Magic Flame (Enchanted Book 3)

by Sara Dobie Bauer

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Why don’t we sit down and have a drink?” She turned around, and he listened to her heels tap across lacquered wood. Over the sound of glasses clinking in their kitchen, Liam looked at his own reflection in the mirror. Through his wire rims, he stared at the one blue eye, one green—the only sure indicator of the Dorcha’s identity.

  It was him.

  He was the dark witch they’d been waiting for. Maybe if he’d known about the prophecy earlier? Maybe if he went and told them, told Cyan? Maybe—

  “You can’t think like that,” Zoe said from behind him.

  He spun to face her.

  She held two wine glasses in her hands, filled with red. “Come sit.”

  He followed her to the couch. Before they sat, she put their glasses down and pulled his black suit coat from his shoulders. She removed her own jacket, revealing a simple, small black dress underneath, and then took a seat, patting the cushion at her side. Moving as if in a dream, Liam joined her and took the wine glass from her extended hand.

  He’d been craving wine lately, so he took a hearty sip and almost choked on the horrible taste. He wiped his mouth as he hurriedly set the glass on the coffee table. “Of course. A time like this, and the bottle is corked.”

  Zoe froze at his side. “You don’t like it?”

  He shook his head. “You’re dead.”

  “No,” she said. “I’m a witch.”

  “From what I understand, witches still die.”

  “Yes.” She took a long sip of red. “However, I did a spell a long time ago. After death, I rise like a phoenix. All it cost was my soul.”

  “Your soul?”

  “Liam. You’re not like the witches you’ve been spending time with in my absence.”

  “You mean Cyan.”

  “And her barefoot mother, crazy aunt, brutish father.” Zoe shook her head. “You’re no light witch, Liam. You know that now.”

  Despite the living dead witch at his side, despite her pronouncement, Liam felt oddly calm as if maybe, somehow, he’d known all along. “You knew what I was when you met me in California.”

  She smiled and bit her bottom lip. Then, she leaned forward and whispered, “I knew what you were the moment you were born. I felt you then, and I’ve been watching over you ever since. Our dark Dorcha, the one we’ve been waiting for.”

  “We?”

  “Dark witches the world over. Now that your powers have awakened, they’ll all start to feel you, as I did years ago. You were prophesized in the womb by your own mother. She knew what you were.”

  “Like Cyan’s grandmother.”

  Zoe nodded and relinquished her wine glass to a small lamp table. She leaned closer and rested her hands on his chest. “I love you, Liam.”

  “What if we go to them, to Cyan and the others? Come clean. Maybe they can help me. I don’t… I don’t feel like a dark witch. Max is the dark witch. I’m just—”

  Zoe pulled away. “They’ll kill you if you tell them.”

  “No.”

  Zoe stood and ran her hands over her slim hips. “That girl has been waiting her entire life to end you.”

  He shook his head. “She loves me.”

  “Good. She’ll have her defenses down then.”

  “Zoe—”

  “If she finds out what you really are, she won’t love you anymore. She will abandon you like everyone has, everyone but me.” She hurried back to his side and cradled his face in her hands. “I will never leave you, Liam. I came back from the dead to stand by your side. I will face the War with you and love you no matter the cost. The Loach cannot say the same. She will kill you unless you kill her first.”

  He closed his eyes. “I can’t kill anyone.”

  “You would have killed Max tonight for what he did to me.”

  “Who is Max really? Why did he attack us?”

  “He’s nothing. A nuisance. You’ll take care of him, too.”

  He pushed her hands away and stood, taking steps toward his front door. “I’m a restaurant manager, Zoe. I run marathons and watch the BBC news. I’m not… I can’t be…”

  Zoe disappeared from the couch and appeared right in front of him, which made him cuss and take a step back. She held onto his wrist and squeezed until a black cloud began pouring from her palm.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Hurting you,” she said.

