Hail to the Queen (Witch for Hire Book 2)

by Shyla Colt

  “How do you figure that?”

  “Living in our home, attending our celebrations and following our customs, you’ll be one of us. Blood exchanges will be commonplace.”

  “To you and the others because you’re a vampire. I am a witch.”

  “No. You were. What you are now is more. This bond changed us both in ways we’ve still yet to comprehend. I need to know you can handle what might come with that.”

  “It’s a little late to question my ability to keep it together, don’t you think?”

  The elephant in the room resurfaces. We may be adjusting now, but it doesn’t erase the fact that he bonded us without my permission. It’s not a choice so easily forgiven, forgotten, or moved on from.

  “Are you going to bring that up every time we disagree?”

  “When you forget I didn’t choose this situation for myself or come into it with all the facts and my eyes open, yes.”

  “I expect you to see the big picture.”

  “I do. Mine just happens to look otherwise.”

  “It’s my job to keep you safe. How can I do that when you fight me constantly?”

  “I can take care of myself. We face things together. You linked yourself to a modern woman who rules in her own right. You have to make adjustments for me, too.”

  I will not lose myself for anyone. I worked too damn hard to figure myself out.

  “We should go back inside. They’ll be waiting.” His voice is soft. He’s dropping it for now. I’m smart enough to know it’s been shelved temporarily. I can’t help but wonder if the price of ruling will be our love.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The sky let loose with a thunderous boom hours ago, and it hasn’t let up since. Even with the wards, sleep was sparing. It’s the calm before the storm as we scramble to secure everything necessary to send the Djinn back where he came from and learn more about the puzzle box. My dry eyes burn as I pour over the translations Baal Shem has written out. Unable to remove the ancient text from its heavily guarded location beneath a synagogue, we’re left with this and copies. Not that I could read Hebrew.

  The picture of the box is breathtaking. The wooden box is a mixture of smooth dark wood, overlayed with gold molded in intricate shapes with distinctive Middle Eastern flare. The pointed domes resemble the ornate buildings of the Taj Mahal. Every wish granted after the initial three wishes cost a bit of the wisher’s soul. The acts required to gain a piece of the box are ghastly.

  I scan the cross-referenced events Baal Shem has discovered in the book. The skull of the astronomer, the bones of a righteous woman, and blood-soaked battleground. I can’t imagine what else the text lists. What’s been collected and what hasn’t? What could be worth taking the life of another or bargaining away chips of your soul?

  “Well, we know how all the cases are linked.” Sacha runs her hand through her hair. “This is a lot to take in, I get that. It’s important to know what we’re up against. I don’t see how it can help us track the wishers down.”

  “I think what the summoning is for. Once they capture the Djinn they can make it talk,” I say. “We’ll have to trust the holy men for that. We’re here to back their plays and learn everything we can.”

  “You seem calm about handing over this case. It’s not like you.” Sacha studies me with a curious gaze

  “When we were trying to escape those hellhounds, something happened. I cried out to the Archangel Michael, and he answered.”

  Sacha furrows her brow. “What are you talking about?”

  “I watched a fiery blade cut a path through the fog, and I saw wings. Not feathered, with a filmy shape outlined.”

  “You remember you’d just knocked your nogging on the window, right?” Sacha asks skeptically.

  “Do I seem like the type to hallucinate about angels?” I glance from Fel to Sacha.

  “Given the nature of this case, it wouldn’t be far-fetched.” Fel speaks softly like I’m a wounded animal.

  “I know my mind. How else did we escape?” I challenge Sacha.

  “We threw some nasty spells at them, Lou,” Sacha says.

  “Believe me or not, it made me realize there are other things at work in this case.” I shrug, disappointed in their disbelief.

  Gentle rapping comes at the door. It swings open.

  Renee’s grave face looks wrong. “You should look at the news.”

