by Michele Ryan
Omer would decide his fate from there. Clara just needed to make sure her magic was true and strong. Thankfully, she’d counseled with Granmé Marie the last time she had summoned her to be sure she’d get this right. She only needed a few simple items to complete it. A blessed white candle—which Clara had painstakingly made herself, while chanting the spell Granmé had given her—rested on the table. It would be used to draw a thick and strong pentagram around Jonah’s creator, its lines unbreakable and secure. It was, as her granmé said, not the objects that imbued the spell with power, but the conjurer’s abilities.
Black candles, ten in all, made with black magic, would rest on each point of the pentagram. Once lit, the evil within would find pain if he attempted to break the border of the circle surrounding him. Granmé Marie had helped with them as well, promising Clara they’d never melt or lose their flame unless extinguished by the person who’d lit them. Again, this would be Omer’s decision on who had the right to light them and blow them out when need be.
Clara worried about mixing light and dark magick. She’d always been warned about them canceling each other out. Hence her issue with finding the right binding spell. Granmé hadn’t been so helpful, and Clara felt like she was letting those in the house down. A sound at the door had her looking up to see who or what was around. Emmitt stood there.
“We have need of you tonight, witch.” Emmitt panted, clearly out of breath. If it had been anyone other than Emmitt who called her witch, it wouldn’t have ended well. He could, for some reason, get away with it.
Clara didn’t know if it was her wolf, or that she was growing in power as a witch, but her instincts had been correct about the evenings activities. “You have him?”
“In Omer’s space. You cannot go down there as of yet. He is being held by silver.”
Clara nodded, understanding what the metal would do to her. “Ezra?”
“He should be here momentarily. Have you located a binding spell?” Emmitt stepped into the well-lit room.
“Not yet.” She sighed. “I could use some help.”
Emmitt nodded, then headed to the section of the library which now housed all the spell books.
“You’re worried,” Emmitt observed.
“Mixing of magick can have dire consequences, if not done correctly. If Fraser is to break free, or my spell backfires, it’d be because of me.”
“You would be wrong there.” Emmitt lumbered over to the cabinet where he kept the most sacred texts and spells locked up. Clara had yet to get her hands on any of the books in there. “We’re a team. We rise, and we fall, together.”
He pulled keys from his pocket then unlocked the door. It squeaked and groaned as the air became thick with the smell of old leather and parchment. A part of it settled her soul as he proceeded to lift book after book, examined the binding before putting it back. When he found the one he’d been searching for, he huffed in triumph.
“Try this one.” He held out a medium-sized book, covered in a leather binding with ancient glyphs branded onto it.
“Emmitt,” she murmured, not willing to take it from him. She recognized exactly what it was. “That is an extremely dangerous book.”
He turned it, looking at the detailed branding. “It’s just a text.”
“Yes. One you keep under lock and key!” Clara pointed at the tome. “Do you even know what you hold in your hand?”
“I do. But do you?” he inquired.
“Oh, putain,” Clara grumbled.
“Do you?” he asked again.
“Yes!” Clara growled as a wave of fear at what he held rolled through her body. Her wolf didn’t like the fear the human side of her experienced. It pushed against her skin, clawing to get out. Clara took several deep breaths, trying to calm them both. “It’s the book of Hecate. The Queen of the Underworld!”
Emmitt smiled at her. “Who also happens to be the Goddess of Magic and Witchcraft.”
He acted as if what he held was no big deal. It was a huge deal. If the book got into the wrong hands and they knew how to read it, they could summon the demons of Hell themselves to reign terror on the people. Neither the Dreadfuls nor the Misfits would stand a chance if that were to happen.
Emmitt again held the book out to her. “It won’t bite you.”
“Says you! Those warning spells are there for a reason, Emmitt,” Clara snapped.
“If any book had a binding spell you’d need, it would be this one.” Emmitt tapped the top of the book.
