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

by Caedis Knight

  I’m aware I sound vulnerable. Desperate. But there’s no way my sister would stay away from me for nearly two years of her own accord.

  My mother doesn’t answer.

  “So, you really think Para leaders will give you more insight into Mikayla's Disappearance?” I ask.

  “The Fae know more than most Paras. A Winter Court delegation has been invited to the ball.”

  “Why would the Fae know anything?”

  “The Fae love gossip, and they trade in favors. This particular delegation is tied to the Paranormal division of The Hague.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning they’re privy to all high-profile Para intel and crime.”

  I bite my tongue. I’m a journalist for The Blood Web Chronicle. I’m privy to high-profile Para crime too, yet it’s done nothing to help me find my missing sister.

  There’s no story here anymore, but if I help her find Maribel, she’s one step closer to finding Mikayla. Yet…

  “What was your super important news?” I ask with a sigh.

  “I have a new lover.”

  I can’t help it. I laugh in her face. A new lover? So what? I’d already heard rumors, anyway. My mother changes her boyfriends as often as she changes her outfits.

  “That’s not news,” I say, heading for the office door.

  “This time it’s different,” she replies. “He’s very important.”

  “To you or the world?” I ask. “I suppose the big rollers of the world have more chance of catching your eye. Let me guess. You bewitched Elon Musk?”

  “No, I’m dating Salvador.”

  Well, that IS new. Why would nice Salvador be dating my mom? And more importantly, why would she be dating beneath her station? Salvador’s hand on the dip of my mother’s back as he ushered her out of the office suddenly makes a lot of sense. Gross.

  “I wish you both the best.” I salute her and turn to the door.

  She steps closer to me. “Saskia, stay.”

  I recoil. I can’t help it, even though I’ve been taking the brew every morning to protect me from her touch. She lays a hand on my arm, and I feel the buzz, but no effect. She wants me to feel calm, so I act it, although it’s hard to wipe the look of disgust off my face.

  “There,” she says sweetly. “Don’t you feel better already? Stay and help me, Saskia. It’s what you want.”

  Her smug face enrages me. The way she’s so sure she’s won. But she hasn’t this time, it’s my turn to be in control. I pretend to yield to her touch, my whole body softening at will. Satisfied, she lets go, and I fake a familiar sleepy smile, signifying my submission.

  She’s right about one thing. I need answers. I will get to the bottom of Maribel’s disappearance and use every bit of leverage I can get to make her use her power and find my sister.

  “You can borrow my shawl,” my mother says, waving her hand at a mahogany coat rack in the corner.

  She’s turned away from me, engrossed with something on her desk. I’ve been dismissed.

  This is all so familiar, so nauseating, it makes my head spin. My stomach churns with nervous spasms as memories of my childhood under her spell drown my mind. Her magic didn’t work this time, but I can still feel it sticking to me, clinging to my skin like something dirty and haunting. If I stay one more minute, I will hurl on her fancy rug. I head for the door without the shawl. I’ll pretend to be her plaything to get what I want, but I draw the line at her telling me what to wear.

  I’m going to vomit.

  Bile rises up my throat as I storm down the hallway. I can’t stay in this building any longer. I need to get away from her.

  Another text comes in.

  Car is here, can you grab Beatriz on your way out? She went to the roof to send a message.

  Went to the roof to send a message? What the hell?

  The grey marble hall spins out, and I struggle to breathe again. To be honest, I’d rather vomit on the roof than on the pristine floor, so I run up the steps taking them two at a time. The train of my ball gown trails wildly behind me, and it’s a miracle I don’t trip on it and tear the sheer fabric.

  I slam open the door to the roof and as the fresh air hits my face I heave. Once, twice, three times. I let my head hang between my legs. Then, finally, I look up.

  I’d forgotten how incredible the view of the city is from up here. The air is fresh but not cold. I lean on one of the strange structures, posts crowned with colorful mosaic shaped like pinecones and Christmas baubles. The city twinkles below me, a collection of sparkling squares. The way all the streets are laid out in a grid system reminds me of New York. I can see the statue of Columbus from here, the sea, and the tall towers of the Olympic village.

