Magically Bonded: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Hunted Witch Agency Book 2)

by Rachel Medhurst

  “Devon!” His voice grew stronger, angrier. “Stop doubting yourself!”

  His hands grabbed my shoulders, tugging me down to him. His lips smashed against mine, his kiss hard, yet demanding. I threaded my fingers through his hair, unable to pull away from the heady energy that intoxicated me.

  The air left my lungs as he pushed me away, his body collapsing to the ground from lack of energy.

  “Okay,” I muttered, getting to my feet. “I’ll get the bitch!”

  He chuckled, his whole face screwing up in pain. “Go…”

  Turning from him, I focused on my goal. The witch who had caused so much pain was inside. Gerard was willing to die for our cause, which meant I was too. No matter what happened, someone was going to die today.

  And it wouldn’t be any of us.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The corridors were empty, the guards too busy outside. That helped little old me immensely. Especially as I was currently creeping around the plush castle home, my dagger held out in front of me. I had left Gerard with Maxwell and the walkie talkie. The others wouldn’t be able to keep track of me, but I had my phone if they really needed to. My mind wanted to go back to the kiss and the threat of Gerard’s health. But, I couldn’t dwell on it. I had a job to do.

  Classical music played through speakers that came from the ceiling. It was eerie in an otherwise silent home. The walls were red, the lampshades black. It looked like I had stepped into the Moulin Rouge.

  I wouldn’t mind visiting Paris after all this was over. Maybe I could persuade Gerard to take me. He had kissed me, after all.

  “Check on him!” The hurried whisper came from behind a door that wasn’t quite closed. “The basement is the last place they’ll look, but he’s dangerous, he’ll get them to help him.”

  The feminine voice was followed by a masculine grunt and heavy footsteps. Ducking behind a suit of armour, I waited. Touching the metal to check if it was real, I held my breath. Yes, it was a genuine medieval suit of armour. Bloody presumptuous arseholes.

  “They’re annihilating the security, we need to get out of here. The boss got out okay, so we need to save ourselves. I told her not to hire vampires or shapeshifters. They’re useless!” The older man stormed from the room, a young girl in tow.

  The pair rushed down the hall, towards the kitchen that I had just tiptoed through. My mission was to find the woman, but apparently she’d already escaped. Fuck. Crap. Fuck.

  My footsteps were like a ballerina’s as I retraced them back to the kitchen. I might as well find out who this man was. He might have some valuable information.

  Hearing the sound of a clunky wooden door swinging open inside the kitchen, I slid past the open archway and hid against the wall. My breath was shallow and uneven as my nerves shook my insides. Why were they trusting me to find the bad guys? I was just a tiny little thing.

  The buzz of magic that was ready to surge through the soles of my feet reminded me of who I was. Yes, I wasn’t as powerful as I’d been just a year ago, but I could still wield both warlock and witch magic. Not only that… I was holding a dagger that I knew how to use. Sometimes, I just needed one thing. Faith. Faith and belief in myself. I could defeat the bad people. I was good enough. And, fuck me, if the Hunted Witch Agency trusted me enough to let me loose in a castle, I must be doing something right.

  “Be careful,” the man said as they disappeared.

  Not waiting for the door to swing shut, I dove across the kitchen, the stone floor helping me slide faster. My arm only just managed to stop the door from clicking shut. Silently slinking into the darkness, I allowed it to close, the click hopefully reassuring those who had gone down the steps before me.

  A tiny lightbulb lit the concrete steps that led to the basement. It was freezing, the cold stone pressing against my thin T-shirt. I had completely forgotten that I had taken my jacket off to try and stem Gerard’s bloody neck.

  “No, don’t!” The feminine shout was followed by a scuffle.

  My boots light on the stairs, I hurried down to the bottom. A scream rent the air as I rounded the corner and froze on the spot. The walls of the basement were ancient stone, the grey colour covered in wear and tear. There were several torture contraptions on the ground. Metal rings, with chains attached, hung from the hard stone surface of the walls. This wasn’t a basement, it was a dungeon.

