Price of Magic: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Witch's Bite Series Book 2) Read online

  “As a representative of the council, I have a right to go wherever I need to in the course of my investigation,” he snarls, his dimples disappearing along with his smile.

  “You are out of your jurisdiction, buddy,” I snarl back. “I’m a witch. You don’t get to tell me what to do. Now, get out.”

  “Make. Me.” He says, baring his teeth after each word.

  I have the same odds of winning the lottery as I do of landing a hit before he kills me. I grind my teeth together and Patrick tightens his grip on my arm, he obviously has no intention of letting me do anything moronic.

  “This is stupid,” I say, jerking at my arm until Patrick finally let’s go. Reilly watches me, his brows pinched together. “I’m getting my groceries out of the car. If you hurt Patrick while I’m gone, I’ll find a way to kill you.”

  I stomp back out the front door, slamming it uselessly behind me. My car door is still open. I slap it shut and walk around to the passenger side to get the bags. I hook them all on my uninjured arm, then turn around and walk into Reilly once again.

  “Seriously?” I say, stumbling back against the car. “Personal space. It’s a thing.”

  “You’re the one that keeps walking into me. Perhaps try watching where you’re going?” He says, those dimples making a reappearance. I want to kick him in the teeth.

  “Did you come out here to help me carry in the groceries, or is there something you wanted?”

  “I did want to talk, privately,” he says as he hops onto the hood of my car and makes himself comfortable.

  I set the bags back in the passenger seat and cross my arms. “Well? Get on with it.”

  “I thought southerners were known for their hospitality,” he pouts. “Maybe it’s just this town.”

  I stare at him. He obviously just likes the sound of his own voice. He’s hot, in a rich city boy kind of way with his slick suit and perfect hair. I’m sure girls normally fling themselves at his feet, panties already halfway down their legs. Hell, I would have been one of them if he hadn’t come in and attacked Patrick.

  “As I said before, I’m here to investigate the incident with the NWR, and most importantly, to make sure none of them are left.”

  “That’s great,” I say, though my tone says I don’t care.

  “I also intend to find Martinez, and in a show of good faith, the council is going to work with a witch in order to arrest him and bring him to trial. You were their choice. It’ll make a good headline. Witch Gets Justice With Help of Vampire Council,” he says waving his hand through the air. “The journalists will come up with something catchy I’m sure.”

  “Awesome, let me know when you find him, and I’ll come kill him for you.”

  “We definitely need to catch him alive. The council was very insistent on that point.”

  “The council can go fuck themselves.”

  “Such bold words,” Reilly says as he leans back on his hands. “Do you know Aaron Hall?”

  “I know of him, why?” There’s no way, just absolutely none, that they know what happened, but that doesn’t stop my heart from doing a pitter-patter in my chest.

  Reilly tilts his head to the side, looking me up and down in a way that should be flirtatious, but instead leaves me feeling exposed.

  “He’s supposed to be a Finder, which would make things simpler. The coven should be trying to get some good PR, so I imagine they’ll even lend him out for free.”

  Of course. He’s a Finder. It makes sense for them to ask about him. This is fine.

  “No one has any idea where Martinez is. It’s not like a Finder can search the entire country for him, what’s the point?”

  “We’ll have him search the local area first, just in case. If we need him to search a larger area later, we’ll do so.”

  “Sounds like you have a well thought out plan--”

  “You’re going to come with me when I talk to them.”

  I stare at him, mouth hanging open. “No, I’m not.”

  “What do you want Olivia? More than anything.”

  “For you to go away and never bother me again,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  “Not to find your mother?”

  He says it so casually, as if it’s a trivial matter. Something he can joke about. I clench my hand into a fist to keep the sudden heat of electricity from escaping.

  “My mother is dead. Has been for years,” I say with gritted teeth.

  “Most likely,” he agrees pleasantly, as though he can’t tell I’m furious. “However, the medical records and death certificate that Detective Brunson found were faked.”

