Price of Magic: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Witch's Bite Series Book 2)

by Stephanie Foxe

  “Gerard gave it to me and demanded I help him find Maybelle,” I say, crossing my arms. “He didn’t want to get the police involved, but I can’t find her on my own.”

  “What else did he tell you?” Brunson demands.

  “He said she was his sister.” I look down to avoid the glare Brunson has focused on me.

  “Interesting,” Reilly says. “Maybelle seems to not have been very forthcoming at all.”

  “Has Maybelle ever hinted that Gerard was family?” Hawking asks.

  “No, not in the slightest. She wasn’t even the one to recommend Gerard to me as a supplier for my potion ingredients.”

  “Who was?” Brunson asks.

  “Javier,” I say with a shrug. “He said Gerard had gotten him something in the past.”

  “Any idea what?” Brunson asks, looking between me and Lydia.

  “Blood replenishing potions for the people the clan feeds on,” Lydia says. “Now Olivia supplies them for us.”

  “Is it possible they were searching your house for this book as well?”

  “I guess, but I have no idea why they would,” I shrug. “I’m connected to Maybelle and Gerard, but I’ve known them both for less than a year.”

  “So this note was left for Gerard?” Hawking asks, reaching for it. Brunson hands it to her and she reads it carefully, flipping it over and examining the edges. She sniffs it carefully and grimaces.

  “That’s what he said,” I shrug. It hadn’t occurred to me before, but every partnership in JHAPI consists of a human and a paranormal. Hawking must be a werewolf.

  “Can you get anything off of this other than Olivia and dust?” Hawking asks, handing the note to Reilly.

  He takes it and sniffs it carefully, turning the slip of paper over and sniffing that side as well. I press my lips together to keep the sudden urge to laugh under control. It just makes for such a ridiculous image.

  “There’s some scent I have smelled before, but can’t place,” Reilly says frowning. “There is a hint of whoever came here as well.”

  “We should go to Maybelle’s house, see if we can find any trace the people that came here,” Hawking says to Brunson. “If they’re connected, that makes it even less likely the NWR is behind any of this.”

  “I’ll give Olivia a ride and meet you there,” Reilly says, striding toward me.

  Hawking nods and pulls keys out of her pocket. “

  “I need to go update Javier,” Lydia says. “I’ll see you back at the clanhouse, Olivia.”

  I nod and follow Reilly outside. He is parked behind Lydia, apparently having borrowed one of Javier’s sporty red convertibles.

  I slide into the passenger seat, the leather squeaking as I try to get comfortable. It still has that new car smell, even though I know Javier bought this right around the time I started working for him. What a waste.

  Reilly folds himself into the driver seat, which is pushed back as far as it will go. The car rumbles to life and Reilly puts it in reverse and whips around. I grab the door handle and glare at him.

  “It’s not a race,” I snap.

  “No point in wasting time though,” he grins. “It would be convenient to get there before the agents as well.”

  He doesn’t slow down for any of the sharp turns. The car hugs the road, but I always feel uneasy when other people drive. It doesn’t help knowing that Reilly could walk away from a wreck that would kill me.

  “Why did Gerard think you could find his sister?” Reilly asks.

  I grip the door handle tighter. “I found Patrick, I suppose he thought I could do it again.”

  “But you couldn’t?” Reilly asks, turning his head to look at me.

  “Watch the road.” I reach out and push his chin back forward. His skin is warmer than I expected, much like his mouth was. I swallow and abruptly cut off that line of thinking. “And no, I couldn’t.”

  Not a lie, but I’m sure my heartbeat is giving me away. Maybe he’ll just attribute it to some kind of twisted attraction to him.

  “You really do smell odd,” he says, leaning over to sniff me again.

  “Don’t do that.” I reach out to shove him away, but he takes a sharp turn and I am thrown into his side instead. I might smell odd, but he smells amazing. His cologne is warm and masculine and I have a sudden urge to bury my face in the curve of his shoulder. I sit up and settle back in my seat instead. Anyone over the age of thirteen shouldn’t blush, but I can still feel my cheeks heating up. I hate him so much.

