Witch Way to Turn

by Karen Y. Bynum

  “I don’t know. There are so few halflings left.”

  “Left?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where’d they go?”

  “They’re dead.”

  “Dead?” She gulped. “Why?”

  “Various reasons. If you think about it, the supernatural population isn’t much different from humanity when it comes to prejudice and social status.”

  “So halflings are like supernatural freaks?”

  Boy, I can’t win.

  Orin traced the steering wheel. “Not exactly. Some of us consider them a thing of rare beauty.” He reached for her hand and fanned out her fingers before bringing her open palm to his lips. The kisses trailed the length of each finger to the tip, sending a rush of warmth through her body.

  Of course, Breena’s stomach growled like a ravenous grizzly about to attack and ruined the moment. That’s all she needed. More food. God, hadn’t she eaten enough lately?

  Orin laughed, and the smooth, dark sound of it made her want to lock lips with him right then and there.

  He curled her fingers into a fist and brushed his lips over her knuckles before carefully placing her hand in her lap.

  “Um.” For a moment she forgot what she was going to say. “I live, like, half a mile down the road. Wanna go back to my place and order a pizza?”

  Chapter 7

  As they walked into Breena’s living-dining room combo, she couldn’t help feeling a pang of sadness. Her card table with fold-out chairs looked pitiful. The wooden barstools swayed something awful when she sat on one. The couch was so small it looked more like a love seat. Her outdated TV rested on top of a plastic crate she’d gotten from work because they were about to throw it out.

  “The place is kind of a mess,” she said, even though it wasn’t, and closed the door behind them.

  Orin caught her hand in his and twirled her around to face him as if they were going to tango. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

  “What does matter to you?” She bit her lip. It was a bold question, but he made her want to leap outside her comfort zone.

  “Until the other night, not much.”

  “What changed?”

  Wrapping Breena’s arms around his neck, Orin drew her into him until their legs twined together. “I’ve found something worth dying for.”

  “Don’t most people want to find something worth living for?”

  “How hard is it to live for something? To die for something is beyond most people.”

  “You know, that was kinda poetic.” She tilted her head up toward him.

  He tightened his arms around her. “Not meant to be poetic.”

  “How’d ya mean it?”

  “Death is risking it all.” He leaned down, his breath warm on her lips. “And I would, Breena. I would risk everything for you.”

  He pressed against her, close enough that she could feel his heart beating fast against her skin. A soft heat warmed the gold in his mesmerizing eyes, and his mouth was right there, full and oh so inviting… She brushed her lips against his.

  Suddenly Orin leaned back, leaving Breena exposed and vulnerable.

  Omigod. What did I just do?

  She shouldn’t have done that. It was too forward. She could feel her face going all kinds of scarlet and looked down at the floor.

  “Orin, I–”

  He took her chin in his hand and tilted her face up. She had a moment to see his eyes, bright with desire, then his mouth was on hers. Frantic. Hungry. As if he would devour her with his lips. As if he wanted to consume her. Keep her with him in some dark pocket of his heart.

  She would’ve gone willingly. Twining her arms around his neck, she held tight. She needed this. Him. Had to get closer to him. Her heart raced. She couldn’t catch her breath. Didn’t want to.

  His lips stilled on hers, and she looked up. His eyes had gone completely black. And poof. He was no longer holding her, or even standing in front of her. She dropped her arms and spun on her heel to see where he’d gone. Why had he stopped kissing her? Had she done something?

  The couch. He’d poofed right over to it. He patted the place next to him.

  She didn’t move. If she walked over there and sat down, would he disappear again? But the more she stared back at him, the more she had to know what that hunger in his eyes had meant.

  “Was I no good?”

  “Seriously?”

  Her heart fell to her stomach. Oh God, he was going to tell her just how bad a kisser she really was. She didn’t answer.

  “You were amazing.”

  She released a breath she didn’t remember holding. “Well, what happened then?” She walked over to sit beside him.

