Wicked Legends: A Dystopian Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection

by hamilton, rebecca

  It’s all I can do to stop myself from chomping on my own hair right there in front of anyone. At least my mother, seated across from me, is still as sedated as a rock star on heroin. From the way her eyes are glazed over, I’m guessing she had a few more glasses of the Harker’s magic wine. Good. I don’t feel like hearing her mouth anymore tonight.

  “Kinsley.” Mac’s hand rests on my thigh, stopping my leg mid-bob.

  Reaching under the table, I gently remove his hand.

  “Are you all right?” he asks me out of the side of his mouth.

  I nod. “Just fine.”

  I’m sandwiched in between him and his older sister, Victoria, who keeps shooting me nasty looks. I hope she can’t breathe fire like her brother. I really don’t feel like going to the emergency room tonight.

  “You seem nervous,” Mac says between bites.

  I almost tell him I’m not nervous. I’m anxious to get this dinner over with and get back to Charming or whatever the hell his name is. I don’t say it because I know how ridiculous it would sound. How ridiculous it is. Still, it is what it is, and for whatever reason, I know I’ll find a way to sneak away from Mac and get back to that dome.

  At the head of the table, Gemma pings her fork against her glass. The buzz of speech halts almost immediately. She gives us a big smile.

  “I want to take the opportunity to welcome you all to our home once again. I hope you enjoy the feast.” She raises her glass. As soon as she does, everyone around the table mimics her. I grab my glass, kicking myself for being the last one to lift it. “Let’s eat.”

  She takes a sip, and this time I copy her actions in time with everyone else. Then I set my glass down and frown at my empty plate. I glance around the table. Everyone else seems to have food sitting in front of them. Clearly, I missed something.

  Beside me, Mac clears his throat. “You just focus on what you want to eat, and it will come to you.”

  I glance sidelong at him and offer a grateful smile. He grins back and digs into a steak so bloody I think the chef must have just walked it through a heated room. Then I peer down at my plate and bite down on my lower lip.

  I want something yummy and easy to smuggle out in my purse.

  Almost as soon as the thought leaves my mind, a bunch of big, flaky biscuits appear on my plate. I almost clap.

  “Cool,” I say.

  Victoria sniggers. “Maybe you should stay away from the bread.”

  With a frown, I glance over at her. She welcomes my stare with a smug grin.

  “Ignore my sister. She’s just upset that she’s flat-chested and often confused for a boy by the opposite sex.”

  Victoria glares over my head at Mac.

  With one last glance at her, I focus on my plate and start to pick one of the biscuits apart with my fingers. I find what he said hard to believe. Sure, she has a short haircut and is short and flat in the areas most girls have at least a little bit of a curve, but her face is the farthest thing from masculine. She has big doll eyes that would be innocent except she insists on shooting death glares with them. She has the same copper hair as her brother–only hers is lighter—and every feature on her face is dainty. Almost fairy-like.

  I place a piece of biscuit into my mouth. It melts on my tongue and hints of butter and cheese. My eyes close as I enjoy chewing it. I focus on eating and try to ignore the fact that I can still feel Victoria’s glare on me.

  “So, Kinsley,” she says. “My brother tells me you’re a drug addict.”

  My eyes pop open. The conversation around the table comes to a dead stop. I shift my gaze over to her. Her smile is full of satisfaction. Great. I have to deal with a mean girl who also happens to be a witch. I try to keep the hurt out of my eyes as I turn to Mac.

  He’s not looking at me. He’s glaring fire into his older sister.

  “That is not true,” he says between his teeth.

  “Really?” I ignore the fact that all eyes at the table are now on us. “Then how does she know?”

  Mac tears his eyes from his sister, and his gaze softens as it shifts to me. “Victoria has the scrying gift. It’s one of the weakest gifts a witch can have.” He shoots a malicious smile over my head. “And the only one Victoria was born with. She often uses it to manipulate people, as she’s doing right now, with you.”

  For a moment, I forget about my anger. “Scrying? That’s like… telling the future?”

