by Tarah Scott
His incredible green eyes latch onto mine and I sense a secret. It’s a whopper—no, it’s the king of all secrets. I clear my throat.
“I’ll shoot an email to Administration to send someone round to perform a wellness check at your home,” he says. “The policy that forbids familiars is one of the restrictions I want to change here. I believe all familiars have rights to be here and I’m working with the Grand Witch to change Academy policy.”
I blink. I no longer sense his secret and I’m struck by the kindness in his eyes. My lack of sleep must be affecting my abilities. Or maybe it’s the damn sigil.
“Thanks,” I reply and find myself relaxing.
“Just respect the curfew, eh?” He lifts a brow.
I smile. Maybe Domini will be able to offset Raith’s coldness and make the other students as comfortable as he has me. The thought tightens my stomach. Fiddlesticks, is that jealousy? I groan inwardly. Yeah, I’m off balance. Shit. If only I could take a nap before class, but I can’t risk pissing off Miss Mack more than I already have.
“Rest easy, Ms. Crowe.” Domini chuckles. “If there’s anything you need, feel free to drop by. I’ll have Admin contact you if there’s any news.”
“Thank you,” I say, and leave.
So, no punishment. I mentally cheer.
I imagine that since I’ve been caught and reprimanded for breaking curfew, no one will suspect I would try again. Especially not as soon at tonight.
Chapter Eighteen
LEILAH
Mystery Man
It’s pure discipline that rolls me out of bed when the 11:00 p.m. alarm blares. I yawn and stumble to the closet, but can’t find my standard-issue gym hoodie. After a search through my room leaves me empty handed, I give up and shrug into the school jacket. It’s a bit formal for a stealth mission to break out of school, but at least it’s black and I don’t have time to waste.
Sorry, Headmaster Domini, I project. I can’t wait until you change school policy. I have to find Stony—and make one stop along the way.
This time, no one will catch me.
I scoop up my cell phone from the desk, then head to the bathroom even though I fully expect to find the bathroom window bristling with wards. To my shock, it isn’t. I stare at the painted glass. It’s got to be a trap. Is it possible Ethan never investigated how I’d escaped yesterday? The possibility makes me even more suspicious. I’ve got about twenty minutes before the Watchmen reach this side of the grounds.
I don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. For the second time in as many nights, I slither through the window, land on my feet in a crouch, and listen. When the music of crickets and night frogs continues without interruption, I edge along the building to the corner. A hundred feet beyond the scattered trees, I discern the hazy silhouette of the perimeter wall through a break in the trees. The wards that surround the school are intended to keep The Shadows—and any other nasty beasties—from entering, although no one really knows how well the wards will work until The Shadows return. The wards are some pretty damned powerful magic, which is why there are no spells to prevent students from leaving.
I glance left, then right, and discern no shadows moving within the darkness. I reach the trees and the crickets and night frogs fall silent. To my left, something rustles. I drop to the ground and grimace at the moisture that seeps through the knees of my pants.
Carefully, I shift and search in the direction of the noise. Nothing moves. Damn, four days at The Academy and I’m already losing my edge. I push onto my feet then hurry forward in a crouch until I reach the next tree, press my back against the bark and listen. Silence.
I creep from tree to tree and, five minutes later, reach the wall. I crane my neck and look up at the top. Only about eight feet. I leap, grab the top, and pull myself up in one fluid motion. When I drop down onto the other side, I sprint toward the road. I walk two miles before getting a signal on my phone, so I can call an Uber.
Half an hour later, the Uber drops me on the street where I grew up. The house/potion shop is located ten miles southeast of The Academy in beautiful Westchester County. Streetlights are few and far between on the county’s residential streets. I don’t mind. Unlike most kids, I don’t fear the dark. Sure, nighttime may be the province of the boogie man, but the boogie man isn’t the badass most people think he is. There’s so much beauty in the night.
