Blood Cursed: A Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance (The Witch's Rebels Book 4)

by Sarah Piper

  “That’s very poetic, girl, but this isn’t open mic night at Luna’s Café. Nor is this a negotiation. You’re mine, and you’re—”

  “Done.” I drew myself up to my full height and stared him down, my voice unwavering. “Send me back to your so-called hell. Now.”

  “Don’t play games with me. You won’t like the outcome.”

  I glared at him, wondering how far I could push him. This was a dangerous game, with stakes higher than any I’d ever fought for.

  But that was exactly why I couldn’t back down. It was too important.

  “You need to maintain the status quo in our communities, Sebastian. This isn’t about games or me rebelling or anything like that. It’s simple math.”

  “Okay. Let’s say, for curiosity’s sake, I consider your request.” Sebastian glared at me for much longer than necessary, letting the echo of his forced Southern drawl creep over my skin like spiders. When I could no longer hold back my shiver, his eyes glinted at my response, and he offered me a twisted smile. “What exactly are you offering me, witch?”

  I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, seeking reassurance from the magic inside.

  This was it. My one chance at getting this right. So many had come to negotiate at this table, and so many had walked away in chains. I couldn’t let that happen.

  “I will do as you ask,” I said calmly, opening my eyes. “I’ll fulfill the contract and complete the assignments to the letter. I’ll summon and bind my ancestors—no loopholes, no tricks.”

  Sebastian grunted. “And in return?”

  I’d kept a respectable distance from him since he’d hit me with that invisible smackdown, but now I approached the table again. “In return, you’ll allow me to return to Raven’s Cape with Ronan and Darius, liberate Jonathan’s prisoners, and deal with the immediate threats facing the witches and the supernatural community at large.”

  “I see. And how long will that take?”

  “However long that takes,” I said. “Unfortunately, there’s not a manual for these things.”

  Sebastian shook his head. “And you think I can divert my resources for this little rescue mission of yours? Help you save the day and skip off into the sunset, everybody’s favorite little heroine? A poster child for all the witches across the land?”

  “No, Sebastian. I don’t need you to help me.” I leaned forward on table, looking straight into his evil eyes. My magic surged, the electric hum of it making the hairs on my arms raise and the candle between us flicker. “I just need you to stay the hell out of my way.”

  Thirteen

  Emilio

  From the outside, The Phoenix’s Flame metaphysical shop was an unassuming little cottage tucked into the woods about fifteen minutes outside of the Cape, complete with a garden full of gnome statues and a curl of smoke rising from the chimney. There wasn’t even a sign outside—this was strictly a word-of-mouth business.

  Inside, the place was a witch’s paradise. The main level had been opened up, filled with a mismatched collection of metal, wood, and glass shelving, display cases, and tabletops, each piece from a different era yet somehow working together seamlessly. Every surface displayed tools of the craft—crystals, wands, incense, books, DVDs, statues, beads, bells, cauldrons, jewelry. An entire wall of built-in bookcases was devoted to fairy, gnome, and gargoyle statues. A massive counter at the center of the store held a sprawling Tarot card collection that Gray would’ve loved.

  “Merry meet, friends.” A middle-aged woman with startling green eyes and a messy bun of curly red hair emerged from the back of the house, carrying a tray of pastries and tea. I got the distinct sense she’d been expecting us. “I’m Verona Braden. Please, make yourselves at home.”

  She gestured toward a small room off to the side, set up like a regular living room with two small couches and an armchair surrounding a coffee table made out of a massive tree stump.

  It was seven in the morning, and Elena and I had just knocked on the door after staking the place out overnight. Jael was keeping an eye on things outside. At the moment, Darkwinter’s focus seemed to be on the Bay, but there were still dark fae here in Raven’s Cape, and we couldn’t take any chances.

  Elena and I thanked her and took a seat on one of the couches. When Verona set down the tea tray and sat across from us, I noticed she wasn’t meeting my eyes, but staring at a spot just above my shoulder, her own eyes slightly unfocused.

