Wicked Legends: A Dystopian Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection

by hamilton, rebecca

  No, Julia couldn’t fall her now. Her mother couldn’t survive being sober for this.

  Julia soothed herself, pushing aside her own feelings so she could focus on her mother. She guided the older woman to sit on the edge of the sofa, then sat beside her and wrapped her arm around her mother’s shoulders.

  “How did it happen?” Julia asked, her voice measurably lower.

  Julia’s mother looked up, meeting her daughter with glassy eyes.

  “They found her this morning.” She hiccupped. “Her flesh had been turned to stone. They tried to undo it, but she just crumbled. Like dust.”

  She lifted the drink to her lips, but Julia eased the flask away from her mother’s mouth.

  "Scattered in the wind,” her mother said. “That’s what’s left of her.”

  Julia’s heart sank. How was that possible? Aria was one of the oldest and most powerful witches in North America. She was second only to Grandfather in terms of sheer magical talent in the Fairweather line. And Grandfather was second to no one in any line.

  “I don’t understand,” Julia said, shaking her head and remembering all the times she’d spoken to Aria. She had always been kind and understanding. The old woman held a special place in her heart for Julia, because she too knew what it was like to hear the infuriatingly indecipherable voices of the ancestors.

  God, Aria would be one of those voices now, too. The thought was almost too much for Julia to bear.

  “She wasn’t hurting anyone,” Julia said, swallowing hard. “They had already moved her out to pasture. She was a goddamn figurehead, for Christ’s sake!”

  Her jaw locked up, anger flushing through her system. If only she had been there, if only Julia would have spent the night at home—really at home, in body and mind and spirit—then maybe she would have heard something. Would have been able to save the woman.

  But no, she couldn’t be bothered to do something like that. Instead, she’d spent her time—

  Julia froze. What had she been doing?

  Panic set in on Julia’s mind quickly because, for the first time since she’d ran away to Iowa, Julia couldn’t account for a stretch of time.

  “Excuse me, Mother,” she said, trying to keep her voice and expression steady and flat.

  “They’re having a meeting in half an hour,” Julia’s mother said, turning and stumbling toward her room. “They want you there, though I can’t imagine why.”

  Brushing off her mother’s halfhearted insult, she rushed into her room. She could barely feel the doorknob in her hand as she shut the door tight behind her. Could barely feel the wood against her spine as she leaned her back into the door.

  Julia was number, her breaths coming quick and shallow and painful.

  This wasn’t happening again. God, it couldn’t be happening again.

  The last time this happened—the last time Julia blacked out and couldn’t remember large stretches of time—it was the precursor to the darkest time in her life.

  Cassandra had blamed Roman for it.

  “If he’s not poisoning your mind on purpose, then it’s a result of the way you feel about him. Either way, it’s not good.”

  That was what she’d say. And, though Julia was loathed to admit it, the facts did play out on Cassandra’s side.

  The blackouts came more and more frequent as Roman and Julia’s relationship got more and more serious. And, as that happened, Julia found herself waking up in some strange places.

  And here she was again, once more with Roman, once more trying to piece together lost time.

  And now one of her favorite people in the world was dead, murdered at the same time Julia had her first blackout in over a year.

  She couldn’t have had anything to do with it.

  Could she?

  As Julia stepped into the sacred room, she was struck still by the sight of their company. For the first time, Grandfather had brough choice pieces oft the Louisiana coven into the sacred room.

  But they weren’t of the blood. Just how desperate was Grandfather for this to work anyway?

  “You’re late, Julia,” he barked.

  In her mind, she scrambled for her chair, but it took a moment for her body to catch up. All eyes on her as she sank into her usual seat. She clenched her jaw, trying to keep her gaze trained on Grandfather, though she desperately wanted to scan every face in the room to see who all was here from the Paris’ coven.

  Grandfather wasn’t sitting as he usually did. Instead, he paced around the table.

  “This is unacceptable,” he said. His voice was even. Low. Steady. But it wasn’t calm. It was the worst of Grandfather’s tones—the one that came when he was too angry to yell.

  Julia’s gaze found Paris, with the moon shining above them and the table circling to match its movements. His expression was pure sympathy, and Julia’s chest ached at the moments she could remember.

  Three nights ago, amidst planning to marry another man—this man sitting before her—she had slept with the enemy. She might not love him, but it was her duty to be with him; to honor him was to honor her family.

  But Roman was the exception to every rule. Julia would never betray her family…except for when it came to him.

  She snapped her gaze away from Paris and tried to re-center her attention on the coven meeting. Paris’ father was instructing Grandfather to calm down.

  “Yer actin’ like you ain’t never been in a brawl before,” the man said.

  Grandfather slammed his fist on the table. “Brawl? This is war! And we’re losing!”

  “You sure as shit are with that attitude,” Paris’ father said.

  “Father,” Paris said, letting his deep southern accent lay heavy on his voice. “Let’s take a minute. These folks just lost somebody real close to them. Maybe we oughta respect that.” He nodded, looking over at Julia. “Give them a chance to mourn.”

