Better 'Ink Twice

by Rachel Rawlings

  Amber choked back her tears and tried to regain her composure. Safe in Lars’s arms, she reluctantly agreed to help with “whatever insane plan” the Council was working on.

  “Looks like the band’s back together.” I shoved my hands in my pockets and rocked back on my heels. The prospect of freedom and my regenerating magic had me on edge. So did the Council. I had a nagging feeling they’d been holding something back until we all agreed.

  “Wonderful.” The Mother clapped her hands together as she bound from her chair to the cluttered workstation on the opposite side of the room. “We’ll need to bind you before we let you go.”

  And there it was— the catch.

  There’s always a catch. The Council wanted to send me back out into Providence without my magic. Next time, I’d read the fine print— assuming I lived long enough without my magic for there to be a next time.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “What?” The Maiden asked, joining her mother in front of the workbench. “It’s only for Adeline. You’re not afraid of a little old binding spell, are you?”

  Unlike wards, binding spells weren’t permanent but that didn’t make me any fonder of the idea.

  “Del?” Lars packed dozens of questions into just my name. The uncertainty was written all over his face.

  I hated seeing him like that, but I hated the fear in his eyes even more. Prison changes a person. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. In the Magistrate’s prison, it was always for the worse.

  “Since you have me by the short hairs, we might as well get started.” I plastered a reassuring smile on my face and agreed to the Council’s terms.

  Lars untangled himself from Amber and came to stand at my side. “How did we get into this mess?”

  The smile on my face that time was as genuine as the laughter bubbling up inside. “I see right through your shameless attempt to get me to admit you were right and I should have taken your advice and gone to Savannah.”

  “Would I do that?” Lars mocked offense as he pulled me into a side hug. He knew me well enough to know that was as close to an admission as he’d ever get.

  “Move out of the way, you big oaf,” the old Crone tried to shove Lars off to one side with no luck. “You want to be caught in the spell, suit yourself.”

  I turned and wrapped my arms around Lars. “I’ll be okay.” Over his shoulder, I made eye contact with Amber, silently pleading for her to convince him to stand aside.

  He couldn’t save me from myself. Not this time. No matter how much he wanted to. Freedom isn’t free. The cost was high but Lars and Amber were worth it.

  Amber led Lars to an old chair in the corner and out of the way. The wood threatened to give way under his weight with each creak and groan. Amber stood beside him, one arm draped over his shoulder. A decision that no doubt had as much to do with the strength of the chair as it did with being able to slow Lars down should things go wrong.

  The Crone crooked a boney finger at me and beckoned me closer. “This is a little different than what you’re used to. Nothing to slip under the skin and into the blood.” She walked a circle in the cramped quarters, pouring charged salts as she went.

  “Still hurts like a son of a witch though.” The Maiden twirled the ends of her hair around her index finger.

  There was something off about the youngest member of the Council. A glint in her eye that set my nerves on edge. Maybe it was youth. Or maybe she was a sadomasochist who took pleasure in other’s pain.

  “Are you sure you’re not with the Magistrate?” I asked as I stepped into the Crone’s circle, careful not to disturb the salt ring.

  The Maiden broke into a hysterical fit of laughter, regaining her composure when her mother pinched her arm. She gave her mother a sharp look. “You’re not the first to suggest that.”

  Okay. Mental note— the Maiden was a wild card and worth keeping an eye on.

  “Let’s begin. This binding is a power drain and I’m not as young as I used to be.” The Crone tossed a pinch of salt at the Maiden when she mumbled something about that being an understatement.

  “Ready when you are.” That was a blatant lie. I wasn’t ready at all.

  The three women took their place around the edge of the circle and joined hands. My pulse quickened and my palms began to sweat. Candles scattered about the room flared to life as magic charged the air. The energy electrifying my skin was a painful reminder of what I was about to lose. I dreaded the emptiness that was said to come from the loss of one’s magic. Witches have been known to give into despair and go mad from the hollowness they felt inside.

