Black Spells & Twisted Souls Read online

  “You should go talk to him,” Darren says with a slight shove, and I turn to give him a perturbed look. “What?” he mutters, shrugging his shoulders. “You can see from the look he's giving you that he's checking you out, and you clearly think that he's attractive, too. So, quit the game of making eyes across the room and actually close the deal for once. He's even a witch, so maybe you'll go for him.”

  “What do you mean 'actually close the deal for once’?” I question, feeling the first tickles of annoyance flaring inside of me.

  “Only that you have a habit of never even talking to anyone you like the look of. It's bewildering.”

  “Just because I decide not to sleep with every mildly good-looking person I meet, unlike some people at this table, does not mean that there's anything wrong with me,” I snap back, more irritated at his words than I'd like to admit. They strike a nerve, hitting me right back to the first time I met Darren.

  “You don't choose not to sleep with them because you're conservative, Kayla. You choose not to sleep with them because you're not confident enough to close the deal. You chicken out, even though it's obvious most of the guys would have happily gone home with you.” He looks intently at me as he speaks, his eyes completely serious with no humour in them at all.

  “Well, maybe I want more from someone than just coming home with me for a night,” I mutter.

  “And that's your other mistake. Relationships make everyone's lives worse,” he replies bitterly, finishing off his drink in one swallow and standing. “I'm going to play pool.”

  “With who?” Lizzy asks, and he looks around with an irritated expression, searching for a victim.

  “Philip!” he booms, smacking a hand down on the wide-eyed human's shoulder.

  “What?” he asks, bewildered. Darren doesn't usually mix much with the humans, so I doubt he's ever even spoken to Philip beyond what's been needed at work. Shifters aren't exactly known for having the best interspecies skills, which makes his friendship with Paul even more special.

  “We're going to play pool. Come on, rack 'em up,” he instructs, practically pulling the startled human up from his seat and giving him a gentle push in the direction of the pool table.

  Lizzy turns to me the second they're out of earshot.

  “What was that? I thought you two were fine now?” she asks, raising an eyebrow to pin me with her investigative look.

  “We’re fine. We've always been fine. I don't know what's up with him,” I say, shifting uncomfortably in my seat.

  “That didn't look fine,” she comments.

  “Well, he's just having a weird moment. We are fine. F.I.N.E. Fine,” I reiterate, spelling it out for her, wishing she'd just drop it. I didn’t want to think, much less talk, about our almost relationship.

  “Whatever. Don't let it stop you from talking to Mr Sexy Witch over there, though. Darren was right about one thing, you never even try to flirt with guys, Kay.” Lizzy fiddles with her hair nervously as she speaks, as if worried about the effect of her words.

  I sigh. “I'm just not all that interested in having my heart broken. Darren was right about a second thing, too. Relationships just make things suck,” I explain.

  “Not all of them do,” she says with a tight smile. I look at my friend, feeling a little tingle of envy. She'd grown up with both parents together, madly in love with each other, even to this day. She's been single for about a year now, but prior to that she'd had a few really good relationships and somehow managed to end them all amicably.

  Considering the only 'relationship' I’ve had over the past few years lasted just three weeks and had ended with us never speaking about it or why it ended, even when we'd ended up as friends and co-workers, I didn't exactly have the same experience as Lizzy did. I’m mostly over it. At least, I keep telling myself I am. It still sucks a little every night we come out and I remain single, yet he finds another dumb shifter bitch to take home.

  “I'm not going over to him. It's freaking lunch time. What kind of person is day-drinking on a Tuesday at lunch time?”

  “Um, us?” Lizzy says, gesturing at the glasses on the table.

  “Don't make logical statements at me when I'm annoyed,” I reply playfully, trying to switch the conversation back to a lighter place.

  “Here's another logical statement: the guy is smoking hot, and you should definitely go talk to him... wherever it is he's gone.” Her eyes dart around the bar, not finding him where he'd been standing before. I look around too, bewildered at his disappearing act.

  The sound of a throat clearing makes us both jolt in surprise as we turn around in our seats.

