Spirits and Spells (Warlocks MacGregor Book 5)

by Michelle M. Pillow

  “Freaking MacGregors,” she grumbled.

  Pushing the wet pajama pants down her legs, she kicked them aside and grabbed a pair of skinny jeans from the floor and pulled them on. She hopped and wiggled, tugging them up her hips so she could button them.

  Charlotte frowned as the water continued to drip on her bed. It quickly became a steady stream. She grabbed the pajama pants and tried to soak up the mess.

  Suddenly, a rush of soapy dishwater dumped down onto her. She gasped and scrambled off the bed. The brief waterfall slowed back to a trickle, but the damage had been done. Her mattress was ruined, the ceiling was bowed and cracked, and the light fixture was wet.

  Tears of frustration filled her eyes. It was difficult enough trying to sleep without the added bonus of disgusting ceiling water falling on her from the apartment above. All she wanted was to have a normal life back where her biggest concern was too many internet lotion orders.

  Chapter Two

  Niall MacGregor took a deep breath as he rode his motorcycle down the quiet sides streets of his new hometown. The purr of the hog’s engine reverberated through the handlebars he gripped as he leaned into a corner while rolling back the throttle of the customized all-black Harley Sportster. Niall’s customization of the bike barely resembled the factory version of the classic, not to mention Euann’s mods using the infamous MacGregor magick.

  Some of the brick roads had been paved over with concrete, so there were patches of white over the red. He was careful not to rev his engine too loudly, not wanting to disturb those sleeping within the uniform houses of the small-town neighborhood.

  The moonlight tingled on his skin each time he passed from under a tree canopying the street. The wolf inside him responded to moonlight, stirring as if to remind Niall that it was there. But after three centuries, he had well learned to control the monster within. His warlock powers kept the wolf locked up tight until it was safe to let it roam free.

  The MacGregors had only been in Green Vallis, Wisconsin, for a short time, but they already owned nearly a quarter of the town’s commercial property. The vast MacGregor empire kept growing with each new acquisition. It took all of them to keep the family business in order.

  The family had picked Green Vallis for several reasons. First, because the old mansion on the hill overlooking the town was practical since so many of them lived in the area. Some outlandish Englishman had built the mansion, and it was too large for any of the locals to maintain so it had sat empty for years. Second, the surrounding nature would fuel their magick and their spirits. Third, there was a special power here, beneath the ground in the convergence of ley lines. However, since ley lines created a surge of energy for the supernatural, it also acted as a beacon of fuel to non-warlocks, which accounted for the surge in family troubles lately.

  By nature, the MacGregor warlocks were lusty creatures who thrived on sexual energy. Sex gave a brief surge of power to their magick. If a warlock were lucky enough to find his fíorghrá, his true love, he’d be powerful indeed. Niall didn’t believe he had a fíorghrá. True love was a blessing, and he had done and seen too much in his long life to think he deserved such happiness.

  It wasn’t as if Niall didn’t believe in love. He did. His brothers, Erik and Iain, had found love, and he was happy for both men. Plus, his parents had been married for hundreds of years.

  The clan elders—who consisted of his parents, uncles and aunts—used to press the matter with their children but had finally given up. The only way Niall would find someone was if he cast a spell to make it happen. But then, that wouldn’t work either. Erik had said something profound about it once, “Love couldn’t be forced or else it wasn’t love.”

  Each warlock had his own special abilities and curse. Niall had been born a wolf shifter. They said it was why he was so fiercely protective of his family, and why he could never be tamed. No one could explain to him why the wolf was such a dominant part of his genetics, but then, sometimes magick was hard to explain.

  Currently, his siblings Euann and Malina, and his cousin Rory, lived in the mansion, along with his parents Angus and Margareta, Uncle Murdoch and Aunt Cait, and crazy Uncle Raibeart. Other members of the family came and went. It sounded like a lot, but the twenty thousand square foot house had sixty or so rooms in it. There was plenty of space for several dozen MacGregors to move in. The elders had an area to practice their magick while maintaining separate offices to work out of.

