Witches Gone Wicked Read online

  Hammer apologized profusely. The sound barrier was gone, and his voice came out loud and clear. “Shit, man. Sorry about that. I don’t know what the hell just happened. Electrical failure maybe. Fuck.” He tapped the foot pedal for his instrument of torture, but nothing happened other than a clicking noise. He tried the lamp. Nothing. “Fuck. I’ll check the fuse box. Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He hurried from the room, swearing some more.

  Thatch’s face was now purple. A vein throbbed in his forehead. It looked like he was struggling to breathe.

  He lowered his gaze. “Let go,” he choked out.

  I stared at him, confused.

  He staggered closer. I leaned back as he stretched a hand toward me. My heart pounded against my ribcage—or maybe it was the pillow’s heart. It was so warm. Hard and soft at the same time, like a muscular chest. Yes, there was a heartbeat inside the pillow. I pushed it away from myself, even more confused.

  He yanked the pillow out of my arms. Immediately, the unnatural flush to his face faded.

  He gasped and coughed, leaning against the table. “Was that supposed to be a joke?”

  “Um… ?” I didn’t know whether to feel embarrassed or angry. I didn’t understand what had happened. Had I somehow stolen his heartbeat or stuffed his heart in that pillow? That was freakin’ creepy. And then there was the weird tattoo orgasm.

  “What did you do to me?” I asked.

  He smacked me on the side of the head with the pillow before shaking it out. “That wasn’t me. It was all you.”

  The fluffy shape unfolded into fabric. He shoved his arms into the sleeves of the jacket. He leaned against the wall, glaring at me. I bit my lip. I still didn’t know what to think. The lamp next to the metal bed came back on. The tattoo machine rattled on the table. Thatch leaned down and flicked it off. Hammer returned a second later.

  “I just have part of a star left,” Hammer said. “And the interior of that symbol.”

  I tilted my leg so I could see it better. The rune was only outlined in purple. Four out of five purple stars were inked yellow inside. The tattoo was incomplete, like my training. Unlike my unrelenting desire to master magic, I could live without one star inked.

  “I’m ready to pay,” I said.

  Thatch turned his nose up at me. “A wise decision. One of your few.”

  Hammer looked from me to Thatch. His shoulders deflated. “The fuse box has never done that before. I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again, man.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself over it.” Thatch waved a hand at me. “She simply can’t take the pain.”

  Hammer looked to me. “I only have fifteen minutes left. Twenty-five tops. I don’t like to leave a customer unsatisfied.”

  “Believe me, she is quite satisfied,” Thatch said coolly.

  Not only had the tattoo outing ended poorly, but I’d never gotten Thatch to activate the ward. I considered going to the dungeon to ask for his assistance, but I wasn’t ready to face him after what had happened.

  In the parlor, I had thought he’d tricked me into letting him use magic on me. But he had said it all had been mine. If that was true, I’d accused him of doing something magically licentious. He had a right to be angry with me. The appropriate thing to do would have been to apologize, but I didn’t even know where to begin.

  I’m sorry I’m attracted to you and didn’t realize it and lost control.

  No, that wasn’t likely to go over well.

  I’m sorry I accused you of using sexy-time magic on me when it was actually me using it on you.

  Or:

  I’m sorry I put your heart in a pillow and squeezed it. By the way, did you ever give my mother a magical orgasm? And just to be clear, are you my father? Because if that’s the case, I’m even sorrier, and I want to make sure you know I’m not into incest.

  I wasn’t ready for that conversation yet. I was relieved Thatch chose not to join the staff in the cafeteria for dinner that night. Julian also was absent, which was disappointing. I would have liked to sit close to him and bask in his sunshine. It ate me up inside there was no one I could talk to about what had happened. If there was one person I thought I could trust, it would be him.

  I sat with Josie at the student table, eating with the kids. I was wary when Pro Ro joined us. He rubbed the bottom of his turban in a nervous gesture. I expected the rune on my tattoo to flare up in pain and warn me an enemy was near, but nothing happened. Probably this attested to the pointlessness of having gotten the tattoo done in the first place.