  “Ladies, I got you both a drink. Your friend wasn't having a lot of luck getting the bartender’s attention,” the witch says, gesturing over to Paul who is only now finally being served.

  “Thank you,” Lizzy replies brightly, using her foot to push out the seat that Darren vacated just moments ago. “Why don't you join us?”

  “I'd love to.” He smiles as he takes a seat. The smell of the dead rushes over me, and I push my seat back as I take a better look at him. I'd thought he was a witch, and he is, but that’s not all he is.

  A witch that allows themselves to be turned into a vampire is a rare sight. Most white witches embrace life and light rather than death and the dead, so an undead witch only meant one thing. He comes from a dark coven. Lizzy seems to realise the exact same thing. The welcoming smile washes off her face as he pushes our drinks toward us.

  I watch while she dips her pinkie finger into the drink, a blue light shimmering off it as she tests it for anything dangerous. When the blue light flickers out without any issue, she swaps her drink with mine before testing out her new drink.

  “I'm not about to poison you two, but it is very smart of you to check,” he says with a grin that shows just a slight flash of fang.

  “We're white witches,” I reply quickly, watching him carefully for his reaction. He shows none as he continues to sit, unbothered, in his seat.

  “I know. I’m aware of every black witch in London.”

  “Why are you sitting with two white witches, then?” Lizzy asks, her usually chirpy and friendly demeanour dropped just like that. He sighs, reaching into his jacket. We both scoot back, standing quickly.

  “Calm down please, before you both make a scene in here. My name is D.I. Kier Huxley, and I'm the Interspecies Crime Specialist assigned to the case.”

  “The case?” I blurt out the question, feeling all my blood seem to rush to my head and ears as I begin to panic.

  “Your boss’s murder. You are Kayla Harlow and Lizzy Everleigh, correct?”

  “We are. So, he was murdered, then? And you think that it was a supernatural being who did it? What kind?” Lizzy asks in rapid succession, picking up on what his involvement in the case means. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Supernatural involvement means my demon messing up is a definite possibility for cause of death.

  “I can only confirm that there was supernatural involvement, not the details of what that involvement was. I hope you can understand. I came over here to ask you both some questions, actually. You in particular, Miss Harlow,” he says, turning to me as he says my name. It's just my luck. Finally, an attractive man approaches me in a pub, but it's because he suspects me of murder, not just to buy me a drink.

  “What would you need to ask me? I don't know anything.” I cringe at how quickly the words tumble out. I’m unsure if they were even all understandable, or if some just dissolved into panicked, unintelligible rambles. He smiles again.

  “I'm not saying you do, Miss Harlow, or would you prefer it if I called you Kayla...?” he asks, trailing off as he waits for me to answer, but it feels fake. Rehearsed, almost.

  “Either is fine with me,” I mumble.

  “Why do you want to talk to us, then? Why Kayla specifically?” Lizzy asks him in her best clueless-girl voice.

  “I heard about an incident that happened between them just yesterday. An argument that ended with
you leaving work early, isn't that right?” he asks, and I swear I feel my heart stop. This doesn't look good for me, not one tiny little bit. Hell, if I was him, I'd make me a prime-freaking-suspect.

  “We had a little disagreement, and I went home because I was upset afterwards,” I respond, trying to be careful with my words.

  “So, the argument upset you so much you had to go home and calm down? Do you always have to do this when you have little disagreements with people?” he asks.

  “Well, no—”

  “So, this must have been more upsetting than a little disagreement?” he asks, and I open my mouth to answer, but Darren slams his hand onto the table out of nowhere, making all of us jump.

  “If you want to ask anyone questions, bring them in and do it with a lawyer present,” Darren all but growls at Detective Huxley. Not that the detective backs down from it as he stares back at him blankly. Darren holds his gaze for a moment, before breaking away to look between me and Lizzy. “If either of you need a lawyer, call me, and I'll send in my pack's lawyer. I don't know if witches' covens keep them on hand or what.”

  “I'm good with my family’s lawyer, but Kayla might need it,” Lizzy answers for me, and I shoot her an annoyed look. If I need a lawyer, I'll find my own.

