“Can’t,” I whispered, my eyes never leaving the older cop. What was he looking for? “The demons stabbed me with one of their blades and now I can’t seem to draw any magic from my rings.”
My pulse quickened and I tried to keep my concern from showing. Two cops in Mystic Quarter? Not good. Even more disturbing was their interest in me.
Poe shifted on my shoulder, and the younger cop flinched, his jaw clenching as he tried to keep his face from showing any emotion. Amateur. I bit my tongue hard so I wouldn’t laugh. It was obvious. The cop was terrified of Poe. It was smeared all over his face. I’d seen that look before, the one that said, if you looked at the raven, you’d be cursed with something foul and irreversible; or worse, if the raven happened to touch you—well—you’d drop dead right there and then. Humans. Such scaredy-cats.
The rookie cop’s eyes were glued to Poe. “Do you have a license for that animal?” asked the young cop.
“Who’s he calling a bloody animal?” cawed Poe, his talons biting through my shirt and into my flesh.
Reaching up, I stroked Poe’s chest, trying to calm him before he did anything stupid, like poke the young cop’s eyes out.
“Since when do I need a license for having a pet raven?” I asked. “Do you need a permit for a goldfish?” I added laughing. They didn’t laugh.
“Ma’am, under federal law, it’s illegal to keep crows as pets,” said the rookie officer importantly, his expression transitioning from sly to unpleasant.
“Raven,” I corrected. Bummer. I had no idea. But human laws didn’t apply to us witches and half-breeds. Granted, Poe wasn’t even a real raven. He was a demon, so that didn’t count.
“He’s not a pet,” I remedied, securing a low thank you from Poe. “He’s my friend. He comes and goes as he pleases. He’s not in a cage, if that’s what you mean. So, there’s really no problem.”
The young cop snickered. “What kind of a freak are you?”
The kind that would have you piss blood for a week. I glowered, not caring one bit that he could read the hatred on my face and loathing in my eyes. I wanted him to see how I felt.
“What’s this about?” I asked instead.
The young cop’s face was blank as he avoided my gaze and glanced at his partner, as though waiting for the more experienced cop to take over. His posture and expression both said he was way too cool to care what I thought, but I could practically smell the uncertainty he was working hard to hide.
“He smells like a rookie,” snickered Poe, pulling that thought out of my head. He had to stop that. The bird shifted closer to my ear and whispered, “What are they doing on our side of town anyway?”
“That,” I mumbled under my breath, catching the frown on the rookie’s face at my conversing with my bird, “is something I’d really like to know.”
Still, the dark witch court was on the outskirts of Mystic Quarter, which made it easier for cops or the roaming human to wander into our community without really knowing. Still, something had drawn them out. I glanced back at the rookie, seeing nothing to help me understand why they were here. The older cop was going through his phone again.
“You haven’t told me what I’ve done?” I began, my gaze flicking between them. “You can’t just go around harassing decent folk for nothing. I’m just walking here.”
A sly, satisfied grin appeared on the rookie’s face. His eyes narrowed as he thought about his answer. “You look pretty suspicious to me. You look like you’ve been in fight or something. Care to tell me what happened?”
Hands on my hips, I glared at the young cop. “Nothing happened,” I said, not appreciating the way his smile widened. Creep. “I’m just on my way home. That’s all.”
Eyebrows high, the rookie cop asked flatly, “What’s your name?”
I clamped my mouth shut. This wasn’t my first time being stopped by human cops, nor would it be my last. But I’d always managed to get away before I had to give them my name—usually aided by some magic. Trouble was, if they got my name, they’d know who I was and where I lived. And that would be bad. If human cops started to snoop around Mystic Quarter, in our paranormal business where they didn’t belong, it would get really ugly—for them.
“Your name,” repeated the young cop, his dark eyes narrowing. The first hints of stubble were showing on his chin.
It was my time to raise my brows. “What? You think because you asked s-o-o-o nicely, I’m actually going to give it to you?” What a dumbass. I wasn’t giving him anything.
