by Isabel Wroth
A Little Dark Magic
Book Two of the Little Coven Series
Isabel Wroth
Copyright © 2020 Isabel Wroth
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
ISBN-13: 9781234567890
ISBN-10: 1477123456
Cover design by: Maria Spada
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309
Printed in the United States of America
For my readers, always.
Also a big thank you to Dr. Plot Twist, without whom my liberal comma sprinkles would not have been corrected.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Preface
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
EPILOGUE
Afterword
Preface
So, the title says it all, but just in case I wanted to let ya’ll know this book is DARK in comparison to the previous book, A Little Green Magic.
Kerrigan will get her happy ever after, but not without a fair bit of blood, body parts, violence, and wickedness.
There are NO outright triggers, though things such as suicide and mental violation are discussed.
Without further ado, please enjoy A Little Dark Magic
PROLOGUE
Kerrigan, age 16
“If you are here to desecrate this tomb, I’m afraid I must strenuously object.”
The sonorous voice boomed inside the opulent mausoleum, bouncing off the walls with enough force to make Kerrigan jump in fright and splash the bowl of rosewater she held all down her front.
The circle of powdered salt and chalk she’d painstakingly drawn around herself, broke due to stray splatters.
She’d planned the ritual down to the second. Having to start all over again meant she was going to miss the correct lunar alignment.
Her school project was ruined.
“DAMMIT!” she shrieked, letting the silver bowl clatter to the rough flagstones with a ringing bang.
“You’re far too pretty for such coarse language,” the disembodied male voice told her with a hint of laughter.
Kerrigan’s senses were wide open for the ritual; how had she missed the presence of a vampire in the cemetery? If she hadn’t been so upset by having missed the narrow window to summon the spirit she needed, she would be excited to meet an actual vampire.
Already feeling more pressure than she could deal with, Kerrigan found herself sitting there in a puddle of sweet-smelling water, on the verge of tears.
“Yeah, well, here’s some more. My whole project is fucked because you scared the shit out of me! This counts for two thirds of my final grade this year!”
“You’re a student?” Even on the cusp of a breakdown, Kerrigan could hear the curiosity in the vampire’s question. She sensed him somewhere over to her left, but the deep shadows prevented her from seeing him clearly.
“Not for much longer,” she hiccupped, her hands shaking as she gathered up the items for her summoning, her lips wobbling so bad she couldn’t blow out the white candles in the second circle. “My puh-parents are chomp-chomping at the bit to bring me ho-home.”
“Perhaps they should, if your assignments involve desecrating graves and performing séances alone in cemeteries frequented by less than desirable characters.”
Kerrigan swiped her arm across her cheeks, shoving her books, her bowl, the crystals she’d charged for weeks, and the empty bottle of rosewater into her satchel.
“There’s nothing in this cemetery that’s a danger to me. Not even you, vampire.”
Her unwanted spectator gave a low hum, coming forward just enough to let her see the shiny tips of his black shoes, the cuff of his navy blue suit pants, and the barest edge of his scruff-covered jaw.
“A little witch. I should have known.”
“Yes, you should have,” she snapped rudely, already envisioning her parents swooping in to take her home after forcing her to participate in a Pairing Ritual and marry some tool of a witch who’d give them grandbabies with exceptional bloodlines. Kerrigan couldn’t imagine a worse fate.
She wanted to be a Master of Summoning, join a coven of other Summoners, and live the life she wanted.
The only way she could make that happen was to stay enrolled in school, and her parents would only pay for it if she continued to get perfect scores.
This asshole lurking in the shadows might have just ensured a life of domestic servitude.
Kerrigan got to her feet and stomped into her boots, lacing them up with rough, jerky movements.
“What are you? The crypt keeper or something?”
“I was paying my respects to an old friend. I am Maksim.”
For reasons unknown, hearing him speak his name in his smooth, deep voice made shivers trip up and down her arms.
Kerrigan’s curiosity almost got the better of her, the urge to ask who his dead friend was, right there on the tip of her tongue. But if she had any hope of salvaging her botched summoning, Kerrigan had to get back to the vacation rental and regroup.
“And I’m outta here,” she said firmly, her fingers closing on air when she bent to snatch up her bag. She blinked and looked to find Maksim the vampire standing in exactly the same spot, the only evidence to say he’d moved at all was the presence of her satchel held in his hand.
“What is your assignment?”
“Why do you care?”
“I am not sure,” he responded, drawing out the words slowly as though in the process of pondering that very question. “But I find myself unable to let you leave without knowing what you were attempting to do, or without knowing your name.”
