Once Blessed, Thrice Cursed: A Sister Witches Urban Fantasy #1

by Coralie Moss

  Alabastair pointed into the quarry. “They’re making their way to the ledge. As soon as they’re out of the water, I’ll portal them up here.”

  “Where are the Fae?”

  “One’s over there, in shackles,” he said, gesturing behind him. “The other two—” Bas shook his head.

  “Are Gosia and the little girl okay?”

  The necromancer swiped his hand across his bald head. “I—I’m not sure, Clementine.” I rolled to my side to see him kneel by the unmoving bodies. Maritza and Rémy were already working together to revive Gosia and Zazie. The little girl moaned softly. I took that as an encouraging sign and snuck a look at the Fae, trussed at the wrists and ankles and lying there, motionless.

  I wanted to slap her awake and interrogate her about what she’d done to my mother the day Mom had been forced to conjure a raven. And then I wanted to stab the Fae.

  There’d be time for that later. The interrogating, not the stabbing. I got to my hands and knees, peered over the edge of the quarry, and spied two familiar heads. My dad’s hair was streaked through with a lot more gray. “Hey. They made it.”

  Bas disappeared, then reappeared, twice more. Rosey collapsed when he delivered her, much like I had. My father thanked Bas for the lift, rushed to me, and picked me up.

  “Clementine.” Heriberto del Valle wasn’t much taller than me, but he almost tossed me over his shoulder and to the ground in his enthusiasm.

  “Hey, Dad.” I wriggled until he put me down and hugged him hard once my bare, banged-up feet touched the grass. Guilt tore through me. My heart wasn’t fully in the embrace. Maybe later, after a hot bath, hot food, and clean clothes, I could sit down with him and my sisters and we could do some catching up. In my mind, two of them—Alderose and my dad—owed me an explanation.

  Dad grabbed my cheeks and kissed them then went to check on Alderose. Rémy cradled Zazie in his lap. Her eyes were closed. Tears were streaming down the mage’s face. A grocery store delivery van roared along the dirt road leading to the clearing and stopped. Beryl tumbled out, followed by Kostya.

  My sister opened the sliding door and began to toss blankets onto the ground. I jogged over to her, claimed one, and wrapped it around my body.

  “You okay?” Beryl asked, squinting into the sun to look at me.

  “Doing great. One hundred percent.” I kicked at the haphazard stack of blankets. “Why didn’t you and Kostya portal here?”

  “Tía left us with a list of supplies.”

  “Bring some of these over to her right now. She’s working on Gosia.”

  I watched Beryl depart with an armload. Kostya emerged from the driver’s side, pulled me into a hug, and rubbed my back hard. Warmth began to trickle into my muscles. “We ran into a few challenges,” he said.

  “You missed an exciting morning.”

  He snorted softly and handed me a bar of dark chocolate topped with crushed hazelnuts and sea salt. “Eat. There’s water in the van.”

  “Got any juice or soda?” I’d ingested more than enough water for one day.

  “Got all of that and those drinks with electrolytes.” Kostya settled me on the passenger’s seat and tucked the blanket around my legs. He kissed my intact cheek, told me to get the scraped-up side looked at, and left.

  I rested the side of my shoulder against the seat’s padded back and left the door open to watch the triage. The entire tableau had an otherworldly feel to it. People I’d barely met and people I hadn’t seen in ages, working together to reunite a husband and father with his wife and daughter.

  When Rémy passed Zazie off to Laszlo and lifted Gosia, she wrapped her arms around his neck. A collective, exhausted cheer went up. Everyone gathered around the two, and Laszlo and the little girl, offering congratulations and support. Hands thumped backs and arms linked as a loose circle of celebration formed.

  The cluster shifted to the side, abandoning the one body still on the ground. I snapped off another square of chocolate and set it on my tongue to soften. I’d go to Jadzia in another minute and stay with her until she showed signs of life or was declared dead. I almost didn’t care which way things went for her, as long as I got an answer or two.