  “Who are you?” A deep threatening voice came out from the shadows.

  The man and woman who had come down before me were lying on the ground, their eyes staring up at the ceiling. Their expressions were contorted into fear, the blank look in their gaze a testament to the lack of life force in them.

  Taking a deep breath, I pulled some warlock magic into my body. The whole room vibrated with energy, the kind that was always followed by power.

  “I’m Devon…” I spoke to the darkness, unable to see past the tiny bulb above my head. “I’m with the Hunted Witch Agency. Are you…?”

  I didn’t know what to ask. He wasn’t a witch. In fact, he was a warlock. I could feel his kinship with my own vibration as the shadows shifted. A tall thin man came out from behind an old upright iron chest. I hated to think what the owner did to the victims when they put them in there.

  “Ah, Devon. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  His dark hair was long and straggly, the ends scooped into a loose ponytail. He wore a tattered suit, the white shirt no longer its original colour. His eyes were small against a huge nose. He wasn’t exactly a looker.

  “What are you talking about?”

  He knew my name. How was that possible? I had never seen the man in my life.

  “You… you don’t know?” He almost stumbled as he took a step closer.

  Backing up, I raised my dagger, ready to ward him off. He might look harmless, but he had just killed two people. And, I had no idea how.

  “Who are you?” My change of topic worked. For some reason, my instinct told me to keep him talking.

  Often men liked to talk about themselves, especially warlocks. I wasn’t one to judge or be sexist, but something about their magic made their heads swell with arrogance. I would use that to my advantage while I tried to suss him out. He was dangerous, that much I could tell.

  “I’m Vernon Jupiter. You don’t know me?” His surprise was in contrast to my blank expression.

  Nope, I’d never heard of him. And from the look on his face, he was either constipated, or disgusted by that fact.

  “I’m one of the most powerful warlocks in Britain. I’m the leader of the Stonehenge coven. Didn’t your father teach you this? Considering his family line is at war with mine, I would’ve thought that his daughter would know.”

  Noticing a piece of dirt on the cuff of his sleeve, he stared at it, zoning out. He was my father’s enemy? I had no idea about my father’s family. What was it with all the ancestry lessons? Couldn’t I just be a normal agent type woman? One who kicked arse and brought down the bastards who were giving the supernatural a bad name? No?

  “She’s been testing on me, you know,” Vernon said, his eyes not quite able to focus. “That witch despises me.”

  “She does?” Ah, the perfect opportunity to find out more information about our person of interest.

  Nodding, he leant against the death trap behind him. It looked like it would squash someone within seconds, the long iron spikes driving straight through the chest. Gruesome.

  “Of course! I may have tricked her into falling in love with me. It was just a bit of fun.” Waving his hand in the air, he almost fell over, only just getting his balance.

  My hand was still extended, the blade pointing straight at him. It looked like he was drunk, but I knew better. The magic was making him crazy. That’s what happened to warlocks when they were addicted.

  “She’s testing on you because you broke her heart?” Seriously? How cliché.

  The muscles in my arm were straining, almost shaking. They were already sore from slaying the vampires. I wa
sn’t sure how much longer I could keep it up.

  His eyes narrowed on me, the irises flaring red in the dark. Oh, great, the bastard was hanging on by a thread.

  “Do you know how much witch magic she’s pumped into me?” He advanced, his footing stronger now. “I’ll tell you… Three times a day. Yep,” he almost screamed. “…three times a day she forces the magic she’s drained from those witches into my skull. Just to torture me.”

  The shriek of his voice made me step back. If she had been filling him with all that magic, he would be too powerful for me to defeat. No matter how much magic I tried to use.

  “She wants to destroy the warlocks,” I said, keeping my gaze on him, but feeling behind me with my free hand. “We can’t let that happen.”

  If I could get on his good side, maybe he would forget that he hated my father. Maybe. I didn’t have much choice right now.

  “No, we can’t. I understand why she might want to do that. My coven didn’t take too nicely to me messing around with a witch. They didn’t just accept it like the London coven accepted your parents.” A line of spittle left his wet lips as he threw his hand in the air.

