Witch Unexpected: The Thirteenth Sign Book 1

by Cassidy, Debbie

  “We?” He arches a brow.

  “Do you want to keep Cora safe or not?”

  The air prickles, and Elijah stills. “What did you do?” he demands.

  The warlock is unhinged. “I didn’t do anything.”

  He strides across the room, grasps the door handle, and pulls. “It’s locked.” He mutters some shit under his breath and tries again. The door doesn’t budge. “Fuck,” He turns to me. “Someone’s magically locked us in.”

  I roll my eyes. “Locked you in. I’m not penned so easily.” I make to jump out of the room, and nothing happens.

  “You were saying?” He pulls out his phone. “No signal.” He frowns. “Why would someone magically lock us into the room?”

  Today is no ordinary day. Today is the day Cora becomes the anchor. I’d stop her if I could, take her away from here, but I’m weak, and she’s stubborn, and there’s something about not giving her what she wants that makes my chest burn. But there are people who don’t want her taking on this role. This Order and—

  Oh fuck.

  Elijah’s frown clears.

  “Cora!” We say in unison.

  * * *

  CORA

  Wren licked cake crumbs off his plate and burped.

  Pippa stifled a laugh.

  I took away the plate. “Happy?”

  He licked his paws. “Wren thought Cora forgot.”

  “Me? Forget?” I plastered a horrified look on my face.

  So, okay, I had almost forgotten, but then I’d remembered, so all was well. Wren had his cake, and it was almost time for me to become the anchor.

  “Don’t be nervous,” Pippa said. “You’ll do great.”

  I dropped a kiss on Wren’s forehead. “I’ll be back later to kiss you goodnight.”

  Bramble waited outside the room, excitement bubbling in her expression. “Okay, let’s go do this, Cora.”

  She was dressed like a shadow. The only color to her ensemble was her purple hair, piled high on her head in an intricate plaited bun.

  She’d tried to get me to do the same with mine, but who had the time for that shit? I’d pulled it into a low pony, slipped on my jeggings and long-sleeved T, and topped off the look in four-inch heeled, thigh-high boots with buckles up the side. The dagger Bramble had given me was tucked snugly in my boot holster.

  I was good to go.

  Bramble led the way through the mansion, up a couple of flights of stairs, and into the tower Anna had brought me to a couple of weeks ago.

  The platform stretched out before me, lit by floating candles that didn’t flicker in the breeze. Hecate’s statue glowed softly with silver light where the symbols had been activated by the light of a moon so large and round it looked like someone had lassoed it and dragged it closer to the world.

  This was the blood moon.

  The elder witches stood around the statue, dressed in their creepy-ass robes, and in the center were Charlotte and Anna. Charlotte looked small and pale compared to the plumper, sturdier figure of Anna. She looked breakable and…frightened.

  I caught sight of Sten, Arne, and Toke standing just outside the circle of elders. Their expressions were in shadow, but the tension radiating off them was a palpable force. They were worried too. Worried about what might happen once this ceremony was over.

  Leif, Rune, and Tor stood closest to the door I’d just come through, but no one had noticed me yet.

  Bramble stopped and jerked her head toward the statue. “You’re up, Cora.”

  I stepped out of the shadows and slipped past the elder witches to get to Anna, and all eyes were suddenly on me. My pulse quickened as the power emanating from the statue kissed my skin.

  “Are you ready, Cora?” Anna asked.

  “What do I have to do?”

  “You both place your palms on the statue. Hecate will transfer the anchorship to you and free Charlotte from her responsibility and the binding.”

  Charlotte closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  I glanced over her shoulder at her guys, the three men she was in love with and might lose.

  “It’ll be okay.”

  Her jaw ticked, but she nodded and placed her hand on the statue. The symbols began to pulse.

  “Now you, Cora,” Anna said.

  I looked back at Leif, Rune, and Tor. Leif smiled encouragingly. Tor inclined his head and Rune chuffed as if to say, get on with it so we can go home and eat.

  Weird how I understood that so clearly.

