Frustrated, I pounded on the bed, then forced down a deep cleansing breath, moving on with my brainstorming. There must be a way to fight against the witches’ mind control hocus-pocus. Blaine had been doing it and succeeding. If I could find out how to do it, then maybe I could use my stash of core energy to open the torc. I’d open Simon’s too and he and I could get out of here.
But that guy who looked like my dad wasn’t truly Simon. And in his condition, he’d squeal. I was certain.
I was surprised to feel my eyes fill with tears. Would I ever get my whole dad back? He and I had gotten closer over the past year, but it hadn’t progressed quickly, or without its awkward moments. Zora had been right, and the truth hurt. A part of me still blamed him for not stepping up when my mom had died, taking charge of Bridgett and me and raising us as shifters. I’d been hurt badly at the hands of one particular human family, and that horrible experience never would have happened if I’d been living with him.
He told me he’d never known my mom was pregnant, but couldn’t he have kept in touch with her somehow after they broken up? Found out if she was okay? Then he might have discovered the truth before it was too late.
I huffed out a chastising breath. I was being unreasonable and childish, blaming Simon, but it’s hard to let go of that child inside you, especially when her past is filled with trauma. My mom, Adele Fitzgerald, had died in a fire set by the minions of my grandmother, Naberia. She hadn’t liked the fact Adele abhorred her demon side, my mom going so far as to try to find a way to rid herself of that half of her magic. Naberia meant to kill Bridgett and me in the fire as well. We were only toddlers, but my grandparents had taken us for a sleepover that night. It wasn’t hard at all to imagine that Granny Dearest still wanted me injured or dead..
And my thoughts had come full circle.
I tried to sit up again, happy when the dizziness stayed at bay. I was able to make it to the table where I nibbled on a few apple slices and braved a couple of chunks of cheese. When those didn’t send me running to the bathroom, I ventured into the land of tiny bites of roast turkey and a freshly baked roll. Keeping my body healthy and my mind sharp was the best thing I could do in this circumstance.
Finally able to walk again without my knees giving out, I made it to the door, locked it and wedged a chair under the knob. It wouldn’t hold them for long, but I needed a short time to myself, free of distraction.
I crawled onto the bed and folded my legs pretzel style, closing my eyes and beginning my breathing exercises. What I wanted to accomplish would be difficult, but necessary if I was ever going to get out of here. With each intake of air, I allowed the positive to enter, expelling the negative along with the carbon dioxide. When I was in a peaceful state, I reached for the lines, but nothing had changed. This time the info didn’t bring on a surge of anger or fear, but instead helped me to focus on the problem and possible solutions.
If the torc really was keeping me from my magic, and I managed to get it off, I’d take the lines out of here as quick as lightning. But my instincts told me the metal noose was all about control—submission and dominance—and that something else was blocking the lines.
But if the torc came off with my core energy and I still couldn’t access the lines, I’d have to return it before I was discovered. That was the part of my feeble plan that terrified me. Clamping it back on my neck would take a shitload of courage, because it went against every one of my instincts to replace the noose after having been strangled twice. But to escape, I needed more info, and the only way to get that info was to play along.
My core warmed, almost as if it had been waiting for me to call on it. I evaluated its strength, knowing this magic was not infinite and must be cherished and used wisely.
I pulled up a heated thread and envisioned it snaking around my throat to pry open the vicious appliance. It instantly obeyed, weaving around the circlet, dipping inside and out, testing for weaknesses, magical energy, even the aura of its maker. What I found was not unexpected.
Demon. This torc was forged in the Demon Realm, which meant my assumption was correct. This was Naberia’s doing.
But why would she be interested in people like Blaine or Sandra, who also wore the torc?
Maybe I was being arrogant thinking that outside of the war with the fae, she was only interested in my family and me. She might have her fingers in all kinds of pies here on the mortal plain. She obviously had something going on with these blood witches. Were they summoning demons to help them work their spells? That was a creepy thought. Isaiah was civilized, but like most species in the four realms, many demons were not. They fed on extreme emotions, and what was more extreme than agony or terror?
My lone magical tendril hovered above a spot on the torc below my left ear. This section was reaching out to connect to my energy and surprisingly, my own demon magic was responding. Should I chance it? It wasn’t unreasonable to fear that the weapon’s magic might attack me, but then it didn’t feel malicious.
For security, I brought in another two tendrils, weaving them together to form a protective braid. With my stronger magic in place, I should be able to break away if the circlet’s power struck out at me.
I strengthened my mental shields and allowed the connection.
Warmth flooded my body, the warmth I’d always associated with demonic magic, Naberia’s magic being the one exception. This energy wasn’t unpleasant, just very different than my healer energy, which Charlie had told me was more similar to the refreshing feel of fae magic. I was incredibly pleased to feel my core filling with energy from the torc, energy I’d be able to use again whenever I needed it. Yet I still required a direct connection to the ley lines in order to escape by teleportation, and until I found out what was blocking access, that avenue was closed to me. Feeling invigorated, I turned my magic into a key and inserted it into the spot on the torc where I’d felt a connection.
The torc popped open.
