The Cursed Witch: A Paranormal Enemies to Lovers (Nightcaster Chronicles Book 1)

by R. L. Perez

  “I don’t know,” the demon admitted. “But we tell the tale for a reason, Miss Gerrick.”

  “Call me Brielle.”

  I could sense the distaste in his voice when he said, “Ah, I’d rather not.”

  “We’re both in prison and about to die. Formalities are kind of useless down here, don’t you think?”

  He sighed. “Very well, Brielle. The story is passed on for generations of Lilith’s chosen vessel. The marked witch who embodies two souls.”

  I shook my head even though he couldn’t see me. “You speak of my curse like it’s a gift. Like I should be thankful. But I don’t feel strong. I feel weak. Like I’m letting someone else take over my body.”

  “If you’re strong enough to let her in,” the demon said again, his voice surprisingly firm, “then you’re strong enough to push her out.”

  I swallowed. “What’s your name?”

  “Ronaldo Serrano.”

  Something within me splintered and shattered. “What?” I hissed. For the first time in days, my body felt alive with energy. “You’re—you’re Leo’s brother?”

  “You know Leo?” Ronaldo shifted again as if he could scoot closer to me. “How is he? Does he live?”

  I opened and closed my mouth, choking on my words. Finally, I sputtered, “I—yes, he’s alive. But . . . you died. How are you not dead?”

  “I didn’t die,” Ronaldo said bitterly. “But I should have. My sister, Lucia, died in my place. I was trying to rescue her. The Count thought she was Lilith’s vessel, and he abducted her. When I came to rescue her, she—she—”

  “She died,” I whispered.

  “No, not . . . not like that,” he said in a tortured voice. “Lilith claimed her, but she wasn’t strong enough. Her body gave out, rejecting Lilith as a host. Lilith must have moved on to you instead.”

  Horror numbed my body. I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

  Then, I remembered what Ignacio had told me months ago when I’d asked if there had ever been a caster he couldn’t help. Once, he’d said. They died.

  “Tell me of my brother,” Ronaldo said, his voice cracking with desperation. “Please.”

  A sour taste filled my mouth. How was I supposed to tell him I hated his brother’s guts? That the only encounters we’d had were when we’d attacked each other? “He’s . . . strong. Powerful. And he has an odd sense of humor.”

  Ronaldo barked out a laugh, which quickly turned into a fit of coughing. He wheezed so loudly that I jumped.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  He ignored my question. “My brother’s humor always irritated me. But now I long for his ability to make light of dark situations.”

  Something cold settled in my chest. “What did the Count do to you?”

  Ronaldo was silent for a long moment. Then, he whispered, “Something too terrible to speak in a lady’s presence.”

  “I’m not a lady,” I snapped. “I’m a prisoner just like you. Tell me. I’d rather be prepared.”

  Ronaldo hesitated before he said, “He cut me apart. To test my blood and my skin. He—he didn’t tell me why, but I imagine it had to do with my sister and why Lilith marked her as a possible vessel.” He paused. “Then . . .” He drew a shuddering breath. “He forced me to drink the blood of . . . all kinds of creatures. He wouldn’t tell me where the blood came from, but perhaps that’s for the best. I fear . . . I fear he’s given me the blood of my sister.” He broke off with a sob.

  Agony swelled in my gut, and I closed my eyes as Ronaldo’s broken cries echoed in the dungeon.

  “He wanted to see how my body would react to drinking different forms of blood,” Ronaldo went on, sniffing. “When he found blood that left me weaker than normal, he focused on this and now it’s the only sustenance he offers me. My body decays more and more every day.”

  “Do you know what kind of blood it is?” I asked in a hushed voice.

  “Whoever this blood belonged to is no longer living. If it’s from a vampire like me or someone who is deceased, I do not know. But a vampire cannot survive without the blood of living creatures.”

  Ice hardened in my chest. Ronaldo is dying. Leo’s brother is dying.

  “What does the Count want from you? Information about the coven? About Leo?”

