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

by Deanna Chase

  The pixie wrung her hands, eyes locked on the honey. “She’s crying. Be careful you don’t drop that!”

  Crying? Corrine opened the jar and lifted the lid away. In the blink of an eye, the pixie dove into the honey and was instantly covered head to toe in the sticky mess. Corrine cringed and turned away, her thoughts racing.

  “He’s made his play.” She paced the length of her room, nightgown tangling about her legs in a mad dance of silk. “The fight begins. I can’t let him win her. If she believes him…”

  The thought of Maribel finding out about Corrine’s most desperate moment, her most humiliating memory, turned Corrine’s stomach. There were few people in the world right now whose opinion mattered to Corrine, but Maribel was one of them. There had to be a way to get her back.

  Corrine twirled a lock of her long dark hair around a finger, then stiffened as the strands stuck and tugged. She gritted her teeth, remembering the sticky residue she’d forgotten to clean off.

  I. Hate. Honey.

  After taking a moment to regain her composure, Corrine stormed over to her wash basin and dumped some water from the matching pitcher. She washed the lock of hair as best she could, along with both hands. Agitated ripples in the water drew her attention and she stopped. Were her hands trembling? She slowly raised them out of the water, ignoring the rivulets that ran down her arms to wet the silk of her nightgown. Yes. She was shaking.

  Her gaze fell past her hands, down her body. The nightgown that had looked so sleek and decadent to her before now emphasized every sharp angle, every bone stabbing out against her skin. The soft, womanly curves sung about in songs and described with loving detail in poetry were nothing but a cruel dream, something a pathetic urchin like herself could only aspire to. She was starving, wasting away in a wilderness full of frightening monsters and mocking villagers. She was a skeleton draped in expensive cloth. The sick child that should have died in the cradle.

  No, no, no…

  She averted her eyes, not wanting to see herself anymore. Cruel fate dragged her gaze up and across the room to the large mirror hanging on her wall. A memory rose like a zombie from a grave to touch the silver surface of the polished glass. The episode she’d had earlier, her body twitching and unresponsive to her commands as she lay there, forced into a staring contest with her own reflection in the silver tray Maribel used to bring her meals on.

  She’d seen her aura in that reflection. As her father had a hole in his heart, Corrine had a hole in her aura, a gaping mouth on the surface of the shimmering coat of color that fluctuated near-constantly. A bright tube of light led from that hole. It had once connected Corrine to Maribel, but now it was stretched so far, so thin, that Corrine couldn’t feel anything on the other end of that link anymore. There was no energy flowing to her, no taste of Maribel’s presence inside her. She was alone. Vulnerable.

  “Maribel, you’ve ruined me.”

  Slowly, she clenched her hands into fists. “Why did you have to ask for that damned rose? Why did you have to draw his attention?” She bit the inside of her cheek, her throat suddenly closing, her heart twisting in her chest. “He’ll keep you. He’ll keep you or he’ll take you away.” She cleared her throat, warm tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. For a moment, thoughts of magic and illness fell away and an image of her sister hovered in her mind’s eye. Her sister who had always been there for her, always loved her. Her favorite person in the world.

  “Maribel, I miss you,” she whispered.

  Anger rose like an avenging angel, slaying her yearning for her sibling, her pain at being without her company, her laughter, her unwavering support. It hardened her soul, coating it in a protective, impenetrable shell. “She left me,” she reminded herself. “Left without a second thought—wanted to leave. Why should I miss her?”

  She wrapped her fingers into fists. A dull pain throbbed to life in her hands as her burned skin screamed in protest. The pain was a welcome distraction, exactly what she needed to focus on the future instead of wallowing in self-pity. Corrine lifted one of the small jars sitting on the end table. She twisted the lid off and the scent of lavender filled the air. The homemade cream was cool against her fingers as she dipped them in, ignoring the lumps of herbs and firmly rubbing the ointment into her skin. The wounds on her fingers burned, drawing her attention to the myriad of cuts.