  “No need for a lawyer, I’m just asking a few general questions,” Detective Huxley says calmly, trying to brush Darren off, but the shifter’s having none of it.

  “And you can ask those 'few general questions' when the girls have a fucking lawyer present, alright?” Darren retorts bluntly as he steps back, crossing his arms and showing off his muscles with the move.

  “That's fine. If I need to speak to you girls more, I'll bring you in,” he says, beaming broadly. Detective Huxley stands up and slips away without another word.

  “He's still got his eyes on you,” Darren grunts as he sits back down in his chair.

  “What about your pool game?” I ask, ignoring what he said about the detective watching us.

  “I broke the cue,” he mutters, glancing over at the pool table. I glance over in the direction where he’s looking and spot the cue crudely snapped in half and dropped carelessly on top of the table.

  “What did that cue ever do to you?” I joke lamely, but he just turns his dark stare on me silently until I look away, unable to maintain the eye contact.

  “I'm probably going to go home,” Lizzy says, standing awkwardly.

  “Yeah, me too. Today already feels like it's been forever long,” I say, standing with her.

  “I'll see you tomorrow,” Darren says, not really sounding all that bothered as he pulls out his phone again.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” I mumble, following Lizzy out. We pass by Paul as we go, who'd stopped at another table with a few other humans from work. Clearly, he'd been put off joining us again by the sight of Detective Huxley. I give him a little wave as we leave, earning a confused look from him as he looks back at the table where only Darren sits now.

  Lizzy pushes open the door, stepping out into the frigid early-afternoon air, and I trail closely behind. Once we stand outside the pub, Lizzy grabs me, pulling me in for a tight hug.

  “I'm sorry to do this, but I really do have to go somewhere. I'll call you when I'm done so we can meet and talk about this,” she whispers, before pulling back.

  “Okay, I guess we'll talk later, then,” I say, wondering why she'd whispered.

  “Love ya, Kay!” she calls loudly as she walks away.

  I find my answer when I turn around, spotting the detective leaning against the wall across the street, staring at us both intently. I give him a little sarcastic wave, letting him know that I know he's watching me, and he frowns at the gesture.

  I walk off in the direction of home, deciding I'd prefer the long walk instead of a ride on the tube today. Detective Huxley could corner me for additional questions more easily on the tube, and the walk would give me time to think. Right now, I really have a whole lot to think about. My mind begins to churn with frenzied thoughts and internal panic, as the undead detective's gaze continues to follow me with every step.

  Six

  Sex Shops & Sexier Men

  Despite reassuring myself it’s all a coincidence and that I’m innocent, being followed by a detective, even a sexy one, doesn’t do much for my confidence. His eyes seem to burn into my back as I walk down the high street. The rain is pouring down on me, drenching my clothes and leaving me shivering as I walk. I move faster, darting between people, but he’s always on my tail. So, I decide to do what all reasonable, innocent people would do in this situation: Ditch Detective Huxley in a shop somewhere, and hopefully get home without being followed.

  Rushing into the warm shelter of the first shop I see, I look around and notice that, unfortunately for me, the shop just so happens to be a sex shop. Just my freaking luck today. I cringe as I realise exactly where I am, but without the time to abandon ship and find somewhere else to hide, I delve further into the store, finding myself in an aisle filled with sex toys.

  While I'm not a prude, I’ve never exactly been the adventurous type, and the rows of brightly coloured dildos, rabbits, and vibrators are a little intimidating. I spot a sign on the shelf that reads Try the vibrations out and I laugh when I see what’s been scribbled underneath in red ink: On your hands only! I can only imagine what events led to that addition being made.

  With nothing else to do to pass the time while I hide, I press the button on the nearest one, jumping as it buzzes to life in its box. I swear I hear a snigger from behind me, but when I look around, I'm alone in the aisle. I shrug to myself and press the button to turn it back off. I move along down the aisle, clicking each one on and off, feeling the different vibrations against my hand. At the end of the aisle is a large, cream-coloured, wand-style vibrator. I click the button to switch it on and it buzzes to life, much more powerful than the others. I try and switch it back off quickly as it's making so much noise, but it won't turn off.

