White Charms and Dark Secrets (Grey Witch Book 2)

by Cece Rose

  “I couldn’t. He wouldn’t allow me to switch back; he thought it would be bad for his image if his only son chose to leave his coven.” He taps his fingers on his knees, a nervous habit by the looks of it, as he repeats the motion a few times, until he catches me watching.

  “Your father is your coven leader?” I ask.

  “He was,” Kier answers tightly. “Not anymore.”

  “How did he stop you?” I question, not understanding how he could have done so, short of locking Kier away for a whole year.

  “He made me what I am now,” he explains, his voice sounding bitter.

  “Wait, he’s the one who made you a hybrid?” I ask incredulously. Turning of any kind should always be consensual, and from the sound of it, this one wasn’t.

  “He turned me so I wouldn’t have a choice. No white coven would take a witch that had allowed themselves to become something so dark, so unnatural. Did you know that the first vampire was a witch?” he rambles, and I nod my head.

  Every witch knows story of the first vampire, Lamia. The story told to children explained that the witch Lamia wanted to become immortal, so that she would be equal to the god who she loved so dearly. In a jealous rage, his wife tricked her. She gave her a way to become immortal, but in doing so, would forever plunge Lamia’s soul into darkness, so that it could never join with the god’s light.

  The wife told Lamia in order to become an immortal being, she needed to kill three innocents. Lamia searched high and low for innocents to sacrifice, but none of her offerings were accepted. Eventually, she discerned that the only truly innocent humans alive were infants. She sacrificed three new-born babies to achieve her immortality. She drank every drop of their blood, and then left their bodies to turn into ash beneath the sun’s rays, while she retreated into the darkness. She gained her immortality, but the act left her tainted by its evil. The god she adored rejected her, calling what she became an abomination. His wife then cursed Lamia with the inability to sleep, so she would never have rest from her crimes.

  It was a charming story to tell children, but I’m not sure how much truth it contains, if any. Other than the fact a witch became the first vampire by sacrificing three innocents and drinking their blood to achieve immortality, that is.

  Lamia went on to turn numerous others, and forever needed to feast on blood to survive. Only humans and witches possessed the ability to be turned, through an exchanging of blood. They then needed to drink the blood of a human to complete the transformation. Witches risk losing their powers in the process, however most do keep them. Only black witches become vampires. A white witch would be immediately rejected from their coven if one ever dared. It’s no wonder that Kier remained trapped in a black coven. They would never accept him in a white, even if the transformation was made against his will.

  “They say that Lamia hailed from a white coven, and that all covens were white back then. All witches respected the balance of life, and they all lived in harmony with each other,” Kier lectures, pulling me out of my thoughts. “But her crimes were so great, and her new powers so twisted and unnatural, she was shunned. She formed the first black coven, and witches were lured to her side over time.”

  “That’s a myth,” I scoff, rolling my eyes.

  “There’s some truth in every myth, Kayla,” he admonishes, his tone completely serious.

  “I’m sorry that he turned you without your consent. Did you move to another black coven?” I pull the conversation back to the present rather than debating ancient myths. “I mean, you said he wasn’t your coven leader anymore,” I add, when I see the confusion in his eyes.

  “I’m in the same coven, but he’s spending the rest of his very long existence locked away in The Tomb,” Kier answers, a hint of a dark smile curving his lip.

  “What did he do to end up in there?” I ask, even though I know it’s none of my business. My curiosity is a curse as much as the bad luck with which I’m burdened. I can never resist asking a question even if I know I probably shouldn’t.

  “He killed my mother, likely numerous others too,” he answers coldly.

  “I’m so sorry.” I feel horrible for asking now. I don’t even want to think about all the bad memories our conversation likely dredged up for him.

  “Don’t be sorry. It was a long time ago, and he can’t hurt innocents anymore.” Kier stands up. “Look, it’s late, and I should go. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to explain. I knew you would lead me to the real killer, but I didn’t think about the difficulty it would create in your life as a result. I apologize if my pursuit of you as a suspect caused you problems before you were proven innocent. I regret what happened with your job in particular.”

