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

by Hailey Edwards

  Springing to my feet, I was done sharing space with him and all these feelings.

  Hearts were good for one thing.

  Dinner.

  I should have remembered that.

  “Rue.”

  Ignoring him, I yanked on the doorknob until it yielded to my temper, but Asa reached over my head and slammed it shut before I could escape into the hall. His warm front pressed against my back, and his chin came to rest on my shoulder, his breath hot on my skin as he nuzzled under my ear.

  Purring, he brushed his lips over the column of my throat. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  The casual defeat in his acceptance of his fate reminded me too much of how I always pictured my end. I had known my own legend within the Bureau only made other black witches salivate in my proximity. All of them viewed me in much the way as I had seen them: as a treat I might one day pop into my mouth.

  “Why bother with the bracelet if you’ve already given up?” Forehead pressed against the cool wood, I called myself ten kinds of fool for not forcing him to let go.

  “I didn’t have a reason to fight.” He took my earlobe between his teeth. “I didn’t have a reason to care.”

  Voice as tight as my lower stomach, I asked, “Has that changed?”

  Oh, yeah.

  I should have sunk an elbow in his gut and bolted before he gave an answer I couldn’t escape.

  “What do you think?” He leaned in slowly, pressing my hips flush against the door, letting me feel every inch of him. Every hard inch of him. And there were a lot of them. “Do you think I would give up on this? On you?”

  “I should have my head examined.” I shivered as his fingers traced the bracelet. “You’re a lot to handle.”

  “You can handle me any time you want,” he breathed against my jaw. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  “I don’t.” He tugged the bracelet to make his point. “I won’t.”

  About to combust, I yelped and sprang backward when a single hard knock landed on the opposite side of the door, right between my eyes.

  I hit Asa just right, and he fell. His arms came around me, hauling me down with him. I landed on his lap with a grunt, unable to hold in a manic laugh when he hissed between his teeth as I squashed his, um, mood, flat.

  The thud brought Clay into the room, fists clenched, ready for battle. That made me laugh even harder.

  “I have regrets,” Clay said, after assessing the situation. “So many regrets.”

  I attempted to roll off Asa, but he held firm, using me to hide the hardness poking me in the butt.

  “You two look like turtles who got stuck on their backs.” Clay offered me a hand. “Don’t let the kid see.”

  “Thaaanks.” I smothered another laugh at Asa’s expense. “Can you maybe distract her for a minute?”

  One of his eyebrows popped into the hairline of his blue-black comb-over. “Only a minute?”

  Heat flooded me in a scalding rush, but Asa had it easy. He just hid behind and beneath me, a chuckle shaking me through him. “Long enough for him to sneak back to his room without flashing Colby.”

  Strange, I didn’t recall the daemon showing up naked, and that was the kind of thing one noticed.

  “One minute.” Clay shook his head at us. “The clock starts…now.”

  After he closed the door behind him, I broke Asa’s grip and slid onto the floor next to him, attempting to keep my eyes above his waist. He remained flat on his back, the quilt riding low. His hipbones proved an unexpected temptation, confirming he wasn’t wearing his usual boxer briefs, and proving I couldn’t keep my eyes to myself.

  “We have a witch to catch.” I forced a businesslike tone. “We should both get ready.”

  Not bothering to gather the fabric at his waist, he stood, allowing it to pool at his feet. “I agree.”

  Jaw scraping the floor, I did my best not to stare at what bobbed right in front of me. I managed, mostly, thanks to my shock. His butt, though? I studied it as he walked out like there would be an exam later.

  As I sat there with my mouth hanging open, a question fell out. “What changed?”

  Hand holding was as intimate as we had gotten, despite sharing a bed once, unless you counted hugs.

  “You protected me from the zombigo when I was too weak to defend myself. You healed my wounds, and the cold-iron sickness that would have killed me if left untreated. You gave me your bed while you slept on the floor.” He glanced back in time to catch me giving his butt the third degree instead of the back of, I don’t know, his head or some other socially acceptable real estate. “You care about me.”

