Witches of Barcelona: A Dark, Funny & Sexy Urban Paranormal Romance Series (Blood Web Chronicles Book 2)

by Caedis Knight

  “Those symbols are drug territory tags?”

  Rafi’s face falls, and so does his sand display. “They’re more than just tags,” he says. “They’re works of art.”

  “OK, Maryjane-angello.” Luisa taps him on the back. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

  They continue their banter, but I falter, staring dumbly at the sea. Day one, and already my story is a dead end. Jackson was wrong; the sigils have nothing to do with Maribel’s disappearance, and there’s nothing mysterious behind them except a weed-dealing Warlock.

  Rafi stands up quickly as someone approaches us. He takes the guy’s money then hands him a small bag.

  He waves the notes in my face. “Pays the bills,” he says, watching my reaction.

  “Doesn’t the MA pay you?”

  Luisa laughs. “A bit. Like part-time interns we get to practice our skills at MA events or the odd ceremonies, but we’re still studying. Most of us have to supplement ourselves.”

  “Most Witches come from money, though,” Rafi adds, a little reproachfully.

  “But not all Witches want the family that comes with it!” Luisa snaps.

  They fall silent, and I note that I inadvertently hit a sore point.

  “What do you call a Mage on the beach?” Rafi shouts out suddenly, signaling to the three of us sitting in a row, with me in the middle.

  I shake my head.

  “A sandwich,” he says. “Get it? Sand. Witch.”

  I laugh far too hard. Not at his corny joke, but because I’ve just realized I’m high as fuck. He looks so proud of himself.

  I smile as I imagine calling Jackson later and telling him the sigils were meaningless. I can just see his smug face when he realizes his hunch was all wrong. Once I start laughing, I can’t stop, and now Luisa and Rafi have joined in.

  “Don’t encourage his stupid jokes,” she says, gasping for air. “They aren’t funny.”

  “I have another joke about twin Witches. They are hard to tell apart because you can’t figure out which Witch is…”

  Luisa holds out her hand. “Stop,” she says. “Before you scare our new friend away.”

  She squeezes my knee, and I smile at her. OK, so maybe this trip hasn’t been totally wasted. I’ll just chalk this down as a mini-break. I lie back on the sand and look up at the stars.

  “You’re getting your hair full of sand,” Luisa says, pulling me up and brushing some of it off me.

  I make a silly face, tussling my hair wildly and making it stand on top of my head like a scarecrow. “How about now? Am I pretty?”

  Luisa laughs. “The prettiest hair I’ve ever seen.”

  Ping.

  “Rapunzel incarnate,” Rafi adds.

  Ping.

  I shove at them playfully. “Liars.”

  “Right, Verity Witch. I forgot,” she mutters.

  “Yup. And what about you? You never did tell me what you are, Luisa.”

  A look I can’t decipher passes between Rafi and her.

  “I’m a Musemage, mostly. I paint.”

  I think back to the Spell Smiths studios at the back of the pharmacy. “God, I forgot how many freaking factions there are! I thought I’d learned them all as a kid, but since I got here, I keep hearing new ones.”

  Rafi jumps up and starts waving his hands around. “Show and tell time!”

  Luisa wiggles on the sand like she’s getting comfortable, and I lean back, nodding for him to continue.

  He points at the ocean and drags a wave towards us. He literally pulls water over like it’s a blanket. Luisa’s hand tightens on my shoulder, and I mouth ‘I’m fine’ at her. I am fine.

  Rafi has brought the water up to meet us and is keeping it there like it’s putty that he’s stretched away from the sea. Then, with a flick of his finger, he starts to mold the water into shapes.

  A large bubble floats towards us, morphing into an intricate pattern. An eye turned on its side.

  “Verity Witch,” I say.

  I’m not totally stupid. I do know my own sigil.

  “Well done,” he says, like a teacher talking to a class of little kids.

  The shape changes, and he shows me the symbols for Brew Witch and Touchmage, and the Silkmage one I saw on Estrella’s door. Then it changes again to three moons and a starburst.

  “Pretty,” I gasp.

  “Dreamchaser. That’s Beatriz’s. Then you have the Seesages.”