  “When you get to be my age, being surprised really surprises you.” His lips rose at the corners and Breena noticed his eyes had lost the black tar look.

  “Your age? How old are you?”

  “Three hundred nineteen.”

  She began to snort and choked it back. She hoped he didn’t notice that she’d made the weird piggy sound. “Yeah, right. No freakin’ way.” With his smooth golden skin and tight body, he couldn’t possibly be a day over nineteen. Okay, maybe twenty-one tops.

  He shrugged. “Looks can be deceiving.”

  “So, preternaturals are immortal?” Well, consider her caught. She’d just swallowed hook, line and supernatural sinker.

  He nodded, watching her. Waiting.

  Breena couldn’t help thinking about her preternatural side. “Am I immortal?” She wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about eternity. Forever was a long time.

  “Good question. But I’m afraid I don’t know how it works. Your half-witch side complicates things.”

  “Who would know?”

  “The queen might.”

  Breena raised a brow and began to twist a strand of hair. “The queen of the preternaturals?”

  “Yes. Except I don’t think we’re on speaking terms at the moment.”

  “Why not?”

  He didn’t answer.

  She stopped fidgeting with the end of her hair. “Because of me?”

  “Not entirely because of you.” Orin inched closer to Breena and draped his arm around her shoulder. “Mainly because of a choice I made.”

  “Was it a mistake?”

  “I don’t think so.” Orin leaned toward her, his lips once again mere inches from hers.

  She waited, eyes closed, ready to feel the heat of his kiss and let passion warm her.

  A couple long heartbeats passed…still nothing. She peeked through her lashes.

  He sat frozen, staring at her, his eyes full of…hunger?

  “What?” Breena asked. Had she completely misread the moment?

  “Kissing you takes a lot of self-restraint.”

  “Don’t hold back then.” Her voice was low and more sultry than she would’ve thought possible.

  Oh Lord, did I just say that out loud? And like that?

  Desire turned the gold rim of his eyes molten. Hesitation gone, he leaned into her, molded his hand to the back of her neck beneath her hair, urgently pulling her to him.

  She surrendered to his touch, lost in the all-consuming feel of his lips on hers. Heat blazed through her. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she trembled against him. What if he backed away again? Could she handle another taste of his restraint? She wanted to scrub the word from her mind.

  Quickly, she realized her worry was for nothing when she found herself being lowered onto the couch. Orin caressed her cheek, her neck, her shoulders. He didn’t stop touching her, and still she wanted more. If this moment could last forever, she would gladly give eternity a try.

  The doorbell rang.

  Shit.

  Here she was kissing the boy of her dreams, and the damn pizza delivery guy showed up. She wanted to pretend like she hadn’t heard anything. Maybe if they–

  The doorbell rang again. Orin kissed her one last time, gentle but firm, before pulling away. Then he did another of his Houdini move
s, appearing at the door. He paid for the food then spread the boxes on the couch. They sprawled on the floor and Breena switched on the TV. She turned her face to the screen as they ate in companionable silence, but couldn’t focus. Instead, she was fully occupied by a slow motion, blow-by-blow–so to speak–playback of The Kiss. She’d kissed boys before, of course, but oh Lord, it hadn’t been like that. In that instant, she would’ve given him anything. Everything. Her lips felt bruised and tender and she was shaken to the core.

  She rolled onto her side for a better look at him. He had long, dark eyelashes and a strong jaw framing soft, full lips. And the way he wore a t-shirt…flawless. Not an inch of imperfection on his body. She itched to touch him again, but contented herself with watching him in silence.

  A silence which was shattered by the shrill ring of a phone.

  Orin wiped his fingers on a paper towel before he reached into his pocket to retrieve his iPhone and swiped the screen to answer. Breena sighed.

  “Yes, she’s dead. Assignment complete.” He paused. “Fine. I’ll be right there.”

