Curses, Fates & Soul Mates

by et al Kristie Cook

  “Asked the cursed, Ellie Jacobs. Ask them what we did wrong.”

  And with that, the old woman was gone, the smoke swallowing her up, leaving nothing more than empty air in her place.

  Belle waved her hands over the spot Hannah had stood. “What the hell?”

  Luther’s hand dropped from my shoulder as NeeCee turned her head into Lucas’ chest, her shaking shoulders obvious. I didn’t blame her for her tears. Normal people cried.

  I walked over to the fire. It was burning low now, the powder used by Hannah spread out on the ground below. I leaned down and touched it carefully. My fingertips tingled.

  “Witch powder,” I said, my voice low. “Many witches have their own recipes. It’s mainly used for show. The real magic was in her disappearance. How she did that is beyond me.”

  Luther leaned down next to me. “Not magic. All psychological. She merely bent your perception. She is able to manipulate what humans see. She could be standing next to you, and you wouldn’t know. It’s one of her gifts.”

  I looked over at him. “But you can still see her? Is she still here now?”

  “She isn’t far,” Luther answered, his eyes going to the forest. “But we are done with her. No need to detain her.”

  My mouth fell open. “Done with her! But there are so many questions that haven’t been answered!”

  Luther’s eyes went to Lucas. The fallen Angel shook his head. “You forget,” Luther said, “that Lucas has the ability to read thoughts if he so wishes. There was nothing in the witch’s head that she didn’t already reveal to us. She’s right. We need to find the cursed.”

  I stiffened. The cursed?

  I let go of the blanket at my neck, my hand going to Luther’s bare arm. Even in the cold, his skin was warm. I gripped him.

  “We’re not going to Hell,” I gasped.

  I had learned to overcome a lot of fears in my life. Hell was not one of them.

  One of Luther’s hands came up to cover mine. “No, not Hell. Not yet.” His hand fell away, and he stood, his eyes once again on the forest. “We find the Ayers witch turned Hunter.”

  CHAPTER 12

  My aunt has been trying an assortment of potions on me, but they are doing nothing more than making me sick. It’s the best unintentional diet I’ve ever been on. I’m not sure what my aunt is hoping to achieve with them. Drinking nasty concoctions can’t possibly unlink me to Demons. But I have had one nasty side effect. At night, my dreams are impossibly vivid and completely out of my control. They aren’t visions. I know when I’m having a vision. These are dreams. Often, the dreams are about the Demon Luther.

  ~Monroe’s Totally Wicked Book of Shadows~

  Luther and Lucas took us back to the cabin in the woods. The kindling inside the stove had burned out while we’d been gone, but a wave of Luther’s hand sent flames shooting up from the ash while Lucas threw in more logs from a pile just behind the cabin. Belle searched a set of rough cabinets with curtains hanging over the shelves, and she found several cans of beef stew and a loaf of bread.

  “So the old woman lives here?” I asked, my eyes on the supplies in Belle’s arms.

  “No,” Lucas answered, “Although I doubt she lives far. She practices here.”

  I sat heavily on the iron bed I’d slept in while NeeCee settled in next to me, her head going to my shoulder. I let my own head fall onto hers. I’d grown up with NeeCee chasing after me as children. Even though she lived in New Orleans, and my family lived in Mississippi, we’d traveled there often, not only for rituals but for holidays. Having three older brothers, NeeCee was often like a little sister to me. I felt responsible for her in so many ways.

  “I don’t want to die,” NeeCee whispered.

  I glanced down at her. “You won’t,” I promised fiercely. “You won’t.”

  “I think the old woman is crazy,” Belle said, her voice breaking into the quiet tension. “The Ayers are the first witches I’ve ever heard of being cursed. And it makes no sense. Even when Clara told me about Bernice, and then Monroe showed up with her problem, it made no sense. Evil witches make sense, but cursed?”

  Luther looked up at her. “You’re a practitioner,” he said simply.

  Belle began digging in the cabinet for a pot, her eyes meeting Luther’s before moving away again. “You say that like it’s an accusation. Yes, I’m a practitioner. I practice Wicca. So what?”