Kerrigan crossed her arms over her chest and squinted into the shadows, trying to make out the details of Maksim’s face. She didn’t feel like she was in any danger, but everything she’d been taught about vampires warned her to forget her bag and get the hell out of the crypt.
A teenager alone in a cemetery with a vampire? She was practically begging for someone to write a sappy young adult novel about her.
Still, Kerrigan was curious. “Are you planning to hurt me?”
Maksim’s response was instant and firm, “I give you my word, little witch, you’re safe with me
. Always.”
Kerrigan felt his promise like the hum of a singing bowl, vibrating against her skin and sinking deep, all the way to her soul.
Without another thought, she opened her mouth and answered his questions:
“Finals are different for every discipline, and it gets more difficult as you progress. I’m a Summoner in 11th grade, so I have to summon the spirit of someone who’s been dead for over three hundred years to interview.
“I was going to call up someone from the graveyard near my school in upstate New York, but my parents sprung me for a last-minute family vacation to London. I had to improvise.
“I’m screwed, now, because the moon is totally out of alignment, that rosewater was something I’d started brewing special for the project, and don’t even get me started on what I had to do to get the right kind of spirit food—”
Kerrigan took a deep breath to stop herself before she really got on a roll, mad she couldn’t stop the tears from flowing down her cheeks like some pathetic little girl throwing a tantrum.
Embarrassed beyond words, she looked away and murmured an apology. “Sorry, this was just really important.”
In response to her defeated mutter, Maksim stepped fully into the light and gave a courtly bow from the waist.
“I’m no spirit, but I am technically dead and over three hundred years old. As I am responsible for ruining your summoning, I would be happy to answer whatever questions you have. Would that fulfill your project requirements?”
Kerrigan didn’t answer for a time, too busy staring at the creature before her. Most every book she’d read and story she’d heard claimed vampires were physically flawless to look at. Inhumanly beautiful. Not to say Maksim wasn’t attractive—he was most definitely attractive—but he could have passed as human.
Built like an Olympic swimmer, with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and long, strong legs, he looked like a wealthy British businessman on his way to a gentleman’s club.
His dark hair was just long enough to flop over to the left, cut and styled to be fashionable and sexy, just as his light beard was groomed to precise lines on his square jaw.
His patrician nose was long and slightly crooked, an imperfection which lent to his human appearance. His forehead was wide, devoid of wrinkles; his thick brows winged sharply above his eyes. He said he was over three hundred years old, but he looked thirty, at the most.
Kerrigan was drawn to those eyes, the same deep blue as his suit, patient and steady as he waited for her to get over the surge of teenage hormones.
“I don’t know,” she finally managed to say, “I guess it would be better than nothing. I’m Kerrigan Gray.”
Maksim’s lips curled in a slow smile, the shaft of moonlight spearing through a crack in the roof glinted off the four delicate points of his fangs.
“Shall we begin, Kerrigan Gray?”
CHAPTER ONE
Twelve long years later…
Kerrigan sat across from her newest client, having spent the last hour listening to him wax poetic about what life had been like living in the court of Louis the 14th. He dressed like a French nobleman who’d been transported into the 21st century.
The red velvet smoking jacket perfectly complimented his porcelain skin and sapphire blue eyes—kind of reminding her of that old guy with all the bunnies—his golden hair pulled back into a tail at his nape, curling like a halo around his head.
Honestly, he looked like the perfect Hollywood interpretation of the modern-day vampire.
It wasn’t uncommon for the clients who booked appointments with her to be a bit nervous and talk about all kinds of things.
Summoning the spirits of dead loved ones was hardly a walk in the park, and people always seemed to have misconceptions about how or what Kerrigan would say or do.
She considered the nervous chatter part of the job, a sort of talk therapy the person opposite her required to get on with things.
Granted, the majority of her clients were human; the rest were a handful of witches incapable of performing a summoning, and the random supernatural creature.
One thing all her clients had in common was their need for closure—to have a conversation with the deceased and hash out whatever unresolved issues the living person had.
Etienne booked a two-hour slot and paid in advance for an evening appointment, so for one more hour, he had her undivided attention to tell her whatever the hell he wanted.
He seemed disappointed that Kerrigan refused to put Reece and Doyle outside. The lions lay on either side of her maroon velvet wingback chair in their four-legged forms, their dark golden coats and black manes making it seem as though she’d handpicked them to go with the shop’s Gothic decor.
