A Wicked Night (Creatures of Darkness 2): A Coraline Conwell Novel (3 page)

“Shut up, you unholy nutter,” Knox spat.

“I always did love your accent, Knoxy. Say it again.”

He sneered and turned back to Mace. “Any prat worth a damn should be able to extricate a worthless wraith.” He followed up with a meaningful look.

Mace pursed his lips, shaking his head. “You can’t be serious.”

“You have a better idea?”

——

Saraphine tidied up the crystal display, buffing the fingerprints off each little trinket. Afterward, she moved on to the pendants. Only three sold over the last week, but they weren’t big movers anyway. From the wooden drawer under the display counter, she pulled three new necklaces to hang on the wire jewelry tree. Then, on the purple fabric skirt that circled the base, she fanned out a handful of talismans.

As she crossed toward the set of shelves that boasted several varieties of candles and incense, the bell above the front door jingled.

She turned to see a middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair enter.

“Hello, Mister Davis,” she forced a smile—hard to do these days. “I’m sorry you came all the way out here. I’m a little behind on orders at the moment. I told Misses Davis when I saw her the other day—”

“No worries, Sara.” He presented her with a brown paper bag, the top folded over. “My wife wanted me to drop this off. We were sorry to hear about Edeena.”

Sara’s esophagus constricted at hearing her grandmother’s name. As she accepted the package, all she could muster was a simple, “Thank you.”

“It’s a cinnamon apple strudel. My wife made it.” He paused. “Your grandmother was a fine lady. And she loved you very much. She will be missed.”

Her throat tightened further as a burning sensation enveloped her eyes. “Yes, she will. Thank you. I should have your order ready tomorrow. Stop by any time after three.” Her voice only slightly shook, yet Mr. Davis grew visibly uncomfortable. He palmed the back of his neck, inching toward the door.

Most men didn’t acclimate well to exposed feminine emotion. Sara wasn’t comfortable with being so pathetically transparent, either.

“Will do.” Mr. Davis waved as he headed out.

“Thank Misses Davis for me,” she called after him, then transferred the package to the front counter next to two other sympathy packages she’d yet to open. Aside them sat a bouquet of wildflowers that she already hated to look at. What a cheery reminder of loss.

Though not everyone had cared for her and her grandmother’s particular
beliefs
—Wiccan was the standard religious cover for a house of witches—Gran had made an impression on the community. She’d been rough around the edges, blunt to a fault, and sometimes far too nosy, but at the same time she’d been kind and generous. She might have even had an admirer or two.

Gran should have had dozens of years before death came for her. Dozens of years to criticize Sara for her manner of dress or using crude language in front of customers, or for being late, or forgetting to order inventory, or messing up a client’s spell. Dozens of years to guide her. To try and mold her into a fine Windshaw witch.

Sara balled her fists. She was supposed to have had more time. How was she supposed to guess Gran would have been ripped from her so soon?

The day Gran died, a thousand tons of responsibility had crashed down on Sara’s head.

Though she was nearly eighteen, in many ways, she still felt like a kid. For the love of the holy goddess, she still had her
V-chip
. For some reason, the local guys weren’t lining up to take it from her. Those silly hicks couldn’t handle a strong woman like her anyway.

Maybe her grim-reaper-chic style didn’t appeal to them, but Sara just didn’t feel right playing a bubble-gum-pop fantasy for a little lip service with some dude when she’d only wham-bam-thank-you-man him in the end. The idea of a long-term relationship with anyone in this town was…depressing.

She shrugged off her gloom and turned back to the candle display. The color arrangement always seemed out of order to her. Gran was—had been—a little particular when it came to things like this. She’d arranged them according to her personal view of their order of importance. Sara really should rearrange them by color, since most customers only wanted a pretty candle and couldn’t care less if it was meant to increase creativity or health, but she couldn’t bring herself to displace a single one. In fact, she hadn’t been able to change anything about Wicked Wares at all, even though before Gran’s death, Sara would constantly bombard her with ideas for sprucing up the place, teasing her that it needed a little
sexing up
.

The bell rang again. Sara whirled around to greet the customer, and then caught her breath. The man who entered was rakishly handsome. Short blond hair, deep brown eyes, his face all hard edges. A black leather coat emphasized strong shoulders and partly hid a white tee underneath. His dark blue jeans appeared well worn and proudly displayed a trim waist.