  Liam doubled over in pain, his chest burning. The pain increased as the black cloud grew. He heard his heart, beat and stutter, beat and stutter, in his ears. The pain was too great for screams. Before his knees could buckle, before he crumbled to the ground and possibly to his death, his abdomen burned but not from whatever Zoe was doing. The feeling of his power was familiar now, after the fight with Max, so he did as instincts bid. Blue light shot from the hand not held tightly in Zoe’s grasp, and she flew across the room into their bookcase. Liam sucked in a breath of air and rushed to her.

  “Zoe!” He knelt at her side.

  She sat up, smiling, pushing misplaced books from her lap. “I’m fine. I was just showing you.” She stared up at him and held tight to his chin. “Your eyes are both blue right now. Interesting.”

  He felt the beginnings of a headache in the back of his skull and closed his eyes before the pain could overwhelm. It didn’t. When he opened his eyes again, Zoe—his Zoe—stared up at him worshipfully.

  “Oh, one green, one blue. Back to normal.” She laughed. “I have no idea what that means. I think you’re going to be full of surprises, Liam Cody, but for now, tell me you love me.”

  “I thought I lost you.”

  “You’ll never lose me.” She pulled his face down and kissed him. He hoped she didn’t sense his fear.

  Cyan almost didn’t expect Liam to answer his phone that morning, but he did, although he sounded understandably nervous after the previous night’s utter insanity. Of course, Aunt Sybil had just the thing for that: tea. Plus, considering Sea Books was one of the safest places in Charleston—along with the Burroughs homestead and, now, Liam’s condo, thanks to Sybil’s spells—it seemed like a good place to meet. Liam agreed to come over in an hour.

  Instead of going back to her own apartment—who knew what awaited her there?—Cyan showered in Sybil’s tiny flat above the bookstore. She had to dig through mounds of colored fabrics before finding a flowing black skirt and a black tank top, which she accessorized with her leather coat and black boots. She used a pencil to twist and balance her braids on her head but stayed away from Sybil’s honeysuckle perfume. There was enough of that wending its way through the shop already. She did light some incense in the back room, though, and brewed a cup of Sybil’s Síocháin blend that promised peace.

  Early as it was, the shop wasn’t open yet when Liam arrived. In the back room, Cyan skimmed the Book of Shadows propechy—the one that spoke of the Loach and Dorcha—but learned nothing new. She’d spent her life reading that prophecy, and nothing new ever came of it, nothing changed. At the sound of a knock, she slammed the book shut and walked past the blue curtain to see Liam through the locked glass doors of Sea Books. She smiled and waved, and he returned the favor, although his smile was tight.

  She took a deep breath before opening the door. “Morning,” she said.

  His bright green gaze eyed the doorframe before settling on her face. His lips parted, sort of like a fish, before he cleared his throat and stared at her boots. “You look beautiful.”

  So did he in a blue button-down and dark jeans with brown dress shoes. He was cleanshaven, and his hair, perfectly styled, just begged for her fingers to mess it up. She puffed out an anxious breath of air. “Come in.”

  He hesitated on the stoop, staring inside, until he finally took a step across the threshold and paused as if waiting for something to happen.

  “You okay?”

  “Yes. Perfectly fine.” He lifted one eyebrow.

  Cyan smiled. “I guess that was a stupid question.”

/>   “Did you mention tea? I assume it has hallucinogenic properties?”

  She smiled, shook her head, and closed the door behind him before leading the way to the back room, where she’d prepared a tea service and moved two old chairs closer together. The smell of Liam’s cologne complimented the spicy musk of incense, the smoke from which had filled the room in a sort of blissful, hazy glow.

  “Have a seat.” She reached for the tea kettle but not before noticing the way he stared at the strange totems that hung from the ceiling of Sea Books.

  “So there’s a spell on my house then.”

  She paused in pouring. “Yes. Just to keep you safe from anyone who might hurt you.”

  He nodded.

  “Knowing Sybil and how she feels about you, she probably cast the spell to last the next hundred years. You might never want to move out of that condo.”

  He sipped his tea as Cyan sat down across from him. She pulled at the long, black skirt fabric and folded her legs beneath her. “I’m sorry I got drunk last night. Probably the worst thing I could have done under the circumstances.”

