Supernatural Syndicate: A Limited Edition Collection of Magical Mafia Stories

by Thea Atkinson

  “I wouldn’t say nonexistent now. And it also explains the eerie silence that spread throughout the entire coven after the storm ended. Nannette was sure another coven had tried to break our wards.” She eyed me with a serious expression and flopped her hands on her lap. “Well, now we know.”

  Huh-uh. No freaking way. My mouth dropped open at what she was implying. “Lemme see that spell.”

  Jemma leaned forward and dug her cell out of her back pocket. “Here ya go. I’m telling you, you’re the only one who coulda done it. After what you told me it’s the only logical explanation.”

  I snatched the phone and read through the blood spell. Crap. She was right; it was the same incantation, but how in the hell did I do the weather thing? I hadn’t called upon any of the elements, not that they’d listen to me, but the spell did say—

  “Hey, it’s Frankie!” He banged against the door, interrupting my soon-to-be mental tirade and possible breakdown. “Let me in.”

  Jemma nudged me, but all I could do was gawk, open-mouthed, at her phone. I was processing. Or not processing? I hadn’t called upon the elements, though, unless… No, it was only for the blood curse and nothing more. None of this made a bit of sense. Something or someone else was at work here.

  Jemma patted my arm and rose to her feet. “I’ll let him in.”

  I just nodded.

  Frankie burst through the door like a hurricane. “What the hell, Jem? You were supposed to wait for me just outside the gate. I almost got caught leaving. The freaking coven’s on lockdown until they figure out if the wards were breached.”

  “If you’d checked your text messages, Frankie, you’d see I told you I was heading straight here.” Jemma huffed out a breath, her tone seeming exasperated. “I was worried.”

  Glancing up, I snapped out of my “what the fuck” mindset—for now. “Why are they on lockdown if it’s all over?” I interrupted their soon-to-be spat. “Who do they think might’ve tried to break into the coven?” I rolled my eyes as a thought occurred to me. “Huh, funny, I didn’t get a call from Mom, Dad, or Annabelle. No big surprise there.”

  When I got a good look at Frankie, I realized he was a wreck. He seemed to be shaking in his tall, lanky frame. His black-rimmed glasses were sitting askew on his face, red mop of curls a wild mess on his head, and his clothes looked like he’d slept in them.

  “Nannette kept saying something about Boston’s magic, but she didn’t elaborate. Not to us minions, ya know.” Frankie sat down on my black beanbag chair, wringing his hands. “You guys heard of a Boston coven of witches?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. But nothing surprises me when she and my parents get together.”

  “Same,” Jemma muttered.

  “Well, I love ya to pieces, but whatever this is”—Frankie waved his hand around dramatically, snapping his fingers—“it better be good, sister.”

  I smiled at Frankie’s theatrics. “I’ll just let Jem fill you in. I think I’ve done enough.”

  She nodded and started from the top. Frankie kept opening and closing his mouth like he wanted to say something and decided against it, pushing his glasses up his nose every few minutes.

  As soon as Jemma was done, he just stared at me, dumbfounded, his green eyes widening. “Lemme get this straight. All this”—He stood and crossed one arm over his stomach, the other with his hand in the air for emphasis—“was to stop your freaking cycle? That’s it? Just Aunt Flow. I almost died for your monthly?”

  Well, shit. When he put it like that, it sounded pretty bad, and dumb. But he had no idea. It hadn’t been “normal” by any stretch of the imagination, and how could I explain it to him without sounding even more like an idiot? But he almost died? Come on. Drama… And I knew drama.

  Blinking a few times, I got up my nerve—because you know what?—Fuck that. Hell yes, I did. I was gonna own it. “It wasn’t ‘normal,’” I muttered under my breath instead to keep from screaming at my BFF. I’d had my “cycle” since I was ten. It’d felt like somebody had cast a pain or death spell on me. Frankie hadn’t been here. How could he even know?

  Oh, there was my temper…

  It was coming.

  I felt it boiling—and boom.

  She’d decided to rear her ugly head.

  Stand back, Frankie.