The bearded cop was still scrolling through his phone. What was going on?
My heart pounded as I stared at the cops. “I’d really love to stay and chat, but there’s somewhere I gotta be.” Like my bed. “So if you’re not going to charge me for anything—because I haven’t done anything—I’m going to go now.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” answered the rookie cop, his hand moving to his gun on his hip.
I frowned. Now why the hell did he have to go and do that. “Then tell me what this is about.”
“No.”
“Can you give me a clue?”
“No.”
I made a face. “Is no the only thing you know how to say?” I added, watching as the rookie’s face went a shade darker, the rim of his ears reddening. Cops were so easily provoked and jumpy. Under different circumstances, they were my favorite humans to play with. But not tonight.
“Sam,” warned Poe, “if you keep pissing them off, it won’t go well for us. Just play dumb. Dumb always works.”
I let out a sigh through my nose. If only my magic could work, I’d be on my way home right about now, with two oblivious cops on their merry way out of Mystic Quarter.
My anger deepened when I realized the higher demons had stabbed me on purpose. They knew cutting me with their death blades would render my magic obsolete. I hated those black-eyed bastards.
Plus, I knew they’d be back. They were sent by this Vorkol to kill me. But I wasn’t about to let that happen. I was going to find out who Vorkol was, and I knew just the demon to ask.
“It’s her,” said the bearded policeman as he neared, and my heart gave a thump before settling into a faster pace at my sudden panic. He stared at his cell phone and then flicked his gaze at me. “Yeah. That’s her all right.”
“What about me?” I narrowed my eyes, not liking the triumphant tone in his voice or the recognition that crossed his face. It was almost as though... almost as though he recognized me.
“What’s going on, Sam?” Poe’s voice rang loudly, drawing the attention of the cops. But I wasn’t worried about that. To them, Poe’s voice was just a regular raven’s caw and not an actual language. Sucked to be human.
“I don’t know.” I strained to control my breathing, my mind sifting through thoughts as I scrambled to find a plan of escape but came up short.
Poe’s claws gripped my shoulder hard making me flinch. “You need to run. Run, Sam!”
The urgency in his voice had my tension rising. “I can’t,” I said, though my posture had shifted subconsciously. “If I run, they’ll shoot me.” And I seriously doubted I’d get two paces before I’d be tackled by the rookie. Hell, he looked like the type who’d love to tackle a female.
“Cuff her,” said the bearded cop to the younger policeman.
Oh. Hell. No. “Excuse me?” I shouted, my pulse jackhammering. “You can’t do this. Not until you tell me what the hell is going on!”
The rookie cop started forward but then halted. He glanced at his partner. “What about the crow?”
The bearded cop’s eyes flicked to Poe. “Kill it if it bites you.”
A vicious snarl escaped me. “I’ll kill you first if you touch a feather on my bird.” Immediately, I knew that was the wrong thing to say as I saw the deepening scowl on the bearded cop’s face. Oh well. Too late to take it back. Not that I really wanted to.
“Did you hear that, Sergio?” The bearded cop slipped his phone into his pocket. “She just
threatened the life of a police officer.”
“And you just threatened to kill my raven, you prick.” A sound of disgust slipped from me, and for a second I really wished my magic rings worked, if only to hex these cops. The Casual Castration hex came to mind.
“Hands behind your back. Do it,” snarled the rookie, though his eyes remained on my familiar. “We’re charging you with assault on a police officer.”
Bastards. “Poe,” I whispered. “You’re my one phone call. Get help.”
“Got it.” The bird leaped off my shoulder and took off into the morning sky, his wings beating strong and true. I took a half second feeling of comfort knowing he was safe.
Lips pursed, I glared at the cop. “I know my rights, copper,” I growled, though not entirely true. “I—I have a right to a lawyer.” Didn’t I?
