Текст книги "Bewitched"
Автор книги: Laura Thalassa
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 24 страниц)
CHAPTER 16
Moldy toadstools.
I scrape the charred, flaky goop from the bottom of the cauldron, grimacing as I go.
I’ve been working on this freaking amulet all evening, and all I have to show for it is this sludge. My hair is singed, I smell like smoke, and the other witches who’ve entered and exited the spellcasting kitchen have kept their distance.
I was hoping that if I got started on an amulet for myself tonight, I’d manage to both finish my first big class project and wrangle some extra protection against the ominous threat Mistress Gestalt warned me about.
This kitchen has an old cast-iron stove as well as several cauldrons hanging over open flames, one of which is mine. On the opposite side of the room, there are shelves of jars holding all manner of rare ingredients.
I scoop the charred paste from the cauldron and place it into a bowl, ignoring the way Nero’s ears go back at the sight of it.
I set the bowl down on the kitchen’s butcher-block counter and make a face at my creation. My creation cannot be right. After moving over to my textbook, A Practitioner’s Guide to Apotropaic Magic, I read through the spell recipe once more.
“Where did I go wrong…?” I ask Nero.
Nero blinks at me, and I swear he’s saying, How am I supposed to know? You’re the witch.
But maybe I’m just anthropomorphizing my panther.
I turn back to my textbook. Could it have been the alyssum? The recipe called for a handful, but that’s such a loose measurement. Or maybe I need fresh mugwort and not the dried version.
But then, maybe it’s not the mugwort?
I rub my temples.
“You’re still here?” Sybil’s voice rings out.
I glance up as she enters the kitchen. She came in here with me a couple of hours ago to work on an assignment for a different class, but she long since left to get some reading done.
Apparently, she finished reading.
She crinkles her nose. “What is that ungodly smell?” she says, wandering closer to me.
“That’s the smell of protection,” I say smoothly.
“Whatever concoction you’re brewing, I don’t think it’s supposed to smell like that.” When she gets to my side, Sybil peers into my bowl. “Or look like that.”
I gaze down at the lumpy charred paste. According to my textbook, it’s supposed to settle into a milky green liquid.
“What are you making anyway?” Sybil asks.
I grimace. “It’s supposed to be a protective potion. Once it’s done, I just dip a piece of jewelry into it…and it should come out an amulet.”
At that, she laughs. “Dude, that’s more likely to attract bad shit than it is to scare it off.”
I make a face at her. “It’s not done yet.”
“Babe, scrap it and call it a night. You can try again tomorrow.”
I grab my wooden spoon and stir the grayish sludge. “Does my best friend really have that little faith in my abilities?”
Sybil raises her eyebrows at me. “Uh, when it comes to this particular spell—yeah, I do.”
“Pfft.” I wave her away. “I’m almost done here.”
“All right, Selene, you do you.” Sybil pushes away from the counter. “I’m heading off to bed. Want to join me for a run before class?”
I make a face at the thought. “Do I really like running?” I ask her.
For a moment Sybil hesitates, like she doesn’t know if I’ve truly forgotten.
“It’s a rhetorical question,” I say. “Of course I hate running. But I’m a masochist, so yeah, I’ll join you.”
She shakes her head. “You have the worst humor, you know that, right?”
I point the wooden spoon I’m holding at her. “I…yeah, I might.”
She gives me an amused look. “Night, babe. Don’t accidently curse anything with that…potion.” With that, she breezes back out of the kitchen.
“Night!” I call out after her.
Once it’s quiet, I return my attention to my goop.
Now, where was I?
I glance down the list of steps I’ve meticulously checked off. All that’s left is the final step.
Take the object you wish to coat with your protective mixture and submerge it into the potion.
There’s an incantation that goes along with this step, and supposedly, invoking this spell will cause the potion to burn away and leave only the magic-coated amulet behind.
Simple enough.
I add more water to my mixture, whispering the incantation under my breath as I do so. And then I stir and stir until my sludge turns into a lumpy liquid. It looks a little greener as a liquid too, so that’s a win.
It’ll have to do.
