Saved by the Spell (Of Mystics and Mayhem Book 2)

by Heidi Vanlandingham

  I groaned. “Because I’m an idiot and am sometimes really dense. None of us could figure out why things were so weird. During one of my nightmares, I smelled cinnamon. I didn’t think anything of it at the time because everything was different. The nightmares were changing from what really happened.”

  “Do you remember how you felt?”

  I frowned. “Which time?”

  His chest rose in a deep breath before he answered. “One thing at a time. Let’s go back to the death of those in the Nightmare Realm.”

  I thought about the first death I’d seen, going through them one by one, searching for any minute differences. “With each death I came across, everything intensified—more pain, heavier scent—until the death Malachi and I witnessed together. With that one, the air around us changed too. Thicker somehow. Kind of like a super-humid day where you have a heavy film of sweat coating your skin, making your clothes damp and sticky. Only this felt oily. As if we’d trudged through an invisible film of vegetable oil. Super gross, really.”

  Slowly, I replayed that last horrible death in my mind and remembered something else. “Another difference occurred when Malachi forced Dahlia to show herself.”

  Lucien jerked forward, now sitting on the very edge of his chair and looking ready to pounce. “Dahlia? You are certain this was her name? Why didn’t Malachi mention this to me?”

  “No idea, but I’m beyond positive. I can also tell you with certainty she was one evil super b.”

  “’Super b?’ What’s that?”

  “A super bitch.”

  Lucien frowned. “Language, Willow. Johnna’s bad enough, I don’t need you doing it too.”

  “Sorry. Dahlia’s also dead. Malachi did some kind of twirly thing with his hands and chains while he muttered—er, chanted—in a strange language. When he clapped his hands together, she dissolved into a puddle of red goo at his feet. Your world definitely makes Hollywood special effects seem primitive. My gross-out meter is on overload.”

  Lucien stood and paced back and forth in front of the fireplace. His hard, focused gaze made me squirm uncomfortably in my chair. How long he paced, I wasn’t sure but with no end in sight, exhaustion caught up to me and I fidgeted in my seat.

  Should I leave without being dismissed? Royal etiquette wasn’t something I was at all familiar with.

  Finally, I couldn’t take the silence anymore. “Who was she, this Dahlia?” I had to keep awake somehow. What better way than talking?

  He didn’t stop pacing. “She is—was—the succubi head mistress. With her death, her second-in-command, Tarja, will take over.”

  I sucked in way too much air and choked, coughing and hacking as I tried to swallow. In two giant steps, Lucien moved behind me and gave my back a couple of hard smacks. I stopped choking but now I had a sharp, searing pain spreading between my shoulder blades. I forced air through my half-closed throat, every molecule scraping against the raw tissues, and croaked, “I know Tarja. She’s the succubus who threatened to hurt Malachi. Al and DC too, if I didn’t help her.”

  “Tarja and Dahlia were sisters. Their seductive cruelty in harvesting souls is legendary among their kind. Over the past year, Tarja’s power has intensified, her soul-taking unstoppable. We haven’t been able to figure out why or how.”

  “She’s the reason my nightmares changed, isn’t she?”

  “Possibly, but I don’t think so. Not even I have that kind of power. My bet is someone is assisting her.”

  “If it helps, from bits and pieces of conversation I’ve overhead between Niki and Johnna, they seem to think this has something to do with your mother.”

  Lucien gave a thunderous clap, jostling everything inside the room, including the inside of my skull as my eyeballs played ping-pong with my brain. The offensive sound reverberated around my ear canals, turning my stomach inside out. I pressed my hands against the sides of my head, trying to dampen the painful whine.

  A second later, Johnna popped into the room with her fingers twisted around the thick strands of her braid. Surprise lifted her eyebrows as she quickly finished re-braiding her hair. “Seriously? A little warning next time? Two minutes earlier and you would’ve seen me going to the bathroom.” She grinned, one side of her mouth quirking higher than the other as she noted Lucien’s obvious discomfort. “We need to work on your impatience, dear Uncle. Now, what do you want?”

