Binding Magick: an Urban Fantasy Novel (The Witch Blood Chronicles Book 1)

by Debbie Cassidy

  I smiled to soften my words, because only a fool pissed of the High Witch. “I’m sure you heard me.”

  Her lips twitched and she averted her gaze. “Very well. I can only hope to woo you with the benefits of affiliation. Your mother was a valued member of the coven until her break from us two years ago. How is she by the way? I must admit there was a ruckus surrounding the news of your parentage. Procreation with any creature other than a human or fellow witch is forbidden to us, as you’re probably aware. The council wanted a trial, but I intervened on your mother’s behalf. Let sleeping dogs lie, I said. Let it be done. What possible good would come of a trial at this late hour?”

  It would have only served to alienate me. Clever. “Do you know where my mother is?”

  She blinked at me. “My child, the coven hasn’t heard from your mother since she left us two years ago.”

  Wait, Mother had left the coven? Hadn’t she told me just over a week ago she’d been doing charity work for the coven? My heart sank. She’d lied to me.

  “Is something the matter?”

  “She’s gone. I just don’t know where.”

  The High Witch reached out to pat my arm. “Fear of reprisal no doubt. But once the dust settles I’m sure she’ll be back, and hopefully bring with her the answers you seek.” She moved further into the room, walking over to the portrait I’d just been admiring.

  Curiosity reared its nosey head. “Who is that?”

  She glanced over her shoulder in surprise. “This?” she stepped back to give me a better view of the picture. When she turned to examine it again a soft smile played on her lips. “This was Velomina my adopted daughter. She died a long time ago.”

  Crap, trust me to pick at a wound. Time for a subject change. “And what about these other paintings.”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “Just a hobby of mine. It relaxes me.”

  “You painted these?”

  “Yes. Do you like them?”

  “They’re beautiful.”

  Her eyes lit up with delight.

  A pleasant heat filled my chest. “You’re very talented.”

  “Is there one you admire in particular?”

  “The electric blue one. It reminds me of a thunderstorm. I can just imagine having it on the wall and admiring the storm from the comfort and safety of my sofa.”

  She was looking at me with the strangest expression, and then it was gone. “Come let’s sit. We must assess your knowledge of our world. I assume your mother taught you about the coven history, even with your lack of perceived power. It is, after all, a rite of passage. We hand down the knowledge of our evolution, and in doing so promote our survival.”

  We took a seat opposite each other in twin wingbacks, a low table between us.

  The High Witch studied me, waiting for an answer.

  What had she just asked? Oh, yeah about the history. “I know there were thirteen covens and now there are only six.”

  “That’s correct. The other bloodlines slowly lost their connection to the skein as more and more of their offspring were born human. Eventually the remaining witches were recruited into the other covens, and these covens grew and flourished. Our world is ruled by survival of the fittest. The weak are weeded out and the strong go on to procreate and pass on their superior genes. So now we have Hyde, Camden, Piccadilly, Mayfair, Soho, and Buckingham covens left. Hyde, Soho and Camden are miniscule, and I wager they’ll be cannibalized by either Piccadilly or Mayfair by the end of the year.” She shrugged. “So if you choose an affiliation other than the one you were born into, these are the facts you need to consider.”

  “And if I chose to be independent?”

  She sighed. “Then my dear I’m afraid I cannot protect you.”

  “Protect me?”

  “You seem like a woman with a wise head on her shoulders. Rumors of your part in uncovering the lab under Soho have spread. So you must be aware a power like yours will be coveted. You will be coveted, and not everyone who woos you will be content with a simple no thank you.”

  What was she trying to say? That the covens would try and hurt me? Was she trying to scare me?

  Fuck that.

  I wanted to be part of the witch world, but on my terms not someone else’s.

  “In that case they’ll have to make do with a piss off instead.”

  She blinked rapidly and sat back in her seat.

