Witches Gone Wicked Read online

  “It’s for your head. I expect full concentration with no distractions.”

  I set it on the table.

  “Lie down. Now.”

  Anger flushed to my face. “I’m not some kid you can order around.”

  He pointed at me sternly, not making me feel any more grown up and adultlike. “Do you want to kill Miss Kimura? Do you want to suck away the life force of your students? How about an addiction to other people’s magic? Perhaps you should go knocking at the door of the Raven Queen and ask her for tips on sucking out souls as well?” The stormy gray of his eyes burned as he spoke the words.

  I hated the idea I was capable of hurting others. I hated that I had done so and not just once. I wondered if Josie would ever speak with me again. Maybe she thought I was like my mother too.

  I eyed the uninviting length of stainless steel table. “You aren’t going to do anything to me?”

  “Use some common sense.” He lifted an imperious eyebrow. A smile tugged at his lips. “If I was, do you actually think I would admit it?”

  In my nervousness, I snorted out a laugh.

  Reluctantly, I laid down on the table. I shifted the pillow underneath my head.

  “Close your eyes and visualize your body.” He walked me through the meditation. It was the same meditation he’d used in his office.

  His voice was hypnotic. The monotone lulled me into a calm trance. I felt myself sinking into black water. He tasted like the bitterest of dark chocolates, all sweetness absent. It made me think about my prophecy chocolate.

  He poked me in the arm. I opened my eyes to see his wand jabbing into my flesh. “Focus on your energies, not mine.”

  “Sorry.”

  Hammer entered the room, a trail of cigarette smoke following him. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them like an excited kid. “Let’s get this show on the road.” He walked through the waterline as though he didn’t even feel it and sat in his seat again.

  Thatch placed a hand on my ankle. “I am going to channel your pain so you don’t harm the Morty.” He remained in his seat. “If you are able to successfully overcome your body’s pain threshold, I will gradually decrease the pain flow into myself and allow you to contain it.”

  “So you’re going to take the pain? Like Josie?”

  Hammer readied his tools. Any moment now I expected another onslaught of torture.

  Thatch grunted. “Not at all like Miss Kimura. I am accustomed to pain. Unlike a simple Amni Plandai with only one affinity, I have mastered many affinities. My studies of the healing arts will enable me to transmute energies into more palatable forms of magic. This will be child’s play for a Merlin-class Celestor such as myself.”

  My concern for his welfare evaporated as his arrogance surfaced. “Got it. Pain is my master. I am lord of the pain,” I said, thinking of the quotes in the tattoos in the waiting room.

  “Don’t be flippant with me.” He jabbed me in the ribs with his wand.

  I pushed his wand away. “Don’t do that.”

  “Master your body, and you won’t feel anything. Unless you desire to.”

  Thatch adjusted his hand on top of my leg, a few inches higher than my ankle. The other he placed under my knee, giving it a slight bend. As Hammer commenced working, the vibrations continued to rattle through me, but the pain was absent.

  “Your body is completely intolerant of pain,” Thatch said.

  “Duh.”

  “For you, it’s worse than it is for one with an Amni Plandai affinity like Miss Kimura. What you must understand is that pain is simply fuel that can be transformed into other energies. You have two options. You can transform it into something your body is capable of digesting, or you can purposefully send it out. We’ll try the latter method first.”

  I nodded. This was what I had always wanted, to learn practical magic rather than theoretical ideas from books. I wondered what had made him change his mind about teaching me.

  Thatch leaned closer to me, his face inches from mine. “Close your eyes and focus on flowing the energy out your body and into my hands.”

  I stiffened seeing him so close. He was near enough he could have closed the distance and kissed me. Which would have been weird, considering I didn’t like him. His only positive quality was his hair.

  And he had a deep voice with a nice accent. And sometimes I thought I saw a glimmer of something aesthetically pleasing in the features of his face. Also, he’d been nice enough to give me a pillow. That didn’t mean I was attracted to him. Just because he’d showed me my affinity in his office and I’d felt aroused once… .

