Witch for Hire

by Shyla Colt

“A compromise we can all live with it. I’m not expecting you to bend the knee and pledge your loyalty when you don’t know me, and clearly, I never had the chance to get to know the real versions of you. All I’m asking for is a clean slate, and a chance to form something more than tolerance of each other,” I state.

  Larkin nods his head in approval. “Good answer.”

  “Honest one.” When I shrug in response, the action briefly makes me worry I might expose more than I want to at this table. And in this case, it would be worse than Janet Jackson at the Super Bowl. Damn Gillet and his dress choices.

  “And you accept this so easily now when it sent you fleeing in the past?” Luz’s expression is distrustful, and I don’t blame her.

  “No, it took years to come to this, and I’m still coming to grips with all of it. But better the devil you know. We all want things to stay exactly as they are. Cristobal is a good ruler, you’re on the top of the food chain, and Cypress is at peace. It’s my duty to keep it that way on both sides of the spectrum.”

  “And therein lies the problem,” Marcellus says quietly. “One day you’re going to have to pick a side. Are you a witch or one of us? I have my thoughts on which side you’d land on.”

  “What you see as a weakness, I see as my greatest strength.”

  “Optimism is the first to fade, dear lady. But for your sake, I hope you’re right.” The somber note hits me in the gut. I’m better when dealing with his anger.

  Everyone melts away once dinner finishes, leaving Cristobal and me alone.

  “That went better than I anticipated,” he says.

  “If you mean no one’s dead, I agree,” I mutter.

  “Walk with me.” Rising, he holds out his hand.

  I stand. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t feel like holding hands.”

  “I will touch you far more than this at the equinox.” He holds his position.

  “How could I ever miss this?” I whisper as I place my hand in his palm.

  “Miss what?”

  “How manipulative you are,” I whisper. My lower lip trembles. I bite the inside of my jaw to hide my response.

  “Have I spoken an untruth?” He laces our fingers and guides me through the house.

  “There are ways to warp and twist the facts to get what you want. You’re a master at it. Perhaps you’ve been doing it for so long, you don’t even realize. Sad.” I spit the last word out like something gone sour.

  “What are you hoping to accomplish, Louella?” He brings my hand up to his lips as we pause in front of the exit.

  “An apology to begin with.” He opens the door and leads me outside. There’s freedom here as we escape prying eyes and ears with advanced hearing. The buzz of insects and the croaking of frogs in the distance bring the night alive. I missed this Cajun choir while I was in Kentucky.

  “For being what I am?” he asks skeptically. “For lying and hiding things. For toying with my emotions—”

  Suddenly, I collide with his chest, cutting off my sentence and causing me to gasp.

  His nostrils flare, and his eyes turn amber. “I’ve done many things, but that was never one of them. You want me to regret what I am? What I do to keep my family safe? No. I won’t do that. I did my best not to hurt you. Can’t you see that?”

  I press my palms against his firm chest. “I would’ve preferred the truth.”

  “You think so now, but you forget, I know you. Our spirits are bound. You like to keep the distance between us and ignore your own darkness because you fear it.” His words pierce the shield I’ve wrapped myself in.

  “No.” Denial is bitter on my tongue, and difficult to swallow.

  “Yes. Magic is not intrinsically dark or light. It’s what you do. You’re neutral, like every witch before you. You are like me.”

  “How can you say this when you are steeped in darkness?” I whisper.

  “I am of the dark, but it does not consume me.”

  “I should have listened to them when they warned me about you.”

  His eyes dart back and forth as he studies my face. His lips curve up in the corner. “You don’t mean that. I know you’re angry. I deserve it for the poor way I handled things. I’m not a man used to consulting others. I act in the best interest and focus on survival. Surely you understand I play the long game. I will always do what’s necessary to keep you.”

  I throw my hands up in the air. “Even if it’s against my will?”