I glance at the sky. Clouds obscure the January moon, yet it’s warmer than it was five days ago when Ethan Bordeau walked into The Witching Hour and changed my life. I breathe deeply of the crisp night air. The familiar scents evoke a surge of emotion that catches me off guard.
Why, Grams? Fifteen wasn’t old enough to be pushed out of the nest, even a witch’s nest.
I should turn around. There’s nothing but pain for me if I keep walking this direction; the pain of never finding Grams’ shop no matter how hard I try.
The knowledge that she hated me so much that she felt the need to hide her home still hurts as much as it did the first time I tried to return home and couldn’t. Yet, I can’t make my feet veer away from the familiar road.
The red glow of a cigarette flares to my left, near a large tree a mere ten feet away. I freeze.
“Looking for something?” A man’s rich baritone reaches me.
Something deep inside me stirs. That voice seems familiar. Before I can respond, an overweight, orange tabby darts out of the shadows from the opposite direction. The cat skitters to a halt five feet away and arches. With his many fat rolls, he can’t quite make the high arch and ends up looking supremely uncomfortable, like he’s a victim of a vet sticking a thermometer up his rear.
“You’re dangerous,” the cat hisses.
I blink in surprise. I’d never had an affinity for cats, but more than that, witches can only understand their own familiars, although I can understand the odd pig on occasion.
“I see you for what you are,” the tabby growls, reminding me of a bitter, old woman harping about the younger generation. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“You must know Grams,” I reply acidly.
“Go,” the cat hisses.
I fold my arms over my chest. “I’m not inclined to take orders from a cat. Who do you belong to?”
He exposes more teeth, but he only appears more awkward. “You’re dangerous,” he repeats.
“Right.” I lurch forward and flap my hands.
The cat jumps back, trips, and rolls in the street before regaining his feet—or, at least, I assume he has feet under all that chub—and bounds off into the night. I grin, even as his words haunt me a little. A forgotten memory of Grams hovering over me whispering ‘You’re dangerous’ surges from the depths of my mind. Unexpected shame washes over me. Wasn’t that what Thomas had said, as well? Of course, he was right. I was dangerous—to him. But to Grams? Was that why she betrayed me?
A chuckle comes from the direction of the cigarette.
Again, the depths of my soul stir. I whirl. The cigarette is gone. So is the man—I think. “Who are you?” I wait expectantly through silence. My temper flares. “Enough already.”
Even though I know I won’t find the house, I start walking. I don’t have any potions, and the damn sigil will limit the types of magic I can use in my search for the house.
I’d grown up in this neighborhood. It’s crazy that I can’t find my childhood home using landmarks. I experience the same sense of the neighborhood being frozen in time I did the previous two times I’ve been here. Mrs. Campbell’s corner grocer is still there. So is Sam’s Barber Shop and the Tip-Top Tresses hair salon. I recognize the ancient oak up ahead. I always see the tree. It’s as if Grams left that memory just to taunt me. I could climb onto one of the limbs from my bedroom window. Until Grams pruned the tree, that is, which didn’t stop me for long. By age thirteen, I’d studied martial arts for six years. It was a simple matter to leap from my window onto the limb.
I cross the street, my spirits flagging, and half wonder
if I shouldn’t just head to my apartment to look for Stony. Maybe Stony can root out the house. I’m surprised I hadn’t thought of that before.
A flicker teases the corner of my eye. I stop and look. My heart stands still. Amidst a tiny shimmer I glimpse…is that gabled window part of Gram’s house? A car horn blares. I jump back onto the sidewalk.
“Get out of the road,” a sedan’s driver shouts as he speeds past.
I stare after the car. I hadn’t realized I’d stepped from the curb.
I return my attention to the shimmer and start running toward the house. I draw closer and my heart pounds. The house isn’t a mirage. Two stories, an attic, and a sharply pointed roof come into focus. Wooden shingles. A house straight from a storybook. A painted sign reading Crowe’s Potionary and looking as fresh as ever hangs from a post in the yard. Potionary wasn’t a word until the original Crowe potion master coined the term centuries ago. Since then, the rest of the Crowes kept the tradition alive.