  I was folding the foil lining around the chocolate when Jadzia curled into a ball before rolling onto her belly. My heart sped up. She shouldn’t be able to do that, being shackled and all. I swallowed the bit of chocolate and tossed the bar onto the dashboard.

  As I slid off the seat, the almost-dead fae transformed into a very alive, blade-wielding fae. She whipped around, releasing the fins hidden along her limbs and over the crown of her head until they flared bright and metallic in the clear morning light.

  When One-Becomes-Three unfurled to her full height, she was as tall as the demons and Alabastair. She headed for the gathered Magicals. My father was the closest.

  “Dad!” I screamed, fumbling at my jumpsuit as I ran, hoping I had at least one of Alderose’s blades left. I had nothing, only the unused collar around my neck. Screaming again, I watched in horror as the fae wrapped one muscled arm around my father’s neck, leaned back to lift him off the ground, and plunged her bladed fingers into his side.

  She stabbed him again while dragging him to the edge of the cliff. Without a backward glance, the fae leapt, taking Heriberto del Valle with her.

  I didn’t plan, I didn’t think, I just jumped. I hit the water four or five seconds after they did and sank into the stirred-up murk. I couldn’t see a thing. Until I surfaced, spat out, and breathed in. The fae, trailing Dad behind them, was swimming toward the side of the quarry where I’d found the stacked cages and the metal door.

  I poured every bit of chocolate-fueled energy into my best version of the crawl. I felt the impact when another body hit the water behind me. I didn’t care who it was. If it was another fae, I’d figure it out. I kept swimming. My hand hit a body and I popped up. My father floated, facedown, arms out, legs sagging. Blood colored the water around his chest.

  I spun in place. Jadzia smirked at me before she disappeared into the quarry. I let the desire to exact an immediate revenge go. I had to get my dad to Maritza and Alabastair. Kicking, I grabbed his shirt, positioned him faceup, and kicked and kicked until my back hit Laszlo.

  The demon took over. We got my dad to the ledge. Alabastair was there, waiting, and helped haul the body—no, not the body, my father—out of the water. “I’m taking him right to the hospital. Your aunt knows how to get there.”

  He portaled away before I could ask him how Laszlo and I were going to get out.

  “We can go back the way we came,” he said.

  I had no words. I curled into his chest and the circle of his arms. I was spent. I didn’t know if I had the energy to walk, then swim, then crawl through a tunnel and convince a fossilized portal to get us home.

  We did it. Somehow, Laszlo and I made it to the ledge below the tunnel. We even made it into the tunnel, crawling through the pitch darkness without saying a word.

  Because I had no words. I had only this choking, consuming fear that my dad was dying. There had always been a sliver of space in my heart reserved for the hope that somehow, some day, he and I would build a better relationship.

  The sliver was empty.

  Chapter 18

  Bright sunshine greeted us when Laszlo and I stopped, cold, soaked and muddied, at the front door of Needles and Sins. I couldn’t figure out a simple thing, like how to turn the door handle. I did think to ask the demon how he was going to disguise his horns if we needed to go to the hotel before we figured out where Alabastair had taken my dad.

  “Like this,” the demon said, pressing his hands to the sides of his head. The horns disappeared under his long, thick hair.

  I wanted to disappear too.

  I learned my father had succumbed to his injuries while I was cleaning up in our room at the hotel. Before I finished showering, while Laszlo was out buying me clothes at a nearby shop, my phone had rung. My aunt was on the line. She told me
in the calmest, simplest way possible that my father had not survived being stabbed. The fae’s blades had introduced an anticoagulant into his system. My father bled out, on a gurney, in a treatment center that catered to a magical clientele.

  Tía told me she had good news too.

  I told her I had no bandwidth for more news of any kind and that I would see her later.

  I was sitting on the bed nearest the door, one towel wrapped around my torso and one wrapped around my freshly washed hair, when Laszlo knocked. The expression on his face when he opened the door told me he already knew. He dropped the shopping bag, rolled the bed’s coverlet around me, and held me against his chest. I’d been waterlogged for two solid days and I had no tears to give. Only one long, ugly hiccup of a sob.

