Текст книги "Bewitched"

Автор книги: Laura Thalassa

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

CHAPTER 11

The sheet beneath my body is soft, and the room is full of a set of unusual yet oddly comforting smells—cedar and frankincense, smoke and brine.

Soft light flickers from over a dozen terra-cotta lamps set throughout the room, and out the open windows, I hear the calls of summer bugs punctuating the night.

I glance at the bed I’m lying on, the carved wood frame made of Lebanese cedar, though I can’t say precisely how I know that. Nor can I say how I know before I touch them that there are two golden fibulas—clasps—that hold my dress together at the shoulders. A couple of deft flicks, and the whole dress could fall away.

Movement on the far side of the room catches my eye.

A man steps into the open doorway, and I start at the sight of his face.

Memnon.

The fear I expect to feel is nowhere in sight. Instead, longing wells in me. I forgot how handsome he is, though, to be fair, handsome is too tame a word for his sharp, fearsome beauty. He wears only a pair of loose low-slung trousers, his tattooed upper body on full display.

Those luminous brown eyes are full of desire as he approaches me. He walks right up to the bed and cups my face, even as I wrap my arms around his torso, feeling the hard packed muscles of his back.

“Roxi.” He says the name with a deep, guttural roll, the lids of his eyes growing hooded as they take me in.

An instant later, he’s kissing me like he’s drowning and I’m air. I can’t help but kiss him back. I haven’t forgotten how well he kissed or how he did it with a possessiveness he shouldn’t feel.

I don’t mind it either. I know I should. But all I can think about is the fact this man probably fucks like he kisses, and I wouldn’t mind finding that out for certain.

I stare up at him, my heart beating fast. I can’t seem to breathe, and there’s a pain in my chest that I think is happiness, only I’ve never known happiness to hurt.

He searches my eyes. “My empress. My wife.” And then, as though he can’t help himself, he leans in and kisses me again, his lips rough and hungry. I’m swept out to sea by the glide of that mouth. I fall into the kiss, enjoying how he tastes like wine.

He drapes his body over mine, pinning me to the bed, and I gasp into his mouth, the action tugging at me.

I break off the kiss, my lips already feeling swollen, and I search Memnon’s eyes. “I’ve…missed you,” I breathe.

But no, that’s not what I meant to say. Is it?

He smiles, the action showing off one of his sharp canines.

Memnon leans in as though he’s about to kiss me again. Right when his lips are a hair’s breadth from mine, he says, “I don’t believe you.”

He shifts his weight on me, and all sorts of wanton desires well within me. I’m breathless with them, even though there’s confusion too.

Something isn’t right, but what?

I know I said the wrong thing, and he had the wrong response for it, yet he’s still on me, and my hands are still caressing his back, and his hips are lightly moving against mine.

He shifts again so his lips skim across my cheek and brush my ear. “But I have missed you. I have missed you so fucking much, little witch.”

He moves from my ear to press a kiss to my chin. There’s a devious gleam in his eyes, and the corner of his mouth curves up in another smile. He somehow makes sinister look sexy.

His hand moves to my waist. “Let me show you just how much,” he says, gathering the material of my dress with his fingers.

He pulls my skirt higher and higher, baring my legs. The entire time, he stares at me, his eyes daring me to stop him.

I don’t.

I’m too curious and full of yearning.

It’s only when my skirt is around my waist and Memnon’s hand falls to my inner thigh that I gasp.

“Has our time apart made you shy, my queen?”

His other hand falls against my other inner thigh, and he spreads them, almost obscenely. Only then does he tear his gaze from my face. His eyes seem to feast on my exposed flesh.

Heat floods my cheeks. “Memnon.”

I’m mortified; I’m turned on. I don’t know what to do, but I’m pretty sure I’m too curious for this to stop.

Memnon flashes me another wolfish grin. “Say my name again like that, little witch.” His eyes flick back to mine. “I like hearing your voice tremble.”

I swallow, and he must notice the action, because his attention dips to my throat.

“Memnon,” I repeat, and it sounds like a plea. For what, I’m not entirely sure.

He tightens his hands on my thighs. “Good, love,” he praises me. “Very good.”

The man leans toward my body again, as though he means to kiss me. This time, however, his mouth is headed for a very different set of lips.

I only have a moment to be alarmed.

“Memn—” I gasp as his mouth kisses my core, his lips hot against my sensitive flesh.

My hands find his head, my fingers threading through his coarse black hair. I try to push his face away even as I moan.

