Dark Arts and a Daiquiri (The Guild Codex: Spellbound Book 2)

by Annette Marie

  Holding his nose, he shot me a furious glare. Yes. Yes, I did just punch him in the face. But only a little?

  I met his glower and immediately lost my train of thought. Not just lost. The train careened right off the tracks and exploded in a giant fireball of oh my god, those eyes. He had the most striking green eyes I’d ever seen in my life: liquid emerald with a distinct dark ring around the irises, framed by thick lashes.

  “What’s the matter with you?” he demanded—and good god, that deep, husky voice was suddenly oh-so-sexy instead of intimidating. Gah! Had he murdered a fae of unholy attractiveness and stolen its powers?

  “Sorry,” I wheezed, struggling to pull myself together. It was the surprise, that was all. I just hadn’t expected him to look like Brad Pitt and Bradley Cooper’s beautiful love child. I was already over it. Really, I was.

  A cackling shriek cut through the trees and all our heads jerked toward the outcry. The Ghost shoved himself off the ground, his expression grim. He didn’t pull his hood back up. Instead, he slid his coat off and threw it behind him.

  Hidden beneath the leather was a sleeveless shirt that displayed his sculpted arms from shoulders down to tattooed wrists. The feather pattern that ran over his skin disappeared under the dark fabric, but that wasn’t all his coat had been hiding.

  Hanging from ties around his neck were four crystals in bright colors, shimmering with unnatural vibrancy. Clipped onto his belt were a dozen thin glass vials, almost like test tubes, that ran from his hips around his back, each filled with a potion.

  He tugged his gloves off and tossed them aside, then snapped a vial off his belt. Pulling the cork out with his teeth, he downed the liquid like a shot of absinthe.

  “Whoa!” I exclaimed. “What did you just drink?”

  His glower snapped to me, punching the air out of my lungs. Or maybe that was just his unfairly handsome face stealing my breath away.

  “Strength-enhancing potion,” he barked. “Get back and stay out of the way.”

  Probably better that I didn’t argue. Retreating a few steps, I joined Nadine in front of a cluster of trees that would shield us from any sneak attacks, though I was hoping the monsters would focus on the real threat.

  And I had to say, the Ghost looked every inch a threat.

  As a tall, monstrous silhouette slunk out of the shadows, the druid clenched his hand into a fist. A rune on his inner forearm lit up in a swirl of red light. As he opened his hand, matching light formed in his palm and extended into a curved saber, flames flickering off the hilt.

  Hissing furiously, the darkfae charged. The Ghost leaped forward to meet it.

  They crashed together in a burst of fiery red light and electric green power. I flinched, gripping Nadine’s arm as the Ghost whipped his magic blade across the creature. It swung an arm at his legs, forcing him back. They slammed together again, and as the creature twisted away from the Ghost’s saber, he thrust his other hand at it.

  “Impello,” he snarled.

  An invisible force struck the creature, throwing it backward. I knew that incantation. So the markings on the Ghost’s palms were sorcery spells—hexes embedded in his flesh.

  He surged after the monster, and as they clashed, another rune on his forearm lit up—this one a yellow so pale it was almost white. With a blinding flash, the creature fell, shrieking in agony. But it didn’t stay down, and as it rolled to its feet with green light sizzling across its body, movement among the trees caught my attention.

  A second creature loped into view, a crackling orb forming in its hands. As the sickly green light expanded, the leaves on the overhanging tree branches shriveled and turned brown. The ferns nearest the beast melted into soggy black tendrils.

  The fae flung its attack at the Ghost. He whipped his sword around and the blast struck it, the impact flinging him into the air.

  He should have fallen. He should have slammed down with bone-breaking force.

  As he flung his arms out for balance, his feather tattoos blurred—then lifted away from his skin. Shadowy black wings rose off his back, spreading wide as he landed on his feet and skidded backward across the leaf litter.

  The wings snapped down, pushing him forward, and he launched at the creatures with scarcely a pause. As he moved, the shadowy wings blurred and resettled over him, turning into tattoos again.

  He’d survived that attack, but now he was fighting two creatures instead of one.

