The Witch's Familiars: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (Harem of Babylon Book 1)

by G. A. Rael

  A little garlic for vitality. A bit of cat's claw for obvious reasons. A few roots with names that had long since been forgotten for the real magic and some lavender for an extra healing kick. The moon wasn't full, but it was waxing. That would have to be enough. She removed the small blade from a box beneath the coffee table and drew it along the lifeline that ran across her left palm, sprinkling a few droplets of blood into the mortar and pestle that contained the rest of the ingredients. It was a special occasion, after all. A true emergency required a spell with all the trimmings.

  She was breaking all the rules anyway.

  Two

  Jordan fell asleep cradling the cat against her chest. Once she had applied the salve and cleaned his fur, the best she could do was move him to the warm sanctuary of her bed and hope for the best. She had intended to stay up all night, but the events of the day weighed her eyelids down and when they opened, sunlight was streaming in through the billowing white curtain in her studio apartment window.

  Strange. She never left the window open.

  Looking down, she noticed that the warm bundle in her arms was gone. The only trace left of the cat was the clean white towel she had wrapped him in the night before, now stained burnt orange with dried blood. Her heart fluttered as she stepped onto the cool hardwood floor and looked around the studio, both anxious to find him and fearful of discovering his body.

  The salve was strong, but Jordan didn't think it was strong enough for him to get far in his condition. She remembered something her mother had said once about wounded animals slinking off to die alone and felt worry coiling in the pit of her stomach.

  Taking a deep breath, Jordan slid open the closet she had yet to fill with her clothes. It was still empty. It was a relief in one sense, but it led to even more confusion. There weren't many other places for a cat to hide in the barren apartment.

  A thorough search left her satisfied that he wasn't in the apartment at all, but that only raised more questions. He must have gone out through the open window, which was a good sign for his vitality, but where?

  Jordan quickly threw on a jacket and rushed downstairs, nearly colliding with Mrs. Herrin who was dusting the bannister.

  "Why the rush?"

  "Sorry, Mrs. Herrin," Jordan said, casting a surreptitious glance over her landlady's shoulder. "Hey, um, you haven't seen a cat around, have you?"

  "A cat?" Mrs. Herrin asked, planting her dust rag on her hip. "No, and I'd just as soon not. No pets allowed, remember?"

  "Of course," said Jordan. "No pets here. I just saw a stray yesterday and I was worried about him."

  "Not that I've seen," the landlady said, eying Jordan suspiciously. "Well, go on, no sense in being even later than you already are."

  "Right, thanks," said Jordan, making her exit. "Have a good morning!"

  The woman gave a vague grunt of acknowledgment as Jordan passed through the door. Mrs. Herrin wasn't the warmest soul, but after years of Southern belles who cooed their adoration to your face and spat curses behind your back, Jordan was more than happy to put up with her landlady's aloofness. At least with Mrs. Herrin you knew what you were getting.

  Casting a glance behind her shoulder to make sure she wasn't being watched, Jordan circled the little building and searched the flower beds for any sign of the cat. All she found was a frog and some rose bushes in need of some serious TLC. That would have to be a project for another day.

  Mrs. Herrin's home was rural enough that there were a hundred places where an injured animal might hide in the edges of the forest that surrounded the town, and Jordan set about searching every last one. She expanded her perimeter beyond what she felt a wounded animal loping off to die would have been able to reach and decided that wherever the strange cat was, he was probably fine. That didn't stop the needling sense of responsibility she felt for him, but it was enough to give herself permission to stop at the little diner in town for a much needed break. A full day of searching had nurtured a powerful thirst and left her hungry enough to tolerate the greasy spoon fare.

  The sign inside the packed diner instructed visitors to seat themselves, so Jordan chose one of a few small tables that were open in the back. A few moments later, a statuesque woman in a tight black bun dropped a one-page menu in front of her. A ring of coffee stained the laminate over the specials section.

  "Coffee?" the waitress asked, nodding to the overturned mug in front of Jordan.