  She was blind, I realized.

  “Have you met Roscoe yet?” she asked.

  At the sound of his name, a russet-colored golden retriever padded out from the back of the house and joined us, sitting on the floor at my feet. I leaned forward and held out my hand, which he happily sniffed. Seconds later, he leaped up on the couch, curling up between me and Elena and promptly falling asleep.

  “He likes you,” Verona said with a kind laugh. “Okay. Now that I know you’re good people, we can relax. Please, help yourselves to tea.”

  She remained amicably silent while Elena poured three cups from a teapot shaped like a cat.

  Reaching for a pastry, Verona said, “So what brings you to my little corner of the woods? I don’t get many drop-in visitors these days.”

  Elena introduced us and handed over our badges for the woman to inspect by touch.

  “We’re looking for information on a customer who came through here late last night,” Elena said. “A witch by the name of Norah Hanson. Mid-fifties, highly knowledgable. She’s a coven leader from Blackmoon Bay.”

  The woman’s eyebrow twitched—so slight a human wouldn’t have noticed, but my shifter instincts picked up on it immediately. She’d recognized the name—if not from a personal acquaintanceship, then probably from the raised lettering on Norah’s credit card.

  “We don’t believe she’s a regular customer of yours,” I said. “Just passing through town. She paid with a credit card and made a fairly large purchase—just over five hundred dollars.”

  The woman nodded, concern tightening her warm features. “Yes, that name and purchase amount sounds about right. But the woman I helped felt much younger to me—in her early twenties at best.”

  “What makes you say that?” I asked.

  “Obviously I can’t see people the way sighted folk can, but I do have different sort of sight. I get a sense for people, detective. Everything from the way you speak, the words you choose, your scent, the feel of your skin when I shake your hand, the sound of your shoes against the floor, the swish of your clothing when you walk—all of those things reveal a lot about a person. If that customer was in her fifties, then Roscoe here is a toy poodle.”

  Roscoe let out a whimper of discontent.

  “Do you think the credit card was stolen?” Elena asked me.

  “Possibly,” I said. “Or Norah has an accomplice.”

  “Would you like to see her?” The woman gestured toward the checkout counter in the center room. Next to the cash register sat a pale, milky-green orb about the size of a grapefruit.

  “Is that a… crystal ball?” Elena asked.

  “Indeed. But not just any crystal ball. Green aventurine is an excellent stone for attracting luck, money, and success.” Verona winked at us, her smile sly. “Also, that one’s got a hidden camera.”

  She headed out to the register and grabbed her tablet from beneath the counter, her steps quick and sure.

  “Security footage,” she said, then used voice commands to queue up the video. “I don’t like to judge my customers, of course, but I have to tell you… There was something quite odd about her.”

  “How so?”

  “For starters, Roscoe refused to go anywhere near her, which is very unusual for him.”

  “Do you think he sensed something sinister?” I asked.

  “Not sinister, exactly,” she said. “He would’ve warned me if he thought I was in danger. No, this was more like… confusion? Like he didn’t quite know what to make of her. And then there was… Well, see for yourself.”
She handed over the tablet.

  Elena and I leaned in together over Roscoe, peering down at the screen. A young woman approached the register with a basket full of supplies. She was blonde, with chin-length wavy hair, brown eyes, and a heart-shaped mole above her left eyebrow. Her right brow was pierced with a tiny silver ring.

  “Verona,” I said, “would you mind giving us a moment?”

  “Of course. Take all the time you need.” She and Roscoe headed back into the main area of the shop, leaving me alone with Elena and the woman on the screen.

  I felt like I’d just seen a ghost.

  “Verona was right,” I whispered, heart galloping. “This isn’t Norah. It’s Delilah Pannette.”

  Elena narrowed her eyes at the screen. “Who?”

  “She’s a witch from Norah’s coven who went missing from the Bay not long after Sophie’s murder. We feared she’d been killed, too, though we never found any evidence of foul play.”