  Jumping from the couch, I pointed a finger at his chest. “Don’t get all high and mighty on me, buddy. You didn’t have to help. And yes, I did.” I had to force myself not to strangle my best friend. “If you had any idea the pain—no, pain’s not even the right word. The fucking blinding agony I was in, then you wouldn’t say that to me. Sorry I put you out. And ya know what? I’d do it for you. I have done it for you.” I paused at his raised brow. “Not your stupid ‘monthly,’ but when you needed a spell for your freaking hair after Billy Hancock held you on the ground and shaved it right down the middle. You wouldn’t even come out from behind the bushes. Who got that spell for you, huh? The one to shrink his…uh, ‘smaller’ head.” I jabbed my thumb at my chest. “I did. Yeah, that was me. And the coven hates me, not you.” I’d gotten all that out way too fast and needed to take a breath. “And, if you remember, I beat his bully, jock ass for you after school. He never messed with you again. Nobody did. So, there’s that.” I smacked my hands together and proceeded to plop my ass back down on the couch, then crossed my legs. How’d he like them apples? Ass.

  Phew, that was some kind of tirade, but I sure felt better. Nothing worse than being “mansplained” to.

  Jemma glanced from me to Frankie and back again, then burst out laughing. “She got you there, Frankie. You need to chill, for real. We’ve got some serious shit going down right now, and we really don’t know what’s happening with the coven, only the bullshit they feed us. So”—She nodded to my beanbag chair—“Why don’t ya have a seat and cool your tits, and maybe not talk about women’s cycles and shit. ’Cause it wasn’t even like that. But we still love you, honey.”

  I watched my beloved friend’s face change from purple to scarlet to blush pink. He put his hands on his hips, displaying his “serious” dramatic pose. Gods, I loved him. “My bad, chica. Listen, I don’t know the struggle, but I always support you. You know that. We’ve had each other’s backs since we could walk and talk. Maybe one of the bitches in the coven did cast a spell on you. I wouldn’t put it past any of them. Hell”—He sat down and crossed his arms—“Even Annabelle, though I hate to say it. That girl… How you come from the same family is beyond me, sister.” He shook his head and rolled his eyes.

  Standing from the sofa, I went to my bestie and yanked him up to me for a hug. “I love you, Frankie Bell. We cool?”

  He stepped back and tipped up my chin. “Always, Miss Harlot.” He cracked a grin and smacked a kiss on my cheek. “I love you, baby!”

  Harlot. I had to laugh at the nickname he’d given me when we were eighteen. Frankie had caught me in a “compromising” position in the bed of Jimmy Malone’s Ford pickup in nothing but my birthday suit after a football game senior year. Jimmy had only been wearing his socks. Frankie had squealed like a frightened kid, leapt back about three feet, covering his eyes at the same time. He’d called me “Harlot” ever since. I believed my boobs were likely the first and last pair he’d ever seen. I’d scarred him for life, but it’d been funny as shit.

  What could I say? I loved sex. I still did. A lot. I’d just hit a dry spell, but that was a whole other story. Sigh.

  “Hey!” Jemma jumped between us. “Where’s the love? What about me?”

  We pulled her in for a group “love” hug, just as we always had since we were five. These were my people, my rocks, and my true family.

  Blood wasn’t thicker than water, as most said. Blood didn’t make a family if yours sucked ass and couldn’t care less about your well-being.

  Sometimes choosing your own family was even better.

  I got to choose mine, and I couldn’t have asked for anything more. I loved them with everything I had, and
they loved me back just as fiercely.

  That’s what family was all about in my book. I liked my book. All the others were meh.

  “So, when are you guys heading back?” I wiggled out of their Harlow sandwich, breaking up our group hug. “Or are you staying at Jemma’s?”

  “Staying at Jemma’s.” Frankie practically shouted in my ear. “I’m not going back there, at least for a couple days—unless I have to.”

  “Cool. I’ve gotta work later, but see ya after?” I lifted a questioning brow, swiveling my gaze between the two of them.

  “Of course.” Jemma nodded with a smile. “Let’s meet for coffee after you close up. Our regular spot: Grannie’s Coffee & Cake Café.”