  I pull out my cell phone, and discover Tropical Odette in a tropical depression three-hundred miles outside of The Gulf of Mexico is forcing heavy rains in Louisiana and experts on high alert. Drenching Central America in a torrential downpour, this deadly storm has claimed fifty lives. Meteorologists are watching this Storm Front closely and issuing alerts. Fear of a repeat of Katrina as the depression appears has been mentioned.

  I watch the newscast play on my phone. The name Katrina is not thrown around easily here in Louisiana. This means things have the potential to get bad fast. It’s July … early for hurricane season. My gut tells me this is the Djinn.

  “We can’t take another storm like this. We’re still trying to recover from Katrina in so many ways,” Fel says.

  “Nothing about this feels natural,” Sacha growls.

  “Because it’s not. We need to make sure we force this storm to turn out.” Picking up my phone, I call Mémé. “Mémé, have you seen the weather forecast?”

  “I’ve seen it. I’m getting the council rallied. You know we try to let nature run its course, but nothing about this comes from Mother Nature.”

  “This is pushing up our timetable. The Djinn is getting desperate. We’re going to need a multi-coven spell to combat it.”

  “I know. We haven’t come together like that—”

  “Since the Reaping.”

  “Yes.”

  “Perhaps that’s why Alida wanted to us to remember. I know you don’t like talking about it, Mémé, but if we don’t, they’ll find reasons to let their egos, pride, and personal feelings get in the way. We need to be reminded of what we can accomplish together, and how bad things can get when we don’t. I’m going to send Fel to you. This is her job now. My place is on the front line.”

  “Be careful.” Her easy acceptance is disarming.

  “I always am.” Putting my phone down, I turn to my cousin. “Fel?”

  “I get it. I’m putting my politician cap on.”

  “Let’s call the holy men and see where they’re at on their end.”

  Twenty-minutes later I have the court gathered.

  “They’ll be summoning the Djinn tonight. Waiting for the storm threatening is too dangerous. They believe it’s a last-ditch effort to shed the blood of a thousand with the storm. Our goal is to stop that at any cast.”

  “What can we do?” Cristobal asks.

  “Support me. This is a magical issue more than anything else.”

  They exchange looks, and Cristobal holds out his hands. Marcellus takes one, Luz takes the others, and they form a chain of held hands; Ruby and Renee close the circle. Cristobal bows his head and the air crackles. A smoky gray dome glimmers around them. Cristobal raises his burning amber eyes. A breeze circles them, ruffling their hair.

  “We have magic of our own. This is what makes our line so unique.”

  “Holy shit,” Sacha whispers.

  “We can cast a simultaneous circle when the others cast. All the energy going toward the same goal is helpful.”

  They let go of each other’s hands, and I feel the difference. Their magic is the opposite of what I’ve grown up with steeped in darkness, but not black―it has the same unnatural feel as a vampire. I want to explore and dissect it. Right now, I don’t have the time.

  “You want to lessen the storm’s impact?” Cristobal asks.

  “Or get it to turn and dissipate altogether. We have to wait to see what the council get
s everyone to agree on.” It’s painful not being in the thick of things. This is the price paid for one foot in each world. Never fully belonging.

  My phone rings. Carter’s name on my phone display pushes me to the edge of sanity.

  “Hello?”

  “There’s something I think you need to see.”

  “Can it wait, Carter?”

  “It’s time sensitive.”

  The tone of his voice conveys more. What am I missing here?

  “When and where?”

  “St. John’s Hospital as soon as possible.”

  “The morgue?”

  “No.”

  “Carter?”

  “Remember the cases and the lack of evidence? Well, this incident has a very lively clue.”

  Is he telling me there’s a witness?

  “I’m on my way, Carter.”

  “Call me when you arrive.”

  “What happened?” Sacha asks.

  “I think we got a break in the cases. It sounds like there might be a witness at the hospital.” I look at Cristobal.“We have to follow this lead.”

