Witch's Sorrow: A Witch Detective Urban Fantasy (Alice Skye Series Book 1)

by Taylor Aston White

  Alice closed her eyes, waiting for the spider to crash through the unlocked gate.

  Nothing.

  She quickly peered through the gaps behind her, into nothing. Darkness. No lights from the runes. No burn marks on the concrete. No giant murderous spider. It was as if it had been when she was outside the cage, looking in. A void. Absorbing all the light.

  Her legs gave out, collapsing beneath her into an unsteady pile. Blood poured from her stomach and shoulder, an impossible amount leaking across the floor. Her sword clattered to the ground, her hand limp at her side. She blinked several times, each time the room brightened before darkening around the corners. Head heavy, she looked up at the chandelier that lit up the white ceiling, wooden beams shooting in a pattern from the centre.

  Blink.

  A cage, an intricate latticework of metal mesh revealing only darkness above her.

  Blink.

  White ceiling, pale walls with colourful paintings. A statue stood in the corner, its modesty covered by a leaf beside a bookshelf full of old leather-bound books. Black invaded her vision, creeping from the corners once again.

  Her head slumped against something cold.

  Chapter 24

  Oh god, my head.

  Alice moved to brush her hair from her face, her wrist stopping short with a rattle. She pulled her arm again, pain shooting through her shoulder sharp enough she hissed.

  What the fuck?

  She opened her eyes, the harsh light causing her to squint. “What?” She looked down. “Where the hell are my clothes?”

  Her catsuit had been removed along with her bag, radio and sword. Her black lace bra, underwear and harness the only things covering her.

  How the fuck did they remove my catsuit without removing the harness?

  Wiggling her toes she looked further down, her legs cuffed carefully to a wooden chair. She pulled at her wrists again, her arms having been tied behind her back.

  “If you pull anymore you might hurt your wrists,” a deep voice chuckled. She stopped tugging, her muscles going rigid.

  Who the fuck is that? Blowing her hair from her face she peered through the blonde strands. A huge male stood against the wall, one foot on the floor and one against the wall, bent at the knee.

  “Excuse me?” she questioned while pulling at her bonds again.

  The male just crossed his heavily tattooed arms across his chest. Waiting.

  Fighting a snarl Alice calmed herself, thinking. She couldn’t burn through metal, and she didn’t have access to her bag or sword. “Fuck.”

  He sniggered, the sound echoing across the room.

  “Who are you?” she asked, staring at the stranger. Nothing. No answer. “Why am I tied up?” A thump as his other foot landed on the floor. “Are you going to talk or not?” A small chuckle, but he remained hidden.

  Great, she thought. He has a sense of humour.

  Alice tested her leg restraints. No budge.

  “Why were you in the basement?” he asked with a penetrating glance.

  “Where’s the spider?”

  “So you’re scared of spiders?” Another dark, irritating chuckle. “That was the Somnlin. Our deterrent against thieves and curious librarians.”

  “A Somnlin?”

  “An illusion taken from your deepest fear.”

  “That was not an illusion, it almost sliced me in half.”

  Or did it? Alice peered down, noticing only smooth skin, no sign of the bloody gaping hole, no cuts or bruises.

  “It was a physical manifestation taken from your imagination, it’s as real as you believe it to be.” He walked round to face her, his heavy biker boots making no noise on the wood. “The spell causes you to be delusional, makes you see things that aren’t there.”

  So that’s why my spell failed. It’s not really there.

  “So are you saying that if I just closed my eyes and believed it wasn’t there, it couldn’t have hurt me?”

  “It never actually touched you.” He was laughing at her.

  “Yeah, well you’re a shitty librarian.” She blew at her hair again, the blonde strands tickling her cheek.

  “Why were you in the basement?” His face morphed to blank, expressionless as he asked his questions.

  “Why am I naked?” she countered.