  “It’s fine, I quit anyway,” I reply, standing up too. The swift movement makes me dizzy, and I quickly find my ass back on the sofa.

  Kier is hovering over me in seconds. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just a little dizzy.” Probably the blood loss…

  “Eat something sugary and get some rest. I’ll see myself out.” He moves before I can argue, but he pauses in the doorway of my living room. “Goodnight, Kayla.”

  I hear the soft snick of the front door opening and closing, and I know that he’s gone. Leaning back on the sofa, I stretch my legs out across it as I pull a cushion under my head. I can just nap here for a few minutes…

  Four

  Portals & Coffee

  Sleeping on the sofa is never a good idea. The kink in my neck is painful, and my shoulder aches from where I slept on it in an awkward position. My intended few minutes nap morphed into over twelve hours of sleep, out cold in the possibly the most uncomfortable position my body could have found.

  Just my luck should be my new catchphrase.

  Still shaking off the remnants of weird dreams about the first vampire, I will my body up and off the sofa, dragging myself into the kitchen for some coffee. As I go to grab the milk, I pause, looking at one of the photos pinned to my fridge with a magnet. It’s a photo of me and Lizzy last New Year’s Eve. We’re dressed up as two of the Power Puff Girls. The image makes me smile; we’re laughing at some stupid joke I can’t even remember with drinks in our hands.

  I pull my eyes away and open the fridge. I stare into it unseeing for a moment, almost forgetting I’d gone in there for the milk. Remembering my task, I grab the milk and then hurry to make my coffee, loading it with extra sugar. Two more than I normally take. I figure if I can’t excuse extra sugar after being chomped on by a vampire, when can I?

  Clutching my coffee tightly like the lifeline it is, I grab my grandma’s grimoire, pulling it down from its hiding spot – hidden behind the cookbooks I never use. I settle myself down at the kitchen table, sitting on one of the stools. After taking a big gulp of my coffee, I pull open the brown book filled with more spells, potions, and curses than I’d ever be able to memorise.

  I want to find a few things. One, a way to break my bad luck. Two, a way to prove Lizzy’s innocence so she could come home. And, three, a resolution to my dumb romantic problems. I flip through the pages for what seems like the millionth time. I find plenty of spells regarding good luck in the book, but all of them have notes scrawled next to them, letting me know these spells won’t work on someone cursed with bad luck. I never paid too much attention to them before, but it makes a lot of sense now.

  What about a solution for my love life? I’m not sure what kind of spell would be the better option. A spell to ensure I stay in love, or one to pull both of us out of it. Shit. I grit my teeth. I didn’t just admit that, did I? At least it was only a confession to myself. Darren would never shut up or leave it alone if he ever heard it. I take another large gulp off coffee and slam the book shut.

  “Fuck,” I mutter. Lizzy could help with my bad luck, and she’d provide stellar advice on how to repair this mess that is my love life. I need to get her back.

  There’s only one way she can return home, and that’s by finding out who really killed Jay.
Luckily for me, I already have a prime suspect. Rhydian hasn’t shown his face since the day I found out he was posing as Gideon, a human at my office. He clearly had something to hide. If he wasn’t going to show his face here, I have no choice but to go after him instead.

  I open the grimoire back up and flick through the pages until I find what I want. There…directions for how to open a portal. Before now, I’d never possessed nearly enough power to open one. I never even attempted it, just assumed that I couldn’t. Now I know my power is stronger, wilder and more unpredictable, but still stronger. No longer drained by the good luck necklace, it’s allowed to run free and reach its full potential. I know I can do this. I glance down at the list of things that can go wrong when conjuring a portal, feeling my nerves and self-doubt begin to build up within me.

  …But maybe I should do a test run first. Just to be extra careful.