I grab a small clay pendant with swirls stamped onto the front. It was a cheap knickknack I bought at a street fair in Berkeley, but it’s unusual and pretty. And if this all goes well, it will be an amulet.
I worry my lower lip as I look at my concoction. After a moment, I drop the pendant into the mixture.
This is going to work, I tell myself.
Taking a deep breath, I hold my hand over the bowl and begin. “I call on earth and air…” My power rises, called by my intent and the incantation. “Wash away weakness”—the soft orange magic flows down my arm and out from my palm before settling over the liquid—“from beings wicked and intent unkind…”
As I watch, my power sinks into the potion, making the liquid luminesce.
I finish the incantation with “keep me safe; keep me whole.”
BANG!
The potion explodes like a shot, liquid splattering everywhere.
Shit.
I cough, waving away the odious hazy smoke. Once it clears, I peek inside the cauldron. Then I groan.
Sitting at the bottom is a lump of what looks like fossilized poop.
Do I have to touch it?
After a moment’s hesitation, I reach in and scoop the amulet from the cauldron. On a positive note, at least my clumpy concoction is all gone. I mean, the rest of the kitchen is now covered with it, but we’re not going to focus on that.
At the sight of the amulet in my hand, Nero curls his lips back.
“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad,” I say, dropping my smoldering pendant back onto the counter.
But it is. It really is.
I’m at the kitchen’s industrial sink, humming while I wash the last of the utensils I used. I try not to notice the heavy disappointment settled in the bottom of my stomach, sitting there like a stone.
This was simply a first try.
I’ll get it next time.
“Cleaning cookware, my queen? This is what you gave me up for?”
I scream and spin, throwing the wooden spoon reflexively at the voice.
Memnon leans against the doorway to the kitchen, his frame taking up most of the space. He catches the utensil in his fist, but his eyes remain fixed on me.
How long has he been there?
Now is probably not the time to notice yet again just how smoking hot Memnon is, but fuck, the goddess blessed him a little more in that department than she did the rest of us.
Then, at some later date, she must’ve regretted that blessing and cursed the hell out of his fate to make up for it.
His hair is brushed back from his face, revealing the scar that runs from his eye to ear to jaw. He’s frowning, and I’d say he’s angry, except there’s a touch of confusion in his eyes.
He pushes away from the wall, his bewitching magic unfurling like a flower. “And what in the gods’ names is that smell? It’s worse than those Roman dishes you made me try—”
“Don’t you dare come in,” I warn him, gripping the counter behind me to hold myself up. My legs want to buckle at the sight of him. This is the man who might’ve murdered one of my coven sisters.
And he hates me.
Memnon lifts his chin, even as his magic snaps in annoyance. “Or what?” He squares his shoulders, taking a calculated step into the room. “What will my long-lost wife do to me now?”
It’s only now that I realize we’re, once again, speaking that other language. It stirs strange feelings in me I can’t make sense of. The one thing I can identify is my terror rushing through me the longer I stare at this ancient sorcerer.
My heart bangs against the walls of my chest as though it’s desperate to get out.
He tilts his head, taking in my expression.
A flash of something enters his eyes, but then it’s gone just as quickly.
“Now the fear comes,” he says. “Are you realizing, my queen, that you have a reckoning to receive?”
“I swear to the goddess, I will scream so loud, I’ll bring this whole damn house down on you.”
Memnon pauses, narrowing his eyes. “That is your threat, Roxilana? To scream loudly? What game are you playing?” he says.
He keeps asking this same question, and Goddess, but the only thing worse than a vengeful sorcerer is a vengeful, confused one.
“I will tell you what I know,” I whisper, “if you stop coming closer.”
Memnon must want answers desperately because he does halt in his tracks.
My gaze sweeps over him. He wears a formfitting white shirt, revealing his inked forearms. It’s partially tucked into loose black fatigues, which are then tucked into heavy leather combat boots. Gone is the ancient warrior I woke. He looks every inch like some modern special ops soldier.
His power ripples off him like steam from boiling water, and it strikes me all over again that this man is a sorcerer of all things; he doesn’t seem correctly cast for the role. He’s not supposed to have muscles and power. That’s, like, cheating.