Damn it, he was right and he knew it and to be perfectly honest, although Clara was petrified to touch the book, she also was very curious to get her hands on it and see what spells rested inside the ancient text. “It must be handled with care.”
“It has been. Why would you think otherwise? I’ve only ever touched the book twice since I’ve had it.”
“I think the better question is, who in their right mind would give a book to you, a reanimated man who works with a team of dark scary beings?”
“Who said anyone gave it to me?” Emmitt smirked.
Clara rolled her eyes then all but ripped the book from his hands and placed it on the table.
Clara’s hands trembled as she pulled the leather latches from the holders on the front and opened the book. She had expected the lights to flicker or a gust of air to rush through the room. Neither happened, and Clara expelled the breath she had been holding.
“Did you think the world you know would cease to exist with opening it?” Emmitt inquired.
Clara didn’t reply, because on some level she’d had those thoughts. Instead, she flicked a droll look in his direction.
“As a witch, Clara, you should know it’s not the book you should fear, but the words or spells written inside.” He was right, of course, which annoyed her. “Can you even read it?”
“Yes.” Clara began flipping through the pages, intent to find what they needed. “It’s surprisingly simplistic.”
“It’s usually what works best,” Emmitt replied.
Clara didn’t even bother to look up when she heard the heavy front door open then slam shut. She sensed rather then saw or heard Ezra’s return.
“We need to hurry,” Emmitt implored.
Clara ignored him, focusing on the task at hand. Carefully, she continued to flip through the book, only to stop about halfway. “Oh, merde. Ezra isn’t going to like this. Neither is Annabelle.”
“You found it?” Emmitt stood beside her.
“Yes…no…I mean maybe,” she said.
“That’s a definitive answer if I’ve ever heard one,” Emmitt stated with a hint of sarcasm in his tone.
“It’s a binding spell but not. I’m not really sure if I can even explain it.” Witchcraft wasn’t always black and white. There could be shades of grey littered through it, making it hard to cast a spell and explain why it was done in such a way. This was such a case.
“Then let me rephrase the question. What you found, will it stop Fraser from trying to sire the entire European Continent?”
“Yes,” she answered, gathering the supplies off the table.
Emmitt brushed her hands to the side to collect them instead. “You’re responsible for the book.”
Nodding, she put the candles down and picked up the book before rushing out with Emmitt on her heels.
“What’s Ezra not going to like?”
“An array of things. The first being I’m going to have to be in the room to draw the pentagram and set the candles around Fraser before the silver chains are removed.”
“Not happening,” Ezra said, stepping from the shadows, startling her. “The silver was bothering me when we caught him, and you’ll have to be closer.”
“I’m not having this argument with you, mate, as I’m the only witch in the group with enough knowledge and power to cast the spell, it has to be me. I can’t trust anyone else with this responsibility.” They didn’t have time for his Alpha tendencies right then. She’d wasted enough time trying to even
find the spell. “If you wish to help, please go find me a black cord about half your length.”
Done with the conversation, Clara continued to the closed door, where Andres and Donovan stood on guard duty. Neither man was paying a bit of attention to her. Their gazes were focused over her head, at Ezra.
“The longer we delay, the more chance we have of Fraser getting free.” Emmitt interceded on her behalf and was apparently the only other voice of reason in the hallway. “I’ll remain with her till the silver is removed.”
Ezra growled, but Clara stayed focused on the closed door.
“Five minutes, Emmitt,” Ezra stated. “Any longer, and Clara will be too far gone from the effects of the silver to be good to anyone. Even her mate and children.”
Silence filled the dark hallway, and Clara knew her mate had stormed away in anger to run her errand. She felt no guilt. Just like he had a job—a responsibility to the Dreadfuls, as did she.
“Open the door,” Emmitt ordered, lumbering up behind her.
Andres opened the door, and Clara stepped into the room, ignoring the other men speaking to Omer off in the corner. She thought she’d prepared herself well enough for what would happen when she came face to face with Jonah’s sire and the silver. She hadn’t. Immediately her throat started to close up on her. Her skin itched, and her eyes watered.