  I took a deep breath and reached for the statue.

  * * *

  SLOANE

  “All clear,” Brie reports through the comm.

  The gargoyles did a perimeter check before they left for their annual holiday. The blood moon is the only time they leave the mansion, and no one knows where the fuck they go. I’ve tried to find out over the years. No luck. Doesn’t matter. They’re the second line of defense. The wards are the first.

  “Clear,” Poppy confirms.

  “All fucking clear,” Jessie said. “I dunno why we need to do this shit. It’s not like anyone can get onto the grounds without the wards being tripped.”

  I can’t help but smile at her sour tone. “Protocol. Heard of it?”

  “You can’t see it, but I’m giving you the finger.”

  She’s a fucking moany cow, but her heart is huge. Brie may be my second, but only because Jessie never wanted the position. She hates too much responsibility, and honestly, I sometimes wonder if she really wants to be here.

  “You clear?” Brie asks me.

  “Almost, just got to check the sublevel real quick.”

  “Fucksake, Sloane, there’s hardly likely to be an intruder down there.”

  “Protocol.” I smile. “I’ll be two minutes, then we can head to the roof.”

  Sweeps before any important ceremony are protocol. Something that’s been in place for centuries, ever since the fire in the east wing where intruders had managed to get onto the property.

  We no longer take risks.

  I take the stone steps two at a time and brace myself for the sting of power that’s about to come because the sublevel is home to the source of our main wards.

  Any second…wait… What the fuck?

  I hit the flagstones and freeze at the sight of the heavy iron doors, open a fraction.

  “Sloane? Is everything okay?” Brie asks.

  No, this cannot be happening. I pull open the door and step into the wardroom, a room that should be saturated with light from the many arcane symbols drawing power from the convergence of ley lines beneath us.

  Except the room is pitch black.

  “Sloane?” Jessie this time. “What’s wrong?”

  But I’m already running up the steps. “Code black. We have a fucking code black.”

  * * *

  CORA

  My fingers touched stone, and a crack like thunder ripped the air. I pulled back in shock. Had I done that?

  I looked across at Charlotte to find her watching the moon. The moon, which was dappled with black smudges…What the…?

  Wails reached my ears.

  Oh fuck, I knew that sound.

  “Banshees!” an elder witch cried out.

  “No. This isn’t possible,” Anna said. “I checked the wards myself.”

  But my attention was on the ground, which was bulging and stretching. Oh, fucking hell, no.

  Revenants.

  “Everybody, run!” Sten shooed Charlotte toward the exit, and the elder witches followed.

  Anna looked torn.

  “Go,” Arne ordered. “Get the wards up. We’ll hold them back.”

  Leif, Rune, and Tor fell into line with the older wolves. Clothes tore and bones cracked as the wolves shifted.

  “Come on,” Bramble grabbed my hand and tugged.

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “We can’t afford to lose you,” Toke said. “Get inside. Now.”

  It wasn’t a request.

  We surg
ed toward the exit and slammed into an invisible barrier.

  “We’re trapped!” one of the witches cried.

  Behind us, the snarl and growl of the wolves cut over the shriek of the banshees.

  I pulled my dagger from its holster and turned to face the threat. “Then we fight.”

  Chapter Thirty

  The wolves attacked the revenants, tearing and clawing at them, but the fuckers wouldn’t stay down. Not without a negation spell, and only The Elites had that. The elder witches held hands and chanted to counteract the shrieking banshees. But once again, the only way to dispel them was with iron bombs.

  We could fight, we could hold them off, but we wouldn’t be able to kill them.

  We needed The Elites, but with the barrier spell locking us on the roof, was it even possible for them to reach us?

  Bramble and I fought side by side, stabbing and wounding the banshees. There were five in total, floating around us, keeping us penned and attacking, sometimes one at a time, sometimes en force. My ears ached, my head felt like it was filled with cotton wool, and the urge to curl up and cry was a pulsing force in my chest.

  The wolves took on the four revenants, holding them at bay.