  I held up a hand. “I’m sorry for being crass but that is my final position at present. I will not be coerced or bullied into making a decision. If, and it’s a big if, I chose to join a coven it will be after much thought and deliberation, and it won’t be because I need protection. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

  The fingers of my right hand absently drifted to the cuff at my wrist, and her gaze flicked to it.

  “That’s a pretty trinket,” she said.

  “Thank you. It was a gift from a friend.”

  She held out her hand. “May I?”

  Like hell. “I’m sorry. I don’t like to take it off. I’m kinda obsessive compulsive about it.”

  A shadow flitted across the periphery of my vision. I turned my head sharply to catch it, but it was gone.

  “Are you all right, Miss Hunter?” The High Witch was watching me carefully.

  “Yes. I just. I thought I saw movement.”

  She smiled. “There is no one in here but us, but I fear I have monopolized too much of your time. The celebrations will be beginning shortly. Guests have already begun to arrive.”

  The door opened and the man who’d led me up here entered.

  The High Witch stood and smoothed down her gown. “Would you like to freshen up before joining the festivities?”

  Did I look like I needed to? Shit. “Um, sure.”

  “Henry will show you to the powder room and bring you down to the ballroom once you’re ready.” Her gaze swept over me once more. “That is a splendid dress my dear. Well chosen.”

  My neck grew warm. Wow. My emotions were all over the place tonight. I needed to get them under control.

  Henry stepped aside to allow her to sweep out of the room. We followed, except we took a left where she’d taken a right.

  He stopped outside an ornately carved door. “Powder room, Miss Hunter.”

  Once inside, door locked, I exhaled to compose myself. That had been one hell of a first encounter—intense and yet familiar. One moment I’d felt perfectly at ease, while discussing the painting for instance, and the next I’d wanted to run from the room. The High Witch was not a woman to be trifled with, and I suspected she’d been lenient with my outbursts tonight.

  My flushed face stared back at me from the mirror. This was the moment where the heroine in a movie would splash cold water on her cheeks, except there was no way I was doing that after the effort Urvashi had gone to on my make-up. Instead I took a couple of deep breaths.

  No one could make me chose.

  No one.

  My fingers went to the cuff at my wrist and the temptation to call out to Paimon was almost a physical ache. But he wasn’t mine to summon willy-nilly. The cuff was for emergencies only.

  A shadow flew across the surface of the mirror. I spun round. There was nothing behind me, but the hairs stirring on the nape of my neck said otherwise.

  A soft tap on the door. “Are you all right, Miss Hunter?”

  Unlocking the door, I escaped from the creepy bathroom.

  It was time to go to the ball.

  29

  T here were too many curious eyes on me, the new witch, the freak whose powers had been bound. How much of the story did they know? Was the person who’d done this to me in this room? Why couldn’t there be a neon arrow above their head. Ooo, could I use the skein to make one and send it after the culprit? Probably not. The skein could help with a locator spell but one of those needed an item belonging to the target. Unfortunately I had no item.

  Plus there was no sign of my mother. Leaving the coven didn’t mea
n she wouldn’t have been invited, and if she was missing this event then the High Witch must be right—my mother was on the run for her crime of sleeping with an asura. Despite Banner’s suspicion, despite the emotional distance between my mother and me, or maybe because of it, I was sure she’d had nothing to do with the binding. But maybe there was a clue somewhere in her memory. A locator spell would be perfect for her, except she’d moved and taken all her stuff with her.

  In the meantime I mingled, made small talk, ate food, drank wine, and admired the beautifully decorated ballroom with the lamps floating above us and food that seemed to replenish itself. Who was I kidding, it definitely was replenishing itself, probably a spell to channel it from the kitchens. My gown, it turned out, was a simple affair compared to everyone else’s elaborate costumes. Some witches were even wearing masks. Hair was coiffed and piled atop heads, reminding me of the heroines on the front of regency romances. What the heck had the High Witch meant about my dress being a good choice? She must have been taking the piss because I stuck out like a sore thumb, a dove in a room filled with peacocks. Or maybe that’swas what she’d meant … she’d thought I was deliberately trying to stand out.