  “What are you doing at the kiddie table?” I asked, trying not to sound suspicious.

  “Just wanting to spend more time with the students. No different from you.” He made a show of talking to the students, but his gaze flickered back to me.

  Even Josie noticed. “Something wrong, Darshan?”

  His smile faltered. He glanced at me again.

  “Whoa!” one of the girls said. “Is that your real name? Darshan?”

  He inclined his head. “My given name, yes.”

  “What’s your first name, Miss Kimura?” the girl asked.

  Pro Ro looked to me. “How are you feeling, Miss Lawrence? Has anything been … troubling you of late?”

  “Troubling me?” Like a spell he’d cast on me? I thought back to the orgasmic tattoo experience earlier. I’d never experienced that kind of magic before. Could it be the rune had reacted to his curse and broken it?

  “As you know, I teach divination.” He cleared his throat. “There are times I have been known to see things.”

  “Did you have a vision?” a freshman boy asked.

  Pro Ro turned back to the students. “Yes, Jeremy. I saw you passing your Morty Studies mid-term—after studying.” He smiled and teased them, indulging them by answering questions.

  I excused myself from dinner early. Pro Ro followed me with his gaze, his eyes intense as I traveled down the hallway. I didn’t know much about the practical nature of spell work. I didn’t know what I’d witnessed him doing to me magically or why. The extent of my abilities to protect myself were what Thatch had taught me. So far I could block pain. Sort of.

  When I’d seen Pro Ro the other night, I was sure he’d been performing a spell on me. Today at the tattoo parlor I would have sworn I had felt icy fingers on me. I had thought it was Thatch, but his reaction had told me it wasn’t him. I should have swallowed my pride, apologized, and told him about Pro Ro and the photo, how he kept watching me, and that I had cramps while he was near.

  I recalled what Thatch had told me. If I didn’t get a handle on my powers, someone might gain control over me and use me. I couldn’t tell the difference between my own desire and someone else’s.

  My affinity was so out of whack I couldn’t even kiss Julian. I still couldn’t have a normal love life. Those sharp pains in my stomach had started that first night at the teacher dinner when I’d met Pro Ro. Was this all a coincidence? Or was it tied together? He might be using me for my affinity like Alouette Loraline had used Thatch.

  Only, I didn’t have cramps tonight when I’d seen him. Maybe all that energy inside me that had been building up had been released. I might have broken my curse with a magical orgasm. I was willing to buy into any excuse to avoid discussing what had happened with Thatch.

  I stopped in the hallway, realizing my feet led me up to Julian’s classroom. I smiled, thinking of him and the way his eyes lit up when he saw me. He wasn’t in his room when I arrived. I made my way back to the downstairs hallway. A tapestry of a centaur wafted against the wall. I peeled it back and peeked underneath. The wall was solid stone bricks.

  The hall of mirror portals the brownies used had been behind a tapestry of a dragon and a knight battling.

  If I found the right tapestry, I could spy on Pro Ro. I could discover what he was doing. He might be using a forbidden magic. I walked the length of the main corridor and then moved onto the second level. At the bottom of the stairwel
l that led to the dormitories, I found the dragon tapestry. I peeked behind my shoulder. No one was in the hallway. I lifted the edge.

  There was my passage.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The Witching Hour

  I snuck out of bed at ten thirty to venture back downstairs. The last time I’d witnessed Pro Ro cast a spell it had been midnight. I didn’t know if that was the usual witching hour for him, nor did I want to wait that long and miss my opportunity.

  This time I brought my cell phone in my housecoat pocket just in case I ran into problems and needed to throw it in Pro Ro’s face.

  Not that I knew if it would work like it had on a Fae. Josie seemed to handle electronics moderately well. For all Thatch’s complaints earlier that day, he had handled being around electronics without any problem. I ended up using my phone on the flashlight setting after I ducked under the tapestry. After a few twists and turns, I tripped on an uneven stone sticking out of the floor just before the suit of armor. Fortunately, I didn’t collide into anything this time. I rounded the corner, expecting to find the next tapestry, but there was nothing.