  “Let a guy dry hump you against a door,” I mumbled, “and he starts getting ideas.”

  Fingers digging into the doorframe, he hesitated on the threshold. “Do you regret it?”

  An open-ended question like that could have alluded to any number of things. Did I regret the first time I swapped spit muffins with him, setting us on this twisty path? Did I regret accepting the bracelet? Twice. Did I regret saving him? That one was a no-brainer. Did I regret that I…cared?

  That last one cut the deepest, so it must be what he meant.

  While I might not appreciate being put on the spot, I wouldn’t lie about it. “No.”

  His gaze traced over the door where I had been pinned moments ago. “You’re okay with this?”

  “Yeah.” I rubbed my cheeks, which did nothing to cool the sting. “I’m good with door humping.”

  A smile broke across his lips, traveling up until it sparkled in his eyes. “Good.”

  He left, and I sat there, wondering why it sounded like I had agreed to something.

  11

  “Rue.”

  Zooming for all she was worth, Colby shot into my room and made wide laps around the ceiling.

  Dizzy from the acrobatics, I dropped my gaze. “How much sugar have you had today, ma’am?”

  For her to be this hyped, she must have stayed awake all day, probably raiding and pillaging.

  Ignoring the question, which was answer enough, she asked, “I get to go with you, right?”

  “Last night wasn’t exciting enough?” I made up my bed. “You need more adventure?”

  “Yep.” She brandished a silver rod in one hand. “I’m ready for action.”

  “What’s that in your hand?” I squinted, then wished I hadn’t noticed. “Who gave you a sword?”

  “Clay and I did arts and crafts on the porch.”

  “Please don’t poke an eye out, yours or anyone else’s.”

  “I make no promises.”

  “Scoot.” I dug through my luggage. “I need to dress.”

  “Okay.” She swooped so close, she could have parted my hair with her art project. “Later.”

  Alone at last, I rushed through my hygiene routine, pulled on fresh clothes, and strapped on my kit.

  Pulse kicking up at the prospect of facing Asa, I joined the others in the kitchen for breakfast.

  Sadly, the kind that didn’t taste much different from the box you poured it from. There had simply been no time to bake, and I hadn’t been in a mood for it with Asa recovering. Now we all had to suffer.

  The remaining black witch had lost their partner, and their zombigo. They would come for us. Tonight. We needed to be ready when it happened, and that meant we had to eat and get out there.

  A wig box sat next to Clay’s elbow, its lid covered in silver moth footprints and its sides full of holes.

  Leaning on the counter, I studied Clay. “Who thought giving Colby a sword was a good idea?”

  “You’re always telling the kid to unplug.” He twirled his spoon. “What’s the problem?”

  “You weaponized her.” I leaned in close. “Do you know how dangerous that is?”

  “The edges are dull.” Asa moved in behind me, almost touching. “There’s not much of a point either.”

  As nice as it felt having his warmth
at my back, I had to keep my wits about me. “You made it?”

  “I whittled her sword, yes. On the drive here.” He reached around me, caging me in his arms, and poured cereal into bowls. “I also carved her a shield, and other items relevant to her interests, to occupy her if the internet went down.”

  “I’ll teach her how to use her new arsenal,” Clay promised. “I haven’t used a sword in years, but it’s like riding a bike. It comes back to you.”

  About to address the issue of an arsenal, and a battle-trained moth, I opened my mouth only to have a spoon shoved into it as Clay leaned across the counter.

  A subtle growl rose over my shoulder, and Asa froze halfway to filling our bowls with milk.

  “You taste that?” Clay’s lips pulled to one side. “It’s like fu—” He cleared his throat. “It’s like cardboard.”

  Crunching the cinnamon-sugar mouthful, I shrugged. “What do you expect from a box?”

  “Please bake for me.” He made his eyes big and liquid. “I can’t work under these conditions.”

  “Not so long ago, I recall a cranberry-orange scone incident.”

  Despite the fact I had lost sleep baking them, he had eaten every single one in the box.