  A small puff of bright purple flames left his hand and smacked into the ceiling, causing dust to descend upon us.

  Maybe my plan wasn’t a good one. I’d reminded him that my father was a warlock who had got away with breaking the rules. Good one, Devon, bloody brilliant.

  Coughing, I switched my dagger into the other hand to give me a break. Vernon, the crazy warlock, was still advancing. Actually, he was backing me into a corner. Moving to my right, I tried to get him to circle, but he wasn’t interested. In fact, he froze, his eyes staring straight at me.

  “You look just like her!” His cheeks blushed pink.

  The silver of my dagger glinted in the overhead light. Ah, he could see me clearly now. And… who did I look like?

  “Everyone keeps saying that. Who do I look like?” My anger got the better of me, my foot stamping on the hard ground.

  “It seems you know nothing about your family, my girl. It’s not surprising considering who they are. Disgusting lot of inbreds.”

  Gripping the handle of my dagger tighter in my palm, I controlled the urge to throw it. It would be so simple to slaughter him, or attempt to, anyway.

  “Don’t talk about my family. Just tell me who the ring leader of the slave trade is, and I’ll leave you alone.” Not.

  His grin was manic, the edges of his mouth stretching wide. I shuddered, unable to hold back my distaste any longer. He saw the movement, his gaze astute on me.

  “How dare you screw your face up at me?! I’m powerful! I’m… going to kill you.”

  Before I could move, he threw a stream of red magic towards me. It wrapped around my legs, bringing me to my knees. I managed to keep my balance, my dagger still in hand. No, I couldn’t let him get the better of me. I wasn’t about to die by the hand of my father’s enemy before I’d even found our target.

  The ground was cold under my hands as I pushed myself into a stand, slicing the string of magic that bound me. “I don’t think so.”

  Being arrogant, Vernon had been casually tucking his shirt in his waistline. He didn’t have time to react when I threw the dagger. It plunged straight into his chest. On the right side.

  Running towards him as he bent double, I jumped, my boots high in front of me. It was a good job I had been training between missions.

  “Stop!” His hand extended and froze still.

  And so did I.

  My body shook as sweat broke out over my skin. I was hovering in mid-air, my legs thrown out in front of me. I couldn’t move, couldn’t put my feet down, or lift my arms. He could do anything to me. He could kill me. He could leave me stuck exactly like this. Somehow that would be worse than anything else he could do to me.

  The skin on my arms suddenly flared hot as darkness crept into the corner of my eyes.

  Vernon was wrenching my blade out of his chest with his spare hand. The other was still held high, obviously controlling the magic that froze me.

  I couldn’t have a panic attack. If I did, it would draw my focus away from the present. I needed to be in the present.

  “Breathe as much as you want, I can still hear the racing of your heart, and the adrenaline running through your veins.” Vernon studied my dagger, seemingly not affected by the gaping wound in his chest. His blood ran down the blade, coating his fingers. The man was magically insane.

  Biting my tongue, I held back my retort. Diplomacy. Justina was always strict on diplomacy. As my deep breathing calmed my fight or flight reaction, I relaxed into the magic, allowing it to hold me.

  Vernon touched the tip of the dagger, pressing it into his fingertip. There was no reaction on his face, no flinch, nothing. He was emotionally dead. Physically drained of any feeling.

  “I think my coven will welcome me back with open arms when I deliver the body of Kevin Jinx’s daughter.” Slanting his head to the side, he stared at me. “An Essex witch’s daughter. I heard you were struggling with your magic. I can help you with that. When you’re dead, you won’t even know.”

  My facial muscles struggled to move, but I managed to get my mouth open. “Why does your coven care about an Essex witch?”

  It was good to encourage him to talk. The longer he didn’t kill me, the more time the others had to find us before it was too late. Fingers crossed. If I could bloody well move them.

  My dagger dropped to the ground when Vernon decided he was bored of it. The clatter of the metal made me jump, causing my body to jerk. Oh, that was interesting. Was the warlock’s witch spell faltering?

