Hex Appeal: A Hexy Witch Mystery (Womby's School for Wayward Witches Book 15)

by Sarina Dorie

  He flicked the strap of my slip down my shoulder and kissed the bare skin. “I want us to walk on the beach at sunset like other couples do. I want us to go on picnics or to take you dancing. I would even be willing to watch those insipid Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter movies with unrealistic versions of fantasy with you if it made you happy.” His mouth tasted the skin just under my collarbone.

  “That’s nice.” I wasn’t sure whether I was talking about his words or what he was doing. My senses were growing confused. Complacency washed over me. I forced myself to focus on my goal. “But we aren’t like other couples. You told me I can never have a normal life.”

  “No. We live in the Unseen Realm. We have affinities from which we will never be free.” He laced his fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp. “Even if we were drained, we still have the ability to draw the magic out of others. We can never live a normal life. The most we can do is try the best we can.”

  “I am doing the best I can. I’m asking you to teach me magic so we can defeat the Raven Queen. Then we can live almost normal lives.” It was naively optimistic, I knew, but I was too distracted to care.

  “We can’t defeat her. At best, we’ll be able to construct a bargain with the Raven Queen that she will find acceptable. At worst, she will torture you, hoping for you to reveal secrets to her that you don’t know. Once she realizes you don’t understand how to solve the Fae Fertility Paradox, she will dispose of you.” His long fingers kneaded into my hips, arousing me and sending shivers up my spine.

  I leaned into his warmth. “What if I can tell her how to solve it?”

  “Then she will make you prove it. And she will then dispose of you as she sees fit, when she sees fit. There is no winning. The only possibility of coming out of this situation unscathed is by breaking into her castle and rescuing your fairy godmother.” He drew back, his expression grim. “But if Abigail Lawrence is no longer of her own mind, I may have to kill her, or else she will try to kill you like Derrick once did. Will you be able to tolerate that?”

  I swallowed the lump that suddenly formed in my throat. “Yes.”

  He frowned. “You are lying.”

  Probably.

  He kissed me, his lips a teasing whisper against mine. “Just give me one happy night. One night without magic lessons. Let me make love to you once without turning it into a teachable moment.” He slipped my other strap down my shoulder.

  He was tempting me with touch, using my magic to make me forget. I couldn’t blame him. I enjoyed being seduced by him. I would have agreed to just about anything he offered me about then.

  A mistake I had made in the past already.

  Two could play this game.

  I circled my arms around his neck and kissed him, tugging on his hair. He moaned against my mouth. I clutched at him, digging my fingers into his flesh. His erection swelled underneath me. He kissed me with abandon.

  At any moment I expected him to call me out on what I was doing, but he didn’t. Nor did he draw away. He lifted the hem of my slip and threw it off me. No magic was wasted making the fabric drift to the floor as he had with his limited edition.

  After another moment of ardent kissing, he slid inside me. This position was more work than I was used to, but I also had more control. I tugged his hair, forcing his head back so I could nibble at his neck. He shuddered with pleasure as I bit hard enough to leave teeth marks.

  “Teach me magic,” I entreated.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “What are we going to learn tonight, Teacher?”

  “Magic.”

  I laughed at that.

  It wasn’t long before I became lost in the enjoyment of our lovemaking. When I was close to coming, he asked, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  He slowed, drawing out the moment. “How much so?”

  “A lot.”

  “Enough that you would do anything for my enjoyment?” A smile laced his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Yes.” I wondered if he had something kinky in mind. Pain magic? That was his affinity. I yanked on his hair harder.

  He nuzzled his face into the crook of my neck. “Enough that you would do exactly what I say without question?”

  I wanted to agree, but a little wiggle of worry nudged me that this was probably some kind of trick. I wrapped my arm around his neck and subtly twisted the bracelet. I blinked three times. My self-awareness increased. I refocused my efforts on my affinity, on building a barrier between my skin and my power center so that I wouldn’t lose myself in the moment.