  “Looks pretty alive to me,” Elena said.

  It was true, but there was something… off about her. When I’d spoken with her at Norah’s house after Sophie’s death, she was understandably upset, but I also sensed a fiery disposition inside her. She was talkative, alert, opinionated. The kind of witch who speaks her mind and doesn’t back down from a fight.

  The woman in this video was the exact opposite. She looked like a zombie, with glassy dead eyes, limp hair, and slow, jerky movements.

  “Something is definitely wrong with her,” Elena confirmed. The longer we watched the video, the more obvious it became. When Verona rung up the purchase, Delilah struggled to get her wallet from the purse, dropping the card several times. She never smiled, never asked questions, never said more than a few words, despite Verona’s attempts at friendly small-talk.

  “She looks like she’s sleepwalking,” Elena said.

  “Or under a spell.” My gut told me that was the answer.

  Norah was staying out of sight. Whatever she was planning—whether an escape from the country, or something more sinister—she’d coerced Delilah into doing her bidding. Using the credit card had been her first mistake.

  Elena and I rejoined Verona at the register, tablet in hand.

  “Would you mind if I forwarded myself a copy of this footage?” I asked.

  “Of course not,” she said.

  “Do you remember what she purchased?” Elena asked. The camera angle hadn’t really allowed for a clear view of her items. “Or if she said anything about what she needed the items for? Maybe when she first arrived at the shop?”

  Verona shook her head. “She knew right where everything was, got it all gathered up so quickly I’d barely had time to ask if she needed help. I offered her tea, but she declined.”

  “But what did she buy?” I asked, at the same time Elena said, “Did she say anything about Norah Hanson, or where they might be heading?”

  Verona hesitated, clearly uncomfortable at the sudden barrage of questions. “I’m sorry, detectives. I don’t typically disclose information about client purchases. Some of the items we carry are rather sensitive in nature, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

  “Of course,” Elena said, backing off. “We’re just trying to do our jobs.”

  “Anything you can share would be a big help,” I said.

  Verona put the tablet back under the counter, then knelt down beside Roscoe, scratching his ears. The dog sighed happily, his tail swishing across the hardwood floor.

  “What is this about?” she asked. “Has this Norah woman committed a crime?”

  Elena and I exchanged a quick glance. After a beat, I nodded. Verona was a witch. She could be in danger. She had a right to know what was happening. Besides, maybe if she heard some of the gruesome details, she’d be more willing to share intel.

  “Norah Hanson is wanted for questioning in connection with the disappearance of a teenaged witch from Blackmoon Bay and is a suspect in the kidnapping and murder of several others,” I said, “including the woman seen here using Norah’s credit card. The two may be working together, or there may be some sort of coercion going on, but it’s clear that something is not right about the situation.”

  “But… you said Norah was a coven leader,” Verona said. “You believe she’s killing her own witches? That seems highly—”

  “Ma’am,” Elena said, the last of her patience finally snapping, “I appreciate your desire to protect your clients’ privacy, but this is a police matter. If you’re not comfortable volunteering information, I can go through more formal channels, but quite frankly that would be a waste of your time and our department resources.”

  Verona stood up, her mouth pressed into a grim line, her green eyes revealing nothing. They matched the aventurine stone, I realized now.

  “We’re talking about a child,” I said gently, good cop to the rescue. “A runaway who was taken in by a very powerful witch, and possibly imprisoned and harmed as part of a larger crime we’re only just beginning to uncover.”

  At this, she finally softened. “Perhaps we should have another round of tea.”

  We reassembled in the living room, though Roscoe had abandoned Elena and me, taking a seat at Verona’s feet instead.