  “Close your eyes,” he repeated. His voice was low, a hint of threat lacing each syllable.

  I closed my eyes. I bit my lip and then forced myself to stop. For the briefest moment, I wondered what his lips would feel like pressed against mine. I pushed the thought away. He was evil. Why did nasty thoughts like a yolo made from penises and kissing Thatch pop into my head at unexpected times?

  I made myself visualize the pain flowing into his hands. We tried that for several minutes. It didn’t feel any different from what I’d done with Josie, though I hadn’t realized what I’d been doing. As Hammer filled in the color of the tattoo, time slipped by more quickly.

  “Now, instead of the pain traveling out of your body, imagine the heat of that pain cooling as it travels into your body. See it going into your core and changing into light.” Thatch walked me through the steps.

  Hammer said something, but his voice was muffled.

  Thatch withdrew his hands. “Pardon me?”

  Hammer’s voice grew louder, clearer. “I think it would be easier to get the last stars wrapping around the back of her leg if she turned onto her stomach.”

  Since the table was against the wall, I had to flip over and turn around. My muscles ached like I’d run a mile and dehydrated myself in the process. Hammer rolled his chair and art cart to the other side. I tried to find a comfortable position lying face down. The metal was unyielding and hurt my ribs and breasts. It wasn’t exactly comfortable on my hips either. My tailbone ached from lying flat for so long. This stainless-steel bed of torture sucked.

  Thatch tugged at the pillow and stretched it, lengthening it before handing it back.

  I placed it under my chest and adjusted it to keep my hips from digging into the table. I rested my face against it. “Thank you.”

  He smiled. It was a small smile, but unmistakable. He looked so much less stern without his resting bitch face. I wondered how much of his unfriendliness simply came from his lack of expression.

  I swept a hand over the back of my skirt and smoothed it down before settling against the pillow. The silk of the pillow reminded me of rose petals. I smoothed my cheek against the fabric, enjoying the sensation against my face. The pillow smelled like a chilly winter night staring at the stars. I wouldn’t have thought starlight had a smell, but it had to be a synesthesia of magic. His Celestor affinity confused my senses. There was something there underneath that perfume. I inhaled crisp air and dusty books.

  “Are you focusing?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said. It wasn’t a complete lie. I was focusing on something, just not on what I was supposed to be. I visualized my Red affinity swirling inside my core.

  Thatch placed one hand underneath my leg, a few inches higher than my ankle. The other he placed on the back of my knee. It felt intimate, more so than before. His hands were cool against the heat of my flesh.

  As the vibration of the tattoo needle fluttered up my leg, I imagined the energies changing. More of it shifted from flowing into Thatch. It flooded into me, but what I fed myself was no longer pain. I could see the energy clearly in my mind, changing colors and temperature. It tasted like spring meadows and wildflowers. I smelled sunshine and happy bunnies bounding through tall grasses. The tastes of color and the music of the magic confused my mind, but I didn’t want to resist that confusion. I sank into it.
My muscles relaxed. I snuggled my face into the pillow.

  My awareness of what was happening inside me flared to a new level as Thatch shifted his hold on my leg. His thumb smoothed against the sensitive skin behind my knee. The pleasure that tickled up my leg and touched my core startled me. I flinched and might have kicked the tattoo out of Hammer’s hand if Thatch hadn’t been holding my leg so firmly.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  He tilted his head to the side, studying me. “Don’t allow your attention to stray.” His voice was more puzzled than stern.

  I nodded.

  Usually he was pale like the moon, and maybe that was a Celestor quality, or maybe it was from spending so much time in the windowless bowels of the school, but his cheeks were now rosy and flushed. He looked healthy and less vampire-like.

  Maybe he hadn’t intended to arouse me with his thumb. I certainly hadn’t intended to be aroused by him. My affinity seemed to always lead me astray. His gaze flickered to my leg. He removed the hand from behind my knee and lowered the hem of my skirt. It must have shifted when I’d flinched.

