Witches Gone Wicked Read online

  I kept my voice low, not wanting Morties or Thatch to hear. “Do you think these are some kind of pain magic?” It wouldn’t surprise me if Thatch frequented a parlor run by warlocks who dabbled in the dark arts.

  Josie shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never studied it. Pain magic is banned.”

  She walked farther down the wall gallery, clucking her tongue when she came to the other panels of cartoons and more generic designs. She pointed to one in Japanese. She frowned at it. “Not everything here is translated as well as the runes. This one says, ‘I eat television.’ Some idiot probably has that tattooed on his arm.” She snickered at another. “This says ‘excrement breath.’”

  We both broke into giggles.

  The mohawk receptionist returned to the room. “Hammer says he’ll see you now.”

  Hammer was a scrawny guy with fire engine red hair sticking out from his beanie. Tattoos covered his arms and neck, and he had the most enormous bull-like nose ring I’d ever seen.

  “Sorry about that, man,” he said to Thatch. “I must have looked at the wrong day. Let me tidy up and set out clean equipment for you.” He bustled around the room, ignoring us.

  A woman’s yelling echoed from the front. “What do you mean he isn’t going to finish my tattoo? I can’t have a tattoo of the word ‘ass’ on my arm. He needs to finish it.”

  Thatch sat in a chair in the corner, his expression serene.

  I whispered, “You did something magically to make him see us, didn’t you?”

  Thatch smiled by way of answer.

  The artist busily wrapped up the materials that were laid out and placed them in Ziploc bags before discarding them. He wiped down the table with disinfectant that smelled like bleach. He had to throw away a lot of materials because of us.

  I leaned in closer to Thatch so Hammer wouldn’t hear. “You can’t do that to humans. It will get them in a lot of trouble. He might lose his license.”

  Josie shook her head at Thatch and turned away in disgust.

  “The correct term is Morties,” Thatch said.

  Hammer laid out new canisters of ink. He nodded to Thatch. “Did you bring me one of your designs?”

  I looked to Thatch, curious about his relationship with the artist. I didn’t know he had any tattoos, but then always wore long sleeves and an ascot or cravat and high collared shirts. Maybe he was like the Japanese yakuza with tattoos hidden under his clothes. After spying on him through the mirror and seeing him use the forbidden arts of blood magic, it made sense he might have a “I am the master of pain” tattoo somewhere on his body.

  He might have even designed those tattoos on the walls.

  Thatch waved a hand at me. “My … colleague brought hers. You’ll find it less sophisticated than what I’ve brought you in the past.”

  I glared at Thatch, not appreciating the slight to my artwork. I stepped forward to present Hammer with my drawing and removed my striped stocking to show where I wanted it on my ankle.

  Thatch rolled his eyes. “Must you get a tattoo on one of the most sensitive spots on your body?”

  I ignored him.

  Hammer tapped the design. “This should take two hours at the most. The design is big enough it’s going to wrap around your ankle and extend a few inches higher. Is that what you want? I can shrink your design on the copy machine.” Hammer’s septum piercing bounced against his upper lip as he talked.

  Before I could answer, Thatch did so for me. “She’ll want it reduced in size. Two hours will be … a trial for her. It will probably take her three.”

  Ire spiked through me. Thatch could boss me around about my education, but he didn’t get a say in this. “No. I want it this size.”

  Thatch shook his head at me. “You aren’t going to be able to tolerate the pain.”

  “How would you know?”

  Annoyance flickered across his features. He turned away.

  “Sure thing,” Hammer said. “Just hop up on the table, and I’ll make a photocopy of this to work from.”

  Whenever I’d walked past tattoo parlors, they’d been filled with comfortable looking chairs and cushioned beds that reminded me of massage tables. This table was stainless steel.

  As I laid down, I felt like a cadaver at the morgue. It was unnerving. Maybe that’s why Thatch liked this place.