  His brother Iain stayed in the apartment above his wife Jane’s greenhouse and nursery. The oldest, Erik, lived in the only other house on the estate with his wife, Lydia.

  Niall always kept a separate apartment close to the family, but away enough that they couldn’t monitor all his comings and goings. Mischievousness ran in the MacGregor bloodline. Pranks and misfired spells were never in short supply. He supposed living for hundreds of years affected even the most serious of warlocks. They had to do something to ease the boredom of centuries. Regardless if they lived in the mansion or elsewhere in the town, one thing remained true: MacGregors always stayed together, since their early days in the barbaric Scottish countryside.

  At least Niall’s role as a hunter kept him from having to run a family corporation. It was the one plus he could think of to his job. All he was expected to do was manage the apartment building he lived in downtown. He had no use for business meetings and small talk.

  In that way, he missed the days long past, when they could live in vast private estates and no one dared to question the noble families. If they were exposed, they would simply move, or deny the accusation. But now, in the age of internet and broadcasts, security cameras and cell phone pictures, hiding what they were became that much harder and that much more important. If they were exposed, the whole world could tune in to watch. In a small town like Green Vallis, it was easier to control perception. Worldwide exposure could not be contained so easily. The last time mortals learned of shifters and warlocks, they started the witch trials. The 1590 North Berwick trials nearly killed his sister, and did kill his aunt. Mortals always feared them, instantly believing anything supernatural had to be evil.

  Yes, there was evil in the world, but it wasn’t limited to the supernatural. Niall and his kin were simply a magickal family—immortal, powerful, and trying to survive the centuries in peace.

  Euann would argue that technology and science were their friends. Humans began to think logically and thus could explain away magick as folklore and myth. Superstitions were replaced by accepted facts. The rise of magicians and their fake magic tricks gave the illusion that old magick wasn’t real. Those annoying habits humans had to ward off supposed evil, like runes to divine the future and painting blood symbols over their doorways, had all but disappeared and made it easier for warlocks to roam a little more freely.

  If only humans were their biggest threat. Sure, humans were dangerous in unified numbers, but there was so much more happening in the world than the mortals knew. Dark forces roamed the earth, eager to tempt with sultry promises. For Niall’s wolf, these were promises of wild, unfettered freedom to do whatever it wanted. Niall kept a tight leash on the animal within.

  He felt the vibration of the motor between his legs and grinned, wanting to go faster. He let the bike pick up speed for a few blocks before forcing himself to slow once more. If he had his choice tonight, he would have kept riding straight out of town. But, he never had his choice. He went where duty demanded, and tonight it demanded he ride back to his apartment, where some of his family waited for him.

  The MacGregor clan was really pulling out all the supernatural fuckups this time. He came back from a hunt to find his new hometown the center of magickal headaches. Malina’s husband the luck demon had apparently crawled his way back from the dead, bringing with him a run of bad luck.

  If Niall didn’t figure out how to clear the MacGregor mansion of ghosts, goblins, gremlins, fairies, and who knew what else, his apartment building was no longer going to afford him privacy.
Of late, it had become a haven for several members of the family after they’d fled the supernatural infestations of the mansion on the hill.

  What he wouldn’t give for one night of normal. He had just ridden back into town after dealing with a leprechaun outbreak in the Midwest—they’d been creating small earthquakes in Oklahoma and Kansas—only to find Malina’s husband, Dar, causing havoc. He originally thought he’d gotten lucky when the leprechauns simply vanished, but then discover them running amuck in the MacGregor gardens. Before leprechauns, it was a vampire nest. Before vampires, it was chupacabras in Puerto Rico, boggarts in Europe, a very hairy human people thought was an actual Bigfoot, a lizard man in the Louisiana swamps claiming to be a dragon shifter from another planet, and a water spirit poking holes in the bottom of gondolas in Venice. Before those it had been a rogue werewolf in the Carpathian Mountains. He’d nearly died in Romania. And no one in his family even knew.

