Witch for Hire

by Shyla Colt

  I feel like Little Red Riding Hood as the forest stretches out before us, dark and foreboding. I start forward, taking the lead. Mama Sabine isn’t going to find herself. The twisted trees crowd in around us. The weight of gazes makes me edgy.

  “What’s in this forest?” Fel asks.

  I hear the crunch of leaves as she moves closer to me. Tiny green spheres of light dance in the distance.

  “I don’t think we really want to know the answer to that,” Sacha says.

  “Agreed.” I scan the area but never stop moving. Fae like to play tricks, and if you’re not alert, it’s easy to succumb to one of their glamours or fall for a trick. They play a lot rougher than we. What amuses them would have a human in their grave or worse, in a bargain that would never be fair. The tricksters are cruel in this area. Harmonic tones begin to drift toward us. Will-o-the-wisp. As long as we don’t pursue them deeper into the woodland, we’ll be fine.

  Sacha looks back toward them.

  “Sach—” I begin, seeing the longing in her eyes.

  “I know, but they’re so pretty. I have to admire them. I may never see them again.” She turns back again, and her blue and white gypsy shirt bells out at the bottom.

  “If you’re lucky, yeah,” Fel says.

  I link my arm with Sacha’s, anchoring her to the present. You never know how Fae music will affect you. Some say the most sensible can catch the madness they bring on and abandon their life in search of the promise they hear in the notes. Light begins to break through the branches, and I sigh in relief. We’re nearing the end.

  We exit the forest and enter a clearing full of people and buildings. It’s like we’ve stepped back in time. The exterior of the shops are little more than glorified shacks. Fires are burning with cauldrons on top of them, and folks are mingling in all manner of garb.

  A figure clad in black steps in front of us. I take two steps back.

  “You seem to be in the wrong place.” I struggle to place the oval face, almond-shaped blue eyes, and curly dishwater blond hair.

  “We’ve as much right as anyone to be here,” Sacha says.

  He clucks his tongue. “Looking for a taste of the forbidden? Because I’m pretty sure I can accommodate you.”

  “We’re not interested, Flint,” Fel says.

  “Flint Dupuex.” The words are out before I can temper than.

  He laughs. “Not the scrawny piss-ant you remember, am I?”

  “I never saw you that way. I kind of thought of you as the cool emo dude.” I shrug.

  “I heard you were back and things were changing. I didn’t realize we were being so very radical.” The glint in his blue eyes is calculating.

  “Our business here has nothing to do with the family. We’re simply paying a visit,” I reply, carefully sidestepping his queries.

  He arches a thick eyebrow. “A visit to who?”

  “This place is like Vegas, Flint. We know the rules,” I say.

  “Happy hunting, Lou Esçhete. I’ll be seeing you.” He wags his fingers

  “Sociopath, much?” Sacha scoffs.

  “Something. Rumor is his father made him that way with his heavy-handedness and extreme criticism,” Fel says.

  “He could never do anything right. That I remember.” I shake my head. “Sad that the sins of our fathers haunt us for life.” I can’t help but think of myself as lucky. I can only imagine what a father who couldn’t accept me as I was would have done to me mentally. Magic starts in the heart and then moves to the head. If you’re distorted in one of those areas, it’s like carrying a bucket with a hole in it.

  It’s a strange blend of carnival with people hawking their wears, street food, and people gathered in little clusters. I’d expected it to be more foreign. This is how they lure people in. Show them the good with one hand, while working the bad with the other. It’s nothing more than a slight of hand, which distracts from the reality. In the center of the makeshift village, we locate Sabine’s. A log cabin style, mid-sized home with two towers with A-frames, and a smoking chimney.

  The power radiating off the structure nearly steals the air from my lungs. The closer we get, the more the air becomes thick like taffy. Inside, we’re greeted by a stone hearth with a cauldron over the fire. It should be sweltering, but the air remains cool and refreshing. The massive mantle above the fire place is adorned with fresh herbs are hung around the room, upside down as they dry out. Stones, trinkets, and magical tools line shelves, and the tops of tables are covered with pretty scarves.