  Things remain off between us. The critical situation hasn’t allowed us time to talk anything out.

  “Go with them, Marcellus.”

  I don’t bother protesting. I’ve grown used to the vamp’s presence, and there’s no time to waste.

  Driven by an intense sense of urgency, I rush for the front door with the duo behind me.

  “I’ll drive,” Marcellus says. My phone chimes.

  “Works for me.”

  He chops the thirty-minute drive in half, and I text Carter to meet us. I powerwalk my way over to the entrance when I spot the familiar redhead emerge. Carter observes Marcellus.

  “Good, you brought back up. You’ll need them to get inside.”

  “Are you going to fill me in?”

  “Officers were called in on a case today. A body was dumped in a church. The man was flayed alive.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “He must’ve been involved because when they arrived on the scene, they discovered he wasn’t quite dead. I don’t need to tell you how improbable that is. The blood loss and the shock from having so many nerve endings essentially shredded should’ve killed him long before they got there.”

  “You suspect magic?”

  “Has to be. I’m here unofficially, so my ability to help is slim to none today.”

  “The tip-off is plenty of help, Carter. Thank you.”

  “Anytime. The man’s in Room 415.”

  I pat his shoulder. “We’ll take it from here.”

  “If he’s being kept alive by magic—”

  “I’ll put him out of his misery,” I promise.

  “That’s good.” He walks away, clearly disturbed by the case.

  “I’m going to need your special skills of persuasion, Marcellus. I’ll handle the blending in and not being noticed once you distract the woman at the front desk on the floor.”

  “Teamwork. Because there’s no I in team.”

  His sarcasm makes me snicker. Before, I never got to see the humorous side of his personality.

  Inside the elevator, I employ a glamour that makes me look like another nurse in scrubs before we step out onto the fourth floor.

  “I’ll keep the staff enthralled with my whit.” He winks.

  I follow the room numbers down the hall and slip into a dimly lit room. I let the glamour slip, conserving my energy as I place a ward on the door. It’ll alert me if anyone gets close. I walk over to the side of the bed. Swathed in bandages, the victim looks like a mummy. He’s tall with gangly limbs. Miles was correct in his deductions. An IV bag full of what I assume is medicine and antibiotics run into his arms. Who skins a man alive? It’s the same thought I return to over and over again. The thought of skin sliced carefully an inch at a time is one of the most disturbing I’ve ever had to consider.

  A low moan shocks me. I peer down and find a set of bloodshot pale blue eyes studying me. I can feel the dark magic pouring off him. It’s a nasty hex, meant to prevent him from resting. No amount of medication will put him under. They meant to make him feel every ounce of pain until he expires. His pain filled whimpers lacerate my heart.

  “I’m Lou, and I’m here to help you if I can. The people who did this are very dangerous. We want to catch them before they do this to another person. I know you’re in an insane amount of pain, but if you’ll allow me to, I believe I can help.” He studies me warily. “Blink once for yes, and twice for no. Do you want me to help?”

  He blinks once. I place my hands over his heart and concentrate. I can’t remove the spell―it’s blood magic shared between him and the Djinn. Tampering with it will only make things worse. What I can do is dull the pain. I cast a spell to block his pain receptors. The relief is visible. His eyes clear. He focuses on my face.

  “Can you talk?” I ask gently.

  “Yes.” His voice is raw and rusted like metal left out in the rain.

  “I know about the genie and the puzzle box. Is there anything you want to share with me?”

  “I couldn’t do it. Destroy the city again. Not even to save my wife from cancer.”

  My heart races. “Were you working with the Djinn?”

  Tears spill from his eyes and onto his bandages. “It started small. Gathering information, stealing.” He breathes heavily. “I got in over my head. I couldn’t do it. Harvest the skin of a betrayer while they were alive.” He chokes up.

  “So they took yours instead.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Storm.” He’s beginning to fade.

  “How?”

  “Seven skins to complete the box.”