Shit, maybe that’s why he’s cursed. Something has to even out the playing field with this man.
Memnon’s expression heats at my perusal, but I can still sense his blistering wrath. “I’m waiting.”
“Yes, well, give me a moment—you make a girl want to wet herself.”
Shit.
Did that just come out of my mouth?
Did that just come out of my mouth?
Memnon’s eyebrows rise; then a self-satisfied look spreads across his face.
My cheeks heat. “Because y-you’re scary, and I’m t-trying not to pee my pants,” I stammer.
Honestly, just bury me now and save me from myself.
He begins to close the distance between us again.
I put a hand out. “Stay back!” I warn him.
Memnon knocks my hand away as though it’s nothing more than a nuisance, and he steps into my space.
“Roxilana,” he growls, gazing down at me. My skin pebbles at the guttural sound of that name on this man’s lips. It’s not even my name, yet it’s affecting me. How twisted is that?
“What game are you playing?” he demands again, biting out each word.
I lift my jaw obstinately and glare at him. “You need to back up. Now.” Belatedly, I realize that I once again switched languages. Only, this time, I spoke in Latin.
He smiles at me, and it’s so godsdamned wicked. “You think threats will work on me?” he responds in Latin. A moment later, his hand comes to my neck, and it grips me softly. “I make the threats now, wife,” he says, squeezing my throat just a little so his meaning is clear. “Answer my question.”
“This isn’t some game to me,” I say, reverting back to that other, unnamable language, the words rolling off my tongue. “This is my life.”
“Your life,” he echoes bitterly. “And have you been enjoying our time apart? All twenty centuries of it?” The more he speaks, the more his grip tightens on my throat.
“Have you eaten bad bread?” I say, which is apparently the old-school way of saying, What are you smoking? “Listen, my name is Selene, I’m twenty years old, and the first time I ever laid eyes on you was when I opened your tomb. I’m not your wife, and I didn’t betray you.”
As I speak, Memnon’s fury morphs into something colder and more resolute.
He stares at me for several seconds.
“So you’re determined to lie to me,” he finally says.
I want to scream. Did he hear nothing of what I just said?
He continues. “It’s been some time since you were around me, my queen, so perhaps you have forgotten just how I inspired fear into enemies’ hearts.”
All over again, I remember Kate, the murdered witch. The hand around my throat suddenly feels a whole lot more menacing than I’ve been treating it.
My eyes dart to my familiar. Nero is curled up on the kitchen rug, his eyes closed.
Why is he sleeping right now?
“Nero,” I gasp out, trying to get his attention. His ears flick and his tail twitches, but his eyes remain closed.
“Nero?” Memnon repeats. The venom in his voice has my attention snapping back to him. “What does that swine have to do with anything? Did you betray me for him? Even after what he tried to do to you?”
What the fuck is he talking about?
“My familiar.” I wheeze. “His name…is Nero.”
Memnon’s frown deepens. “No, it’s not.”
Wow. The goddess-damned audacity of this man.
“Nero,” I snap, ready to slip into the panther’s mind to wake him.
Before I can, my big cat gets up, stretching his limbs a little, then saunters over.
Fucking finally. There’s the show of solidarity I’ve been waiting for—
Nero walks right up to Memnon and rubs his face against the sorcerer’s leg.
What the…?
“Really?” I wheeze out. I’m being held by the throat, and Nero thinks he should make friends with Memnon? Memnon?
My familiar is defective.
“You expect me to believe any of your lies?” The sorcerer’s eyes sweep over the room. “Or this farce of a life you’ve made for yourself?
“You cannot expect me to believe that you went from ruling the most powerful nation on Api’s good earth to this.” He curls his upper lip as he takes in the kitchen before refocusing his attention on me. “And that mockery of your magic you demonstrated earlier this evening? That was a joke, right?”
The way he says that last part…shit, he must’ve seen the entire amulet recipe. Not my proudest moment.
