Everwish: The Primati Witches Book One

by Amelia Oz

  The fog arrived upon my first steps, so thick a mortal would not have been able to see a hand before a face. I marched unerringly towards my target, closing my eyes and ignoring the phantom fingers sliding across exposed skin. Once they had a taste of me they drew back quickly enough.

  There would also be a directional spell to distract the average visitor from interest in the house. It was a common trick in the witches' arsenal. The spell clouded the intentions of the person, sending them wandering in another direction. It was once described to me as the feeling of walking into a room for something and then forgetting what it was you were there to find. I was immune to such mind tricks.

  The sounds began. Vicious howls and low growls rose from the fog in every direction, raising the hair on my skin and recalling the bite of dagger sized fangs. Crunchy, squirmy things writhed beneath my boots as I continued, smiling in admiration.

  The cold came next, frigid frost that would have thickened the blood in my veins and hindered my steps if I hadn't been me. Fire Witches and Sorcerers would be slowed significantly by this type of cold, yet my unique warmth prevented such an effect.

  The heat ensued, blazing warmth that singed my eyebrows and dried my throat as effectively as a mature forest fire. Comfortable in the roasting temperature, I nevertheless frowned at feeling my hair char away. As I neared the full-length veranda, I felt the piece de resistance as stinging electric lines whipped from the air and sliced into my arms and legs. They came whistling from above and below, charged heat that would have cut me in two had I not regenerated as fast as they made me bleed.

  "Damn it, Clara! Cut this shit out!"

  Laughter rang from the open doorway. A heartbreakingly lovely woman stood framed in porch light. Long red hair swirled as she bent in half with laughter, slapping her thighs. She wore jean shorts and a white t-shirt that read, "Don't make me call the Flying Monkeys." Barefoot, she stomped on the wide-planked porch as if hearing the funniest joke ever uttered.

  "Oh, Alaric, don't be such a spoilsport. I've been dying to try this stuff out. It's been years since I've had so much as a stray bunny this close without an invitation."

  I reached the porch and shook my arms until they regained feeling. "I'd have to say they work fine. You might want to tinker on that heat cycle. I barely felt it. It was more of a tepid baby's bath."

  She stopped giggling and glowered. "What? That heat spell is one of my best sellers. Silicon Valley and Wall Street asshats pay top dollar for that add on."

  I offered a conciliatory grin and she bit off her next comment. Smiling hugely, she jumped into my arms, laughing when I swung her around.

  "It was actually pretty vicious," I conceded. "Glad I left the bike, or it would've been a hunk of smoldering metal by now."

  She pulled from my arms and tilted her chin.

  "I would've used it as an incense tray, darling," she boasted with a toss of her strawberry curls.

  I chuckled darkly. "Vicious, Clara, vicious."

  "I'm just glad that gorgeous hair of yours is growing back already." Her smile faded as she stepped back and searched my face. "Hmm. I haven't seen you in this form for many years." Clara was one of a handful who could recall my true appearance before the wars.

  "The better to blend in, Clara."

  "Hmm. I always thought you avoided this form because it reminded you of your human life."

  "You're very astute and your memory long," I said simply.

  "As you pay me to be, Alaric," she responded sadly.

  I nodded, knowing she would be here even without payment. A very big deal considering how acquisitive witches could be. And Clara was Queen of all water witches west of the Atlantic Ocean, her borders reaching into the Pacific where they touched those of her right hand or First Sister, who led Australasia.

  "I saw her," I said.

  "I heard." Clara had spies everywhere.

  "Your novice is too weak to adequately act as a companion. There was an earth sorcerer there, loyal to Daria, claiming he and his novices were just seeking a stroll."

  Her lips tightened. "I heard about this and will find out why I wasn't informed of their visit in advance, per our treaty."

  Her dislike for Daria Demir, the Earth Witch Queen, was evident in her avoidance of her name. I shared her dislike, but for different reasons. Daria and I had nearly been betrothed as humans. My refusal of her hand had created a great deal of trouble over the years. Daria's right hand, or First Sister, was Marcella, a woman with a great deal more wisdom and self-control. She was able to temper most of Daria's worse impulses—but not always.

