Wicked Magic (7 Wicked Tales Featuring Witches, Demons, Vampires, Fae, and More)

by Deanna Chase

  Maribel yanked the leaf back and ripped it down the middle. “My, my, not holding back, are we? You just come right out and say if I don’t willingly share the meal, you’ll take it anyway.”

  Daman ignored the shame blistering his ears and folded his arms. “Yes.”

  Maribel pursed her lips, contemplating him for several long moments. Finally, the corner of her mouth twitched. “Well, you can take the food by force,” she said lightly, shrugging one shoulder. “But if you can’t be nice, then I won’t make the dessert I was planning.”

  “What kind of dessert?”

  He absolutely hadn’t meant to say that. Maribel’s lips slid into a full out smile, flashing white teeth.

  “Keep being rude, and you’ll never know.”

  Daman barked out a laugh, the tension between them shattering with the rough, unexpected sound, leaving him feeling lighter than he had in some time. He eyed Maribel, amusement playing with his voice, robbing it of some of its abrasiveness. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

  Maribel startled as if he’d torn her from some deep thought. He leaned closer without meaning to, suddenly very curious about what she’d been thinking so intensely about.

  She started back toward the manor, robbing him of the opportunity to glean any clues. “No. Not really.” She cleared her throat. “When you get angry, I get a bit…nervous,” she admitted. “But I think that would be true of any man of your stature. You simply have a lot of weight to throw around.”

  Daman blinked, slowly starting to follow her. “Are you saying I’m overly large?” He studied himself as he asked the question. He was considerably smaller than he’d be in his dragon form, but he’d never compared his form now with his human form—not in terms of size, at least. Was he larger than a human?

  Maribel started to look him up and down, then seemed to remember he wasn’t wearing any clothes and immediately locked her gaze on his face again. “You are an impressive size.”

  A masculine voice in Daman’s head preened at that last comment, but Daman brushed the innuendo away.

  “You aren’t frightening,” Maribel offered after a few moments of silence. “The…lack of legs is a bit…different.” She shrugged. “But other than that, you’re not all that different from other men. Actually, with your light blue skin and those silver eyes you’re…rather striking.”

  The last words came out in a rush, as if she’d had to work up her courage to say them. A rush of pleasure curled upward inside of him and he moved closer to Maribel. A sudden bolt of realization struck him, logic rearing its ugly head.

  Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me. There is no reason to believe that this seduction is any more sincere than her sister’s.

  “This form was not meant for attracting a mate,” Daman said, carefully putting more distance between them. “This is an in-between form. The more powerful of my people can hold this form mid-transformation, but for most it is merely passed through during the shift from human to dragon. And even the most powerful of my people never held this form for great lengths of time.”

  “Why not?”

  Daman clenched his teeth. “Because it requires a great deal of focus and energy to balance the mind of a man and the mind of a dragon. It is…challenging at the best of times. To remain in between for so long…” He didn’t want to finish the sentence. There was no need.

  “And you’re trapped in this form because of a curse?”

  Daman opened the door to the kitchen and gestured for Maribel to precede him inside. “Yes.”

  “That seems like a strange curse.”

  A heavenly aroma filled the room, curling into Daman’s senses until his stomach rumbled loud enough to drown out the unpleasant thoughts being stirred by the unfortunate turn in conversation. Maribel went to the stove and Daman noted with interest that she’d already set out two bowls. Apparently, she’d taken his suggestion that they dine together seriously from the beginning. She ladled stew into each of them and brought them to the table.

  “Why did the witch curse you?” Maribel asked as she sat down.

  A surge of temper interrupted Daman’s appreciative inspection of the red wine infused broth flowing around tender bits of meat, carrots, and potato. “Because I would not give her what she wanted. She was a spoiled, selfish woman and she wanted me to give her a comfortable life. She wanted to rule over my manor and lands, to immerse herself in wealth she had not earned. She used trickery to gain access to my home, and after I discovered her lies, she tried seduction. The curse was her revenge for my rejection.”