  I prodded NeeCee gently so that she’d allow me to stand. Belle located her pot. The stew cans she held had those easy tabs on the top that eliminated the need for a can opener, and Belle pulled them up, dumping the contents into the cookware before moving toward the wood stove. My eyes followed her.

  “There’s a big difference between a practitioner and those of us born with witch blood,” I said softly.

  Belle practically slammed the pot onto the stove’s surface before turning to face me, her eyes hard.

  “And what is that exactly, Ellie Jacobs? I’m getting awful damned tired of being told I won’t understand because I’m either not an Ayers or not a blood witch.”

  I closed my eyes. “I love my family, but right now, if I could give you my blood, I would,” I said.

  With that, I walked from the room, leaving even the blanket behind as I hopped down out of the cabin and into the woods. The trees embraced me, but they did nothing to protect me against the biting wind. I would regret my hasty retreat soon, but for now, I found it refreshing. The cold made me human, made me something other than an Ayers, made me something other than a curse. I headed for the lake, the late morning sun having burned some of the grey away, leaving the sky more azure than overcast.

  I sensed him before I reached the clearing. Even without my powers, something about him drew me.

  “I can’t even have this moment?” I asked.

  The lake was in front of me again, and Luther was leaning against a tree just at the edge of the tree line. Damn he was fast!

  “No,” Luther said. “Not now.”

  I passed him, and he followed me. The air around me was suddenly warmer, the snow beneath the Demon’s feet melting away with each step.

  “And Lucas let you come?” I asked lightly.

  Luther laughed. “The Angel couldn’t stop me if he wanted to. Lucas and I have our differences, but we both know this is my domain.”

  I turned to look at him. “That I’m your domain, you mean.”

  His dark eyes stared at me from under brooding lids. It didn’t seem fair that Luther could possess me, that he could see into my head, into my past, but I couldn’t do the same. A one-sided battleground is no place for a fight.

  “Hell,” Luther said. “Hell is my domain. And according to the old witch, those Demon-cursed among you end up there.”

  He stopped next to the stone ring that held the fire from earlier. Flames shot up, the blaze brighter than fire should ever be.

  I stared at Luther’s profile. “You don’t like witches do you?” I asked.

  Luther stiffened, and I moved to stand next to him, the wind making my hair wild around my head. I should be cold, but I wasn’t. Luther was doing something to keep me warm.

  “What has made you hate us so much?” I asked him.

  He looked down at me. “I don’t hate witches.”

  I thought about his reaction at Belle’s apartment the day before. “What would either of you know about witchcraft?” Belle asked. 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.”

  “You certainly aren’t fond of us,” I argued.

  Luther’s green eyes were suddenly tinged red. It was funny really. Red on green. It made me think of Christmas, of candy canes and jolly old elves. Luther was the antithesis of all that.

  “I have no problems with witches,” he repeated. “I have a problem with people who think they are witches. Who find the idea of power tantalizing, and then abuse it.”

  I stared u
p at him, my eyes searching. “Those aren’t witches,” I said.

  The smirk he gave me was cold. “No, they aren’t.”

  Luther walked to the edge of the lake, water licking the tips of the black combat boots he wore.

  “What did they do to you?” I asked. “These people who called themselves witches?”

  Luther laughed. “You don’t let things go do you?”

  I picked up a rock from the bank and threw it into the lake. Where the stone fell, water rippled out, making first small rings and then larger ones. Being an Ayers witch was like those circles. Sometime during the past, an Ayers witch messed up, and it has had catastrophic consequences since, wrapping us in rings we can’t escape.

  “You’re inside my head, Demon,” I pointed out. “I have no doubt you know exactly how hot I like my bath water, how many teaspoons of sugar I like in my coffee, which side I like to sleep on, what I’m afraid of ... give me something about you to trust. Something. Give me a reason not to find a way to break away from you and Lucas, to not take Bernice and figure this problem we have out on our own. What did those witches do to you?”

  I knew, in all actuality, it would probably be impossible for Bernice and I to run, but the bravado felt good.

