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

by Deanna Chase

  Maribel twisted against him as he rose and he bit back a groan as her body pressed harder against his. He was suddenly painfully aware of the fact that he was once again naked—not having planned on having a visitor during his swim. If Maribel didn’t let go and let him get some space between their bodies, she was going to get a lot more than she’d bargained for. That thought inspired an interesting image and he half-choked as he shoved it away.

  “They don’t have to mean anything,” he added, hating the tinge of desperation creeping into his voice.

  “My sister is a witch, and I have some abilities too.” Maribel tightened her grip stubbornly. “The dreams might mean something.”

  “Your kind are not known for prophecy.” Daman groped behind himself, trying to get a grip on Maribel’s legs so he could peel her off of him.

  “Witches are human.” Maribel pressed closer against him, fighting his attempts to lever her away. “If my sister is a witch, what makes you so sure I’m not?”

  “You’re not a witch,” he huffed, “you’re a—”

  Daman cut himself off just in time. Maribel stared at him, the sharp look in her eyes telling him she’d caught what he’d said. He groped for some way to distract her, something that would cover his slip.

  “What were you going to—”

  “Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to wrestle with a naked man?”

  Maribel’s muscles went slack, allowing Daman to wiggle free. He set her on the ground and hurriedly retreated to a safe distance, far enough away that she couldn’t grab him again, but not so far that she accused him of running away. His words had apparently had the desired effect. Maribel stood there brushing at her skirt, her eyes firmly on the ground, on her dress, anywhere but on him.

  “I didn’t realize,” she mumbled. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  Daman cleared his throat, breaking the sudden, awkward silence. “Why don’t we go inside and we’ll see if I can’t manage a meal for you? You’ve been cooking for me since you got here, allow me to return the favor?”

  There may have been a hint of desperation in his tone, but neither of them seemed inclined to comment on it. Maribel busied herself with untying and retying the string of her apron, giving the task significantly more concentration than it merited. Apparent relief dragged her shoulders down when Daman moved ahead of her. She followed quietly behind him.

  The silence was not as comforting as he’d expected it to be and Daman found himself wishing he could see her face.

  “There really is nothing wrong with you, you know.” She kept her voice light, conversational. “Man or beast, it doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t be so ashamed of your form.”

  “I am not ashamed of my form,” Daman said stiffly, giving her a pointed look over his shoulder.

  Maribel shrugged. “You’re extremely sensitive about it. As a matter of fact, you seem determined to make it a point of contention between us.” She focused fully on him, blue eyes severe. “But I’m not going to accommodate you. I will not pretend I give one whit about your tail.”

  Difficult woman. Though it is impressive she said tail without blushing. Daman ran a hand over his face. “My form is not the problem. It’s…” He paused, trying to think of some way to explain his situation to make her understand. “Have you ever known a werewolf? Not a loup garou, but a true lycanthrope?”

  Maribel’s eyes widened. “No.”

  “Pity,” Daman muttered. “Well, lycanthropes and nagas share a certain similarity in that we are dual creatures. Just as a lycanthrope is neither man nor beast, but something in between, so are nagas not wholly man but not wholly dragon. We have two forms, and they are separate, but even when we are one, we are no less the other.”

  “I…see.”

  Her tone made it perfectly clear that she did not see, did not understand. Frustration plucked at Daman’s nerves like an archer’s bow, threatening to launch his temper like a poison-tipped arrow straight into the heart of this budding conversation. He filled his lungs with the crisp spring air, furiously working to hold an image of his meditation candle in his mind. When he could see the candle flame without it exploding into a raging bonfire, he tried again.

  “My dragon form is for hunting, for battle. When I am a wyvern, I am fighting to protect someone or something that I hold dear. When I am living my everyday life, eating, sleeping, conversing with friends and family, I am in my human form. This is not to say that when I am a wyvern, I am a mindless beast, nor to say that when I am human I have none of the wyvern’s senses or instincts. However, staying in wyvern form when there is no threat of danger is like asking a warrior to stand in full battle regalia with his weapon in hand to go and purchase a loaf of bread. There is a certain…mindset that comes with this form, and it is not something so easily thrown off.”