  The spotlight had never been on me, and that was okay. I’d been happy to be the sidekick, the one in the shadows, but now, with the attention on me … yeah, it wasn’t so bad. Let them look, let them ponder what I was, what I could do. Excitement simmered in my veins. What could I do? I hadn’t even begun to test the limits of my powers yet, too caught up with adjusting to the fact I had them in the first place.

  “Carmella,” Drake appeared in front of me. “You look amazing.”

  He was looking pretty spiffy himself in his tux, but for the first time since we’d broken up I felt nothing. No ache in my chest, no yearning, no anger. So this was what being over someone felt like?

  “Seriously?” I leaned in, hand on the side of my mouth conspiratorially. “Have you seen what everyone else is wearing?”

  He laughed. “Yeah. It can get a crazy. The competition is fierce. But I like the dress. It’s simple yet striking.”

  “Thanks.”

  We stood in awkward silence for a moment. I spotted a vamp news anchor and a human council member. “What’s with all the non-witch types? Didn’t these events used to be witches only?”

  Drake snorted. “Yeah, a lot has changed in the last couple of years. With the covens down to six, the larger more powerful ones are doing everything in their power to network and gain favor with the most powerful creatures in the city—gods, demi-gods, vamps. Anyone with influence is welcome nowadays. These events used to be about celebrating the skein, but now they’re about political negotiations.”

  “Mother told me about the chant of worship. Do they still do that?”

  He nodded. “Oh, yes. It’s done with even more fanfare now we have outsiders attending. Grandmother does love putting on a show.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Yeah, it’ll be cool.” He didn’t look too happy about it though.

  I shouldn’t care, but it was a curse. “You okay?”

  He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. It’s just this whole matriarchal thing. I’ve never gotten to take part in the chant, no male witch has. I thought I’d be okay with the whole second-class citizen thing, and most of the time I am, you know. Grandmother has been pretty lenient about me working outside the coven and having a little independence, but still …”

  “You miss being completely independent?”

  He blew out a breath. “Yeah. I do.”

  “Oh, hi,” Penelope, joined us, slipping an arm through Drake’s. “Wow, Carmella, what a … lovely dress.”

  And the purple meringue she was wearing was outstandingly visual. “Thanks. You too.”

  “Oh, this old thing?” She waved a dismissive hand a little too vigorously.

  Was she okay? Something flashed. A ring. A huge fuck-off diamond on her hand. On that finger.

  She deliberately touched the beads at her throat. I’d never like Penelope, but I’d felt sorry for her, made to wait around while Drake made up his mind, but in this moment I disliked her with a passion. She didn’t know I was over Drake, how could she? And yet here she was flaunting her engagement in my face. It was a nasty, bitchy thing to do. But then, what to expect from a nasty bitch?

  Say something polite and congratulate them, or tell it how it is? Fuck it. “You can stop flashing your hand now, Penelope, I see the ring. Good for you. You got your man. Now how about you work at keeping him?”

  Her mouth fell open. “What’s that supposed to mean? Oh, god, please don’t tell me you’re not over him. Can’t you get it through your thick skull he doesn’t want you?”

  Drake yanked on her arm. “Penelope. Please.”

  No, she held up her ring adorned hand. “I’ve had enough of walking on eggshells around your poor broken-hearted ex. I’m done. She either accepts we’re together and moves on or you cut her out of your life.” She glared at him, waiting for an answer.

  Drake’s brows snapped down. “Are you giving me an ultimatum?”

  Oh shit. With the way Drake was feeling, she did not want to push this right now. Damn, I didn’t want to feel responsible, but my careless comment had caused this. I pinched the bridge of my nose.

  “Look, Penelope. I didn’t mean what you think.”

  She turned on me, nostrils flaring. “This is between me and my fiancé. Why did you even come here? You don’t belong here. You’re not even a pure witch. You’re a freak, a hybrid. You know you were only invited so everyone could gawp at you, right?”