  From the front pocket of his old-fashioned vest, he withdrew a small, black notebook. It expanded before my eyes. He withdrew a small feather from between the pages, pulled on the tip of it, and it burst into a full-sized quill. He hunched over, scribbling in the book. Ink marked the page as he wrote, though he didn’t dip his quill in a jar. An artist like myself could use a self-inking quill. Not that I expected he’d give me one.

  Josie scooted her seat farther away from him. She retrieved her phone from her pocket.

  “Must you do that so close to me?” Thatch asked. “It’s bad enough I have to sit here under fluorescent lights, surrounded by machinery that drains my power, but I have to put up with your little machine of death as well?”

  She stared at the screen. “You insisted on chaperoning. Deal with it.”

  “I hear fluorescents are supposed to drain our auras,” said Hammer coming back into the room. “But it’s the boss-man’s choice of bulbs, not mine. I just rent the space.” He got out little containers of ink that reminded me of a paint by number set.

  “You ever got any ink done before?” Hammer asked me.

  “No. This is a first.”

  “She’ll need that moisturizer you use,” Thatch said. “What do you call it? Vase line?”

  “Vaseline? For sure. I wouldn’t tattoo my worst enemy without it. I mean, unless they have an allergy like you do, bro.”

  What normal person didn’t know the word Vaseline? Thatch came across as an absolute dunce from another dimension. Which he sort of was.

  The machine buzzed to life. Hammer set the needle to my skin. I flinched and cried out in surprise.

  Hammer stopped. “You okay?”

  I nodded. “You just startled me.”

  To my relief, Thatch left the room. I didn’t have to worry about him using his magic on me while I was on the table. If he was the kind of person who would switch everyone’s prophecy chocolate as some kind of joke, he might also hypnotize the tattoo artist into giving me a tattoo of something horrible because he didn’t like my star design.

  The needle burned against my flesh. I clenched my fists. If Thatch switched out my tattoo design, it would probably be in another language like Japanese, and say something bad like ‘penis breath.’ No, that probably wouldn’t be the worst tattoo he could think of. It would be the word “yolo” but written in letters made of penises like one of my former middle school students once had drawn on his arm.

  I recalled my lucid-dreaming techniques. I wasn’t supposed to think of my fears before bed, only the things I wanted to manifest. What if magic was like that too and I caused Hammer to draw a penis yolo on me? I forced myself to think of happy thoughts.

  Hammer stopped and reinked his needle. I exhaled, not realizing I’d been holding my breath. The needle surged into my skin, and the sensation jolted up my leg. The vibration rattled all the way through my body up to my head, making my skull bounce against the metal of the table. I was going to have a headache by the time we were done.

  “Relax. You have to breathe,” Hammer said.

  I closed my eyes. Every muscle in my body bunched. The tremor of the machine punctuated my nerves and shot through me. Tears slid down my cheek, and I sniffled.

  “Oh honey!” Josie tucked her phone away. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Rite of passage,” I said through clenched teeth. “Protection.”

  She scooted her chair over next to the table and held my hand. “I’m not much good at counteracting pain. Not without a book in front of me telling me what to chant, but I’ll give it a go.”

  I glanced at Ha
mmer who reinked his needle again. Josie spoke boldly considering a Morty was in the room. He didn’t react. Either he was in the zone or he got a lot of Witchkin in here.

  The pain stole my breath away as he resumed. Where her hand held mine, warmth radiated into me. A bubble of numbness traveled up my arm, down my side and into my leg. The anesthesia charm blocked the pain. I sighed in relief.

  She smiled. “It’s working?”

  “Yes.”

  She closed her eyes, her brow crinkling in concentration. I knew when Hammer pressed the needle to my flesh because I could hear it. After about half an hour, the pain seeped back into my skin. Burning flashed up my leg. I squeezed Josie’s hand harder as pain bit into me again.

  “Need a break?” Hammer asked. “Cuz I could use one.” He did look a little haggard.

  “Sure,” I panted.

  He left the room. I stretched.

  Josie’s eyes looked bruised. The healthy color in her cheeks had turned ashen.

  “Jo?” I asked.