I run up the walk, clear the four steps onto the porch, and stop in front of the door. The repel of the ward stings an instant before the damn sigil on my hand heats. Anger bubbles over. Shadows swirl in a vortex around me. My head spins in rhythm with the shadows and power surges. The wards splinter. Tiny lights flash as my fingers close around the doorknob, the door opens, and I step across the threshold. I start at the pain on my hand and glance down. The sigil glows like a glow stick in the dark. That’s going to hurt like a bitch when the adrenaline fades from my system.
I reach for the light switch to the left of the door before I realize the action. Even after seven years, old habits die hard. The overhead light flares to life. I fix my gaze on the left hand table, which stands in the exact place it occupied the day I left. I hold my breath. Everything is exactly as it had been when I last saw the inside of the house.
Above the table hangs a picture of Grams’ grandparents. Portraits of even more distant ancestors follow the stairs to the second floor landing. My gaze shifts to the right-hand wall and my heart cracks a little when I recognize photos of me hanging among more valuable portraits. Why did she leave my pictures hanging?
Her essence lingers like a physical presence. I laugh bitterly. If any part of her is present, it will be furious that I’ve returned. So, why can I now see the place?
I head across the foyer toward the living room, visible through the arched doorway to my right. As I pass through the archway, the motion-sensor floor lamp in the near-left corner turns on. I blink, surprised the thing still works.
I stop short at sight of a man dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and a leather jacket sitting in the wing backed chair on the far side of the room. Raven hair grazes his shoulders and long legs attached to a six foot-three-inch frame are crossed at the ankles. He’s gorgeous. Lately, the world seems overrun by gorgeous men.
“Who the hell are you?” I demand.
“Forgive the intrusion,” his velvety voice is colored by a slight accent I can’t quite place. “I didn’t have your phone number and the neighbors were looking through their curtains after I’d waited at your door for half an hour.” The accent could be Eastern European, though it really is faint.
“Most people leave after they realize no one is home,” I say.
A corner of his mouth turns up. “I am not most people.”
Chances are, the guy isn’t evil. Unless, of course, he figured out a way to get past Grams’ warding spell. Damn, maybe Grams’ concealment spell faded, along with her wards. No. The ache where the sigil marks me reminds me how acutely I felt her wards. I eye him. He doesn’t seem to know that Grams died and the potionary is no longer open for business.
“I don’t do business after five,” I say.
“Shall I return tomorrow before five?” he asks.
I shake my head and start to reply when the rapid click of small hooves on wooden floors approaches from the foyer. I know that sound. The man’s eyes shift past me and I cry out in delight as Stony trots into the room, snout high as she sniffs the air.
The man’s eyes shift to me, brows lifted. “A pig as a familiar?
“You don’t want to see her true shape, so I suggest you leave without causing any trouble,” I say, and suddenly wonder why Stony hadn’t sensed his presence in the house. Had she just arrived? I hadn’t heard the click of her hooves on the front porch.
Stony continues to the man, then sniffs his pants leg. His brows lift, but when she turns and waddles away, he relaxes. “She likes me,” he says. “That should count for something.”
“Stony’s easier going than I am.” That’s a complete lie, but she isn’t going wonky, so I relax a bit.
A breeze wafts the curtain to the left of the fireplace. I keep my eyes on the man. Grams never left windows open. Did someone leave it open during the investigation or is that how the man got in?
“Enough chitchat,” I say. “It’s been a hard day and it’s late.”
He rubs the arm of the chair. “Does the hard day have anything to do with your shop being closed?”
So, he does know.
Somewhere in the house, a door slams.
Dammit.
