The Sorceress Screams

by Anya Breton

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2014 Anya Breton

  ISBN: 978-1-77130-783-3

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: Karyn White

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To my beta readers—Jean, Melissa, Cathryn and Lynsey, thanks for the feedback and sweet suggestions. I couldn’t have done it without you!

  THE SORCERESS SCREAMS

  Sorceress Series, 2

  Anya Breton

  Copyright © 2014

  Chapter One

  Nell Kranz stood at the glass entrance to my shop, gaping at my head. “Crap in a hat, Kora! What in the shit did you do to your hair?”

  My new edgy look was drastic, but I hadn’t thought it was that bad. Until now. I winced and self-consciously fluffed my hair. Recent events had forced me into a shorter and spikier style, though it was the same cerulean blue color it had been for a decade.

  Nell kicked out her right hip, settling her trim weight atop it. I froze beneath her careful examination. She had yet to speak her findings, but the crinkling of her cute button nose said it all. I resisted the urge to cringe.

  Her features softened. “You know, it’s not half bad. It could grow on me.”

  I released a nervous laugh. “Yeah?”

  She nodded, perhaps rather than lie again. One fine-fingered hand gestured at my head. “So what prompted that?”

  “Uh … Ascencion Boleda prompted this.”

  “That bitch.” A glare narrowed Nell’s pretty blue eyes. “What did she do? Take a hacksaw to your hair?”

  I brushed fingers over the spiky tips. It wasn’t that bad, was it?

  Nell shifted in her spot. Her curvy hip pushed against the glass display case serving as our counter. The dull thud was a reminder that I was supposed to be doing something.

  Right, explaining what had happened.

  “She wanted to get me back for … attacking her, so she set me on fire.” I’d hesitated because Nell knew only that I had the ability to access both the Air and Earth schools of magic. She didn’t know I could access all schools of magic. I wanted to keep it that way as long as possible. “Twice.”

  Nell whistled dramatically. “You look damn good for someone who was set on fire twice.”

  “Maximo de Sole called a Healer,” I said, avoiding her gaze. I had to clear my throat nervously before I could speak again. “I think he called the Healer after he killed Ascencion.”

  Soon enough it would be public knowledge that Wipuk’s First—the head of all of the vampires living in the hidden colony of witches—had killed his lover last night. Still there was a nervous wobble in my stomach when I thought of it. Maximo had killed Ascencion because of me. That weighed heavily on my conscience even though I hadn’t been directly involved.

  Yes, the woman had kidnapped me twice and stolen my ring. Yes, she’d hit me hard enough to cause a concussion several times. And yes, she’d set me on fire. But I wouldn’t have killed her. I’d have hurt her, really, really … really badly, but I wouldn’t have taken her life. I couldn’t afford to do that. The smallest sin could prove disastrous when I died.

  “Ascencion Boleda is dead?” Nell’s wooden delivery put me on the defensive.

  “I didn’t see him do it. But he wrote me a note that said she wouldn’t bother me again.”

  And the bastard had kept my ring. My mother wasn’t pleased about that. Not when it gave the wearer access to every school of magic. Getting the piece back was now priority number one.

  “That could mean he’s got her locked up in a basement,” Nell said.

  I liked that she didn’t immediately jump to the gloomiest answer. Even if she was wrong this time. I nodded for her rather than argue.

  “Black-tipped and spiked,” she said—I assumed about my hair, perhaps in an attempt to bring us back to a happier topic. She shook her head. “You’re going punk rocker on me. Is this because of that hot tattooed guy who was in here yesterday? You know he said you made a cute goth girl. Maybe he won’t like you as a punk girl.”

  Had that been yesterday? The guy from the charity party’s visit seemed like ages ago. I doubted anything would come of him asking for my phone number. Given any delay between meeting and sex, my nemesis managed to scare off my dates.

  But Trip was absent now—either avoiding me or serving a punishment in Tartarus. Did that mean I could date?

  “No.” I definitely hadn’t changed my look because of a guy. “Ascencion set my hair on fire. It was all jagged and singed. I went to Hannah this morning so she could salvage what she could. She suggested I just go with the punk thing and color the tips.”

  Nell’s lips formed a narrow moue. Her stylist had given the advice.

  I yanked a compact out of my purse for a look at myself. Supernaturally altering my skin and hair pigments was second nature. I didn’t notice I was working the magic anymore. The only things that remained of my natural hair color—raven thanks to my human father—were my sculpted eyebrows. I could have altered them as well, but blue eyebrows on pale skin simply looked wrong.

  The black-tipped hair was a little much. I had to admit that.

  What had I been thinking? I couldn’t override a chemical dye with Water magic. I’d have to wait until I could cut the color off. What had been chin length before now ranged from as short as one inch to six inches—all spiked away from my head with seeming irreverence. Thumbing my nose at convention hadn’t been the idea. Flames to the head had done that for me. Now it would be months before I’d be back to normal.

  I snapped the compact shut with a heaved sigh.

  “I guess it matches your outfit better,” Nell said.