This should be illegal, it feels so good. I don’t understand why exactly this is happening, and I think I should stop it, even though I don’t want to stop it.

My head is a mess.

I try to push him away again, and Memnon does stop kissing me—but only so he can laugh lightly against me, his breath hot on my flesh.

“Turning away my kisses, wife?” he says. “How very unlike you.”

My chest is rising and falling as I stare down my body at him. “I’m not…” I mean to say, I’m not your wife. But my body is aching, and there’s still that confusion, like maybe I am? That can’t be right though, can it?

So, instead, I say, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I have missed you, and I want to reacquaint myself. Do you truly want me to stop?”

In the wake of his words, a silence stretches. I gaze at him, the firelight making that scar on his face particularly apparent.

Before I can help myself, I give my head a soft shake.

“Good, Roxi,” he praises again.

I tense at the name he uses. It’s not mine. Is it?

When I feel the lush press of his lips on my core once more, I stop thinking about other people’s names and Memnon’s motives and every other thing tugging at my mind. I stop thinking about everything except how goddess-damned good this feels.

Memnon’s hands move from my inner thighs, sliding under my legs so he can cradle me by my pelvis.

I thread my fingers into his hair once more, moaning at the sensations he’s awakening within me.

Memnon’s kisses turn carnal, his mouth moving around my opening. And then he slips his tongue inside me.

I cry out, writhing beneath him.

Memnon makes a noise low in his throat as he tightens his hold on me. “You taste so fucking good, little witch. Never want to leave.”

“Never, ever have to,” I breathe, my words half nonsensical.

He eats me out with unrestrained ferocity, the muscles of his arms bunching and his tattoos rippling as he cups me by the ass. I wantonly grind against his face, and he makes an approving noise, like he really fucking enjoys how dirty I’m being.

My breath comes in shallow pants, and I’m climbing and climbing and—

“Is my queen about to come?” Memnon says against my pussy. “Because”—he sucks on my clit, forcing me to cry out—“if so,”—another suck—“then I’ll just have to—” He reaches for something and—

ZZZZZZZ—ZZZZZZZ…

My eyes snap open.

I’m sweating, and my chest is heaving.

Great Goddess, did I just wake up from a wet dream? One starring Memnon the Cursed?

I feel flustered and oddly embarrassed. And hungover. Ugh. I grimace as I taste alcohol and last night’s bad decisions on my tongue.

ZZZZZZZ—ZZZZZZZ…ZZZZZZZ—ZZZZZZZ…

My phone’s buzzing rouses me from my thoughts. That must’ve been what woke me.

I rub my eyes with one hand and use the other to grope around my nightstand—wait, no, Sybil’s nightstand—for my phone.

Then I pause.

Great Goddess, I had a sex dream in Sybil’s room? In her bed? While she slept next to me?

Just kill me now and end my humiliation.

ZZZZZZZ—ZZZZZZZ…

My hand brushes my phone, then knocks it to the ground.

“Fuck,” I curse under my breath, leaning over my friend’s bed. My stomach tumbles with the action, and I force down my nausea as I snatch my phone up.

Behind me, Sybil stretches. “Turn your phone off,” she moans.

I grab the phone in question, glaring at it.

I swear if this is spam, I will—

The thought stops dead in its tracks when I read the caller ID: Henbane Coven.

I accept the call so fast that I nearly drop it again.

“Hello?” I say breathlessly.

“Selene Bowers?” the woman on the other line says.

I clear my throat. “Yes, that’s me,” I say, trying not to sound as flustered and hungover as I am. Already, my heart is starting to gallop. Why would anyone from the school be calling me?

Don’t get your hopes up. Don’t get your hopes up—

“Hi, I’m Magnolia Nisim, from the Admissions Department of Henbane Coven.”

Next to me, Sybil sits up, her hair a wild mess around her head.

Who is it? she mouths.

I cover the receiver and mouth back, Henbane Coven!

“I and the rest of the admissions committee have read your paper on your magic quest, and…wow.” She pauses.

I take shallow breaths to calm my nausea while I wait. What does that wow mean?

Oh Goddess, what if I screwed my application up again? What will I do now? I don’t think I can swing another year scraping by here—

“We are all very, very impressed.”

Impressed?

I gasp, and Sybil grabs my forearm, her eyes wide and her face excited.

“We’ve received word from the Politia,” she continues.

“The Politia?” I say, my brows coming together. That was the supernatural police force. What did they have to do with any of this?

