Curses, Fates & Soul Mates

by et al Kristie Cook

  “What now?” she asked.

  Luther and Lucas’ gaze met. “We wait for Monroe’s magic to return,” the Angel answered. “Until then, we find a way to rid her of her connection to the underworld.”

  Belle leaned against a bar stool cushioned in red.

  “It’s hard for the Coven to understand Monroe’s connection with Demons. Wicca is a belief centered on the Earth, the Goddess, and her Consort. Our individual practices differ, but it all narrows down to that.”

  NeeCee, who had been clutching the Ayers grimoire, placed it on one of Belle’s end tables so she could grip her coffee with both hands.

  Luther watched Belle. “Hard to understand or not, Hell exists, and it wants Monroe. Or better yet, her magic. It’s rare for a mortal to be born connected to the underworld. Unless they have Demon blood.”

  Belle looked at me, her eyes wide. “Could it be?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “No. No way! Not possible.”

  Luther shrugged. “Maybe not, but it may be time to trace that family history of yours. Start at the beginning.”

  His gaze moved to the grimoire. Mine followed, a strange fluttery sensation in the pit of my stomach. Could there be Demon blood in my family?

  “There’s no way,” NeeCee interjected. “I mean, if there was Demon blood in our family, why only Monroe?”

  Luther glanced at me. “Good question.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Demonic energy makes my power stronger. Anytime I perform a spell anywhere near a Demon, it magnifies its power. This should scare me. Really, it should. And truth be told, it does.

  ~Monroe’s Totally Wicked Book of Shadows~

  One day. Only one day, and I was standing in the middle of a red room with a big bosomed, raven-haired witch, my wide-eyed cousin, a fallen Angel, and a Demon while questioning my lineage. My existence.

  I moved to the grimoire and lifted it. “How do I get my magic back?”

  Luther moved to my side, his hand skimming the grimoire’s worn leather cover. A Pentacle design was etched on the top. His fingers brushed mine, and I pulled away.

  “The spell Bernice did is temporary. How temporary is unknown. Your magic will return on its own,” Luther said.

  He took the grimoire from me, pulling it from my grasp as if he had every right to the contents. And I let him have it. I offered no resistance because, right now, he and Lucas knew way more than the rest of us.

  He flipped the cover open, scanning the date on the first page, his eyes dark.

  “The beginning of the grimoire is illegible,” I said quietly.

  Luther’s eyes met mine. “If only you knew how old I were, Witch. Your grimoire begins in the 12th Century, in 1141 to be exact.

  “And this matters because?” Belle asked.

  Lucas watched Luther’s face, his eyes narrowed. “You really think following a book will save her?”

  Luther glared at the fallen Angel. “Stay out of my head, Angel. I didn’t invite you in.”

  I stared at them, my eyes wide. “What do you mean follow a book?”

  “It means he thinks we should trace your ancestry. Follow the grimoire from its beginning to where your curse begins,” Lucas explained.

  “My curse?” I repeated dumbly.

  Luther looked up at me, his face grave. “To an Angel, being linked to Demons is a curse. Consider yourself blighted.”

  Well, that was comforting.

  “And so we trace my ancestry?” I asked.

  Lucas nodded. “That’s the idea. A history lesson while chased by the denizens of Hell. The Demon is insane.”

  Luther looked at him. “You have a better idea, White Knight?”

  Lucas frowned. NeeCee had long since laid her coffee down, her face full of terror. Belle was standing now, her own eyes narrowed.

  “You want to trot all over the world trying to find a link with Demons that may not exist?” she asked.

  Luther smiled at her, his gaze full of sexual interest. It made her squirm, which was more than likely his intention.

  “Theoretically. It’s a much better plan than feeding her frog parts and trying white and grey magic that has no effect on Demonic power,” Luther stated.

  Belle’s mouth dropped open. “Are you suggesting black magic then?”

  Luther’s expression grew hard. “I’m suggesting we find out where the Ayers messed up. Or find out if they did anything that may have tied Monroe to the underworld. You can leave the black magic up to me. No worries, sweetheart, my soul is already corrupted.”