The ley lines were not present, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t communicate with my family. Immediately, I reached out to Garrett. Nothing. Charlie. Nothing. Fin. Nothing.
Fuck.
I tried Liam. Nothing. I growled deep in my chest, a sound that surprised me. I was angry, my control slipping with each blocked attempt.
One more. Isaiah. Nothing. Still nothing. Leaving the torc on the floor where it had fallen with a loud clunk, I slid off the bed and strode to the door, my fists clenching and unclenching. The magic inside me was aching to be used for something, anything. I fantasized about wringing Mother’s neck or better yet, clamping the torc around it. See how she liked the feel of…
I froze a few feet from the door. What if I could use the torc for my own purposes? It appeared to be some kind of storehouse for demonic magic, a fount to be used as the manipulators chose to use it. To make it shrink, until I lost consciousness, to make it heat until my skin burned, to make it…to make it bend to my will.
I spun around and picked it up, placing it on the floor in an empty space. No reason to knock things over as I practiced. I sat on the bed and stared at the circlet, willing it to rise from the floor and fly to the bed. A moment later it had slammed into my pillows with a force that had a few feathers flying around the room. The torc obeyed my psychic commands as if it were designed for my mind alone. And wasn’t that the truth?
I touched my knee and willed it to heal. Warmth, almost too hot for comfort, bled into the joint, relieving the pressure. I flexed my leg, then jumped up and down. No pain. I did the same healing mumbo jumbo on my shoulder and my face. Awesome.
It appeared these witches had forgotten I was Naberia’s granddaughter. My bloodline was royal and my blood was a hell of a lot more potent than their red swill. My fingers twitched to snake around Mother’s neck, to call on my ancient blade and bury it beneath Zora’s ribs. Maybe some torture was in order for Crystal. Yeah, I could get behind that no prob.
I returned to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. My eyes were ta
ngerine, my expression a little wild. Demonic. I laughed at my joke. Right now I was feelin’ pretty damn smug. My cheetah paced but I wasn’t interested in that killjoy right now. She’d try to hold be back, to keep me from doing what had to be done.
The sound of footsteps interrupted my entertaining fantasies. Two raps on the heavy wooden door came next. “Jacqueline?” Keys rattled. The doorknob turned but my chair was successful in keeping the door from opening. “Jacqueline!” Mother was angry. What a freakin’ shame.
“I’m resting. Go away.” I covered my mouth to keep from laughing. Whoa. This demon magic was off the charts awesome.
“It’ll only take a minute, honey.” My dad’s voice this time.
Honey. Dad never called me honey. This male was only a minion of these dark witches. How much of the real Simon had survived their attentions?
“Simon and I have come to escort you to the laboratory. Zora will take two vials of your blood. Then you may return and rest.”
Yeah, didn’t that sound like fun? I paced quietly in the small space so they couldn’t hear. Zora wanted two vials of blood? The three powerful creatures who’d captured me would be working dangerous spells, spells made stronger with only a few drops of my high-test hemoglobin. Nope. Not happenin’
“My blood is not available.” I announced, imitating the way Mother talked. “Find another demon to kidnap.”
“You are trying my patience, child.”
“The Crone will come,” Simon hissed. “She’ll hurt you.”
“Can’t wait to meet her,” I snapped back.
The door blew off its hinges, the splinters and shards flying dangerously around the room. Good thing my former neck warmer and I had scooted into the bathroom and closed the door when I’d heard Simon say the Crone would hurt me. As soon as the crashing and shattering noises stopped, I opened the door and stepped out. My windows had blown out, most of the glass ending up on the brown grass two stories below my room. Better than on the carpet.
“Doncha think you kinda overdid it, Mellyn?”
“I am the Mother!”
I grinned. It was so tempting to add another word. She stood in the hallway with her hands clenched. Yes, she was pissed. Well, so was I. “A little dramatic, even for a dark magic user. Your type always goes overboard. Makes it much easier to catch you.” She frowned in puzzlement. I took a step closer. “Don’t you know what I do? I work to bring down females like you who use the blood of innocents to work their magic. My mate’s team and I will make sure you and your sisters are locked away forever. What you did to Blaine was your little ticket to hell.”
“Blaine was useless, and the useless are discarded.” She circled me, checking that that all was in place, including the torc. I had it resting around my neck, closed but unlocked. Not that she could tell. “According to the One Goddess, you are a simple cheetah, fortunate enough to have a smattering of demon blood. That demon ancestor of yours must have gone slumming.”
I smiled. “Actually, my cheetah grandfather was seduced by a female demon.” I leaned forward conspiratorially. “A powerful one.” I signaled to Simon to stay in the hallway and for some reason he did as I asked.
She laughed, not having noticed the silent exchange with my dad. “You are quite the liar. I would be impressed by that ability if I did not know you are desperate and will say anything to be released. It is this way with all of our patients. I will acknowledge that you have spirit and do not submit easily. But your bravery and bravado is of no consequence to us. You will do as commanded.”
“You think so?”
“Do you wish to be choked into unconsciousness again?”
“Do you, Melly?”
She scowled and held up her hand the way she had when I’d been choked the last time. “You will learn that insubordination will afford you nothing but pain.” But when she flicked her hand, nothing happened.