  "Do you have tea?"

  The woman lifted an already heavily arched eyebrow and stared in silence that Jordan decided was probably the only answer she was going to get.

  "Coffee would be great then, thanks. I’ll have the blueberry pancakes and some over easy eggs, too.”

  “You got it,” the waitress said unenthusiastically, flipping her notebook closed before she took off into the kitchen. Ten minutes later, she returned with a plate of food to save Jordan from the awkwardness of being gawked at by everyone else in the room.

  Cindy hadn't been kidding about Cold Creek not getting newcomers often. Then again, the isolation had been the town's major draw. There were no major factories, no famous landmarks and no celebrities tucked away in the quaint green hills. Accordingly, there was no reason for her father to seek her out in the tiny, unremarkable town. Hopefully Jordan herself would be as unremarkable to the town’s residents before long.

  Jordan paid no attention when the bell above the door signaled the entrance of another customer. At least, not until he called her by name.

  She looked up sharply and her stomach churned as she saw the vet making a beeline for her, holding a stack of papers. Her fight or flight instincts kicked in, but she sat there frozen like a child who had just been singled out by an angry teacher in front of the class.

  "What the hell is wrong with you?" the veterinarian demanded, slamming the papers down on the table in front of Jordan. Her coffee sloshed onto the placemat.

  Jordan stared at him for a moment, lost until he held up the newspaper in his hand. Her heart sank as she saw the headline of the Oakwood Gazette, the local tabloid from the last town she had run from. "Local Girl Heals Sick With Modern Day Magic. Miracle Worker Or Charlatan?"

  The veterinarian’s face was both triumphant and accusatory as he watched Jordan read. “I thought you were just another bleeding heart whack job until I looked you up."

  Jordan’s irritation momentarily exceeded her fear and she snatched the paper from his hands. "You had no right--"

  "Oh, I had every right to look you up after you stole an injured animal from my office," he snapped.

  Everyone was staring again, this time with more than a passing interest in the newcomer. It was probably the most drama the little town had seen in decades, and Jordan was at the center of it.

  Perfect.

  “I didn’t want him to die there,” she said, her voice trembling almost as badly as her hands. At least she could hide those in the pockets of her skirt.

  "I was going to put him out of his misery," the vet replied. "You had no right to put him through that."

  “Well, he at least deserved a chance!"

  "A chance with what, your magic potions?" he taunted. “What do you do, wander from one small town to another to prey on desperate people and animals?"

  "I never took a dime from anyone in Oakwood," said Jordan, her breath growing shallow as she backed away from him. Even the waitress was staring at them, slack-jawed. "You don't know what you're talking about."

  "Then enlighten me, because the way I see it, you're either one hell of a snake oil salesman or you really believe this hocus pocus bullshit. Either way, the last thing this town needs is someone like you."

  Jordan flinched at his words as she fumbled for a bill in her purse. "No change," she mumbled to the waitress, tossing the money on the table with her half-eaten breakfast before making a beeline for the door.

  A strong hand gripped Jordan's arm and nearly jerked her off her feet. "We're not finished," the vet growled, every bit as fe
ral in that moment as the animals he treated. "Not until you tell me what you did with the cat."

  Jordan pulled her arm away and spun to face him, tears stinging her eyes. "I cleaned his wounds, gave him one of my 'hocus pocus' salves and when I woke up, he was gone."

  “So he crawled off to die alone, then.”

  "I looked for his body all day," she replied. "He had to be healthy enough to get out of a second-story window, jump off my balcony and go from there. If you're going to press charges, fine. Otherwise, just leave me alone," Jordan said, finally managing to wrest her arm from his grasp.

  The vet stared at her, his brow furrowed. After a long moment of consideration, his shoulders fell and he shook his head. "I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you really are just some true believer who thought she was doing the right thing. So I won’t press charges. Just remember, I don't do second chances."

