by Sarah Bailey
“Hold on one moment. One, what do you mean you’re a witch? Two, why on earth would I go anywhere with you? And three, how did you know about this?” She pointed at her wrist.
The dark-haired witch eyed her for a moment. She noticed he was quite tanned with high cheekbones. If he wasn’t so presumptuous, she might have thought he was rather attractive.
“Because I know how to break your little contract with Hell.”
He what? Her mouth dropped open. She wasn’t quite sure she believed that. These things were always too good to be true.
“If you don’t like vampires, why are you in a vampire bar?”
“This place has its uses.”
“You didn’t answer my other questions.”
“I answered one of them.”
She bit back a retort. He was beginning to get on her nerves. She was sure he wasn’t going to give her any more answers unless she went with him. If he could help her break the contract, it could be worthwhile. She picked up her drink, downing it in one. She grimaced as she placed the glass back on the table.
“Let’s go then,” she said. “But no funny business, all right?”
“I wasn’t planning on ‘funny business’.”
She stood, glancing over at the bar. Neave was staring at the two of them with a raised eyebrow. She gave a subtle shake of the head. Why was Neave warning her? What did the vampire know anyway? She could handle herself if she needed to. At least she thought she could. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with the witch. She followed Alistair out of the bar, picking up her coat on the way. They walked up the dark street together.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Somewhere quiet.”
There wasn’t really anywhere quiet in London. There were always the permeating noises of traffic, trains, people and police sirens everywhere you went.
“Would it be too impertinent to ask what your name is?” he said after a moment of silence.
“It’s Grace.”
He stopped, looking at her with a strange expression. He put out his hand. She frowned.
“Just take my hand.”
“Why?”
Instead of waiting, he grabbed her hand and held tight. The air around them shimmered, blue wisps of smoke appearing from his fingertips. In front of them, a strange purple light appeared. Before she had a chance to register what was happening, he’d dragged her into it. She had the distinct sensation of falling for several moments. Her feet hit the ground. She stumbled, connecting with a solid wall of muscle. She looked up into his face, flushing when she realised her hand was still in his. She couldn’t look away from his piercing blue eyes. His expression relaxed into a satisfied smile. She wrenched her hand out of his and backed away, looking around at where they’d ended up.
“What just happened?” she asked.
They seemed to be in a large living space. There was a huge blue rug covering the wooden floors. A rather comfy looking worn leather sofa in front of a TV. Two large bookcases adorned one wall. Papers and old looking books scattered around many of the surfaces.
“Welcome to my humble abode.”
“How… how did we get here?”
“Why, magic.”
She rolled her eyes in disgust. That was not funny.
“It is simple really.” He flicked out his wrist. “I opened a portal.”
Oh yes, of course, totally that simple and not weird as hell. Magic isn’t real.
She couldn’t deny what had occurred. One moment they were in the street, the next, at his place. There was no other explanation.
“Fine, say I believe this whole… magic thing and that you’re a witch. It still doesn’t explain why you know I have a contract with Hell.”
“I didn’t. Not until I saw your brand.”
“Then why bother talking to me in the first place?”
He was silent. She fiddled with her braid, looking at the witch with a frown.
“Perhaps you intrigued me. Why would a girl like you be in a vampire bar looking for a demon?”
“A girl like me?”
“Yes, an innocent looking thing.”
She gritted her teeth. He was arrogant and presumptuous. She wanted nothing more to do with him, but he’d said he could get her out of this contract.
“You want to know why I was there?”
“I am most curious.”
“Because my idiot dad made a deal with a demon. Said demon came knocking down his door. Me, being the fool I am, gave up my soul in place of his because I couldn’t stand the thought of him dying.”
He stared at her with a raised eyebrow.
“I was in that bar to find the demon my dad said could help me break the contract.”
She figured being honest about her predicament was the best course of action. When he didn’t speak, she began to feel nervous.
“You said you could help me, didn’t you?”
“Why would you give up your own soul in place of your father’s?” he asked, curiosity in his expression.
“He’s all the family I have.”
She loved her father despite all his faults.
“What about your mother?”
She flinched at the mention of that woman. She didn’t want to think about her yet again this evening.
“The woman who left my father with a six-month-old baby to take care of? I wouldn’t exactly call her my mother.”
He looked deeply troubled by her answer for a moment.
“You know nothing of her?”
She shook her head, reluctant to say anymore. She’d already said enough.
“Are you going to help me or not?”
He put a hand on his chin, tapping his lips for a moment.
“My assistance with your little predicament will come at a price.”
She hadn’t expected anything else. She didn’t think he was the type of person to do anything out of the kindness of his heart.
“What do you want from me?”
“Oh well, we don’t need to discuss the particulars now.”
“I’m not going to sign up for something if you won’t tell me what it is. I don’t have time for that.” She pointed at her wrist. “This is a ticking time bomb. I’ve only got two months.”