  I stared around wildly, hoping to see the vargs charge out of the trees a second time. No wolves appeared, but light gleamed across something shiny amidst the leaf litter—a potion bottle. Miraculously, it hadn’t broken when I dropped it.

  I snatched the bottle by its neck, and as the second creature conjured another spell, an eerie glow snaking out from its hand like green vines, I ran toward it. It grinned at me, long tongue sliding between its thin lips. It didn’t think the puny human could hurt it.

  Drawing the bottle back, I smashed it over the monster’s bony shoulder.

  The glass shattered and pink liquid sprayed all over. The fae roared. Rosy smoke billowed off its skin in pretty spirals and the liquid bubbled. Still bellowing, the fae slashed its claws at me.

  A hard yank on my shirt pulled me backward and the fae’s claws missed my face by inches. Releasing my shirt, the Ghost grabbed my arm. Pain registered on my senses and when I saw the pink mist spiraling off my hand, generously splattered in liquid, I got a bit lightheaded.

  Holding my arm by the elbow, his hand well away from the potion, the Ghost snapped another vial off his belt. He pulled the cork with his teeth and dribbled tangerine fluid over my hand. Cool tingles rushed across my skin and the pink stuff hissed, puffed smoke, then washed away.

  He emptied the vial over my hand, rinsing away all the pink, then stepped back. I squinted at the tender spots on my skin and tried not to think about what would’ve happened if he hadn’t been carrying an antidote. When I looked up, I discovered we were alone again.

  “Where are the things?” I asked shakily.

  “The darkfae left.” He rolled one shoulder like it was hurting him. “It wasn’t an easy fight and they’re cowards at heart.”

  “Huh. Where’s your fire sword?”

  He didn’t offer an answer, but I supposed I didn’t need one. The saber must have dissolved back into nothing, the same way it had formed out of nothing. I glanced at his arms, but the rune tattoos were dark again.

  His green eyes slid over me. “You’re impressively reckless with your wellbeing.”

  He didn’t sound impressed. I folded my arms and scowled. “You’re very welcome for saving your sexy ass.”

  His eyebrows shot up and I almost cringed. Think, then speak. I needed to practice that.

  “Is this what you sneak off into the forest to do all the time?” I rushed on. “Trading lethal poisons with darkfae?”

  “I don’t ‘sneak’ anywhere,” he growled.

  I waved a hand dismissively. “But you do trade in black magic shit with darkfae?”

  “Not all darkfae. And as you saw, some of them don’t like it.” He picked up a discarded vial and clipped it on his belt, then surveyed the clearing. Where the pink potion had splattered, the fallen leaves were disintegrating into dust, but that was the least of the damage. All the surrounding trees and shrubbery sported shriveled brown leaves—the life sucked out of them by the darkfae’s magic.

  As he headed toward his discarded coat on the ground beside Nadine, she gulped. “Are you hurt?”

  Her question came out as a faint warble and she pointed at his midriff with a quivering hand. Darkfae claws had shredded the bottom half of his shirt. He pulled the tatters up to check himself for injuries, giving us girls an amazing view of his ripped abs.

  “No,” he said. “I’m fine.”

  She nodded dumbly. I could practically see her panties melting. Mine had already evaporated.

  As he pulled his coat on, I patted my cheeks, hoping they weren’t as red as Nadi
ne’s. I needed a cold shower. The fact that this dude was a murdering rogue who freely traded in black magic with vicious darkfae should have been as sobering as an entire arctic sea dumped on my head, but that logic wasn’t working as well as it should.

  He shrugged his coat into place, then located the other three potion bottles—unbroken, it turned out. Offering them to me, he lifted an eyebrow. “Can I trust you with these?”

  “Dunno,” I shot back. “I kind of want to see what they might do to your face.”

  “But not my sexy ass?”

  I choked. No witty comeback came to mind, so I grudgingly took the bottles. Quiet rustling disturbed the forest, then the vargs appeared. They were normally silent, but two were limping badly. The Ghost briefly inspected their injuries, then started forward. As Nadine and I fell into step behind him, he glanced back.