  Thatch stopped thrusting. “Promise me you’ll agree to anything I ask.” He took hold of my hips, not allowing me to move.

  Normally I would have given in. I’d have done anything for pleasure; my will weak and the flesh so willing. But tonight I was able to stare into his eyes and resist that pining. I recognized what he was doing. Either he was manipulating me so that I would make an oath with him again, or this was meant to be a lesson.

  “No,” I said.

  “I’ll stop if you don’t promise me.”

  “Go ahead.” I grinned. I leaned forward and kissed him, pulling off his shirt in the process. I raked my nails across his back. He gasped against my mouth. His pelvis arched against me.

  We fell into rhythm again. It only took a minute for the pleasure to swell in me.

  I was close when he whispered into my ear. “Promise me you’ll never go to the Raven Queen without my explicit permission.”

  “No.”

  “I’ll stop if you refuse.”

  Magic pulsed inside me, wanting to mirror the throbbing tide of physical pleasure about to burst. I contained my affinity, keeping it separate from physical sensations. Thatch stopped again, holding on to my hips to keep me from moving. I knew what I needed to succeed in the moment. It was something I would never have normally considered doing. Even now I hesitated, wondering if this was too far.

  I slapped him across the face. His eyes went wide, and he stared at me in utter shock. I had surprised him, so it was unlikely he could use the pain for magic. The thrill of it must have pleased him, though. He burst out laughing and resumed kissing me.

  I was relieved he wasn’t mad. He rolled over on top of me, thrusting more deeply. From his sudden ardor, I wondered if I should slap him more often. He buried his face against my neck, his breath coming out in short little pants. The ecstasy in me crested. I cried out, arching against him.

  As the orgasm ebbed away, he snuggled against me. I knew he hadn’t come because there hadn’t been any lightning.

  He kissed my nose. “Good. You’re learning. I’d give you a B.”

  “Only a B?” I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his forehead.

  He brushed a finger across my friendship bracelet. “I’ll give you an A if you can do it again, this time without a spell.”

  So he’d figured it out? Even in the throes of passion, he was too smart for me.

  “Okay. We’ll try it again, but next time, you can’t try to make me promise that,” I said.

  “I’ll make you promise anything I deem a suitable consequence for not being able to control your affinity.” His smile was sly. “If I ask for your soul and you give it to me, that’s your own fault for being a poor student.”

  No wonder he thought I’d hate him. I didn’t, though. I had asked for this.

  As unorthodox as his teaching methods were, I earned my A that night.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Setting a Trap

  During my third-period class, as I was giving instructions on students’ final projects, I turned around from the chalkboard to find students passing notes to each other instead of taking notes.

  I pointed to Maya Briggs, who I suspected had been more interested in what Luke Heller’s note said than paying attention. “How many points is this assignment worth?”

  “Um. Fifty.”

  “A
hundred, you moron,” Hailey Achilles shouted from the back.

  At least she was paying attention for once.

  I turned back to the board, writing the rest of the assignment down. When I next turned around, I found Balthasar grappling with another boy, choking him in a headlock.

  “Separate yourselves. Balthasar, over there. Jaimie, sit in the empty seat by Felicity.”

  Jaimie yanked himself away from Balthasar. “Why do I have to move? I didn’t do anything. He was the one who stole my wand.”

  “I don’t have your stupid wand. Maybe you should see if you left it somewhere. You’re the one who acts like he has a stick up his—”

  “No! Language!” I shouted.

  “—ass,” Balthasar finished.

  Jaimie launched himself at the other boy.

  “Fight! Fight! Fight!” students chanted unhelpfully.