  That was strange. I found my way back to the exit and started again. I came to the armor, rounded the corner, but there was no tapestry with a secret passage. What had I done differently that night? I examined the stone where I had tripped and tried to wiggle it. That didn’t do anything. I inspected the armor next. One of the arms shifted when I pushed. The air wavered, and the sound of stone grating on stone echoed in the corridor. A faint glow came from around the corner.

  Rounding the bend again, I found the tapestry. Blue light shimmered around the edges. Peeking underneath, I saw the mirror hallway.

  I passed other rooms along the way, averting my eyes and only glancing up to make sure I hadn’t passed Pro Ro’s room. I wasn’t there to watch my friends undress or give in to voyeuristic fantasies. I just wanted to see if I could figure out if Pro Ro was casting spells on me. The hydra had told me I was cursed. Dream-Derrick had told me I was cursed. I intended to find out who was doing this to me.

  Pro Ro sat in a circle of candles. His turban looked as red as blood in the dim light. I was certain it had been purple earlier. A crystal ball was set in a stand before him. His eyes were half-slit, focusing on the crystal. I shifted from foot to foot, waiting for something to happen. I grew tired of standing and sat. Every time his lips moved—which wasn’t often—I leaned in closer.

  Still, nothing happened. He didn’t have any locks of pink hair he used in his spell or have any photos of me.

  It was past my bedtime, which is probably why I found myself drifting off. I sat up, blinking my eyes open. Pro Ro still chanted. I stood up again and paced to keep myself awake. I considered going to Julian’s window. I longed to see him and talk to him about my day, about Pro Ro, about anything.

  A couple feet down the hall, I came to the window to Thatch’s room. I hesitated, knowing I shouldn’t have looked. It was intrusive to do so, but I couldn’t help myself. He was painting.

  I’d never seen him without a cravat and a high-collared shirt, layers that concealed him from neck to wrist. His frockcoat and tweed jacket were tossed onto a neatly made bed with a burgundy curtain pulled back from the posts. When he turned to the side to retrieve paint out of an open trunk, I saw the white sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbow, exposing white lines etched into his fair skin. I couldn’t make out whether these were scars or some kind of discoloration. His vest—it was actually an old-fashioned waistcoat—was unbuttoned. He’d tied his hair up into a manbun on top of his head. It was unexpectedly cute to see him so dressed down.

  The expression on his face was tranquil, something I rarely saw from him. I’d never noticed how handsome his face was when it wasn’t pulled into a sneer. It was strange to see him so casual and relaxed. It made me feel guiltier that I spied on him.

  He squeezed alizarin crimson out of a tube onto his palette and mixed it with burnt umber and yellow ochre. As he shifted, I got a better view of the large canvas on the easel in front of him. I recognized the painting as the unfinished skeleton I’d seen the other night when I’d glanced at this room, though the canvas had been stashed in a corner then. I’d later walked into the painting.

  Thatch shifted and blocked most of the painting from view, but what I could see around his body looked as though he’d managed to repair the damage the students had done. He spat into his paint and stirred it in with a palette knife. I’d never seen anyone do that before.

  I moved back to Pro Ro’s room, but nothing was happening yet. My thoughts kept wandering to Thatch. He had wanted my job as an art teacher. He was a true artist. How badly did he still want my job? I didn’t want to think he’d be the kind of person to kill the former art teachers for their position, but who else had the motivation? Could it be that he’d cursed me, not Pro Ro?

  The idea of that made my stomach sick, and I didn’t know why. It wasn’t like we were close.

  My feet took me back to him. He dabbed red sinew over a section of bone. It was a semi-transparent glaze. The bone was still visible through the layer of muscle. It was fascinating to watch. Even without skin on the body or all the muscle in place, he’d captured the lazy posture of the woman he painted. I could see why he thought my rune and stars tattoo was so insipid and simple. I envied his artistic mastery.

  He turned again to the side, his wand in his hand. He sliced into the flesh on the back of his hand, scarlet droplets beading up. He dipped his paintbrush in his blood. I didn’t know if this was for the sake of color and art—or magic.