  “At first, yes. But he quickly learned I wouldn’t relinquish any such information. Now, I think he sees me as a test subject. One on whom he can experiment to find particular brands of torture for other demons. Demons like my brother.”

  The ice in my chest sharpened like daggers cutting through me. “He wants to use it on Leo.”

  “Yes.”

  I sucked in a shaky breath. Whatever ill feelings I had toward Leo, he was a saint compared to the Count.

  Which was ironic, given how religious the Count claimed to be.

  I opened my mouth to ask Ronaldo another question, but footsteps echoed on the staircase. I stiffened, my eyes wide as I tried to make out who it was. The footsteps multiplied into a muffled scuffling sound. It wasn’t just one person.

  Ronaldo went completely silent on the other side of the dungeon, and I didn’t blame him.

  At long last, the figures approached my cell. The Count stood in front, looking strangely informal without his waistcoat. His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, and his hair was tied behind him. Three mages stood next to him, though I couldn’t make out their faces in the darkness.

  “Miss Gerrick,” the Count said softly, his mouth widening into a disturbing smile. “Shall we begin?”

  25

  Brielle

  I TRIED TO SUMMON MY bravery, but I was too weak to do more than just look at him blankly. The recesses of my mind screamed at me to do something, to lash out or jump at him. To shout insults or spit in his face.

  But I just sat there, my head lolling like a rag doll.

  The Count nodded toward one of the mages, who stepped forward and unlocked my cell door. When he drew closer, I recognized him as Ignacio.

  Though I’d known he’d been a part of this, I naïvely hoped he’d grown fond of me during our trainings together. Fond enough to want to free me. Or to be repulsed by what the Count might do to me.

  But his face was a smooth, blank mask as he swung opened the door and entered my cell. He clasped my arm and hoisted me off my feet. My head spun and I teetered, but Ignacio righted me and guided me out of my cell. His touch was so gentle that it was easy to pretend like he was helping me. Freeing me.

  Until he led me away from the staircase and toward another cell. We passed several other prisoners. Most of them were motionless heaps. Some of them groaned or sobbed. Then, my eyes fell on Ronaldo, who watched us pass with a grim expression. His long hair was dank and matted with grime, blood, and sweat. A jagged, bloody gash ran down his face, and I realized I’d seen him before. When Riker and I had first been down here.

  I struggled against Ignacio’s grip, but I was so weak from hunger and thirst that he barely had to tighten his hold to keep me in place. Some small part of me registered that I was no longer within the enchanted cell—which meant I could use magic.

  I wiggled my fingers, but I felt nothing inside me. No prickle of magic. No buzzing.

  I was too weak. That’s why the Count starved me. So I couldn’t use my magic.

  Damn him.

  I closed my eyes and let Ignacio drag me, not caring where we ended up or what they would do to me.

  If this is how I die, I won’t give any of them the satisfaction of seeing me beg. Of seeing me become a coward.

  Ignacio finally led me to an empty cell with a long, narrow table inside. My eyes fell on a bench at the end of the cell with a tray of sharp-looking instruments.

  I swallowed, trying to quell the growing fear inside me.

  Without warning, Ignacio grabbed me by the waist and lifted me so I was sitting on the table. I fidgeted under his grasp, but the other mages were there in a flash, holding me, then pushing me to lie down on the table. T
he mages hunched over me, binding my torso tightly with something leathery, like a belt.

  Panicked breaths pulsed through me. My insides felt cold and numb with terror.

  The Count stepped toward me, watching me with mild interest. “Let’s see what lives inside you, Miss Gerrick.”

  He closed his eyes and placed his palms against my chest. I struggled, trying to move away from his touch, but the restraint kept me in place.

  The Count spoke a spell in Latin. I squinted, trying to pay attention to the words.

  “Magicas spiritus invoco

  Et daemonium pythonissam

  Fidenti eam animo

  Invitare per eam.”

  A blinding white light burst from the Count’s fingertips, searing my chest like a hot iron. I cried out, my voice a strangled scream as the heat scorched me from within. The light faded, but long tendrils of inky black smoke took its place, slicing through the light like claws.

  Dark magic.

