Witch For Hire (Witch For Hire 1) - Page 77

“You want to tell me why Percival looked like he saw a ghost?”

I bite my lip. “Hypothetically, he and Mémé might have had a thing back in the day before gran-père.”

Her expression is one of surprise. “What?” she exclaims, followed by a small snort.

I chuckle. “Yeah. You think you’re shocked.”

“Is he … a newer vamp.”

“Oh no. He was a vamp

ire then, too.”

“Whaaaat?” Her mouth drops open and her eyes look like they’re going to bug out of her head.

“Yeah, Mémé is a low key gangster, dude. I’m sure there’s plenty of other things we don’t know about.”

“You think you know a person …” she mutters, shaking her head.

“No, we forget that she was young once. Who we see now has been shaped and molded by years of experiences, decisions, and knowledge. It gives me hope for our future. She made mistakes the same as we did.”

“Did she call him a mistake?”

I shake my head. “A missed opportunity, actually.”

“Wow.”

“He came back after Grand-père died, asking for another chance.”

“Do you think he still loves her?” she whispers.

“Well, I haven’t asked him if that’s what you mean, but I can tell he still cares.” I wonder if they’ll be drawn to each other. I wouldn’t be opposed to the match.

“What?” Her brows come closer together.

“Nothing.” I focus on my question as I drain the last of the tea. Here we go. After turning the teacup carefully to distribute the liquid, I place it on the napkin I laid down on the saucer and wait for everything to drain. What does our future look like now? My hands shake slightly as I turn the cup over. The C that sticks out reminds me of the ring on my finger. Cristobal. The Court. It’s closest to the handle representing now. I slowly rotate the cup and narrow my gaze as I focus in on a small cluster of leaves. The sun, success, a new beginning. We at least have a chance. I breathe easier as I continue to gaze into the porcelain depths my future clings to. A wheel appears in the near future. Inevitable change, progress. Next to it is a chain. There’s going to be a series of events that lead to change. But will it be for the better? A wine glass and a dot in the center of a curved line makes my heart beat faster. It’s going to happen during a celebration that has to do with the moon. It all comes back to the equinox. The large cross makes me sick to my stomach. Death. I set the cup down.

“Well?”

“It’s going to be a rough ride to the equinox.”

“It makes sense. A lot of power can be gained during that time.”

Sighing, I push the saucer away. “My turn to shower.”

“I’ll be here, pretending this is my life.” She tosses herself onto my bed and turns on the flat screen television on the wall.

The water washes away the grime and eases sore muscles, but it does nothing to calm or relax me. The stakes are high, and we’re still going into this thing blind. We need to even the odds. The witch has been one step ahead of us this entire time. We’re like lambs being lead to slaughter, and unless we break the pattern, it might be our blood spilled. Pressure is a vice squeezing down, pressing me into the ground.

Cold fingers of dread and despair embed themselves in my heart. Resting my head against the tile, I close my eyes against the tears. How could you ever be fit to rule? You can’t outsmart a witch. The family will fall into ruin, and the Cortez court will burn. I shiver as I’m flooded with images of death and destruction. I see Fel on the ground, bleeding out from the smile carved into her neck. I see Larkin, Miles, and Percival at my feet, bodies at odd angles with their throats ripped out. A few feet away, Rene has been disemboweled. Lower intestines and blood color the grass an ungainly black cherry red. His eyes are glazed over and unseeing. No. Everywhere I look there’s death. My eyes fall onto Cristobal run through with a stake and displayed like some gross reenactment of Vlad the Impaler’s reign. I shove my fist into my mouth to keep the screams inside where they belong. This isn’t right.

“You can’t save them.” Cloaked in shadow, the woman is dressed from head to toe in a flowing black gown. An old mourning veil hides her facial features, and her voice is distorted.

I ball my fists. “If you believed that you wouldn’t hide your face.”

“Nothing I’ve said is untrue. I’m going to kill everyone while you watch.”

“No.” Green crackles on my fingertips. Her eyes widen. She didn’t expect me to have an effect on my environment. She’s going to try and run. I anticipate her move and dash forward, gripping the tail end of her veil. It stays as she continues forward, and I clutch it tight as I’m kicked out of the enchantment.

Tags: Shyla Colt Witch For Hire Paranormal
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