  She tried to imagine Maribel’s face if her sister could see Corrine’s hands, see what she’d been reduced to. Without Maribel close enough for the bond between them to let Corrine share her fey energy, Corrine had been forced to brew a different kind of potion to keep her strength up. The only potions strong enough to even come close to the fey power she was missing required powerful ingredients—including blood. Even with the addition of her blood, Corrine could feel the potions growing less and less effective. Mother Briar had told her it was a temporary fix.

  She needed Maribel to come home.

  “What is the dragonman’s temper like these days?” she called out to the pixie, not taking her eyes off her own hands as she continued to rub the healing ointment into her skin.

  “The sprites are back.”

  The pixie made the announcement as if it explained everything and went back to alternately playing in and eating the honey. Corrine pinched the bridge of her nose, the scent of the lavender ointment on her hands doing nothing to alleviate the growing headache pounding in her temples. “And do the sprites say he is in better spirits?” she ventured tiredly.

  “The sprites wouldn’t be there if it was too dangerous,” the pixie scoffed. “They’re cowards.”

  “So he is kind to the woman then? No bouts of temper?”

  “Oh, yes, still bouts of temper. But it doesn’t deter the woman.” The pixie focused sparkling blue eyes on Corrine. “They were kissing.”

  “They were…” A tight, wrenching pain squeezed Corrine’s chest and she closed her eyes. Of course. Of course he would want her. Maribel was a changeling, and Daman had always had a tender spot for changelings. Why shouldn’t Maribel succeed where Corrine had failed? Why shouldn’t Daman want her, kiss her, when he had cast Corrine aside like so much garbage?

  “Are you sick?”

  Corrine opened her eyes in time to see the pixie—still covered in thick, viscous honey—march over her coverlet to plop down on her lap. The miserable pest left a sticky trail all the way from the windowsill across the bed, and the sweet substance was now soaking into Corrine’s silk nightgown. The fabric was ruined.

  “Yes, little one, I am sick.” Corrine snatched up the pixie, drawing a shriek of indignation from the creature. More disgusting honey oozed between her fingertips as she rose to her feet. “I’m sick of being pathetic. I’m sick of relying on others to keep me safe, to keep me alive.” She tightened her grip. “I’m sick of needing anyone.”

  The creature in her grasp suddenly morphed into a scorpion, black insect body shining, and wickedly sharp stinger raised and ready to strike. A drop of amber venom beaded on the tip of its barbed tail.

  “Save your glamour for someone who is unfamiliar with your kind,” Corrine sneered.

  The pixie snarled as she gave up the glamour, once again becoming the tiny person-shaped creature with translucent wings. “Let me go!”

  Corrine stalked over to her wardrobe and tore it open, nearly ripping the door off its hinges. She retrieved a small birdcage, which she then opened so she could deposit the pixie inside. “Try to escape,” she warned, “and the next place you go will be forged of iron.”

  The pixie scowled at her, sitting on the floor of the cage in a sticky honey puddle. “This was not part of our arrangement.”

  “I’m changing the arrangement.” Corrine’s mind danced over her options like a honeybee in a field of flowers. “I’m changing a lot of things.”

  There was much to do. After tucking the cage safely to the side, Corrine quickly washed her hand and gathered a few gowns from her wardrobe. She dragged a bag out from underneath the bed�
�the same bag she’d packed with her most precious clothes the day she’d had to leave her last home—her real home. She paused, staring down at the bag.

  A memory flashed into her head. For a moment she was back in Daman’s manor, standing beside him still covered in her sister’s tacky, drying blood. He’d been so gentle with her then, so incredibly kind. He’d led her to that room and opened a wardrobe filled with beautiful gowns, each one more stunning than the last. All for her.

  She slowly pulled the bag off her bed and went back to her wardrobe. Her potions rattled as she loaded them into the satchel, speaking to the pixie without looking up.

  “What weakens a fey besides iron?”

  The pixie crossed her tiny honey-thickened arms. “Why should I tell you?”