  Leaning against an elegant porch column with crossed arms, I studied the distant ribbon that was the Columbia River.

  "I think I'll stick around to watch over the girl for a while."

  Clara twirled the same lock of hair over and over. I felt her apprehension and it mingled with...relief?

  "To prevent anyone from recognizing me, I'm going to seal off my aura, and I need your help to make sure it works for an extended period." I uncrossed my arms and straightened.

  "Where will you stay?"

  I knew she would not offer her house. Witches were very territorial and Clara, in particular, enjoyed her solitude. I shared her preference.

  "I can help you find a suitable place if you want." She clasped her hands in a prayer pose and peered up at me over her fingertips.

  "That won't be necessary," I said with a shake of my head, "Grayson has accompanied me and will make arrangements." She nodded, her face relaxing.

  "You do know Stella is eighteen in two months? She’s already halfway through online college courses for an Art History degree. Before that she was homeschooled," she said in an abrupt change of subject. "How will you get close to her when she spends all her free time in the woods or inside that claptrap her grandfather, Sam, insists they live in? If you read my reports, you would know that she's not exactly a social butterfly." I frowned, only now recalling from reports that Stella had indeed been homeschooled.

  Clara held up a slender hand. "The report I sent last month would have told you that Stella and her friend decided to complete their final year in a real high school," she said with rolled eyes. "It begins in two weeks and I already have coven members prepared to enroll as new students and most of the teachers for her selected classes." I watched with hooded eyes as Clara examined her fingernails before buffing them on her shoulder.

  "I know and hear all. In this case, I hear she wants the "full experience" before graduating, including prom." Clara pretended to gag.

  "You will also learn the pleasure of dealing with her father's people," she reminded me with a sour expression. The full-blood Romany were not well liked in the Primati, or supernatural, community. Mainly because they did not care about the Primati community, or our rules. If the Romany were an animal, it would be the Honey Badger—resourceful, determined and causing mischief just because they could. They were also skilled as keeping just under the radar. I held them in great admiration.

  I grunted in acknowledgment. "That's right. There's a grandmother, correct?"

  Clara made a pfft sound and waved a hand. "That harridan is absolutely uncooperative. Her family call her “Baba” but she is no sweet grandmother. And it's not just her. There’s an entire village of their family in the area, most involved with scamming tourists with palm reading or small businesses. Thankfully, the girl doesn't spend much time with them."

  I quirked a brow, distracted as a heavy wind arrived, blowing rain sideways onto the porch. Clara was quite put off by them. I would have to make the grandmother's acquaintance in person.

  Clara moved to her front door and I straightened to follow.

  "She has family and that matters. In truth, seeing her today made me realize how delicate and fearful she is. She needs all the protection she can get."

  Clara drew up short, her pretty face stunned.

  "Fearful? Are we still talking about Stella?"
/>
  I nodded, recalling how she trembled in my arms.

  "Um. Petite blonde?" she continued to quiz.

  "Of course," I growled.

  Clara drew closer and patted my shoulder, her touch turning into lingering strokes that stopped when I scowled.

  "Girl's gotta try, big boy," she said with a mischievous grin before pivoting to enter the house. I heard her mutter the word "delicate" under her breath. Her shoulders shook as she walked away.

  "Better come inside. We've loads to talk about. You also need to put some clothes on. My worthless heat spell seems to have burned off all your clothing." I looked down and confirmed she was telling the truth. Shrugging, I strolled in after her.

  The house was all warm wood and curves. Its interior was surprisingly devoid of excess furniture or bric-a-brac. I smirked at the absence of any reflective surfaces. Especially mirrors. Clara would ensure any portal was kept under lock and key within her personal domain. She was crazy as hell but never dropped the ball on defense.

  She led me to a modern upstairs bathroom. Waving at a wardrobe bag hanging from a hook, she shot me a playful grin. Without doubt, I knew I would find clothing in my size.