“I can’t say giving up your soul in your father’s place was the smartest idea.”
No kidding. His astute observation was most unwelcome. She met his piercing blue eyes with her own. He seemed to find this situation amusing.
“Fine, I should be going if you’re not going to help me.” She turned away. “Don’t even know why I bothered with this.”
She looked around the room. Now, where is the front door?
“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to help you.”
She felt a hand on her wrist. He tugged her around, pulling her hand up towards him. He traced the brand on her wrist with his other hand. His fingers were cool. She shivered at his touch. He was inspecting the brand closely, but she couldn’t take her eyes off his face. His mouth was set in a hard line. A small furrow appeared on his brow.
It was a shame Alistair was so irritating. He had a very handsome face even if he was frowning at that moment. And those eyes, she could stare at them for hours. This was the closest she’d been to a man in a very long time. If you didn’t count her so-called kiss with the demon earlier. She could hardly describe it as a proper kiss. A mere fleeting touch of lips.
His breath fanned across her wrist, causing her to stifle a gasp. Heat flooded her cheeks. She wanted to pull away. She didn’t like the feelings his proximity caused. Her stomach felt like it was in knots.
“Do you know what it says?” she asked, needing to break the silence.
“Yes.”
“Kobal said it was untranslatable.”
“That’s the demon your father made a contract with?”
“Yes, can’t say I want to encounter him again.”
“Hmm… Most demons aren’t pleasant to be around.”
/> He released her wrist, but he didn’t step back. She wanted him to move away. She liked her personal space.
“In simple terms, it says ‘I walk with the Devil’. I don’t have much use for demon languages these days.”
“You know demonic languages?”
“Amongst others, yes. Useful for spellcasting. Now, if I help you with this, you’ll owe me a favour.”
“What kind of favour?”
“Remains to be seen.”
He was sure one for being cryptic. She stared up at his blue eyes again. Captivating as they were, she needed to focus on getting out of her deal with the Devil.
“Okay. You help me, I’ll help you.”
His lips curved up into a smile. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of it. Why did he have to have such a nice face when he was so annoying?
“It seems we have struck a bargain, Grace.”
The way he said her name sent a shiver up her spine. She took a step back from him. She needed him out of her personal space. Everything about the man in front of her was disconcerting.
“You haven’t told me how you’re going to get me out of this contract.”
“All in good time.”
“If you don’t need anything else from me right now, then I’d like to get home. I should be working.”
“At this hour?”
She looked down at her watch. It was nine pm. She’d have usually started long before now. Her predicament was more pressing than getting her work done.
“I don’t have set hours.” She looked at the floor. “I do programming, website building, that sort of thing.”
She fiddled with her braid. Admitting how nerdy she was to the man in front of her was a little embarrassing. She worked at night a lot when she wasn’t gaming. It was quieter and there were fewer interruptions.
“That’s what you do?”
“Yes. Is that so hard to believe?”
He looked her up and down.
“Well, no, I suppose not. You do rather look like you don’t get out much.”
She bit the side of her cheek on a retort. Rude and irritating. She wanted to slap that smile off his face even if what he’d said was true.
“What I do and don’t do with my life is quite frankly none of your business.”
His smile widened. She clenched her fists. He was getting on her last nerve. If she didn’t need his help, she’d tell him to get stuffed.
“Well, I must say, meeting you has been quite unexpected, but I suppose I shall let you go.”
He supposed, did he?
“I can offer you a quick way home if you’d like?”
“If you mean going through a portal again, then I’ll decline.”
“Suit yourself.”
He walked over to a door, opening it and gesturing to her. She made her way over, looking at him with a frown.
“Here.”
He put his palm out. A tendril of blue smoke curled its way around. When it cleared, a smart business card revealed itself. She took it, staring down at the blue embossed lettering.
“Call me tomorrow. We will go through the particulars then.”
“Okay.”
She hesitated.
“Where am I?”
“Wherever it is you wish to be.”
She frowned. That wasn’t an answer. He smiled at her, indicating with his head she should leave. She walked out the door, onto the street. Looking around, she recognised it. It was her road. She turned back to look at the witch, but the door she’d just left by was gone.
What the hell? How is that even possible?
She was finding this magic stuff very disconcerting, not to mention the man himself. Since when had her life got so strange? She shook herself, making her way down the street until she reached her flat. She walked up the first flight of stairs and let herself in the front door.
“All right, Grace? You’re out awfully late on a school night,” Josh said from the sofa.
“And you’re in early. Where’s Amelia?”
She flopped down next to him after shrugging off her coat and hanging it up on the hook behind the front door.
“Out with Roland or was it Ralph? You know, I can’t keep up.”
“I thought it was Ricardo this time.”
Josh ruffled her hair. She scowled and shoved him.
