A Witch's Fury Page 3

  “Fuck,” I groaned, kicking the snow. Listening to the sirens in the distance, I winced in pain as the skin on my ankle tightened.

  “Fuck,” I repeated for good measure.

  Mindy looked up at me warily. “Let’s go kid,” I said. “You will be the first fire starter I have brought home.”

  “I didn’t start the fire,” she said, taking my offered hand as we made our own path in the freshly fallen snow to my car.

  “You certain?”

  “Yeah, pretty sure I would have used that trick MONTHS ago.”

  I didn’t have a response for that. I unlatched the half gate for us.

  Doors began opening in the neighborhood, the streets filling with spectators as I limped to my Black Beauty—great, now I was naming my vehicles. Thankfully we were largely ignored. Frozen pebbles dug into the soft flesh of my ruined feet. Finally arriving at the SUV, I leaned heavily against the rear driver’s side door.

  “Any chance you want to get under there and find my spare key?” I gestured to the undercarriage of the SUV.

  The look she leveled at me was answer enough.

  With a sigh I slid under the carriage. “I know I hid it somewhere,” I muttered, hitting pay dirt a few moments later as I pulled the small glorious box out from its magnetized hiding spot on the metal frame.

  Wiggling back, I hurried my movements upon seeing the fire department truck flashing up the road and neighbors pointing at us, waving their hands. A few had started toward us. I groaned, tossing the plastic container to the ground and rapidly unlocking the SUV. Mindy didn’t need encouragement to hustle into the passenger seat, clambering up the steps. I hauled myself up right after her, then cranked the engine and stomped the accelerator.

  I blew out a breath watching the fire disappear from my rearview mirror, the neighbors still pointing at us to the men in the yellow uniforms. I still wouldn’t feel comfortable until we had more distance between us. Even if they had my license plate, Grams could handle clean up on this disaster.

  “What are you?” I asked Mindy who, not unlike myself, had shoved the bad memories away, putting on a brave face.

  “Human.” Okay, she was coping with a huge amount of sass.

  I blinked several times, pressing my lips into a thin line before a string of creative cursing pried them open. It was time to call Grams. Too bad that wasn’t happening, thanks to my lack of a phone.

  …

  Dusk turned into full dark and I still wasn’t stopping. Mindy had long ago fallen into a fitful sleep, small noises coming from her huddled frame against the door. I was still fucking pissed. At Grams for omitting the truth, at myself for losing EVERYTHING, and at the too-quick death of true monsters. It just wasn’t a good day.

  I wasn’t about to think on what Mindy had said, that she was human, and the implications that would have regarding my own magic abilities, abilities I had been doing a great job of ignoring thus far.

  I needed supplies, but supplies cost money. I needed to call Grams. I’d prefer to show up, smelling bad and looking worse to really drive home just how pissed I was, but Mindy needed food and a shower.

  On the outskirts of Cloverdale, Indiana I was tired enough to pull into a well-lit parking lot of a hotel with a gift shop.

  “Stay here,” I warned Mindy when her head instantly perked up at the lack of motion.

  She apparently had listening issues, along with sass. The sound of her door shutting stopped me mid-stride. I stared daggers into the top of her small head, only partly visible above the SUV. Not wasting my breath on the issue, I walked into the small office.

  An older gentleman looked up from his newspaper, smoothing the paper with wrinkled hands, then pausing to push his wire rim glasses back up his nose. “You are some kind of trouble, girl.”

  “I’ll assume you’re talking to her,” I commented dryly, nodding at Mindy. “I need to borrow a phone.”

  Rubbing his chin with his first two fingers, he eyed my smoky appearance and damaged, raw flesh, the debate on helping me evident in his gaze. When his eye landed on Mindy, he softened. How often do psychos have small children with them? The answer is more fucking often than I like to think about. People with families can be just as evil as those without.

  He pushed the desk phone toward me. I crossed the distance between us, leaning heavily on the counter as I dialed.

  “Hello?” a sleepy voice answered.

  “Grams,” I growled.