“They investigated the crash, and they concluded magic had to be involved in the plane’s landing. You were the only known supernatural on board,” she says.

When I don’t respond, she goes on. “Do you know how incredible what you did was? You saved hundreds of lives by landing that plane. The media may never hear of it, but you’re a hero, Selene.”

I lick my dry lips, feeling confused and still nauseous.

A hero?

My mind flashes to the unsealed tomb and the empty sarcophagus.

I…I don’t think that’s the right word for what I am.

“Selene Bowers,” she says, “on behalf of the entire Henbane community, I’d like to formally invite you to join our coven.”

Two days later, I stand on the pathway leading up to Henbane’s residence hall, Nero at my side.

I’m not entirely positive that this is real, not until I open my notebook and see the printed housing instructions with my name on them taped in my planner. I circled the room number—Room 306—several times.

I head up the pathway toward the front door.

This time, as I approach the lamassu, I pause to touch one. I don’t know why I love these half woman, half beast statues so much, but I get a thrill when I realize they’ll be guarding me every day.

I drop my hand and head the rest of the way up to the front door. The dark water-stained door is fitted with an elaborate bronze knocker held between the pointed teeth of Medusa. Like the lamassu, this is another threshold guardian.

As soon as my hand closes over the doorknob, the metal Medusa moves, the snakes in her hair writhing, and her metal lips part.

“Welcome home, Selene Bowers,” she says.

For a moment, I smell rosemary, lavender, and mint, scents associated with protection. Women’s voices whisper in my ear, and one of them laughs, the sound morphing into a cackle.

And then, whatever witchy ritual that was, it’s done. The phantom smells and sounds vanish, and the Medusa head freezes back into place.

I push the door open and enter the building, Nero following behind me.

Women’s voices fill the space. I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.

To my left, there’s a living room and a kitchen for spellwork. Beyond them is the house’s actual kitchen, where food prep is handled, and across from it is our dining hall.

To the other side of me, there’s a library, an atrium, and a hallway I know leads to a study room and the Ritual Room. And straight ahead is the main staircase.

Just like the harvest party, the building slowly goes quiet as the witches catch sight of me and Nero.

Right when the silence is about to feel awkward, Charlotte, a witch I recognize from Peel Academy, leans out of the kitchen and shouts, “Welcome to the family, Bowers!”

Several other women follow suit, calling out their welcomes to me. My shoulders, which had tensed, now relax. Whatever caused that silence, the women here moved past it to make me feel comfortable.

“Thanks,” I call out to Charlotte and the others.

I cross the foyer and head up the stairs with my familiar at my side. The wooden stairs creak as we climb them.

I step off on the third floor and head to my right, my eyes scanning the brass room numbers until I get to mine.

Room 306.

The door has been propped open. Inside, there’s a single twin bed and a blue velvet chair next to it. Pushed against the adjacent wall is an empty bookshelf. Next to it is a large window that looks out onto a gnarled oak tree.

Across from my bed rests an ancient-looking desk with an equally ancient lamp. Sitting on the center of its surface is a massive iron key.

I walk over and pick up the key.

This is a joke, right? I mean, how am I supposed to put this on my key chain without looking like some old-timey prison warden?

I glance at my door with its ornate bronze doorknob and the large keyhole above it.

All right, so this isn’t a joke. The coven just hasn’t updated their rooms’ locks in a century or so.

Really hoping those lamassu do a decent job protecting this place because my lock obviously does shit.

I pocket the key anyway.

“What do you think?” I say, glancing down at Nero.

My panther looks out at the room, then rubs his face against my leg.

My eyes sweep over the place. “I’m glad you approve. I love it too.”

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CHAPTER 12

“Fuck. Moving.” Fuck it so hard.

I collapse onto my bed.

My arms shake from carrying things up three flights of stairs over the course of the day, and my ass and legs are numb from the exertion. And that’s not even getting into the fact that many of the notes and labels I put on my stuff have fallen off. And Great Goddess of Earth and Heaven, everything is not where it’s supposed to be, and my head hurts from it all.

But you know what? It’s done.

I stare up at my ceiling, hearing the muted laughter of witches in nearby rooms.

A thrill runs down my spine. This is my life now. I attend Henbane Coven. No more waiting and yearning. I get to live here and learn here and lean into all my long-awaited dreams.

I survey my tiny room all over again, and my eyes eventually rest on Nero.