  Something within me lurched at the sight, bounding forward. I no longer had control. An ethereal voice poured from me and shouted, “Yes!”

  My vision darkened, and I slumped backward against the table. My body couldn’t move. I couldn’t feel anything. But my eyes remained open, fixed on the cell bars to my right.

  And then I was gone. Flying in the air. Whipping through the moist clouds and the fog coating the sky. Darkness surrounded me, punctuated by the faint glow of the moon.

  It was a cloudy night—perfect to avoid detection.

  My wings spread widely at my sides, slicing through the misty clouds. Fire rumbled in my belly, but I quieted it. Not yet, I told myself.

  I flapped my wings and burst forward with a surge of speed, gliding lower. Just low enough to make out the rooftops of the village below me.

  The smell of fresh humans filled my nostrils. They called to me. Beckoned to me.

  How could I resist?

  With a mighty roar, I lowered myself below the cloud cover and rained fire down on the unsuspecting mortals. Their screams filled me, satisfying that endless hunger within me. My claws and fire tore through the buildings like they were nothing. The pitiful humans fled from before me, but it was useless.

  They were all mine now.

  I JERKED AWAKE. MY entire body was covered in sweat, and my clothes clung to me, drenched in my own filth.

  I couldn’t tell if it was only sweat, or if I’d soiled myself. I didn’t want to know.

  The Count and his mages were gone. But I was still strapped down to the table. I flexed my fingers and wriggled my wrists, but the leather strap held fast.

  Panic welled in my throat, and I glanced around in desperation. My heart stopped. On the wall opposite me was a giant, black shape. I squinted, trying to make out what it was. Then, my blood ran cold.

  It was a scorch mark. A round imprint. Something had charred the wall and left a mark the size of a person. If I could stand, I imagined this mark would be bigger than I was.

  What the hell caused that?

  As I thought the question, something burned within me. The echo of the fire in my vision.

  Bile rose in my throat.

  I had made that mark.

  I closed my eyes and turned my head, pressing my cheek against the cool surface of the table underneath me. All I wanted was to disappear—to vanish until my body caved inward on itself.

  I was the beast. I was the monster who destroyed the city. Thousands of innocent lives would be lost.

  Because of me.

  Any fight I had left in me was gone. Even if I’d been strong enough to find a way out, in that moment, I didn’t want to. If staying here and giving myself up to the Count and his horrifying methods meant keeping the city safe, then I’d do it.

  Tears rolled down my cheeks, and a strangled sob poured from my mouth.

  “Brielle?” a soft voice asked. Ronaldo. “You’re—you’re alive?”

  “Yes.” I swallowed. My lips trembled as more tears poured down my face.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked. His voice sounded farther away than before.

  I cleared my throat. “No.”

  Silence. Then he asked, “What happened?”

  “W-what do you mean?”

  “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  I shook my head, trying to drive the memory from my mind, but it resurfaced on its own. The screams. The roaring hunger within me. The destruction and devastation.

  It couldn’t have been real. Please don’t let it be real.

  A knot formed in my stomach. I sucked in a breath. “I don’t know. Ronaldo, I don’t remember anything that happened after the Count cast that spell. What—what did you see?”

  Ronaldo hesitated before responding. “A burst of flame. A roar that shook the dungeon. Then, the fire lunged forward. The Count and his mages had to dive out of the way to avoid being burned. You—your body was on fire, Brielle. Even after they all left, your body still glowed like a flame. For days.”

  My heart stopped. I couldn’t breathe. Days. How long had I been out? I lifted my head, trying to examine my body for burns. But I felt nothing but the tight pull of the restraint on my body.

  “I—how?” I asked weakly.

  “I don’t know. But something similar happened to my sister. When the fire consumed her, she . . . she would glow. For days, sometimes weeks at a time. We could never rouse her during her fits. At times we thought she was dead. But she always woke confused and disoriented, as you did.”

