Black Arts, White Craft (Black Hat Bureau Book 2)

by Hailey Edwards

  And doubly unlucky for me if I had to explain to her my true beauty secret was, well, murder.

  10

  Back at the cabin, Clay put Asa to bed. In his room. Clay had played nurse for me often enough I trusted him to take care of his partner without me hovering. Asa and I might be swapping spit muffins, but there were rules and traditions and protocols when it came to every aspect of his life and person, it seemed, and I didn’t want to misstep.

  And no, I wasn’t tossing out excuses as fast as they came to mind.

  Or hiding out in my room because for one heart-stopping moment, I had thought I lost him.

  I didn’t even have him. Not really. A hair bracelet and a few dozen cupcakes did not a boyfriend make.

  “Rue.”

  I jumped a foot in the air when Clay found me. Pacing. Asa’s dried blood still under my nails.

  “Hey, now.” He hauled me in for a hug. “He’s sleeping off the healing, that’s all.”

  “I don’t like this.” I mashed my face into his chest. “I don’t like feelings.”

  “Yeah, you do.” He chuckled and swayed a little with me in his arms. “You’re worried about Ace. That’s a totally normal reaction.”

  “Not for me,” I grumbled. “I thought he was…”

  “Me too.” He kissed my temple. “Shorty told me about the voice.”

  “What do you think it means?” I tipped back my head. “Usually, hearing voices is not a good sign.”

  “Hearing voices is never a good sign.” He spun me out in a practiced move and let go of my hand so that I fell onto the mattress. “Do you think she means it literally?” He stretched out on the bed beside me. “Could it be her instincts waking up now that she’s getting regular practice with her magic?”

  “Literal, as far as I know.” I curled on my side against him. “Goddess bless, what a mess.”

  “We’ll figure it out.” His wide hand stroked up and down my back. “Don’t worry.”

  “Oh crap.” I jerked away from him. “I almost forgot.” I thumped my head on the pillow. “The book.”

  Braced on one arm, he stared down at me. “What about it?”

  “The grimoire.” I spelled it out for him. “David Taylor’s grimoire.”

  “That has to be what the witch was after.” I rubbed my temples. “What else could she have meant?”

  The name on the inside cover was Proctor, but there was no record of a Proctor working for Black Hat.

  Then again, the copycat had admitted David Taylor was a masque. We had no idea of his true identity.

  “I forgot you had that.” His lips twisted at one corner. “How much have you read?”

  Asa had read it from cover to cover, but Clay wouldn’t have forgotten it if he had put his hands on it. The thing pulsed with black magic even I could sense. That was why I put it in the safe. To dampen its pull. At least that was what I told myself to avoid remembering how the thing liked to move around on its own.

  “Enough to know I ought to destroy it after I’ve memorized the parts relevant to Colby.”

  Most witches had excellent memories, a requirement for spellwork unless you wanted to drag a sack full of reference grimoires with you everywhere you went for the rest of your life. As soon as I got home, the Colby-inspired passages were top of my to-do list. The sooner I committed that research to memory, the sooner I could set fire to the Proctor magnum opus, whoever they may be or might have been.

  “You sure that’s wise?” He rubbed his jaw. “Might be worth a more in-depth read.”

  “Tempting me is dangerous.” I wiggled my toes. “I don’t need help making bad decisions.”

  “Hey, I warned you off Ace.” He chuckled at my scowl. “It doesn’t get worse than that.”

  “Pretty sure there are worse things than crushing on a coworker.”

  “You mean like crushing on a daemon prince?”

  A groan poured out of me, and I shut my eyes. “Why did it have to be him?”

  “The hair.” He smoothed a hand over his curls. “I blame myself.” He struck a pose. “I gave you unrealistic expectations. I was too fabulous. It clearly sank into your tender, young mind and forced a bar to be set that only Asa’s flowing locks have reached thus far. He’s the only guy I know who spends as much time in front of a mirror as me. Obviously, you find men who take care with their appearance attractive.”