  “This is making me majorly tired.” She reached into her pocket and pressed a button on her cell phone. “That will help some. I don’t want to waste my batteries.” She winked when she said it like it was a joke.

  Hammer returned a few minutes later, smelling of cigarette smoke. He rolled his shoulders a couple times and sat in his chair again. He yawned, looking sleepy. Two seconds later he resumed his tattoo torture.

  Josie closed her eyes again and took several slow breaths. She placed her hand on my kneecap. Warmth spread over my skin. Her spell worked for a few minutes before wearing off. I gritted my teeth.

  “Miss Kimura? Are you unwell?” Thatch asked from the doorway.

  I hadn’t realized he’d returned.

  Josie’s pupils were dilated unnaturally large, swallowing the brown of her irises. The skin around her eyes was purple against the bone white of her skin. I was in so much pain I could barely focus on her.

  Thatch leaned over her. His voice lacked his usual snarkiness. “Josephine?” There was actual concern in his eyes.

  He shook my shoulder. “Stop it. You’re hurting her.”

  I wasn’t the one doing magic, Josie was. Even so, I could see I’d done something wrong. Josie looked sick, and it was somehow my fault.

  He placed a hand under her elbow and helped her to her feet. She must have been out of it because she didn’t object.

  “You’re coming outside with me. There’s a park with plenty of trees a block from here. You can recharge your affinity there.”

  She turned to look over her shoulder. “What about—”

  He guided her out the door. “You need to take care of you right now, not worry about others.”

  “We can’t leave Clarissa alone. We’re her chaperones.”

  Their voices grew muffled as they walked down the hall. It was just me, Hammer, and my pain. It did cross my mind this could be a trap. Thatch might have volunteered to be my chaperone because he wanted to find a way to separate Josie from me. He might call the Raven Court here to abduct me. Jeb and Khaba had been discussing Thatch only nights before. I trusted Khaba’s judgement. If he was suspicious, I should be too.

  Of course, I should have thought of this before deciding I wanted to leave the school grounds with Thatch.

  I sucked in a breath as another lance of fire flared in my ankle. After a few more minutes of this, Thatch returned alone. He untucked his wand from his breast pocket and waved it between him and the tattoo artist. The air rippled in a line across the room, separating the artist away from us. The view to Hammer’s side of the room reminded me of looking up at the surface of water from below. Our side of the room shimmered blue-green.

  Thatch ran a hand through his glossy hair. “Do you realize what you did?”

  “No.”

  “You have used one of the forbidden arts of pain magic on her.”

  “Forbidden? But—” The intense heat flaring through up my ankle stole my voice.

  “Josephine Kimura is an Amni Plandai and not a very strong one at that.” He spoke, but it was difficult to understand him with the way the needle stole my concentration. “Are you even listening? Pay attention.” He poked me in the shoulder with his wand.

  I clenched my teeth, forcing myself to hear his words. Thatch curled his hand around my leg, just above my ankle. I went rigid, expecting his fingers to turn into talons and gouge into my flesh, but they didn’t. The pain stayed in my ankle, not moving past his hand. The sharpness was still fierce, but not as intense.

  “It takes Miss Kimura hours to recharge after deep spell work, and her powers are mediocre without herbs, ritual, and elaborate incantations—which she hasn’t the inclination to memorize.” Thatch said. “She was only hired as a Morty studies teacher because of her academic strengths and her experience living in the Morty Realm. You completely overpowered her paltry nature affinity.”

  “She offered.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “She didn’t say it would make her sick.”

  “Miss Kimura doesn’t know what you are.” He lifted his chin. “You should have stopped when you saw the effect you had on her. This is the kind of selfish, uncontrolled magic that gave your mother her reputation. It’s exactly what people expect from you and the very reason you need a chaperone strong enough and smart enough to recognize what you’re doing. If I hadn’t walked in on you, you might have killed your friend.” He sucked in a breath and exhaled slowly, as if he might be struggling to keep his anger in check. “Like you killed your sister.”

