Dear Ms. Samantha Beaumont
Your presence is required at the dark witch court this evening at midnight.
Return your reply with the messenger pigeon. Feed the gargoyle with a drop of your blood.
Sincerely yours,
Magda Ratson, Dark Witch Court, Sec.
Mystic Quarter, NY
“A new job?” asked my grandfather as he drained his new glass in a single gulp.
I shook my head, my insides twisting. “They want to see me,” I told my grandfather, watching Tank eyeing the bowl of fruit with his beak open. Was he drooling?
Crap. If it had been a job, the note would have specified that. No. This was different.
“Why do they want to see you?” asked my grandfather, faint worry lines creasing his forehead. “A witch does not get summoned by the dark witch court to swap cauldron recipes, Samantha. Why do I get the feeling you’re keeping something from me?”
“It’s nothing. Let me worry about this. Okay?” Liar. Liar. Liar.
My guilt redoubled at the fact that I hadn’t told him I’d used my gift—the one I’d promised to never use for fear of discovery—to vanquish Vargal. I didn’t have the heart to tell the man who’d saved me and kept me safe all my life. I was an asshole.
Greater demons I could handle. Even an ancient vampire skilled with magic. But a meeting with the dark witch court was a little trickier. Plus, I’d never been summoned before. Ever. And what did “feed the gargoyle with a drop of your blood” mean? What gargoyle?
Unease lurched in my chest like a sudden thunder. My grandfather was right. This was no ordinary summoning. Why did they want to see me? Did they know about my secret?
I had a feeling my life was about to change, and not in a good way.
3
My heart was a steady drum in my chest as I strolled down Wicked Way, my knees a little more wobbly than usual, and my boots kept catching on crevices from the uneven sidewalks. It was almost as though my own legs were trying to trip me, like some mysterious force was trying to stop me from going to meet the dark witch court.
Maybe these forces were right. Maybe I should have stayed home.
But I couldn’t refuse the summon. No witch in his or her right mind would refuse, not unless they wanted to end up in the witch prison—Grimway Citadel—a horrid, windowless concrete castle with enchanted walls and glistening with every protection ward imaginable. I’d heard rumors of witches exploding into chunks of blood and guts as they tried to make their escape. Only a fool would even think about trying to escape from the citadel. You had to be mad.
I lifted the strap of my shoulder bag, adjusted the weight, and kept going.
The wind blew through the buildings and the few trees scattered around, bringing forth the scent of sulfur and rot—the tell-tale sign of half-breeds and demonic magic. Light spilled from the street lights, and blue-white moonlight pooled around me as I made my way through Mystic Quarter, the paranormal district in Manhattan where witches, vampires, werewolves, faeries, trolls, and all manner of half-breeds mingled.
The district was as eccentric and unusual as its inhabitants situated in the jumble of buildings that made up of Mystic Quarter. Vampires sat outside on terraces, drinking maroon-looking liquid, while werewolves stood next to a Meat on the Go food truck, tearing meat from bones the size of my arm with their teeth. A cluster of witches lounged in a small garden, drinking from miniature cauldrons. Yeah, it looked weird. But most of the district was just like any other borough in New York, just a gathering of people sitting around eating or drinking and having a good time.
All except for me.
I trudged up Odin Boulevard, pushing my legs faster. I didn’t want to meet anyone I knew right now. My pulse hammered and a sliver of adrenaline sparked through me. My boots clanked with every step while the dark witch court occupied most of my thoughts except for two—Poe and Logan.
Logan because, well, the guy was hot and his kiss piqued my curiosity, and Poe because I was worried about him.
The raven was a no-show once again. I really didn’t understand why he’d gotten all worked up after seeing Tank. It’s not like he’d want to be working for the dark witch court as a messenger boy. Or would he? He was hurting, and I had no idea how to help him. He didn’t want to share whatever had been bothering him with me, and that stung a little.
Poe was my support system, and without my buddy, I felt empty as I made my way through the dark streets of Mystic Quarter. With Poe perched on my shoulder, I always had a sense of security, of him having my back.
I walked up Twilight Avenue and slowed as I passed my aunt’s shop. I thought about stopping by to get her opinion on this meeting with the dark witch court but then squashed the idea because I knew it would only upset her. Worse, she’d probably demand to come along, which wasn’t a great idea since most of the court members despised her. She would say it was because she was more powerful than them, and I would say the members didn’t like her because she thought she was.
I let out the breath I was holding just as I heard the familiar flap of wings.
Poe flew to me and landed on my arm. I gave him a tight smile and found that I was unable to get angry at him for leaving like that after Tank’s message. A dull sadness was growing in me, like I was losing him.
“Gordon told me I might find you here,” said the bird as he moved up to my shoulder and shifted his weight until he was comfortable. “What? Cat catch your tongue?”
I’d always hated that expression. I pulled my eyes away and continued walking.
“Aren’t you going to yell at me or something?” pressed the raven, and I heard the tension in his voice as though he’d been preparing himself for the battle of words we were about to have. And on any other night, I would have.
“No.”
“Damn, then you really must be nervous.” The bird was quiet for a moment and then I felt the brush of feathers against my cheek. “Don’t be nervous, Sam. It’s probably just the usual job request. I’m thinking it has something to do about that vampire killing you told me about last night.”
My breath came fast. “Then why didn’t they say that in the note? If it is a job, they would have left the message with Tank. I’ve done hundreds of jobs for them. And not once did they ask to see me. It doesn’t feel right. You know what I mean?” Nerves bubbled up again, making my stomach clench.
“Well, for one,” began the bird, “you said the vampire had magic. That has to have the witches all worked up and tripping on their brooms. You know how they don’t like to share their magic.”
“No. This is something else. I can feel it.”
Poe settled closer to my neck. “Like what?”
My heart did a summersault inside my chest. “What if this has something to do with my gift? Secrets always have a way of coming out. Maybe they found out.”
Poe made a sound in his throat. “I doubt it. No. I think this is about a job. Think about it,” he said, balancing his weight on my shoulder. “All the jobs you’ve ever received from the witch court were always sent by a flying chicken. Right?”