A flutter of feminine approval swept through her. He might have seen it in her eyes because one brow arched, his lip twitched, and his eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief.

The place needed sexing up all right. And with him in it, mission accomplished.

She swallowed, glad she had put a little more effort into her outfit today rather than phoning it in with the lose Tshirts and unflattering sweats that had been her visage of mourning.

Today, she wore a red Asian-inspired strapless silk top decorated with a pattern of white cherry blossoms, because after so much dreariness, she’d needed a little color. Her black pants were tight and molded to her hips like stretched rubber. Several bracelets dangled from her left wrist. A silver metal cuff clutched high on her other arm. Her hair was left wild, curling down her back. Knee-high utility boots with two-inch soles finished the ensemble.

“You’re new in town,” she observed.

The town might not be small by normal standards, but it wasn’t huge either. Most of the inhabitants had, at the very least, seen each other out and about. And the town-gossip would have lost her voice orating over the arrival of this particular newcomer.

Sara gave him another once over. He didn’t look like the type to frequent magic shops. “You lost or something?”

“Can’t say.” Intelligent eyes scanned the store from left to right. “I usually end up where I’m supposed to be. Quaint shop. Is the owner about?”

“That would be me,” she replied.

His brows went up slightly. “And you are?”

As he spoke, he slowly circled her while closing in. It reminded her of the slow gait of an animal observing prey. She opened her senses to him, trying to read him. She couldn’t be too careful with all the new fangs running around town. She didn’t think he was a vampire, but there was definitely some kind of latent power in him.

On instinct, she weaved a protective spell in her mind and let it slip out to cocoon her. It wouldn’t be as strong without the words spoken aloud, but she didn’t want to alert this stranger of her uneasy feeling.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asked, still circling.

“’Course not,” she lied, turning to keep him in her gaze. Could he tell she’d just used magic? Was he a witch as well? She hoped he wasn’t a warlock: dark witches who rely solely on dark magic. Despite popular belief, they could be either male or female. However, she didn’t think that was the case here. With warlocks, the evil they courted usually manifested on the outside, gnarling their features till they were no longer recognized as human.

This man was just plain
hawt
. Even if he did seem a little dangerous.

She crossed the room to place the checkout counter between them as she answered his first question. “I’m Saraphine. And you are?”

“That’s a beautiful name,” he said, and then tested it on his tongue. The syllables rolled from him like liquid silk, his voice lowering a note.

Holy hell, why do all the creepy ones have to be so lickable?

“I’m in town for a short spell”—the corner of his lips curled into a half smile—“and I’m in need of a few unusual items. I’m told I might find them here.”

“What are you looking for? I’ll let you know if it’s in stock.”

“Belladonna?”

She grinned. “I have shavings of the root, dried stems, and berries. Which do you prefer?”

Instead of answering, he asked, “What about henbane?”

“I’ve got that as well.” She canted her head. “You planning to poison someone?”

Looking appalled, he replied, “Not at all. I have trouble sleeping sometimes. I use small doses mixed with other herbs to make myself drowsy.”

She shrugged. Gran would do that sometimes, too.

After gathering the requested items, she rang them into the till. “Anything else?”

“I think this should do it.” He paused. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to pick up one of those.” He pointed to one of the black scrying mirrors on the back wall, used for seeking. He rolled his hand in the air. “And while I’m here, might as well grab some dried monkey’s brain if you have it.”

Sara eyed him studiously. Monkey’s brain was a rare item, and difficult to procure. She disliked carrying it in the store, but Gran always kept some on hand for those who worked darker spells and were willing to pay for it.
We don’t judge
, she would say. Sara, however, was glad to be rid of it. Even as she was curious what this man intended it for.

It was looking more and more like he was a witch, but since it was considered impolite to ask that of a stranger outright, she said, “You must be cooking up something special. Do you need a cauldron as well?”
Always be upselling
.

He smiled pleasantly. “Sure, why not.”

He pulled out his wallet and paid for the items, having decided on the belladonna root—the most potent part of the plant.

Man knows his stuff.