  “Olie?” I heard the whisper of sheets moving and another muffled voice, Mercer.

  “Yes.” I wanted to ask, who the fuck else calls at ungodly hours after you send them after a fucking HUMAN? I didn’t, mainly because I didn’t want to explain to the old man pretending to read his paper.

  “Why haven’t you called?”

  “Why—“ I stopped the response, my eyes flicking over to the desk clerk. “I need you to wire me money and pay for a hotel for tonight.”

  Grams sighed, annoyed. “Can I send money in the morning?”

  “Of course, I’m sure Mindy doesn’t mind not eating until then.”

  “You have her?” she asked, breathless and alert.

  I held the phone close to my lips, the plastic creaking beneath my fingers. “Of. Course.” If only I could convey my irritation and annoyance with those two words alone.

  “I’ll do it. Hang on.”

  I pulled the phone away from my ear, staring at it in disbelief.

  “Mindy?” Mercer asked, worried.

  Finding her close to my hip, I gave her the phone.

  “Grandpa?” Her small voice questioned.

  “Oh God Mindy,” he paused, emotions ceasing his words. Then, “Go with Olivia. Stay with her, she will keep you safe.”

  Mindy cradled the phone gently, her dark eyes searching mine. “Okay.”

  It took all my self-control to hand the phone to the clerk and say, “She has the credit card information.”

  …

  Mindy slept with a full belly, freshly cleaned dark locks, and a terrible teal Welcome to Indiana t-shirt with a too-large pair of gray sweats. I had picked up a pocketknife—a terribly made, pathetic item I would personally laugh at in a fight, but it made me feel better as I flicked out the sharpened edge and stowed it again.

  My anger had simmered until it wasn’t pushing forcefully against my shields, but I was having a hard time understanding why the woman I trusted with my entire organization, my entire life’s work, was lying to me. So fucking help her Gods if it was for a man.

  …

  I intentionally did not pick up the phone Grams had secured for me the next morning, stopping only for the cash, snacks for Mindy, and a first aid kit to wrap my ankle and feet. We were going to talk in person.

  I did get myself a sunshine yellow t-shirt and flip flops from the gift store that did not match my leather pants. If only Jerry could see me now. In addition to driving me around on occasion, he was responsible for every adorable item of clothing I owned.

  …

  Pulling into the manor’s cobblestone driveway, I looked up at the front door with a sense of dread eating away at me. I was out and around the SUV while Mindy was still looking up at the building in uncertainty.

  “You own a mansion?” she asked, stepping down hesitantly.

  “I prefer to call it a manor, and where else would I put the wayward children like yourself?” I tried for a smile, I really did.

  She nodded, taking my hand, “So there are kids like me here?”

  “Many.” Too many.

  I gave her hand a squeeze and we walked through the front doors, then straight upstairs to Grams’s office.

  I debated for half a second on knocking when I heard the voices. Deciding against it, I opened the door wide, pulling Mindy in with me.

  “What the ever-loving fuck?” I screamed.

  Never in my most paranoid dreams did I ever imagine the man Grams would betray me for would be Hash, sitting relaxed in front of her office. My hands ins
tantly moved to Mindy’s shoulders, pulling her close.

  “Get out,” I hissed, my voice carrying the weight of my anger.

  He listened, rushing past me like the slime he was. The death stare I was packing still worked. I turned it to Grams.

  “Ex—plain,” I demanded, drawing out the syllables.

  “It was a meeting,” she calmly informed me, pressing down her pale blue suit.

  “About what?”

  “Business.”

  “MINDY!” Mercer cried out from behind me. Turning, I watched her own shields crack as she became a hurt little girl again, crumbling into her grandfather’s arms.

  Grams came around her desk, patting my arm. “Good job.”

  “I’m not your pet,” I hissed at her.

  Crossing her arms, she indicated with her eyes the beautiful moment unfolding before us, silently chiding me.

  Pulling her deeper into her office, I squeezed her arm with unnecessary force.

  “You’re hurting me.”