  Blood magic?

  He’d said that was forbidden. Would he kill me if he knew I’d witnessed this?

  I wished he didn’t hate me so much. It would have been nice to have a friend at the school I could make art with. I leaned as close to the mirror as I could, soaking in his every brush stroke. My nose accidentally touched the mirror and it rippled.

  His spine stiffened. He turned, scanning the room. His resting bitch face was back in place.

  “Who’s there?” he demanded. His voice sounded muffled like the sound barrier spell he had cast in the tattoo shop.

  His gaze settled on the mirror. I stepped back.

  Oh no! Sir Grouch-a-lot was about to catch me.

  I wanted to run, but I stood rooted to the spot. Maybe it was magic. Maybe instincts turned me into a deer in headlights.

  He touched a hand to the mirror, level with my face. He was close enough I could now see the pale lines on his skin weren’t scars, but intricate Celtic knotwork intermingled with runes. It was his artwork but tattooed with white lines that made it look as though his skin was covered with lace.

  His palm pressed flat against the glass. He stared at the mirror, his gaze searching, but not seeing.

  His voice came out soft, sad. “Alouette?” There was such hope in his eyes as he said my mother’s name it broke my heart.

  I wanted to hug him and confess it was just me. I leaned closer. He was only inches away.

  He closed his eyes and slouched forward, his forehead resting against the mirror. His hand slid down the silvery surface, smudging it with a crimson streak from his fingers. Sorrow weighed down his shoulders.

  I got it now. He’d been mad I’d lost control earlier. Mad I was like my mother. I had used his magic.

  More than anything, he was mad I wasn’t her.

  My chest tightened. I bit my lip, considering touching him. I could reach through the portal. How would he react to that?

  His fingers twitched. He moved his palm lower. The red smear over the surface looked like a rune. I was too busy watching his hand to notice anything else. After another few seconds I realized his lips were moving, though I heard no sound. He stared intently into the mirror, not staring at me exactly. He must have been staring at his reflection.

  The cell phone in my pocket warmed against my hip. I took it out, about to press the power button. His han
d moved, following the direction of my phone as I lifted it and lowered it. Weirdville.

  The phone flew out of my hand, hit the mirror surface with a wet plop and landed in Thatch’s palm. He tilted his head to the side, staring at it perplexed.

  He wasn’t supposed to be able to do that. He’d told Josie earlier her cell phone drained his power. Witchkin couldn’t use magic on electronics.

  He frowned and looked up into the mirror. He wasn’t actually looking at me, but he had that expression on his face, the one he wore when he was talking to me. I slowly backed away, glancing hurriedly at Pro Ro’s room. It was now dark. I had failed to catch Pro Ro, and I’d lost my phone.

  I no longer had any weapon to protect myself from Fae.

  All night I worried about Thatch having my phone. What if he went through my photos and found the section of book I’d stolen from his desk and photographed? I’d be in even more trouble. What if the Raven Queen came for me and I had nothing to throw at her?

  I kept thinking about Thatch’s pain magic and Pro Ro’s spell over me, feeling more uneasy as I failed to understand what it all meant.

  All day Monday I was grumpy from lack of sleep and anxious over what Thatch might do. After school, I sat at my desk grading art project students had drawn on recycled paper, my eyes drooping closed. I didn’t realize anyone was there until I heard the thud on my desk. I sat up. Thatch sat on the edge, looming over me. He had moved as silently as a ghost.

  Before me was my cell phone. I snatched it up and hugged it to my chest.

  He pointed a finger at me. “I don’t know what kind of magic you’re playing with, but you will never spy on me again.”

  “It was an accident?” I sounded about as lame as one of my students with an excuse for why her homework wasn’t done.

  He pointed to the phone. “Mr. Khaba will confiscate that if he finds you with it. You might want to hide it.”

  That was it? He wasn’t going to chain me to the dungeon wall or yell at me for invading his privacy? From the wicked way he smiled, I wondered if he’d told Khaba I had an electronic device in my possession for the pleasure of letting Khaba bust me.