  “You said you used to have people around you, friends and servants. You said you had to send them away.”

  A vice tightened around Daman’s heart as he thought of those days. Men who’d fought beside him, who’d helped him rescue changelings and smuggle them to their new homes, had been forced to leave. “Many of them wanted to stay. Their faith in me was such that they couldn’t imagine me bringing them harm.”

  Maribel swallowed hard. “Did you?”

  Her voice was whisper soft, but the question hit Daman with the force of a much heavier blow. Bad enough to know that deep down she believed him capable of the same level of violence that he himself feared, but her question raised memories he’d been trying to forget.

  “I sent them away for good reason.”

  He held the door to the kitchen open for her and she preceded him inside, seating herself at the table. For a moment, Daman allowed himself to think the subject had been dropped. Unfortunately, the tension in her shoulders told him the unpleasant part of the day was not yet over.

  “Why do you want me here?”

  Daman closed his hand, the tomato he’d been holding exploding in a mess of pulp and seeds. He flicked the mess away in sharp, angry motions, splattering juice over every nearby surface. “I told you that you’re free to go.”

  A small sound escaped Maribel’s throat, an interesting sound somewhere between a growl and a yelp of protest. Daman glanced over his shoulder to see her gripping the edge of the table, her lips pressed together in a firm line. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, but there was a tightness in her jaw that spoke of frustration.

  That same traitorous hope that had taunted him earlier burned as merrily as a holiday hearth fire. He clutched the rag he’d been using to sop up the tomato juice on his hands so hard that the fabric tore on his claws. “Do you want to stay?” he demanded gruffly.

  “I have a sister at home who needs me.” Maribel raised her eyes then, blue orbs glittering with silent fury. “A sister who’s too sick to care for herself. I left her because I had to—I did it because she needs my father more than she needs me. I wouldn’t have left her if I didn’t have to.”

  An answering fury flickered inside Daman at the unspoken accusation. He slid closer, stopping at the edge of the table, gripping the wood to keep himself from coming any closer to her.

  “Yes, I understand, I’m a monster for tearing you away from your meek and innocent sister. I’m offering to let you go back to her—”

  “Stop assuming you know what I want!”

  Maribel shot up from her seat, her chair flying back to crash against the wall. She stormed around the table, charging him like an angry bull. For a moment, he thought she was going to slap him again, but she stopped short of arm’s reach.

  “Maybe I want to know why I was forced to make that choice to begin with!” She jabbed a finger at him, her hand shaking. “Maybe I want to know what’s behind your sudden change of heart. Why you’re suddenly only too eager to throw me away, to let me go now that you’ve flipped my world upside-down.”

  “Maybe you should stop asking questions you do not want the answers to.” Daman slid forward, crowding her, raising himse
lf higher as if he could scare her away and end this interrogation. Damn her, why was she so stubborn? Why did she have to push him now, now that he actually cared if he hurt her feelings?

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  The words hovered on the tip of Daman’s forked tongue. Oh, how he wanted to tell her. He wanted Maribel to know the truth about her sister, wanted her to know the truth about what Corrine was capable of. But no matter how strong his desire to make Maribel understand, he was no fool. Maribel’s loyalty to her sister would not be shattered so easily, and he had no proof.

  Daman lowered himself back down to his normal height, his shoulders sagging in defeat. “I’m going for a swim. Please don’t follow me this time.” He tried to go around her.

  “I will follow you.” Maribel side-stepped to stay in front of him. “I will follow you this time and every other time until you tell me why you wanted me here.”

  A dull pounding started in the base of his skull. He flexed his fingers at his sides, fighting to keep his arms down even as part of him wanted to grab her, rattle her, force her to see the truth. “Maribel, let it go.”

  “Not until you tell me.”