  Green eyes sliding across us, he reached over his shoulder for his hood. As he drew it up and the shadows enclosed his face, he rumbled quietly, “What will I do with you two now?”

  I wished I could have seen his eyes when he’d asked the question. Maybe then I wouldn’t have been so afraid of the answer.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ghost Captivity, Day Thirteen.

  As I washed my hands, I studied my reflection in the mirror. I’d tamed my wild curls into a ponytail and pinned my bangs off my face. My creamy-pale complexion had warmed after spending so many days out in the sun, but the tan was nothing compared to the explosion of freckles across my nose, cheeks, and shoulders.

  I stared into my hazel eyes, the amber and brown flecked with green. My sixteen-year-old self gazed back at me, haunted and hopeless.

  Trapped. I was trapped, and all the ugly feelings I’d left behind years ago were creeping back.

  Pulling myself together, I dried my hands on a towel and exited the bathroom. In the hallway, I paused as giggling laughter echoed out of the kitchen. My stomach contorted into a tighter knot.

  Despite the Ghost’s ominous question about what to do with Nadine and me after our adventure in the forest, he hadn’t done a thing. I’d barely seen him, and if I hadn’t known he kept to himself, I would’ve assumed he was avoiding me. Morgan had assigned me to barn work for the last three days, while Nadine had been relegated to the kitchen, so I’d scarcely exchanged words with her either. We’d talked briefly before falling asleep, but with the other two girls in the room, we hadn’t spoken of the darkfae attack—or our glimpse of the Ghost’s face.

  I leaned back against the wall, listening to the post-lunch chatter in the kitchen. What was I doing here? I wanted to save Nadine, but I couldn’t even save myself. I was helpless, and I hated it.

  Thirteen days. Aaron, Kai, and Ezra must be out of their minds worrying about me. Who knew what they were doing to find me? And then there was my brother. He wouldn’t have a clue why I’d vanished, and being a cop, he wasn’t the type to sit at home and wait for me to call.

  My head thumped against the wall and I closed my eyes. Sick desperation churned through me. Waiting had become impossible to stomach. Escape. I needed to escape. How? How?

  “Tori?”

  I opened my eyes. Nadine stood at the end of the hall, a wicker basket in her arms.

  “You okay?” She hefted her basket. “Want to help me cut up some roots?”

  “Sure.” At this point, I’d take any distraction. And, oddly enough, Morgan had failed to assign me any chores for the afternoon.

  Nadine grabbed an extra paring knife from the kitchen, and we sat outside on the porch, the basket between us. The stringy roots were dark brown with a fresh, earthy smell.

  “What is this stuff?” I muttered.

  “I think it’s used in poultices, but don’t eat it. It’s poisonous.”

  I wrinkled my nose. Surprise, surprise, another poisonous plant from the Ghost’s garden of death. “Yeah, wasn’t planning to eat it.”

  We worked in silence for a few minutes, cutting the large chunks into inch-sized pieces. My hands moved on autopilot and I barely saw the roots or the knife. My mind spun around and around, rehashing everything I’d learned about this place.

  “Feeling all right?” Nadine asked eventually.

  I gave a small shrug. “Just restless, I guess.”

  “I felt that way at first too. I wanted to leave so bad.”

  “You did?”

  She smiled ruefully as she sawed at a fat root. “I thought I’d made a huge mistake, but it was just the shock. It’s a big transition to go from a regular life—living in the city, going to school, doing homework—to living on a ranch in the middle of nowhere. And the people here seem weird at first, right?”

  I couldn’t agree more. Though they weren’t quite as weird as the Crow and Hammer mythics.

  “It took me three or four weeks to get used to the new routine, but I’ve been here two months now and I love it.” Her eyes lit up with humor and she lowered her voice. “Plus, if I’d known how seriously gorgeous he was, I would never have considered leaving.”

  My mouth twisted. I hoped I didn’t get that starry-eyed, super-crush look when I thought about him.

  “Seeing him fight was soooo cool,” she whispered. “I asked Morgan—carefully, so she wouldn’t know why I was asking—and I think each rune on his arms is a magical gift from a fae. Like, a power they gave him in exchange for something.”