  “I got nothing but respect for the dead, Boy,” Paris’ father hissed at him. “But if we sit back and let them mourn, then they ain’t ever going to stop mourning, and they sure as shit ain’t gonna be able to stand against what’s comin’.” He leaned forward, leveling his gaze at Grandfather. “Now, I know that I’m just a guest here. Marriage or not, I get that. But I know a thing or two about tussles. You drew first blood. You did that when you killed the boy.”

  “Adam?” Cassandra’s nose wrinkled, and her lips curled. “He paid the price for his brother’s intrusion onto Fairweather property. That was a property security spell set before we ever knew who would step foot there. It wasn’t personal.”

  “You’re speaking out of turn, little lady,” Paris’ father said, turning to Cassandra.

  “I beg your pardon, sir,” Cassandra started, “but I will lead this coven one day.”

  “That day is not today,” Grandfather said, glaring over at her. “Sit down.”

  Cassandra balked at Grandfather, staring like a hurt child before gathering herself and sitting back down in a huff.

  “Mr. Wheeler may have a point,” Grandfather said. “Though we’ve suffered an immeasurable setback, we’re not defeated. We need to circle our wagons, shore our defenses.”

  “Attaboy!” Mr. Wheeler practically howled. “And I can help you do it. I’ve got an army of bayou witches ready and willing to lay their lives down for me at the slightest word. You won’t ever have to worry about what happened last night ever happening again. I can promise you that or my name’s not branded on my belt. I can have them here at a moment’s notice, protect you from asshole to appetite. And I will, the instant after my son’s wedding.”

  “The wedding?” Julia asked before she could stop herself. “You’re going to wait until after the wedding?”

  “Well now, I’ve got constitutes, too, Ms. Fairweather. I have to justify putting our boys on the front line. They’d do it gladly for family and, once you’re family, they’ll gladly do it for you.” He looked to Grandfather. “What do you say?”

  Julia’s heart was in her throa
t. Here she was, unsure of whether or not she had anything to do with Aria’s death, with Roman’s kiss still fresh in her memory, and sitting next to the man she was going to have to marry.

  But how soon?

  “Fine,” Grandfather said. “Move the wedding up. We’ll have it this weekend.”

  “This weekend?” Julia was really having a hard time keeping her mouth shut about all of this. “I mean—what I mean is, it’s a big thing, Grandfather. Do you really think we can pull a wedding worthy of these to families together in a week? Especially so close to our loss?”

  Did anyone but her see how inappropriate it was to move up a wedding so close to Aria’s death? Surely this was a bad omen, or something? At the very least, it would shadow the closure of a great woman in their family—a woman who deserved to be honored and mourned. But Julia couldn’t say that. Guilt trips wouldn’t go over well with Grandfather.

  Cassandra sighed. “We don’t have a choice, Julia,” she said. “If we don’t get our act together, then this won’t end with Aria. We could all end up dead. And what if, God forbid, Grandfather is next? If he dies without finishing the transfer of power, the entire coven could cease to exist.” She nodded firmly. “It has to be this weekend.”

  “And it will,” Mr. Wheeler said, smiling over at Julia. “Congratulations.”

  16

  Roman

  In the days that had passed since his night with Julia, Roman had begun to feel things again. Though he was still lost in the fog of despair that came with Adam’s death, he was finally starting to imagine the possibility of a life outside of that.

  He knew enough about himself to know that Julia had more than a little to do with that. Just being with her, feeling her touch, kissing her lips, it had lit a fire inside of him that promised to one day forge a new light inside of him. She had been a balm, set out to heal his fractured soul.

  But she couldn’t heal him. He knew that. And he knew that it was foolish to allow himself to think that way.

  She was engaged. She would soon be married to that dumbass bumpkin and, even if she managed to somehow get out of it—if that was even something she wanted—she would still be a Fairweather.

  Though the possibility of feeling better was now more than a laughable proposition to Roman, he knew the wounds that now existed between the families would never mend. He wouldn't allow it to, not with his brother rotting in the ground.

  Roman was halfway through his fifth crossword puzzle of the morning (something about the simplicity of it made him feel better) when his door burst open.

  He grimaced. He had been staying at the family manor ever since Adam’s death. His father told him it would be safer, but he didn’t really give a damn about that. The only reason he was here was to keep the family together, to keep them close by.

  And now he was beginning to regret it.

  April fumed in the doorway, hesitating for just a second and then charging him.

  “Tell me you didn’t!” she screamed, her eyes all bugged out and crazy. “Just tell me, Roman. Good God, just tell me you’re not responsible for this!”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Roman asked, standing up. He had never really seen his sister this way, way past the edge with no hint of turning around. It set his body on edge.

  April took a long, deep breath, as if trying to calm herself. She blinked hard and the words came slow, like she couldn’t believe she was saying them.

  “Did you do it, Roman? Did you kill that woman?”

  Roman jerked. Narrowing his eyes, he asked the only question he could come up with in his given shocked state. “What women, April? Who died?”

  Julia flashed through his mind, and then a splash of the unimaginable pain he knew without a doubt would cripple him if the next words that came out of his sister’s mouth was her name.