“Nah, I think it was actually Richard, you know the investment banker.”
“Oh yeah, I think you’re right.”
Amelia seemed to have a thing for guys whose name began with R. It was a long-standing joke between them.
“So, where were you?”
“Out.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Out? You’re never out. Ooo, did Grace have a date?”
“In your dreams.”
She stood, giving him the finger before she shuffled towards the hall.
“Night, Joshy.”
“Right back at you, Grace the Ace.”
She reached the sanctity of her bedroom and sat down at her desk. She moved the mouse and the three screens lit up. As she opened up her latest project, her mind wandered back to the witch.
Despite herself, she found she couldn’t help but want to know more about Alistair. She wasn’t quite sure why he offered to help her. They knew nothing about each other. Something about it wasn’t adding up. She supposed it didn’t really matter as long as he upheld his side of their bargain. She had no idea what he could possibly want her to do for him. She wasn’t anyone special. A twenty-two-year-old shy, nerdy girl who’d never been kissed. Her cheeks grew hot at the thought. Why would he care if she’d kissed anyone? And why was she even thinking about that?
Blue piercing eyes filled her vision for a moment. That was why. He had eyes the colour of sapphires. When he looked at her, it felt like he was seeing right through to her soul.
She shook herself. That was ridiculous. She didn’t care what he looked like and she didn’t want him to kiss her.
Did she?
Chapter Three
Grace shifted on her feet next to Alistair. He put a hand on her arm to still her.
“Why are we here again?” she whispered.
“The person who lives there has something we need,” he replied, his voice low.
“Why are we waiting out here then?”
“Because they don’t like me very much.”
She glanced up at his profile. He was watching the door of the house across the street, hidden from sight in a dark alleyway. She could only be glad she wasn’t alone. Dark, sinister alleys gave her the creeps. She heard a scuffle of footsteps and voices. Glancing behind them, she could see a few people at the other end coming their way. She tugged on his sleeve. He looked down at her in annoyance.
Before he had a chance to speak, she indicated her head behind them. He cursed under his breath when he saw the group of people. She was about to ask him what they should do when she found herself pressed up against the wall. Alistair’s body was flush with hers. She could hear him muttering something.
“Wha—”
He pressed a hand over her mouth, silencing her protest. His body was so warm in the cool, summer night air. She knew her face was flaming. She looked up at him, eyes wide. What was he playing at? Something stirred inside her. This was the closest she’d ever been to a guy. It was doing things to her she didn’t quite understand. Why did she feel so flustered?
Seconds ticked by. The people walked past them, completely oblivious to their presence. She couldn’t see them because Alistair’s chest was in the way, but she could hear them. He removed his hand from her mouth but didn’t step away. He had a strange expression on his face. She wasn’t sure what he was thinking.
“Grace,” he whispered.
A shiver ran down her spine. Why did he make her name sound so… sensual? His fingertips brushed over her mouth for the briefest of moments. Her heartbeat thudded, pounding in her ears. He took a step back, releasing her from whatever strange spell that had been
. She took a breath before she stepped away from the wall. She had no words to ask him what that had been about. It didn’t matter anyway. It’s not as if she even liked him.
“He’s leaving.”
She looked over at the house they’d been staring at for the past half an hour. There was a squat man with glasses locking the door behind him. He glanced up and down the street before he turned left and went on his way. A few minutes went by before he tugged on her arm.
“Let’s go.”
She had no idea why she’d agreed to come with him on this little excursion. When she’d phoned him up that afternoon, he’d told her he had to acquire a few things to help break her contract. And apparently, that meant he needed her along with him.
When they reached the front door, he checked the street. There was no one about. He looked down at the lock. A blue tendril of smoke coiled out of his fingertip and curled its way into the keyhole. A moment later, the sound of the lock clicking had him trying the handle. The door swung back. He gave her a grin before walking inside. She followed him, not wanting to get caught out on the street. She was pretty sure this constituted breaking and entering.
“What are we here for?” she asked when the door clicked shut behind them.
“A book.”
He walked down the hall and through a doorway to their right. She hurried after him. The room they entered was chock full of floor to ceiling bookshelves, stuffed to the brim with books of all shapes, sizes and ages. She glanced around in awe.
“There must be thousands of them in here,” she said.
“Quincy has always been a hoarder.”
He was reading down the spines on a shelf to her right.
“What’s it called? I can help you look.”
“No need. I’ll know it when I see it.”
She stepped up to one of the bookcases, looking at the titles with interest.
Dark Arts by M. Artemis.
A Tale of Suffering by H.C. Kaletoe.
The Craft by Harriet Beecher.
Strange titles. She’d never heard of any of these people. She imagined these books were about spells and witchcraft. She didn’t touch any of them, wary of disturbing the layer of dust.
“Is Quincy a witch?” she asked.
“He’s an arrogant sack of shit,” he muttered.