  “You’re a terrible driver,” I complain. “Can you try being a decent driver for a little while?”

  “And stop giving you excuses to cuddle with me?” He says with a grin. His stupid dimples make him look innocent, but I know it’s all a facade. “You do jump into my arms every chance you get.”

  “Walking into you because you don’t understand personal space is not the same thing, asshole,” I say, crossing my arms. I flinch when I hit a welt on the side of my arm more forcefully than I intended. My shirt dampens over the spot and I’m not sure if it a blister popped, or if I’m bleeding. I glance at Reilly from the corner of my eye.

  “The answer is yes,” he says without looking at me.

  “What?”

  “I can smell that you are hurt.” He downshifts, revving the engine as we take another turn far too fast. “And you will tell me why, eventually.”

  I huff and turn toward the window. The trees thin out and we reach the edges of town. My stomach aches less than it did, but the discomfort has been replaced with irritation and worry.

  He turns into a subdivision I’ve never driven through before. It’s a little out of the way, but still close to town. Halfway into the subdivision, Reilly pulls into the driveway of a particularly nice house. It’s slightly larger than the others and perfectly maintained.

  Maybelle’s house looks untouched. The door is shut, the blinds drawn, the freshly mowed lawn undisturbed. There are no slurs painted across her perfect, white shutters. It looks like everyone’s favorite grandmother’s house, just as I expected.

  Reilly parks and we climb out. I tug my sleeves down again, but the ache in my arms is getting worse. I wish I could have put salve on the burns before coming here.

  Reilly inhales deeply, then in the time it takes me to blink is halfway across the front lawn. I frown and hurry after him.

  “Do you smell anything?” I ask.

  He ignores me and opens the front door. I follow him inside and see that Maybelle’s house is trashed even worse than mine was. Everything that could be ripped apart is.

  Reilly turns around slowly, inhaling deeply, his mouth pulled into a frown.

  “I should have recognized it on the note,” he says, tone irritated.

  “Recognized what?”

  “The same witches that trashed your house were here,” he says, turning to look at me. “But there have also been goblins here.”

  “Goblins?” I say, confused. “They never leave their cities.”

  “Apparently they do.”

  The door opens behind us.

  “Apparently they do what?” Hawking asks, eager blue eyes darting between us. She stops, her mouth opening slightly as she inhales. “What is that smell? It’s almost reptilian.”

  “It’s proof Maybelle is a liar,” Reilly says, his eyes never leaving mine. He smiles, cheeks dimpling.

  I turn away, frustration and irritation coursing through me.

  16

  He parks right in front of the house and I shove the car door open, practically jumping out. I’m tired of being trapped in that car with him.

  “The smell isn’t superficial either. It’s part of the house. However long Maybelle has been there, the goblin has been as well,” Reilly says as we walk up the steps to the clanhouse. “Hawking agreed.”

  “There has to be something we’re missing. She can’t be a goblin,” I say aghast.

  “Do you have any other explanations?” He asks, stepping toward me. There isn’t even
a hint of a smile on his face, he seems almost angry.

  “A goblin could have visited her, even lived with her,” I say, taking a step back from Reilly.

  “Use your head,” he says, poking my forehead, “and not your heart.”

  He presses his finger over my heart a little more gently.

  I slap his hand away.

  “I am,” I snap. “You’re just jumping to conclusions. If Maybelle is a goblin, why does she look human?”

  “There are Enchanters that have successfully made objects that are capable of disguising someone.”

  I scoff. “For it to disguise her appearance all day, every day would be an insane amount of magic.”

  “I have seen more powerful magic used,” he says, crossing his arms. “It’s not impossible, and it’s the simplest explanation.”

  “And Gerard? He says he’s her brother.”

  Reilly’s head tilts to the side. “I need to smell you again.”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  He doesn’t respond, just walks toward me. I shuffle backward and bump into the railing. I reach back to steady myself on instinct and Reilly presses his hands over mine on the railing. His thighs brush mine as he leans in. He lowers his head, his cheek right next to mine, and breathes deeply.