  The buzz of conversation starts up again. I’m relieved that everyone else has become more interested in their food than in what we’re saying.

  “There’s a little more to it than that,” he tells me. “Scrying is being able to see a person. Their past, their present, but mostly, their future.” After one last scowl at his sister, he leans toward me. “I swear I haven’t said anything to anyone. I told you I wouldn’t.”

  I nod then drag my focus back to my plate. As soon as I’m sure no one is looking, I fold three of the biscuits into a napkin then stuff them into my purse on my lap.

  ` I glance at Victoria, and she shoots me a knowing look. I really don’t like this witch. At all.

  “Those stripes make you look big,” she says out of nowhere. “I didn’t know my brother was into fatties.” She shrugs. “I guess you never know people.”

  My mouth gapes open.

  “Victoria, you sound like an idiot,” Mac says with a snarl in his voice.

  “And your haircut makes you look like Dumbo,” I shoot back.

  Beside me, Mac laughs.

  Victoria’s face turns crimson, and she drops her fork to her plate with a clatter. She rubs her hands together and scoots back in her chair.

  “Don’t come crying to me when this one breaks you.” She stands up and saunters away from the dinner table and out of sight.

  I turn to Mac with a frown. “I don’t think she likes me.”

  “Victoria doesn’t like anyone. Especially women. Doubly for women she feels threatened by.”

  I snort. “Why in the hell would she be threatened by me? She’s a witch. I’m just… me.”

  He smiles. “She’s barely a witch. And just you is a lot more than she’ll ever be.”

  I frown. “You shouldn’t talk about your sister that way.”

  Mac’s eyes widen, then his lips ease into a smile. “She just insulted you, announced something very personal about you to a table full of strangers, and you’re defending her?”

  I shrug. “I’m not saying she’s not a bitch. But you’re her brother. You’re supposed to stand up for her no matter what.” I glance at the clock on the wall in front of me.

  9:19.

  “You’re something, Kinsley.” He chuckles then digs back into his steak. “You really are something.”

  I grin, and the eat more of the biscuits that magically reappeared on my plate. Then I realize I can use his sister to get the hell out of here. At least for a while. I stuff the rest of the food in my mouth then turn to Mac, forcing my lower lip to quiver.

  “I feel like everyone’s staring at me.”

  He glances around then rests his gaze on me. “They’re not.”

  I bite my lip, twirling my hair and averting my gaze to my lap. “I just feel really embarrassed after what Victoria said.” I force a shiver. “I think I need some air.”

  Mac places his napkin beside his plate. “Sure, would you like some company?”

  I pretend to think about it, tilting my head to the side and everything. “No,” I say slowly. “I just need a few minutes to gather myself.”

  He nods. “Understandable. Most people have that reaction to Victoria. But hurry, or you’ll miss dessert.”

  I stand up and smile down at him. “I won’t be long.”

  Before he can say anything else or anyone can ask where I’m going, I dash for the front door and hurry back to the room of spiritual attunement.

  WHEN I REACH the glass paradise, I stand in the doorway, trying to catch my breath. Then I see him. Charming.

  I roll my eyes.
I can’t believe I’m calling him that, even if it’s only in my own head. He’s sitting in the middle of the dome, half facing me, but unaware of my presence.

  His hands are folded together, much the same way Mac’s were when he made that blue light appear. Only blue light doesn’t creep out between Charming’s fingers. Something that looks like crystal does. Something that gives off an incredible, white light. His hands pull apart, and a tiny swan sits in his palm. I realize it’s quartz, one of my favorite crystals.

  The light radiating from it is so bright, I have to raise a hand to shield my eyes. Charming lowers his lips and whispers something to the crystal swan that I don’t hear, then it floats away from him and settles at the bottom of the waterfall. It swims around before vanishing through the water.

  I let out a tiny gasp. Charming’s eyes swing up toward me. Then he pops to his feet as elegantly as a trained dancer.

  “What was that?” I ask in a strained voice.