“We must work quickly.” Clara’s voice had already become hoarse from the silver. She laid Hecate’s book on the side table then took the white candle from Emmitt’s hand. “As I draw the pentagram around him, lay a black candle at each point. Once we’re done, I’ll do the first binding spell, so we can remove the silver. Then I’ll need Jonah.”
Clara worked swiftly, stopping only once when a wave of dizziness wash over her. Taking deep breaths didn’t help. She breathed in more of the blasted silver. As she worked, she explained to Omer about the candles. Never one to shy away from responsible, the ancient one took the task on himself.
Ezra returned with the black cord as Emmitt placed the last candle.
“Omer, please light the candles,” Clara ordered.
Once all the candles were lit, Clara took the black cord from Ezra, and Emmitt rid the room of the silver chain.
It took a moment for the itch in her throat to dissipate, the swelling of her eyes a little longer. Once Clara could take a deep breath without feeling as though an elephant sat on her stomach, she started the last part of the spell. This time, she had to be directly in front of Frazer.
The man kicked and flailed in his seat, but he couldn’t get out of the chair they’d placed him in. His eyes were wide, his fangs elongated. Frazer was positively feral. She gathered the black twine in her hands to fasten it into small knots with each word of binding as she began to speak the words of the spell.
“I bind you from the bottom of your feet to the top of your head.” She made the first knot then the second and third. “I bind your mind, so that your thoughts cannot hurt. I bind your actions.”
Frazer hissed as his body went taut.
“I bind your tongue, so you cannot speak. I bind your powers. I bind you from the bottom of your feet to the top of your head.”
A wash of energy flowed through her, crackling in the warm night air. Clara motioned for Jonah to join her over at the small table where she’d left her caldron. She suspected Ezra wouldn’t like what would happen next, but it was the only way to complete the spell. Hecate’s spells weren’t specifically made for the supernatural, only for the witch. The spell would last a lifetime. To the point, a human’s lifetime. With her being ageless along with Jonah, the spell would linger for all eternity.
“Jonah.” She didn’t look at the vampire. “I require your assistance.”
“What can I do?”
“I need your blood.” She handed him the pewter blade. “We have to combine our blood, then I need to place the twine into it.”
“Clara,” Ezra growled.
“If you kill Frazer, you kill Jonah and Annabelle. Do you want their deaths on your hands?” Clara stared at her mate as she waited for Jonah to cut his palm.
“No,” her mate spat. “But, this?”
“It’s the only way, my mate.” She softened her tone. “We have to finish this.”
He nodded.
Jonah sliced his palm then handed the knife to Clara. She did the same, then mixed her blood with Jonah’s. She then soaked the knotted rope in the blood. When it was completely coated, she pulled it from the blood, then lit the twine.
“I bind thee, I bind thee, I bind thee,” she whispered.
The flames on the candle flickered. The smell of sulfur filled the room, signaling the spell had been successful. Clara breathed a sigh of relief. The worry and fear slid away, leaving her as weak as a kitten. Ezra caught her, bracing her against his body. His strength buoyed her. She looked over at Omer, who stood off to Frazer’s right side. The man stared down at the long-lost vampire. She suspected the glint in the ancient one’s eyes had been pity, but she couldn’t be sure.
“Mr. Cause, I need you to do me a favor,” Clara said.
“Anything, Miss Laveau.” Omer stepped forward.
“Please extinguish the black candles. North, South, East and West.”
He gave a curt nod, then began the task of putting the candles out, one by one. The question sat on the tip of her tongue to ask where the vampire would be kept, but some things weren’t meant to be known, especially after all the damage the man had already inflicted. Besides, if she were to know, at some point, that information might become valuable.
“You stupid cow,” Frazer snarled then laughed. “He’s coming.”
His gaze locked with each person in the room. A cold chill ran down Clara’s spine. Panic made her stomach jittery with nerves. She bit the inside of her cheek not to ask what he meant by his statement. Frazer laughed again and looked at Emmitt.