“Surely,” he continues, “you didn’t scheme my demise only to end up as such a pathetic shadow of your former—”
My hand is moving before I’ve even decided I’m going to hit him. My palm strikes his cheek, making a sharp clapping sound.
Repercussions be damned, that felt good.
“I don’t know who the hell Roxilana was,” I say, switching to Latin again, “but I’ll light a candle for her and say a prayer on her behalf that she had to deal with you for any length of time. I bet she laughed gleefully when she buried you in the ground. I know I would’ve.”
I went too far.
Memnon’s eyes flash, and an ungodly growl rises from his lungs. If he looked murderous before, he looks apoplectic now.
He drags me away from the sink, still clutching me by the throat.
“Forget my former plans,” he says in that other ancient tongue, his voice low and lethal. “I will make you pay now.”
He slides his hand from my neck to my wrist, and everywhere his palm rubs against my bare skin tingles in the most unnerving way.
I yank against his hold, but it’s useless. Memnon hauls me out of the kitchen, his magic wrapping around me as I trip after him. Nero trails behind us, prowling along as though none of this is worrisome.
The first floor of the house is quiet, save for the staticky buzz of the flickering lights. Despite the late hour, I cannot be the only person still awake down here. Yet, except for Memnon, it’s been unusually quiet in the house.
I notice why as Memnon leads me into the foyer: the glittering blue residue of wards hanging in the air beneath the two hallways and the house’s library.
Probably made by Memnon earlier, and probably crafted so he could drag me away without anyone noticing.
Is this what happened to Kate?
Intuition is telling me that this man would never dare to harm me, but my intuition has also told me he’s a violent, dangerous man. Then there’s also the fact that he’s grabbed me by the neck, threatened me, and now he’s hauling me to Goddess knows where. Oh, and he’s a sorcerer whose power preys on his conscience.
If I leave out those front doors with him, I may never return.
Thinking fast, I grab a single strand of my hair and pluck it, and then I let the words form.
“With a hair from my head, and the touch of a spurned spouse, I banish you straight from my house.”
My power lashes out, slamming into Memnon and ripping his hand from my wrist as he’s thrown forward.
My magic creates a wind tunnel of sorts, the shimmery orange plumes of it knocking over an unlit candelabra and churning a stack of loose papers into the air. Around us, the house’s lights flicker erratically.
Memnon turns to face me, and he smiles now, though it’s as sharp as a knife. “There’s your power, Empress,” he says, fighting my magic even as it continues to push him.
Behind him, the house’s door opens, like it wants to be rid of Memnon too.
I glare at him, my hair blowing around me. “Get out.” With my words, another wave of power hits him in the chest, and Memnon staggers back into the doorway.
He grabs the doorframe, holding steady against the barrage of my magic.
“You cannot put off the inevitable,” he says. “I will be back.”
I lift my chin. “Until then, I’ll light that candle in your wife’s memory.”
His eyes burn with his rising magic. Goddess, he is beautiful. Beautiful and angry. Before he can do anything with that power of his, I hear the gravelly growl of the stone lamassu, the threshold guardians.
All at once his magic is sucked out of the house, and the front door slams shut.
As soon as he’s gone, I sag, leaning heavily against a side table to keep from collapsing.
Fuck.
Nero comes up to me then, rubbing against my leg.
“You’re in trouble from now until the end of time,” I say, lowering myself to the ground because my legs don’t want to hold me up. Nero rubs his face against mine, and I wrap an arm around him. There’s a prickly, light-headed feeling in my brain, where my magic is taking its tithe.
I glance up at Memnon’s wards, which still shimmer in the air. With a weary flick of my wrist, I send my magic out and tear through them, the action causing me to feel another throb inside my skull. In a matter of seconds, the wards dissolve.
I let out a sigh of relief when I hear the distant voices of coven sisters elsewhere in the house.
I lean my head against Nero’s. “Hopefully, that’s the last I see of Memnon for a while.”
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CHAPTER 17
“Tell me you love me.”
“I love you,” I breathe.
“Tell me I am the only one.”
“There has only ever been you,” I murmur, my fingers sinking into coarse hair.