  “Fortune tellers?” I interject.

  Luisa raises her eyebrows. “Don’t ever call them that to their face.”

  I laugh. The water keeps changing, the images getting more complicated.

  “What’s that?” I ask, pointing at a swirling dark hole shimmering over our heads.

  “That’s the Nox.”

  “The ones who see dead people,” I say, remembering Rafi’s earlier story.

  He nods. “But we all know the most powerful faction...” Rafi moves the ball of water to the side. With an elaborate wave of his arms, he lifts up the sand, molds it into a symbol of corn and waves inside a circle, then makes it explode into fireworks.

  He takes a bow, and Luisa gives a mocking laugh.

  “Elementals? As if!”

  “Oh yeah? What other faction can do this?”

  Before we have a chance to stop him, Rafi drops the ball of seawater onto our heads. It crashes over us, and we’re soaked through. Luisa jumps up with a scream, making me roll to the sand in a sodden heap.

  “Torracollons!” she squeals, chasing Rafi across the sand. He runs in zig zags, waving his t-shirt at her like a matador. As he races past me, he sucks the water out of my clothes, leaving me perfectly dry without a grain of sand on me. But he’s refusing to do the same for Luisa.

  I’m laughing so hard I’m struggling to stand again. I don’t know if it’s from the weed, his stupid prank, or the fact that tonight is the closest thing I’ve felt in years to hanging out with friends.

  “Dry me off!” Luisa’s shouting through her laughter.

  “But you look so cute when your leather is all shiny.”

  She grabs him in a headlock, pulling him down, but she’s so tiny he simply lifts her up.

  “Dry me!” she squeals, laughing.

  He plants a kiss on her forehead and, with a quick tap, sucks all the moisture out of her clothes and throws it onto the sand.

  She shoves him playfully and returns to where we were sitting.

  “Let’s go,” she says, putting on her sneakers and holding out her hand to me. “We don’t want this clown to get any more ideas.”

  I pick up my own shoes and take her hand, but instead of letting go, she threads her fingers through mine and squeezes.

  I look at my phone. 2.45am and three emails from Jackson. I could call him now; he’d probably be having his dinner, except… I have nothing to report but a failed assignment.

  We cross the road, the sea behind us, and head up Las Ramblas towards the Gothic Quarter. All the bars are still open, and I notice the lights are also on above one of the pharmacies.

  “Let’s cut through,” Rafi says, making a sharp left down a side street.

  It’s quiet down here, nothing but tobacco shops and greengrocers with their shutters down, each road darker and narrower than the last.

  Luisa frowns. “I fucking hate this area. It’s seedy as hell.”

  A faint breeze is blowing, and she lets go of my hand to run her fingers through her hair. In the moonlight, her cheekbones look sharp and her lips fuller than I realized. She’s caught me staring at her.

  “Where are you going now?” Luisa shouts out at Rafi as he melts into the darkness of an alleyway.

  “I need to get out of the wind. My joint isn’t lighting.”

  Drifting closer to a row of large trash cans, he snaps his fingers and creates a spark, manipulating the fire from the lighter onto the joint.

  Something shifts in my peripheral. I squint into the shadows beyond the trash as a shadow flits across the wall.
<
br />   Luisa takes a step back, her hand winding around mine.

  “Rafi,” she says, her voice etched with warning.

  I see it then. Something, someone, moving behind him. Luisa grabs me, pulling me aside, just as a cry splinters the air.

  Chapter Eight

  A dark figure has Rafi pushed against the wall, his mouth dangerously close to his neck.

  Vampire. He’s at least six feet tall and built like an early Dwayne Johnson. His voice is gravelly. “I told you, no more Witch marks, hijo de puta!”

  Rafi squares his shoulders. “I’m a Warlock, you uncultured swine.”

  This earns Rafi another shove against the wall.

  “The Gothic Quarter is ours. It’s off the menu.”

  Rafi is doing everything he can to avoid looking in our direction, but that doesn’t mean I need to keep quiet.

  “Hey, Sanguinista,” I call out. “Pick on someone your own size. Like an RV.”

  The Vamp spins around, bloodshot eyes sussing me out. Nailing me to the spot.