  I’m frozen, my heart beating wildly and crawling up my cheeks. I hate that he’s my type and that I can even be considering something like this when Maybelle is missing. My body doesn’t care though, it just wants him to lean in closer. It’s been way too long since I’ve gotten laid or had any alone time.

  “You smell like goblin here, and here,” he says, lifting his hand from mine and brushing a finger across my shoulder, and my arm. “Did Gerard touch you?”

  “Yes,” I mutter. “Fuck.”

  It’s impossible to deny at this point. The only question now is just, why? Why is she hiding here? She’s been lying about who and what she is for years, and apparently hiding from some very powerful witches. That isn’t something you do on a whim.

  “If you want,” Reilly says, pulling back just enough to look down at me. His lips are inches away.

  It would be so easy to just forget all of this for an hour. Sex is almost better than tequila for dealing with a bad day.

  “You alright, Olivia?” Patrick asks from the doorway.

  I jump and tug my hand out from under Reilly’s. He steps back and I hurry toward Patrick.

  “I’m great, just fine,” I say as I walk quickly inside. Reilly chuckles behind me. He’s going to be unforgivably smug about that.

  Patrick looks between us, shakes his head, and follows me inside. Reilly’s phone rings and he pauses just inside the doorway and answers it.

  I get halfway to the kitchen when Patrick’s hand closes around my elbow. He drags me to the back door, then pushes me outside.

  “What are you doing?” He asks, voice tight with anger.

  “Looking for Maybelle,” I say, jerking my elbow out of his grip. “What the fuck is your problem?”

  “You know you can’t trust him,” Patrick hisses. “But you were about to stick your tongue down his throat like some kind of horny teenager.”

  “I was not!” I whisper back heatedly.

  “I’ve been out with you enough to know that look,” Patrick sneers. “You can lie to yourself, but don’t lie to me.”

  “You know what, it’s none of your business,” I say, pushing past him and grabbing the door handle.

  “I’m trying to help you,” Patrick says, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation.

  “Nah, you just think I’m a slut.”

  I yank the door open and walk back inside, slamming it behind me. I head straight for the kitchen. I need something, anything, to drink. Javier and Lydia walk out of the dining room behind me.

  “Olivia, did you find any information on who might have taken Maybelle?” Javier asks.

  I stop and turn to face them, tucking my thumbs in my pockets to keep my hands from shaking.

  “All we’ve found are more questions.”

  “What do you know about goblins?” Reilly asks, walking up behind me. He comes to a stop at my elbow.

  “Goblins?” Javier asks, brows furrowed.

  “It seems both Maybelle and Gerard are not who they have said they are,” Reilly says, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

  “Lydia explained that Gerard is claiming to be her brother,” Javier says with a nod.

  “Both Special Agent Hawking and I smelled the distinct scent of goblins at Maybelle’s house. As I was telling Olivia, it’s obvious that the person living there is the goblin. There is almost no trace of visitors. It seems Maybelle did not invite people over often.”

  “Did you find any information on who has taken her?” Lydia asks. “Is it possible she has simply run away?”

  “She did not run away,” I say vehemently. “You read the note.”

  “The same witches that were at Olivia’s house were at her’s,” Reilly says.

  “And it’s not the local coven?” Javier asks.

  “No,” Reilly shakes his head. “They smelled off. They’ve been somewhere very old recently.”

  “None of this makes sense,” Lydia says. “I’ve known Maybelle for years, and while we weren’t friends, she was never involved in anything less than reputable.”

  “It’s insane,” I say. “She has built so much here, she would never leave it all behind willingly.”

  “We have another complication as well,” Reilly says, looking at me. “I just got off the phone with Agent Brunson. The JHAPI agents have been reviewing security footage for everything within a hundred square miles. Apparently, the day Martinez fled, there was a break in at a veterinarian’s office about sixty miles from here. Martinez stole medical supplies, then fled.”

  My heart constricts painfully. “Do they know where he went from there?”