  “Why does it have to be so complicated?”

  “Good hair doesn’t just happen…” His lecture on product, which I had heard before, stalled. “Oh.” He sat upright. “You mean Ace.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I notice you’re not in there, hand-holding.”

  “He was in my room when I woke, back home.” I picked at the covers. “How long did he wait for me?”

  “The whole time you were out,” he admitted. “He knitted, mostly, but he read the grimoire too.”

  “Do you think he expects me to return the favor?”

  “He wouldn’t take it personally if you didn’t.” He grunted as he stood. “There’s no rush, Rue. Take all the time you need to be sure. He would rather you come to him when you’re ready than out of obligation.”

  “Thanks.” I stared at the ceiling. “I’m going to check in with the girls, see how the shop is coming along.”

  “You do that.” He paused on the threshold. “I’ll keep an eye on Ace.”

  “Thanks.” I bit the inside of my cheek. “Again.”

  With a nod, Clay shut the door behind him and set off down the hall.

  Phone in hand, I texted Arden rather than call on the slight chance she might be sleeping. Most times, she and Camber spent their off days together, on a couch, watching horror flicks that lulled me to sleep.

  >How are you? How is Camber? How’s the shop?

  >>Okay. Hungry. Good.

  >Are you two not eating while I’m gone?

  >>Unlike some people, we don’t have boyfriends who send us mountains of daily cupcakes.

  >He’s not my boyfriend.

  And he was lying in his bed, across the hall, recovering from gunshot wounds.

  Alone.

  >>It’s okay to care about a guy, Rue. They’re not all dick weasels.

  >I don’t know what a dick weasel is, and I’m not going to ask. You can’t make me.

  >>Camber is sleeping over, which is how I know she’s hungry. Her stomach is growling. We’re watching a Leprechaun marathon. Can you believe someone thought making eight of those was a good idea?

  >Order pizza on the shop card.

  >>For real?

  >No, for fake. What do you think?

  >>Thank you!

  >I would tell you not to stay up all night, but you pretty much have, so don’t stay up all day too.

  >>What good are off days if you sleep through them?

  >Fair point.

  >>Commercial break is over. I’m going to order that pizza. Talk to you soon.

  About the time we finished our goodbyes, I had a bee in my bonnet to check on Asa.

  Those stupidly excessive, ridiculously delicious cupcakes had struck a guilty chord in me.

  I swung my legs over the side of the bed, a twitch in my calves propelling me forward, and I flung my cell on top of the covers. When I gripped the doorknob, I jerked back as a powerful vibration filled my palm.

  The wards held strong, I would have known the instant that changed, so whatever was out there…

  Asa.

  A bone-deep certainty filled me as I opened the door slowly to reveal the daemon curled up on the floor. It hadn’t been a growl I felt, but deep snores that rattled through his chest like wet purrs.

  He had come to me for comfort when I didn’t go to him, but he had left the door as a barrier between us to respect my privacy. Poor guy must have been exhausted to conk out so fast after Clay left.

  Standing there, I felt six inches tall. No. Less. Three inches. Maybe two. One started to feel like a stretch.

  “Hey.” I crouched beside him and placed
my hand on his shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

  “Rue,” he mumbled, his lids fluttering open. “Good.”

  Smoothing a thumb across his fever-hot skin, I asked, “Do you want me to walk you back to your room?”

  “No.” He nestled against the planks. “Stay here.”

  His answer didn’t surprise me one whit. “Can I talk to Asa?”

  “Sleeping.” He yawned. “Healing.”

  Cold iron targeted the fae side of Asa, so it made sense the daemon half of him would be less affected.

  “Come on.” I hooked a hand under his arm. “I’m not leaving you out here all day.”

  “Tired.” He curled tighter. “Sleep now.”

  “You’ll sleep as soon as I get you in my bed.” I tugged on his arm. “I’ll throw my back out moving you.”

  Grunting through his teeth, proving he was feeling the hurt too, he rose to his full height.