  Fear finally crossed Belle’s features. If she hadn’t known how dangerous Luther “Thorne” Craig was, she did now.

  Luther moved away then, putting distance between himself and the others. I followed, looking up into his face as he stared out of a window at the darkening, busy street.

  “Why are you really doing this?” I asked.

  He looked down at me. “Because my brother is bound to your best friend, and he asked me to. One favor. It’s all I’m willing to give even him.”

  “So I’m a favor?”

  He looked away. “I don’t save people, I destroy them. Yes, you’re a favor. I like who I am. I have no problem being the Demon I was born to be. I believe in my brother’s cause, giving hybrids like us a choice. My choice is Hell. That will never change. I like the dark.”

  Luther’s brother, Marcas, was a hybrid Demon, a ruler in the Outer Levels of Hell. He was also a champion for half-breed Demons because he gave them a choice. Hell or Exile. Like Exiled Angels who live outside Heaven, they could choose to live outside Hell’s rule. I guess I respected that.

  “I’m okay being a favor. I think,” I said, my nose scrunched.

  Luther looked down at me. “Then the journey begins, Witch. We find out where your people screwed up.”

  That was it then. I looked at the clock on the wall. 6:00. In 6 hours, I had someone else’s powers, I was a Demon’s favor, and I was about to trace my family’s lineage on a large scale.

  Luther held his hand up in the air, and red elongated candy magically materialized in his palm. The symbolism wasn’t lost on me.

  “Hot tamale?” he asked, amused.

  I thought of the black candle NeeCee had lit before the spell. 6 black wax spots. 6 hours. 6 p.m. A Demon sometimes known as Thorne.

  I was screwed.

  CHAPTER 7

  I think Dayton is in love with Marcas. In a way, I don’t blame her. There is something about the Demon. He seems completely emotionless, but I wonder if that’s because of who he is. He’s been around for a long, long time. And now, when its time for them to become unbound, I feel reluctance from them both. We fought Lucifer’s army in Petra. It was the scariest thing I have ever had to do. Satan tried to possess Luther, tried to use him to fight his own brother, but he was wearing an amulet he took from me, and it worked! It kept Lucifer from possessing him. What does this all mean?

  ~Monroe’s Totally Wicked Book of Shadows~

  The Ayers’ grimoire looked eerie where it sat on Belle’s end table, the brown leather cracked in places, the pages yellowed but protected by magic. It was old magic. Ancient magic.

  The book had always fascinated me as a child during the odd times when my mother would let me sit in on circles, my eyes moving to the old text. So much magic, so many Ayers witches.

  “Demons in our family,” Bernice whispered.

  I looked over my shoulder to find her eyes wide, her fear much more pronounced than mine.

  “Hush, NeeCee. We don’t know that,” I said.

  My eyes went back to the book. It was late now. Luther was in the kitchen, deep in some debate with Belle about our family grimoire and a wild goose chase. Lucas had left earlier, only to return with some of mine and NeeCee’s things. NeeCee had eyed the pink duffel bag Lucas had brought back with longing. I could see the question she refused to ask on her face. Bernice missed her mother.

  Unlike NeeCee, I was used to being alone. I had an amazing fami
ly. My mother and father had raised my brothers and I with a kind but firm hand, guiding us when they needed to, but never sheltering us. There had been some secrets, don’t get me wrong. I hadn’t found out about my father’s role in the S.O.S. until I was seventeen, but I didn’t blame them for that. All in all, they had raised us the best they could, and then trusted us to make the right decisions.

  For a while, I had chosen to work with the Swords of Solomon like my father and my oldest brother, Ethan. But my powers began to bother me more and more, the Demons the S.O.S. often came in contact with causing me pain even with the amulet, and so I had made the decision to seek out the Coven. When I had called my mother, she’d agreed with me. She was as worried as I was about my connection to Demons, and although I fought often with my Aunt Clara on how to approach my so-called curse, I was willing to try most anything. Until now.

  I leaned over and picked up the black backpack Lucas had laid at my feet. It was old and worn with a faded scene from the Wizard of Oz imprinted along the front.

  Unzipping it, I sighed in relief when I saw my own clothes inside.