  Later, Laszlo told me I passed out and slept for hours, until dinner. I kind of remember people coming in and out of the room. I definitely remember the demon stayed with me the entire time. He might have growled when it was suggested he take a break, have a shower, meet the others in the restaurant.

  I was just surfacing for the third or fourth or twelfth time when a soft knock sounded at the door. Laszlo brushed the tangled hair out of my face and asked if he should see who it was. I already knew the person on the other side of the door was my aunt. I was very ready to see her.

  “Querida,” she crooned, crawling onto the bed and spooning me into her front. “What a sad and happy day.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I brought someone with me.”

  “Who?”

  “Why don’t you get up and put on the clothes your demon has bought for you. I shall brush your hair. Then you can meet our special visitor.”

  Laz brought the bag to the bathroom and left me alone. I unfolded a cotton camisole and a matching set of underpants, and swooned a little when I put them on. I liked cotton. This was extra, extra, extra fine cotton. Expensive cotton.

  I went from a giggle to a chuckle when I unwrapped a jumpsuit and a pair of striped socks. I oohed over the boots and teared up when I opened the jewelry box to see a shiny silver chain with three charms—a button, a dagger, and a demon’s horn.

  I dressed and brushed my teeth, flicked off the bathroom light, and waited for my eyes to adjust to the dark. Maritza and Laszlo were talking in the other room. I was almost ready to step out. First, I had a couple of things to say. And the people I most wanted to say them to—well, the ghosts I most wanted to say them to—were hovering right outside the closed bathroom door.

  At least, I was pretty sure it was them.

  Velvet ribbons.

  Silk. Hemp. Linen.

  Old Spice.

  “Mom? Dad?”

  I stood still, shook out my legs, and waited. I called them again, even softer this time, and when that didn’t work I went for the big guns. “I miss you,” I said. “I miss you so much and I need you to promise me you’ll stick around for a while. Rosey and Beryl need you too.”

  Two ghostly figures hugged me from the sides. One stroked the side of my face and tucked a thick strand of hair behind my ear. Or tried to. My hair was stubborn. And their fingers technically had no mass.

  “Are you coming to dinner?” I whispered. I had to ask, even though I knew the ghosts of my mother and my father wouldn’t come with me. It was too early yet. Alderose, Beryl, and I needed to grieve the loss of our parents in our own ways, then we could figure out how to work together. As a family.

  Or not.

  Whatever we decided would be okay. I had a demon to get to know, an aunt to study with, and clients waiting for me to pick up the threads my mother had gathered long ago.

  DEMON LINES: A Sister Witches Urban Fantasy #2, releases on March 31, 2020. Preorder today:

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  DEMON LINES - Chapter One

  Having a pair of ghosts for parents was going to take a little getting used to. Especially as it was becoming clear I was the only one of the three Brodeur daughters to whom Moira and Heriberto Brodeur were willing to reveal themselves. That honor added another sack of rocks to the emotional weight I already carried around.

  It would be just my luck that my witchy magic—which involved seeing floating threads that wove themselves into scenes from other people’s lives, put me into trances, and made me lose all sense of time—also made me more enticing to the dead.

  I needed to have a chat with my Aunt Maritza. She was a witch and professor of necromantic studies. Her magic also centered around threads, only she used real threads, like the cotton and silk kinds you could buy on spools. Surely, she’d have insight into the whys of my special gift.

  I pressed my forehead to the terrycloth robe hanging from the hook on the inside of the bathroom door. I was ready to collapse after a hellacious day. Sleeping standing up was not a viable option. First, I had to let the ghostly manifestations attached to my sides finish their fussing. My dad pointed out I had missed the topmost closure. My mom nudged him away and straightened the silver charms on my necklace.