  “Kneeing me in the balls would have been worse.”

  “Was I mean to you last night?”

  “It was nothing.” He leaned back in his seat, eyes darting around the room, studying book bindings, spilled herbs, and the incense smoke that rose like a serpent.

  “I should have told you about the paintings. Earlier.”

  Liam chuckled and shook his head. “No. I think working up to that was probably a good idea. It’s kind of offputting when a girl you don’t know has, like, fifty paintings of your face.”

  “Do you feel like you know me now?”

  “Of course I know you. I might need therapy for the rest of my life because of it, but I know you.”

  Cyan sipped her tea and held tightly to the small cup as if it might protect her. “Do you think you could ever love me, Liam?”

  He closed his eyes and pressed his thumb and forefinger against his eye sockets. His forehead wrinkled, and his breath turned shallow as if his own ribs threatened to suffocate.

  “Is that a no?” she asked.

  He opened his eyes. She couldn’t be sure in the dimness, but she thought they looked wet, red around the edges. He leaned forward in his seat and held his right hand up, palm facing her. As if their magic communicated, Cyan understood. She put down her teacup and leaned forward, too, until her palm touched his. Their hands glowed in a rolling mix of blue and gold, tinged green around the edges. From the tips of her toes to the top of her head, Cyan felt Liam.

  “I don’t deserve your love,” he said.

  She folded her fingers over, binding their hands together. “You already have it.”

  Loud clunking in the front of Sea Books made their hands disengage, and a moment later, Sybil wanderd in wearing a huge, puffy, pink bathrobe. “I thought I heard a lovely male voice.” She smiled broadly at Liam, her hair a red rat’s nest. “Good morning, you two.”

  Cyan sighed and leaned back in her chair. Leave it to Sybil to ruin a crucial moment. For a seer, it sometimes annoyed Cyan how blind her aunt could be.

  Sybil leaned down and kissed her niece on the forehead. She then pet Liam on the head but quickly drew her hand back with a cry.

  Liam sprung to his feet. “Are you okay?”

  Sybil shook her hand in the air as if she’d been stung. “Yes. Bad night for you, Liam?”

  “Which part?” Cyan muttered. “Finding out he’s a witch? Someone stealing his girlfriend’s corpse? Or, wait, learning that destiny set you up with a woman you met a week ago?”

  Sybil pursed her lips. “It was high time he knew about that, sweetheart.” She sniffed the air. “Oh, Síocháin tea. Perfect.” She elbowed her way between the twosome and made herself a cup before shuffling back through the curtain to the front of the store.

  Liam remained standing.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t ask. Have you heard anything about Zoe?”

  His head shot up, eyes wide. “What?”

  “Zoe. Have the police…” She crossed her arms. “Not that I realistically expect the police to do anything, but…”

  He stared at her.

  “Zoe’s body, Liam. Did it show up?”

  He laughed and then covered his mouth with his hand. “The police haven’t called, no.” He then surprised her by lunging forward and taking hold of both her hands. “Whatever happens, Cyan, I want you to know you’ve meant so much to me—you and your family.”

  “Sure, I… what do you mean, whatever happens? You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”

  “Quantify stupid.”

  “You’re not going to hurt yourself.”

  He hesitated.

  “Liam?”

  “No, I…” He held her hands tighter, his thumbs running over the backs of her knuckles. “I better go home. I have some things to think about.”

  She chuckled. “Yeah, no shit.”

  She didn’t except him to hug her, so when he did, her entire body weight fell against his chest. He seemed unaffected by her tumble, probably because he was so much taller than her. He wrapped his arms around her body and squeezed hard. Cyan circled his waist with her arms and rested her face against his chest.

  “Liam. What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.” He pulled back and kissed her forehead. He stared at her as if memorizing every line, every freckle.

  “Maybe you should stay here.”

  He shook his head and kissed her forehead again. “I could love you,” he said.

  “Liam?”

