her magic was slim, slipping further away each day. Using her own fears of being forgotten, being powerless in her own life, she drew the mortals in like a spider on her web, ensnaring her clueless victims before wrapping them so tight that death was soon eminent.

  “What did you do with her?” I ask Jedrek once we are safely driving away from our second murder scene of the day.

  “Found out what the current worth is for a witch’s soul,” he tells me without any joy.

  He’s back to answering questions with riddles but this time I can read between the unsaid words.

  “And the objects?”

  “Sent them back to where they belong.”

  “Except for one,” I remind him. “But we’ll go get that back tonight after a shower and some food before the spell ends and takes Miranda.

  He’s chewing his bottom lip over whatever thoughts he may be having hearing my reminder.

  “Right?” I ask with his extended silence.

  He tilts his head as he tries to pick the best way to start the conversation. “Not exactly?”

  “What do you mean?” The way this day has played out, I’m not sure I really want to know the answer.

  “Remember how all this started? Our little romance? Me saving your precious little life?” He asks, sounding almost nostalgic with his words.

  “If that’s how you remember it, sure.”

  “Feisty,” he loudly whispers. “Do you remember the word ‘source of power’ being tossed around like condoms in a college dorm?”

  “Never went to college, but sure,” I tell him trying to block that mental picture.

  “Well,” Jedrek says with a nervous smile trying to be something more playful, “The one Mrs. Torte has her hands on isn’t just another trinket from the dark side, per se.”

  “Per se?” I turn down the volume on the radio to better hear how much worse this is going to get.

  He makes a grimacing expression of jest. “This little box of fun is from one of our strongest. Its magic was forged from the first magic. It was corrupted by the woman who wielded it when her lover changed teams mid war. The pain from his betrayal caused her to become a little hostel. Honestly, I never really liked him. Didn’t fully understand her melt down over him, either.” He turns to me pointing to his eyes. “There was always something a little off in his eyes. That one should have been cooked a little longer before the big guy pulled him into being.”

  Placing my hands over my face, I rest my suddenly heavy head on their braced support. “We have started a war with the witches and wolves. We just watched the slaughter of another witch after having a nice little visit with a rotting witch. Both of these witches, I might add, we desecrated their bodies, and now you want to have a little chit chat about Divinity?”

  “Divinity is kind of an important thing here,” he offers off-handily as if insulted.

  “I don’t even believe in ‘the big guy’!”

  “Not really important what you believe in. It doesn’t change things. A few days ago, you didn’t believe in half the stuff you’ve seen in the past twenty-four hours. Guess what was still there today? Mortals believe mostly in Potter and
Santa Clause, it doesn’t mean the real stuff isn’t around. In fact, if things which were only believed in existed, half the people I know wouldn’t. Which might not be a bad thing…”

  His words trail off like my patience for the whole situation. I took what was supposed to be a simple plan, which somehow turned into a plot twisted into another plot by mere chance. A simple side job to make the debt collectors happy has been nothing but little lies upon little lies, turning into a disastrous event. This whole event, from start to finish, which we haven’t even reached yet, has turned everything upside down, scattering locked memories like a used deck of playing cards and opening closed doors wider than their hinges normally allow. I wish I never agreed to that blind date. I should have stayed home, snuggled deep under my electric blanket and telling Netflix I’m still there.

  “How do we fix it?” I ask the silent demon; lost no doubt in the list of names he wouldn’t mind missing.

  “Define ‘fix’?”

  I know what he’s asking. He just thinks he’s being clever.

  “I don’t want her dead. Her family has been through enough, Jedrek.”

  He drums his fingers with his thoughts while I stare out the window. I’m watching his reflection. None of the faces he is making brings me any positive vibes for a happy ending to this story.

  “We’re going to have to kill her, aren’t we?” I ask his reflection, not willing to see the truth in bold colors before me.

  “Or we could just wait it out,” he suggests. “If she’s opened the box, and obviously she has if the girl is back, then she’s linked to it. The dark magic is using her. It’s her life which is giving the little girl life.”

  “Can’t I just put the little girl back?”

  “There’s that whole ‘linked’ word you missed. Even if you do, the magic will pull her back as long as Miranda is alive.”

  “There has to be a way,” I argue. “I might not know a lot about this shit, but I know every spell has a back door, some loophole worked into it.”

  “It does. Define fix.”

  “You define fix, Jedrek. Tell me, in plain English, how to fix this!” I’m shouting at the situation. I’m shouting at my exhaustion. I’m shouting because he’s right. There’s too much I don’t know, but I’m here, waist deep in it all, watching the water slowly rise over my head.

  Jedrek sighs, trying to find a way to tell me what has to be said. “There’s two options, Harper. You’re not going to like either of them, because both means you have to stop acting like a toddler and accept things.” He pauses, waiting to see my reaction before starting again. “One, we let this play out. We let the mortal pay for her actions. She’s brought suffering to her family, disturbed a soul at rest and most likely warped the little boy for the rest of his life. I’ll probably be called back to collect him in a few years after what he’s seen.”

  “Option two?” I ask, trying to keep him focused.

  “You accept your role in the supernatural order of things.”

  I turn from his reflection to face him. As he mockingly winces, I ask him, “What does that mean?”

  “It means you have to stop hiding, stop being afraid, demand Jo tell you everything, and then step into your powers. This is dead magic. It brings back the dead. You can break it, if you were powerful enough, anyway, and before you open your mouth to argue, or to list all the many things you did today, this is God magic, the first magic. Which presents another problem.”