  I looked up at Belle. “Mind if I change?” I asked, gesturing at the small bathroom just beyond the red beaded curtain. She looked over at me and nodded.

  “Quickly,” Luther insisted, his dark eyes on my face. “We shouldn’t stay here long.”

  I heeded his warning, moving into the too small restroom just long enough to use the facility, rinse off, and shirk the dress and platforms I’d worn all day. I pulled out a pair of dark blue skinny jeans, and an oversized navy t-shirt with the words Wanted Dead or Alive along the front and cringed. First off, Lucas had a messed up sense of humor. Secondly, he definitely believed in comfort over beauty.

  I stepped into the jeans and tied the too long shirt off with a ponytail holder before digging a pair of flat, black slouch boots out of the bag. The boots made me grin. The fallen angel had probably been looking for tennis shoes. If it had been Dayton, he would have had no problem. Me? Nope, I didn’t do tennis shoes. He was lucky I owned anything without a heel.

  I straightened and looked in the mirror. What little makeup I had attempted that morning had worn off, and there were shadows under my eyes, my skin too pale to hide the weariness.

  I pulled the headband out of my white blonde hair and threw it into the backpack. My hair was straight and too fine to wear long. I kept it bobbed just below my chin. It swung there now, slanted bangs falling into my face.

  My blue eyes met my reflection in the mirror, the sight distorted briefly when I leaned over to splash cold water into my face. And then there they were again. The same blue eyes. No different. No less tired. No less confused.

  “Here goes nothing,” I murmured.

  The moment in the bathroom was more about bolstering my courage than changing clothes, and I stood up straight, my shoulders back before grabbing the backpack and moving out of the room.

  Belle, Luther, and Lucas were standing around the grimoire, the book open, when I reappeared. NeeCee stood behind them ringing her hands until she heard the red beads swing against the wall as I entered.

  Luther looked up, his eyes cutting to Lucas when he caught a glimpse of the t-shirt I wore.

  “Really?” Luther asked.

  A corner of Lucas’ lips twitched, but he managed to fight the grin.

  I pointed at the book. “What are you doing?”

  I dropped the backpack on the couch as I knelt in front of the grimoire.

  Luther peered down at me from where he stood on the opposite side of the table. “How much of this book can your family actually read?” he asked me.

  The insulting tone he used made me tense, and I stuck the end of my tongue between my teeth as I stared down at the grimoire. It was open to the first few pages, the words scrawled within foreign to me.

  “We’ve had some of it translated,” I said defensively.

  Belle swept her hand over the text. “And what hasn’t been translated, Clara was looking into. You aren’t the first person to believe the answers to Monroe’s problem might be in the book.”

  I clenched my jaw. I really hated it when people referred to me as a problem. I let my eyes move up to Luther’s. His gaze met mine and held it.

  NeeCee made an uncomfortable gasping sound, and I saw her rub her arms from the corner of my eye. I wished there was something I could do to shield her from Luther’s energy, but he already wore an amulet.

  “I’m assuming you can read it,” I pointed out. “So does it really matter what we haven’t translated?”

  Luther didn’t comment. He looked at Belle, which honestly bothered me more than getting no reply. “The first entry is from a young girl. Eta. No last name. It seems to be a running theme in this book,” he said.

  NeeCee moved behind me before sitting on the couch, her leg touching my back. She was shivering.

  “There would be no need right? Wouldn’t they have all been Ayers?” NeeCee asked.

  Luther shook his head. “Maybe. If all of the females in the line kept their maiden name. But some of them must have married, and the ones who did would have taken their husbands’ names.” Luther turned a few pages, his forehead creased. “Did Eta marry an Ayers or was it her father’s name?”

  I looked up at him, an image playing behind my eyes.

  “It was her father,” I whispered. It seemed NeeCee hadn’t acquired all of my powers. Either that or we shared a similar talent. It seemed more likely than the power swap spell fading. Even weak spells lasted longer than a day. “Her father was an Ayers,” I repeated loudly, my tone sure.

  Luther’s eyes swung to mine. His gaze was like a knife. Even when he wasn’t trying to, his eyes cut too deep.