  “There have been whispers of trouble,” Verona said, stroking the dog’s head. “Several practitioners have brought their concerns to me in recent months, seeking protective spells and amulets, advice, private places to meet. They say witches are being targeted again. That within the next few months, we’ll experience another Great Hunt. At first, I didn’t want to believe it. Rumors and old ghosts, I told them. Forty-five years I’ve been here, and though we’ve had our ups and downs, we’ve persevered. But this feels different now. Many have left Raven’s Cape and the surrounding communities. Witches in other towns are getting worried, too.” She shook her head, tears gathering in her eyes. “I keep assuring them that we’ll get through this as we always have, but I’m not so sure.”

  “You will get through this,” Elena said, surprising me by leaning forward and placing a comforting hand on top of Verona’s. “We all need to work together, now more than ever.”

  Verona smiled. “Thank you. I know. I guess there’s just a part of me that doesn’t want to believe this sort of thing could happen again. Not in my lifetime.”

  She finished her tea, then said, “The woman pretending to be Norah did not tell me why she bought her supplies, but the combination of tools and ingredients she selected could only be used for one thing—a highly complex protection spell. One that, if done correctly, essentially erases a person’s existence by changing her appearance and identity, altering her public records, and manipulating the memories of all who knew her.”

  “People actually do that?” Elena asked.

  “Not often. If one thing goes wrong with that spell—the wrong word in the incantation, a single caraway seed more or less than called for, a mistranslated sigil, the wrong moon phase—the caster could die.”

  “Talk about erasing one’s existence,” I said.

  “Precisely. There are other strong protection spells—those are the more common ones witches use, even in dark times. This one is not one to be trifled with.”

  “You didn’t try to talk her out of it?” Elena asked.

  “It is not my place to offer unsolicited advice to sisters of the craft, nor to pry too deeply into their affairs.”

  We finished our tea in silence, each of us contemplating what these revelations meant.

  When we rose from the couch to say our goodbyes, Elena reached for Verona’s hands. “Please be careful, Verona. It’s not safe for solitary practitioners right now. Even covens are in danger. You must do everything you can to protect yourself.”

  “Don’t you worry about that,” she said, smiling at us both. “The witches of Raven’s Cape will continue to do what we’ve always done. We will weather the storms upon us with a little bit of magic and a whole lot of common sense.”

  After promising to get in touch if De
lilah or Norah returned, or if she thought of anything else that might help, Verona escorted us to the door.

  “I’ll be right out,” I told Elena, lingering in the doorway. “There’s, ah, there’s something else I need to get from Verona.”

  Fourteen

  Gray

  “Rayanne! Are you hurt?”

  Deirdre Olivante was waiting for me outside the chamber, concern deepening the lines between her eyebrows. In the sudden bright light of the hallway chandeliers, she looked even older than I’d originally thought, but her eyes were sharp and clear, the exact shape and shade as mine. It seemed I’d also inherited her cheekbones.

  There was no denying our resemblance.

  Wow. I have a grandmother.

  “I… I’m fine,” I said as the door shut behind me, blissfully separating me from the sleazy demon inside. Unfortunately, the moment the door sealed, the hellhounds reappeared at my sides, glaring at me with their mean red eyes as if they were daring me to try something.

  I was too tired to be shocked, but their presence was as unsettling as ever.

  “They do that sometimes.” Deirdre waved her hand toward the hounds, careful not to get too close. “I’d say you get used to them, but I’m afraid you never quite do.”

  “Why don’t you have a pair?”

  “I’m not a flight risk.” Deirdre sighed. “I’ve been with Sebastian a long time, Rayanne.”

  “Well, I don’t plan on being here that long. Sebastian and I came to an understanding about a few things.”

  She arched an eyebrow, a smile playing on her lips. It warmed her face considerably. “It seems he’s taken a liking to you. Sebastian doesn’t usually give his demon sworn an opportunity to renegotiate.”

  “Lucky me.” I was still wearing Ronan’s sweatshirt, and now I pulled the hood up over my head, losing myself in a wave of his cloves-and-campfire scent. The back of my nose stung with unshed tears. “Where is Ronan? I really need to see him.”