  How was this happening? Pen was gone. Unless…

  “There’s another traitor,” Bramble shouted over the banshees’ cries.

  She delivered a roundhouse kick to the nearest one’s head, then dropped and stabbed it in the stomach.

  It reared back, squealing in pain. A minor reprieve for us because it would be back, but for a few minutes, it’d be four on two.

  “We need to complete the ceremony!” Anna yelled. “Complete it, and we can assist by drawing from you. Charlotte is too weak to act as a conduit and maintain the seal.”

  Fuck, where was Charlotte?

  Bramble and I fell into place back to back.

  “I don’t see her,” Bramble said.

  I sliced my blade through the air to ward off the banshee gunning for me. “I don’t see her either.”

  The banshees surged at us in unison. Bramble grabbed my arm and yanked me out of the circle. The banshees clashed, spinning into an angry black vortex, the sound of their screams unifying and becoming louder. The volume of the witches’ chanting dropped, and the banshee cry sliced through my brain.

  “Oh fuck.”

  * * *

  SLOANE

  There’s a fucking ward on the entrance to the roof. I can hear the screams. I can see shapes and smell blood, but I can’t get through.

  Jessie stands with her hands raised. “It’s complex,” she says. “Chaos born.”

  “Then it has a source. Find it.”

  We set to work scanning the doorway, the floor, the brickwork. A chaos ward is always linked to obsidian rock. We just need to find the fucking thing.

  “Got it!” Brie presses her fingers into the wall, trying to pry the sliver of crystal free.

  “Fuck that.” Jessie shoves her aside and slams the hilt of her blade into the rock.

  The air crackles and heat singes my face.

  The ward is down, and the scene is revealed. Five banshees and four revenants. Motherfucker.

  “We don’t have any iron bombs,” Poppy points out. “And there are four revenants.”

  “Get some bombs and grab the amplification crystal. We’ll start the negation spell. Move fast.”

  Poppy sprints away and the rest of us run onto the roof, straight at the revenants. The negation chant is already bubbling past my lips, and Jessie and Brie join me a moment later.

  Our voices rise strong and sure, and the revenants’ movements slow. But a negation spell isn’t meant to take down more than one revenant at a time, not without a crystal to amplify it.

  We’re gonna have to wing it till Poppy gets back.

  The wolves keep attacking, helping to keep the revenants busy while we wrap them in the negation threads and begin to pull them tight.

  My diaphragm aches with the effort of holding these creatures in thrall, my throat burns with the twisted, awful words—the only words that can unmake these creatures.

  Jessie and Brie flank me as we move in. It’s working; we’re doing it. Fucking hell.

  My gaze flicks to the left to see Cora and Bramble battling the banshees. They’re quick on their feet, fast. The elders are safe, huddled together, their chants mingling with ours and working to mute the banshees’ cries.

  All we need is Poppy and we’re good.

  Movement by the exit. The flash of bubble-gum hair.

  Yes.

  Poppy races toward us, flinging an iron bomb in the banshee’s direction as she passes, neutralizing that threat. She’s almost with us, crystal gripped in her hand, ready for activation, but she trips and falls. A shadow darts across the ground, too fast for me to catch what it is.

  A gust of cold air slaps my cheek. I turn toward the revenants, my heart squeezing painfully as I realize I’ve stopped chanting. I pick up the words just as a barbed tentacle whizzes past me and buries itself in Brie’s chest.

  For a moment, the world is still and silent. My brain refuses to compute what it’s seeing, but when it does, my scream shatters the bubble.

  Blood spurts from Brie’s mouth, her eyes go wide, lock onto mine, and then she’s whisked up into the air. I make a grab for her ankle but miss. The revenant flicks its tentacle and dislodges my friend. My second scream is stuck in my throat as I watch her make an arch through the air and land with a crack. Her neck… Her neck is at an odd angle.

  Another crack and my cheek erupts in a fiery sting.

  “Chant!” Jessie screams in my face.

  Poppy is beside me with the glowing amplification crystal, tears streaming down her cheeks, mouth moving in the negation spell.