  "I'm forever in your debt," Jordan snarked, convinced that she would rather have spent the night in a jail cell than deal with the withering stares she was receiving from the other customers in the diner. The narrow path to the door seemed to stretch on forever, but she finally made it outside. She gasped for the breath she'd been holding and the crisp night air stung her lungs as she quickened her pace and headed back to Mrs. Herrin's. The moon loomed overhead and even though Jordan normally felt soothed by its gentle glow, it seemed ominous in the aftermath of such an awkward encounter.

  When she finally made it back to the apartment, Mrs. Herrin was still in the downstairs hallway. The stern, judgmental look on her face made Jordan wonder if somehow she knew what had happened at the diner. News traveled fast in a small town, but surely not that fast.

  "Hi, Mrs. Herrin. Is everything okay?"

  "Oh, just fine," she said, pausing for a long moment. "You know, I may be a dreary old widow, but I'm not dead. If you're going to have gentleman callers over, there's no need to sneak around like a teenager."

  Jordan stared at her, blinking. "Oh," she said, feeling her cheeks grow warm. The vet must have come looking for her at home before tracking her down at the diner. She decided to at least be grateful that he hadn't told Mrs. Herrin the true reason for his visit. She’d rather her landlady think she had a one-night stand than think that she went from one town to the next scamming people and catnapping dying animals. "It's really not like that, I promise. And it won't happen again."

  Mrs. Herrin didn't look convinced, but she went back into her apartment anyway.

  "Have a good night," Jordan called, slinking up the stairs.

  "I'm sure you will," Mrs. Herrin snorted, disappearing into her home before Jordan could argue.

  Jordan groaned, fumbling for her keys. Her hands were still trembling from the ordeal at the diner. Her new start was not off on a good foot.

  Three

  The apartment was exactly as Jordan had left it, but the window was open again. Jordan was sure that she had closed it before leaving to look for the cat. She walked over to close and lock it for good measure before disappearing into the bathroom. A hot shower soothed her aching muscles but did little to wash away the humiliation of her encounter at the diner.

  After getting out of the shower, Jordan combed through her long tresses and examined her appearance. She had always been pear shaped, but she’d finally managed to purge her mother’s needling criticism of her figure from her thoughts. Most days. Despite being everything both of her parents had tried to keep her from becoming, including voluptuous, Jordan was happy with herself. Years of therapy had convinced her that the more Byron and Marla Hurlow would have disapproved of the woman she’d become, the better off she was.

  Jordan wrapped herself in the plush white robe she had unpacked only the morning before. She eyed the pile of boxes waiting on the other side of the studio and decided to hold off a bit longer on unpacking them. After all, the chances of being run out of town by an angry mob were a bit too high to get settled in.

  Sleep was a far more enticing option anyway, but when she came out of the bathroom, Jordan discovered that her bed was far from empty. A man with long white hair was casually draped across her bed, completely nude save for the convenient placement of one of her throw pillows. He was so tall that his feet dangled off the edge as he laid propped up on his elbow and toyed with a loose thread on her comforter.

  Jordan stood frozen, too shocked to react. When eyes so green they glimmered like jewels locked on her, she knew it was too late. The intruder stood to his full height, his head nearly brushing the ceiling of her converted attic apartment. Even though his hands fell by his sides in a nonthreatening posture, Jordan found herself assessing the likelihood that she could beat him to the door. She was almost glad fear had kept her too paralyzed to scream. The only other person around was Mrs. Herrin, and she didn't want to alert the intruder to the helpless older woman's presence by calling for her.

  Without a word, the strange man stepped closer. His silken hair was too perfectly white to be a natural color, yet there wasn't a trace of darkness at his roots. On closer inspection, she was horrified to realize that his eyes weren't just the color of a cat's but the same shape as well. She tried to tell herself they were just theatrical contacts, but they shrunk so realistically as he stepped underneath the light that she began to doubt the only reasonable explanation.

  "S-stay back," Jordan stammered, finding her voice once the stranger was too close to dismiss as an illusion.