  “What?” I don’t want to go through this again. The sick hope already curling in my gut feels like a betrayal. Why is he trying so hard to get my help? As far as he should know, I’m not special.

  “He knew that, didn’t he tell you?” Reilly asks, tilting his head to the side. “Perhaps he didn’t get a chance to before he died. Or perhaps he never intended to, you did get a bit obsessive about finding her when you were younger.”

  I don’t respond. I can’t.

  “Come with me tomorrow evening to talk to the coven and I’ll tell you what I know about the faked records,” Reilly says, hopping off the hood of my car.

  “Why do you even want me there?”

  “Because I am demanding, unreasonable, and secretive. I’ll see you tomorrow just after sundown,” Reilly says with a smile before disappearing without a sound.

  I stand, stunned, and stare at the spot he just occupied. My mind is spinning as I think back to the day Brunson told me he had found her, and that she was dead. I had no doubt then that he was telling me the truth. Why would he lie about that? And despite what Reilly implied, I have a hard time believing he would. I hate everything about today.

  I grab my bags out of the car and walk back inside. Patrick is sitting in the middle of the living room next to what used to be my coffee table. It looks like someone was slammed down on top of it. One of the legs is on the other side of the room.

  “Are you hurt?” I ask, dropping the bags on the counter and fishing out my ice cream.

  “No, but my pride may never recover,” Patrick says as he stands. “I’ve never seen a vampire move that fast.”

  “I’m not convinced he isn’t teleporting.” I find a spoon and take a bite of ice cream.

  Patrick stares at his hands, strangely quiet.

  “Are you sure he didn’t hurt you? Or threaten you?”

  He hesitates just long enough to make me worry, then looks up with a smile. “He didn’t, it’s fine. Don’t worry about me.”

  4

  The blinds are drawn tight, so the room is pitch black. I check my phone. It’s only three thirty in the afternoon. Just enough time to get started on some of the brews for the apothecary before the sun sets.

  I groan and rub my eyes. I’m still tired, probably because of the nightmares that keep waking me up every few hours.

  I roll out of bed and find my clothes. Mr. Muffins is waiting for her breakfast in the kitchen. She lets me pick her up for once and I carry her around while I get her food together and refill her water. She’s warm and soft and happily purring.

  The coffee table, which was broken in Reilly and Patrick’s fight last night, is still lying in the middle of the living room. I look at, then just walk around it. That’s a problem for another day.

  The bandage on my arm has come half-loose. I pick it off and examine the wound. It’s mostly healed. I press my hand the wound and push the warm healing magic into it.

  It’s always odd, healing myself. It turns into a feedback loop almost. It’s more tiring than healing anyone else, and harder to focus. I think the sensation and awareness of my body distracts me.

  I exhale shakily and raise my hand. There’s a light scar, but it’s better than it was. I wad the bandage up and throw it away, feeling cleaner in a way, now that it’s gone.

  My workroom is still a wreck. That is actually a problem for today, so I crack
my knuckles and choose a corner to tackle first. The door and windows open up first. I need the fresh air, it still smells vaguely of spice and smoke in here.

  The bag that I carried everything in when I kidnapped Aaron is sitting by the door. I dump it out and start putting everything away. I pick up the flashlight and the map catches my eyes. I reach for it slowly, my fingers tracing the back. She’s dead. I know that. I shove it back it the bag and shove the bag in the corner.

  One bag of trash, two sets of brewing instruments scrubbed, and a shiny stove and I’m done. Now it’s time to get everything dirty again.

  I run through a mental list of the healing potions that might sell best. Headache potions, of course. Potions to keep bad dreams at bay, and help someone sleep. I haven’t made a Sweet Dreams brew in years.

  My fingers trail over the cauldrons, as I think. I get to the cast iron cauldron and pause. The iron is rough under my fingers. It brings back memories that I haven’t thought about in a long time. When I was younger, my mom would sometimes just make a cider in the cauldron, then share it with the neighbors and tell them it was a good luck brew. They always walked away with a warm belly and their heads held a little higher. It’s been a while since I’ve used this cauldron and it feels neglected. It seems right to brew the Sweet Dreams potion in it while I’m full of these good memories.