  Bangles clink together as a beautiful woman with flawless nutty brown skin and black eyes emerges from the back. A black turban hides her hair from view. Sabine is nothing like I imagined. She could be forty or four-hundred with her nearly wrinkle-free angular face. With sharp cheekbones, full lips, and a pointy jaw, she has an elegance about her.

  “What have I done to gain an audience with royalty?” Sabine asks as she crosses the floor. Her floor-length brown skirt gives the appearance of floating more than walking.

  “Royalty?” I repeat.

  “You’re the only princess in waiting I see. Heir to more than one throne. Impressive.”

  Her words startle me. How could she know?

  “My spirits talk to me, girl. You have questions?”

  I nod my head. “Yes.”

  “I have answers, for a price.” Her lips spread to reveal straight, white teeth. Polished, savvy, and beautiful, she’s not what I expected. “Catch more flies with honey than vinegar, girl.”

  “Are you reading my mind?”

  She chuckles. “Don’t need to when it’s written all over your face.” It doesn’t escape my attention that she never denied having the ability.

  “What kind of prices are you charging for information these days?” I ask. Sacha and Fel draw closer, but hold their tongue.

  “I want a marker, like the olden days, for a favor.”

  What can I possibly give her that she can’t acquire herself? “What kind?”

  “Of my choosing, to be determined at a later date.”

  “And give you all the leverage? I’m young, not naïve,” I counter. The air in the building turns stale as tension mounts.

  Her black gaze sparkles like a star-filled night. She laughs. The husky sound is velveteen as it breaks the mood.

  “Name your terms.”

  “We bargain for the favor. I won’t blindly agree. I want to know what you’d give me in return to make it worth my while.”

  “I’ll tell you what I can and send you off in the right direction. It’s more than you have now and a little more.”

  “Done.”

  I ignore the murmurs of protest from Fel and Sacha. They’ve no clue what’s at stake.

  “Let us make a witch’s promise then.” She extends her hand. I do the same, feeling like I’m making a deal with the devil as our powers bind us, holding us to the promises we’ve made. We clasp each other’s wrists. Swirls of energy travel the length of our connected arms. Her magic is slimy. Oily, thick, and unnatural, it moves over me like snails leaving a trail. A glowing X appears on our wrists.

  The Gebo Rune symbolizes the contract we made. The glyph would be invisible unless the contract was called into question, or one of us tried to break the terms. Then it would appear for all to see and grow larger and more painful if we tried to shirk our duties. I stumble back. Having touched her power, her disguise has melted away. There’s nothing kind of regal about her. Starved for power, she’s held together by magic and grit. The years she’s lived far surpass the amount the three of us have combined.

  There’s something terrifying about that. That kind of magic requires extreme sacrifice and the darkest kind of magic. She plays at being helpful and caring, but she’d rip a heart out without batting an eyelash if it meant her own gain. She’s the most dangerous type of advers
ary.

  “I gave you what you wanted. Now I need what I came here for.”

  “The one you seek hides in plain sight. A wolf in sheep’s clothing if you will. I must honor the terms of the deal I made, so I must be vague. But you are a very clever girl. The weakest seek to be strong, and the righteousness is a shield they choose to hide behind. They’re good at covering their tracks, but no novice could be perfect.” She pauses and tilts her head slightly as if she hears something we don’t. “In a ring at the heart of darkness is a place where those willing to offer a boon might find power beyond their capability. That’s all I have for you.”

  “Thank you, Sabine.” Giving her my back makes me nervous, but walking out backward isn’t an option. We’re silent until we’re out of her lair.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” Fel bumps me with her shoulder.

  “It was necessary, believe me.” I’m trying to hold on to our peaceful reign. If the murders leak and Cristobal’s ability to control those in his territory is questioned, we could have a war for power. The Rippers coming in to investigate isn’t a good alternative either.