  To her amazement, he halted in his steady approach.

  "I'm not going to hurt you," he said in a surprisingly gentle voice for someone so imposing. The contrast was so unsettling it made her shiver. His statuesque body and almost feminine facial features reminded her too much of the awful weeping angel statues in her church's graveyard. Jordan had always feared them as a child and now it seemed that one had come to life. The intruder was even beautiful in the same ethereal, almost grotesque way the statues were. "After all," he continued in a melodic voice, "you did save my life."

  Jordan stared at him in bewilderment. The words of a madman rarely made sense, she supposed. "I don't even know you."

  "Maybe not, but I know you, Jordan--or should I say, Alyssa? I've been watching over you for some time."

  She tried to swallow but the coffee had left her mouth dry. "How do you know that name?"

  His stone lips curved into a slight smile. "I know everything about you. For instance, I know your father's name is Byron Hurlow and he was once a preacher at the Rockport Redemption Fellowship in Little Rock, Arkansas. I know you've been running for a little over two years now, and I know that you fear angels more than anything except maybe hurting the ones you love." His cat eyes narrowed and his voice lowered to a knowing tone as he said, "I also know about the fire."

  Jordan took a step back only to trip into a stack of boxes behind her. Before she could save herself, the man caught her and rested his hands on her shoulders, keeping a slight distance between them. She marveled at the bizarre display of propriety in the midst of such threatening behavior, but she didn't complain. His skin was surprisingly warm.

  "Be careful," he murmured. "You always were a klutz."

  He said it so casually, as if they were old friends. "Who are you?" she asked shakily. "How could you possibly know about the --"

  "The fire?" he offered. "Like I said, I've been watching you for a very long time."

  "Are you an angel?" Jordan asked, pleading internally for the answer to be no.

  The tall, white-haired man gave a low chuckle. "Not quite. You may call me Hermes, but who and what I am isn't nearly as important as who you are--and what I can do for you."

  "You could start by putting on some clothes, Hermes,” Jordan said warily. That definitely didn’t sound like the name of any angel she’d ever heard of. More like a witch. Or worse, a sorcerer.

  Hermes looked down at himself and laughed. It was a surprisingly soft sound. "My apologies. It's been so long since I've been around humans in this form that I forget my man
ners." He reached for the loose sheet on her bed and tugged it free in one deft motion before wrapping it around his waist. While the modesty was an improvement, it only made him resemble a stone angel all the more. "Better?"

  "Much," she said, flustered. "You're really not going to hurt me?"

  "Hurt you? I'm here to help you," he replied matter-of-factly. "I can start by helping you get revenge on the man who humiliated you tonight."

  She blinked. "You were at the diner?"

  "Of course. I wasn't quite as tall as I am now, though, so it's no surprise you didn't see me."

  "I don't want revenge," Jordan said, too afraid to ask him to clarify his strange remark.

  "Hm, no, that's not really your style," Hermes mused. "Not over something so petty, at least."

  Jordan stared at him in uncomfortable silence for a moment. "Earlier, when you said something about 'this form,' what did you mean?"

  He smirked. "I could tell you, but I find a visual demonstration often works better. Alleviates some of the, 'But that's impossible!' formalities and lets us cut right to the chase. After all, the full moon doesn't last forever."

  His words only caused more confusion, but before she could protest, he was gone. There was no dramatic transformation and not even a puff of smoke. He simply wasn't there anymore and the only trace that he ever had been was the crumpled sheet on the floor.

  The sheet began to move and the white cat's head popped out. Familiar green eyes blinked back at Jordan's astonishment and the creature let out a knowing meow as he untangled himself from the sheet and trotted over to rub against her leg. He pawed at her tights and she reluctantly bent to pick him up, taking the opportunity to examine his side.

  The cat's white fur was pristine without a trace of blood or the horrible gash from the night before. It was enough to eclipse her shock from the strange man's impossible disappearance. Was he some kind of magician? The cat had to be a part of his act.