  My attention dropped to my orange V-neck T-shirt. I liked shades of orange in my top because it complemented my hair. And I almost always wore cropped jean shorts or a jean skirt with my black Doc Marten boots.

  “My hair will grow out eventually,” I grumbled while getting to my feet so I could straighten the display of charmed gardening tools on the darkly stained shelf to my right. We’d spent far too long discussing my hair.

  I glanced at the black and silver wall clock behind the glass display case. Noon.

  Nell noted what I’d been doing and scuffed her way to the front door. She turned the lock and then flipped the switch on the LED sign.

  Should I extend my hours now that I had an employee? There was little incentive to open earlier when our afternoons were dead. Plus I had a whole other shop up the stairs I was technically supposed to be manning. Located in Wipuk—the magical pocket of land positioned roughly above Sedona, Arizona—the upper floor was home to the costliest items I carried. But no one shopped there. The colony’s general distrust of me saw to that.

  We both heard the jingle of the bell on the Wipuk door. I turned toward the stairs first, a quick shot of hope sliding within me.

  “Ms. Walsh?”

  The familiar, smooth cadence of Desmond Marino halted me where I was.

  He was risking being seen in my shop in Wipuk? Quite shocking considering he was embarrassed to be seen with me in public anywhere. The high priest of the country’s Water witches was the biggest snob I’d ever met. But Hera help me, he was gorgeous.

  “Kora?”


  He’d never called me Kora. Not even when he’d had my fingers millimeters from his lips.

  Nell shot me a wide-eyed look that twisted into disgust. She’d get rid of him if I let her go up. But I wanted to know what had brought him into my shop on the practically forbidden Wipuk side. And what had prompted him to use my nickname.

  I held up my palm for Nell’s benefit and then started up the stairs. “I’m coming,” I called out so he wouldn’t be surprised by a sudden appearance.

  Desmond’s usually hooded aqua eyes shot wide the moment I emerged from the door marked “Employees Only”. His fleshy lips—the likes of which could be seen only on the marble masterpieces of Michelangelo—parted in surprise.

  As always he wore a tailored suit over his sinewy body. This one was made of a gray, black, and white plaid fabric that complimented his cropped blue-black hair and pale skin. The crisp, snowy collared shirt beneath was folded with a perfect crease. A gray and black narrow striped tie was knotted tightly to his neck. A sign, I suspected, that he didn’t know how to relax.

  His gaze fixed on my hair, and his mouth opened as if to speak. Nothing came out. Desmond closed his lips tightly together atop a long breath. I sensed a struggle from him courtesy of latent Water magic, but I couldn’t be sure why. Without an empathic link, I could only sense extreme emotions. This struggle rated as extreme?

  Another half a minute passed before Desmond spoke. And when he did, it was in a soft, but professional tone. “Viho told me he Healed you last night.”

  Oh.

  This time it was my eyes that widened.

  Desmond had rushed over here after speaking with the leader of the Healers of America, and he’d screamed my nickname … for what purpose? Had he been worried for me?

  No. The only things Desmond cared about were having complete control over everything in Wipuk and the crystal he’d seen once in my display case. Kali’s Candle was a bit of an obsession of his. But I’d sold it to Nell for a dollar simply to keep it out of his hands.

  “What happened?” Desmond asked.

  Irritation that I’d wanted him to give a shit about me had me snapping. “Viho didn’t tell you that?”

  His rigid frame stiffened a hair. “Viho told me you’d been burnt and had a concussion. He didn’t know what happened. Did de Sole hurt you?”

  By the forward momentum of his thighs, Desmond gave off the impression of eagerness. He wanted a reason to go after Maximo de Sole? I couldn’t help him this time.

  “No. He saved me,” I said. “Ascencion wanted a little payback.”

  I’d set her on fire for trying to bite me. In my defense, I’d warned her not to lay a fang on me. She hadn’t listened.

  Desmond’s eyes slid shut. They remained closed for five seconds.

  A moment of silence for the dearly departed? The idea of him feeling anything but fury for Ascencion ticked me off.

  And it made me say something I probably should have kept to myself. “She enthralled me, Marino.”

  His bright eyes snapped open wider than I’d ever seen them. Desmond’s nostrils flared while his lips formed a thin line I’d have thought impossible on his face. As if the picture weren’t proof enough, his hot anger flowed over my skin.

  He spoke almost too quietly to hear. “Is she dead?”

  “I think so.”

  “You think? Being enthralled is serious business. She’d have complete control over you!”

  Considering the topic, his question was rather tactless. I didn’t hesitate to give him a sour answer. “I don’t kill people, Marino. I didn’t see it happen.”

  His rounded eyes narrowed into his angrier, hooded expression—one I saw far too often. Perhaps Desmond had worked out that Maximo de Sole had killed his girlfriend of at least a century to save me.

  Desmond’s face evened out to his neutral expression. “You’re okay?” There was little indication of whether or not he cared.

  “Viho Healed me. The only permanent damage from the fight was my hair.”

  His gaze flicked to my head. Desmond’s expression morphed as if he’d sucked on a particularly powerful Sour Patch Kid.

  Great. As if I hadn’t disgusted him enough when I’d had my fairly sedate style.

