Witch For Hire (Witch For Hire 1)

She scowls. “I hate these things.”

I smirk. “You always did.”

Her eyes twinkle with mirth before she smothers her amusement with the appearance of indifference and waves us inside.

“No compliments for me?” Gil asks.

“Don’t pout. We both know you’re perfection draped in a thousand dollar suit and handmade Italian leather loafers.”

“I appreciate you noticing.” Gil preens, pleased with her backhanded compliment. Their centuries of living as siblings shows.

Inside, I’m struck by the opulence. Everywhere I look, there’s marble, granite, high-end furniture, and expensive carpets. I’m lead into the formal dining room where a long table is set with a red runner, large black plates on deep red chargers with full sets of silverware, and napkins folded to look like a bird of paradise. A crystal chandelier adds light and drama into the space full of impeccably dressed, and inhumanly beautiful vampires.

“The little, lost sparrow has finally come home.”

“Marcellus, how I haven’t missed your voice.”

“Meow. Witchy came back with claws,” Ruby drawls.

“Witch has an inflated sense of self,” Marcellus retorts.

“You say witch like it’s a bad thing.” I grin as I cast a silencing spell over him and wait for him to try and make a snarky response. When he opens his mouth, nothing comes out. Fury blazes in his greenish-blue gaze and I laugh.

“In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m not a basic witch. I suggest you mind your tongue before I take it from your skull.”

“The witch is back,” Rene beams. His brilliant smile stands out against the light-brown angular-shaped face I adore. The baby of the group, Rene is always ready with a tension-breaking anecdote.

“Now, you I missed,” I say, winking in his direction.

Standing, Marcel mouths, ‘Stop the spell.’

“What was that?” I tap my right ear. “I’m afraid I can’t hear you.”

The table erupts with sniggers and laughter. “Once I’ve said my piece, you can speak.” I turn to face the table, ignoring the man who sits at the head as cool as a cucumber. “I came here thinking I owed you all an apology for leaving the way I did. It wasn’t something I thought through, and there was no consideration for how it might affect anyone other than myself.” I take them all in. The quiet, bookish Miles, Loyal Percival, stern and lean. Ada and her red-haired sister in everything but blood, Ruby.

I linger on Larkin who sits between Marcellus and Luz. The thoughtful expression on his angular face tells me he’s not one hundred percent against me. I’m taking stock of my allies.

“Then I realized, I don’t owe any of you motherfuckers a damn thing. I never had a chance to in hell of understanding what was at stake, because each and every one of you kept vital information from me. If you don’t like the way things have turned out, that’s too fucking bad, because we’re stuck with each other now, at least until I kick the bucket. So, we need to figure out how to make this work.”

Walking over, I take my seat on the opposite side of the table from Cristobal. He placed me at the other end of the table, mirroring his position of power. I snap my fingers and clutch the edges of the oversized chairs.

He stands slowly, eyes trained on me and full of dark intentions. “If you ever cast I spell on me again—”

“You forget yourself, Marcellus,” Cristobal says crisply.

“But she—”

“Proved her point, elegantly. Were you not worried about her being a liability?” Cristobal arches a thick brow.

“As I recall, it was his reason for opposing the match originally,” Miles says.

Marcellus waves his hand. “And now you’ll jump on her bandwagon.”

“Cristobal has never steered us wrong, brother, and she is an Esçhete. I’ve seen the power they wield firsthand. Had you ever done so, you’d be slow to speak so freely,” Percival says. He has a quiet, soft voice, that somehow carries a weight no scream could manage.

“You knew my ancestors?” I whisper.

His lips curve up into a smile. “Very well at times.”