  Lucien’s face darkened. “Demons don’t go to the bathroom.”

  Her gaze speared his. “I’ve seen evidence to the contrary. I’ve been to the Hell Hole, remember? That was a lot of sewer stench for something demons allegedly don’t do.”

  He rolled his eyes and had to clear his throat before explaining, “It’s complicated and has to do with our fast metabolism. We burn up the calories as fast as we eat. Besides, you’re part demon. You should already know this. And the Hell Hole is for our trash and—well, what’s there is mostly from other realms, not ours.”

  “Niki’s not a very good teacher then.”

  I whiplashed my attention from his face to hers, trying to understand what they were talking about. Usually, I caught on a lot quicker, but this time I had to admit, I felt totally dimwitted. I blamed it on information overload. Just when I was about to throw my hands up in the air, I realized the implication of what Lucien had just said. I swung around to Johnna. “You’re a demon?”

  She happily nodded. “Yep. Remember when I mentioned I died?”

  “You seem to have left some parts out.”

  She laughed. “We were interrupted, remember? Long story short, Dad hid the key to my mother’s diary in my ribs, but my ribs absorbed the key. From what I can guess, my magic was trying to protect it. Niki had to give me part of his soul to keep me from dying.”

  “Can we continue our conversation now?” Lucien asked.

  “And here I thought it couldn’t get any stranger,” I mumbled.

  Johnna’s eyes sparkled when she gave me a quick wink. My lips twitched, understanding the subtle gesture.

  “Sorry,” we sang in unison, not meaning to, but I enjoyed it all the same. For once, I felt like I had a compatriot. A friend. Someone I could have fun with.

  Lucien groaned and rubbed his face with his hands. “I don’t deserve this.” He dropped his hands and his gaze homed in on me. “What were we talking about? Oh, right.” His black gaze speared Johnna’s. “Why do you and Niki think my mother has something to do with this current mess?”

  “Think about it. We’ve been running around like chickens with our heads cut off, trying to figure out how she was able to do everything. She had to have help. What if she made some kind of deal with more than just those renegade demons? It would explain most, if not all of this.”

  Lucien dropped back down into his chair. With his elbows digging into his knees, he rested his chin on his steepled fingertips. His unblinking gaze never left her face. Johnna didn’t even flinch. I made a mental note to ask her how she did it. How could she remain so calm in tense situations when I turned into a quivering bowl of gelatin?

  He draped his hands across the heavily padded chair arms and nestled back into its welcoming shelter. His color had flamed into a brilliant red. “If she weren’t already condemned, I’d figure out how to do it all over again and maybe even kill her myself.”

  Johnna moved over to him and took his hand. Sitting on the chair’s arm and threading her fingers through his, she patted him with her other hand. “I know, I know,” she crooned. “I should’ve let you be the one to send her to Tartarus.” Pat. Pat. Pat. “But she almost killed Niki and I couldn’t let her do that.” Pat. Pat. Pat. “I really am sorry.”

  My laugh came out sounding strangled, but I couldn’t help it. Who was the adult and who was the child?

  She stopped patting her uncle’s arm but didn’t let go. She looke
d at me, her expression blank, then frowned at her uncle. “Where are Niki and Malachi?”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I sent them to meet with Joachim.”

  “But Niki said Joachim’s leading the next battle.”

  “Who’s Joachim?” I asked.

  “The Watcher King,” Lucien replied. “And before you ask, he carries out the final judgment for all the realms.”

  I’d heard the slight tremor in Johnna’s voice, and it worried me. It also matched the trembling in my stomach. Lucien hadn’t sent them just to meet with this all-powerful king. He’d sent them to fight.

  ~ ~ ~

  I pressed down on the thick coverlet to test the comfort level of the mattress in my new room. Crawling to the middle, I flopped back in complete delight. In every home I’d ever stayed, I got the oldest, lumpiest mattress in the house.