  A cough from the door drew my attention. Josie stood there, still looking ashen, but her face wasn’t quite as drawn as before. She eyed Thatch suspiciously.

  “Hi, Josie. How are you feeling?” I asked.

  “Fine.” Her eyes cut over to Thatch and back to my face. Her eyebrows shot upward in a question.

  It was difficult to make my mouth work and keep visualizing the pain changing into butterflies while going into my happy place. Some of my control slipped and the sharpness of the needle bit into my flesh.

  “It’s okay,” I said through clenched teeth. “Mr. Thatch is teaching me how to control—” I was about to say “pain,” but he interrupted me.

  “How to heal,” he said firmly. He gave me a pointed look before turning his head back to her. “And you, Miss Kimura, are distracting my pupil.” He flicked a hand at my purse. It flew off the chair and launched into Josie’s hands. He threw it at her with enough force that she stumbled back.

  I glanced at Hammer. He worked away without looking up. I couldn’t tell if he was under a spell or just really into his art. I’d been in the art zone before too.

  “Hammer is almost done,” Thatch said. “Miss Lawrence promised us lunch, and you need to feed. Get us something to eat, preferably organic.” He lifted his nose up in the air, his usual snobby self. “That’s more for your sake, not mine.”

  She tucked my purse under her arm and strode closer to me. “Are you okay, hon?” She stroked my hair.

  “I am. Really.” I tried to smile, but the unpleasant prickle against my ankle made it difficult. Thatch swept a hand in the air over my calf and let out a long exhale. The bite decreased, and I could concentrate again.

  “I did promise you lunch for your troubles,” I said. “Get anything you want. Dessert too. Whatever will make you feel … better.” She didn’t act angry, like she thought I was Jerky McJerkface for stealing her energy. It was more than I deserved.

  Hands on her hips, she turned to Thatch. “Behave. Or I’ll bite your head off.”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me if you were capable of such a deed.”

  She spun and left.

  He wet his lips, the gesture nervous. “Have a care not to speak so openly about pain. One might presume you have an affinity for it.”

  “Are we healing or using pain magic?”

  “Both. As I said before, it’s forbidden, as are any of the dark arts that use the body, whether one’s own body or someone else’s. Pain magic, blood magic, necrophilia-mancy, it’s all the same to people.”

  Necrophilia? Yuck. None of those were my affinity, thank goodness. At least I didn’t think so. I had a suspicion he dwelled on the dark side of the Red affinity, whereas mine was less sadomasochistic.

  I saw the school crest in my mind, an unbalanced isosceles triangle. It would make so much more sense if the empty space was filled with something. Something red.

  “Blood magic,” I said. “That’s what’s missing from the school crest. The Lost Red affinity.” Was that what I’d seen Thatch doing in the bathroom when I’d spied on him through the mirror? Now he was teaching me pain magic that he wanted me to call healing. Those times I touched people and had weird electrical reactions, was this all related? A rose by any other name was still blood magic? “The Lost Red Court.”

  “Indeed. This is your first lesson in your affinity, though it’s illegal to teach it, learn it, or speak of it. Now, focus on the problem at hand.” He removed his hands from my leg, and the vibration of the needle started up and touched my ankle again.

  I willed myself not to flinch. The pain clapped through my body like a thunderstorm. Red flashed behind my eyes. No, I was not going to have an affinity for pain and blood. I wasn’t going to be evil like my mother.

  He placed a hand on my shoulder, drawing my attention. The pain wicked away. “We’ll begin again.” He returned a hand to my leg. “I’ll stop siphoning more slowly this time, but you must actively participate or else the pain will return. I’m not going to stop it again if you lose focus.”

  “Got it.” I nodded.

  There was no motivator like pain. I went back to my happy place and imagined the energies running through my body. Red pain faded into butterflies fluttering through wildflowers. More of the transformed pain went into me and less into him. I couldn’t even feel Thatch’s hands on me anymore.

  After about ten minutes of this meditation, it became easier to focus. I sank deeper inside myself, the world disappearing. Wind and icy mountain stream water washed up my knee, tingling over my hips and into my core. Cold fingers of water smoothed up my leg, stopping just before my underwear.