  In the center of the roof is a raised platform. I climb the steps, and the city opens wider for me. It really is breathtaking. I should have come to Barcelona more often. All those invites Mikayla sent me, and all the excuses I could find to keep away from my mother, and now I’m completely alone. I should be here with my sister, not because of her.

  Something flutters past me. It’s just a crow. It lands on the edge of the roof below where a flock has gathered.

  “You’re ridiculous,” says a gentle voice, followed by a giggle. “Go. You’ll be late.”

  It’s Beatriz, in her mist-like ball gown, talking to one of the birds. She reaches out a manicured finger and strokes the crow’s beak. For a second, I swear he leans into her touch. I never had her down for a birdwatcher.

  “I’m sure Estrella can fashion a feather boa out of your pet if you ask nicely,” I shout down into the darkness.

  Beatriz whips around, startled. The crow takes off.

  With narrowed unwelcoming eyes, she watches me as I join her by a peculiar-looking structure. It’s hard to see in the faint glow of the fairy lights, but it looks like a giant cage, and it’s full of birds. More crows. They stand there silently, staring at me with their black beady eyes.

  Creepy.

  Even though it’s dark, I can see Beatriz is frazzled.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” she says.

  I shrug my shoulders. “Rafi sent me. The car’s ready. Sorry, I didn’t know I’d be interrupting your conversation with a bird.”

  She doesn't answer. A panicked cawing rings from the aviary, and I take a step back.

  “They won’t hurt you,” she says, approaching the cage. Her eyes remain fixed on the birds.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about our parents being together?”

  She makes a face. “Because it’s gross.”

  “Agreed.”

  There’s another flutter as crows, both in and out of the aviary, spread their wings.

  “Rafi said you had to send a message up here. What’s that all about?”

  Beatriz turns around, her black swirling dress looking like the night itself. She’s basically a floating head and arms.

  “The crows are messengers for the MA.”

  “Why? Are Witches too cool for pigeons and owls?”

  “It doesn’t work like that. They don’t transport paper; they carry magic.” She turns her back to me, looking out over the shining city. “I can send dreams far away, as a form of communication. Luisa can send feelings too, like a thought from one mind to the other.”

  “Who do you send dreams to?

  “My mother.”

  I know for a fact she hasn’t seen her mother since she was sectioned when Beatriz was really young.

  “What does she send back?”

  “Nothing.”

  Damn.

  Grief is a one-way street; our calls are never returned. My heart squeezes at the thought of Mikayla. Maribel thought she didn’t want to be found, which means her silence might be on purpose. The idea of that hurts me so much. Probably as much as this hurts Beatriz.

  No words can heal the pain of loss. “I’m sorry.”

  Beatriz shrugs. “I guess where she’s at doesn’t have its own aviary.”

  We both kn
ow that’s not the reason. Those who don't want to stay silent will always find their voice.

  “What kind of thing can a Verity Witch like me send by crow?”

  “Nothing. I guess you could send someone the truth.”

  “No one wants the truth.”

  “No one wants my dreams either.” She smiles. It’s the first bit of authenticity I’ve seen from her.

  The silence is darker than the sky above us. I’d reach out to comfort her, but I know Beatriz is like me — a comforting touch is wasted on her.

  A bird lands on the wall next to us.

  “A message?”

  Beatriz shakes her head. “This isn’t a messenger, it’s just a normal crow. Trapped birds attract free birds. Kind of sad, really.”

  She looks over at me and I wonder what she sees. Because all I can see is my sister, trapped or scared or running from something. The not knowing is crushing every bone inside of me.

  “Don’t worry, Saskia,” she says, heading to the door. “At some point the silence stops hurting.”

  Chapter Ten

  Sitting in a limo with Rafi and Luisa is awkward, especially since the latter won’t look at me, and the former is trying to make light with jokes while we wait for Beatriz to grace us with her presence. She needed to powder her nose, apparently, though I wasn’t aware anyone under seventy did that.