  “You can take my spot.” I led him into my room and shoved him onto the bed. “I don’t sleep much.”

  “Hurts,” he murmured, snuggling down with his face in my pillow. “Rue make better.”

  “You’re still in pain?” I sat on the edge of the mattress. “Want me to get Colby? We can—”

  “No.” He fixed his burnt-crimson stare on me. “Rue.” He curled around me. “Rue make better.”

  Tears pricked the backs of my eyes as what he meant sank in. Just being here, with him, made it better.

  “Let me get my…” I attempted to rise, but he yanked me down again. “Can I get my book, please?”

  “Rue come back?” He studied me. “Not trick?”

  “The book is right there.” I pointed it out to him. “How about you hand it over instead?”

  The daemon palmed it with ease and brought it to his face. “Bearly His Mate?”

  You can read almost popped out of my mouth, but I shut it in time.

  “Yes.” I snatched it out of his hand. “Thank you.”

  “Read.” He snuggled back in, curling around me tighter. “Like voice.”

  To read shifter romance to the daemon or not to read shifter romance to the daemon.

  Ha.

  Like I entertained that notion for a hot second. I did not want Asa to know what I read before bed. There was nothing wrong with reading romance. No matter how spicy. There was nothing wrong with loving to read romance. Even if it scorched off your eyebrows. But people tended to judge you for it. Harshly. And I was doing my best not to hex people for being stupid. Not that I expected Asa to judge me for my taste in books. I just…didn’t want him thinking I was fetishizing shifters. Even if he technically wasn’t one?

  I also might be worried after Meg’s throwaway comment about horn licking that the daemon might get, well, invested in the storyline? No matter what Clay said, I couldn’t view Asa and the daemon as one person. I responded to them differently, as if they were individuals, and they each reacted to me in their own distinct ways.

  “You know what?” I faked a stretch. “That spell really took it out of me.” I yawned. “I think I’ll sleep too.”

  “With me?” His delight lit up his face. “I make room.”

  The daemon’s version of making room for me was to scoot to the edge of the mattress, which might have worked had he not taken up the whole thing in the first place. Even on his side, I had maybe a foot of space to wedge myself into if I wanted to make good on my lie.

  Reading the situation, he shoved up on his elbow. “I sleep on floor.”

  “No.” I pushed him down and wiggled in. “You sleep here.”

  Careful not to invade my personal space more than necessary, he kept his hands to himself and his body on his half of an invisible line he seemed to have drawn across the mattress. I didn’t have to wait long to experience the door phenomenon up close and personal as the whole bed shook with his deep snores. It made slinking onto the floor simple, and I stood over the daemon with a fond smile. He was cute with his feet hanging off the end of the bed, one horn stabbing his—well, my—pillow, and his lips motorboating.

  Unwilling to leave his side, I took my book and curled up with it in the corner of the room. I didn’t have a chair, but the mountain of blankets made a comfy sitting area. I snuggled in, cracked my book, and read.

  A text chime on my phone woke me, and I jolted awake in bed, confused how I got there.

  “Everything okay?” Asa’s soft voice made me bounce on the squishy mattress. “Rue?”

  “Just disoriented.” I wiped a hand over my face. “This is not where I fell asleep.”

  “You were on the floor when I woke.” He sat in my book nook. “It couldn’t have been comfortable.”

  “You were shot. Multiple times. You’re the one who needed to be comfortable. I was too wired to sleep. That’s why I gave your daemon the bed. He was tired and…” I wasn’t sure how much he recalled, but the least I could do was tell him. “I found him asleep outside my door. I couldn’t leave him out there.”

  “Him?” A hint of a smile shadowed his mouth. “Or me?”

  A flush exploded up the back of my neck into my already red face. “Both?”

  The faintest glimmer of pleasure sparked across his features before he dipped his chin.

  “I apologize for interrupting your rest.” He toyed with the blankets. “I didn’t mean to come to you.”

  “You took bullets for me. You can pajama party with me any time.”