  Rumor had it, two of them resided in the cells below.

  I’d never faced my own mortality so many times in a twenty-four-hour period— not since I escaped my foster parents, anyway. Which said a lot given the average life span of a witch. I glanced over my shoulder at Lars.

  “If something goes wrong—”

  “Don’t interrupt,” The Mother squelched my attempt at a last request. “Not only is it rude, but you’ll break our concentration and then something will go wrong.”

  “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that if it can go wrong, it will go wrong.” I apologized before pretending to zip my lips. Afterall, they weren’t doing anything I hadn’t agreed to. I just had to have a little faith.

  Or a whole lot of faith.

  With their hands clasped together, they raised their arms and extended them until their joined limbs resembled the points of a star. The Crone spoke first, reciting the entire incantation before the other women joined in. I closed my eyes again, deciding it was better not to watch. The women continued to chant the spell in round-robin. Their powers ebbed and flowed until the third cycle of chanting when they merged together and snapped into place.

  My body became a lightning rod for their magic. The power surge hit my core and electrified every magical cell in my being. Pain arced through my limbs. Arms akimbo, my back arched, I was suspended in place, balancing on the tips of my shoes. The urge to scream and release even a fraction of the excruciating pain coursing through my veins overwhelmed me. I opened my mouth but the screams died in my throat. Only a hoarse whisper escaped my scorched vocal cords.

  Mundanes called this spontaneous human combustion. Purists among witches called it a cleansing. The rest of us called it torture.

  The ends of my magic, singed and frayed, went numb along with nerve endings and pain receptors. Tears streamed down my face, leaving tracks in the dirt collected on my cheeks from my time in the lead cell. I had a moment of clarity before shock set in. The pain subsided which meant my magic had been temporarily severed. Like nerve endings, it would grow back, but until then, I was without it.

  As if that weren’t bad enough, the binding followed.

  First, you broke the magic, then you bound it. Like dressing a wound, a binding wrapped layers around the magic. Unlike a dressing, these bindings weren’t part of the healing process— they prevented it.

  Taking great care not to disturb the salt, the women walked clockwise around the edge of the circle. Their magic wound around and around my core in time with their movements. Their power cinched my waist and then my chest like a tightly bound corset. They drew it tighter until my breathing shortened and my lungs felt like they’d never be truly full of air again.

  As quickly as it began, it stopped. I collapsed to the floor in a broken heap.

  My connection to magic was gone. All my life, I took the soft electrical current, that hum of energy coursing through my body, for granted. I was a witch. It was part of who I was and would always be there. Even under threat from the Magistrate, I never considered what my life would be like without it. I wish I never had to find out.

  Hollow.

  Empty.

  A black chasm where my magic should be that nothing or no one could fill. The soft ache in my core would be a constant reminder of what I’d given up. Even if it was only temporary. How do mundanes live like this? />
  The magic charged within the fragile salt circle dispersed when my body came in contact with the tiny granules. A cloud of white crystals puffed up around me before dusting the surface of the dark wooden floor. Lars and Amber each took and arm and hoisted me up on my feet. When my legs threatened to give out again, Lars scooped me up and cradled me against his chest like a child.

  But Lars wasn’t the same safe haven I came to know and rely on over the years. He was a reminder of what I lost.

  He seemed perfectly normal. And therein lied the problem. Without my magic, I couldn’t feel his. My sixth sense was gone. That same current that ran through me ran through Lars and every other witch. The magic was tuned to the individual; a unique pitch, like a marker. I knew Lars well enough to recognize the vibration of his magic. It was enough to make me wish I’d been born a mundane.

  At least then I wouldn’t know what I was missing.

  “Now what?” Lars curbed his temper and got right to the point. Had it been anyone other than the Council, I doubted he would have managed it— or bothered to try.