  Rafi smiles at us. “What do you call two Witches sharing an apartment?”

  “Calla,” Luisa says, telling him to shut up in Catalan. She’s wearing her usual murder pixie scowl, but it’s wavering, a smile struggling to make its way to the surface. She’s weak when it comes to Rafi.

  “Broomates!” Rafi cracks up, and I swallow a snort.

  All of his recycled Witch puns are lame, but that giant smile of his makes them worth it. He still hasn’t mentioned how I reacted yesterday. Maybe because he’s the one who nearly got me killed by a drug-dealing Vamp, and my mean words pale in comparison.

  I have to admit, Señora Estrella, the Silkmage, did a truly spectacular job. I can’t stop staring at how the shadowy vines and dark thorns of Rafi’s suit rise up his neck, twisting into his ruffled hair.

  Breathless, Beatriz finally enters the limo, and we take off.

  I avert my gaze from her, our few minutes of intimate chat on the roof reduced to uncomfortable silence. And I don’t need to be a Touchmage myself to feel the dislike emanating from Luisa. The hurt is still there, crackling between us.

  A twinge of guilt coils in my stomach, but I ignore it. Luisa is dangerous. Anyone who can control someone else’s emotions is bad news in my book. She’s no different to my mother — and the brew Jackson’s Witch-for-hire, Angel, gave me only protects me from one Touchmage. I can’t afford to be influenced by Luisa… even if tonight she does look like a queen of the underworld.

  She’s watching me out the corner of her smoky, coal-lined eyes. Her hair is combed delicately to one side and dotted with tiny gold spikes. I sneak another look at her, but the moment my gaze catches hers, her fitted leather gown flickers and shifts, shadowy slits appearing where earlier there were none. Her hem rises steadily, and her low neckline dips further to reveal more of her peach-like chest. I swallow, then with a jolt, remember what Luisa told me about her dress at the Silkmage’s workshop.

  It’s reflecting my thoughts back to me!

  Fuck. I look away, irritated.

  Fucking MA magic and Touchmages!

  As soon as my mood changes, so does her outfit. Her dress quickly morphs back to its previous shape, doubling in fabric and matching my shame.

  Rafi seems to be the only one who has noticed. He shoots me an amused look, and I stare at my uncomfortable shoes. Great, I’m looking forward to those jokes later.

  The drive to Montjuic takes fifteen minutes along the sea, banking right up the mountain. I’ve been to this venue many times before, yet as soon as we join the line of cars at the entrance, I still can’t help but look on in wonder. The Museu Nacional d'Art de Catalunya is basically a palace. As kids, my sister and I would wander around Montjuic often. Back then, we only had eyes for the rainbow fountains that changed color to music. But tonight, I see it for the work of art it truly is, and all I can think is that for the very first time I feel like a proper Witch. Then it hits me why – it’s because this is the first MA event I’ve been personally invited to, and not just as Mikayla’s plus one.

  I swallow down the guilt of that thought and look up at the grand building sitting atop the hill like the centerpiece on a four-tier wedding cake. The opulent fountains leading up to the museum glimmer with light, and the stairs are dotted with guests in elaborate ball gowns and tuxedos.

  I step out of the limo and feel the heat of Luisa’s stare as I adjust my dress. I can’t believe I’m brave enough to be wearing this.

  “Are we expected to walk up all those steps wearing these crazy outfits?” I whisper to Rafi.

  “Of course. There are photographers here waiting to catch a glimpse of the youngest de la Cruz sister,” he teases. “You are the daughter of the acting First, after all.”

  I gulp, wondering if photos of me prancing at a ball will make it onto one of the Blood Web’s gossip sites.

  He laughs at my worried expression. “Don’t worry, the stairs are bewitched. Just stand on the bottom step, and you’ll glide up.”

  I turn to Luisa and Beatriz to see if they heard him, but they are already halfway up the staircase, looking like they belong on the cover of Mage Monthly.

  “Luisa hates me,” I say, lifting my gown and balancing on the first step. I wobble as I start to float up the stairs.