  He glanced at the employee only area. His lips twisted as though he’d seen something he didn’t like. “Is Nell here?”

  I resisted the smirk I wanted to make. My employee had saved me from many an uncomfortable discussion with this male. “She’s downstairs. Probably listening in.”

  He pushed an irritated breath through his nose. And then his attention switched back to me. Desmond’s volume dropped below a whisper. “I’d like your phone number.”

  If he was so embarrassed by me that he had to whisper the request, then why had he bothered asking?

  Oh. I was an idiot. He didn’t want Nell to know we were colluding.

  Truth be told, I didn’t want her to know either. I wasn’t sure I wanted to join forces with him in the first place. He’d made the suggestion a few days ago during the date he’d won with me for charity. I hadn’t given him a clear answer, mostly because I needed to sit down and seriously think it through.

  A tapping noise drew my attention to Desmond’s thigh. His fingers rapped a beat on the smooth fabric. I’d seen him engage in the impatient action when I’d magically sifted through his clothing’s memories, but I’d never seen it in person. That mustn’t go over well with clients.

  I pushed off my back foot, looking for a scrap of paper and a pen. Before I set the ink down onto the page, I fixed my eyes on him. “Did you blackball my shop?”

  Desmond lifted a dark, flat eyebrow. “Hmm?”

  My face flushed because now that I had to explain myself, I felt foolish accusing him. “No one will visit the Wipuk shop, but plenty visit the Sedona storefront. Did you have anything to do with that?”

  The slight twitching of his lips sent my teeth into a taught snap. He was amused!

  “I didn’t have to do anything,” he said.

  He was telling the truth. That sucked.

  Again his volume softened. “Help me, and I’ll help you.”

  I didn’t want Desmond manipulating people into coming to my shop. There was no point. Manipulation was something I could easily do myself. I’d wanted my shop to succeed because of good, old-fashioned business sense. Maybe it was wishful thinking.

  With a sigh, I scribbled down my mobile phone number—the only phone I had not attached to my shop. If giving him the digits would stop his impromptu visits, then it might be worth the hassle.

  Reluctantly, I handed him the paper.

  “Do you have a date tonight?”

  I blinked blank eyes rather like the vacuous female act I’d tried on him the first time we’d met. This time it wasn’t an act. I was legitimately stumped.

  “With the tattooed not-douche?” he said.

  Oh for Zeus’s sake. Nell had taunted Desmond about the guy who had popped in for my phone number. Clearly he’d recalled it.

  In an effort to sound like I wasn’t a dateless loser, I said, “Not tonight.”

  Desmond gave a curt nod. “I’ll call you.”

  Without another word, he strode to the door, jingling the bell on his way out to the sleek, black BMW parked in the dusty lot. Watching him fold his frame into the driver’s seat was always a treat. Especially when I got glimpses of his nice ass. It really was a shame he was such a dick.

  The pounding up the stairs meant Nell was on her way up. Time to stop gawking at the Water witch.

  “What in the flaming shit was that all about?”

  I shook my head, tearing my gaze from the windows as I did. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  While I had inside knowledge she lacked, I was no closer to understanding Desmond Marino than she was. And like my bumpy first few weeks, I was pretty sure that wasn’t going to change.

  Chapter Two

  The jingling of the Wipuk bell at eight thirty sent another z
ing of hope through me. Nell’s head lifted from her laptop. We shared a silent look—one that said the noise heralded nothing good. I got to my feet, silently praying it was a potential customer rather than another visit from Desmond.

  I took the stairs up at a sedate pace, giving the visitor time to browse the merchandise. My Doc Martens sent a dull thud echoing up the stairwell with each step. The noise would ensure it was no surprise when I appeared on the other side.

  Except it was. A surprise for me, that is. And it shouldn’t have been.

  Maximo de Sole stood clad in a black and silver pinstripe shirt. The garment was tucked into the pair of faded jeans snug across muscular legs. I’d never seen him without a sports jacket and certainly not in anything as casual as jeans. He looked good, sinfully good, especially with the sleeves rolled up just beneath his elbows showcasing his olive sienna skin.

  Unlike what popular culture would have us believe, vampires weren’t the pale-skinned, fangy creatures of myth. No, they looked just like everyone else—if everyone else looked like a menswear catalogue model in the flesh.

  He nodded his head in deference. Maximo’s trademark Augustus Caesar lock of hair swayed in the movement before settling into its usual wave over his forehead. His dusky pink lips were both wide and full in a neutral expression. Maybe it was the deep-set chocolate brown eyes beneath low eyebrows and the slight bump on his nose, that made me think he looked like a hotter, taller version of Tom Cruise. Whatever it was, I didn’t like the attraction. His girlfriend had briefly enthralled me. I had no interest in repeating the experience with him.

  “Miss Walsh,” he said in an amiable tone that belied the fact he was a walking, talking corpse. “I’m glad to see you’re up and about. How are you feeling?”

  I nodded in return and then dropped my gaze to his hands. My mother’s ring was snug around his left pinky. I needed that ring back. But he knew it allowed a vampire to access Fire magic. He wasn’t going to simply hand it over.