  “You may go.” The Crone collapsed in one of the wooden chairs closest to the hearth.

  “That’s it? Bind her and let her loose? That’s your plan?” A flash of power illuminated Amber’s eyes as she pulled magic to her.

  Bold. Stupid, but bold. The more time I spent with Amber the more I liked her.

  The Maiden, who had been serving the Crone a cup of tea from the kettle that hung in the fireplace, stopped mid pour to retrieve a black candle off the mantle. With a snap of her finger, a tiny flame flickered to life at the end of the wick. She muttered something into the flame, too soft for me to hear but Amber’s eyes widened as the flame grew in size. Her skin reddened as small blisters formed along her forearms.

  “You were saying?” The Maiden blew out the candle and returned it to its place above the hearth. A sweet smile accentuated the dimples in her cheeks as she returned to pouring the Crone’s tea.

  “You proved your point, daughter.” The Mother stepped into her daughter’s line of sight, blocking her view of Amber. “To answer your question, it was never our plan. It is the Goddess’s plan. For now, Del will be released pending her trial.”

  “A trial?” I croaked. My throat was raw and scratchy. I licked my dry and cracked lips, longing for just a sip of the Crone’s tea. “You never said anything about a trial.”

  “Well, of course, there’s going to be a trial. You stand accused of a very serious offense against the Magistrate. Treason is no laughing matter, but we took your lack of criminal record in the witching and mundane worlds into accounts.” The old witch blew the steam wafting up from her tea away and took a sip. “You should be thanking us. It sets a new precedent.”

  She eyed me over the rim of the chipped porcelain cup before placing it on the saucer resting on her lap. “You’re a creature of habit, Adeline. That predictability helped as well. You rarely travel beyond the reach of the ley lines or the state for that matter.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, there’s the occasional tattoo convention but you never ward on the road, do you?”

  I had in fact warded outside the Magistrate’s boundaries— on a mundane no less. It was more of a charm really, but I doubted the Council would see it that way. Without batting an eye, I shook my head and lied right to the Council’s face. Lars knew of my latest indiscretion which made him guilty by association— again.

  The man was a saint. I’ll never understand why he continued to stick around.

  “Considering the mitigating circumstances involving a member of the Magistrate, we’ve decided you’re not a flight risk and stripping you of your powers until you’re ready to stand trial will suffice.” The Mother swept her long, salt and pepper hair up into a loose bun at the base of her neck; securing it with a pearl hair pick.

  “Unless you have any objections?” The Maiden reached over and tucked a stray hair behind the Crone’s ear in a rare display of tenderness. “We’ll be holding your reservation...”

  In case I failed.

  The odds were stacked against me. I had no idea what I was supposed to do and the Council wasn’t offering any pointers. They were busy covering their own asses and ensuring their survival if things went south— which they inevitably would.

  But I refused to go back in that cell. I would do anything to prevent it. Anything.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Our newfound freedom came with new problems.

  The Magistrate stormed Crane House and seized anything they deemed important to the culture of the coven. In other words, everything but Margret and Amber’s clothes and toiletries. Lars and Amber drove to Sleepy Hollow to assess the damage and salvage whatever was left. I opted to stay behind at a hotel in the East Side with free cable and room service— and no memories or Nicholas or the events leading up to my binding.

  One jar of tea and one of Margret’s tesseomancy cups survived the raid. It was from a new set with no real value but it became Amber’s most prized possession. She bought a special case for them and kept it on the mantle of the gas fireplace in the one-bedroom apartment she and Lars rented two blocks from campus.

  It was easier to keep tabs on them that way.

  I lost my apartment. Turns out, paying your rent is an essential part of keeping your lease. My old landlord flipped the apartment while I was in Magistrate custody. News travels fast within the witching community and he wasn’t expecting back rent— or for me to survive. He pawned most of my worldly possessions to cover the balance. What he couldn’t sell, he tossed. First on the to-do list was get my things out of hock.