  Let her leave. Let her go to Iowa, or marry that idiot. Let him never see her again. Just let her live.

  “Aria Fairweather, Roman. She was murdered last night. And I would bet—”

  He held up his hand. “Don’t, April. You’re a terrible gambler. And that is one you will lose.”

  Roman collapsed into his seat with the relief that it wasn’t Julia. Who the fuck was Aria Fairweather? He didn’t care. So long as it wasn’t Julia, every one of those sons of bitches could drown, or burn, or disappear from the face of the earth. He didn’t give a damn.

  April crossed her arms. “Well, you don’t look so torn up about it.”

  “I don’t see why I should,” Roman answered. “I don’t see where it concerns me. Who was she anyway?”

  April looked at him as though he was joking. “Are you kidding me, Roman? She’s practically the matriarch of the entire Fairweather coven. She’s the one who built the Moon Temple. You can’t seriously be at war with these people and not know that!”

  “Great. Who gives a damn? Send flowers.” Roman sat picked his crossword puzzle back up.

  “Hey!” April yelled, ripping the paper from her brother’s hand. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but this whole detached thing is not okay.”

  “What do you want me to do?” he asked, standing up again and huffing. “Some old bitch died. She probably deserved it.”

  “You don’t mean that,” April said, shaking her head. “And you never answered my question.”

  Roman moved toward his sister, eyeing her up and down and setting his jaw.

  “What question?” he asked, his voice flat and hard.

  “You know what question,” April said, matching her brother’s tone.

  “Ask me again, April,” he said. “Ask me if I killed some defenseless old woman.” His hands balled into fists at his side. “As if you don’t know me. As if I’m some common thug. Go ahead!” he screamed. “Ask me again!”

  “Lower your voice,” she commanded, daring to hold his stare. “Do you think I wanted to come in here? Do you think this is something I’m comfortable with? I would give anything to be able to believe in you the way I used to. But I can’t, Roman. You’ve done too much. I’ve seen too much. My brother—the brother I knew—he’d never let hate take him over like this. He’d never allow himself to turn into this thing, this shadow. And he sure as hell wouldn’t turn his back on the one person who believed in him.”

  “I haven’t turned my back on you,” he answered.

  “I’m not talking about me!” She threw her hands up, then let them flop to her sides. “God, how stupid are you? She loves you! She loves you, and she’s practically begging you to come and save her.”

  Roman looked away.

  “All she has to do is ask.”

  “We don’t always use our words to say things, Roman. And we can’t always admit what we want, even to ourselves.”

  He shook his head. “She’s engaged.” He thought about the other night, about the passion and the heat. And about how it was probably the last time it would ever happen between them. “She belongs to someone else. If she wants to change that, then it’s on her.”

  “She doesn’t belong to anybody,” April said. “And, if you’re not willing to fight for her, even a little, then maybe you don’t deserve her.”

  “I didn’t kill that woman, April,” Roman said, blinking hard.

  “Fine,” she said, though he couldn’t tell whether she believed it or not.

  God, how far had they fallen?

  “You know,” she started, tears forming in her eyes. “I used to look at the two of you and it made me believe. I believed in love, in happiness. Looking at the two of you, I knew that no matter what garbage we were surrounded with, everything was going to be okay. It had to be, because the two of you were together. And the world couldn’t be that bad.” She nodded her head. “But now, I look at you and I’m not sure what I see anymore. Maybe I was right the first time. Maybe your stars are just too far off.”

  She turned and headed toward the door.

  “April, I—”

  “Don’t,” she said, not break
ing stride. “I don’t even know what to say to you. I hardly even recognize you anymore.”

  17

  Julia

  Julia paced back and forth. She shouldn’t have done this. She knew that the instant she hung up the phone. Meeting Roman was too dangerous, especially now. If anyone saw them together, it would undoubtedly lead to even more destruction, even more heartbreak. They would be better off to leave each other alone.

  But she couldn’t do that.

  Julia hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him, about that night in his apartment, about that night in their dreams. He was a part of her and, like it or not, being without him was like being without water. She had no idea how she managed for so long back in Iowa. But, Paris or not, she couldn’t handle being without Roman again. At least not tonight.

  She was a nervous wreck as she looked out the window. This safe house was cloaked and, as far as she knew, neither Fairweather nor Blackwood magic could pierce it.

  Wheeler magic might be something different, but she had told Paris she was going to get a pedicure, and there was no reason he would come looking for her. Especially not here.

  This sweet shop had been one of Julia’s favorite places as a child. She used to stay in it for hours at a time, snapping up free samples, sniffing sweet aromas, and watching the tourists as they milled in and out.

  Savanah was a melting pot of people during busy seasons, and Julia used to pretend she was all of them.

  When this place closed down, Julia felt as if she was losing a piece of herself. But she found a way to repurpose the old building.

  After she and Roman got together, Julia took him here. She wanted him to know this part of her. And, in a strange way, it became their place.

  This building that had given her so much joy as a child then stood for a different kind of joy as she got older. And, standing here now, wondering whether or not Roman would actually show up, she hoped to regain that joy.