  OK, maybe I should have stayed silent.

  With lighting speed, the Vampire grabs me by the neck and throws me against the wall. My spine rings out with pain as I collide with the brickwork.

  He looks like he’s been around since these streets were first built, he smells that way too. His dark hair is long and greasy, his leather coat grimy and cracked, and his mustache is matted with blood and chunks of something. Blood clots. My hand shoots to my mouth as I try not to gag.

  “What do we have here then?” he says in Catalan, drinking me in. “Two little Witches out after bedtime.”

  Rafi runs up behind the Vamp, pulling him back by his coat. He releases me, and Luisa manages to punch him right in the face.

  She shakes out her injured fist. “Fuck!”

  Unphased, the Vampire chucks Rafi against the wall, like he’s swatting an irritating mosquito, then backhands Luisa. With a scream, she falls to the ground and doesn’t get back up again. She’s out cold.

  Slowly, the towering Vamp turns back to me and cracks his neck, taking a heavy step forward. I put my hands up in front of me as if power might shoot out of them. It’s worth a shot.

  “Look, I get it, you wanted an Antonio Banderas look but ended up with Danny Trejo. We all have our bad days. Can’t we just get along?”

  “Calla,” he growls, hands around my throat.

  I try to fight him, but the immutable iron grip is all too familiar. A scream dies in my mouth, half-formed. I can’t breathe.

  “I won’t go into your territory anymore,” Rafi begs from the ground. He’s injured, clutching his ribs and struggling to help me. “I won’t. Please. I promise. Let her go.”

  “My blood will only poison you,” I say through a choke. The Vamp’s breath is rancid.

  “Your blood might disagree with me,” he says, his nasty eyes scanning me up and down. “But other parts of you won’t.”

  He licks his lips, and I openly wretch.

  “Besides, I get my Witch blood antidote on the Blood Web. I can drink my fill.” His lips set into a snarl, and his fangs glint in the moonlight. I try to kick, but I might as well be kicking the metal trash cans. He doesn’t move. I try and take a breath again. Nothing. Then his teeth sink into me.

  My vision is beginning to blur as Luisa’s face appears beside his. Her features are distorted with pain and anger. She yanks him back by his hair with a scream, her hand landing on his temple.

  Does she really think she can fight him off?

  The Vamp looks startled for a moment, frozen in place. I’m sure he’s about to hit her again, but instead he sinks to his knees and cries out.

  Luisa’s face glows pale in the light of the moon, and she closes her eyes. I swallow, my throat bruised and dry as I desperately try to get air. Falling to my knees beside the screaming Vamp, I scramble backward, and away from him, my chest heaving.

  “Life has been so cruel to you,” Luisa says sweetly.

  I look up at them, confused. She’s still holding his hair in her fist like he’s a bulldog on a leash. Her other hand stays pressed firmly against his temple.

  What the fuck is she doing?

  The Vamp starts to cry, huge wailing sobs forming bubbles of spit at his blood-encrusted mouth.

  “No. Please,” he begs, his voice hoarse. Fat tears leak into his mustache, his eyes clouding over in pain. “I can’t bear it. I want to die. Kill me. Please, kill me.”

  Rafi is standing beside Luisa now, his face set hard as stone as he looks down at the pathetic excuse for a Vampire at his feet.

  “I’ll mark whatever area I please,” he says to him. “You fucked with the wrong Mages.”

  Finally, Luisa lets go of the Vampire’s head and wipes her hands on her pants, but he stays on the ground, slowly curling into the fetal position. He’s rocking back and forth, mumbling something about pain and regret.

  Luisa helps me up.

  “Let’s go,” she says to Rafi. “Before the magic wears off, or his dealer buddies show up.”

  “Just a minute.”

  Rafi holds his palm over a wall, and in a cloud of dust, his MaryAire sigil appears like it was carved out of the wall by a Renaissance artist centuries before.

  “Now I’m done,” he says, spitting on the trembling Vampire sobbing on the ground.

  Rafi and Luisa don’t say a word, keeping their eyes to the ground as they head for the HQ. Rafi is clutching his ribs, and Luisa rubbing her hand. We walk quickly down two more streets until we reach the square. I never thought any MA building would fill me with such relief. We’re safe now. This area is protected.