  “I’ll remember that.” He peeked up at me through his lashes. “Do you need privacy?”

  “We’ve already slept together,” I joked, then bit the inside of my cheek. “You meant my phone.”

  His soft chuckles spread through me, erasing the worst of my embarrassment.

  “You’re fine,” I assured him. “Aside from you and Clay, I only get messages from the girls. And Colby.”

  Sad how I didn’t have to break a sweat to make my social life sound pathetic. I was lucky to have Camber and Arden. It was hard to make friends when so much of my life was a lie. Mentoring went over easier. It was a classic case of do as I say, not as I do. I pretended with the girls a lot too. I stuck to script for years.

  Until genuine affection blossomed, and I began to understand why witches thrived in communities.

  Maybe that was the problem with Asa and me. I didn’t have to act. I didn’t need a script. I was just…me.

  And he liked it.

  “Not this again.” I frowned at the notification. “A camera on the edge of the property caught motion.”

  “Anything to be concerned about?” He rose with a blanket around his waist. “Can you check the wards?”

  “I’m too far away to feel them.” I pulled up an interior camera. “But I did get smart about it this time.”

  Patting the mattress beside me, I kept scrolling until I found the angle I wanted, then I showed it to him.

  “The traffic light.” He smiled at me. “Very clever.”

  The wards had a few different indicators I rigged for Colby, who couldn’t feel them the way I did. The most common was a blink, which meant that a person or object had made contact. I had the sensitivity dialed all the way up while I was away, which meant anything bigger than a chipmunk would trigger one.

  The blink itself was conveyed via a decorative traffic light I’d mounted on the wall above Colby’s monitor. I fixed it so brief contact with the wards would flash yellow for caution. Prolonged contact turned it red. If all was well, it remained green.

  “We’re green.” I closed the app. “That means we’re good.”

  “It’s thirty minutes until midnight.” He noticed the time on my phone. “We might as well stay awake.”

  “We have another black witch to catch.” I huffed out a breath. “You can stay here with—”

  “No.”

  “You’re hurt.” I kept my newfound fear in check. “You don’t have anything to prove.”

  “I was hurt.” He smoothed a hand down his defined chest, inviting me to look my fi
ll. “You healed me.”

  Without permission from my brain, my hand shot out to trace each puckered scar. “Colby healed you.”

  “She is the arrow.” He captured my hand and pressed it over his heart. “You are the archer.”

  “And you were a target.” A sour taste flooded my mouth. “Because of me.”

  Laughter shook his shoulders, and he kissed my fingers. “You forget who I am.”

  “Do you use that tone on all peasants, or am I special?”

  “You are special, and I don’t address the horde. They, however, have Father’s express permission, and his encouragement, to repay what I attempted to do to him tenfold. I have been a target since the day I was born, and I will remain one until the day I die.”

  There was so much to unpack in that statement. “Your father put out a hit on you?”

  “His successor must be worthy of his legacy,” he mocked. “Or a new one will be appointed.”

  “How are you so chill about this? Does Clay know? Does the Bureau?”

  “I’ve had a lifetime to accept death is inevitable.” He glanced away. “And yes, they’re both aware.”

  For a good three seconds, I debated strangling him, which would make his dire prophecy come true.

  “How is the director okay with this?” I couldn’t put two and two together to get four, not with Asa’s birthright. “He just lets it happen?”

  “White witches are hunted from birth by their dark counterparts,” he reasoned. “No one stops that.”

  “That doesn’t make it right.” I balled my hands into fists. “Not all cultural practices are great ideas.”

  A knowing warmth softened his expression. “You see the problem.”

  Goddess bless, I walked right into that one.

  “Cultural practices,” I grumbled, unhappy in the extreme that no one had told me. “How does it work?”

  “They don’t interfere on cases, if that’s what concerns you. They challenge me on my own time.”

  “Yes, Asa, that’s exactly what concerns me.” I rolled my eyes. “Not that you might die, or that you sound fine with it, but that it might impede an ongoing investigation. What else would I care about?”