  Five minutes later, I finally got the two boys separated. I sent Jaimie down to the office to talk to Dean Khaba. I made Balthasar sit outside the door to the classroom to give Jaimie a head start. I’d learned last year to stagger students I sent to the office. If I didn’t, they’d get in a fight along the way. I’d also learned never to send Balthasar first, as he’d just wait for the other student at the bottom of the stairwell and beat up his rival again. I was determined to help Balthasar graduate. I’d promised his sister.

  Once I got class back on track, I finished explaining the assignment. “Any questions?” I asked.

  Hailey raised her hand, a mischievous smile on her face. “Just one. Can you repeat all of that? I wasn’t listening.”

  A few students chuckled.

  I was certain she was saying that just to goad me, though there were plenty of other students that sentiment would apply to.

  I pretended I hadn’t heard her and plastered a smile on my face. “Any other questions?”

  Lilith, a tall girl in the back who I suspected was part rock affinity from her bulky build, raised her hands. Between them she held something that might have been a paper towel tube.

  “Yes, Lilith?” Usually her questions were on topic and helped clarify any details I might have missed.

  She was a gentle girl who loved the arts. She reminded me of Pierre in that way. My heart clenched every time I thought of something bad happening to her as it had to him. So many of these students weren’t going to be able to survive against the Fae after they graduated. If only more Fae were like Elric and didn’t look down on Witchkin as being inferior. If only more Witchkin didn’t hate all Fae. It was the Witchkin Council whose biases kept good Fae like Dean Khaba from positions where they could help others.

  Lilith’s brows drew together. “Ms. Lawrence, will you come over here and help me? I’m stuck.”

  “What do you mean ‘stuck?’ Do you need ideas for your project?” I asked.

  “No. I got stuck on this Chinese finger trap.” She tried tugging her fingers out of the tube.

  The class laughed. It was nearing the end of the year. Everyone was squirrely, even the good students.

  I went over to help Lilith. She was a giant in one of the student chairs. Sitting down, she was as tall as me. Her fingers were the size of sausages, which made me wonder if the colorful woven finger trap had been magicked to fit the size of her hands.

  “This is how you get yourself out of the trap.” I showed her. “The more you pull, the tighter the trap becomes because of how it’s woven.” It reminded me of the net that the Court of the Pacific had used to catch Maddy. I pushed Lilith’s fingers closer together. “You have to relax and push into the trap so that it will loosen. Then you can wiggle one finger out.”

  Her face brightened when I showed her how it worked.

  “It isn’t always about fighting. Sometimes you have to give in to succeed.” I wondered if that applied to my life as well.

  Did I have to give in to what the Raven Queen wanted in order to get what I wanted—to get my fairy godmother? What would I do if I did get my mom back and she was like Derrick, a tool to be used against me?

  “That’s a kind of Morty magic, isn’t it?” Hailey asked.

  “You could call it Morty magic, if you want,” I said. “But I would consider it more of a game or a puzzle.”

  Much to Lilith’s disappointment, I pocketed the Chinese finger trap, not wanting another device floating around that would distract students.

  Hailey handed me a piece of rough draft paper with thumbnail sketches so abstract it was difficult to tell what she’d drawn. “Do you want to see my idea for my final project?” she asked.

  “Sure. Tell me about what I’m looking at.” Translation: After taking my classes for three years, I have failed to teach you how to draw anything that would help you earn points for your team playing Pictionary.

  Hailey excitedly told me her idea for combining magic with art. Essentially she’d be making a kind of hologram of herself.

  She waved a hand at the first sketch. “I guess you could call it a self-portrait. It’s based on some of the glamours we’ve learned from Mr. Pinky and Miss Bloodmire.”

  I nodded, thinking it over. “Have you considered how useful that might be outside of the art classroom? It could be used as a distraction if you’re in trouble.” If she could pull it off. I was sort of afraid it would look more like a Picasso and just scare people. Which might not be so bad either.

  “I’m way ahead of you.” Hailey laughed. “I have to figure out how to take care of myself after graduation.”

  “I want to see how you execute this. If it works, other students could do this as a self-portrait in the future. It’s a good marriage of magic and art.”