  “All right, sounds good to me.” I walked them to the door. “I’m gonna try and get a few hours’ sleep before I’ve got to get ready. See ya later.”

  “Love ya lots,” they said in unison, blowing me kisses as they shut the door behind them.

  After locking up, I turned and shuffled the few feet back to my couch, flopping down face-first, and passing the hell out. I needed my beauty rest.

  4

  Harlow

  “Shit, I’m gonna be late.” I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the couch. Damn. I hadn’t moved the entire time, but thankfully, my body wasn’t sore in the least. I felt amazing and refreshed. Odd, but whatever. I’d never been one to complain of such things.

  I’d overslept, though, and only had about thirty-five minutes to get ready and walk the three blocks to work. I took the quickest shower in the history of ever, threw my hair into a messy bun on top of my head, applied a small amount of kohl, ran petal-pink gloss across my lips, and called it good.

  Tossing what few clean work clothes I had from my closet onto my bed, I chose a mid-length black skirt, pink blouse, and a cute quarter-length-sleeved black sweater for later if I needed it. And of course, my three-inch peep-toe pink heels. I got ready just in the nick of time.

  Walking the few blocks to Dahlia’s in the crisp morning air, I was relieved to see nobody standing outside the door. I still had a few minutes until eight, and just enough time to brew a pot of caffeinated goodness. I needed my fix like nobody’s business, especially after the craziness from last night and this morning. It still felt like it’d been a dream.

  I mean, me, Harlow Bishop, producing fire magic?

  No. Freaking. Way.

  If my mother and father got word of it, I wondered what they’d think. Then again, I honestly didn’t give a shit. They hadn’t cared about what had happened in my life for years, so telling them anything about the goings on in my life would be a moot point. I’d likely be snubbed, anyway. Who wanted to deal with that shit? Not me.

  After I’d opened the door to the shop along the storefront, the smell of freshly cut flowers, potted plants, and dried herbs smacked me in the face. I loved the scent. It was one I would never tire of, as it reminded me of magic and hope, and all the possibilities life had to offer. Sure, it may sound cheesy, especially coming from somebody with little power to speak of, but I’d never given up hope that someday I’d be as powerful as the other witches in my coven.

  Dahlia’s felt more like a safe haven, a place of freedom where I could be myself without the burden of upper-crust witch society breathing down my neck and not-so-subtly whispering behind my back. Not that I cared. I’d lived with it for years and become thick-skinned. It was more of a personal achievement I wanted for myself, and deep down, I knew I could accomplish it, even though I disparaged my abilities to others. Maybe it was a coping mechanism of sorts, after living beneath the shadow of the Bishop name for so long.

  I’d been pondering all this while making coffee, and it was finally done. I couldn’t wait for that very first sip. Ah, my first love… Pouring myself a huge mug, I strolled back to the front and turned the sign to “OPEN,” then went behind the register to begin my day. I had a feeling today would be one for the books, one I’d never forget.

  Five or six cups of coffee (who’s counting?) and thirty-three customers later, I hadn’t realized how quickly the time had passed. We hadn’t had so many sales in as many hours since I’d started working there over four years ago. It appeared my luck was definitely changing for the better.

  It was almost three in the afternoon. My stomach began growling—it was way past time for lunch. Once I finished up with Mrs. Giovani, I rushed to the door and hung up the “Out to Lunch” sign. My stomach was about to snack on my intestines—I was freaking beyond starving.

  Calling up Marco’s sandwich shop next door, I ordered a Philly Steak and cheese with chips, and Marco offered to deliver it at the back entrance so I wouldn’t have to leave. He knew me all too well. I bought my lunch from his shop nearly every day. He’d even brought a free diet Coke. Problem was, he never let me tip him. I had to slip a ten inside his apron when he wasn’t looking. Snickering to myself as I made it to the breakroom, I sat down with my goodies, digging in like a woman starved. Well, I mean, I was.

  My gut threatened to spill over the waistband of my skirt by the time I’d finished, and I hadn’t even eaten all my sandwich. I guessed my eyes were bigger than my stomach. Wrapping up what was left, I placed it inside the fridge for later. Geez, I was so full I felt like I needed to be rolled out of the breakroom. I’d eaten too fast and guzzled my soda like a pig. I hoped I didn’t burp in front of a customer. That’d likely make me want to die of embarrassment.