  Some witches become so adapt at portals, they can cast instantly without the use of words or hand movements. They can form portals just by the direction of their thoughts and magic. Some are even able to mimic the fae ability of phase walking, by making themselves the portal. It’s beyond complicated, and only the most powerful witches are capable. As are most demons. Their magic is similar to witches’, but far more powerful. Seeing as it’s my first attempt, I decide to test it the long way.

  I grab a blank piece of paper and crumple it up into a ball and set it aside on the kitchen table. I scan the instructions a few times, draining the last of my coffee as I do. Finally, with no other excuse to procrastinate, I take a deep breath and begin.

  I hold my hands out in front of me and focus, moving them to draw out the sigil in the air in front of me. “Segmentum aperire conscidisti in mundo. Ite ad locum creare hunc locum,” I chant, while picturing my destination and moving my hands over and over in the design of the sigil. A pulsing light appears in front of me.

  I drop my hands to my sides. I think I’ve actually done it. I gape at the portal for a minute, stunned, before grabbing the paper ball I made and throwing it through the portal. After giving it a few moments, I cut my magic off and let the portal dissolve.

  All but running in my excitement, I speed walk into the living room, finding the paper ball in one piece on the floor. I grin. It worked perfectly. Score one for the bad luck witch!

  As I’m about to cast a portal to The Rift, I glance down only to realise I’m still dressed in last night’s clothes, and I could probably use a nice long shower. I drop my hands. Confronting Rhydian could wait an hour while I got myself ready. I’d rather accuse him of murder when I’m not looking like I just got beat up by a vamp and then spent the night sleeping on the sofa awkwardly. Even if that is exactly what had happened.

  Grandma wasn’t kidding when she told me that life would never be easy.

  Five

  Secrets of the Fae

  Showered, dressed, and alert thanks to two more cups of coffee, I finally feel ready to face Rhydian. Well, as ready as I can be anyway. I take a deep breath and begin to recite the portal spell again. “Segmentum aperire conscidisti in mundo. Ite ad locum creare hunc locum,” I chant. I picture The Rift, outside where Lizzy opened it for me before, and lift my hands to form the design of the sigil in the air.

  The pulsing light appears again without any struggle, and I relax a little bit. This is so much easier than I thought it would be. I’ll be interrogating Rhydian in no time. I can already picture the surprise on his irritatingly good-looking face when I show up uninvited. I grin, the image giving me the push I need to move forward. My foot only has a slight tremble as I step into the portal, and my eye catches on a strange flicker as I pass through. Abruptly I stumble, my foot catching on something unseen on the other side, sending me tumbling forward. I brace myself for impact on the hard dirt but find myself falling on top of something a bit softer.

  “Not that you aren’t welcome, sweetheart, but most of my guests use the door rather than portalling themselves right onto my lap,” Rhydian drawls. He brushes my hair from where it’s fallen into my face, and I look around, completely mortified. I’ve managed to end up somewhere other than where I’d intended; instead of landing outside of the building, I seem to have landed upstairs. Of all the places I could have come out of the portal up here, I’ve ended up on Rhydian’s lap.

  He sits back comfortably in his seat, not looking bothered or surprised in the least by my arrival. Even worse, he’s not here alone. My face flushes as I notice several strange men watching me with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. I swallow nervously. Shit.

  “Just thought I’d drop by, ask you a few questions,” I finally respond in an attempt at sounding casual as I turn back to him. I give him a sharp look though, trying to convey that I need to speak to him alone.

  “Of course, sweetheart, but how about a drink first?” he offers in a charming voice. I start to stand up and object, but his arm darts around my waist, pulling me back close to his chest in an overtly familiar way. “Don’t move. Just play along.” Rhydian’s voice comes from inside my head. Not knowing who else is in the room with us or what is going on, I decide to his lead, settling back against him as I make myself comfortable. Surely he wouldn’t keep me trapped on his lap without a reason?

  “That would be great,” I force out, plastering a fake smile onto my face.