  I probably should have apologized; Grams had not been scared of me in a long damn time. “What is wrong with you?” I hissed, releasing her.

  She covered her fear well, straightening her suit and squaring her shoulders. “I don’t owe you anything.”

  Leaning in close, I clenched my jaw and forced out, “Is that you or Hash talking now?”

  Grams shoved me hard enough to back me up.

  “What’s going on?” Mercer asked, his voice thick with tears.

  “This is not over,” I snarled before leaving.

  If I couldn’t stay and yell at Grams for betraying me by having the enemy at a place where I kept our children, and even my warped sense of decency said to give Mercer and Mindy their time together, I was going shopping.

  At least that would bring me some measure of pleasure.

  …

  Myrtle’s is not what most would think of when going shopping. The walls are not covered in gun displays, or the lighting fluorescent in color. But this troll, and I do mean that literally, has the most impressive collection of weapons this side of the Mississippi. Not to mention that she energetically cleans them. In this business, that was important and worth her higher-than-normal price tags.

  The smoky interior clung to my neon yellow shirt and I groaned as all eyes turned toward me. Let’s hope I hadn’t used up all the power in my death stare.

  “Lord have mercy, Olivia, you look like a woman on a mission.” Myrtle’s thick voice was sweet music to my ears. Her lavender hair was not complemented by her stone gray skin. Sitting down hid her short stature, but not her thick and strong body.

  “Myrtle,” I sighed in relief, flopping onto the worn leather couch next to her. Something was going right. My anger had quickly turned to exhaustion.

  “Woman, you smell foul.”

  I lifted a pit to check as several other trolls working took notice. They might have started out in the swamps, but these trolls cleaned up better than I did, obviously.

  I shrugged, “It’s been an interesting few days. It’s also going to be a profitable few hours for you.”

  Both her purple eyebrows rose. “Special item?”

  “All the items,” I muttered, leaning my head back and staring at the black ceiling.

  “You lost ALL of them?” she asked me, astonished.

  “Yeah, I did.”

  Myrtle sputtered for a few moments. “How?”

  “Don’t ask,” I muttered.

  “Alright then, where should we start? Crossbows, swords, throwing knives—I know, follow me.”

  It took more effort than I am willing to admit to get myself off that couch. My adrenaline and anger were spent. I was empty.

  …

  Two hours later at the back of my SUV, I admired Myrtle’s handiwork.

  “Feel better?” She nudged me from her short frame.

  “You have no idea.” All the glittering gold and diamonds couldn’t compare to my joy and feeling of completion seeing the blades, crossbows, and swords stowed in the SUV, shining back at me. I traced my fingers over the sig 1911 pearl grip handles in the black harness fitted over my terrible yellow shirt.

  “Thanks, Myrtle.”

  My equilibrium had been restored.

  I supposed I needed actual clothing next.

  …

  Clothing and weapons accounted for, I headed to Blake’s for a much-needed shower and probably an apology. I had gone radio silent on him as well as Grams. Oops.

  Cracking the door open, I slipped in and dropped my large shopping bag by the laundry room before walking quietly into the kitchen.

  He was waiting for me, perched at the island with two phones.

  I sat next to him at the breakfast counter and watched his nimble hands toy with the phones. My own hands clasped together, shoulders hunched, I felt the weight of my bad decision-making.

  “I’ve been trying to reach you.” He didn’t look at me.

  I spaghetti-slouched deeper into the quicksand the tall chair had become.

  “Sorry.”

  He pushed the phone in front of me, along with a replacement credit card from Grams that he pulled from his pocket, before standing. “Hungry?”

  “Starved.”

  He gave me a small, tight-lipped smile, his sapphire blue eyes distracted. “Go get dressed, we have reservations.”

  I smiled, moving around the counter to press a quick kiss against his cheek. He couldn’t be that mad at me if he’d made reservations. But his rigid posture was cause for hesitation. “Everything okay?”

  “No,” he answered honestly, “but soon it will be.”