  “Maybe we’d be more inclined to if you let us in,” Fel snaps

  I throw up a silencing spell.

  “It’s not my story to share.”

  “But it is yours to act on?” Sacha counters.

  “I’m walking in two worlds. There are going to be times when I can’t share everything. I’ll ask him. I don’t want to keep secrets from either of you, but what’s going on is big.” I lower the spell before we draw more attention.

  “Is this place what you expected?” Fel asks.

  “No, but if the devil wasn’t beautiful, would he steal so many souls?” Sacha counters.

  “Exactly. Plus, it’s the middle of the day. I doubt it looks the same was night.” In a way, it’s a melting pot. I peer over at the group of vampires bartering at a booth. To the right of them, I see pointed ear women with hair like spun silk, and eyes the color of the sky can only be Fae. It’s a tapestry of beings out and proud. I can understand the appeal of this place in that way. Out in the real world we’re always hiding who we are and what we can do because people truly hate what they don’t understand. Fear is a dangerous thing.

  Chapter Ten

  My phone rattles on the nightstand like a snake giving a warning. I pick the offending object up. Cristobal’s name flashes across the screen, and I groan. All thoughts of sleep evaporate. I pull myself into a sitting a position in bed.

  “Hey—”

  “Louella, there’s been a murder.” His voice is odd, and the exclusion of the previous two murders makes me frown. “The body of a young woman was found in an alley outside of Velvet with Marcellus’s scent all over her. They’re trying to hold him responsible.”

  “That’s ridiculous. He’s far too old to be so sloppy, and has no reason to be that hungry or seek blood out in the open when he can have it ordered any way he’d like.”

  “All valid arguments I mentioned. They don’t want to take my word for it. They say he was in the middle of a bloodlust.”

  I growl. “This is a place he frequents, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was he there that night?”

  “He admits he was.”

  My stomach clenches. “With this woman?”

  “He interacted with her, but he didn’t bring her.”

  “Shit.”

  “Indeed.”

  “The Dupeuxes now own this building, don’t they?”

  “Yes.” I cringe. They’re using this as a chance to go for the jugular. They never wanted peace with the vampires. They wanted extermination. There’s a rumor of hunters in their bloodline. I wouldn’t find it hard to believe given their almost fanatical attitude toward them.

  “Where are you?” I ask as I push back my blue and white flowered comforter, and place my feet on the cold floor.

  “Still at Velvet in the offices. Which is quite heavily spelled.”

  “Tell them I’m coming and, they aren’t to do anything until I arrive.” I wouldn’t put it past them to help with the framing. They think if they topple Cristobal, witches can regain footing. They don’t understand someone will only rise to take his place, and they might not be as agreeable. The only answer is to learn to live together as best we can. The world isn’t as big as it once was, and we all need our safe havens.

  “I will relay your message.” Hurry. The words are whispered through the bond and full of urgency he didn’t show in his voice.

  “I’ll be there soon.”

  Tearing off my pajamas, I stumble toward the closet. I tug on black slacks, a black T-shirt, and my Esçhete family ring. I want to remind them who they’re dealing with tonight. I’m a member of high esteem, not a vampire’s plaything. I’ve heard the rumors and whispers. Tonight I will dispel all of that. I say a silent prayer for the newly formed Witch for Hire.

  The business gives me the leverage I need in this situation. I add a pair of combat boots, rip the head scarf off my head, and undo the plaits I’d braided to hold my curl as I walk toward the front door. I’m as decent as I’m going to get when I grab my keys. My head is full of the things the Dupeuxes could be doing to Cristobal and the rest of the court. Despite our standoffish relationships, they’re mine to keep safe.

  A wave of almost maternal energy sweeps over me. A growl forms in the back of my throat. I don’t know if I’m channeling my bond with Cristobal, or our feelings are the same. I’ve always been one to defend their own. This is no different. I flirt with the speed limit as my tires eat up the distance between me and the club.