My familiar lounges on a throw blanket I’m pretty sure he dragged off my bed and onto the floor and is chewing on a bone I got him from the butcher’s. The bone makes a sickening crack; then I hear Nero’s rough tongue lapping up Goddess knows what.

“Can you not do that on my blanket?” I ask him.

He ignores me.

Defective familiar.

“I should return you,” I say to him. “I bet I could buy like fifty cute, fluffy familiars for the price of you.”

Now Nero glances up at me, and he licks his lips. Pretty sure that was panther for sounds tasty.

I sigh.

After heading over to the window, I shimmy the pane up, letting in a gust of cool air.

Outside, the giant oak tree I saw earlier looms like a dark shadow. One of the tree’s thicker branches tees off just beneath my window. The location and sturdiness of it is so convenient that some previous witch must’ve spelled the branch to be that way, either for herself or her familiar.

I turn to Nero. “I’m going to leave this window open for you so you can come and go as you please.”

In response to my words, my familiar rises to all fours. After giving a satisfied stretch, he hops onto the bench seat beneath the window.

“Now, remember, no hunting humans or house pets, okay?” I tell him. “They’re not on the menu.”

Nero glowers at me.

“Oh, and no eating other witches’ familiars,” I say. “Oh, and definitely do not attack lycanthropes. It won’t end well for you.”

Nero gives me a disgruntled look, like I’m the world’s cruelest master.

“Just about everything else is free game. I’ll leave my window open so you can get back inside.” I chew on my lower lip. “You can climb, right?”

He gives me another disgruntled look.

“Geez,” I say, holding up my hands. “No offense meant.” Well, maybe a little offense meant. He is an ass, after all. “I just wanted to make sure.”

With that, Nero springs out of my room and onto the oak branch. Without a backward glance, he slinks down the tree before silently dropping to the ground and prowling off into the darkness.

I worry my lower lip as I stare after him. That oaf better not get himself hurt. And he better stay warm.

I sit on the edge of my bed. I’m utterly spent from a day of moving, and I need to take a shower and try to unwind, but my body still buzzes with energy. Now that I have a moment alone, I want to explore. There are new smells, new sounds, and a heady thrum of power in the air itself that I want to acquaint myself with.

Decision made, I push off the bed. I’m nearly to my door when I hear rustling from the oak tree outside. A moment later, Nero quietly hops into our room.

“Back already?” I ask. “I thought you’d be out exploring all evening.”

He comes up to me and rubs against my thigh before plopping down on the blanket he stole from me once more.

“I was just about to leave,” I say. “Want to explore some more with me?”

In response, Nero yawns in my face.

“Fine. I’ll be back in a little bit.”

I grab the doorknob and head out of my new room, closing the door behind me. Halfway down the hall, I hear claws scratching against the back of the door.

Fucking cats.

I walk back to my room and open the door. Nero glances up at me, then silently slips out. I look at the inside of the door and—

“Holy Mother of Magic Mushrooms, Nero, why do you have to be such a beast?” Several deep claw marks have gouged the base of the door, and wood shavings litter the ground.

Cats, man.

The lights in the hallway flicker. They look like a relic from a century ago, and judging by the magic sputtering off them, I’m guessing they’re as old as they appear.

I head down the stairs to the first floor. This level is full of common rooms, most of which I have seen only in passing.

I head toward the house’s sprawling library, Nero padding along beside me. When I enter, I don’t see anyone inside, all the plush velvet sofas and chairs empty. On the far side of the library, a massive fireplace holds the dying embers of a banked fire.

And then, of course, are the books. Hundreds and hundreds of them nestled neatly into almost every square inch of this place.

I move through the room, stopping to touch this book or that, all while Nero follows beside me. Many of the tomes are moth-eaten, their gilded lettering rubbed half away and their pages yellowed. I bite my lip as I read the spines of books written in Latin and Ancient Greek, the old languages as familiar to me as the face of a dear friend.

Farther in, I see books on Nostradamus’s writings and the Dead Sea Scrolls and several other dated texts, some religious, some not, and some occupying that space people like to call heretical. It’s a space we witches have lived and died in.

There are historical books on witches and witchcraft, as well as books that analyze general spellcraft. It’s all very academic, and I relish every bit of it.

When I get to the far end of the library, near the stone fireplace, I hesitate. To my left, an ornately carved door is set deep into the wall. Magic pulses softly from it.

Shimmery wards run along the edges of it, locking the room from supernaturals unaffiliated with Henbane Coven.