“You do,” answered the young cop, his jaw muscles tensing as he stepped forward. Metal handcuffs hung in his right hand, winking in the morning sun.
My heart slammed against my chest, my blood pressure spiking to a new high. I took a step back. I couldn’t let these cops arrest me. I was a witch, damnit. Not some street thug. I had to do something. And whatever it was, I had to do it fast.
“If you resist,” he said, seeing my intention as he made a show of the cuffs by spinning them around his finger, “it’ll only get worse for you.”
Not as much as it’ll get worse for you. I gritted my jaw. “How can it be worse than being arrested by human cops when I didn’t do anything?” Oops. That kinda just slipped.
A frown marred his face at the mention of human. “You are a freak.”
“I’ll take that as I compliment, coming from you.” I stood there with my legs cemented to the pavement. Without my magic, I was out of options.
He took my silence as a sign that I wouldn’t run. He moved behind me and yanked my arms hard behind my back. The bastard did that on purpose.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I felt the cold metal around my wrists and heard the clamping sound of the cuffs snapping around them. My heart pounded in my throat, but I didn’t even move.
Heat rushed from my neck to my face. Feeling like the biggest fool in all of Mystic Quarter, I threw my gaze around the streets, hoping no half-breed was witnessing my utter humiliation. I didn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean no one was watching.
I wiggled against my restraints, watching as the older cop walked back to his police car with the stride of a confident and satisfied man. It seemed as though he’d saved the city from harm by arresting a serial killer on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted List.
“You’re making a mistake,” I hissed, my tension rising and mixing with my fear of the unknown and my anger at these foolish cops. “I haven’t done anything!”
“Yeah, you have,” came the rookie cop’s voice from behind me. The air shifted behind me and I felt him move closer. Then he said in my ear, “You’re under arrest for the murder of Emma Woods.”
My face went slack. My heart stopped as I sank to my feet and splattered against the pavement.
“You have the right to remain silent,” said the cop and he shoved me hard, making me stumble. “Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future. If you can’t afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you...”
The rest of his words were lost under the pounding of blood in my ears. I was being arrested for the witch murder I was trying to solve.
And there was nothing I could do about it.
10
Human jail sucks.
I sat on a hard metal bench, my back against the brick wall in a six-by-eight cell. Surprisingly, I was alone. The only other person in the holding cells was the man lying down on the floor in the neighboring cell across from mine. He hadn’t moved for the past twelve hours, so I figured he was sleeping—or perhaps dead. His clothes were torn, shabby, and smeared with brown stains, like he’d pulled them from the dumpster. His face was so filthy and covered by so much beard and hair it was impossible to tell his age.
The holding cells were made up of four different blocks, stuffed in a hallway and tucked at the other end of a room through a steel door. The only window in this damn place was secured to that steel door. And through the tiny window was our jailer.
He sat behind a desk, his eyes heavy with boredom and maybe even a little irritation. He was bald, large and soft, his heavy set an indication that he’d spent way too many years sitting at that desk.
The only way out was through my cell’s barred door and then out that steel door. With my magic, I could have blasted it off its hinges, but without my power, I had nothing.
Much to my horror, I’d fallen asleep for a couple of hours here and there in my sitting position, perfect to give me neck pain. The guard had allowed me a bathroom break and some water, but no food. My rumbling stomach was enough to wake up the dead in the neighboring morgue just down the street.
I’d been able to assess my wound in the bathroom mirror. As soon as I pulled up my shirt, I’d nearly vomited.
The wound was unlike anything I’d ever seen—a two-inch dark purple cut with black, spidery veins surrounding it like a web. A drift of rotten flesh smell to my nose had made my knees wobble and that’s when the nausea hit.
Damn. I was rotting.
It’s not like I could ask the human police for help. This was a demonic wound, so nothing the human doctors possessed could help me. I needed magic.
With working magic, I would have summoned Marchosias from the Ars Goetia, a wolf demon with griffin wings, to fly me home. I could have done lots of things if I had a spark of magic in me.