  I grunt as I pick it up. The cast iron cauldron is heavy and unwieldy, but the sturdiness is what makes it good for this brew. I light the fire underneath it and turn it down low. This is a potion to brew nice and slow. No rush, no stress.

  I open the chest that I keep all my dried plants in and grab a bundle of lavender and the sweet alyssum I picked a couple of weeks ago. It still smells lovely even though the flowers have wilted.

  The crystals are a different matter. I open the drawer and look over them, biting my lip as I consider each one. I need something cool and steady.

  My hand drifts away from the usual crystals to the little pile of abalone shells in the back of the drawer. I smile as I wrap my fingers around one. The sound of the ocean is soothing, rhythmic, and relaxing. These will be perfect.

  I fill the cauldron with water before it gets too hot, then put in a handful of chamomile tea in. The leaves begin a merry dance around the pot, forming swirls within swirls. Next is the lavender. The water deepens to purple as soon as the plant dips under the surface. It breaks apart quickly and the little buds of lavender join the tea leaves in their hypnotic dance.

  The alyssum I warm in my hands first, rolling it between my palms until the scent is bright and new again. The petals unfurl as they hit the water, the bruises disappearing and the wilted petals smoothing out.

  I let the ingredients settle in the cauldron as I grab my mortar and pestle. The abalone shells grind up easily, crunching into a sparkling powder that looks like stardust.

  I hum a lullaby under my breath, my mom used to sing it to me before I decided I was too old to be tucked into bed. I can’t remember all the words now, but they’re not important. It’s the feeling I need.

  I pick up my wooden stirring rod and tap the edge of the cauldron. The petals all sink slowly to the bottom, disappearing in the purple liquid.

  I grab a handful of the powdered abalone shells and hold my hand high over the cauldron. I tap the edge again and the potion chimes, the sound ringing out around the room, as it turns to a milky dark blue.

  Little starbursts of light burst out of my hand, igniting the abalone shell with magic as it falls from my hand, catching on some unseen flow of magic that sends it swirling around me. They hover like a cloud of stars, swaying slightly in an unseen breeze.

  I dip the rod into the cauldron and stir, slow and steady. The little, twinkling stars begin to move in rhythm with the rod as though they are being pulled along on gossamer threads. Each stir brings a little more into the cauldron. They glint in the potion, dreamy and beautiful. I keep stirring, almost unaware of the passage of time. The light is the room is dimmed, I feel calm and comforted.

  With one last circle, the last of the abalone shell is pulled into the cauldron, and I feel my magic settle into the brew. I lift the rod out and step back with a contented sigh, a warm, floral scent drifting lazily from the cauldron. If only everything could be this simple.

  The sun is setting, so it’s just a matter of time before Reilly shows up. He had said he would be here promptly after sundown.

  I hear Patrick moving around in the closet. He always twitches as he wakes up. I walk into my bedroom and sit on the end of the bed.

  Patrick opens the closet door and stares at me, blinking blearily. He looks like his old self for a moment. He has slept over regularly in the past, never in my bed, always in the closet. It’s always been an unspoken agreement that I’ve never thought too hard about. I care about him too much to fuck it up with sex, especially since, while he is attractive, we don’t have that spark that always leads to me making dumb decisions.

  “Did you sleep well?” I ask, smirking at him.

  He rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his hair, trying to smooth out the weird bump on the left side.

  “Fantastic as always.” His voice is rough and he sounds grumpy.

  “Reilly is going to be here any minute.” I stand back up, unused to this sullen version of Patrick. “Do you need anything? I might be gone most of the night. Will you be going out?”

  “I can take care of myself,” he says, his hand twitching. “I didn’t come here to have you babysit me.”

  “I’m not trying to babysit you, I’m just making sure my friend is okay,” I say, lifting my hands.