Hands slip over the flesh of my torso, and I feel my shirt being tugged up. Warm breath fans against my breasts.
That mouth presses against my nipple, and I gasp, arching into the kiss.
All too soon his mouth leaves, and his kisses trail over my breast and down, down my torso.
“Say you are mine,” Memnon demands.
Memnon?
“I am yours,” I reply dazedly.
My surroundings and my awareness sharpen. I take in the flickering lamplight, the soft sheets, the naked sorcerer moving down my body, his back tattoos rippling as he goes.
“I lay claim to you before all the gods,” he says.
Wait.
What?
“Memn—aaah—” I cry out as his mouth descends to my core, and I arch against him, the sensation of his lips against my flesh nearly too much.
I’m aware of a distant niggle, and I know something isn’t quite right. But I cannot place just what that something—
I’m ripped from my thoughts when Memnon tongues my clit, and he moves his fingers to my core, slipping one of them in.
“Goddess!” I’m overwhelmed by sensation. I try to move away, just to get some relief from all those intimate touches.
With his free hand, Memnon holds me fast.
“Memnon—too much,” I gasp out.
He laughs against my clit. “And yet you’ll endure it all.”
I’m forced to feel the persistent stroke of his tongue and the glide of his lips, all while his fingers slip in and out, in and out.
The moment I give in to the sensation is the moment my climax builds. I’m beginning to make helpless, embarrassing noises because, ugh, it feels so damn good. Too good.
Memnon moves his mouth away from my clit, but it’s almost immediately replaced by the brush of his magic. He uses his power like another set of lips against my clit, continuing where he left off.
While his magic works me, Memnon gazes up the span of my body. When our eyes meet, the world tilts.
“All the lands and all the kingdoms shall be mine once more,” Memnon says softly, still moving his fingers in and out of me, “and all shall know my name as they once did. Memnon the Indomitable.” His eyes glitter with intensity. “Most of all, you will be mine again.”
My orgasm is so close, so, so—
Memnon settles back down between my legs, and he brushes a kiss against my inner thigh. “But first, my queen, you—will—pay.”
The alarm on my phone goes off, jolting me awake. I’m awash in sweat, and my core is throbbing with unfulfilled need.
Blowing out a breath, I grab my phone. I’m not entirely sure whether I’m going to take care of my missed orgasm and get up or simply snooze the alarm and go back to sleep. Before I decide, I catch sight of the message on my phone.
Alarm for morning run with Sybil @ 6:30 a.m.
Ugh, that’s right.
It’s 6:15 a.m. right now, which means I barely have time to change and meet her as it is. So no orgasm and no sleep.
Feeling flustered and grumpy, I grab my clothes and shove myself into them, then tie my hair back and lace up my running shoes.
By the time I knock on Sybil’s door, I have two minutes to spare. And I’m still in a foul mood.
When she opens her door, she takes me in. “You look how I feel,” she says, slipping out of the room. “Why do we do this to ourselves?”
I rub my eyes and shake my head. “Because we’re the queens of bad ideas.”
“C’mon then, my fellow queen,” she says. “Let’s see this bad idea through.”
Okay, the run is not half bad.
I mean, it is because it’s running, and everything jiggles, and I’m somehow sweating in unmentionable places and chilly in others. But the air carries the scent of pine trees and wet soil, and the birds are chirping—and that’s to say nothing of the view.
Sybil takes us on a path that winds behind the campus, then continues to the north of it, the dirt path snaking through the coastal hills.
“How much of this does the coven own?” I ask her. It feels like we’ve been running forever, and we haven’t turned back yet.
“Miles and miles—farther up this way are the residences for graduated coven members.” Sybil huffs, pointing ahead of us.
I can’t see the houses she’s talking about, but I know of them. Coven members who prefer living near other witches and away from the hustle and bustle of normal society can choose to live on coven property. The thought of growing old alongside other witches sounds pretty idyllic, but who knows? Perhaps by the time I graduate Henbane, I’ll be over it.
The forest around us opens, giving way to a field. Off to my left, I catch a glimpse of the distant coastline and the ocean beyond.