  Changing the sign to “OPEN,” I waddled back to the counter, straightening a few items that’d been knocked around by previous clients, just as the bell dinged, signaling that someone was walking through the door.

  Shadows from larger plants near the front cast three silhouettes along the wall, and I couldn’t make out who’d entered.

  “Hello,” I called out. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes,” a deep and husky male voice answered. His sexy Italian accent caused gooseflesh to pebble on my skin as he moved into my line of sight. “I believe you and I have business to discuss, little witch.”

  My breath caught in my throat, and I was suddenly at a loss for words. He’d called me “little witch.” He knew what I was, yet something was different about him as well. This tall, muscular, dark, and sexy-as-sin man was not at all human. He wore a tailored charcoal suit with a crisp white shirt underneath, no tie, and the first two buttons were left open.

  Holy. Hotness.

  His aura reeked of danger as his brown eyes bore into me. But I couldn’t turn away. A feeling I couldn’t describe flowed over me, and I felt my knees weaken. He was beautiful and magical, electric and magnetic—my mouth went dry, and heat flooded my core instantly.

  What was this man doing to me?

  Bracing my hands on the counter so I wouldn’t fall like an idiot, I met his molten stare. “What would that be?”

  The enigmatic man grinned, but darkness surrounded him, as if his presence alone filled the entire space, snuffing out all light inside.

  Then I heard the sound of the lock click, and two men stepped from within the shadows. They stood behind the dark stranger, hands clasped in front of them, appearing menacing and threatening.

  I gulped.

  Magic don’t fail me now!

  5

  Emilio

  I could hear the witch’s heart beating, her pulse racing, and smell something, but it wasn’t fear as I’d expected. No. It was quite the opposite. Intrigued, I maintained my smile, gesturing for Nicky and Tony to stand down—not to speak unless spoken to. They knew their orders without my saying as much. I wanted to see what this little witch was made of.

  Sure, she had magic. That much was certain by the way in which she’d nearly killed my fucking family. The thought caused my nostrils to flare, fury begging to be unleashed, until I caught the scent of what I’d been missing: arousal. Her heady aroma caused my dick to jerk and harden uncomfortably within its confines. Fuck.

  Stroking my chin, I silently studied her appearance. Dark-brow
n hair, hazel eyes, legs for days, perky tits, and from what I could see in that skirt, a tight round ass. Yes, she was stunning, even if she were a witch. I could make this work to my advantage.

  “Why are you here?” she stammered, her cheeks tinting a beautiful shade of pink, her full breasts rising and falling with the rhythm of her breathing.

  “It seems we have a problem, little witch.” That was all I would give her for now. I wanted to drag this out for a bit.

  “Stop calling me that! I have a name—it’s Harlow. Your name would be nice.” She crossed her arms over her chest, pushing her gorgeous breasts into voluptuous mounds. I dropped my gaze to admire them before meeting her stare. It seemed she had a little fire in her after all.

  “My name,” I took two steps closer, “is Emilio, and you, Harlow, performed a spell last night.” I ran my thumb along my bottom lip, and she watched, her breathing becoming shallow once again.

  She nodded. “I did…but how—who are you? How do you know I cast a spell, and what’s it to you?” This time, Harlow’s face went from pink to a light shade of red. It appeared she was getting pissed. Good.

  “Well, Harlow.” I closed the distance between us and brushed my hands down her arms, leaning in close to her left ear. “Your spell almost killed my family.”

  She jerked back and stared at me with a horrified expression. “No. That can’t be right. The spell was for… it was to help…” Harlow trailed off and dropped her head in her hands. “Oh, gods. No consequences my ass,” she muttered, peering up at me, fear in her gaze. “What did I do? How? I don’t understand.”

  “Do you know who I am?” I tilted my head with a slight smirk. This woman, or witch rather, truly had no idea what she’d done. Either that, or she was an excellent liar, however, I couldn’t smell a lie on her. Only embarrassment and shame. Strange.