  Niall loved his sister, but Malina’s reckless decisions were what led him to this moment. In the sixties, she had fallen in love with and married a luck demon while partying in Las Vegas. Dar could give good or bad luck as he saw fit, changing people’s fates on a whim. It had been Niall’s duty to send all demons back to hell. That’s what hunters did. They sent demons back to hell, rampaging vampires into eternal rest, and fairyland creatures through the veil to their own world. Niall always did what he was supposed to.

  Somehow, Dar had survived the trip to his fiery tomb and came looking for revenge in the form of some extremely bad luck for the MacGregor family. Thus, the MacGregor mansion now overrun with supernatural problems.

  Niall dealt with all the things no one else wanted or were able to. When his family was in trouble, they called him. When there was an unpleasant task, it fell on his shoulders. And he always did what had to be done…like wiping the memories of a poor young woman who had seen too much.

  Charlotte Carver.

  Niall’s motorcycle weaved as he swerved to avoid a parked car. The mere thought of Charlotte had that effect on him, so he tried to block his mind from thinking of her. Though, it was difficult when they lived in the same building. Her beauty was undeniable, even if the feral light in her brown eyes was a constant reminder of her delicate state.

  Charlotte and her best friend, Lydia Barratt, had been attacked by two shadow creatures known as lidércs. They were like incubi, using vessels to draw power. In this case, they’d used Charlotte and Lydia to try to steal Iain and Erik’s magick.

  Lydia’s rare genetic makeup made her an inthrall, a perfect vessel for one particular warlock—Erik. It gave her a natural link to him that allowed her to borrow his magick. The fact that Lydia was Erik’s fíorghrá, his one true love, made their situation unique. Lydia had survived the attack with her sanity intact.

  However, Charlotte was not so lucky. She was not Iain’s inthrall or fíorghrá. The lidérc had forced her to drink a potion that made her a conduit to suck Iain’s power. A warlock’s power was his very essence, his soul. Taking it had been excruciating for Charlotte.

  Niall hadn’t been there, but he knew every detail as if he’d been standing beside her while it happened. It had been his duty to erase her memory of the event. Considering the state that the incident had left her in, it was the best they could do for her. Mortals talked tough, but the truth was most were not mentally equipped to carry the knowledge of the supernatural. If the creatures themselves didn’t drive them to insanity, knowing none of their friends and family would believe them often did. Charlotte didn’t remember that real magick existed in the world, and it was best to keep it that way.

  When Niall had gone into Charlotte’s memories to pull the bad ones, he’d seen more than he should have. He’d felt who she was, saw her secrets, absorbed her fears, and witnessed her doubts. She’d marked him deeply, and it was as if, by taking her memories, he’d somehow left a part of himself inside of her, and he couldn’t get it back.

  It was more than a mere attraction to her. Of course he was physically tempted. She was a stunningly beautiful woman with a great smile and heartfelt laugh. Yet, that didn’t matter. There wasn’t anything he could do about his attraction toward her but keep it a secret, and hope that it went away. As for the piece he’d lost to her, he would have to make himself forget about it. Charlotte deserved more than he could give.

  He’d taken Charlotte’s nightmares as his own and had been haunted by them ever since. They churned inside of him with the rest of the bad memories he carried. But, if he hadn’t, she’d have gone insane. He’d seen it before. She had been touched by too much magick. Humans were so fragile.

  Sensing his aunt Cait was about to call, he pulled over to the side of the road and reached for his phone. It started ringing in his hand. He shut off the bike and answered, “Aye?”

  “Where are ya?” Cait asked, her tone rushed.

  “In town.” He glanced over the quiet street and focused on a house. Niall no longer bothered to imagine what a normal human life inside a normal family home might look like.

  “I know there is much happening tonight, but ya need to keep a closer eye on Charlotte. I have a feeling.” Cait did not need to explain more. Warlocks trusted their feelings.