  Clay ate nine scones while Asa and I were packing Colby and my things into the SUV the morning we left Samford. A tenth had hung from his lip when we confronted him in the kitchen. He inhaled the eleventh, an extra fluffy one, to spare us from fighting over the last one, or so he claimed.

  The twelfth never made it in the box. It was the cost of doing business. I had eaten it for dinner.

  “Pump the brakes.” He held up his hands. “Colby gave those to me, as a gift.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” I finished the task of making cereal for Asa and me. “You didn’t share, so why should I?”

  “You love me.” He fluttered his lashes. “I’m your favorite.”

  “That’s only half true.” I rolled my eyes at him. “Fine.” I huffed, secretly pleased. “I’ll bake.”

  Turning in the circle of Asa’s arms, I pressed a bowl into his chest, which he studied warily.

  “Have you never had cereal?”

  “That is sugar pressed flat, cut into squares, and sprinkled with cinnamon.”

  Apparently, Clay wasn’t the only breakfast snob around here.

  Too bad for Asa, I knew how to push his buttons.

  “Mmm.” I stole his spoon, piled it high, and stuck it in my mouth. “Sugary.”

  The way he fixated on my mouth almost caused me to choke, but I managed to swallow with dignity.

  A battle warred across Asa’s face as he fought his instinct to taste my food after me.

  “If you’re not interested…” I took another bite, crunching noisily, “…I’ll finish this myself.”

  The next time I loaded my spoon, I teased him a heartbeat too long, and he swooped in to devour it.

  “That’s cheating.” I tapped the end of his nose with the spoon then shoveled in another bite. “How rude.”

  “How are you feeling?” He leaned into my space, his hips pinning mine against the counter. “Hungry?”

  Now that he mentioned it, I was experiencing a rumble in my tummy. “I’m always hungry.”

  Behind me, Clay snorted but didn’t say a word as I attempted to work out what I had done this time.

  “You spit muffined my cereal.” I stared into the bowl while Asa smiled down at me. “That’s why it tastes better.” I took another mouthful. “No. I was wrong. It doesn’t taste better. I just want it more.”

  After the bedroom door incident—ahem—cereal wasn’t the only thing I wanted more.

  “Can I bring my sword?” Colby buzzed me. “I’ve always wanted to know how it feels to stab an eyeball.”

  Tipping my head back, I had to wonder where I went wrong. Probably the whole black witch thing, come back to haunt me in the form of a moth who was weirdly bloodthirsty for someone whose diet subsisted of pollen granules and sugar water.

  Busy swashbuckling midair, Colby didn’t notice Asa’s and my close quarters, and he eased back before she got an eyeful of this thing unfurling between us. He was considerate of her, and I liked that about him. It helped that his brain worked better around me than mine did around him.

  “Leave the sword at home tonight.” I ate the rest of our shared bowl of cereal. “You need to be focused when you’re in the field. You also need to think first with your magic and not with your body’s reflexes.”

  As fierce as her spirit was, magic or not, she had to learn to think like a familiar in battle.

  Landing on Clay’s head, she quivered her antennae. “So, tomorrow is a maybe?”

  “We’ll see.” I pointed to the counter, and she flitted down to ditch her weapon. “Are you ready to go?”

  “Yeah.” She cast one last, longing glance at the sword. “I’m ready.”

  “Asa?” I noticed he hadn’t touched the other bowl of cereal. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “Yes.” His gaze touched on my lips. “But I can wait.”

  The excuse might have fooled Colby, who wrinkled her nose in solidarity, but I knew better. I could put a spoonful of it in my mouth, and he would devour it. And I…wouldn’t mind watching the show.

  This fascination thing was downright bizarre. I had all these weird food-based impulses around Asa that would have earned a hard no if anyone else tried it with me. I did not eat after people. Or drink after people. But I—from a purely symbolic point—couldn’t put enough of him in my mouth.

  The thing about black witches was they didn’t suffer romantic inclinations. They married, yeah, to form alliances. Aside from deflowering, sure, they had sex. Mostly to procreate. Or to enhance a spell. Sex magic was a thing, and it was gross. Feed me beating hearts over swapping bodily fluids with some rando guy any day of the week.