  “Not yet, but it’s a start. We know he fled alone and didn’t receive help from the NWR right away,” Reilly says. “JHAPI is planning a raid on several known NWR locations, they want the council’s support.”

  “Has the council agreed?” Javier asks, his shoulder’s tense.

  “Not yet, but they will,” Reilly says. “Olivia and I will be part of the support team.”

  “What?” I turn on Reilly, jaw clenched tight.

  “I told you when I came here that you would be helping the council apprehend Martinez, that hasn’t changed.”

  “Maybelle has been kidnapped!” I object, my voice raising. “I can’t just leave before she is found.”

  “Then you better hope she’s found within the next few days, because we are leaving regardless,” Reilly says coolly.

  The realization that they aren’t going to be able to help her hits me like a punch in the gut. They care about finding Martinez, but not her. I’m going to have to do this myself. Somehow.

  The internet, unsurprisingly, does not have many details on the finer points of using Finding magic, much less what to do when you fuck it up. I lock my phone and roll over and groan into my pillow.

  I have about twelve hours left. The police have no leads, no idea who might have taken her, and the only thing we have learned is that we know nothing about Maybelle. That no one does.

  I sit up and grab the salve off my nightstand. My arms are aching again. The blisters are all gone now, but sometimes it still feels like the welts are growing. Thankfully the nausea I’ve been struggling since the warehouse has been slowly fading over the last hour.

  The salve is cold, especially in contrast to the heat the welts are putting off right now. I lift the arm and check my side. One of the welts winds down from the top of my shoulder to my ribcage under my arm.

  The only option I have left to find Maybelle is to attempt the Finding magic again. I poke at the welt and wonder how much it will grow if I try again. I’m not even sure where to start, or what went wrong last time.

  My stomach jerks suddenly and I’m on my feet, halfway
to the bathroom, when something hits the bedroom window. The tug in my gut wants me to walk toward the window. I press my hand to my stomach and realize this is the magic.

  I run to the window and fling the curtains to the side. I yank on the cord and the blinds fly up. Standing just by a hedge at the edge of the maze, barely concealed, is Gerard. He tosses another rock at the window and waves me down, then ducks back behind the hedge.

  I grab a handful of various potions, tuck the gun into my waistband, and run out of the room. It’s just past dawn and everyone else is asleep. Lydia left over an hour ago. I really hope this isn’t a trap, but I know Maybelle is out there. I can feel it. The Finding magic had worked somehow, just not like it should have.

  I shut the back door behind me quietly, then dart across the yard to the opening of the hedge maze. The early morning sun is obscured behind clouds, and the area is covered in fog.

  “Gerard?” I half whisper, half shout. There is no response.

  I step into the maze and let the tugging sensation guide me. Right turn, left turn, right, right. Gerard appears in front of me, startling me.

  “Where is she?” I demand, one hand on the gun behind me, the other wrapped around a potion.

  “This way,” he whispers. He walks just a few more feet, the pulls a long duffel bag out from under the hedge. My stomach unclenches, and a weird relief spreads through me. It reminds me of what I felt when I found Patrick. He unzips it quickly and pushes the edges away.

  Inside is—I don’t know what. There is a pile of blood-soaked red curls on the thing’s head. The face is swollen and misshapen, a long bulbous nose appears broken, and the skin is mottled blue and purple and green.

  “Heal her,” Gerard says, staring up at me with wide eyes.

  Oh god, it’s Maybelle. The realization makes me want to vomit.

  “Is she even still alive?” I ask as I kneel next to the bag, my hands hovering over her. I don’t know where to begin.

  “Yes,” he hisses, grabbing my hands and pulling them onto her chest.

  Maybelle groans and twitches. I shut my eyes to block out the sight in front of me and let my healing magic sink into her.

  There are numerous cuts all over her body and even more bruises. Her nose is broken, she has lost too much blood, and she is slipping in and out of consciousness. I do what I can to steady her heartbeat and pull her back from the edge of shock, but this is completely beyond my skills. The damage is too extensive.