  Charging over to me, Vernon put his face close to mine. “Because you’re the last one in your mother’s line. You’ll die without having a child. Meaning that the warlocks will have more claim to the earth’s power.”

  “You will?”

  Huh? Someone really needed to give me a proper history lesson. And soon.

  The sneer aimed at me was accompanied by bad breath. Ew. And, I couldn’t even move my head out of the way. Yuck.

  “Well, yes, young lady. The earth’s pure magic is controlled by the head of the Essex witches. Didn’t you know that? Why do you think the people of Salem in America allowed your kind to go over there? Although, unfortunately for us, you managed to stay hidden here.” His scoff of disgust made me hold my nose closed so I didn’t have to smell his stale breath.

  Flicking his wrist, he suddenly released me. My body flew forwards, my legs crashing straight into the iron chamber. My boots were sturdy, but the impact buckled my ankles, the pain wrenching up my legs.

  “It feels good to be talking to a warlock after all these witches. Although…” He spun on one of his worn out loafers. “…you’re not exactly pure… even if you can use their magic. Look at me… I’m doing the same.”

  Crawling up to my feet, I clenched my teeth as I tested my weight on my legs. Nothing was broken. Bonus.

  “You won’t last. The magic will kill you. Trust me, I know.” My voice was low, unobtrusive.

  The shake of my hand was hidden as I tucked it behind my back. Drawing on the magic that seemed to come easier to me, I let it sit in my chest as I waited for him to reply.

  Rolling his neck, he laughed when the bones cracked, causing me to wince. I hated it when people did that. It grossed me out.

  “Okay, enough chit chat. Your father killed mine in their dispute. My family line has tried to tap into the magic that the Essex witches control, but we’ve been stopped at every turn. Not anymore.”

  Lifting both hands, Vernon started to hum. A swirling egg of light appeared, black lines threading through the magic. It was darkness mixed with light. Great, I could handle it. Couldn’t I?

  Diving for my dagger as he tossed the ball towards me, I crashed into the stone wall. My head buzzed from the impact and unspent energy, ready to leave me.

  “You won’t win this one. You’re not powerful enough.” His chuc
kle echoed around the room as he formed an arrow of fire and launched it in my direction.

  “Yes, she is!” The shouted words vibrated in my head so hard, I had to clasp it.

  What the…?

  Two shadows moved into the room. My eyes were squinting from the pain. Someone was casting a spell too powerful for me to fight back. Was it Justina? Kurt?

  “Devon?”

  My stomach flipped, butterflies dancing as sweat sprouted across my whole body. No, it couldn’t be.

  Blinking, I tried to focus on the approaching figure. Throwing my arms out when they reached me, I tried to bat them away. It was a cruel trick. A very sick trick.

  “Devon, don’t resist the magic. Allow it.” The deeper voice made me glance to my right.

  Relaxing, I released my clenched muscles. The pain in my head slunk away, leaving a warm glow filtering through me.

  “You will not defeat me!” The scream of Vernon as he swirled his arm made me stare.

  A tornado of wind, multi-coloured magic and fire made me back up against the cold stone wall. There was no way we could put him down.

  “Darling…” The woman who stood to my left spoke as she grabbed my hand. “…work with us.”

  “Mum?” I croaked, my voice cracking.

  How were my parents there? They couldn’t be. They were dead. Weren’t they?

  The woman who had taught me to be a witch shook me, bringing me back to the present. Her brown eyes contrasted against her fair skin as the wind whipped her dark hair around her head.

  “We can beat him!”

  Yes, we could. I could. They could. If we worked together, our magic just might be enough to bring him down.

  Glancing at my father as he moved closer to the ever growing swirl, I tried to hold my emotions in check. He wasn’t exactly tall, but his broad shoulders were familiar to me. I had sat on them plenty of times when I was young.

  “Mum,” I said, taking her arm when she tried to drag me forward. “I’m too weak. I… it’s hard to explain.”

  She shook her head as she looked into my eyes. “I know all about your magic.”