“Who the hell are you?” Before he can answer, I add, “If you brought friends, I’ll—”
Stony squeals and rams the back of my legs. I fall to the floor. Something green and iridescent grazes the sleeve of my jacket. The man dives for the floor. The green goo burns a hole through the chair back and continues out the other side. Not the armoire. Yes, it continues through Grams’ armoire. I push to my knees. I have no idea what the hell that was, so have no idea how to stop it. How far will the goo go before losing momentum?
The man jumps to his feet. “There will be more.”
Stony growls.
“You said she liked you,” I snap.
“She isn’t growling at me.”
A shudder shakes the house. The man weaves toward me. I scramble to my feet and take a step toward the foyer, but Stony bumps my legs, again. The man reaches my side as a green, eight-foot-tall demon ducks through the archway. Green demon. Green goo. Of course.
The man yanks me into a bear hug and dives for the back of the couch. The demon bellows. Stony squeals. The man and I hit the carpet. He releases me and we both peer over the back of the couch. Stony has shifted to her full seven-foot height.
She charges the demon. The creature emits an ear-splitting scream. How the hell did a demon of this magnitude get past Grams’ warding spell? I didn’t think it was possible for any amount of real evil to enter this house. The demon flings another green goo ball at us. We dive left, me landing on top of the stranger.
He grabs my shoulders. “Maybe another time, eh, sweet?” He sets me aside and leaps to his feet.
Fuck this. I jump to my feet and see Stony swipe at the demon. Her claws slice down the creature’s left side and she ducks when the thing dives for her. Thankfully, this green thing must be some kind of lower demon—slow and very stupid. But deadly. The creature begins to whirl toward Stony, but not before Stony sinks her fangs into its rump.
Green goo splatters Stony’s face, but she holds on for dear life. The demon throws its head back and claws the air above its back. My heart nearly stops when one long talon sweeps perilously close to Stony’s side. I throw my hands out to my sides and pool all my focus. The sigil burns like a bitch, but balls of thick, swirling black energy rise from my palms.
“Jump, Stony,” I shout.
I throw first the right, then the left shadow ball. Stony drops to the floor, bites the demon’s leg, then rolls into the foyer before the demon’s talons swipe the empty spot on the floor. The demon whirls toward us and the first ball hits its stomach, the second, its chest. It manages two steps, then explodes in a rainfall of green goo.
Chapter Nineteen
BLADE
Missing Witches and Green Demons
I enter Raith’s office. It’s almost midnight but, as usual, he’s still working. With Ciarah back, none of us are gettin
g much rest.
He looks up from his desk and frowns. “Ciarah?”
I nod. “She’s gone.”
“Gone? What do you mean, gone?”
“Bertha found her bed empty.”
“So soon?” he whispers.
I release a breath at the stark fear in his eyes. Raith’s reaction, and his display during Leilah’s first day here, reveals the passionate heart that beats beneath that cold exterior.
“She’s not gone gone,” I say. “My guess is she’s headed to her grandmother’s.”
Raith blinks. Confusion flickers across his face, then is replaced by anger. “You’re sure?”
“I found an open window in the girls’ bathroom where she sneaked out.”
His mouth thins. “This is grounds for expulsion.”
I chuckle. “There’s not a chance of that and you know it. Besides, that’s what she wants.”
“I will take her over my knee,” he mutters.
“You might want to recall where that got you when we caught up with her down in Virginia.”
Emotion flickers in his eyes. Yes, he remembers.
He grabs his phone, dials, presses it to his ear, and says, “Ethan, get over here,” then hangs up.
One might say Raith is autocratic, but all vampires are. While Raith isn’t the average vampire, it is in his nature to expect obedience. Still, his species traits are enhanced when Ciarah is involved. Ethan knows that. We all know it. In truth, we’re all different when she’s involved.
I’m not looking forward to the dragon’s fire once Ciarah’s energy fills us, as it inevitably will. Already, his green eyes swirl with a little more fire than they have these last forty years. At least, I don’t have to worry about a sulking wolf and a vicious gargoyle. The thought doesn’t comfort as much as I would like. Life is easier without these four men in my life, but they are as much a part of me as is Ciarah.