  “Right. Marriage.” She waggled her eyebrows at me. “Someone can’t stop thinking about her new husband.”

  I shook my head at her, my cheeks flushing at her implication. Perhaps my marriage would be in better shape if I had been thinking about love and passion. Instead, I’d been thinking of practicality. Thatch must have been rubbing off on me. Or maybe that’s all I could handle these days, thinking about ways I could solve the problem of the Fae.

  I was still thinking about Hailey’s idea after school. I wondered if it was actually feasible to replicate a painting of someone using magic with enough skill to trick a Fae into thinking it was the real person.

  I made a sketch of myself in Study Club while my students quizzed each other with flash cards and practiced transcribing spells. It was quiet, the students who joined the club working hard. Most of them were students from Art Club, plus a few additional students who just wanted a quiet place to study and had been in my classes at some point this year or the last.

  As students worked, I looked in a small mirror and drew a self-portrait. I tried not to include the exaggerations I might employ if it was a caricature, nor the embellishments I usually added if I was going to use the sketch for a watercolor. I attempted to capture my likeness as I truly was. If this was to work, I would probably need to use acrylics or oil paints to match the skin tone. Probably Thatch would be better at this than I would be. His paintings were so realistic they breathed with life.

  As I worked, I decided my expression looked too grim to look like my own face. I smiled into the mirror and drew that instead. Even after erasing, it didn’t look right. I’d pressed too hard and lines marred my likeness, making my self-portrait look as though I was grimacing in pain. The gray smear of pencil reminded me of bruises. A stray line reminded me of a cut.

  Something about the eyes in the drawing were off, the highlights wavering. I stared as the drawing shifted under my pencil. I held my breath. The pencil lines moved of their own volition. The eyes of this other me blinked. Tears filled her eyes. Her chest heaved as she cried. She lifted her hands with longing as she reached out to someone off the page. Her hands were painted with the crimson of blood.

  “Please, no! Don’t take her from me!” she wailed. “No!”

  “Ms. Lawrence, are you all right?�
�� Imani asked, tugging on my arm.

  I blinked and the vision was gone. My students all stared at me. All writing and studying had ceased.

  “I’m fine. Nothing is wrong. Why wouldn’t I be fine?” My entire body shook.

  I remembered how I had once drawn Derrick’s face, bruised and battered. The vision had come true.

  Imani placed a hand on my shoulder. “You were talking, but no one was there.”

  I shook my head. “No. I wasn’t talking.”

  Maddy pushed her blonde hair back from the pink scars of her face, eyeing the classroom warily. She hugged her arms around herself.

  Hailey stood up, taking a defensive stance. “Who were you talking to?”

  “I wasn’t talking to anyone. I was drawing.” I glanced at my pencil sketch. It was an incomplete self-portrait, smudged in some places with the extra lines of pencil I’d pressed too hard to erase.

  A nub of crayon dropped out of Trevor’s mouth as he spoke. “You said, ‘No, don’t take her away,’ or something like that.”

  Had I been talking about my mom? Was this the future? Her future?

  Greenie nudged Trevor and whispered something to him. He stopped chewing on the crayon. I should have been in teacher mode and told him that myself, but I couldn’t think about students eating my art supplies when all I could focus on was my fairy godmother and whether she was in trouble.

  Imani squeezed my shoulder, her dark brown eyes staring into my own with such compassion and caring, I almost forgot she was seventeen.

  “Are you hurt?” Her gaze drifted down to my sketchbook.

  “No, why would you—” I followed her gaze.

  Several droplets of blood dotted the edges of the pristine paper. I lifted my hands, but they were clean. My blood chilled in my veins. This had to be an omen.

  “Oh my God!” Imani pointed to my art and stepped back.

  Another crimson splatter appeared, this time marring the face on the drawing. The droplets plopped on the page, sounding as melodic as raindrops.