Blood Kissed (Lizzie Grace 1)

Like most of those from the lower witch houses, Belle hadn’t always viewed my family in such a dour light. In fact, she’d held the so-called bluebloods of witchery on something of a pedestal. That had all changed in the aftermath of Cat’s death.

I stepped clear of the ladder and brushed some dust from my hands. “How old is your daughter, Mrs. Banks?”

“Please, call me Marjorie. And she’s sixteen. She went out with friends last night, but she hasn’t come home and I know—” She paused again, and swallowed heavily. “Something has happened to her. I can feel it.”

The certainty in her tone had my gaze narrowing. Underneath the pall of misery that hung around her body like a heavy cloak were flashes of hazy purple, and that was usually the sign of an untrained talent. Of course, her certainty could also be nothing more than the deep connection of a mother to her daughter.

Either way, this really wasn’t something I should be getting involved in. “Mrs. Banks, you really need to report this to the rangers—”

“I have,” she said. “And they’re looking, but it’s not enough. I know it’s not enough—”

She broke off, obviously battling tears. I hesitated, then walked over and tentatively put an arm around her shoulders. She stiffened briefly, and then her body sagged and she started sobbing. I didn’t say anything; there was little that could be said other than the usual useless platitudes, and she’d undoubtedly already heard those from the rangers.

After a while, she pulled back and dug a tissue out of her purse. “I’m sorry. That was very ill-mannered of me.”

“But totally understandable.” I kept my voice soft. I had a bad feeling a full breakdown was only one harsh word away. “How about I make us pot of tea, and then you can tell me about your daughter?”

Hope flared in her brown eyes. “Then you’ll help me?”

I hesitated. “I don’t know if I can.” Which was an honest enough answer, but not something she wanted to hear right now. As her face began to crumple again, I quickly added, “But I’ll try.”

Do you want me out there? Belle said. Or are you going to use the reading room?

I hesitated again. When we’d decided to offer psychic readings as well as the usual café fare in an effort to establish a point of difference from all the other cafés in Castle Rock, we’d set up a small rear room strictly designed for that purpose. As such, it was not only a soothing space to be in, but also one that was magically well protected.

But most of those spells had been specifically designed to counter arcane forces, and wouldn’t actually repel the dark, desperate energy Marjorie was emitting. It was the sort of energy that could draw even darker emotions to it, and I really didn’t want to risk infecting the warm, safe environment we’d created in the reading room.

I think it might be wise if you are, Belle, just in case things go ass up. Out loud, I added, “Mrs. Banks, do you mind if I call my friend in to help me when I attempt it?”

Marjorie frowned. “Is it necessary? I really don’t want the whole town knowing I’ve come to you for help. It would be… inconvenient.”

“Belle is co-owner of the café,” I said, “and the soul of discretion.”

Your parents wouldn’t agree with that.

My parents didn’t agree with a lot of things, especially when it came to the two of us. They hated Belle almost as much as they hated the fact they’d bred a daughter so low down on the scale of magical ability that I might as well have been born to one of the more common lines.

“If you really think it’s necessary—”

“It is if you want a better chance of the reading being successful.”

“Then I agree.”

“Thank you.” I cupped a hand under her elbow and escorted her across to a table. “How do you like your tea? And would like something to eat? Belle’s just baked a fresh batch of rather decadent red velvet cookies.”

She wiped a tear from the corner of her left eye. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

“Cookies for three please, Belle,” I said, and made my way behind the counter to make a large pot of tea. When that was done, I wasted several more minutes studying the multitude of cheery china cups and saucers, trying to decide which ones to use. Like most of the items in the café, we’d salvaged them from various secondhand stores, and they all had a history and a presence the sensitive could feel. While most people would scoff at the thought of something as simple as a cup making any sort of difference to a person’s mood, I knew from experience that the wrong choice could have an unsettling effect in this sort of situation. Even though the holiday season was still over a month away, I eventually selected cheery Christmas ones for Belle and me, and a more ornate white and gold cup for Marjorie.

“Right,” I said, as I placed the full tray on the table between us. “Tell me what you know.”

“That’s just it,” Marjorie said. “I don’t know much. No one does. And no one will believe me when I say she’s—”

She stopped, her gaze going past me and widening just a fraction. I knew without looking that Belle had just entered, because by anyone’s standards, she was a sight to behold. At just over six foot and with an athlete’s physique, she was something of an Amazon. She was also stunningly beautiful, with ebony skin, long, silky black hair, and eyes that were a gray so pale they shone silver in even the dullest of light.

That eye color was the one feature all six witch families had in common, and I couldn’t even get that right. Mine were emerald green, the same as my grandmother’s.

“Mrs. Banks?” I prompted when she didn’t immediately continue.