“He’s coming, Emmitt. He’s coming.”
Omer snapped his fingers, and Bennett Frazer disappeared. No one spoke a word. No one questioned Omer’s abilities, but the rambled summation Emmitt had given them only a few days prior itched at the back of Clara’s mind. She glanced over at the man who’d taken care not to be seen. Though his skin might not pale as that of the living, she didn’t need to see the physical markings to know the man had been shaken by the announcement.
“He lives,” Emmitt whispered. “Levi Raycraft lives...”
Epilogue
Rain pounded against the cobblestone lane as Libbie White gathered her skirts to run. She only had a limited amount of time before Levi Raycraft would return. Without thought to herself, or where she might go, she fled into the late-summer storm, not caring a lick if she got wet.
While others wrapped their woolen coats tightly around their bodies, she trudged on. The sploosh of the puddles as she stomped through them caused water to soak through her stockings. It irritated her skin, becoming a distraction, but she wouldn’t stop. Not yet. Not till she found a safe place she could hide.
Libbie didn’t have a conventional life or three—since she’d cobbled together from the bodies of three women. She’d been created in a lab on the outskirts of London, five years ago. Dr. Levi had Raycraft said she’d be his finest specimen yet. A darling in the library and a whore in the pub.
A regular three-penny upright with a brain.
Though he’d never specifically told her what his intentions had been, she suspected he’d had a grand schemed prepared, including bringing one Emmitt Enright back into the fold. She supposed he’d made her just for this Emmitt character. From what the doctor had said, Mr. Enright had a few fatal flaws which needed rectifying. Through Libbie, Levi hoped to sway him—manipulate him. With her as the pawn in this chess match of wits, how could Emmitt resist either of them?
She had the finest porcelain skin, impeccable hair and exotic eyes—one blue, and one golden-brown. She used her feminine wiles to gain some of the wealthiest clients, so Raycraft’s monster couldn’t be m
uch harder. She’d wined and dined her clients, and she’d do the same for Mr. Enright. Deep down, he was still a man, after all. Then while they took their relations to a higher level, his lips would loosen, and whatever Levi desired from Emmitt would be revealed. It worked without fail for so many before him. The men were so eager to have their egos stroked. The more she praised them, the more secrets they told her.
It’d been why she’d received the brain of a scholar. To carry on a conversation while playing house with men who paid for her services, she had to be knowledgeable about certain things. She couldn’t count the amount of times she’d given a man a blowsie while he commented on some rather interesting news regarding Queen and Country or new scientific research.
Levi paid closer attention to those conversations she’d relay.
You shall be named; The Whore and The Muscle. The titles stuck.
Levi always considered himself the intelligence of their operation, even though his monsters been just as smart as him, if not more so. Yet, he persisted. Telling her many times over that his intellect was how he’d escaped the mob chasing him and Emmitt. He’d outsmarted the angry villagers. How, he never explained, but he’d lived and Libbie realized if she wanted to do the same, she had to outsmart the doctor.
A horse whinnied, and she gasped, coming to a skidding halt. The horse and carriage continued past, allowing her a moment to push her long black locks from her face. A startled yelp from her left indicated she’d exposed the system of cogs and wheels which lead to her windup brain. Around her neck lay the key she used every so often to keep herself alive.
She pushed through the crowd, surprised so many were out on a horrid night like this. Not a day went by when rain hadn’t covered their streets. The dreary late-summer-early fall storm brought a warm humid day and cold, chilling night. Curious glances were shot her way as she past those with umbrellas. She must look a fright. A girl wearing a short skirt with a long train along with knee-high stockings and garters would stick out like a sore thumb. Add in the leather bustier that pushed her boobies up, well, she waited for the propositions. Even if Libbie wanted to wear something other than a painted woman’s attire, she didn’t have any other clothes, and wearing men’ trousers seemed inappropriate, almost vulgar.