  “Like we don’t have enough of those you want to sprinkle in some more, just for fun?”

  Jedrek lifts his eyebrows playfully. “Life has gotten a little more amusing since stumbling upon you.”

  “What’s the other problem.”

  “You’ll be marked for her to find. She won’t want to pass up the chance to own a witch strong enough to break God magic. You’ll be setting a timer for your death or at the very least, your slavery.”

  “I die or Miranda dies is the summary of all of that?” I ask, sitting back in the leather bucket seat.

  “You die or she dies.”

  “Can we talk about how much I hate blind dates?”

  There’s a tremble to my voice. I wasn’t ready to sacrifice myself. I was ready to fight, to learn, to accept, but not die. I was ready to do what I do, put the dead to rest. I didn’t know when I met the Tortes there would be a chance I would be putting myself to rest.

  “We could just let it play out, Harper,” Jedrek whispers to the windshield, also not wanting to see me in bold colors of truth. “We don’t have to tell anyone. We’ll let it play out and then collect the box. It would be our secret.”

  “Our little secret,” I whisper.

  So many little secrets. So many little lies. So many truths simply not told to protect the one we love the most, ourselves.

  “Our little secret,” I whisper again, knowing it’s not a secret I want to keep.

  GiGi Jo is waiting outside the shop when Jedrek drops me off. He doesn’t stay. He doesn’t even leave the safety of his car. This time, it’s not me of whom he is afraid. It’s the old woman, with her face set to murder, waiting for us on the steps of Great Hexpectations who has him fleeing for safety. If I were smart, I wouldn’t have gotten out either.

  “Is your phone broken?” GiGi clips her words with her question.

  It’s worse than Italian. Her fuse is smoking with how short the wick has become from the fire of her rage. Whatever I’ve done is bad. Very, very bad.

  “I’ve been a little busy,” I tell her shifting from foot to foot in my guilt. I want to spill forth everything I have done today like a small child pleading her case for why she shouldn’t be grounded.

  “Oh, I know,” GiGi tells me, swinging open the door to the shop like a dare and less like an invitation.

  Like the idiot I am, I walk through. I almost stopped to think about it. Almost. I should have, because waiting for me is Roman and my army of undead wolves.

  “This is the longest day of my life,” I whisper to myself.

  Roman is wearing jeans which never saw a rack from the moment they were created. Nor did his pressed shirt or shined shoes. His blonde hair is cut close, professionally leaving just enough to allow his blonde birth right to shine under the shop’s overhead lights. His deep brown eyes don’t have the warmth his smile is trying to portray. Those eyes are predator and I think I just became the prey.

  “I see you’ve met the family,” he jokingly says, spreading his hand wide to motion towards the large wolves watching me, waiting for my next command.

  In this moment, I’m not sure who they would answer to if called. In this moment, being watched by so many death-threat filled eyes, I’m not sure I want to know. Which means my mouth opens like the idiot I am.

  “Deon introduced us. It was a charming little visit. I even adopted a few,” I tell him, regretting every syllable I spilled.

  GiGi clears her throat, an audible warning of a sound. She’s taken to the little reading nook, placing herself in between the little standoff in case she is needed to fix any damage my sense of sarcasm and habitual death wishes cause for the already tense room.

  Roman’s smile widens, showing teeth whiter and sharper than natural teeth should be. “Deon has been dealt with. I just have to deal with you now.”

  “Good luck,” I tell him. “GiGi has been trying to deal with me for years. Just look at all that grey hair.”

  Walking into the shop as if I own it, because I kind of do, I don’t let his open threat show how it made my stomach do a little tango. I fight to appear unbothered as my heart beats randomly with a new pattern. In my mind, I’m going over every lore I’ve ever heard about werewolves, just as I had earlier with witches and covens. Unfortunately, it too is all movie-based and filled with popcorn scented disappointment.

  Roman is chuckling a soft sound of danger when he begins to walk in my direction. I’m used to the way Jedrek moves. He moves as if he is held together
by strings and air. Roman is walking so slowly it’s as if he’s made of things which hunt you in the night. He embodies the types of things which cause you to look over your shoulder when walking alone. He’s every warning label we are taught brought to flesh and he’s headed my way.

  “You know I can hear your heart, right?” he asks, with his head low, listening to something I cannot hear and tapping the pattern with his fingers on his leg.

  “You know I can feel my heart, right?” I ask, admitting my fear.

  “Then why play these games?” he whispers with his head still low.

  “It’s kind of what I do,” I whisper back. “Or maybe I’m just bored with you and need something to do to entertain me.”

  GiGi rolls her eyes, tilting her head back to stare at the ceiling above her.

  “I could kill you where you stand.” Roman lifts his eyes, watching me with his threat.

  I feel the smile come to my lips before I can stop it. The giggling I hear from me has my mind asking if I have finally gone insane.

  “You find me funny?” he asks. He’s started his slow walk again, watching me with those lowered, brown eyes of his.

  “I find you insulting. We both know what would happen should you kill me. The little break in the treaty your sister did this morning can be handled in house. You kill me, and you invite complete war.”

  “Why should I be afraid of a war with witches? We own over half the witches in this town.”

  “And the vampires?” I ask, totally hoping my little grasp on the fragile situation works in my favor for once. “Do you own them, too?”

  Roman’s predatory face melts to one of caution. “Our treaty with them has nothing to do with our treaty with the witches.”

  Lifting my hand, I tug on the magic which has been pacing inside of me, like its own version of a predator, just waiting to spring forth. The green mist swirls slowly encasing my fist, twisting with a warning of what may come.