I used to be one of them. In fact, the first and only time I tried to open this door was sometime last year when I was visiting Sybil. I can’t remember why I came into the library or why I tried to enter the room, but I definitely remember getting shocked. Part of me is certain the same thing will happen now.

Only one way to find out.

I reach for the handle. My hand closes over the metal knob, and I wait for a moment, readying myself for the wards to lash out at me.

Nothing happens.

Below me, Nero nudges my leg, as if to tell me to hurry up. It must be nice for him, not having to worry about getting fried by protective magic.

And I am still worried. I haven’t opened the door after all.

I take a deep breath. No time like the present.

I turn the knob and pull. Above me the ward flares brightly for a moment, and yet…no painful spell lashes out at me. Instead, the door creaks as I open it. Beyond the threshold is darkness.

A second later a wave of power crashes into me, and I stagger back. It isn’t a ward striking me or anything of the sort. It’s simply magic. Lots and lots of cloying, potent magic. I practically choke on it all as I grope around for a light switch.

I don’t find one, but in the darkness, I can just make out a lantern set next to the door, a partially melted candle inside. A lantern but no matches.

I sigh.

Going to have to use magic for this.

I pick up the lantern and scowl at the wick. “Oh, how I hate making up a new spell. Just light this fricking flame from hell.”

Whoosh.

A crimson flame bursts to life inside the lantern, and maybe it’s just me, but it looks a little demonic.

Um.

Shit.

Pretty sure I just summoned a bit of hellfire.

I glance at Nero. “You saw nothing.”

He stares unblinkingly back at me.

I worry my lower lip as I step into the room, lifting the lantern with its red flame. Not even one night in, and I’m already breaking the rules by using dark magic.

I can’t focus on those thoughts for too long, however, because the sight around me takes my breath away.

“Grimoires,” I whisper.

Hundreds of them. They’re packed along the shelves, their conflicting magic rolling off them. It’s already making my head throb; it’s like being sprayed with dozens of clashing perfumes.

There’s a long table that runs down the middle of the room, presumably where you can read over the books.

“Can’t sleep?”

I yelp, nearly dropping my lantern at the voice behind me.

I swivel around and face another witch, one who probably also lives here.

Her gaze drops to my lantern. “That’s some interesting light you’ve made for yourself.”

“Uh…” This is where I get kicked out not a day after I move in.

“It’s a head rush, isn’t it?” she says, stepping up next to me.

At first, I think she’s speaking about dark magic, but then I notice her attention is on the grimoires around us.

“Mm-hmm,” I agree, even as the throbbing in my temple increases.

“Many of these were supposedly written by coven members who lived here, though some of them are far older.” She gives me a conspiratorial look. “Maybe one day you or I will have a grimoire stored in here.”

The thought is so wild, it distracts me from the fact I’ve been caught almost literally red-handed with dark magic.

“I’m Kasey, by the way,” the witch says, holding out her hand.

I take it. “Selene.”

“I know. I saw you at the harvest party—you made an entrance with that familiar of yours,” she says, her gaze drifting down to Nero.

“Uh, yeah, he’s really a sweetheart. Totally misunderstood.”

Nero gives me a look like I’m so full of shit, which I obviously am, but Kasey and the rest of the witches living here don’t need to know that. I’m sure it’s terrifying enough to know you’re sharing your house with a panther. Never mind that he has an attitude.

Kasey’s gaze moves back to the grimoires around us. She points at one bound in plum-colored cloth. “That one helped me with the potency and longevity of my spells in my wards class—just a heads-up in case you’re taking it this semester.”

I don’t think I am, but—

“Thanks,” I say. “I’ll be sure to check it out.”

Kasey smiles at me. “Well, I’m heading off to bed.” Her eyes drop to the crimson flame in my lantern before rising to mine once more. “Oh, and by the way, be careful not to burn anything—magical fires are notorious for not going out, and flames like that”—her eyes flick back to my lantern—“hunger for power.

“Nice meeting you, Selene.” Kasey nods and leaves.

“Bye,” I call after her.

Once I’m sure Kasey is gone and the house is quiet once more, I speak to the lantern. “Thank you for the assistance, demon flame. Now go back to hell from whence you came.”

The candle flickers out, leaving behind a vaguely corrosive smell, and some magical black residue smudges the glass panes of the lantern. It’s that tar-like substance that gives it its name—dark magic.

It draws from forces of darkness and collects sin and blood as tithe. It’s forbidden, evil magic.

And my new acquaintance Kasey saw me using it.

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