Darius mumbled a word, and Poe was swatted to the side by an invisible force like a giant flyswatter. He hit the side of a parked car with a dull thud, slid down and was gone.
Fear gripped my throat. I whipped my head around. “You bastard!”
Darius stood, his fingers dancing merrily in a dark spell. He gave me the briefest flicker of a look, viciously amused.
Standing legs apart, I went deep into my core, shaking with power and rage and letting it leak over my soul. Spindling a wad of it in me, I shouted, “Fulgur chordis!”
Ribbons of blue electricity shot from my palms and hit the witch. He didn’t even move as the blue electricity coiled around his body, licking his skin and even his insides. He should have been screaming in pain, but he wasn’t. In fact, he just smiled.
Oh. Crap.
With a burst of speed, I saw a blur of black, and then his hands were wrapped around my neck, cutting off my air.
We crashed to the ground, his weight adding to the crushing of his hands around my throat.
Darius smiled down at me. “And that’s only a taste,” he sneered, spit flying into my face. “You think you can beat me with your tiny witch magic?” he laughed and squeezed harder until I thought he was going to break my neck. “You’re nothing but a broodmare—a worthless female. Powerless. How does it feel knowing that your life ends tonight?”
I clamped my hands around his, trying to pry them open, but my fingers kept slipping, and my vision blurred as darkness crept in. Despite all my preparations, I was helpless. He was too strong. It was like fighting off a dozen witches at once. I wasn’t strong enough. My magic didn’t compare to his. I couldn’t fight him.
“And you,” he seethed, the cold expression on his face making him all the more demon. “You surprise me, Samantha. I never expected you to find me out. You were meant to keep the court entertained with this idea of a killer vampire. That’s the only reason I didn’t kill you in that alley all those days ago. You see, I picked you because you were supposed to fail. Such a sad little witch. You were never meant to amount to anything.”
The darkness was stronger now. My head felt like it was exploding. I was dying.
“You are a meddling, insufferable witch, Samantha Beaumont. But I will take your magic as well.”
You were supposed to fail...
But I hadn’t failed.
He squeezed harder.
I let go of his hands and slipped my right hand under me to my pocket and gripped the small dagger.
And with all the strength I could muster, with the last of my will, I slammed it into his left ear, shoving it into his brain.
Darius’s mouth opened in a silent scream, and the bastard let go of my neck and rolled off of me.
Coughing, I took deep buckets of air into my lungs, backpedaling as far as I could.
My neck throbbed, and I watched as the witch made horrible hacking sounds while he convulsed on the ground. His hands tore at the skin on his face, his legs flailing, writhing. He thrashed around for a moment, his face and the skin on his hands blackening. The skin cracked and peeled, shriveling, flaking, and adding the scent of burned hair to the air.
And then he burst into a cloud of gray ash.
Just like a demon.
29
I couldn’t sleep. I was so wired after defeating Darius and having to explain to the other members of the dark witch court what the pile of ashes was and why it was there. Sleep was the last thing on my mind.
And with Ruby’s—Charlotte’s granddaughter—eyewitness account to the dark witch court, by the time I’d got home, it was almost eight in the morning.
So, what does one do when they can’t sleep? They eat.
I flipped my blueberry pancake over in my frying pan. “You can take off those sunglasses.” I glanced over to the mid-demon, sitting at the kitchen table, facing the assortment of breakfast condiments—raspberry jam, bananas, a bowl of blueberries, a loaf of brown bread, orange juice, a milk carton, and some organic sugar. I hadn’t asked my grandfather yet how the spell had gone, but with having Faris here still at sunup, I didn’t think it really mattered.
Faris looked at me from under the rim of his glasses. “They’re called sunglasses for a reason.” He pointed to the window. “There’s the sun. The glasses stay.”
“Fine.” I had a feeling the glasses were some sort of comfort mechanism. I had no idea how long or if he’d ever been in the sun. I moved over to him and plopped the hot pancake onto his plate. “Help yourself to the maple syrup and butter over there.”
“Thanks,” said Faris as he took a sip of his coffee, which smelled strongly of whiskey.
“Keep still, you damn bird!” yelled my grandfather, sitting across from Faris, as he attempted to apply some ointment on Poe’s wing. “I’m trying to help you. You ungrateful, flying house cat!”
The raven moved back, cradling his injured wing against his body. “How do I know if that’s even true?” accused the raven. “Not a few hours ago, a witch tried to kill me. An old witch. Like you.”
“Shut your beak,” growled my grandfather. He reached out and tugged a little too forcefully on the bird’s wing. “Or I’ll break the other one.”
“Go ahead, you old broom,” threatened Poe. “And I’ll tell Charlotte about Terresa and Anne.”
My grandfather’s hand froze in the ointment jar, fear making his wrinkles deepen around his eyes.
I set the frying pan on the stove and faced my grandfather. “Who’re Terresa and Anne?” I let out an exasperated breath of air. “My grandpa’s a manwhore.”
“And I’ll tell Samantha,” warned my grandfather, “why you’ve been stealing all those watches and rings.”
Poe’s eyes narrowed, and for a second, I thought he was going to jump in my grandfather’s face.
“Poe?” I questioned. “What’s he taking about?”
“Nothing,” said the bird, dryly. “The witch is senile.”
Faris let out a snort, and I turned to see a smile on his face. It was the first time I’d seen him smile all morning. It looked good on him.
Who knew? This new living arrangement might actually work.
I turned to grab the pancake mix—
The door ball rang.
“I’ll get it,” I ordered, pointing a finger at my grandfather and Poe. Wiping some excess flour on my jeans, I crossed the hallway and pulled open my front door.
Logan stood on my doorstep.
Two things happened at once. First, my heart exploded against my ribcage, and second, I took an involuntary step forward. I couldn’t help it. The damned angel-born had bewitched me.
I rolled my eyes over the pretty angel-born. A few faded bruises marred his jaw and upper brow, but his eyes were alight with a healthy glow. A tight shirt showed off his fit chest under a black leather motorcycle jacket. He stood all molded to perfection in those faded jeans.
Yum. Yum. Yum.
Damn, he looked good. He’d probably look even better with nothing on. Yes, I was a naughty witch.
“You look like terrible,” I told him, hoping to mask the flush on my face and my dangerous thoughts.
The angel-born grinned. “Thought you might want your glove back.” He held out my blood-stained glove.