  Orin ended the call and turned to Breena. He squeezed her hand.

  What. The. Fuck? What did he just say?

  “What in the world are you talking about? Who’s dead? What assignment?” Then she remembered the other night on campus. Hadn’t he said he’d never not completed an assignment before? Was he telling someone Breena was dead? Holy hell. Did he kill someone? No. It couldn’t be. That would be too weird.

  “I won’t be gone long.”

  “Wait a sec. What the hell is–”

  Too late. He’d disappeared. Out of sight, but not out of mind.

  Now that she wasn’t staring into Orin’s eyes, she felt as if she’d been in a warm bath for hours and someone had suddenly pulled the plug. What had happened to her? All she’d wanted when she’d left Norma’s was to figure out what to do about Jenny. Instead, she’d spent the day mooning over a boy. A strange boy, for sure. A beautiful boy… She thought again of the ethereal golden tint to his eyes. His dark and sexy laugh. The electric feeling between them. She sighed. As great as it was, as great as he was, she didn’t have time for this now. Jenny was all that mattered to her.

  She thought about what Orin had said about finding something to die for. She, on the other hand, had found her reason for living the day she’d turned eleven.

  Birthdays always seemed to bring out the extra nasty in Norma.

  Breena hadn’t wanted any gifts–not that Evil One would’ve gotten her something anyway–but she had wanted a cake. She’d never had one. So Breena had walked the five miles to the grocery store and bought a box of yellow cake mix and chocolate icing with the five dollar bill she’d gotten from helping their elderly neighbor clean out her garage.

  No one was at Norma’s house when she’d returned, so she’d started on the cake. As she’d taken the eggs out of the fridge, the front door had slammed and she’d dropped the carton. The eggs had broken, splattering all over the linoleum and initiating one of the worst beatings she’d ever had. It might not have been as bad, but Real Daughter had “accidentally” emptied Norma’s last pack of Marlboro’s into the sticky gunk on the floor and blamed Breena.

  She’d wanted to die. Instead, she’d run. She’d run, knowing what would happen when Norma found her, knowing this time she would swallow the entire bottle of aspirin. She’d run, as fast as she could into the woods, not looking back, heart hammering, nose bleeding, eye swelling, ribs aching with each step.

  In the distance, Breena had heard crying. The sound of fear had pulled at her, drawing her on. Each desperate plea for rescue had voiced what she’d held in for so long. She’d followed the noise straight to the source.

  A baby.

  No note. No basket. Nothing. Just a baby, lying on the ground in the woods.

  She’d knelt next to her and the baby had stopped crying. Turning her too-big brown eyes on Breena, she’d reached for her with chubby little arms. The baby needed her. Breena had scooped the bundle to her chest, determined to give the now-cooing infant what Breena longed for. Love.

  Thinking about the day she’d found her sister brought back a flood of memories, which crashed around in Breena’s head until she felt like crying. But she didn’t. She wouldn’t. She might’ve in the past, but she had to be strong. For them both.

  As she wrapped the leftover pineapple pizza slices in plastic that clung to her fingers, she thought about Orin. Being with him was epic, and surprisingly easy. He liked her. And she could tell they could be good together once he opened up–let go of some of his uber-cryptic side. On the other hand, there was Myles. He was so good with Jenny, but he fired up Breena’s pulse and smashed her heart into bits all at the same time. She had no idea at any given second what he was thinking or how he felt about her. Love couldn’t possibly be that hard and confusing. Could it?

  The lyrics of Not Meant to Be by Theory of a Deadman kept looping through her mind, which was crazy. It wasn’t like she’d ever even been anything to Myles except coworker and Jenny’s big sister. Right?

  Besides, she liked Orin, with the potential to more than like him.

  She cut off the TV and put the pizza boxes by the door to take out to the recycle bin tomorrow. She glanced at the clock on the wall behind the card table. Nine o’clock. Her night minutes had kicked in, so she dug around in her bag until she found her cellphone and dialed Norma’s house.