She bagged everything up and handed it over. When he turned toward the door, she took the opportunity to admire his insanely wicked backside.
Damn, I’d love to get a handful of
…

He glanced back at her as he reached the door. She pretended to examine her nails. Yes, her nails required immediate inspection.

“Oh, I forgot something,” he said, and her gaze met his. “What time do you close?”

“Usually around sex...uh, six!” She flushed.

To her horror, he failed to hide his amusement. “Perfect.”

“Why is that perfect?”

“That’s about the time I plan to take you out for dinner.” The bell jingled as he opened the door. Just before he stepped out, he added, “See you tonight.”

Dumbfounded, Sara could only stare after him. Then, when she registered he’d just asked her out on a date—demanded really, but whatevs—she grinned stupidly.

So his vibes were a little strange. Who was she to judge? She put the
odd
in oddball. Besides, she now had a date with a sexy, didn’t look all that much older than her, possible witch who might understand her on a deeper level, non-hick hottie.

With a bit of a dance in her step, she returned to pondering the candles. It took a couple minutes more to recall he had never given her his name. So when the bell rang once more, she figured he’d come back to rectify the situation.

She turned with a playful smile.

Her heart jumped into her throat when she saw who it was. Hastily, she dove for her shotgun, hidden behind the counter, but the vampire was quicker.

Knox slapped a hand over her mouth as his other one gripped her around waist from behind.

Sara tried to scream; a muffled, panicked sound.

“Knox! Go easy,” Mace reproofed as he entered directly afterward.

Hope furrowed at hearing his voice, but she quickly realized he wasn’t here to help her.

She thrashed, trying to free her mouth so she could chant a quick spell. She had several on the tip of her tongue: transmutation, time deceleration, electrical discharge. All required verbalization for the king of power that could drop a vamp. She wasn’t particularly good at any of them, but adrenaline born of desperation was the best of teachers.

If she wasn’t restrained, she could have gathered magic in her palms to aid in her defense, as she was so used to doing. Gran had always warned her it was a bad habit, and she should focus more on mastering the silent defensive spells, but Sara, stubbornly, preferred the more grandiose displays of power.

Well, point to you, Gran
.

Knox countered to Mace, “She’d curse us just as soon as cut off our heads.”

That was true enough. Images of boiling their frank-n-berries in oil danced in her head. Especially Knox. He’d been the one to murder her grandmother, she was sure of it. And she’d vowed to reap vengeance on him no matter the cost.

“Just get on with it, but be gentle,” Mace urged.

“Mate, how exactly does one be gentle while knocking someone out?”

Everything went dark after that.

Cora pushed against Sadira’s hold, trying to take command of her body and finding no give. It was as if she were the wind and Sadira a brick wall. Sadira was in control as long as she wanted to be. Cora realized Sadira had merely allowed her to surface before, for whatever reason. As soon as she’d once more taken over, weakness had saturated Cora’s resolve, driving her back like the deluge of a tsunami and cocooning her in some small swatch of her own mind.

Now she could only watch helplessly as though through someone else’s eyes.

Just like before, she attempted to communicate with Sadira, first by groveling:
Please get out of my body. I promise to help you break this curse you’re under once you’ve freed me.

No answer.

I swear, I’ll do whatever I can to help you.

Again no response.

Was she even getting through?

After another few moments of what Cora had to admit was shameful begging, she changed tactics, the dread of uncertainty filling her with resentment and making her terse.

You have no right to claim my body. Mace will never allow you to stay where you are, and by the looks of your
Knoxy
, he is of the same mind. Do yourself a favor and vamoose before it’s too late.

Still no response.

When pleading and threats failed, curiosity took over.
What is your goal here? You’re obviously obsessed with Knox—and by the way, how pathetic. He’s horrid, overbearing, cruel
…

“Oh, would you please shut up,” Sadira hissed.

You can hear me!

“Of course I can hear you,” Sadira replied. “You’re positively piteous, begging for mercy. Just shut up and perhaps you’ll learn something. Not that it matters if you do,” she added under her breath, then began an intonation utilizing an unfamiliar language.

After a moment, the rope binding her and Cora’s wrists darkened in color, seeming to grow brittle before her eyes. A faint crackling preceded the breaking of a small strand, and then another. Amazingly, as Sadira’s chant continued, the rope shed away before decomposing entirely into dust.