  “We both know it’s not.” His lips are inches from mine. When I send a spark of power through him to warn him away, he hisses and laughs. “Only you would dare.” He brushes his lips against me. “Or live to see another day afterward.” He releases me, but not before lightly running the back of his hand across my cheek. “You trusted me implicitly once.”

  “You earned it a million times over back then.” The past crowds in on me and I’m overcome with recollections of dates, whispered conversations spoken in the dark, and discovery.

  “Allow me to do that again.” He steps back, giving me room to breathe. “There’s something I wanted to show you on the property.”

  I clear my throat. “I noticed the changes. It looks amazing.”

  “Much of that can be contributed to Gillet.”

  I laugh. “Sounds about right.” We slip out to the backyard, and my gaze is immediately drawn to the circular stone entrance of a bricked off area in the distance.

  I place a hand over my heart. “Is that what I think it is?”

  He chuckles. “A moon garden? Yes.”

  I admire the moon gate and struggle to keep myself from walking over to explore. “Why?”

  “Because you’ve always dreamed of having one.” He shrugs.

  I shift my weight, uncomfortable with his intense stare. “You can’t buy me.”

  “My only desire is to please you.” He steps closer.

  I peer up into his gaze, the moonlight glinting off the tiny amber flecks in his dark brown eyes. “How can I believe you?” A war is waged in my mind against hope and the need to protect myself.

  “What would I gain from flowers?” He smiles sadly.

  “I can’t do this.” I sigh, the sound loud in the stillness. “You’re Jekyll and Hyde.”

  “I’m the same man I always was. I never hid that from you.”

  “No.” I step away, and he grabs my wrist.

  “You are done leaving. There’s nowhere left to go, and time has run out.”

  “What time?”

  “Did you think I could let you flit about doing what you wanted indefinitely without it damaging my reputation? People are asking questions. I need to stay one step ahead of them with answers and a united court. You’re a part of this now. Hate me if you want in private, but never let that show in public. I tried the patient and kind approach. You didn’t respond, so now I’m telling you.” I tug my arm, and he doesn’t budge. “You will not endanger this family.”

  “I’m not trying to.”

  “Then learn how it all works.” He releases me, and I stumble back. “Are we going to do this amicably, or do you want to continue to waste time fighting over a victory I’ve already won?”

  “For the others?”

  “If that makes you feel better, yes. Eventually, this anger you’re holding on to will burn away and all that will remain is the truth of how we feel about one another.” His cool fingers caress my face.

  I turn my head away. “You underestimate how quickly love can turn to hate.”

  “By now, I’ve learned to tell my enemies from my foes. You wield power, and I respect you, but I don’t fear you. I never will. Nor should you fear—” He stops and peers into the distance.

  Seconds later, Percival appears with Miles beside him. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s been a call. They’ve found another body.”

&nbs
p; “In our territory?” Cristobal asks.

  “Yes.”

  Ruby zooms in, joining the boys. “Shall I call the Rippers?”

  Cristobal grimaces. “No, not yet. Let me handle this. Once might be a mistake made by a Youngling, twice is a pattern. A third can’t happen.”

  “A pattern of murders? I haven’t heard anything about this.” I frown.

  “That’s the point, dove. Where was this one found?” Cristobal asks.

  Miles points to the east. “In the Ridge Parish.”

  With furrowed brow, Cristobal shakes his head. “They’re moving closer to us.”

  “Are you sure you don’t need Rippers? They’re trained for this,” Ruby argues.

  “I don’t want to invite the devil inside. They’re appointed as the assassin race for a reason. If we can avoid them all together, it’d be wise,” Cristobal states. He crosses his arms, causing the gray suit to pull taut at the elbows.

  “You haven’t spent time with them, Ruby. It’s like having a power-hungry maniac sleeping under the same roof. They rule by might and domination. If you think some of the others are left in the dark ages, it’s only because you’ve yet to meet the Rippers. Some people believe the trace of madness that existed in their maker, Jack, is passed down,” Marcellus explains.

  “I suspect someone made that youngling and dropped him in our territory to test us and draw unwarranted attention our way. They want to see how quickly we can respond and if we’ll call in outside help.” Cristobal growls.