  Real Daughter answered.

  “Let me speak to Jenny.”

  “This Breena?” Susan squawked.

  “Who else?”

  Click.

  Breena hit redial. Half a ring later she heard, “Sis?”

  “Jenny, are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” she whispered. “I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too. I’ll figure something out.” Breena smashed down the quiver in her voice. “Stay in your room if you can. And if they say to do something, do it. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “You talkin’ to somebody?” Breena heard Norma bellow in the distance.

  “No,” Jenny shouted back to Norma. “Gotta go weeping willow,” she said to Breena.

  “Toodaloo ragout.”

  Close one.

  Breena made a mental note to get her sister a cellphone.

  Before settling on the couch to watch whatever was on channel three–because it was the clearest channel–she peeked out the mini-blinds to find the white Accord still parked out front.

  Sometime after midnight, Breena found herself staring at the spot Orin had poofed away from, waiting to hear the whoosh of air that would signal his return. God, why was she still awake? She instinctively touched her finger to her lip.

  No.

  She jerked her hand back to her lap.

  You can’t sit around waiting for a boy. No matter how he makes you feel.

  She stood and began to pace. When she found herself at the blinds yet again, she turned away in disgust.

  Shit, Breena. Just go to bed!

  In her bedroom, she crawled onto the air-mattress and threw the unzipped sleeping bag over her head.

  * * * *

  Orin apparated into his hotel room, annoyed he had to be away from Breena.

  This better not take long.

  Zadalia sat in the ugly striped chair next to the AC unit.

  “So what did you do with the body?” Orin looked at the blonde with the wickedly satisfied grin on her face. Damn, he missed feeling what she was feeling right now–reckless abandon. Unlike her, he had to control his hunger.

  It’s worth it to be around Breena.

  Unequivocally. Although, when he was away from her it read like a different story.

  “The body?” She batted her eyelashes in an overblown parody of innocence.

  Orin cut her an impatient look.

  “Oh, you mean the front desk guy? I left him behind the counter and snagged a key.”

  “Was he dinner or a snack?”

  She exhaled wea
rily. “Some of us live to eat, not eat to live. You used to be such fun. Don’t you remember those times? You and me. Playing with our food. Naked. ”

  “I would rather forget those days, if it’s all the same to you.”

  Zadalia walked over to his side with a strut in her step, ignoring his comment as she ran her index finger up the length of his neck to his chin. In a split second, he’d pinched her finger and twisted it back until it almost touched the top of her arm. Oops. No almost about it.

  Crack.

  “Fuck you, Orin. You know how I hate to heal.” Zadalia cradled her broken finger and huffed over to the chair.

  “Why did you want me to meet you?”

  “To see if you took out the target.”

  “You asked that over the phone. I said yes.” Orin leaned against the dresser.

  “It’s easy to lie over the phone.”

  With arms folded, he cocked his head to the left. “Why would I lie?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  He stared at her.

  “How did you do it?”

  “Actually, I let a pack of weres do it for me,” he said, his tone all business.

  “Interesting.” She crossed her legs and leaned back in the chair. “How did you know they were werewolves?”

  “They work for the president.”

  Chapter 8

  Breena woke to the sound of her front door slamming. Sunlight seeped in through the blinds.

  Orin.

  She’d sat up in bed and swung her feet to the floor before she remembered–Orin would’ve just poofed in. Besides, she’d locked the door. Her thoughts raced. Maybe someone had broken in. But why would they slam the door?

  She grabbed the baseball bat she kept by her bed and eased down the hall, listening for the slightest sound. She crept into the living room. No one. The kitchen was empty too.

  The front door opened. Breena raised the bat, ready to defend herself.

  “Only me, slugger.” Orin held up two plastic bags.

  “Geez.” She lowered the bat before propping the handle against the back of the couch. “You scared the crap out of me.”