  He hurried away. The midnight blue curtain flew like a flag in his wake, and Cyan fell back into her chair with the sound of Sea Books’ front door closing. A moment later, Sybil came in, steaming tea in-hand. “Did Liam leave so soon?”

  Cyan stared at his empty chair, considering. “Something’s wrong,” she said.

  When the front door squeaked open again, she jumped from her seat, Liam’s name on her lips. Instead, she found a tall bald man with a tall, slim box in his hands and a gash on his cheek. At the sight of Max, Cyan’s stomach burned with power as she lifted her hands and prepared to light him up like a fourth of July sparkler.

  “Wait,” he said calmly. “I could not have entered this place if I meant you harm. I had to wait for Liam to leave, but I bring an offering.”

  “Fuck you and your offerings.”

  “Stop!” Sybil’s voice had never held so much force. She shoved her niece out of the way and approached Max.

  “Sybil—”

  “Hush!” Sybil, with no hesitation, took the box from Max. She opened the lid and glanced inside. “Where on God’s green Earth did you get this?”

  Max bowed. “The great Augusta Plainacher.”

  No one used Grandmother Plainacher’s first name—mostly because few people knew it. She was just “Grandmother.” The fact that this dark witch would invoke it made Cyan seethe, but before she could bull rush the guy, Sybil said, “It’s the Plainacher crystal ball.”

  Cyan’s eyes never once left Max’s face. “That’s been missing since Grandmother passed?”

  He bowed his head. “Indeed. It was gifted to me so that I could keep an eye on you, our prophesized one.”

  “Sybil. Call my parents. Something tells me they’re gonna want to hear this.”

  Liam stumbled down Broad Street, barely aware of his feet. Cyan loved him, but she didn’t know, couldn’t know. He wanted to scream, tear his hair out, drink until he went blind. He needed to get back to Zoe and beg for more answers—maybe read the actual prophecy himself—yet the thought of going back to his condo, their condo, did not bring peace. He had no longing to run into Zoe’s arms. In fact, he yearned instead to rush back to Sea Books, kneel at Cyan’s feet, and confess his identity as the dreaded Dorcha. But what would happen then? Would Cyan kill him, like Zoe said?

  No, there had to be something he could do to stop all this, to halt the approach of War. Hands sha
king, he leaned against the corner of a law office, the plaster cold against his palms. Maybe he could just kill himself—end whatever fate had in store and give the proverbial middle finger to destiny. His wet eyes burned at the thought as he tried to take deep breaths.

  “Liam?”

  He looked up at the sound of a vaguely familiar voice and recognized the beautiful woman before him. “Layla.” She was one of the bartenders at the Bistro, one of the ones who went out of her way to flirt with him at work. He recalled she’d sent an ostentatious arrangement of white lilies to the hospital after the trolley accident, perhaps in the hopes of becoming his eventual comforter.

  She put her hand to her collarbone, fingernails perfectly manicured in a shade of light pink. “I’m so sorry about Zoe.”

  “Thank you.”

  She stood, staring at him. She put one hand on her slim hip and bit on her plush lower lip. It was well known that the female bartenders at the Broad Street Bistro were some of the most lovely in town, and Layla was no exception with her ample breasts, thin waist, and dirty blonde curls.

  Liam realized they stood ten feet from the Bistro’s front doors. “What are you doing here so early?”

  “Inventory,” she said. “Did you know Max is missing?”

  Liam chuckled, which was probably the wrong response.

  “Nobody knows where he is. Tommy said he even went to Max’s house. Nothing. We’ve all been picking up the slack, since we can’t ask you to pick up a shift right now.”

  Liam’s fingers tingled. “Do you want help?”

  “Hmm?” She pushed out her full, pink lips.

  “Doing inventory. I could use a distraction, to be honest.”

  “Liam, you don’t need to—”

  “No, really.” He pushed off from the wall that had until recently been the only thing keeping him upright. “I want to do something normal.”

  Layla pulled the front door keys from the back pocket of her skin-tight jeans. “Okay.” She flashed a shining, white grin that promised friendly conversation and maybe more.