  Corrine slid an iron file out of her grooming kit. She waved it at the pixie, letting the iron threat speak for itself. “If she’s upset. Will that emotion make her stronger or weaker?”

  The pixie scowled. “Weaker if she’s sad, stronger if she’s mad.”

  Corrine tightened her grip on the file, gritting her teeth as she fought the tremble threatening to rattle her fingers. “And if she’s incredibly happy?”

  That question gave the pixie pause. She tilted her head to the side. “What kind of fey is she?”

  “I don’t know. She’s stronger if she’s outside, and she’s good with plants.”

  The pixie arched an eyebrow. “It would narrow the possibilities down more if she wasn’t good with plants. Your sister’s never told you what she is?”

  “She doesn’t know. She thinks she’s human.” Corrine hesitated, the file drooping in her grip. “I never… I never wanted her to feel like she didn’t belong, so I never said anything. It didn’t matter anyway, she’s my sister no matter where she comes from.”

  The pixie blinked. “But…she’s a grown-up now. You shouldn’t have to tell her, there would be signs, her gifts would be obvious. Is she stupid?”

  “No. There haven’t been any signs.”

  “You’re stupid,” the pixie muttered. “If you think she doesn’t know. No matter what she is, there would be signs. She has obviously been hiding them from you if you don’t know about them.”

  Corrine gripped the cage, squeezing until the bars bent under the pressure. “You would do well not to insult my intelligence,” she said, letting her anger warm her voice. “What if someone had been sharing her energy? Could that mute it enough to hide the signs?”

  The pixie’s gaze intensified with interest. It gave her a sharper appearance, carved more lines in her face, darkened her eyes into solid stones. It was an…unsettling look, and a trickle of unease dripped down Corrine’s spine.

  “You mean if a witch was draining her power?”

  Corrine stiffened. “Not draining. Sharing. Symbiotically.”

  The pixie leaned against the bars of the cage, the motion somewhat predatory and completely at odds with the image of the honey-loving creature she’d been moments ago. “Symbiotically would suggest the fey got something in return. What does a human have to offer a fey?”

  “Not merely a human,” Corrine corrected through clenched teeth. “A witch.”

  The pixie shook her head slowly, that alien stare unnerving, unwavering. “Anyone who needs that sort of bond is too feeble to have anything to offer a fey.”

  Corrine snatched up the cage and swung it at her wardrobe. The metal banged against the solid wood, rattling the pixie until she cried out.

  “My parents thought I would never live to see my first birthday. Did you know that? I wasn’t supposed to live a year! I have not survived this long by being a coward—I have survived because I fight. I know what I want, I know what I need, and I am willing to do whatever I have to do to get it.” The words flew from her, giving her strength as if claiming her courage, affirming her fortitude, somehow made it true. The fragility she’d been so sure of moments ago cowered from the passionate claims spilling from her lips now.

  The pixie clutched at the bars of the cage, her head swaying back and forth as if dizzy. “So what are you going to do?” she demanded, slapping a hand to the side of her head as if to stop it spinning. “March up to the manor and demand the dragonman marry you? That did not work out so well for you last time.”

  “How…” Corrine gritted her teeth. She’d started dealing with the pixie a week ago because they were so very good at gathering information and she’d needed a spy. It shouldn’t surprise her the pixie knew of her past. “I have no intention of trying to marry that beast.”

  “Again,” the pixie added smugly.

  Corrine slammed the cage down on the bed and its already honey-ruined coverlet. “I am going there to get my sister. I’m going to bring her home where she belongs.”

  “You should let her marry the dragonman,” the pixie observed, sprawled like a starfish stuck to the bottom of the cage. “She would give you much money.”

  “I don’t want her money.” Corrine tore at the nightgown, fighting to loosen the ties so she could get it off. “I don’t want to rely on anyone!”

  “You already rely on her,” the pixie pointed out, unperturbed by Corrine’s show of temper. She winced as she pried her head from the floor of the cage, the suction of the honey making an audible sucking sound. “You need her energy, why not take her money too?”