  He shrugs, sauntering toward me. “You came back.”

  I nod then point toward the waterfall. “Um, what was that?”

  He pats his stomach. “Did you bring me something to eat?”

  With a sigh, I throw my purse into his chest. “There. Now answer my damn question!”

  “You’re kind of a hot head, huh?” He hands my bag back. “My mother taught me never to look through a lady’s purse.”

  My eyes narrow at him. With frustration gripping every inch of me, I fumble inside for his stupid biscuits and slam them into his chest. He unfolds them and scarfs them down like he hasn’t had a proper meal in months.

  I want to look away, but I find him fascinating. How is it possible for a man to be stuffing his face like a hog and still remain as sexy as he is? It doesn’t make any sense, and it’s something only men can pull off, which really pisses me off.

  I wait until he’s finished devouring his fourth biscuit before I ask him about the swan again.

  He shrugs, crumbs tumbling out of the sides of his mouth. I should be repulsed, but I find almost everything about him adorable. How annoying.

  “Oh, that,” he finally answers, waving a hand toward the waterfall. “Just a little magic. Not very good magic, either.”

  “Looked pretty amazing to me.” I lift an eyebrow at him. “You’re a witch?”

  He shrugs and sits down in the same wicker chair Mac was seated in a little over an hour ago.

  “Depends on who you ask.”

  “Meaning?”

  He takes his last bite of food and licks his fingers. Pulling out a water bottle from behind him, that’s obviously been used several times before, he takes a long swig. Finally, he peers up at me and shrugs. “If you ask your Harker buddies, they’d say no. Hell, if you asked the High Council, they’d probably say no. Those people, they tend not to claim us.”

  My brows furrow in frustration. I wish he would just give me straight answers. “I don’t understand.”

  He grins at me. “I’m a street witch, Kinsley.”

  Instantly, Gemma’s voice echoes in my memory.

  For goddess’ sake, put on your robes. You look like a street witch.

  I’d never heard the term before tonight. I sit beside him. “What exactly does that mean?”

  “It doesn’t really mean anything.”

  “Oh?”

  He glances sidelong at me. “In my opinion, it’s just a term that the High Council and powerful covens throw at people like me to make it seem like they’re superior.” His nose wrinkles. “A street witch is just a witch without a coven.”

  I turn in my chair so that I’m facing him. “Well, why don’t you have a coven?”

  “Because covens are created from heredity, and I was the only—am the only—witch in my family.”

  “If you’re the only witch in your family, how did you learn it all? I mean, magic?”

  He shrugs. “Street witches are more instinctual. We work more with what’s in our gut than what’s taught to us from ancient tomes. In some ways, it makes our magic more powerful.”

  “In some ways?”

  He smiles at me. “As much as I hate to admit it, one witch can’t beat the power of a full coven. It was always my dream to see a street witch coven take on a traditional one.” He claps his hands and laughs. “Now that would be something to see.”

  His smile is contagious. “Then start one.”

  His eyes darken. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  His mouth opens then closes. When it opens again, something in his eyes shifts. It’s like he was about to say one thing but decided to say something else.

  “Street witches are wildly independent. Trying to get them to organize would be like trying to pry a bottle of gin from the hands of an alcoholic.”

  A frown tugs at my lips. I know—and I don’t know how I know—that what he’s saying is true, but I also have the overwhelming feeling that it’s not the whole story. That overwhelming feeling waves at me like a scolding finger, cautioning me not to press him any further. So, I don’t.

  “Hey.” He jumps up. “Want to see something cool?”

  I smile, happy that I’m not the only one partial to that word. “Sure.”

  “Come here.” Charming strolls off toward the row of potted plants.

  I get up and follow him, dodging the floating flowers and faeries darting through the air. He stands on the other side of the row, and stand in front of him. Giving me a quick smile, he picks up a large toad from where it was resting inside the dirt and holds it up.

  I follow his movements with burning curiosity. His hands start to close around the frog. Its eyes bug out, and a horrible croaking noise stains the air. Then Charming squeezes way too hard.