  Ruby seems either confused or shocked, I’m not sure which. “Who would be so bold or stupid?” she asks.

  With a seemingly careless lift of his shoulder, Cristobal replies, “Anyone ambitious enough to see beyond the danger, or hired outside help. Was it the same M.O.?”

  “Yes.” Percival nods. “A sloppy kill, distinct fang marks, mangled by tearing, her body devoid of blood in a semi-public place.”

  This time, the answer seems to effect Cristobal, and he places a finger to his temple. “Have the humans discovered it?”

  “No. We’ve had scouts on alert since the last time,” Marcellus replies.

  “And yet, no one saw this happen.” Cristobal’s jaw clenches. “There’s something more here we’re missing, and we need to figure it out immediately. Lou, I want you in on this. Percival, Marcellus, I want you beside her at all times.”

  “Can I at least change my shoes first? I have gym shoes in my trunk.”

  “I’ll get them,” Ruby says, disappearing.

  “You still keep a change of clothes in your car?” Amusement colors Cristobal’s words.

  “Once an Esçhete, always an Esçhete.” I shrug.

  Dressed in a floor-length ball gown and black tennis shoes, I’m riding shotgun in a Bentley full of vampires to track a killer.

  Chapter Six

  Seeing where we are, I can’t help but grimace. “Yeah, my horror movie survival instincts tell me we should not proceed.”

  Miles snickers as the Bentley rolls to a stop in the dimly lit alleyway behind the storefront.

  “Don’t tell me you’re afraid, witch. In case you’ve missed the memo, we’re the monsters in the night the humans fear,” Marcellus says.

  “Nothing wrong with being cautious, and it’s not humans we’re worried about. Crazy baby vampire on the loose, remember?” I counter, giving him a ‘duh’ expression.

  “She’s right. That the youngling has struck twice with no witnesses is worrisome,” Cristobal interjects.

  “Serious understatement, Cristo,” I say obnoxiously. He hates bastardized versions of his name.

  “Unless you’re performing an exorcism, I don’t think that word will help you,” Cristobal says smoothly.

  Laughing, I gently push his knee, unwilling to pass up the opportunity to tease him. “Someone’s been watching Supernatural.”

  “Or grew up speaking Latin,” he replies.

  “Killjoy. I was trying to bring you into the modern world kicking and screaming, and all you want to do is remind me how ancient you are.”

  “Yeah, good luck with that one,” Luz mutters, shaking her head in exasperation.

  “I’ve been pondering how he could slaughter a woman in a public place, and no one was the wiser,” Cristobal says, ignoring our banter.

  “It’s why you brought me, isn’t it?” I ask.

  “Smart and beautiful.”

  “Save the flattery, Cristo. I’ve already decided to help you.”

  His jaw tenses and I smirk. Nice to know I can get under your skin as much as you get under mine.

  “I must warn you, the body won’t be pretty,” Cristobal says.

  “They never are,” I answer honestly.

  We exit the car, and the sense of wrongness hits me. Suddenly, I’m grateful to be sandwiched between Percival and Marcellus. Goose pimples break out over my flesh. There’s an unnatural film that taints the air. It’s more than the residual negativity lingering from the murder. My anxiety spikes. A witch working with a vampire in search of power is never a good thing. My stomach plummets as I recall Mémé’s word. Is this the darkness she sensed?

  We trail behind Luz and Cristobal on silent feet, stopping at a massive metal door. The door opens, and a slender, blond vampire with silver eyes steps back and allows us to enter. Instantly, the smell of meat hits me and I wrinkle my nose. I peer around the space, taking in the industrialized kitchen set up. Knives of all shapes and sizes hang from the wall. A butcher block countertop island takes up a good third of the room. I spot the assortment of questionable containers in the glass door fridge.

  We’re in a butcher’s shop. You’ve got to be kidding me. It made sense in a disturbing way. It’d be the perfect front. While humans shopped blissfully unaware, vampires could come in and order a quick pint.