Not so long ago, the lions had come to the coven’s aid when Ivy’s father came to town with intentions of taking Ivy back to Fairy for a blood ritual.
Things didn’t go well for Ivy’s dad or for Reece. He’d been dead for a good ten minutes before Ivy brought him back.
Ever since then, the big guy would come around on the regular to check in and make sure things were kosher in the coven.
Reece was a sweetheart; handsome, big and brawny, like all pride enforcers, with a killer smile, a pair of dimples that went on for days, and kind brown eyes.
When Etienne made his appointment, Kerrigan called Reece to see if he wouldn’t mind acting as her bodyguard. He immediately agreed and did her one better by bringing Doyle along.
Unexpectedly, they were also here to ensure Kerrigan didn’t kill her client.
“When he decided to build a hall of great mirrors to reflect the rising sun… Well, I’m sure you can imagine how ironic it was for a vampire to be the favorite of the Sun King.” Etienne chuckled, but even that held a hint of menace as he flashed her the four points of his dainty fangs.
“It’s something alright,” Kerrigan agreed, reaching for the cigarette case on the little table beside her.
With a practiced flick, she opened the case and plucked out a hand-rolled cigarette that looked like a joint of marijuana. It smelled like one too, but there wasn’t so much as a hint of weed in the blend.
She’d created the dried mix of herbs after taking money from a man who claimed he needed to speak to his dead wife one last time.
To her everlasting horror, Kerrigan performed the summoning, but the woman turned out to be the client’s victim, not his wife.
Now, if she even felt a hint of doubt as to why a client came to her, Kerrigan lit up and let the smoke swirl around the room, ensuring each word her client spoke was the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
Tonight, everything had been going just fine, right up until the moment Etienne reached up to smooth his hand down the length of his tie after having unbuttoned his jacket, unerringly drawing her attention to the unmistakably familiar ruby tie bar clipped to the black silk.
Her smile felt brittle, but she made an effort and lifted her special cigarette.
“Do you mind, chevalier?”
“Not at all!” Etienne told her enthusiastically, watching eagerly as Kerrigan lit up, inhaled a deep, sweet breath, and gave a slow exhale to send the smoke up into the air. The French vampire let out a happy sigh, tilting his head.
“And please, call me Etienne. I can’t imbibe myself, but the scent delights me. There are so many strains of cannabis these days. That one is particularly lovely.”
“Thank you. So, how may I help you, Etienne?”
He flicked out his wrists before folding his hands together in his lap, the rectangular rubies set in platinum flashing in the light, and leaned forward to convey the importance of what he was about to tell her.
Without a doubt, Kerrigan knew the move was deliberate, but she played along, too curious to ruin his game.
“When I was newly made, I met a young lady at Versailles. Her name was Cecilie Ancel, and I loved her deeply.” Kerrigan nodded to indicate she was listening, taking another drag to blow more smoke when Etienne’s las
hes fluttered ever so slightly.
The barest hint of surprise for having confessed he was capable of love, she supposed.
“I’m just taking notes for later,” Kerrigan told him, writing Cecilie’s name down.
The vampire gave a gracious nod and continued his story, “My maker was a jealous man, and it was a dangerous game to keep my affection for Cecilie from him. For a year, I courted her in secret. She knew what I was, and she asked to become a vampire so we could be together forever. Young and in love, of course, I granted her wish, and both of us nearly died in the process.
“It is incredibly taxing on the body to become a maker, and had Rodolpho not found us, Cecilie would have surely died. I was punished for my failure and my betrayal, but Rodolpho eventually realized my Cecilie could be of use to him.”
Sickened by the suggestive nature of his explanation, Kerrigan sucked in a deep puff of smoke. “He pimped her out?”
“Among other things.” There was a bite to Etienne’s voice, and what was meant to be a careless lift of his shoulder became a jerky bump.
“Her specialty became thievery. She stole more than just my heart when she escaped, and she died before I could recover my property. I’ve hunted high and low for centuries for someone who can summon the spirit of a vampire.”
Kerrigan let her eyebrows slide up as she settled back in her chair, pulling her bare foot up to the seat and draping her wrist across her knee.
“What makes you think I’m capable of such a thing?”
Etienne gave a sly smile, pressing his fingertips together as he settled back in his own seat.
“A reliable source told me you managed to summon the spirit of a vampire by the name of Austmathr. He was positively ancient compared to my Cecilie. Over one thousand years old. Surely, one who has only been dead for three hundred and fifty years will be much easier to summon.”