  His body trembles. “Can you tell me their names?”

  “Ernest Pattan. Wallace Brown.”

  “And your name?”

  “Harold T-Tyler.”

  “You did a good thing today, Harold. I’m going to make sure the nurses know your name so they can contact your family.”

  His eyes turn up slightly at the corners.

  “The pain blocking spell is my gift to you.”

  His eyes close. He may not be able to find true sleep, but now at least he can rest.

  This entire time I’ve been picturing greedy monsters. He’s human like the rest of us. Who’s to say what we’d do to save the one we loved from such a painful death? What would a person risk to see all their dreams come true?

  Too much. I’ll make sure his family is contacted. He did the right thing in the end, and he’s suffered greatly for it. He deserves respect.

  Thirty minutes later, my eyes water as I watch an emaciated, balding woman be wheeled into the hospital room by an older daughter. The girl with a waist-length auburn mane and peaches and cream skin can’t be more than sixteen. Her brother is older. Lanky, and tall with darker hair, he has the look of a youth who’s had to grow up too fast. He’s on the verge of losing his mother, and now his father will fall.

  My vision wavers. I hold back the tears. I’ll cry when this crisis has been averted. I may be tough, but I’m not a robot. The devastation that’s occurred over the past few months is starting to get to me. I push on because it’s what I do.

  “It’s time to hunt, Lady,” Marcellus says from his position beside me.

  “Yes, it is.”

  ***

  The lights of Festival of Freaks shine brightly at the edge of the forest. The year-round haunted house is the location the pendulum located during dousing. The worn wooden fence is loaded with the 50s themed posters advertising Lobster Boy, the Bearded Lady, Wolfman, and more. The once campy acts have been transformed into fanged, clawed, and bloody monsters.

  “Cheery,” Sacha drawls.

  “Are you sure we can’t have a bite
to eat? No one would ever notice her,” Ruby mutters.

  “No, we’re here to capture and contain,” Cristobal says firmly.

  “Wait. She was serious?” Sacha asks.

  “Vampire,” Ruby drawls sassily with an exaggerated brogue.

  “Same team tonight,” I remind.

  The abandoned theme park for children has sat unused for years, rusting. Plant-covered and eerie, it’s the perfect backdrop for a haunted house.

  The small Ferris Wheel and roller coaster tracks are visible through the open gates. The rundown carousel slowly spins, playing warped and broken music. The happy jingle has become a jaded tune of terror since the sound mechanism broke down. Why pay to create a creepy atmosphere when you can buy it as is?

  The clowns lurking by the entrance with garish makeup and neon blue and orange hair invite us in with a wave.

  “I hate clowns,” Larkin mumbles.

  “A vampire is afraid of clowns?” I tease.

  “Not afraid, distrustful. You never know what’s lurking under all that makeup.”

  “How is that different from any other time?”

  “Touché,” Larkin smirks.

  “We remain with our groups. Larkin, Sacha, and I, and Lou, Ruby, and Marcellus.”

  “Once we locate our targets, we wait to join each other before we move in,” Cristobal says.

  “Yes, sir.” I salute. “Anything you say, sir.”

  He glowers at me, and I wink before we split and head in separately with our online tickets. A zombie clown with pale skin, balding head, and a dark suit shuffles toward us. This would be fun under different circumstances.

  The pounded metal band I’ve charmed to react to the nearness to Wallace and Ernest is lukewarm on my wrist. I turn to the left and make my way through the crowd.

  “Anything?” Marcellus asks.

  “Not one change in temperature either way so far.”

  “Hmm. Then we can consider this the midway point. Not too close, not too far,” he suggests.

  “That’s smart.”

  “Notice she sounds surprised,” Ruby remarks.

  “They have carnival games over this way. Maybe they’re mingling with the crowd.”

  “Or working the games,” Ruby says. “If you were a psycho killer, this place has to be the perfect gig.” Ruby shrugs.