  My heart clenched. “I didn’t—”

  He cut me off with a swift swipe of his hand. “Don’t lie to me. I’m the one who documented every incident of accidental magic you ever committed. I was the one who cleaned up your every mess, hoping Jeb would never find you and adopt you into our school.”

  I remembered his not-so-random school visits from when I’d been a teenager. I’d even known he hadn’t wanted me to come to Womby’s as a student, but I’d never realized why. I hadn’t known about affinities and that I was a Red affinity. Even now I didn’t fully understand what that meant.

  His stormy eyes were cool and unforgiving. “I ensured the safety of the students at Womby’s by keeping you away. If I hadn’t hidden you from the Raven Court, they would have used you. I could have drained you as a child, but I didn’t. Now I’m stuck chaperoning an accidental murderess.”

  Years of guilt and misery bubbled up inside me. I hadn’t meant for anything bad to happen to Missy. My sister had been troubled since Baba Nata, the witch at the fair, had prophesized she would die because of me. Missy had lashed out and told me she hated me. I kept clinging to the hope that things could return to the way they had been and we would be best friends again.

  Until the night Missy tried to kill me with her magic.

  Later the same night, Derrick and I had kissed for the first time. If our magics hadn’t reacted and exploded during that kiss, the storm would never have torn the house apart. The tornado wouldn’t have stolen Derrick away, and the house wouldn’t have fallen on my sister. I hated Missy, but I never wanted her to die.

  Disgust twisted Thatch’s face into a grimace.

  The grief I’d been holding inside me tightened in my chest. I covered my face with my hands. “I don’t mean to hurt people. I wasn’t trying to—” The needle stole by breath again. At least the pain remained localized in my ankle.

  “There will be no more accidents. From this point on you will be purposeful and aware when you use your magic.” He plopped himself in the chair next to the table. “You need to control your powers before they control you.”

  The moment he released my leg, pain surged up my calf, over my thigh and into my core. The ragged edges of broken memories raked through me. I screamed, releasing years of anguish. Pain shattered my façade of command and made me face the turmoil clinging to my heart. All the self-hatred at my inability to rein in my magic rushed out of me in
a whoosh of breath. My body twitched and convulsed as my sorrow and guilt over Missy and Derrick purged itself in another scream.

  I was vaguely aware of my foot kicking the tattoo artist.

  “Whoa!” Hammer scooted back from the table. “If you need a break, just tell me.” His voice was muffled, through a wall of water, but I could understand him. He blinked a couple times and stifled a yawn.

  Thatch flicked his hand at the rippling wall. A small hole opened in the boundary. “Give her a moment. I’ll make sure she stays still.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that. I drew my knees to my chest. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t need a tattoo.” The catharsis of pain left me limp with exhaustion. I rested my head on my knees.

  Hammer shrugged. “I’m taking a cigarette break.” He cast a disgusted look at Thatch and walked out of the room. He probably thought I was a major wimp.

  And he was right.

  “Feeling … better?” Thatch asked with a knowing smirk.

  “Maybe.”

  I peeked at my tattoo. My skin was swollen and pink. Five stars and the rune were outlined in pale pink. Only one was outlined in purple.

  “What? Why aren’t they all purple?” I asked.

  “Hammer is a true artist. He outlines with water before filling in the color. It’s called a blood line.”

  “Is that what most tattoo artists do?”

  “No. They transfer their designs using sticker tattoo sheets or stencils to create guidelines. Tracing is for amateurs.”

  No way! Tracing was for someone who wanted to save time and get it right.

  All that work. All that pain. I had sat there through it and made my friend sick, and I hadn’t even gotten a freakin’ ward out of it?

  “This is what we call a teachable moment,” Thatch said. “I can’t imagine a better way for you to gain control over your body and energy than through pain.”

  I could imagine better ways. Through rainbows and sunshine. Not that I knew if my magic could be controlled that way. It just sounded nicer.

  Thatch removed his tweed jacket and folded it up. As he did so it took shape, looking more like a pillow in a gray silk case. He handed it to me. Reluctantly I took it. I turned it over, trying to figure out what to do with it.