  “Acacia,” he calls, and I notice a petite woman step forward. I also notice her clothes, or well, the lack of them. She wears a few thin straps of fabric around her body, and nothing else. Other than her killer heels, anyway. Her long, silky black hair hangs free down her back, and sways with her body as she moves.

  “What can I bring for your guest, master?” she simpers. Her voice is a soft, pleasant one, a gentle tone that could calm anyone down.

  “Surprise her,” Rhydian answers, without giving me the opportunity to respond. Not that it matters, considering I won’t be drinking it. In the midst of making a mental note to yell at Rhydian for sexism too, I notice a man standing at the edge of the room, dressed in a similar fashion to Acacia. I bite my tongue. Equal opportunity employee nudity, I suppose. Why am I even surprised? I almost jump when Rhydian runs his hand up my back, but his other arm rests over my lap, keeping me in place. “Relax.” His voice commands in my head again. He runs his hand down my back again in a slow, reassuring manner.

  The woman offers me a pink-coloured drink, and I take it from her hand, giving her a grateful smile. I pull it to my face and sniff it curiously. It smells sweet, almost sickeningly so. I gently set it down onto the table in front of me, and shiver as I feel Rhydian’s lips press against my shoulder in a whisper of a kiss. What the hell is he trying to do?

  “Perhaps I should come back later?” one of the men suggests. I glance over at him. His hair is an almost white blond, and his piercing blue eyes are fixated on me and Rhydian.

  “Maybe that would be best,” Rhydian agrees pleasantly. I glance back at the fake smile on his face.

  The blond man stands, and the others in the room follow his lead in silence. “Until next time,” he says, before phasing out of the room. They all seem to pull it off in perfect synchronization, leaving me and Rhydian alone. Well, the two practically naked people are still here, too.

  As if reading my mind, Rhydian turns to them next. “Leave us,” he demands. They both nod, walking to the door without a word and letting themselves out. The door clicks shut behind them as they leave.

  I turn on his lap to face him, so he can see just how unamused I am with him. “What the fuck was that all about?”

  “I wanted them to leave without making them ask questions about who you are, or what you’re doing here,” he answers in a casual, unconcerned manner. A smile twitches at his lips.

  “What’s so funny?” I challenge, narrowing my eyes.

  “You know that you can get off my lap now, right? Not that I’m saying you need to, but I just thought from your expression that you didn’t come all this way to seduce me.” The grin spreads as h
e sees his words registering. I jump up, managing to bump into the damned table hard enough to knock my drink over. The pink-coloured concoction seeps into the carpet.

  “Fuck,” I mutter, bending to rub my knee where it got knocked. “Stupid damn table.”

  “Blaming the table, are you?” He chuckles as he lifts a hand in the direction of the spilt drink. The liquid evaporates off from the carpet and the glass lifts up, setting itself back onto the table. Rolling my eyes, I walk over to the other side of the coffee table and take a seat. I glare at Rhydian. If it was anyone’s fault, it was his. Speaking of Rhydian's fault...

  “Why did you kill Jay? I demand, crossing my arms as the seriousness of the situation settles back in. He looks at me in confusion.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean. Are you really going to say you pretending to be some human called Gideon, working there for just a week or two, and then leaving as soon as Jay dies is a coincidence?” I grill, narrowing my eyes on him.

  “It is a coincidence. I had my own reasons for being there. While none of those reasons are your business, I swear I didn't kill him. Why I was there had nothing to do with Jay, but his death is admittedly part of why I left so abruptly. There was too much attention there to continue what I was doing, so I left. I found another in for my... project. Not that it concerns you. I’m a business man, not a murderer, Kayla.” He looks at me, his green eyes staring right into mine, and I hate that I feel myself starting to believe him.

  “So, who did kill him then?” I ask sceptically, not quite ready to let it drop just yet.

  “How the hell should I know, sweetheart? It's not my job to figure out who killed whom, it's your friend Kier's job to do that.” I can almost feel the disdain in how Rhydian says his name, and I make a mental note to ask him about it at some point. That kind of animosity doesn't come from nowhere.