  Because they were ghosts, my parents’ touch was light, like clouds brushing my skin. They’d been missing from my life for so long I enjoyed standing still while they pinched the fold of my collar and tucked my hair behind my ears. Once they deemed me presentable, I felt them lose interest and slink toward the floor. I looked down. Misty, amorphous shapes pooled near my feet and glimmered in the narrow band of muted light coming in through the space at the bottom of the door.

  “See you soon,” I whispered, wiggling my toes in their brand-new socks. Laszlo, my mate—my mate, yet another line item on my list of Things for Clementine to Get Used To—had bought these to replace the ones I’d lost during the morning’s melee at a local quarry. I’d been in and out of cold water for a good part of the past twenty-four hours. My bones felt brittle.

  I took fistfuls of the bathrobe and squeezed, drawing the thick, sound-absorbing fabric to my chest. Most of what was left of my living family was waiting for me outside this door and in one or two other rooms in the hotel. We—my sisters and my aunt—were going to have dinner together. The men in our lives were adamant we needed to eat.

  I needed…uff. I needed to scream. Seven years ago, when I got the news of my mother’s death, I was twenty-one and a recent college graduate just beginning to get my feet under me. Stunned by the sudden loss and lacking guidance, I’d read books and gone to online forums dedicated to coping with grief. I checked off each stage as I left it behind and grew used to not having a mother around.

  I tensed my leg muscles to keep me upright and wiggled my toes again. I’d turned the overhead lights off deliberately once I had showered and dressed. Darkness, and soft things like cashmere socks, was easier on my fractured nervous system than the overly bright lights that highlighted every misstep of this day.

  My sisters and I were gutted by the chaotic events surrounding our father’s death, and I for one kept thinking I could have stopped the fae who killed him if only I’d been a little less exhausted, a little more alert, a little less focused on hogging a bar of chocolate. I was pretty sure Alderose, my oldest sister, was feeling pretty much the same things.

  My father’s ghost re-entered the bathroom. He passed his hands over the sides of my head. He let me know he was…happy. At peace.

  I tried to take comfort from his reassurance.

  After seven years of trying to cross over on the anniversary of my mother’s death, and being thwarted each time, he was finally reunited with his beloved wife and they were ready to be off on whatever kind of adventures ghosts got up to. Before my dad slipped beneath the bathroom door to rejoin my mom, I made him promise they would return to Northampton once my sisters were ready to see them. First, Alderose, Beryl, and I needed time to mourn individually and collectively. Death changed a lot of things, including relationship dynamics. That much I remembered from my Intro to Psych class.

  On the other side of the bathroom door, Laszlo and my aunt were talking, their voices low and conversational. The terrycloth clutched in my
hands absorbed a few stray tears, and the timbre of Laszlo’s voice soothed my rising anxiety. I would join them soon.

  I just needed a little more time, a little more dark, before I would be ready.

  I breathed out. Every exhalation loosened my hold on my former life. The one where I was a single witch on the cusp of her twenty-eighth birthday, blessed with a dog, no job, and no permanent address.

  I breathed in. Every inhalation became one more breath planting me in my new reality. I was still almost twenty-eight, still blessed with a dog. But now there was a romantic partner in my life, three lines of work queued up for my consideration, and the possibility I would be residing in both the human and demon realms.

  My mother’s former shop, Needles and Sins, was situated on the ground floor of a building a couple blocks away from the hotel. My parents’ apartment took up the entire second floor and mom’s workshop was on the third. Before the weekend, none of us had known about the third-floor workroom, where she created magic-imbued objects, couture-quality clothes and accessories, and met with clients seeking to hire her to find them a suitable mate.

  Mom also had a potions lab, something else she kept secret. Hidden in the cellar, the laboratory was only accessible via the elevator located inside the shop’s tiny bathroom. A calcified portal tree was embedded in the wall of a room in another area of the cellar.

  Turns out my mother was a master at keeping secrets. I still didn’t understand why. It’s not like she had non-magical progeny; my sisters and I all had powers. I for one chose not to use mine all that much. Truth be told, that was mostly because I didn’t fully understand how to use my ability to see moments from the past in any kind of organized, income-producing way.