  “So now you hate all witches.”

  Daman picked up his fork and stirred his stew, avoiding eye contact. Maribel wasn’t ready to hear the truth about her sister, that much was obvious. He would have to earn her trust before she would even begin to be open to the truth. And that wasn’t likely, all things considered.

  “I do not hate all witches. But I do think that the ability to use magic brings a great responsibility that few are truly prepared for. It is too easy to let one’s fears and needs rule your decisions, and with magic at one’s command, a great deal of damage is often the result.”

  Maribel dropped her gaze a little too quickly, failing to hide the flinch that twisted her features. Daman smothered the desire to push her, to find out if that look meant what he hoped it might—that Maribel herself had concerns about her sister’s magic.

  “This stew is excellent,” Daman said instead.

  Maribel perked up, a small, pleased smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “I’m glad you like it.”

  “Indeed. The vinegar complements the garlic nicely.”

  “An impressive palate,” Maribel observed.

  “My sense of taste in this form is extremely developed. In many ways it can replace my sense of smell. I can follow an enemy’s scent by tasting the wind the same way a wolf might use its nose.” He paused, his mind flowing back to a time his manor had been full of people, friends and servants alike. He could practically hear the bustling sounds of an active kitchen, Moira’s voice bellowing the way only a head cook could. “I think perhaps this is something I missed most,” he said, slowly prodding at a chunk of beef. “The meals my cook used to prepare.” He cleared his throat. “And the company.”

  Maribel’s attention fell to her bowl. “Yes, you mentioned that you isolated yourself—that you didn’t feel you were safe to be around.”

  Daman’s spirits sank. The question he’d avoided was hanging in the air between them now, weighted and foreboding. Maribel’s unspoken inquiry echoed in the silence. If it’s not safe to be around you, why are you keeping me here?

  He tried to think of something to say that wasn’t the truth. Telling her that he’d demanded her father bring his daughter because he’d been expecting Maribel’s sister and he’d wanted revenge on the witch would not endear him to Maribel. And telling her that he’d kept her here after realizing she wasn’t who he’d thought she was because…

  Why had he kept her here? Why hadn’t he sent her home?

  Because you want her here.

  The thought threatened to set off a chain reaction, and Daman barely kept himself from letting himself admit more than he should. “If I thought you were in danger from me, I would send you away,” he said finally, feeling his words out carefully. He met her eyes, willing her to believe him even as he willed himself to believe what he was saying. “I would never hurt you, Maribel.”

  Maribel held his gaze, her blue eyes boring into him as if weighing the truth of his words. Finally she nodded. “All right. I’ll trust you then. Until you give me a reason not to.”

  Chapter Eight

  Maribel shrank away from the sides of a dark cave. Solid rock rose up all around her, cold and damp. Moisture hung in the air, coating her skin in a layer of slime and infusing her body with a bone-numbing chill. She rubbed her arms, but no amount of friction could chase away the icy touch, the eerie grip of air that had never seen the sun. T
here was water nearby, a lake, or perhaps a stream. The bubbling sounds called out to her, beckoned her like a familiar voice.

  Stones scattered as Maribel stumbled, her hand scrabbling along the slick stone as she carefully moved through the darkness. Her heart pounded out a staccato beat, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up.

  There was danger here.

  The darkness thinned, chased back by a glow from somewhere ahead of her. Maribel moved faster, careful not to trip over anything even as something inside her screamed at her to get closer to the light, to hurry. She tumbled into a new cavern.

  Light radiated from the bottom of a lake, the rays blunted by the watery depths. The water was a crystalline blue, shining as though sunlight streamed down on it, though there was no discernible source of light inside the cave. Something thick and silvery, coated with scales, slid under the water. Ripples flowed to the edge, making the water lap gently at the smooth rock. Despite the strangeness of the scene, there was something mesmerizing about that lake. Maribel wandered closer, floating as if in a dream.