  His dark hair, longer on the top than the sides was pulled back from his angular face, the colour matching the long stubble along his strong jaw and neck. His too full lips were straight, all humour gone as his narrowed steel-grey eyes watched her carefully. A faint scar marked his otherwise blemish free skin, a pale pink line that curved gently from his high cheekbone to break into his top lip, accentuating his masculinity.

  “You were passed out on the floor.” His gaze slowly roamed across her skin, eyes lingering far longer than necessary. “I was checking you were okay.”

  “You didn’t have to strip me.”

  “Probably, but it was fun.” A cheeky grin. “Interesting knife you have.”

  “It’s not a knife!” she sneered, the harness biting into her skin. “That’s my…”

  “Interesting runes along the blade.” His eyes darted to hers. “You do them yourself?”

  “Runes?” Alice strained her neck, trying to see her blade. It was alight with colour, patterns bright flaring down the steel. They seemed to brighten as the man stroked down the edge, wanting him to touch.

  Her sword had runes?

  “Why were you in the basement?” he asked again, his eyebrows pinched.

  She ignored the question, instead flaring out her chi. If he wanted to interrogate her, she at least wanted to know what he was. Pushing out her chi she tested, sucking in a breath when her aura hit his, the feeling electric against her senses. His eyes flashed silver, lashes quickly coming down to hide them as his full lips curled in amusement. It was clear from his reaction he was a magic user, something she recognised, yet didn’t.

  “Are you a faerie?” She pulled her chi back, the connection too strong for her to concentrate. What was he? He wasn’t a witch.

  “No.” Another curl of those lips. “But I know they prefer being called The Fae.” He tilted his head slightly, causing some of his hair to cover his expression. “Are you going to answer my question?” He clicked his fingers, the tattoos on his arms illuminating gently against his skin before a ball of arcane encased his hand.

  “Neat trick, do you do kids parties too?” Alice pulled once again against the bonds, sweat starting to drip down her skin as the arcane built against his hand.

  Shit. Shit. Shit, she chanted, wiggling her bum, the wood uncomfortable against bare skin. Wood. Wood burned.

  “Adolebitque.” She rattled her wrists to mask her voice.

  “Are we going to do this the hard way?” He took a threatening step forward.

  “Wait, what are you?” She hoped the question caught him off guard.

  “A man.”

  She fought not to roll her eyes. “That’s not what I asked.” Another groan, the wood weakening.

  “So I’m not a man?” He reached down to the zipper of his black jeans. “Shall we check that out, sweetheart?”

  “WAIT!” She tried to stall him, feeling the wood continue to weaken beneath her. He hesitated at her outburst, the arcane on his hand hissing.

  Alice licked her dry lips, staring at his arms. Black and red intricate patterns wrapped around most of his left arm and all of his right arm, symbols similar to the ones on the floor and locked in the library basement. Symbols she now recognised, her memory sluggish to catch up in her panic.

  “I know what you are.” The symbols were of Celtic origin, runes that were engraved to give a permanent anchor to a spell the same way she would use the five elements. Runes her father had tattooed around his wrists.

  With a final creak the chair gave way. Muscles tensed, she pulled just as the chair collapsed, her feet ripping free from the wooden legs. Within an instant she was pushed against the wall, a strong arm against he
r throat, no sign of the arcane.

  “Careful sweetheart,” he breathed against her neck, loosening his hold enough to allow her to turn, pressing her shoulders flat against the wall. She glared up at him with controlled anger.

  With a final push against her neck he stepped back, close enough to grab her but not close enough to touch. Her skin continued to burn where his hands once were, a phantom against her flesh.

  “How did you move so fast?” She released a shaky breath.

  “Why don’t you tell me considering you know what I am?” he replied smugly.

  She didn’t miss a beat. “You’re a druid.”

  “Gold fucking star.” He stepped towards her, forcing her back against the wall. “Now, why were you in the fucking basement?”

  “I don’t know why,” she hissed through her teeth, the pain in her wrists fuelling her anger. At least her legs were free, two separate cuffs hanging from each ankle.