  I come into the parking lot close to two wheels and throw the car into park. Bowing my head, I breathe deeply and compose myself. I won’t let them know they got to me, or risk making a tactical error because I’m being run by my emotions. Calm, I step from the car and walk across the deserted parking lot. I knock on the door, and I’m greeted by the eldest Dupeux, Everard. Tall as a tree and built just as sturdy, he has a square face.

  His hair is a shock of jet black against tan skin. His dark gaze is full of aggression. He’s the spitting image of his father. Hulking would be the appropriate word for what he’s doing in the doorway as he looks down at me. I don’t let his size intimidate me. I’ve got more brains in my pinky, and I’m fast. If it comes down to it, I can take him.

  “Lou. I’m not shocked to see you.”

  Never heard my name said quite like a cuss word before.

  “I’m here in the capacity of Witch For Hire. I’m sure you’ve heard of us since your father made a healthy donation to get us started. We approach every situation from a neutral position. I’m here for the facts. I have information that I believe will change opinions on this case.”

  “Do you think we’re stupid? There’s no way you could remain impartial.”

  “She and the others took a witch’s oath to be so. Magic can be bent ever so slightly, but never broken,” a baritone states from behind us.

  I give a small bow. “Mr. Dupeux.”

  “Louella. Please, come in. You’ll understand we had to take precautions with them. They’re dangerous, which will be evident given Marcellus’s actions. They’d pose a real danger to us.” He pours on the Cajun charm with a bright smile that stands out against the sun darkened skin. I’m not impressed.

  I can read between the lines. It was in our right to torture them, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

  “I understand. It’s an unfortunate situation, and we must do what needs be done to remain safe.” I’ll remember this, I vow silently. The powerful scent of vervain reaches me once we enter the hallway. My shoulders tense. I force my hands to stay loose when they want to ball into fists. Power prickles over my skin as I proceed him through the doorway.

  My gaze is drawn to Marcellus. Held down in a chair, he’s
a mass of bruises in various stages of healing. He’s a wreck—blood splatter covers his torn clothing and skin; his impecabbly groomed hair is disheveled, and somehow that’s the worst of it. Because I know he’d never let that happen. A lump forms in my throat.

  Wrapped in vervain-coated silver chain, he’s healing slower than usual. They took every precaution because I can feel the power keeping him in place. Fangs out and eyes an eerie green hue, he’s emitting low growls and hisses that promise painful retribution. Just stands a few feet away with a silver knife out and ready. The muscles in his neck flex, and his jaw ticks. A slender more compact version of the men in his family, he favors his mother.

  “Let him go now,” I say evenly.

  “So he can rip out our throats? I don’t think so,” Mr. Dupeux scoffs.

  “He will not do that, will you, Marcellus? Because you have control. Unlike some people who rush to conclusions and actions, they have no valid excuse for.”

  “No, I won’t,” Marcellus says smoothly.

  “As if I’d take his word for it,” Everard says.

  “Is that speciesim I hear? Because you know that would be against the treaties we’ve formed. ’Cause I’m pretty sure a powerful magic user such as yourself would know its damn easy to frame someone.”

  The niceties go out the window. He steps closer. “Are you insinuating something?”

  “Me? No. I’m simply informing you how it might look if presented to the council.”

  His mouth opens, closes, and opens once more. “You’re a fang lover.”

  I hold my hand up. “Please, don’t flatter me, Mr. Dupeux. It’ll get you nowhere.”

  His face flushes and I smile as I rattle his cage. “What you don’t know is we’ve opened up a recent investigation on a renegade witch using black magic. I’m hot on their trail now. I suspect as I dig I’ll learn they were responsible for a number of disappearances.”

  I’m working the system. I can do nasty nice with the best of them. I never appreciated Mémé’s savviness until I got older. She gave us all the right tools to navigate the world. I’ll worry about making all the lines connect the dots later.