  I pull Luisa back by her sleeve.

  “What the hell did you do to that monster?”

  “Nothing. Leave it.”

  Ping!

  “Please, don’t lie to me, Luisa.”

  She lets out a long breath. “I made him relive trauma from his human life. Trauma is the worst form of pain, and it stays with you forever."

  “But…”

  How? All she did was touch him. Then it hits me, and I stumble back as if she’s thrown me to the ground as hard as the Vampire did.

  “You’re a fucking Touchmage?” I scream the last two words in her face.

  “Saskia, I…” She reaches for me, but the hands I found welcoming back on the beach are nothing but weapons to me now. I need to run. I need to get away from her.

  “Don’t touch me,” I scream. “Don’t ever fucking touch me again.”

  I don’t stop to look at the expression on her face, or Rafi’s, as I turn into the night and run.

  Chapter Nine

  I fidget with the train of my ball gown as I wait outside my mother’s office. My throat is still sore from the Vampire’s grip last night, even though Rafi got his hands on some healing serum which he brought around to my apartment. We kept to small talk, neither of us mentioning the attack or my outburst.

  My purse begins to vibrate, it’s probably him. The limo hired for Luisa, Rafi, Beatriz and me, to take us to the ball, is scheduled to leave in twenty minutes from MA headquarters, but my mother has demanded I meet her first. Whatever she has to say apparently can’t wait.

  I hope my heavy make-up covers up the Vamp hickey — the last thing I need is my mom accusing me of having a Para-sexcapade on my first night in town. It won’t matter if I tell her I was attacked, or if I seek sympathy, she’s the personification of ‘yeah, but what were you wearing?’

  Waiting for her is a drag, but I’m happy to avoid Luisa for as long as possible. Hopefully, I can avoid her at the ball too.

  I’ve completely wasted my time coming to Spain. The sigils are a dead-end, I’ve already emailed Jackson telling him it’s all a no-go, and I have no way of finding out where Maribel is. For all I know she left of her own accord and there isn’t even a story here.

  I need to get back to New York. Disappointing Jackson beats hanging out in ball gowns with Touchmages and waiting to be summoned by my mothe
r like a well-bred MA pup. I walked away from this Witch life years ago.

  I knock on my mother’s office door, and she opens it.

  “There you are,” she says, looking me up and down as if appraising her investment. “For such an imaginative, talented Witch, Estrella didn't leave much to the imagination this time.”

  I suck my stomach in then let it out again. I’m not doing this. I’m not playing her games.

  Of course, my mother’s own dress is impeccable; black velvet, tight at the waist and flowing out the back. Her gown, although beautiful, looks so simple compared to the magical creations fashioned by Estrella. The great Solina is clearly too important to be part of such a theatrical parade.

  “I have something to tell you,” she says.

  That’s right, her oh-so-important “big news.”

  “Me first,” I say. “I can’t stay until the end of the equinox celebrations. I know I was supposed to, but I’ve changed my mind. I’m leaving in the morning.”

  I brace myself, waiting for the onslaught of anger or list of new tasks she has for me.

  “Fickle,” she says, tracing the leather cover on her oak desk. Her cold eyes narrow as she surveys me. “You were always fickle. Why did you come then, Saskia?”

  “I was curious.”

  I’m ashamed to admit I thought this place would bring me closer to Mikayla. Closer to answers.

  My mother sees right through me.

  “You think it escapes me that this is the second high-profile MA disappearance in two years? If Maribel isn’t found, I will Ascend to First. I will have direct access to all leading members of the Paranormal communities. Fae politicians, Vampire ring lords, reigning Sirens...Wolf Alphas.” She says the last bit like it’s the dirtiest of all.

  “So why didn’t your bestie, Maribel, give you access to all these Para leaders before?”

  “Because she thought Mikayla didn’t want to be found.”

  “Why the fuck would she think that?” My voice is sharp. I make a vow to punch Maribel in the face if I ever see her again.

  “We both hate to admit it…”

  “No! Maybe she wanted to leave, but she wouldn’t want to stay missing.”