  "Prepared to have a naked monster visiting, were you?"

  Laughing, she danced towards a door at the end of the large bathroom.

  Shaking my head, I grabbed a fluffy towel and wrapped it around my hips.

  "Are you kidding? I've had about a dozen calls on my bat line in the last hour reporting your whereabouts. Your aura lit up the sky this evening."

  Framed in the opposing doorway, she did a slow pirouette before landing in a graceful position.

  "By the way, please try not to terrify my coven members, Alaric. They are petrified of The Lion, many of them growing up with tales of your terrifying ways. They see you, they expect to die. You nearly gave Bromely a heart attack earlier."

  I grunted, glad to see the shower stocked with soap and shampoo. "She the Goth from the traffic light?" She nodded.

  "I never kill the innocent, Clara." I rebuked her with a frown. Truly, I'd enjoyed frightening the little witch, and it served her right for messing with the traffic lights.

  She said nothing, just tapped her front teeth with cherry tipped nails. I raised a newly regenerated eyebrow until she sighed and continued.

  "I know. Just as I know you will do as you please. Just putting in a request in case you were interested in retaining top talent. Recruiting is a bitch these days, and she's been a solid performer. In fact, she's been my right hand and very loyal. We minions are not easily come by," she said. Very few dared to use that tone in conversation with me. Yet Clara had earned an explanation.

  "She was reckless to stay me at the traffic light. Once my aura is sealed, no one should recognize me. If they can't recognize me then they can't fall apart and come crying to you," I responded coldly. She wisely dropped the subject and moved to the mirror-less sink area to refold a stack of washcloths.

  "You know, she has up to the age of twenty-one for the curse to strike. You can't mean to personally guard her until then? Three years is a long time."

  My expression was implacable.

  "Who will manage the Council while you're here?" she continued, pressing the small squares of cloth into perfect folds. "Murad still disappears for months on end—"

  "Don't," I ground out and she fell silent, her hands stilling on the counter as she turned to meet my eyes. Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to be tolerant. I was not in the habit of explaining myself, even for old friends. I turned the water on and adjusted the temperature until it was scalding before I trusted myself to respond.

  "Don't question me on this."

  She nodded but failed to show any sign of fear. Clara the Brave. I softened.

  She saw my change of expression and relaxed somewhat. "I suppose I just want to know how Murad is," she admitted. "He’s still far from the charming conversationalist he once was."

  Clara had more latitude than most to speak so familiarly of my brother, yet I knew to trust no one with all things. Especially in regard to the King and his affliction.

  "My brother continues to improve. As you must know, he has attended more Council meetings and will take his place at the Samhain celebration in France."

  Of course, she would know this—Clara was on the Council.

  "Okay. Subject dropped. While you clean up, I'll see what I can do to strengthen the deterrent spell around the city," she offered.

  I dropped the towel and entered the shower. Shutting the glass door, I adjusted the spray until it hit the back of my neck. Steaming water sluiced for long minutes, but I felt her presence still. It afforded the opportunity to offer a reminder.

  "And don't forget to increase the number of your coven keeping eyes on her. Grayson will be coordinating with you, and we should try to keep them at a distance to avoid crowding her, especially as she seems a bit shy. She's very...sweet. Amenable."

  I heard choked laughter and wiped at the condensation. I was alone. Reaching out with my senses, I felt her drifting farther away into the house.

  Folding my arms, I lowered my head and allowed the water's spray to batter my skin. Clara was not herself. Neither am I. I turned, banging my head lightly against the tiles before resting my forehead against the cool surface. Damn minions.

  Chapter 3

  Moon Reversed

  Stella

  asked for coffee."

  Amanda shrugged and took another mouthful of her own mint tea. I pretended to take another sip of the green, frothy juice in my glass and immediately gagged to further my point. She smoothed the frayed edges of her yellow cloth placemat as if it were fascinating. Her homemade lattes were legendary, with ground bourbon beans her father sourced from local, artisan coffee roasters. They kept cow's milk on hand just for my lattes. Sighing, I pushed the glass away.