  This time when she raised a finger to point at him, she did poke him. She jabbed her finger into the center of his chest, her fingernail dragging along the scales on the center ridge, the one that led straight down. Before he was aware of what he was doing, Daman had snatched her wrist, had closed his fingers around it and hauled her closer. He put his face mere inches away from her own, searching her eyes for something he could reason with.

  “What does it matter? I told you that you can go home, what does it matter why I brought you here?”

  “Because coming here changed everything!” Maribel shouted.

  The fervor in her voice made him lean back to see her face. Maribel glared at him and moved closer, not giving him an inch. The pulse at her neck fluttered, and Daman didn’t have to taste the air to know she was near tears. He could see the telltale glimmer in her eyes and when she spoke, he could hear the thickness in her voice.

  “I was at peace with the life I had, and now I don’t know if I can go back. I was used to caring for my sister, putting aside my own dreams to make sure she was safe and happy. Then I came here. You freed me from responsibilities I was too guilty to even dream about abandoning, gave me a taste of a life I didn’t think I could have, didn’t think I should have.” She tore her wrist from his grasp and he let her go, but she didn’t back away. She stood her ground, jutting her chin out at him as if daring him to comment on her tears. “You changed everything for me, and I want to know why.”

  Daman’s stomach dropped. She was right. He’d upended her life, torn her from her family. He’d realized his mistake right away, but instead of rectifying it immediately, instead of sending her home with her father, he’d forced her to stay. He’d told himself it was for her own protection, to keep her away from the witch, but he’d never really believed that. No, he’d wanted her to stay for himself. Because he didn’t want to be alone.

  Selfishness.

  The pain lancing through him hurt too much. He needed to feel something else—anything else. And there was always one emotion waiting for him, ready to welcome him with open arms.

  “It wass ssupposed to be your ssisster. Sshe’ss the one who wass ssuppossed to come here. Sshe would have removed her cursse from me, or elsse I would have finally had my revenge.”

  There. He’d said it. In a foreign, sibilant, inhuman hiss, he’d said it, the truth falling into the space between him and Maribel like boulders crashing down into a still lake, sending ripples of chaos out around them.

  Maribel’s mouth fell open, her brow furrowing over watery eyes. “You… You think Corrine’s the witch that cursed you.”

  “I know sshe’ss the witch who curssed me.” Daman sneered. “Sshe came to me covered in your blood. Sshe desscribed the ssame circumsstancess your father did—I vissited your farm. Your ssisster iss the witch who curssed me, and if it weren’t for you, I would have her here now.”

  Maribel took one halting step back. “No. It’s not true.”

  Daman slid closer, crowding her personal space until she took another step back. “Your ssisster iss ass incompetent a witch ass sshe iss a sseductressss. Like a child lacking even a sscrap of disscipline, sshe threw a tantrum when I refussed her advancess, throwing her sspell like a handful of rockss. Not only did sshe trap me in thiss form, sshe dumped magic over my land.” He watched the conflict dance in Maribel’s vision. “Perhapss you’ve noticced a few sstrange thingss? Talking objectss? A magic rosse?”

  He grabbed her arm, forcing her off balance. A ragged whimper fell from her lips as she put a hand on his chest to catch herself. Her hand touched him and she flinched.

  There. You’ve frightened her. Are you satisfied now?

  He ignored the voice in his head trying to shame him, bit back the apology that tingled on the tip of his forked tongue. He was tired of feeling vulnerable, tired of questioning every word, every gesture, every feeling. He’d been a fool to keep her here. She had to leave, and he had to do whatever it took to make her.

  “You’ve given up your life and your dreamss to pamper your ssisster, and all the while sshe’ss been sseeking a way to leave you behind. And now you’re jusst like her, wanting to usse me to esscape the pitiful circumstancess you’ve created for yoursself.”

  He leaned down until his face was only inches from hers, until his breath whispered across her skin and he could taste her tears in the air between them. “But I will not play thiss game. If you want to leave your ssisster behind, you will have to take that ressponssibility yoursself. I will not give you an excusse any longer.” Some of his anger drained away even as he struggled to hold onto it. He shoved her away, steeling himself against the fresh stream of tears that fell as she stumbled. “Go home, Maribel.”