  Water gushed upwards as something reared from the depths of the lake. Maribel’s heart stuttered and her breath became a solid weight in her lungs. Whatever was thrashing up out of the lake, it was enormous. Shining scales reflected the light and a large snout opened to reveal rows of needle-sharp teeth. Reptilian eyes glittered at Maribel as the sinewy draconic body twisted in the air and dove at her. She screamed. Something jerked the monster back. It bellowed in rage as some invisible forced dragged it back under the water.

  Maribel’s heart beat with bruising force against her chest. It hurt to breathe. She held her hands to her skin as if she could physically hold her heart inside her body. The surface of the water foamed where the beast had crashed back down into the depths, and she could still make out the heavy body roiling under the surface. Angry.

  “It can’t escape.”

  The voice ripped Maribel’s attention from the water and brought a scream rising into her throat. She whirled around, falling over as her feet slid on the slippery rock. She landed hard, crying out in pain as her entire body jarred with the force of hitting solid rock. Chains rattled against stone and something about that sound sent the terror inside of her spiraling out of control. She let out a broken sob and scrambled away from the lake and the wall where the voice had come from.

  The sound of the chains abruptly stopped.

  “I’m sorry,” the voice said softly. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I only wanted you to know the beast will not harm you. Cannot harm you.”

  Maribel’s bottom lip trembled as she fought the burn of tears. She sniffed, hating how the sound gave her away, broadcast her fear so clearly for the stranger. He remained silent for awhile, letting her compose herself. After a long minute, her eyes finally adjusted to the dimmer light away from the lake.

  A man was chained to the wall. Lean muscles cast sharp shadows on his arms, chest, and legs. His skin, what she could see of it, was pale. Not the ghostly pallor of illness, but an ethereal shade that reminded Maribel of fey creatures she’d only seen in books of fairy tales. Golden blond hair was cut short, close to his head on the sides, but sticking up at the top, mussed in a way that suggested he often ran his hands through it. Maribel sucked in a breath as wicked thoughts leapt into her mind, an image of what it might be like to run her own hands through that hair. He was beautiful, like carved marble brought to life by the gods. She wished he would look at her so she could see if his eyes were as perfect as the rest of him.

  “Who are you?” she whispered.

  “A prisoner,” the man replied.

  Maribel tore her attention from his physique, noticing the chains holding his wrists and ankles. The metal appeared black in the dim light, an abomination against all that perfect, pale skin. “Whose prisoner?”

  His shoulders tensed and his head twitched as if he’d started to face her, but then he kept his face locked firmly on the cave floor. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  Maribel crossed her arms over her chest as the air around her grew even colder. Goosebumps spread over her arms like darkness swallowing the evening sky. A trembling rattled her entire body as she huddled on the floor. “Why wouldn’t I believe you?”

  “It’s someone you trust. Only when that trust is broken will we be free.”

  “Who? Whose trust?” Maribel demanded, a sour feeling curling up in the pit of her stomach. “Who’s we?”

  Maribel’s eyes flew open and immediately shut again. The morning sunlight streaming through her window seemed determine to drill into her eyes until she couldn’t see, stabbing at her from the sky like a vengeful spirit. She growled and rolled over. Too awake now to go back to sleep, she sat up and slid her legs over the side of the bed.

  The images from the nightmare taunted her, filling her mind with questions she had no answers to. She’d had the same nightmare for the last three nights, and she was no closer to understanding it now than she’d been before.

  An uneasy feeling crawled up her spine as she considered the fact that the nightmares had started the night after she’d told Daman she trusted him.

  “You look upset. Is everything all right?”

  Maribel squeaked and grabbed the sheet from the bed. She nearly wrenched her arm out of the socket yanking it closer to cover herself and her flimsy nightclothes as she frantically searched the room for the source of the voice. It was feminine, so not Daman. But who else was here?

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  The voice was coming…from the wardrobe?

  “Who’s there?” Maribel asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

  “It’s only me.”