  “Fuck bunnies,” I mutter. I try another button, and it only seems to vibrate even more vigorously. “You have got to be kidding me,” I groan. I look around awkwardly, not sure exactly what the protocol is for not knowing how to turn off a damn sex toy, but surely just standing here like an idiot isn't it. This would be a terrible way for the detective to catch up with me. I have to do something.

  I press another button, and the vibrator pulses so hard it jumps right out of my hand. I stare on in horror as it rolls down the aisle, its huge head and thinner shaft causing it to curve in a circle as it rolls, just enough to send it down into the next aisle. Mortified, I dart forward, chasing it around the corner, my eyes scanning the floor of the following aisle for the pesky toy. I freeze once I spot it leaning against a man's foot. My gaze traces from the foot, up his legs and perfectly-in-shape body, right up to his face. A perfect face that’s watching me in amusement.

  “I am so sorry,” I begin, utterly horrified at humiliating myself like this. He only laughs, a deep throaty chuckle that has the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. I bend down to grab the damned sex toy and he makes a noise in the back of his throat, causing me to look up at him. I feel my cheeks flame as it dawns on me exactly how bad the position I'm kneeled in must look. “Sorry,” I mumble again, scrambling back up with all the grace of a drunken rhinoceros. In my haste, I somehow manage to drop the sex toy once again onto the stranger's feet. Floor, swallow me whole now. Please. For once I wish I'd learned how to turn myself invisible. The skill would come in handy right now.

  “You're okay, beautiful,” the man says in a silky voice. It’s the kind of voice that just wraps itself around you, swallowing you whole. He bends down, grabbing the still vibrating toy. He clicks a button, somehow getting it right the first time, and switches it off. “Interesting choice,” he says, causing me to look right at him. I'm about to start protesting my innocence when I notice just how good looking he is. Perfect skin, completely black hair that practically demands hands run through
it, smooth lips that look just right for kissing. I realise I'm staring when I reach his green eyes, which are keenly watching me make my assessment of him. He looks quite smug at my appraisal. Great.

  “I have to go now,” I mumble awkwardly, turning away.

  “Aren't you going to put this back?” he asks with a smirk, and I pause, internally sighing at the state of my life. Why does the goddess test me like this?

  “Sure,” I say, holding out my hand for it, which he ignores. He strides past me, placing a hand at my waist as he passes, leading me back to the sex toy aisle. I try not to freak out at the insanely hot stranger's hand on my waist. I feel completely aware of his touch, an almost electric tingle radiating from him. Shit, I really need to get a boyfriend. Freaking out over a slight touch on my waist.

  “Where did you get it from?” he asks softly, his lips right near my ear. I could melt at that voice. I shakily point at the spot where I'd grabbed it, and he places it back there for me. “There, right back where it belongs now,” he says, as he grabs one of the sealed boxes with the toy from the shelf underneath.

  “I wasn't going to buy one—” I begin, but he waves me off dismissively with one hand before leading me down another aisle. I feel compelled to follow the self-assured man, as if his sheer charm and charisma alone have me under a spell. I freeze, snapping out of it.

  “You're fae,” I say accusingly. He’d used his gifts to lure me along like a dazed human!

  “And you're a sexy witch,” he replies causally, as he holds out a red, lacy bra in front of me.

  “Excuse me?” I ask incredulously. My eyes widen at the way he just says everything in such a confident manner. This isn’t a guy that second-guesses his words or actions.

  “Sorry, I thought we were stating things that are obvious.” He holds out another bra in black, and I have no words for the obvious appraisal he makes of my chest. Fae have very little sense of modesty, and this one seems to have even less than that. “Black is definitely your colour. You're a double D, right?” he asks, and when I say nothing he guesses again. “An E? Yeah, definitely a 34E I think.” He switches over, grabbing the bra that fits his annoyingly accurate estimate. He grabs the matching thong, also in my fucking correct size. How he manages that is beyond me, considering nobody ever gets my sizes right. Even my mum has given up buying me clothes.