  “You’re treating me like Javier did, like I’m sick or a child,” he says, jaw tense and brows pulled tightly together.

  “Sorry I asked,” I snap, turning and walking out of the room.

  Patrick follows me sullenly, then walks straight out the front door. I sit down at the table and put my head in my hands. I hope he doesn’t do anything stupid.

  I look back down at my phone, my thumb hovering over his name in my text messages. I don’t really know what to say to him. I don’t know what his problem is, but I don’t want him to think I’m angry. I drop my phone back on the table without saying anything. Sometimes it’s just better to leave people alone when they’ve turned into a grumpy asshole.

  I’m supposed to have dinner with Lydia after this meeting with the coven. She has some kind of update from Timmons. I needed to go to the liquor store anyhow, I’ve been out of tequila for far too long. It’s going to be a long night too, I’ll be headed to the clanhouse after dinner for the checkup.

  I stand up and stretch. I’m wearing a t-shirt that says Resting Witch Face and a pair of low rise jeans. It’s completely inappropriate for everything I’m doing today, my own personal little rebellion.

  Mr. Muffins meows loudly and I turn around to see Reilly crouched down on the floor engaged in some kind of staring contest with her. I wish she would bite him or something, instead, she purrs when he runs a hand down her back. Traitor.

  Mr. Muffins rolls over onto her back and lets Reilly ruffle the fur of her belly.

  “Stop petting my cat,” I say, feeling further betrayed. “I want to get this over with.”

  Reilly smirks at me and buries his fingers even deeper in the fluff. She bites him, and he jerks his hand away with a hiss. I smirk, maybe not so much of a traitor after all.

  “Even your cat is cranky,” Reilly complains. He stands and adjusts his suit. He is dressed just as formally as last night and I can’t help but stare. He makes a suit look good. He’s even wearing a tie today. “You can drive, I’m sure you know your way to the coven’s meeting hall.”

  “Sure.” I grab my things, pulling my jacket on, and head outside without waiting to see if he follows.

  He slips into the passenger seat as I am putting the car in drive and looks around with a wrinkled nose.

  “It smells odd in here. You should really get your car cleaned.”

 
“I should smear garlic all over the seats,” I mutter.

  Reilly chuckles at that and rolls down the passenger window. “How long have you lived in this town?”

  “I’m sure you already know.” I hate small talk on a good day. I have no desire to chat with this asshole.

  “True, what I don’t know, is why here? You stopped in quite a few towns before you settled down here.”

  “I got a job offer here. It was just kind of dumb luck, no point in leaving after that.”

  “You’re referring to the contract you have with the local clan?”

  “Yes.”

  Reilly rubs a hand thoughtfully on his chin. “What dumb luck led to you getting a job?”

  “What is this? Twenty questions? I’m already helping you.”

  “Let’s do a trade then. You answer a question, then I do.”

  I tighten my grip on the steering. He just does not give up. “Fine, but I’ve already answered one question, so it’s my turn to ask.”

  Reilly waves a hand magnanimously. “Go ahead.”

  “What did you fuck up to get sent on a low priority assignment in a middle-of-nowhere town like this?”

  He doesn’t react, which is annoying. I was sure that was it.

  “Perhaps this assignment is more important than you realize,” he says easily. “I don’t make mistakes.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Now, answer my previous question.”

  I tap my fingers against the wheel before answering. “I had just gotten a job as a waitress at Maybelle’s cafe in town, but it was only part-time and I was having trouble finding a second job. This girl stumbles in one morning, starts eating breakfast, then passes out. I grabbed her and realized it was blood loss, then kept her alive until the ambulance got there. Turned out she had lied about how many people had fed from her, so the last vampire ended up taking too much. It got back to Javier and he paid me for it, then offered me a job. So, like I said. Dumb luck. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

  “Interesting.”

  I don’t like the way he says it, like it really is interesting and now he knows something he shouldn’t. A hedgewitch shouldn’t be able to heal, but the magic is so weak it’s never aroused suspicion before.