  I tear my gaze from my best friend’s dead body and break into a chant.

  * * *

  CORA

  Brie was dead. Oh fuck. Oh, fucking hell.

  “More revenants!” Leif ran toward me. “You need to go. There are more coming.”

  The ground was bubbling all around us.

  I rushed toward the elders. “Can The Elites take them all on?”

  “No,” Anna said. “But we can if we finish the ritual.”

  Sten appeared, holding Charlotte's hand. “I found her. I think she’s in shock.”

  Charlotte trembled, her eyes like saucers.

  “Get her to the statue and complete the ritual,” Anna repeated. “It’s the only way.”

  “Tor, Rune!” Leif stood by the statue, waving them over. “Come on.”

  Tor morphed into his human form and beelined for the statue with Rune.

  We joined them a moment later, dodging the bulging areas of ground where any minute new revenants would form.

  Sten hugged Charlotte to his chest. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Let’s get this done, and we can go home.”

  I caught sight of Arne and Toke making their way toward us in wolf form.

  Charlotte shook her head. “No. No, it wasn’t supposed to be this way.”

  Sten gently gripped her wrist and placed it on the statue. “It’s okay. I got you.” He looked at me. “Hurry.”

  I lifted my hand, and Charlotte’s face contorted in anger. Something silver flashed.

  A blade.

  She had a blade.

  “No!” Leif grabbed my arm to pull me out of the way, but there was no way I was avoiding the stab.

  My hands sparked in auto-defense mode, but a spark wasn’t enough.

  I closed my eyes, ready for the pain, but a dark shadow leaped in front of me, and a whine of pain ripped the air.

  “No!” Charlotte screamed. “Arne!”

  Arne fell to the ground, the dagger buried in his furry side.

  Leif’s grip on me tightened. “Dad!” He dropped to his knees beside his father and grabbed hold of the hilt of the blade. He tugged, but it wouldn’t come free. “What is this?” His face was pale with shock and anger as he looked up at Charlotte. �
��What did you do?”

  “Charlotte?” Bramble stared at her in horror. “You tried to kill Cora…”

  Charlotte covered her mouth, shaking her head as if to deny any part in the stabbing.

  “It’s a null blade,” Anna said. “It resists all magic. It won’t come free until its target is dead.” She fixed her eyes on Charlotte. “You stole it from the archives. I trusted you.”

  But Charlotte only had eyes for Arne. She fell to her knees. “No, no, no. Not you, I never meant to hurt you. I just wanted them to fix it. To keep us like this. They said they’d help. That Croatoan would bless us.”

  Them? The Order?

  Oh fuck. It all made sense now. Pen’s smirk, her confidence that she’d get her reward. She hadn’t been working alone. She’d been working with Charlotte. Two witches, both wanting something they couldn’t have. Two desperate, traitorous witches.

  “You told me to watch over Cora,” Bramble said.

  I could see her mind working.

  “You told me to look out for her when you wanted her dead.” Her face contorted in pain. “You were willing to put my life in danger.”

  Oh shit. Poor Bramble.

  Charlotte shook her head in exasperation and reached for Bramble. “No, sweetheart. You were never a target, just a watcher. I needed to see where she was. I needed eyes.” Her gaze dropped to the bracelet on Bramble’s wrist.

  Bramble looked down at it, and her lip curled in disgust. “A fucking spell? A tracker?” She tugged the bangle off and threw it. “How could you?”

  “This was never about you, selfish girl,” Charlotte snapped, gaze dropping to her wounded mate. “Arne. Please, baby, please.”

  Arne opened his eyes and fixed them on Charlotte. He blinked once slowly, and then he closed his eyes and fell still.

  Charlotte slumped, the fight draining from her.

  Arne was gone.

  Dead.

  Toke appeared beside her, and together, he and Sten pulled her to her feet. Their expressions were stoic and stone-like, as if Arne’s death had stripped them of emotion. Sten forced Charlotte’s hand to the statue. She scanned his face, and then Toke’s, searching for goodness knew what, and then her shoulders began to shake.