  I didn’t push, but my gut was demanding that I launch a shoulder into his walls. I was having a hard time ignoring it.

  Chapter 4

  The ride to the restaurant was quiet. Blake was unreachable, leaving me with time to think. I replayed my fight with Grams over and over. I didn’t like the way things ended between us. Grams is an important constant in my life and, more importantly, in the children’s. She has put up with more shit from me than anyone else. I in turn overlooked her expensive wardrobe, dinners out, and vacations. But her lying left me feeling repulsed.

  I had a hard time trusting and even greater difficultly forgiving.

  Pulling myself back to the present, I smiled at Blake, trying to ease the tension from my shoulders. I had been denied a romp before dinner; however, I had high hopes that only meant he had something delicious and naughty planned for later. I pushed the offensive feelings away, wanting to focus on us. I reached over and stroked the back of his neck casually. Judging by the tension in his own shoulders, things with his family were still not resolved. My smile dipped and my worry blossomed in full force.

  When the valet took the car, Blake handed it off without a look or nod of thanks. I tilted my head, watching his unusual behavior as he came around the vehicle.

  “Shall we?” he asked, buttoning his suit jacket.

  I nodded, noting that he didn’t extend an arm for me to take. Actually, he hadn’t been touching me very much at all. Was it possible he was still angry about me not having a phone?

  The restaurant was beautiful, softly lit and rich with tantalizing scents that teased my taste buds as the hostess sat us at our linen-covered table with delicate crystal centerpieces. I crossed my feet under the table, suppressing a wince as my roughed-up ankle let me know it was none too pleased at being locked into a high heel. It was shocking, but I had broken down and actually worn a pair Blake had picked out. I really didn’t want him mad at me. The dress I picked out of my small section of Blake’s closet was a favorite little black dress he had surprised me with.

  “Good evening,” the waiter began, “can I interest you in a drink to begin?”

  “We would like the house cabernet,” Blake stated, casting a look behind me before returning his gaze to me.

  He smiled at me. Warmth pooled into my stomach at the sight, pulling me forward in my chair.

  “I he
ar they make excellent eggplant parmesan,” he suggested.

  “Think it will pair well with the wine?” I asked, tilting my head at him.

  He shrugged. “When have you ever been discriminating about your wine?”

  I laughed, “True.”

  The waiter returned, pouring our drinks as we ordered dinner. I also added dessert.

  The meal was delicious. Our conversation flowed and ebbed, the tension draining out of Blake’s shoulders. I ate his dinner along with my own, since I would be feeding him later anyway.

  He cleared his throat, which is an unneeded act for a vampire. I was about to tease him about getting out of here so he could have his dessert when he looked back over my shoulder, his face falling painfully.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, reaching out to lay my hand over his.

  “I have something to tell you and it’s not pleasant.” He wouldn’t meet my gaze. Fear stole my breath.

  With a determined jaw clench, he raised his head to look at me, and what I saw in his eyes had my heart sinking. I wanted to cry out for him not to say whatever it was, but I sat there mute.

  “Olivia, I brought you here to end our relationship.” He rushed on, keeping his voice low, “I know I was the one who demanded exclusivity from you.” His blue eyes searched my own terrified ones. “I want you to know the things you shared with me in confidence will stay that way.”

  “What?” I whispered, feeling my chest constrict painfully as I waited for the punch line, blood draining from my face. My entire world narrowed to Blake. This had to be some terrible, awful attempt at a joke, or—or—my mind blanked. I was rendered speechless.

  He shook his head, moving his napkin from his lap to the table. “I can’t do this anymore, Olivia. I have to make the choices that are best for me and my House, and you are—“ he hesitated, searching my face. When he finally met my gaze, uncertainty flickered in his eyes and I could guess why. He was debating how his next words would impact my reduced emotional capacity.

  “Damaged,” I breathed the word, closing my eyes and bowing my head. Forcing myself to look at him through blurry eyes, I searched my mind for something to say, anything to make him stay. This really was happening. He finally saw me exactly as I am. That thought silenced my unvoiced protests.