  The man didn’t say anything for a minute, his face immobile. “I know you’re a Paladin, you had your license in your bag.” Her eyes flashed to his, but she remained silent, deciding to stare at the tattoo crawling up his throat instead. “What’s your name?”

  “You said yourself you’ve read my Paladin license. You know it’s Alice.”

  “Progress.” He stepped away, his eyes accusing. “Just making sure it’s actually your license.”

  She didn’t have to read minds to know he thought she was a burglar. To be fair to him, she was dressed like one.

  “Now, I will not ask again. Why were you in the basement?”

  “I was looking for literature on a cult.”

  “A cult?” His eyes narrowed. “What cult?”

  Alice bit her lip, deciding what to tell him. “The Becoming.” She watched his reaction, noticing his jaw clench.

  “So you’re chasing Daemons.”

  “Am I?” That at least confirmed the passage she read from the book. “Who are you?”

  “Who I am is not important.”

  “I didn’t ask your star sign, I want your name.” She straightened her back, trying to look scarier than she actually was. Especially considering she was half naked with black makeup smeared across her face. She probably looked crazy.

  “Fine, I’m Riley.”

  “Is that your first or last name?”

  He just smiled in response. That smile made her frown, his face suddenly becoming more familiar.

  “Do I know you?” she asked, trying to place him.

  “Why would a Paladin be researching a cult? You on a contract?”

  “Maybe.” She kept the eye contact. “So do you have any literature I can read regarding this cult?”

  Riley clicked his fingers, the cuffs around her wrists and ankles falling to the floor with a clink. Slowly pulling her hand from behind her back she flexed her fingers, but resisted the urge to rub her wrists.

  “Your clothes are behind you on the table.” He nodded to a table in the other corner. “Get dressed.”

  “Turn around.” She didn’t want to get dressed with him watching. He just crossed his arms over his chest, eyes darkening. Biting her tongue she stormed over to the table, noticing her destroyed catsuit. “You didn’t have to cut it off.” He ignored her, continuing to watch. Quickly stepping into the leather she tied the ripped parts across her breasts, covering her modesty as much as possible. “Give me my sword.”

  “Oh, this?” He stroked her blade again, watching the lights dance at his touch. “It’s nice, never seen anything like it.”

  “It was a gift.” Dread had given it to her when she completed the academy, had explained it was her mother’s, passed down through the family. She had never asked how he had it.

  “Hmm.” He flipped it several times. “What do the runes mean?”

  She had no idea. “Don’t change the subject, talk.” She found her beany, shoving it into her bag before slinging it over her shoulder.

  “What do you know of this cult?”

  “Nothing, which is why I’m here, researching.” She eyed her sword, weighing the options whether she could just grab it back. The way he was expertly flipping it would suggest she probably couldn’t.

  “When did you first hear of it?”

  “A woman attacked us, she said she was recruiting.”

  “Who’s ‘us’?” His eyes were piercing, as if he could see the answers through her skin. “Who hired you originally?” She refused to reply. “Maybe we could help each other.”

  Alice hesitated, not trusting him. Looking around the room she noticed it was decorated the same as all the other private rooms she saw earlier in the library. One wall was encased completely in a huge bookcase, old leather-bound books piled high.

  “What do you know of this cult?” It wasn’t like he was going to allow her to look at the documents behind.

  “It’s one of the oldest organisations known in daemonic history.” He balanced her sword expertly on his finger.

  “Yet fascinatingly enough, it’s based on druid arts.”

  He stopped balancing the sword, instead placing the hilt into one of his fists. “So, you do know something.”

  “Are you part of The Order?”

  “Who have you been talking to?” He threw her the sword, training only allowing her to spin and catch it by the hilt and not the blade. Chest pumping with how fast he could throw she gently sheathed it, feeling instantly better when the weight registered against her spine. She had noticed how, as soon as she touched the hilt, the lights disappeared, and the way his eyes narrowed told her he noticed it too.

