Witch For Hire (Witch For Hire 1)

Tearing off my pajamas, I stumble toward the closet. I tug on black slacks, a black T-shirt, and my Esçhete family ring. I want to remind them who they’re dealing with tonight. I’m a member of high esteem, not a vampire’s plaything. I’ve heard the rumors and whispers. Tonight I will dispel all of that. I say a silent prayer for the newly formed Witch for Hire.

The business gives me the leverage I need in this situation. I add a pair of combat boots, rip the head scarf off my head, and undo the plaits I’d braided to hold my curl as I walk toward the front door. I’m as decent as I’m going to get when I grab my keys. My head is full of the things the Dupeuxes could be doing to Cristobal and the rest of the court. Despite our standoffish relationships, they’re mine to keep safe.

A wave of almost maternal energy sweeps over me. A growl forms in the back of my throat. I don’t know if I’m channeling my bond with Cristobal, or our feelings are the same. I’ve always been one to defend their own. This is no different. I flirt with the speed limit as my tires eat up the distance between me and the club.

I come into the parking lot close to two wheels and throw the car into park. Bowing my head, I breathe deeply and compose myself. I won’t let them know they got to me, or risk making a tactical error because I’m being run by my emotions. Calm, I step from the car and walk across the deserted parking lot. I knock on the door, and I’m greeted by the eldest Dupeux, Everard. Tall as a tree and built just as sturdy, he has a square face.

His hair is a shock of jet black against tan skin. His dark gaze is full of aggression. He’s the spitting image of his father. Hulking would be the appropriate word for what he’s doing in the doorway as he looks down at me. I don’t let his size intimidate me. I’ve got more brains in my pinky, and I’m fast. If it comes down to it, I can take him.

“Lou. I’m not shocked to see you.”

Never heard my name said quite like a cuss word before.

“I’m here in the capacity of Witch For Hire. I’m sure you’ve heard of us since your father made a healthy donation to get us started. We approach every situation from a neutral position. I’m here for the facts. I have information that I believe will change opinions on this case.”

“Do you think we’re stupid? There’s no way you could remain impartial.”

“She and the others took a witch’s oath to be so. Magic can be bent ever so slightly, but never broken,” a baritone states from behind us.

I give a small bow. “Mr. Dupeux.”

“Louella. Please, come in. You’ll understand we had to take precautions with them. They’re dangerous, which will be evident given Marcellus’s actions. They’d pose a real danger to us.” He pours on the Cajun charm with a bright smile that stands out against the sun darkened skin. I’m not impressed.

I can read between the lines. It was in our right to torture them, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

“I understand. It’s an unfortunate situation, and we must do what needs be done to remain safe.” I’ll remember this, I vow silently. The powerful scent of vervain reaches me once we enter the hallway. My shoulders tense. I force my hands to stay loose when they want to ball into fists. Power prickles over my skin as I proceed him through the doorway.

My gaze is drawn to Marcellus. Held down in a chair, he’s

a mass of bruises in various stages of healing. He’s a wreck—blood splatter covers his torn clothing and skin; his impecabbly groomed hair is disheveled, and somehow that’s the worst of it. Because I know he’d never let that happen. A lump forms in my throat.

Wrapped in vervain-coated silver chain, he’s healing slower than usual. They took every precaution because I can feel the power keeping him in place. Fangs out and eyes an eerie green hue, he’s emitting low growls and hisses that promise painful retribution. Just stands a few feet away with a silver knife out and ready. The muscles in his neck flex, and his jaw ticks. A slender more compact version of the men in his family, he favors his mother.

“Let him go now,” I say evenly.

“So he can rip out our throats? I don’t think so,” Mr. Dupeux scoffs.

“He will not do that, will you, Marcellus? Because you have control. Unlike some people who rush to conclusions and actions, they have no valid excuse for.”

“No, I won’t,” Marcellus says smoothly.

“As if I’d take his word for it,” Everard says.

“Is that speciesim I hear? Because you know that would be against the treaties we’ve formed. ’Cause I’m pretty sure a powerful magic user such as yourself would know its damn easy to frame someone.”

The niceties go out the window. He steps closer. “Are you insinuating something?”

“Me? No. I’m simply informing you how it might look if presented to the council.”

His mouth opens, closes, and opens once more. “You’re a fang lover.”

I hold my hand up. “Please, don’t flatter me, Mr. Dupeux. It’ll get you nowhere.”

His face flushes and I smile as I rattle his cage. “What you don’t know is we’ve opened up a recent investigation on a renegade witch using black magic. I’m hot on their trail now. I suspect as I dig I’ll learn they were responsible for a number of disappearances.”

I’m working the system. I can do nasty nice with the best of them. I never appreciated Mémé’s savviness until I got older. She gave us all the right tools to navigate the world. I’ll worry about making all the lines connect the dots later.

“If you take the time to look, I think you may see signs of magic use in this instance. Marcellus is above reproach. He and the rest of Cristobal’s court have a reputation for fairness, control, and loyalty. Throwing that all away over a snack would be foolish. I’m pretty sure we’ll all agree that’s one thing they’re not. Now, if you tried to argue that feeding is in their nature, and everyone loses control at some point, I’d counter that baseless accusation with the fact that if he did slip up, he’d never be so sloppy about it.”