  Johnna fell on the other twin bed, her arms outstretched. She squirmed out of her cute jacket and rolled onto her side, facing me, resting her head against her palm. Even mussed, she looked fashionable. Lucky her.

  “Why are we here?” I asked. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I appreciate everything Lucien has done, but I don’t belong here. I know I don’t have much to go back to. I don’t have any family, friends, or a job, but what I had was more normal than this place is. I worked hard to get to college, and when I set my mind to do something, I finish it.”

  As I waited for her to say something, the room’s stillness wore on my nerves. It seemed to be a repeating trend. The Nightmare Realm had been quiet, but I’d always been aware of minute sounds around me—invisible bugs scurrying under grains of gray sand, the lone voice of another prisoner yelling their defiance, even the wails of those dying. I heard none of that in here.

  “Why don’t you want to stay? And what about Malachi? Are you even going to give him a chance?” The hint of a smirk appeared. It bothered me, reminding me of Mona Lisa’s secretive expression, key word being secretive.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Give Malachi a chance for what?”

  “You don’t lie very well. You understand perfectly well what I’m hinting at.” Johnna sat up and crossed her legs beneath her. “He talks to you, doesn’t he?”

  I frowned, not following her line of thought. “Well, yeah. You’ve heard him talk to me. What a stupid question.”

  Her smile widened. I think I liked her Mona Lisa smile better. “No, silly. He talks to you in your head.” She leaned forward. “Doesn’t he?”

  I slowly nodded, still not understanding why this was so important. “Of course he does. Just like everyone else in this crazy place. You and Niki talk to each other, but I’m glad you don’t do it with me. Even Tarja and DC talk in my head. It’s a frickin’ convention in there most of the time. Besides, what’s the big deal? I’ll admit, in the beginning, it weirded me out, but now I think I’d miss it.”

  At her lazy head-shake, my stomach roller-coastered, using my intestines as its track. My gut told me—loudly—I was about to hear something I didn’t want to hear.

  “No, Willow. Everyone doesn’t have that ability. Some of the other species do, like the succubi and incubi, but demons don’t.”

  “But I’m not a demon, now am I?” My voice shook as a heavy dread settled in my chest. “Am I?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

  “At first, Niki couldn’t tell. But now, neither he nor Lucien think you are, so you’re good there.” Her fingers nervously danced a repetitious up-and-down pattern on her shins. “Honestly, I don’t think either one of them can tell what you are.”

  “What about the diary you mentioned? Would it have a clue? Even a hint is better than what we have right now, which is nothing.”

  “That’s not quite true. There is something. Your ring. Your mom or dad sent it to you for a reason.” Johnna reached behind her and pulled out the diary.

  I tipped sideways, trying to see where she’d had it hidden. Nothing was there but the bed, its comforter still in place. “In those tight-ass jeans, there is no way you had a book stuffed in your pocket. Where’d you stash it?”

  She gave me a know-it-all smile and waggled her eyebrows. Annoyed, I clamped my lips shut. I really needed to figure out how to get her to reveal her secrets.

  Johnna laid the book on the bed in front of her and patted the spot beside her. I moved over to her bed as she lovingly rubbed the pads of her fingers over the brass lock. It opened with a soft snick. She stroked the cover and, like the first time, I heard a silky whisper in my mind, Home.

  “Did you hear it that time?” I whispered in awe.

  Her steady gaze met mine. “It spoke to you again?”

  All I could do was nod.

  “Same word?”

  I forced the words through my frozen lips. “It said home.” One simple word and my insides quivered. The one thing I’d always wanted. The one thing I’d always been denied. A home. Family. Butterflies fluttered in my chest until Johnna placed a hand on top of my clasped fists, each knuckle two to three shades lighter than the rest of my hands as I squeezed them together to stop their trembling.

  To my surprise, and horror, she gently pushed the book toward me. One corner of her mouth lifted in a slightly questionable grin. “Go on, touch it. It’s only a book.” She nudged it even closer to my legs, the bottom edge only a few millimeters away.