  Mom and Dad had loved each other, which made them an odder couple than just their opposing magical practices. I don’t recall how my parents behaved with each other, or me. The director had cost me those comforting scraps, robbed me of those hazy childhood recollections.

  Thanks to Meg, I knew Mom had been obsessed with Dad from the first moment she saw him. Mom had been a bit of a rebel in her circles, I knew that from Meg too, but no one had expected her to fall for the baddest bad boy on the market.

  Certainly not the director, who had a black witch from a nice family all lined up for Dad to marry.

  Nice as in evil, vile, and wicked, but you know. All the qualities the director prized above all others.

  The arranged marriage angle made me wonder if Stavros had a nice daemon bride lined up for Asa.

  On the heels of that unpleasant thought, I wondered if my bracelet could double as a garrot.

  “They’re doing it again,” Colby murmured out of the side of her mouth.

  “Can you two please stop pretending you’re alone?” Clay threw in with Colby. “We need to get to work.”

  “They spend so much time staring at each other.” Colby twitched her wings. “Why is that?”

  Scooping her up, he set her on his shoulder, and they started toward the door, leaving us to follow.

  “You know how you go to the grocery store,” he said, “and you see cookies in the bakery?”

  “Yeah.”

  “They look delicious, right? You want to buy them based on looks alone.” He held up a finger. “But there is no way they taste as good as they look. They never do. Homemade is better. Always. Then you’ll know what’s in the dough.” He glanced at her. “See what I mean?”

  “Rue thinks Asa looks good, but she’s not sure he tastes good?”

  A laugh spluttered out of me, and Asa plucked at one golden arrow earring while mashing his lips together.

  “Uh, no. That analogy got away from me.” He tried again. “How about this? Asa is like a cookie. Rue has to decide if she likes his ingredients before she…” Giving up, he slashed a hand through the air. “Scratch that. Forget cookies.”

&nbs
p; “Let’s all forget it,” I volunteered. “Clay, where are we headed?”

  “We’re going to continue to sweep the area, working clockwise. We’ll go a little farther tonight, since we have Colby with us. Whoever’s pulling the strings around here knows where to find us, I’m sure. When it comes time to play hardball, they’ll come to us if we don’t find them first. Meanwhile, our orders remain the same—hunt down the black witch responsible for the zombigo.”

  “Aye, aye.” I cut him a mock salute. “Colby, stick close to Clay and keep as quiet and still as you can.”

  “I’m a pro hair bow.” She climbed on top of his head and hunkered down in his hair. “I got this.”

  We spent a few hours hiking through beautiful woodland without incident, which put Colby to sleep.

  Asa walked beside me, but I missed the intimacy of our laced fingers. The moonlight, the scenic route, all made it easy to pretend, just for a second, we were on a midnight stroll for two. But the fact he kept our hands free meant he expected us to see action. I did too, but I dreaded it, considering Colby had a front row seat.

  Flame engulfed Asa as his change overtook him with brutal quickness, and I marveled he didn’t burn me.

  “Smell bad.” He crowded me then pointed through the trees. “That way.”

  “Smell bad as in…?” I drew my wand from my pocket. “Black magic?”

  Nostrils flaring, he nodded once. “Death.”

  Clay had precious cargo to defend, so I set out with the daemon to guide me.

  The thrill of the hunt sang through my blood, the daemon’s fangs gleaming in a smile next to me. I tuned in to pick up on any heartbeats in the area but found no unfamiliar cadences. The daemon proved to me his sense of smell was stronger than my hearing. No surprise there. I learned early in my career that my extra senses were precise only when stalking food in close range. It wasn’t a distance talent.

  Arm out to hold me back, the daemon cocked his head and filled his lungs, his forehead wrinkling.

  “The book,” a paper-thin voice rustled from the darkness. “Give me the book.”

  Leaning forward, I strained to see the final black witch. “What book?”

  “The book,” she, and it was female, repeated in her reedy tone. “Give me the book.”