  Luther leaned over and touched the lake’s surface, cupping the liquid before lifting his hand. Steam rose from his skin as water fell through his fingers.

  He looked at me over his shoulder. “I was summoned once by witches.”

  I froze, fighting to keep my eyes from widening. Summoned. He had been summoned? Wow. I knew those spells, but I also knew they were forbidden. A witch could summon the Shadows, as we called them, but controlling them was a different story. It’s why we had the Rede. Never do anything that could harm ourselves or others. The Shadows were unpredictable, dangerous. They were Demons.

  “Speechless now?” Luther asked, his lips quirked.

  I swallowed. “What did they make you do?” I whispered.

  Again, Luther laughed. “You really want to know?” he asked.

  I looked away. If I was being honest, I didn’t want to know. I knew why Demons were summoned. It was usually for revenge or something equally deadly. The witches who’d called him weren’t witches. They had turned their backs on the Rede.

  “And the witches who called you? Where are they now?”

  Luther stood, moving next to me, his back to the lake. His arm brushed my shoulder, and I looked up at him. His black hair had fallen onto his forehead, and his eyes were red.

  “They’re dead,” he said. And with that, he smiled. “Did you want to know how dangerous I was, Monroe? Or did you need a real reason to trust me? Because if that’s the case, then know this, I have given you more power over me than I’ve allowed anyone in a long, long time.”

  I blinked. “How so?” I breathed.

  He leaned closer. “Because you know the name I use in Hell. The same one that can be used to summon me.”

  I stared at him. I couldn’t have broken eye contact even if I wanted to. Thorne. The witches had summoned Thorne.

  “Why?” I asked.

  The question was vague, but Luther knew what I was getting at.

  “Because I owed you. Because once, I stood in front of Lucifer, and your amulet protected me from him. We’re more alike than either of us would care to admit, Witch. I don’t like being out of control either.” He leaned closer still. “And yet sometimes losing control isn’t all bad.”

  Somehow Luther’s hand had made its way to my chin, and he gripped it firmly. His lips lowered. I wanted to look away and couldn’t.

  “Don’t make me do this,” I begged.

  Luther grinned even as my lips parted. “Witch, I’m not in your head right now. What you want now, in this moment, is all you. There’s a lot of things I’ll take by force. Not that.”

  His lips crashed down onto mine, and I didn’t fight him. I didn’t fight him because he was right. I wanted this.

  His free hand went to my waist, playing with the skin just under the hem of my t-shirt, and I plunged my fingers into his hair. I had planned on pulling him away, but I gripped his head instead, allowing him to deepen the kiss even as my other hand found its way to his back, fisting the fabric of his t-shirt, the move as desperate as the kiss. The muscles under his shirt were tight, restrained, and I knew then he was holding back.

  The kiss, the moment, was so wrong, and yet that’s precisely what made it so right. For this moment, I wasn’t broken, I wasn’t cursed, I wasn’t a witch. I was Monroe, the vintage loving control freak kissing a man I was reasonably attracted to. Only he wasn’t a man, and I wasn’t just a girl.

  Luther pulled me into him, and my hands moved to his face, my palms keeping his mouth trapped against mine. He growled, the sound primal as his hands gripped my hips painfully, one palm making its way slowly, oh so slowly, up to my ribs. I leaned into the touch.

  A sound made me freeze.

  Luther pulled away, his eyes trapping mine to his face even as I caught a glimpse of Belle at the edge of the clearing. My cheeks flamed.

  “Sometimes,” Luther whispered as Belle’s figure disappeared, “being bad is better.”

  And with that, he released me. I almost stumbled to the ground, but caught myself, my eyes on anything but Luther.

  “Tell me something really stupid or mundane about you,” I said breathlessly. It seemed such a silly thing to say, and yet I needed something from him, something that made him more human than what he claimed to be.

  I knelt on the lake’s bank, one hand on the ground, an arm across my middle. My heart raced.

  Luther knelt next to me. “I collect baseball caps.”