  What in Lilith’s name is happening to me? I said nothing, struggling to contain my panic. The silence pressed in on me, threatening to swallow me whole. My mouth stretched wide as silent sobs poured from me, shaking my shoulders and tearing through my chest. All the sorrow and pain I’d kept hidden for so long was unleashed in that moment. Each tear I shed was an emotion I’d tucked away to hide my weakness from the world. My defective magic. The bullies I’d faced over the years. The lack of attention from my parents. The portal that tore me away from my family forever. The fear of being found out. The realization that I was exactly what everyone feared: Lilith’s cursed witch.

  And above all, the fact that no one was coming for me. Riker believed I belonged down here. And now, so did I.

  A high-pitched squeal made me jump. I lurched, trying to sit up and look around, but I couldn’t move. Instead, I held my breath and waited.

  A small flash of light burned from the top of the staircase. Then, someone hissed, and the light went out.

  My heart thrummed painfully against my chest. Hasty footsteps shuffled down the stairs. When the figure drew closer, my pulse was louder than thunder in my ears.

  Another burst of light. Fire. The flames illuminated the figure in the dungeon, and my heart twisted.

  Izzy.

  “Brielle!” she hissed, looking around. “Are you here? Are you alive?”

  “Izzy,” I croaked.

  Izzy gasped and hurried forward, using her fire as a flashlight. When she reached me, her eyes widened, and her face drained of color. “Crikey, Brielle! What did that bloody count do to you?”

  I shook my head as more tears leaked from my eyes. I couldn’t stop them once I’d started crying. “You shouldn’t have come down here. It’s me. I’m the one who—”

  “I know,” Izzy interrupted, stepping toward the bars of my cell. “You’re Lilith’s cursed witch. Whatever. I’m still getting you out of here.”

  “Izzy, no—”

  “Shut up, Brielle.” Izzy lifted her hands and summoned fire again. Then, she placed her hands against the cell bars.

  With a sharp yelp, she jumped backward, shaking her hands as if she’d been shocked. “What the hell?”

  “It’s enchanted. I can’t use my magic in here.”

  Izzy only hesitated for a moment before she said, “What about a spell? Can you come up with one I can use?”

  My brain felt like mud. I shook my head slowly. Even if I wanted to, I didn’t have the energy to come up with
any spells. “I—I can’t.”

  Izzy exhaled loudly. “Okay. I’ll go back up there and find the Count’s keys. I’ll come back for you, Brielle.”

  “Izzy, don’t!” I shouted, finally finding my voice. Izzy stiffened in surprise. “Please. If you get caught, the Count will kill you—or torture you. I can’t have another innocent life on my conscience, Izzy. I’m begging you. Just leave me here. It’s safer for everyone.”

  Izzy clutched the bars and leaned closer to me. “I don’t believe that for a second. I don’t believe you’re doomed to destroy this whole city with no say whatsoever. That’s bullocks. Don’t be a drongo, Brielle. Let me help you.”

  “Izzy—”

  Izzy lifted her hands and stammered,

  “Magic above that—and powers that be,

  Let her go . . . and set her free!”

  Her hands glowed blue, but the light faded and then went out like a dead bulb. She swore and shook her hands as if she could wake up her magic.

  “It won’t work,” I said. My mouth felt so dry.

  “Magic above—”

  “Izzy!” Something tickled my throat, and I coughed loudly. It sounded like an old man’s wheeze. “You—you can’t,” I croaked. “Even if you got me out, I’m too weak. I won’t be able to stand on my own, let alone run away.”

  Izzy went still, watching me with agony in her eyes. “Oh, Brielle.” She clutched at the bars and pressed her face against them, her eyes filling with tears. “I can’t just leave you here.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  Izzy shook her head and pressed her lips together. She opened her mouth to speak, but then loud footsteps echoed in the dungeon.

  My heart stopped. “Izzy, go!” I whispered. “Hide!”

  “Brielle—”

  “Now!”

  Izzy backed away from me and vanished in the shadows. The newcomer descended the steps and quietly drew closer to my cell. I swallowed, looking around for Izzy. I knew if I could see her, then so could the visitor.

  “Hey,” I said loudly. My voice was still scratchy, so I cleared my throat and tried again. “Hey!”