  "Mom made that for you before she and Dad left for the market this morning. It will hurt her feelings if you don't drink it." Amanda guilt-tripped me. She still wore her Hello Kitty pajamas and the horned-rimmed eyeglasses she used when not wearing contacts.

  I eyed the glass with distaste. "I love your mom, but I'm not her test bunny. What is this anyway? It tastes like what pond algae looks like."

  "I saw kale stems in the compost, but she may have added spirulina. I thought you liked her goddess juice?” Marion was always experimenting with new juice concoctions and making us try them.

  "Normally. This is not the usual."

  "I loved mine. Maybe she didn't put in enough green apple. Want me to add some?"

  "No. What I would like is for us to talk about what happened in the woods yesterday," I reminded her for the umpteenth time. "Stop trying to distract me with juice."

  Amanda wiggled her nose to nudge her eyeglasses up. "You know, doesn't Sam's favorite nurse come on Saturday mornings? I bet she brought you Voodoo donuts or something. You can always have breakfast at your house."

  "First off, Carol is a health nut. It's unfortunate. Secondly—and I cannot believe I am actually saying this—I’m not leaving your side until you agree to talk.” I began ticking off my fingers. “One, what happened that you use our secret safe word? Two, why couldn’t I move or speak? Three, why did you act all meek when hot guy showed up and manhandled me…” That wasn’t exactly what had happened but I was on a roll. “…And most importantly, what did you ask me to forgive you for?"

  She arched a brow and stared out the window, blowing on her tea. Although early morning, it was overcast. Even with the skylight centered above Amanda's kitchen, the room was gloomy without the overhead lights turned on. Amanda's kitchen was unique for the fact they had no stove. Electronic gadgets, yes. Smoke detectors in every room, yes. But nothing with a flame.

  Her mom had been traumatized as a child and her pyrophobia had rubbed off on Amanda, despite my attempt to desensitize her to it. One can only jump out at a screaming friend with a lit candle so many ti
mes before it just gets sad. I'd had to stop after the ninth "therapy" lesson because Amanda's hair started falling out and Marion had called Sam.

  I waited in stony silence until Amanda leaned forward, placing her cup on its matching saucer.

  "Do you remember when we learned about Occam's razor?"

  "The monk who liked a close shave?" I offered her a bland smile. Occam's razer was a problem-solving principle, but I forgot the guy's first name. It basically meant that when forming a hypothesis about something, the simple and known solution is usually the best.

  "Ha-ha. He was a friar. I'm serious, Stella. You’re making this into something bigger than it needs to be. I'm sorry. I don't mean to be so mysterious, but I just really need to talk to my mom about what happened first. She and Dad left to set up for the market before I woke you this morning. If I promise to ask them tonight, will you please just drop it for now?"

  I shook my head, incredulous, and checked the clock ticking above her refrigerator. Amanda normally loved to talk. About everything. Even if you weren't interested in what she had to say. Especially if you weren't interested.

  "Since when do you need to talk to your mom before discussing something with me? And why didn't she wake us before they left? You usually help them on Saturdays," I argued, leaning back in my chair.

  "You’ve just asked me more questions in five minutes than the last five years.” She shook her head, exasperated. “Mom probably saw you crashed in my bed when they got home last night and figured we could use the chance to sleep in. I'll talk to her tonight." She averted her eyes as she took another sip. I frowned but she was right. After showering and eating Amanda's microwaved macaroni and cheese, I'd fallen asleep early. Normally a night owl, I put it down to the excitement of yesterday.

  Nostrils flaring, I crossed my arms and tried not to lose my temper. We were walking on the edge of a massive fight but holding back. Amanda most likely because she hated confrontation. Me, because storming out of her house at this moment meant a possible run in with Scott, her next-door neighbor and my ex-pseudo boyfriend, who, if he still kept the same Saturday shift at the glassblowing shop, would be walking out his door in five minutes. Seeing him face-to-face would be a masochistic experience I could do without this morning.