Freed, Sadira stood up and stretched, clearly pleased with herself. “Such power you have. What a rarity. I’m lucky to have you.”

You don’t have me
, Cora objected.

“Don’t I? Move a limb, if you can. No? I didn’t think so. This body is mine now, girl. You are only an unwanted passenger. Better come to grips with that.”

You evil bitch.

“I don’t abide harsh language,” Sadira said darkly.

What are you going to do about it?

“You’d be surprised by all I can do. Mind your soul, lest I make it mine as well.” Sadira stepped forward, but was unexpectedly propelled backwards, stumbling into the chair she had just vacated.

Her head tilted angrily to the side. She placed her/Cora’s/their palm flat against the invisible barrier and, after a moment’s contemplation, let out a harsh curse. Then she mumbled out a different chant than before. Power developed in her palms, hot and heavy. In the next instant, she released the power directly at the transparent wall.

It fizzled on contact.

Growing furious, Sadira screeched, and began pacing like a caged lion.

What were you saying about all you can do? Cora taunted. You can’t even get us out of here.

“Shut up, you weak-willed wench.”

Sadira’s rage burned through Cora, almost making it her own. Somehow she managed to separate herself from it, but just barely.

Who are you?
Cora demanded
. What is your history with Knox? Looks like we’ve got nothing but time till they get back, so you might as well tell me.

Sadira slammed a fist against the mystical barrier, willfully ignoring Cora. Then, like a wild woman, she cried out and attacked the blockade with a succession of what Cora could only describe as fire bolts.

Little good it did. The power dispersed along the barrier like the jagged fingers of lightning.

“Trapped so long, only to be trapped again,” Sadira muttered, out of breath.

Why were you trapped? Tell me your story. Maybe I can help. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement.

“You’ll not get your body back,” she replied vehemently. “And I don’t need your help. I will get free. I’m so close. Soon I’ll have Knox, and then vengeance.”

Vengeance? On who?

Sadira tilted her head back and exhaled a long-suffering sigh. “You will weaken and fade, and then I will be spared your sniveling voice in my pretty new head.”

That gave Cora pause. Could she lose her body
entirely
to this horrible—what had Knox called her?—wraith? Was there nothing to be done? Not for the first time, she wished she knew more about the supernatural world. Then maybe she could have defended against this unwanted invasion.

“Knox was once bound to me, and now, thanks to this body, he is again. It is fate,” she finished ominously.

What? You were blood bound to Knox?

Just then, the mental door
whooshed
open. Knox entered first, toting a slender, limp body over his shoulder. The clunky black boots dangling down his front gave Cora an indication of who he carried.

Mace followed behind him, looking a little troubled. When he registered Sadira was no longer restrained to the chair, his steps faltered.

Knox appeared unconcerned, depositing the lifeless body in the far corner of the room.

Oh, Knox, what have you done?

When Cora caught the rise and fall of Saraphine’s chest, she released a mental sigh of relief.

“Knoxy, be a dear and let me out of here,” Sadira cooed, petulant.

Knox didn’t look her way, but his features contorted into a sneer as he stood and allowed Mace access to Saraphine. As Mace knelt to gently pat her on the cheek, Knox moved to close and lock the door…entombing them all together?

Sadira cocked her head with curiosity. “What have you planned, my love?”

Again both vampires refused to acknowledge her.

Mace urgently, yet softly muttered Saraphine’s name, once, twice, as if trying to rouse her without alarming her.

When she didn’t immediately awaken, he glanced up at Knox, scolding, “You should have let me speak with her first. To explain things.”

Blasé, Knox shrugged. “You can be very long winded, mate. Whether she wanted to or not, she was coming with us. I just sped up the process. I forgive you for locking me up, by the way,” he added ruefully.

“Your behavior was unacceptable,” Mace argued.

Knox made no reply.

Saraphine’s eyes fluttered open. She scrambled away from Mace, confusion creasing her brows.

“There you go.” Knox gestured to Saraphine with a derisive hand. “You can speak with her now. What does it matter the order of events?”

Realization dawned on Saraphine’s face, and her expression grew enraged. She spat out a harsh succession of cryptic words. A brilliant ball of energy flashed in her palm. Then, with a swift motion, she shot the glowing orb toward Knox.