  Chapter Ten

  Corrine slid the lock on her bedroom door into the closed position. The iron clanked hard against its anchor, a loud, final sound. She strode across the room, not bothering to wait and see if her father came to ask if she was all right. She knew he wouldn’t.

  He knew better now.

  She retrieved the pot of honey she’d tucked away in the small cupboard next to her bed, wrinkling her nose at the way her hand stuck to the jar. Why is it no matter how many times you wipe off a honey container, there’s always just enough residue left to make your fingers sticky? She held her tacky hand out, searching for something to clean it off on so she wouldn’t accidentally get it on her nightgown. The gown was new, her father’s latest attempt to bribe Corrine into the same ignorant bliss that he’d so feverishly embraced. Her fingers tightened on the jar, nails carving grooves in the residue gluing it to her hand. She had no intention of taking the monster’s hush money and leaving him to keep her sister.

  Though she had kept the nightgown.

  She stomped over to the window and shoved it open. The creaking of the old frame and the grinding of the heavy wood against the sill grated on her nerves. Not so much for the noise, but because it was yet another reminder of how her status had remained the same, despite the rise in fortune. The workers who were steadily improving this farmhouse even as they built a new one had steadfastly avoided her room. Not a single shingle had been evened out, not a plank painted, not a hinge oiled. The entire house looked like a picturesque country cottage with her room sticking out like a deformed limb, rotting away from gangrene.

  “If we had moved home, to our proper home,” Corrine ground out, “the people would have better things to do than stew in superstition. No one there gave a flying fig about my illness, no one thought twice about it. They certainly didn’t think I was being seized by demons, that I was…evil.”

  But here, oh, here was different. Country people wallowed in superstition. They left milk and honey out regularly, told horror stories about lights in the forest and dark shapes that moved under the surface of rivers and lakes. It
had taken no more than one of Corrine’s episodes to send the rumor spreading like wildfire in a drought—the farmer’s daughter was a witch.

  At first Corrine had cowered from their ire, but Mother Briar had quickly put a stop to that. Witches must command respect, and if it is not given then it must be taken. She’d coached Corrine, fed her confidence until she could meet the stares of the villagers with an answering stare of her own—and a stare was a great deal different when it came from a witch. As far as they were concerned, every glare from her was the Evil Eye, and they scattered like mice in the path of a hungry cat.

  If she couldn’t be loved, she would be feared. It would be enough. It had to be.

  Corrine shook herself out of the reverie she’d fallen into, disgusted with herself for giving in to self pity. Reminding herself of her goals, she gazed out into the night sky. Searching.

  “Where are you, little one?” she called out, keeping her voice as sweet as possible. “I have something for you.”

  There was a spark of light and something buzzed through the window to swirl around her head like a hyperactive firefly. The glow was faintly pink, and it spiraled around so quickly it could have drawn words in the air with its trail.

  “Is that honey?” came a voice.

  Corrine paused, slowly trying to parse out what the creature had said in her annoyingly high, squeaky tone. “Honey, yes. I have some honey for you. That is, if you have something for me…?”

  The pixie halted as though it had somehow been crushed against the air, smashed into a smudge on invisible glass. Its eyes bulged as Corrine played her fingers over the lid of the small honey pot. “They’re fighting.”

  Corrine’s eyebrows shot into her hairline. “Fighting? About what?”

  “The female wants to know why dragonman made her come there. Dragonman says it was supposed to be her sister. He says the sister is the one who cursed him.”

  Corrine’s heart nearly stopped in her chest, her fingers going limp. Daman had told Maribel about what Corrine had done? No. No, Maribel couldn’t know about that. Corrine couldn’t bear it. The jar of honey started to tumble to the floor and she had to scramble to catch it as the pixie gasped and dove for it at the same time. Corrine caught it first and yanked it away from the fey. “And what did the woman say?” she demanded, her heart in her throat.