  I choked on the laugh that escaped. My eyes came back up to his. “Baseball caps?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t wear them. I just collect them. I like them.”

  I laughed, and this time I couldn’t stop. It bubbled up and just kept coming.

  Luther stood, his hand out. “It was just a kiss, Monroe. I didn’t steal your soul.”

  I looked at his offered palm, my laughter turning to coughs.

  I pushed myself up without taking his hand. “To be on the safe side, let’s not do that again,” I said.

  Luther’s lips twitched as I moved past him, my steps carrying me back toward the cabin.

  “Oh, Witch,” Luther chuckled. “I don’t ever make promises like that.”

  CHAPTER 13

  In my dreams, Luther Craig isn’t just the wise crack Demon I met in Italy when Marcas and Dayton were trying to get unbound. He is in a dark, fiery place searching for something. There are shadows surrounding him, and they are screaming. They are sad and in pain. Something about it doesn’t sit well with the Demon. His face lifts, and I wake up.

  ~Monroe’s Totally Wicked Book of Shadows~

  Belle wouldn’t meet my gaze when we returned to the cabin, and I didn’t blame her. NeeCee was just as I’d left her, the only difference a small cracked bowl full of canned stew in her hands.

  Lucas’ gaze met Luther’s when we entered the room, a frown on his lips. “Any trouble?” he asked.

  Luther grinned. “None.”

  Lucas’ frown deepened. Belle took a seat beside NeeCee, her eyes on me, as if she were warning me away from my own cousin. She’d seen me kiss a Demon. Maybe she thought I was corrupted now.

  “You said before you thought we should find the Hunters,” Belle said, her eyes on me, but her words for Luther. “How do we do that?”

  Luther glanced between Belle and I as Lucas stepped forward.

  “Fallen Angels and Demons are limited somewhat here on Earth. We can do a lot, but only you can locate the Hunters,” Lucas said.

  Belle looked at the Angel. “How?”

  “Divination,” NeeCee answered quietly. She looked calm when she glanced up, her eyes red but tear free, empty. Crying could do that. It could empty out a person until there was nothing left but cold determination.

  Belle studied us all. �
�So we scry?” she asked. NeeCee nodded.

  Belle stood, moving to the center of the cabin, her eyes on the floor. “We’ll need a bowl of water,” she stated.

  Lucas took a dark, chipped bowl from the cabinet, his brows raised. “Sometimes it sucks being fallen.” He disappeared then only to return moments later with the bowl full of lake water. Belle’s eyes went wide. Lucas grinned. “I’m an Angel. My talents before I fell far exceeded Demon boy’s here. If it weren’t for the fall, I’d be able to find your Hunters without the help of dinnerware.”

  “Your fault, Angel,” Luther said.

  He was leaning against the cabin wall behind me, his arms crossed.

  “Yeah, well ...” Lucas shrugged. “Things happen.”

  Belle raised her brows but didn’t say anything as she took the bowl. NeeCee had already moved from the bed to the floor, and I moved next to her, sitting Indian-style as Belle placed the bowl before us. She sat opposite us, thanking the Goddess, her voice high and clear.

  I leaned over the bowl, my reflection in the water. NeeCee and Belle leaned with me, their wide-eyed gazes next to mine.

  I let my mind wander, my body slipping into the realm of meditation I had been taught to seek the day I told my mother I wanted to follow in her Wiccan footsteps. It was a nice place, my place, the peaceful part of my brain where I’d learned to let everything go. It was harder to find it with Luther in the room. I found myself wondering more than once if he was in that place with me now. I hoped not. It was mine.

  The water in the bowl stirred, and our faces were replaced with darkness, a blackness far darker than night. NeeCee stiffened next to me, and I reached down to grip her hand. She had my curse now, and I hers. It couldn’t hurt to touch her.

  A face appeared in the bowl. NeeCee jumped, and I clutched her tighter. The face before us was female. She was middle-aged with blonde hair tied tightly in a bun on top of her head. The woman’s brows were creased, her eyes widening when her gaze met ours in the water. It was obvious she could see us and that meant only one thing.

  Belle sat up. “What the he—”