  Her aching limbs protested, her full bladder deciding to wake up. “Are we done here? You’re clearly not going to help.”

  He jumped forward, crowding her against the back of the room. “You need to drop this subject, let the big boys deal with it.” His cheeks creased at her slight flinch. He kept crowding her, enough that she could feel the heat radiate from his chest. Until she had to tilt her head up to keep him in view, his unusual eyes ablaze in challenge.

  “You’re clearly not doing a good enough job…” Her hand tingled, fingertips alight with blue flame as she pulled her hand up to stop him from coming any further. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be just the security guard for a load of books.”

  That gained her a full-blown laugh. “We will definitely be seeing each other again.”

  Chapter 25

  Alice twisted into the kick, knocking the hanging punching bag back. She had been taking her temper out on the bag for a while, allowing the energy to flow out of her fists and feet into the worn leather. The repetitive kicks and punches were relaxing, giving her some control in an otherwise irrepressible situation.

  She had gotten home earlier to an empty flat, Sam having gone to work once he had finally heard from her. Apparently, according to the text she had received, he had been permanently banned from the library, having gone back hours later once it was open to try to find her. The idea he had scared people enough to get banned made her laugh.

  The gym was quiet as she continued to work her frustration against the sand filled bag, only a few other people working out in the large open space. Another punch, the chain above the bag screeching as it pushed against its restraints.

  Fuck my life. Feeling her fists start to ache she decided to take out her blade, the sword Dread had given her when she had graduated from the academy, somewhere he had persuaded her to go.

  Apparently it was an heirloom from her mother’s side, something that was supposed to be handed down in the family. She had thought it was a generic sword until he had explained the significance of it, a steel blade with a dark, well-worn hilt. It didn’t glow when she touched it, which made it even more curious.

  Twisting around the bag she did a series of exercises designed to control the blade as if it was simply part of her arm. Without encouragement the end erupted into flame, leaving a charred smell in the air as it swept across the cracked leather of the punching bag.

 
Shit.

  She needed to get herself together. Her back still ached gently from where she had been tied to a chair, her shoulders clicking as she stretched and started a cool down routine. Swapping the sword to her left hand she practised a sweeping motion, angling her hand to reduce strain. Flipping it a couple times in the air she practised balancing before turning with speed to point it at the jugular of the man standing behind her.

  “That’s not very nice.” Danton's Adam's apple bobbed as he talked, getting precariously close to the edge of her steel. “Your hand is too extended. It would be easier to swipe it off you.”

  She knew that, and she also knew he couldn't help himself but to comment.

  She stood there with the sword still at his throat, a red pearl of blood sliding across the tip.

  "D," she greeted, swiftly sheathing her blade in the custom sheath at her back. "Go away." Without a second glance she grabbed her sports bag, walking straight out into the sunlight. The workout had done nothing to calm her, her temper still bubbling as she noticed Danton walk casually beside her, his face slightly scrunched up as the sun shone down. With a grunt he reached into his coat pocket and brought out his sunglasses, letting the shaded glass protect his sensitive eyes. As usual, she was disappointed with the horror movie stereotypes. Vampires didn't turn crispy when they stepped into sunlight, even though Hollywood still liked to dramatise.

  “We need to talk.” D's accent wasn't as pronounced when he was serious.

  “About what?” she asked disinterestedly as she walked to the other side of the road. He casually followed her, looking completely out of place in his matrix style black leather jacket. Alice in comparison was only in a pale blue t-shirt and black yoga pants with 'Cheeky' written across her butt. They looked quite the pair. "What do you want? I’m in no mood for company." Especially company who would repeat everything she said back to her boss.

  “I’m here because you broke into the library last night.”

  Alice stopped, deciding whether or not to deny it. “How do you know that?” A few strands of hair had escaped from her hairband, flapping across her face from the wind. “Have you been following me?” She felt lead in her gut, the realisation she was right when he didn’t defend himself. “Why?”