The word idyllic was created for days like this.
It’s almost enough for me to forget my encounter with Memnon.
He’s going to be a problem—a big one too. He’s now visited me twice in the past week—to say nothing of my, um, vivid dreams. And if Memnon’s parting words last night were anything to go by, I’ll be seeing him again, and soon.
Only now do I remember one overlooked detail from our encounter.
And have you been enjoying our time apart? he said. All twenty centuries of it?
A chill runs down my back as I do the math.
He’s two thousand years old?
I cannot wrap my head around that amount of time. And speaking of time, if Memnon knows how many years he slept, then he knows the year it currently is.
What else must he know?
For the first time since he confronted me behind Lunar Observatory, I wonder about his life. How exactly did he get from South America to Northern California? Where did he get his clothes? From whom did he acquire information about the modern world? And where in the goddess’s name is he staying?
These questions fill me with a combination of dread and guilt. I don’t really want to know the answers to any of them, but I also feel like I released this man, then abandoned him to the world.
Not that I was in any place to help him. Not after how he treated me.
Speaking of how he treated me…
My thoughts turn to my latest dream. I want to wither away at the fact that I’ve now twice had sex dreams about motherfucking Memnon. I mean, he is wickedly beautiful, so I guess my eyes have good taste, but come on, mind, we do not spread our legs for evil dream men. Even ones who know their way around a pussy.
I draw in a ragged breath.
“Hey, you okay?” Sybil says next to me.
“What? Yeah, I’m good.” I rush the words out.
She stares at me for a second. “I’m sorry about the amulet,” she finally says.
She thinks my mood is about that mess of an amulet?
If only.
I wave her words away. “It’s fine. It really is. I’ll just try again.”
I can feel Sybil’s eyes on me a second longer, but given how uneven the ground is, she eventually has to look away.
We run for a little longer when the dirt path forks, one branch continuing onward and the other curving back the way we came.
“Unless you want to keep going,” Sybil says, “we’ll want to take this one back to the house.” She points to the branch that twists toward home.
“Don’t want to keep going,” I say. My energy is already starting to flag, and there are still miles between me and my bedroom.
We take the path that curves back the way we came, birdsong and dappled light following us through the Everwoods.
We’ve got to be less than a mile from campus when up ahead of us, the pathway is roped off by crime scene tape.
Sybil and I slow. There are people in Politia uniforms milling about, their magic filling the air. There’s something else lingering in the breeze, something grim and oily and malevolent. Beneath even that, I sense…
Death.
Ruthless, agonizing death. It’s just a momentary impression; then it’s gone.
“Selene…” Sybil says, a thread of fear in her voice.
Before I can respond, one of the uniformed officers notices us.
“Hey there!” the woman calls.
I think she’s going to send us on our way, but instead, she beckons us closer as she heads toward the crime scene tape. “Can I speak with you two for a moment?” she says.
Sybil and I glance at each other before I call out, “Yes. Of course.”
We walk over to the cordoned-off area. Every step closer has my gut churning and my intuition telling me to stay away. Something here isn’t right.
“You two locals?” the officer asks, pulling out a notepad and pen.
“We’re attending witches at Henbane Coven,” I say.
“Do you regularly use this pathway?”
“She doesn’t,” Sybil says, gesturing to me. “I’ve been running this trail weekly for the past year.”
“Do either of you know of anyone else who regularly comes this way?” the officer asks, looking between us.
My eyes move over the crowd of officers and other uniformed personnel as that sick, uneasy feeling worms its way beneath my skin. The cluster of officers parts, and I catch sight of—of—
My mind can’t—won’t—make sense of what my eyes are seeing. The colors are crimson and pink and beige and black, so much oily black—
The officer steps in front of me, shifting to block my view.
I put a hand to my mouth to fight my rising nausea.
Sybil glances from me to the crime scene to the officer. “What’s going on? Has something happened?”
“We’re not at liberty to discuss an open investigation,” she says smoothly.
But I don’t need magic or intuition to know what’s going on. I saw it with my own eyes.
Save us, Goddess.
There’s been another murder.
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