  Said the furniture. Maribel inched closer to the wardrobe. With every step, she firmly cemented to herself that there was no such thing as talking carpentry. “Who? Who’s in there?”

  “Well… No one’s in here. It’s just me.”

  Gathering her courage, Maribel grabbed the handle of the wardrobe and flung it open.

  Empty. Nothing but clothing greeted Maribel’s gaze, and there weren’t so many gowns that it wouldn’t have been obvious if someone were hiding in there.

  “That was a bit rude,” the wardrobe chastised her gently. “After all, I don’t go around flinging your arms to the sides, now do I?”

  Maribel leapt back. “You… I… You…” She closed her mouth and blinked. “No, this isn’t right.”

  “Well, I can’t really argue with you there,” the wardrobe admitted. “Perhaps there’s a lesson in there for magic users.”

  I’m still dreaming. Dear gods, please, tell me I’m still dreaming. Maribel closed her eyes and rubbed her temples in slow, soothing circles. “I’m talking to furniture,” she mumbled. “I’ve been alone too long.”

  “Well, you’re not alone, are you?”

  There was a certain sly tone in the wardrobe’s voice that raised Maribel’s eyebrows. “And exactly what are you insinuating?”

  “I’m not really insinuating anything. I’m only saying that you and the master have gotten very close.”

  “And how would you know that?” Maribel tightened the sheet around her. “I most certainly have not entertained him in my bedroom.”

  “The brownies are a gossipy bunch. Apparently the teapot was full of stories.”

  “The teapot,” Maribel said flatly.

  The wardrobe hummed confirmation. “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” she agreed. “And apparently you are quite the cook.”

  Maribel averted her eyes then jerked her gaze back with a scowl. I will not be embarrassed by furniture. She eyed the wardrobe, its pristine white paint and expertly crafted doors far too normal for the situation. If she had any respect for her sanity, she would leave now. Get dressed, and be off on her merry way—perhaps to the kitchen or the garden.

  On the other hand, it couldn’t hurt to linger a moment in this nice room Daman had been kind enough to provide
her. And it wasn’t as if she didn’t know for a fact that magic existed. Was it truly so much of a stretch that this wardrobe had been gifted with the ability to speak? Besides, perhaps it would be nice to have someone to confide in. Someone she could be sure wouldn’t go gallivanting about the town spouting her private business. Maribel cleared her throat, trying not to think about the fact that she was taking on an inanimate object as a confidant.

  “I’m only here for my father.” She crossed her arms and stuck her chin out. “It was my fault he was here, my fault he made Daman so angry. It would have been wrong for him to be the one to stay here. Of course I would go home if I could, that’s where I belong, after all.” She looked around the room, taking in the rich furnishings and comforts that had been provided for her. Her shoulders sagged. “Not that he’s been a bad host, necessarily. The past few days have been…nice.”

  The wardrobe didn’t move, but nevertheless gave the impression of listening closely.

  “I…” Maribel paused, snagging her lower lip between her teeth as she stared into space, her mind flowing over the past week or so. “He’s in such a foul mood most of the time, but it almost seems…involuntary. It’s like he wants to be nice, but he’s…” Her shoulders slumped. “I can’t think of any other way to say it. He’s just in a bad mood, all the time.”

  “All the time?”

  “Well, not all the time.” Maribel smiled. “He’s actually quite pleasant when he sits out in the garden with me.” She glanced at the wardrobe. “I suppose you wouldn’t know, but Daman gave me a very large plot of land. He said I can plant whatever I wish. He even asked the brownies to bring me some seedlings.”

  “How lovely.”

  A pleasant warmth blossomed in Maribel’s heart the more she thought about it. “In the garden with me, he’s happy. Sometimes he helps me with the planting, but other times he seems content to lie there in the sun and talk with me.”

  “Well, he is a reptile,” the wardrobe noted. “Sunning is what reptiles do. My memories of being a tree are old, to be sure, but I remember all manner of snakes and lizards creeping out of the brush to sun themselves on rocks on days the weather was warm like this.”