  Second was visit Something To ‘Ink About.

  Turns out, Grim had an amazing insurance policy. Lars and I managed to have enough business sense to keep it up to date. From the swath of destruction left in our wake, architects and a construction crew managed to rebuild some of Grim’s life’s work.

  My old life was buried beneath eight inches of concrete.

  Four walls, a roof, and two large storefront windows held the promise of a new life. A future— if I survived being a pawn in the council’s coup against the Magistrate. I was the star defendant in the first public witch trial since 1692. The witch who gave up her magic and posted bond. It was unheard of in the witching community and my face had been plastered all over coven newspapers and social media.

  The limelight was no place for a warder.

  We lived double lives in the shadow of society. At least, we used to. The Council and a leftist faction of the Magistrate planned to decriminalize warding. And by decriminalize, I mean use it to their advantage. If the Council and their supporters were successful, witches like myself— and Nicholas— would be the new face of coven reform.

  I stopped to pick up the bundle of mail left on the doormat outside the entrance. Stuffed between layers of bills, sales papers, and half a dozen renewal notifications for an extended warranty I never purchased, was a heavy linen envelope addressed to me. The calligraphy and lack of postage and return address was a good sign I wanted nothing to do with the contents. I sorted it with the rest of the junk mail, tucked the stack of mail under my arm and punched the code into the key box on the door.

  The smell of fresh paint and new flooring hit me the second I walked into the shop. Well, it wasn’t a shop. Not yet. It needed all the little things that would turn an empty rectangle into a tattoo studio. Equipment, flash, the hum of our machines, and chatter of our clients.

  It needed magic.

  That wouldn’t be happening any time soon. I pressed my palm against the middle of my chest and the constant ache from the binding spell. Eyes closed, I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled while counting to twenty. Amber gave me meditation techniques to ease the magic withdrawal. I never put much stock in meditating, but there were side effects from going cold turkey— anxiety, paranoia, the shakes.

  I needed all the help I could get.

  Nothing worked. Amber said I was resisting but promised to work o
n a charm when she got back. I was banned from using my magic. They didn’t say anything about using someone else’s. A loophole I intended to exploit to the fullest.

  “I’d like to make an appointment,” a man’s voice broke the silence.

  Nicholas. He knocked my world off its axis the last time he spoke those words.

  Afraid of what might happen next, I mentally braced for impact. “Sorry, I’m booked.”

  “That’s a shame. I heard you were the best.” He slipped back into the playful banter that used to be so natural between us.

  After everything that happened since we exposed Winslow, it felt awkward and strained.

  “Your use of past tense is appropriate.” Rebuilding my clientele would take a lot of work and I wasn’t warding any time soon.

  Deep down, I wanted to turn around, run into his arms, and profess my feelings. I wanted him to tell me everything would be okay, that he would stand with me and the Council— or sit beside me at my trial. Dozens of scenarios played through my mind in a matter of seconds. Each one a happily ever after that felt unattainable.

  Several heartbeats passed before I mustered up the courage to face him. “How’s campus life?” Goddess, he looks good.

  “About what you’d expect.” Nicholas closed the distance between us, his footsteps echoing through the open room. “So, you did get the invitation.” He pulled the linen envelope out of the stack of mail tucked under my arm.

  “Like I said, I’m booked. My calendar is all filled up.” I stepped back, putting a couple extra feet between us. I needed the buffer or I risked falling into his arms— which would be a mistake. We were back to living in separate worlds.

  Nicholas took two steps forward and closed the space I put between us. “I miss you.” He cupped my face in his hands and pressed his lips to mine.

  He missed me.

  I wanted this, wanted him, and even though I knew it was a mistake, I kissed him back. Mail scattered to the floor as my arms wrapped around his waist and I pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. That instant spark of attraction we shared from the moment we met became a wildfire raging between us. Nicholas’s magic flared, searching for mine in order to claim it— claim me as his.