  “Touch the book,” he ordered.

  I felt strangely compelled to follow his command, but I fought it, standing so that I was no longer kneeling before him, my jaw hard. “What?”

  Luther’s gaze moved between Bernice and I. “Did you finish the power swap spell you did in the shop?” he asked NeeCee.

  She swallowed hard. “Most of it. Monroe stopped me before I read the final line.”

  Luther’s eyes were on mine again. “That’s not good news for you.”

  I stared at him. “Why?”

  Belle placed a hand on the table next to the grimoire. “It’s not good because the spell wasn’t finalized. It means Bernice gave you her magic, but all of yours wasn’t transferred to her. Just the curse.”

  “Wonderful,” NeeCee mumbled.

  I glared down at her. “Don’t you start mocking the curse too. It’s your fault you carry it now. Not mine.”

  NeeCee looked away from me, her cheeks pink, and I felt immediately bad about my sharp tone.

  Lucas moved behind Luther. “It could be good too,” the fallen Angel said. “A power swap spell can last a month when finished. This way, it could fade in days.”

  Belle placed her hands firmly on her hips. “What would either of you know about witchcraft?”

  Luther laughed, the sound harsh, cold. His eyes were red when they met Belle’s. “Witch, we’ve been around long before your people’s first sacred circle.”

  There was something in his tone, something dark and angry. Belle stepped back, her movement bringing her closer to Lucas, but the fallen Angel looked away from her. Whatever memory Belle had brought up, the Demon and fallen Angel shared.

  Luther’s eyes came back to mine. “Touch the book, Monroe.”

  Something about the set of his lips made me obey, my eyes on his face rather than the grimoire. I didn’t want to touch the book. I wanted to touch him. Without the electrical tingle my curse usually made me feel, I couldn’t help but wonder what my clairvoyant powers could discover about him.

  The pads of my fingers landed gently against the old paper, the tickling sensation not unusual. I had touched the pages many times before, and nothing had happened. But now, I wasn’t being held back by the curse.

  One moment I was standing in Bell
e’s living room, the next I was somewhere dark and cold.

  My eyes went wide.

  “Monroe,” I heard someone call, the voice distant. It was Belle.

  “Shut up, Witch,” Luther admonished.

  His voice, too, was distant. I was on the edge of a forest. It was night, and there was a full moon in the sky, the silvery light making frosty leaves and grass glow. My t-shirt and jeans were suddenly not enough, and I wrapped an arm around my middle, my teeth chattering. I knew I was in a vision. I’d had them too often not to realize what was happening.

  I could still hear Belle arguing with Luther somewhere beyond the vision’s veil, but I also knew better than to speak. Magic, especially old magic was tricky. If the grimoire’s protection spell warded against visionaries, speaking could destroy me.

  My eyes skirted the forest, traveling over the dark, spindly trees, their limbs bare of leaves. An owl hooted, and branches swayed eerily in the breeze, but I wasn’t afraid. Witches embraced the night. We held many circles in dark forests and fields. It put us closer to nature, to the world as it should be.

  I exhaled, and gazed in fascination at the way my breath misted out in front of me. There were exclamations from afar. They weren’t part of the vision, and I ignored them. Where my mind was, so was my body. My breath would be as visible to the people in Belle’s living room as it was to me.

  A voice, a clear feminine voice, rang through the clearing before a cloaked figure suddenly brushed past me, long silvery white blonde hair flying back into my face. She smelled like roses, and she was laughing. I blinked, fighting not to stumble. I knew if I did, my hand would come off of the grimoire. The book was the only thing keeping me here.

  The girl called out to someone, her language foreign to me. Other voices answered hers. I could see smoke now coming from small fires lit beside a lake. The full moon glistened on the water, the reflection wavering with the movement of the waves. There were brown hooded figures everywhere. Two white cloaks stood out among the rest.

  Small stones circled the fires, and there were cows amidst the group of people, some of them being led around the flames. It hit me then. It was cold. Winter was approaching, and these people were cleansing their cattle using the power of the smoke. Samhain. These people, my people, were celebrating Samhain.