  I raised my hand and slowly reached toward the book.

  Chapter 16

  My fingers shook in anticipation and I reminded myself to breathe. Under my fingertips, the page was softer than normal paper, the ancient vellum worn to a silky texture from years of use.

  Home, the book whispered again, weaving through my mind and wrapping itself around me like a cocoon until I felt as secure as a swaddled baby, my soul flooded with warmth.

  I turned one page then another, slowly at first until I teased the pages with enough speed, they flipped past in a blur. Some inner force pushed through me and my hand stilled, my palm flat on two pages. Rich black script flowed across the parchment, its ornate design unfurling before my eyes until I could read the words. The tale was familiar, yet not, as I read it aloud.

  The beginning of my story reads like every other fairytale—a misunderstood and unhappy girl wishing and dreaming for her true love to rescue her. But this is where the fairytale stops and my nightmare begins. Instead of my hero rescuing me in my moment of need, he never arrived. I was left to face my demons alone. Our forbidden love had been betrayed by the one person I trusted. The young, naïve girl I had been was sentenced to a life without hope. Near to those I loved, yet so far away. I was able to see and hear my beloved family as their lives moved forward. Mine did not. I was stuck in the shadowlands between life and death, without any hope of escape. Until now.

  The deceiver’s spell had been specific. I was to live in judgment of others who had sinned. But as my mother always said, a spell is only as strong as the words used. Therein lies the fatal flaw. As decreed, no one of this world can free me, but soon there will be one who can. A child of forbidden love. A child of this world, yet not. Born with the power of life or death, it is with this child my future rests. For it is through this child all wrongs can be made right.

  I stared at the book in silence, moved beyond any feeling I’d ever experienced. “Did Sabine write this?”

  “That’s not my mom’s handwriting . . . I don’t know who wrote it.”

  My heart ached as if I had just lost something precious. I pressed a fist between my breasts to ease the throbbing pressure building with each shallow breath I took.

  From the tightly clenched hand Johnna held against her chest, I didn’t have to ask her to know the story had affected her too.

  I closed the book, gingerly pushed it closer to her, and glanced away. Pretending to inspect tiny specks of sand, scatte
red across the stone floor between our beds, gave my eyes something to do while I tried to sort out my feelings. I didn’t understand why this one story would upset me so much.

  “Are—” Johnna abruptly stopped mid-sentence and jumped off the bed with a loud squeal, scaring me to death. She raced across the room toward the most sour-faced imp I’d ever seen. Floating at eye level, his dour expression was as colorless as his gray suit and as repulsive as his bloated black body. At the end of his outstretched, short, spindly arms hung our truant pets, frantically squirming in their bid for freedom.

  Johnna plucked her purple imp from his grip and hugged him to her chest. DC’s wicked claws sliced through the air, so I opted for simply holding out my hands. She hissed, ignoring my arms, going straight for my head. Having never been head hugged by a cat before, I can honestly say it was an experience, especially with her belly plastered over my face.

  The sour-faced imp cleared his throat. “This touching little reunion will have to wait as the king has requested your presence in his sitting room.” With a loud POP, he vanished.

  After a bit of petting and cajoling, and once both Al and DC had settled into their respective tattoos, we found Lucien’s sitting room. When we walked in, he gestured to the two-seater sofa across from his overstuffed leather chair and waited for us to sit.

  With a bad case of bed head and very pale pink skin, he looked terrible. His black gaze met mine, and I didn’t like what I saw warring in their depths. Guilt and worry.

  “Lucien?” Even Johnna’s voice sounded wrong, small and gasping as her worry bled through. My stomach dropped.

  “I received word from Joachim. Zander is escorting Niki and Malachi back here from the battle.”

  That doesn’t sound good.

  “Escorting?” Any trace of weakness had disappeared from Johnna’s voice. “Why an escort and who is Zander?”