  “Who found her, Sean?” Luz asks the blond vamp who greeted usHis silver eyes flash.“Hazel. She was out looking for a meal and smelled fresh blood,” Sean answers.

  Cristobal leaned against the wall, seeming relaxed yet I knew he was anything but. “How long after the murder?”

  “No longer than fifteen minutes after it happened. The body was still warm, and the blood was fresh. She searched the area, but found nothing useful.” Sean shakes his head.

  “Are you sure no one saw a thing?” Marcellus inquires.

  “Positive. I’ve sent out inquiries. Discretely, of course,” Sean assures us.

  “Show us the body,” Cristobal says grimly. We follow him to the large stainless steel door of the cooler. He opens the door, and I shiver as I follow them into the frosted tundra. Hooks and pig carcasses hang from the ceiling. In the back corner, nearly concealed by shadows, I spot the body on a gurney. I don’t even want to know why they have a gurney in here, or how many health code violations this is breaking.

  Slender and naturally pale as a redhead, she’s turning a chalk white with splotches of color slowly forming across her collarbones and arms. Her limbs have curved as rigamortis sets in … as if she’s trying to protect herself in death. My stomach lurches. Her milk white skin is still dotted and smeared with old, crusted blood. Her red locks are a matted mess. I can see the tale of a struggle written all over her. She fought him. And yet, she never stood a chance.

  Her unseeing eyes are glazed over, but I can see the terror forever imprinted on her retinas. Her face is twisted into a mask of horror. The freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose and along her cheeks stand out like stars on a white canvas. I’ve seen death. It’s natural. An inevitable ending to the life cycle.

  Her neck is a mangled mess of torn skin. They tried to latch on and blundered before they found her vein. Two bruised and scabbing holes stand out against the pulverized flesh. There’s nothing normal about this violent rending of the soul from the body.

  Disgusted, I wave my hand,
spelling her eyes shut and sealing them to stay that way. She deserves at least this much respect. A resistance pushes back. My heart races.

  “She’s been exposed to magic recently, or she practiced herself.”

  “That’s an unfortunate development,” Cristobal says softly as he kneels beside the body. His nose twitches. His forehead creases and he leans closer, sniffing. “Impossible.”

  “What?” I ask.

  Luz joins him. “I don’t smell anything,” she whispers.

  “How?” I ask. While their keen sense of smell is disturbing, it serves a purpose. Alerting them to moods, other vampires, and creatures, it serves as a lifesaving tool.

  “Witches,” Marcellus spits the word out as if it should start with a b instead of a w.

  Cristobal directs his gaze on me. “What do you sense, Louella?”

  I focus, looking for a magical identifier. “I don’t recognize her as one of my kind. She wasn’t born with magic. It’s possible she may have acquired some through devote studies and practice, but if she did she was weak, or a beginner because it’s not embedded in her essence.” I pause, examining her further. “Still, it lingers around her.”

  “Can you trace the signature?” Luz’s brow furrows and she cocks her head to the side, causing a lock of hair to fall across her forehead.

  I shake my head. “No, it’s too faint, and fading faster by the second. I might be able to get more information from the site of the attack. Violence tends to remain longer.”

  “Luz. Make a thorough inspection for any clues on her, and then incinerate the body and dispose of the remains.”

  She nods her head solemnly. I flinch. Another woman will now go missing, without a trace, leaving family and loved ones wondering what happened, and waiting for closure they’ll never get.

  “Take us to the location where she was found.” We split, migrating back the way we came to the car. The feeling of being watched is gone. Did the witch linger to watch us? The thought is unsettling.

  I watch the scenery roll by in the car. I’ve always loved the beauty of Louisiana with its lush green vegetation, numerous bodies of water teeming with life, and an indomitable celebratory spirit. Out here we live life to the fullest. As we approach the park, everything I love is tainted by darkness as the park takes on a sinister tone in the moonlight. There are so many places for someone to hide.