  Cold fingers. His cold fingers? Goosebumps rose on my skin. He caressed my thigh.

  My eyelids shot open, and I twisted to look at him. “Hey!” I shouted. “I did not give you permission to—”

  Thatch sat in a chair, but his hands weren’t on me anymore. He held his notebook on his lap, the quill poised over a page. A blot of ink dripped onto the words he’d been writing. His brow furrowed in confusion. He looked from me to Hammer, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he eyed the artist. For once the venom in his expression wasn’t directed at me. He thought Hammer had done something … inappropriate? So it hadn’t been Thatch sliding a hand suggestively up my leg?

  I looked away, embarrassed how quickly I’d jumped to that conclusion.

  “Did you say something?” Hammer asked through the filter of our wall.

  I shook my head. “Um, sorry, false alarm.”

  Thatch pursed his lips. He returned his attention to his journal. He didn’t help me block the intensity of the needle as Hammer started up again. My muscles instantly went rigid with fire. I could block the sensation of pain and change it if I was ready for it, but I couldn’t do it if I was already experiencing it.

  “I’m not helping you anymore. You’re on your own,” Thatch reminded me.

  “I know,” I said through clenched teeth.

  Only when Hammer paused to change the needle head was I able to steady myself with a few breaths and ready myself by imagining the channels opening inside me.

  Deer prancing in a sunny meadow flashed before my eyes. The magic tasted serene and whimsical. I could handle this. Cold fingers stroked behind my knee and under my skirt. This was all in my head, like the torture chair. I kept imagining the spring meadow flavor of the energy. The hand massaged my behind in soft circles, making my breath catch in my throat.

  Magic gushed into my core like a river overflowing after a heavy storm. The staccato of the tattoo vibrated up my legs and ground my pelvis against the table. The bunnies in the field were all grown up now and rutting like, well, rabbits. A green man made of plants stood in the meadow, his arms opened to me in welcome. Breeding animals surrounded him. I couldn’t get the energy to go back to innocent butterflies and wildflowers. A chilled fing
er slid against my inner thigh.

  My breath caught in my throat. The air tasted sharp, wrong, like ozone. Not good.

  I couldn’t focus on controlling the prick of needles. The pain should have returned. It didn’t. Instead, the needles felt good. Warmth surged like a tidal wave into my core. It was every pleasant flavor all at once: ice cream with hot fudge sauce, petrichor, piano music accompanying punk rock poetry, a man’s musk, the flavor of naked skin, lasagna, and wet wood overwhelming me in a crashing tsunami.

  Currents of pleasure pulsed inside me. A tide of energy stroked me between the legs. A ragged breath of wind brushed against my ear. Or was it a man’s breath? My insides clenched. I ground my pelvis against the table. Magic swelled in my core. White light burst from inside me. I moaned.

  I hugged the pillow tighter. A heartbeat thudded under my cheek. I nuzzled against his chest. His fragrance shifted from wild forest virility to dusty books and oil paint. I was warm and content. So this was what it was like. An orgasm. A magical orgasm. I giggled into the pillow—chest? I was groggy, and my senses were confused.

  The thud drew my attention. Thatch sat several feet away, his chair pushed back from the table. His book was on the linoleum tile. He clenched his quill, but the spine had broken in his fist. Hammer had fallen out of his chair. His needle machine was on the floor. The lamp next to the table was dark. The florescent lights overhead flickered.

  Thatch’s face flushed red. “Merlin’s balls! What did you just do?” His voice came out a breathy wheeze.

  Only now that the sensation faded did I question how this had happened. Tornadoes and electrical storms were my modus operandi, not a trip to orgasm town. Thatch’s hands had been on his book. He hadn’t touched me. He must have used magic. The way he’d looked at Hammer before had to be a ruse so I wouldn’t know it had been him. That was the only explanation.

  I sat up, hugging the pillow to me more tightly. “What do you mean? What did you do?”