  “No!” I lunge at him, but it’s too late. The toad lies dead in his hands, its tongue lolling out of his mouth like a kite with no wind. My hands fly to the sides of my head. “Why? Why in the hell would you do that?” Tears sting my eyes.

  “Relax, Kinsley.” With a smile, he cups the dead toad in his hands. A burst of white light sparks from his fingers.

  I feel the energy swirling all around me, blowing an artificial wind throughout the dome. Even the faeries stop chasing each other and watch.

  My eyes widen slowly as something starts pulsing inside his hands. Seconds later, there is a loud croak. A normal one, not the sickly one attached to death. Charming opens his hands, and the toad’s tongue lashes out, claims a fairy, then folds it into its mouth.

  I gasp. “Oh, no!”

  Charming laughs. “Oh, yeah. Toads love faeries.”

  The toad hops off his hand and buries itself back into the dirt.

  “But…” I point to the spot where the toad just disappeared. “It was dead! I saw you kill it!”

  He shrugs. “I just killed it to show you a cool trick.” He splays his fingers in the air. “Power of revival.”

  My eyes stretch much wider than I thought they were capable of. “You can bring things back to life?” I say in a doubtful voice, even though I just saw him do it.

  “That is what revival means.” He flashes a swoon-worthy smile at me.

  I frown. “I’ve never heard of that. And I’ve read a lot about witches. There’s the fire gift. The earth gift. The water gift…”

  He holds up his hand before I can finish my list.

  “You probably haven’t heard of it because it’s very rare. Incredibly rare.” He laughs. It’s a dark, bitter thing. “And in my case, ironic.”

  My frown deepens. “Why is it ironic?”

  He shakes his head. “No reason. Anyway. It’s incredibly rare. I’ve never met another witch that could do it. Although many have tried.” He frowns. “I’ve seen it go bad, real bad.”

  A shiver races up my arms. “What do you mean?”

  His eyes darken. “You’d think witches, of all people, would have an easier time accepting death. That it’s a natural part of life. A necessary part of life. But… it’s not always the case.” He strolls out f
rom behind the rows of plants and comes to stand beside me. His fingers reach out and caress plant leaves. They arch toward him, responding to his touch. “I’ve seen people work the magic without the gift. They create these soulless imitations of life. Things that were…” He shudders. “Abominations. In many cases, I had to put them down.”

  I take in a desperate breath that makes me realize I’d been holding it up until that moment. “You killed them.”

  His eyes snap toward me. “No, I don’t kill things.” With a flexed jaw, he turns away from me. “They weren’t people. Trust me.”

  I frown. What did he mean by that? I don’t kill things. Does he know someone who does? Again, my gut tells me not to question it. For some reason, I think I’ll have him figured out by the time this night is over.

  “I have a question,” I say, folding my arms over my chest.

  He turns to me again, and this time he’s so close that I forget my question. My mind seesaws as I take in short bursts of air. He smiles down at me, clearly enjoying the effect he has. For some reason, this snaps my brain out of dumb mode.

  I grin up at him. “Why would a witch with one of the rarest powers on the planet need me to look out for him? Seems like you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself.”

  He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares down at me with a tiny smirk on his face. “Against the living, sure.” Reaching out, he tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. My body scorches under his touch. “The dead are another matter entirely.”

  “I see.”

  He smiles. “So, what excuse did you use to get away from Mac Harker?”

  I shrug. “His sister said some nasty things at dinner. I pretended they bothered me and told him I needed some alone time.”

  Charming raises an eyebrow. “Which sister? He has a gazillion of them.”

  I smile. “Um, Victoria? Victoria Harker.”

  He scoffs. “Oh, she’s a nasty one.”

  “You know her?”

  “Barely, thank God.”

  I laugh. “She is a big bitch.”

  He laughs with me. “Yeah, she has a talent for getting to people.” He steps away, taking my hand and leading me to the waterfall. “Are you sure you were just pretending that she hurt your feelings?”