  Fuck being nice. “And you sound like a teenager, whining and clinging to your man, not realizing the more you hold on the more he wants to pull away. Maybe if you yanked your head out of your arse you’d see a different kind of crack, the one forming in your relationship.”

  “Aw, fuck, Carmella …” Drake was looking at me with his disappointed face, except it had no effect on me anymore.

  I shrugged. “You know what, if you want to lie to yourself again then be my guest, but leave me out of it. Penelope’s right, you should cut me out of your life.” I strode away, toward the pastries. Pastries would make everything better.

  Of course that little altercation would not have gone unnoticed, but who gave a fuck. I’d come with the intention of enjoying myself, and even if Pen was right and I was only here as a sideshow, then let it be an awesome side show.

  Second éclair devoured, I paused, the third hovering at my lips as a ripple of awareness prickled across my scalp.

  “Miss Hunter.” Vritra’s baritone tickled my ears. “You’re hogging the cakes.”

  I set the éclair down and turned to face him, too close too … big.

  “Can you back up a step?”

  Vritra moved out of my personal space. “You need not fear me.”

  Fear him? I snorted. “I don’t fear you. I just think you have no concept of personal space.”

  He looked at me steadily.

  “Please tell me you’ve heard of personal space.”

  “I know what personal space is Miss Hunter. I just don’t give a shit about respecting yours.”

  Wow. “Um, okay. Well. I do give a shit. Quite a few shits in fact, so stay out of my space.”

  “Or what?”

  A challenge, huh? Something wicked reared its wicked little head. “Or you won’t like what you find.”

  I had no idea if it would work, and if it didn’t I’d look like a complete twat, but as Vritra took a deliberate step into my personal space, I yanked on the skein, sending a blast of electrical energy out of my body.

  He tensed, and tucked in his chin.

  “I’m sorry.” My tone was pure sarcasm. “Did I hurt you?”

  The electricity was still humming between us, alive and ready to stun him again.

  He raised his head and locked gazes with me, his lips curling in a sadistic smile. That smile was pure mischief, pu
re danger. If I could have I’d have taken a step back, but the table was pressed to my arse as it was.

  And then he stepped into the electricity, fingers of his power breaking through the barrier I’d erected, reaching for me, running over my skin, probing, wanting.

  His ember eyes blazed in triumph and my stomach did a flip, while my pulse thudded in my groin. Fuck, what was he … His power ran up my thigh and pushed against my private place. The breath exploded from my lungs.

  I slammed my hands against his chest and pushed him away. Oh, god. That was … had been …

  “You don’t need to fear me, Carmella.” His voice was soft, tentative. “I would never hurt you.”

  Fear? He thought I was scared of him? I snorted. “I don’t fear you. I just don’t want you touching me.”

  He arched a brow. “I don’t believe I’ve tried to touch you … yet.”

  Was he kidding? What the heck did he think had just happened? “You know what I mean.”

  He cocked his head. “No. I really don’t. Maybe you should explain.”

  Could it be he didn’t realize the effect he had on me? Didn’t he realize his power had actually touched me? From the look on his face, probably not. So what to say? Hey. Your aura was sexually harassing me?

  He was still waiting for an answer.

  “Never mind.” I smoothed down my dress, the memory of his phantom touch still weakening my knees.

  Music filled the room, rising out of the floor and seeping out of the walls—a sweeping majestic melody reminiscent of a time long gone.

  Vritra held out his hand. “We should dance.”

  “No.” I really didn’t want to dance with him. Especially not this kind of dancing, this was the up close and personal kind of dancing. The kind where one person led and the other followed. The kind where body parts were forced to touch…

  “No, thank you.”

  His lips twitched. “You’re afraid.”

  I rolled my eyes. “How old do you think I am? Five? Reverse psychology does not work on me.”

  He shrugged a powerful shoulder, his shirt straining across his chest. “Whatever.”