  Niall sighed in exasperation. “I moved next to her in the apartment building, what else would ya have me do, Cait? Crawl into her bed and pretend to be a pillow?”

  Well, that was stupid. He really didn’t need to be picturing what it would be like to lay in Charlotte’s bed.

  “Take that tone again with me, lad, and I’ll find a spell to make that happen,” Cait warned. As an elder, she believed herself entitled to respect. However, at three hundred and sixty-some years old, Niall wasn’t a child to be scolded anymore.

  “Charlotte is well in hand,” Niall answered. “Euann, Malina, Rory, and Uncle Raibeart are in my apartment, and I’m heading back now to rejoin them.” He paused, as a thought struck him. “Is there any particular reason you’re calling me about this again, besides a general feeling of unease? Has more happened while I was away? I thought ya said Malina was able to stop her sleepwalking episodes. It’s the middle of the night, she should be sleeping.”

  Euann’s security cameras had caught footage of Charlotte standing on Lydia’s front lawn in the middle of the night for three hours, simply staring at the road like she was under a trance and unable to move.

  “Please tell me no one tried to take more memories out of the lass,” Niall said with a frown. Erasing one event was relatively safe under normal circumstances, but Charlotte had suffered a serious magickal trauma, one that no person should have to live with. Time could fill in some gaps in a person’s memory, but create too many holes and it became impossible for the mind to recover.

  “There was a strong disruption,” Cait answered, and he imagined she was fiddling with her string of pearls as she spoke. “It is easy to be distracted with that Dar on the loose, but we need to keep an eye on her so Charlotte does not become Helena.”

  “We have learned much since Helena.” Niall wished his family would stop bringing the past into this. He had never meant to hurt Helena, and did not appreciate the reminder of his failure. “Times are different now. I am not that man.”

  “Stop mumbling, I can’t hear ya over this cackling,” Cait said. “I think the gremain I petrified is starting to thaw. Just keep an eye out, is all I’m saying. That one’s sanity is unstable.”

  Cait hung up. Niall slipped the phone into his pocket and started the engine to continue home. He told himself that tonight was just like any other. The threats were no more or less than what he’d faced a thousand times before. Gremains and fairies, leprechauns and demons, he could easily go up against an army of them. Yet the thought of failing Charlotte terrified him.

  Niall had broken her to save her from a much worse fate. He carried the burden of her fate inside of him. All that pain and fear she’d felt was now his, as was the unreturned feelings churning in his heart like a hurricane on a magickal
leash. Charlotte would never know the truth, not if he had anything to say about it.

  Chapter Three

  Charlotte scrubbed the wet floor, trying to rid it of the smell of dishwater. Tears of frustration filled her eyes. All she wanted was a full night’s sleep in a dry, comfortable bed, and her sanity back. It wasn’t like she asked for the sun, the moon, and the stars, wrapped up in a million dollars.

  Seeing a piece of scrap paper under the bed, she pulled it out. The scribbles looked like her handwriting but she didn’t remember writing it.

  “They’re out there,” Charlotte read, having a hard time deciphering a few of the words. “No eyes in the bag. No…breathing? Darkness. Basement dark. Drink the burning. Choke it down. Pain when it comes in. Remember they want you to have an extra soul but will rip it out when…” The rest was an illegible series of lines, but for some reason she felt like she knew what it was trying to say. “I can feel it in my bones, eating, chewing, crunching. They want to make me forget, but I see what they’re doing. I see. They can’t have my soul. I hid it where they will never find it.”

  A tear slipped down her cheek. She wadded up the crazy ramblings and shoved them into the water bucket to hide the evidence. Why was this happening? She was a rational person. She didn’t walk around believing that souls could be ripped out and hidden. In fact, she didn’t consider souls much at all. Now, ghosts, she knew those were real. She supposed those could be souls, but…

  Dripping water broke her concentration and she looked up in time to see another gush of dishwater pump down from the ceiling.

  “Oh, come on!” she yelled up at her upstairs neighbors in frustration. Sleeping was hard enough, and now she didn’t even have a bed.