  “Perhaps,” he agrees. “You did act like a...” Rafi waves his hand as we pass the first fountain, and the water forms into a lewd male form. I laugh and mock punch him.

  “OK, maybe I did. But…” I swallow hard. “I’ve been burned before. By magic.”

  “Haven’t we all!”

  An invisible battle seems to be taking place inside of him. The shadow thorns at his neckline grow wildly, spiking towards his sharp jaw. I move to ask about his own story, but he speaks first.

  “Blame the fire, Saskia, not the smoke.”

  We’re nearing the top of the stairs and the entrance to the gallery. I’m wondering whether his strange expression is a local saying and what he means by it when my mother appears at the top of the stairs as if summoned from my worst nightmare.

  “Saskia,” she says. She even makes my name sound like a disappointment. “No shawl, I see.”

  I twirl proudly just to annoy her. “Nope.”

  I was worried about what the Shadow Self theme would mean in terms of my own gown, but the Silkmage got it spot on. My dress is black like most of the others, except it’s made of nothing but lace and transparent gauze. It’s hardly there yet reveals nothing. As I walk, it shifts and molds to my body, covering every part of me but also looking like I’m virtually naked. It’s what being truly vulnerable, yet shrouded in secrets, would look like if it were a dress.

  “It’s meant to be revealing, Mother,” I add. “After all, the truth renders a person truly naked.”

  And it never perishes, I add inside my head, thinking of The Chronicle’s motto.

  My mother doesn’t even attempt a fake smile. Instead, she leans in close and drops her voice. “Make sure to mingle tonight. A lot of important people are inside.”

  Do your job. That’s what she’s saying. Investigate Maribel’s disappearance, like we agreed.

  Even though she saw me half an hour ago, she still feels the need to reaffirm her power. And to think I actually felt like a guest for a moment, but no — my mother managed to beat me to the venue just to remind me I have a job to do.

  Predictably she completely ignores Rafi by my side. Her dismissal of him lights up something red and hot inside of me, and his words finally make sense.

  Blame the fire.

  “I am mingling, Mother.” I gesture to Rafi. “May I present you Rafeek Amir, Juni
or MA, friend of Beatriz and Luisa and one of the most talented Elementals I’ve ever met.”

  Rafi bows deeply, but my mother simply nods at him, her face bored and passive.

  “Brilliant Elemental, huh? The director of this museum requires a new gardener. If I see him, I will introduce you.” She surveys Rafi, from his new shiny shoes to the top of his carefully styled hair. “He likes pretty boys.”

  “Mom!”

  But with a swish of her black gown she’s gone, empirically making her way up to the entrance, throwing greetings to the wind like she owns the place.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” Rafi says.

  “I’m so sorry about her. She’s evil.”

  “Hey, her offer was valid. Money is money, plus I could shape the museum’s hedges into penises. Like I did with the fountain.”

  I laugh, but my mother’s nasty words still sting.

  She can’t be civil. Can’t be kind. Can’t be a mother.

  “Hey.” Rafi has his hand on my arm and is nodding at the entrance. “Forget her, it’s time to party.”

  And just like that, my anger disappears because we are facing the grandest of all entrances.

  As far as humans are concerned, this building is one of Catalunya’s leading art galleries with the best views of Barcelona, but the Witch community knows it as the most impressive of MA event venues.

  “It’s the number one place in Europe to exhibit magical art,” Rafi tells me as he leads me by the elbow through the welcome gallery.

  I consider the various works of art hanging in the hall.

  “Wow. Is all of this Musemage work?”

  Rafi gives me a knowing look, the look of a Mage who gets to show a naïve Witch what her people are really capable of.

  “You’ve seriously never seen Musemage work before? Solina never brought you to magical art exhibitions?”

  “Yeah, no. Let’s just say my mother and I have never been into mother-daughter bonding moments.”

  The wall to my right is covered with giant paintings. At first glance, they look normal until I hear a scream followed by giggling and see a Witch in a long red dress dash out of one, trailed by her friend.