  “I don’t want her energy, I just want—”

  The silken tie on her nightgown broke under the pressure of Corrine’s harried attempts to free herself of the gown. She stared at the string, loose threads curling into the air like the legs of a dead insect. Her eyelid twitched.

  “Oh, boy,” the pixie breathed. “Now, stay calm. It’s going to be all right…”

  Corrine’s vision went red. Her entire body trembled, pulse pounding so hard in her neck it was difficult to swallow. She stepped closer to the cage and the pixie shrieked and tried to scramble away. The honey she’d so willingly coated herself with was slowly thickening to glue, and she was stuck to the floor of her prison. Corrine watched her squirm with a bone-deep satisfaction and stopped a few feet from the bed.

  “I don’t want to rely on anyone, but I need Maribel’s energy. The blackouts are returning and it’s only a matter of time before my flesh starts to rot away. There isn’t enough food to keep me full, not enough blankets to keep me warm. I survived this long only because of the bond I managed to forge with Maribel—without her, I will die.”

  The trembling in her body grew worse and she had the sudden, awful realization that if she didn’t calm down, she was going to plunge herself into another episode. Now was not the time to be helpless. Carefully, slowly, she removed the ruined nightgown. The patch of honey left by the pixie had soaked through to her undergarments, so she removed those too. Naked, she walked over to the wash basin with as much serenity as she could muster and began cleaning herself for what felt like the thousandth time that evening.

  She could feel the pixie’s eyes on her the whole time, though the fey wisely chose to remain silent. For once. Piece by piece, Corrine dressed again, every clean garment, every slide of silk calming her, soothing her frazzled nerves. Finally dressed again, she faced herself in the mirror.

  “Mother Briar has promised to help me,” she said calmly, smoothing her hands down the rich green velvet of her skirt. “All I need is for Maribel to help me get the information she wants, and she’ll teach me stronger magic. I won’t need Maribel’s energy anymore, I won’t…” She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, the tightness of the gown’s bodice holding her in, holding her together even as she thought she would fly apart. “Maribel will help me.”

  “Daman will never betray the location of Mother Briar’s daughter,” the pixie muttered. “The old bat was too cruel to the goblin girl, Daman would never risk her life by telling anyone where she is—not even the woman who transfixes him so.”

  Corrine paused, a sudden thought occurring to her. She slanted a glance at the pixie. “Do… Do you know whe
re the goblin girl is?”

  “No. Nagas are much like their draconic ancestors in their ability to keep a secret. If the naga does not wish for the goblin girl to be found, it would take much to find her.”

  “But you could do it.”

  The pixie shook her head, frowning as her hair stuck to one of the bars of her cage. “No. Even if I wanted to help you—and at the moment I don’t,” she added, looking pointedly at the cage. “I would need help from my brethren. It would take me ages to find her by myself.” She tried to pull her hair free of the bar, the effort drawing the skin from her face until her eyes were mere slits. “And there’s no way I could convince enough of them to help—not when they would be risking the fury of the naga who wished the location to remain a secret.” She grunted.

  Corrine drummed the fingers of one hand against the opposite arm. No help there, then.

  “Well, then I guess there’s only one thing to do.”

  Ignoring the protests from the pixie, she packed the cage and some potions in her satchel and laced it up tight. After giving herself a moment to calm the last of her nerves, she marched to the door, thrust back the lock, and ripped the door open.

  Her father jumped as she stormed into the main room of the cottage on her way to the front door. He was seated in the chair by the fireplace where an episode had struck her and left her lying helplessly with her hand on the hearth. The memory twisted her stomach and Corrine kept moving, determined to keep the memory from sinking its claws in deep enough to slow her down.

  “Corrine,” her father said, wariness in his voice. “Where are you going, child?”

  “To get my sister back.” Her hand tightened on the door handle, the aged metal creaking in her unforgiving grip.