“Problem?” I asked, grinning. She stepped closer to examine the torc and I took that opportunity to punch her right in the nose. She tumbled backwards, shocked by my aggression and her pain. She howled and covered her nose as blood ran down her face, dripping onto her pristine gown. The feel of split flesh and broken cartilage under my knuckles had been extremely satisfying, but I couldn’t stand around and pat myself on the back. I sent the torc to her neck, locking it securely, then used the belt from a robe I’d found in the bathroom to roughly fasten her hands behind her back. I pushed her into a chair and tied her legs together with Simon’s belt. A cloth napkin in her mouth finished the job, although I had to leave it pretty loose so she could still breathe around it. She wouldn’t be breathing through that nose for a while.
I’d learned over the years that witches were dependent on their voices and their hands. Without the help of herbs or circles, candles or blood, they couldn’t work a spell without saying the words or signing the symbols. Very few of them had any true psychic abilities. Mother had come to my room unarmed, except for her skill at signing or speaking a spell. What a shame.
She groaned and my father made a move toward me, but I glared him down. “Shut up and sit down,” I snapped. Creatures like me who were hopped up on demon magic did not have an unlimited supply of patience.
“Jackie.” He kept glancing at the murderer in the chair. “You have to let her go.”
“Did she let Blaine go?”
“He was…he was…”
“Look, I know you’ve been drugged and maybe even tortured, but if you say Blaine was useless, I’m going to kick you in the family jewels, got it?” His eyes widened. “Now sit down, ’cause your torc is coming off.”
Chapter Eleven
Taking off Simon’s torc was a lot easier now that I was in full-out demon mode. He had no demon magic of his own to connect to what was stored in his circlet, but that just gave me more power to play with, and boy was I ready to play. When the lock popped, I willed the torc to shrink and wrap itself around my arm like a bracelet. I was grateful to see Simon’s expression finally relax, the muscles in his shoulders following next.
The bitch was back, people.
“How did you do that?” Simon rubbed his neck as he stared at Mother, who was struggling with her bonds. Deep creases had formed on his brow. He was obviously bewildered by what had just gone down.
“The short version: The torc is made by some kick ass powerful demon magic which I can tap into and use. I’ll explain the rest later. Stay still.” I placed a hand on his shoulder and tried to connect to my demon version of healing energy again, hoping I could find out what those idiots had done to him. I did manage to heal his back and that was something at least, but I couldn’t clear his system of the drug. I tried the lines again, thinking maybe dual torc power was enough, but no go.
I stood, indicating we should head out to find Zora. She needed a good clobbering, that one. Unfortunately, the so-called mother of this Victorian hellhole was still wiggling and thrashing about, making way too much noise. I pushed her onto the floor none too gently, then sent out a command for the torc to tighten. The gasping and gurgling sounds reminded me too much of the noises I’d made, so I headed toward the door, pulling on Dad’s hand to bring him along.
“You can’t leave her like this.” He stopped walking.
I twisted back around. He was right. I couldn’t leave her suffering, even though she deserved it. I twisted my mouth in thought. “I’ll kill her now.”
Whoa. Even I was shocked by my sudden bloodthirsty bent. Maybe it was a good thing my healer was temporarily shut down. She would have been complaining big time and who needed that kind of nagging?
“No!” Dad grasped my arm.
“She forced you to kill Blaine, didn’t she?”
He nodded and winced. “It was horrible. I couldn’t stop myself.”
“She’s done that to others—killed others.”
He shrugged. “She uses the excuse that it’s the Goddess, not her who’s—”
“I know peace loving, gentle witches who follow
the Goddess. This is not what she teaches.”
The gurgling sounds were getting worse. “Please take off the torc,” My dad asked softly. “She’s not going anywhere and it makes you into one of them. This isn’t you.”
I relented even though my demon side was grumbling unhappily. “Fine. But I’ll make sure she stays put.” I reached out with my hand and the torc obliged me by wrapping itself around my right arm the way Simon’s had around my left. “Sleep,” I said, and she did.
I’d never felt so powerful, so self-confident. I could take down this house of horrors, rip it to shreds, board by board—even burn it to the ground. The power I’d soaked into my body was going to help Simon and me break out of here, get my revenge, spill some blood of our own.
Simon grabbed my shoulder. “Your eyes have turned orange.”
“What?”
“They’re glowing.”
I shrugged. Simon knew all about my demon blood and the orangey-eye-thingy. “Yeah, well they do that sometimes.”
I checked my reflection in the glass that covered a photograph in the hallway. My eyes were definitely glowing, the way Isaiah’s got when he was furious or using a high level of power. “Wow. I don’t usually get to see them this bright.” Simon didn’t smile. What was his problem? This was cool. “C’mon. Let’s go kick ass.”
“Jackie, there’s something not right about your behavior. You should take a minute to calm yourself.”
“Calm myself? These blood witches should be burnt at the stake.” I grinned at the idea. “Maybe taking a step back in time would be just what the doctor ordered. It might make the other blood witches of the world think twice before kidnapping one of Naberia’s brood.”
Blood Spelled Page 8