  In exchange for what, though? Poisons and black magic?

  “I don’t have a clue about the wings, though. That was insane. Do you think he can fly?” Her eyes went even bigger, her cheeks flushed, and I could see her crush deepening into infatuation as she spoke. “As soon as I get the chance, I want to ask him—”

  “He isn’t like that!”

  The words burst out in a furious hiss, and I instantly regretted them as wariness replaced her eager excitement.

  “What does that mean?” she asked coolly.

  Damn it. Well, since I’d already blurted out the wrong thing, might as well run with it. I leaned closer, lowering my voice.

  “He isn’t the person you think he is, Nadine. He has a garden full of poison plants, he makes deadly potions in his kitchen, he trades black magic with darkfae. He—” I swallowed hard and plunged on. “Before I came here, I heard some things about him. He’s a wanted criminal. He’s killed people. The kids he picks up are never seen again—ever.”

  She contemplated me in silence, then asked, “If that’s what you’d heard about him, why did you take his offer?”

  “I was desperate,” I answered truthfully. Desperate to save her.

  “I was desperate too.” She tossed a root into the basket. “My parents were never what I’d call loving. I always felt like a project or something—this thing they wanted to improve but could never make perfect. The older I got, the worse they were over everything. Nothing I did was good enough. I was scrawny, I was weak, I was stupid, I was gullible, I was ugly.”

  All words of encouragement I’d heard from my father when I was her age. No wonder I’d seen so much of myself in her.

  “That wasn’t enough to make me leave,” she continued. “But then, on my sixteenth birthday, I got this big envelope in the mail. No return address, but I thought it was a birthday gift, so I opened it.” She stared at the knife. “And I learned everything I knew about myself was a huge lie.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She picked up another root. “There was no letter or anything, but inside the envelope were old newspaper clippings and police reports and printouts. The first news article was from a London paper about a couple who died in a car accident, and how their one-year-old daughter survived. There was a police report that talked about suspicious circumstances surrounding the accident.”

  I opened my mouth, but I didn’t know what to say.

  “There was a copy of a birth certificate for a Nadine Emrys. She was born in Cheshunt. That’s a town outside London—in England. The couple who died were Stephen and Malinda Emrys.” She dug her knife into
the root, more like she wanted to gouge it to death than chop it. “The other things in the envelope were harder to understand. Copies of adoption paperwork with my name on them, but the details were wrong. I think the papers were forged.”

  I pulled the knife out of her hands before she hurt herself. She didn’t seem to notice.

  “The last few pages,” she whispered, “were the strangest. There was a printout from an obituary. ‘With great sadness, the Bellingham Sorcerers announce the unexpected passing of our honored guild master, Stephen Emrys, and his beloved wife, Malinda. They leave behind their young daughter.’ It went on to talk about Stephen’s and Malinda’s accomplishments … lots of accomplishments. They sounded like important people.”

  “They were sorcerers,” I murmured. “That was their guild.”

  She clenched her hand around the root and it snapped in half. “The last two papers were from the same guild. An investigation into Stephen’s and Malinda’s murders, and a report about the kidnapping of infant Nadine Emrys from her guardians’ home in London.”

  Silence vibrated between us. I hesitated, then touched her shoulder. “Do you think your …” I hesitated to call them parents. “Do you think the couple you grew up with illegally adopted you?”

  She looked up, her eyes haunted. “I think they killed my real parents and kidnapped me when I was a baby. Nothing else makes sense. Otherwise, how would I have gotten from England to here?”

  “But … why?”

  “I don’t know, but when I realized it, I freaked out. They weren’t home—they didn’t care it was my birthday—and I was terrified they would come back and kill me when they realized I knew the truth. I was having a total meltdown, and then the doorbell rang.”

  She huffed with faint amusement. “I remembered afterward that my neighbor had promised to visit. She was bringing me a birthday cake. But I was so spooked I grabbed my knapsack and the envelope and took off through the back. I should’ve just opened the door. Running away was dumb, and Varvara would’ve taken me in.”

  “Varvara?” I repeated, surprised by the unusual name.