A lick of fear rose in me and stayed. I knew if I didn’t get this wound looked after soon, I’d be in big trouble—the dying kind of trouble. I couldn’t even perform a healing sigil. Nothing worked. So, I did the next best thing. I washed it out with soap and hot water. Once I was out of this jail, my grandfather or my aunt could heal it for me.
They couldn’t keep me in here forever...could they?
When the fever set in, I knew I was in worse trouble.
Sweat ran down the sides of my temples, but my face still blazed with a fevered intensity. I was hot and cold all at once, shivering as though I’d stepped outside naked in middle of March in sub-zero temperatures. My teeth clamped together with a chill, and panic filled me. The pain was almost unreal as the fever pitched, hitting me with another wave of nausea.
Vertigo hit me next, and I clutched at the edge of the bench, trying not to fall over. If the higher demons had stabbed me twice with their death blades, I would have died of its poison by now. The poison was deadly to angels and the angel-born, and apparently it didn’t do us half-breeds any favors either. It was the mortal blood. It had to be.
Where are you, Poe?
Twelve hours was an insane amount of time to have to wait for a rescue from my familiar. Yes, he was wild and sometimes forgot his place when something sparkly grabbed his attention, but he’d been there when the human police arrested me. He knew I was in trouble. So, why wasn’t he here yet? Had something happened to him? Had the higher demons’ black mist finally killed him?
I clenched my jaw and swallowed the bile that rose in the back of my throat. My thoughts were rambling now, fear and dread making them scamper around like a mischief of frightened rats. I couldn’t let myself fall into despair. That would be turning my back on who I was—a dark witch. We didn’t despair. We got shit done. I needed focus. I needed to concentrate and think of a plan. If only I could get that jailer in here, I could use my Goddess-given boobs to win him over. Possibly even convince him to let me go free, with more persuasion.
Granted, that would be hard to pull off right now, seeing as I felt like I’d contracted the Ebola virus.
I felt the presence of eyes on me and flicked my gaze to the window. The jailer was watching me, his eyes lit with cu
riosity. A satisfied smile wrinkled his face when he saw me looking. The bastard could see I was sick, and he chose to sit there and do nothing.
Was it even legal to keep me locked up for so long without so much as a phone call? I doubted it. These guys were shady.
I raised my trembling hand and gave him the finger. His scowl made me feel a tad better, but my minor feeling of elation was quickly drowned by another wave of fever. Yup, I was going to die in this wretched place.
Cauldron be damned. I could do nothing but wallow in my pain. Was this how humans felt? Powerless? Normal? Boring? Thank the cauldron I was born a witch.
Sleep encroached on the edges of my mind, and I let it in.
I closed my eyes and tried to calm my breathing to better suppress the fever. I thought of Logan’s lips—such fine, glorious, and kissable lips. Such a fine and glorious behind. My own lips curled into a smile as I pictured the angel-born without any clothes on, which was surprisingly easy considering all his clothes were molded snugly around his tight, athletic body.
What? I was single. It was perfectly acceptable to fantasize about hot angel-borns, even though I was a dark witch.
Yup. He was even more glorious naked—hairless, with six-pack abs, and thick, solid biceps that could pick me up and pin me to one of these walls...
My fever spiked.
Was Logan a tentative lover? Or was he wild and tantalizingly dangerous with an insatiable thirst of desire. My pulse increased and a hot thrill spun through me. But then the feeling faded almost as soon as it had appeared. I might never see him again.
I sighed heavily. “I hate this place.”
“Then, let’s get you out of here,” came a familiar male voice.
My eyes flashed open and I forgot to breathe.
Logan stood in my cell.
He wore his usual black—black pants and black leather jacket over a black t-shirt. His dark hair looked black in the dimness of the room. His brown eyes searched my face, and I found myself incapable of looking away. Those were such pretty, pretty eyes. He had that effect on me. He was every bit as handsome a bastard as I remembered. Perhaps a tad more.
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