He dove to dodge, but wasn’t fast enough. At impact, his body propelled backwards, slamming against the hard wall. He grunted and went to one knee, croaking out, “See, same events, different order.”

Mace moved to restrain the maddened Saraphine by forcing her arms behind her back.

“Let me go, you son of a bitch! I’ll kill him.” Her fiery gaze was trained on Knox.

Knox’s amused expression taunted her into an even deeper rage.

“Calm yourself,” Mace pleaded with her. “We need your help.”

“He killed my grandmother! I’ll help him to die!”

Mace let out a wearied sigh. “We don’t know that for sure.”

He sounded more reasonable than he probably should have while holding a flailing, homicidal seventeen-year-old.

“Please,” he added. “Cora is in trouble.”

Saraphine slowed her struggles and finally seemed to register Cora—or rather, Sadira—observing the scene from the center of the room. Although, Saraphine didn’t yet understand who really stared back at her with cold levity.

“Cora, you told me he was imprisoned. How could you take this bastard’s side?”

Sadira answered crisply, “Because he’s
mine
.” She glanced at Knox. “Have you brought me a body that you’re more fond of, Knoxy? You really shouldn’t have. I’ve grown quite attached to the one I already have.”

Saraphine stilled in Mace’s grasp, cocking her head to the side as though trying to make sense of her words.

“She’s been possessed,” Mace explained. “We brought you here because we need your help extracting the spirit from Cora’s body.”

Suspicious, Saraphine took a moment to scrutinize Cora. Then her expression hardened. She pointed her scathing look at Knox. “I’ll help Cora when I get justice for my grandmother.”

Knox’s lips curled. “Are you sure you want to go there, little girl?”

“Positive, dickhead.”

Mace turned her to face him, keeping his hands firmly on her shoulders. Even from the obscure angle, Cora could see his expression was pained. It twisted her heart.

Sadira made an inaudible gasp and placed a palm against her chest. As if realizing what she’d done, she huffed in annoyance and flung her arm back down to her side. No one but Cora seemed to notice the action. She wondered if her emotions had affected Sadira in some small way.

“Please, Saraphine,” Mace said. “I cannot lose her.” Unadulterated misery emphasized Mace’s words.

For some reason, Knox’s expression grew dark. A muscle in his jaw flared a couple times before he blanked his features. Cora wondered at the guarded display.

Saraphine frowned at Mace’s earnest declaration. And for a fraction of time she appeared to falter, but then she steeled herself once more. “My loyalty is to my own coven, not to Cora, and especially not to you,
vampire
. My gran
will
have justice.”

Knox chimed in, “Careful, Saraphine.”

Whirling to face him, she shouted, “You are the one who should be careful! First you murder my gran then kidnap me. My coven will have
both
your heads.”

“Or will I have theirs?” Knox’s features became murderous, his fangs protruding in a clear threat.

Saraphine stiffened.

Mace let out a clipped warning, but Knox was not assuaged.

“Think on this good and hard,
cher
. It could very well be you are stuck here for days. Or months. Maybe someone in your coven comes to that nice boutique looking for you. Maybe I’m there to greet them.” He flashed a shark-ish smile. “Their fate hinges on you. The blood I might be forced to spill would be on your hands. Now are you done acting like a prat? Do what you were brought here to do and be gone.”

Pure menace swam in Saraphine’s riotous gaze. But after only a few tense heartbeats, her expression fell, and her shoulders slumped. “How long has she been possessed?”

——

After Mace recounted the story, Sara’s mind went to work. She hadn’t heard of this Sadira before, but then, her thoughts had always drifted during Gran’s impromptu history lessons.

It didn’t escape her, however, that these vampires could be lying about Sadira’s darkly marked deeds, which they were being very vague about. She could be a mere victim, same as Gran.

That suspicion alone was what decided Sara’s course of action. To protect her coven from Knox’s threat she would extricate the spirit from Cora’s body, but she would not lock it back in its dimensional cage.

Where Cora stood in mix, Sara wasn’t sure. She only knew that she aligned herself with vampires and claimed no coven of her own. Though Sara had liked Cora as a person, they shared no fealty toward one another. Worse, Cora had lied about Knox having been imprisoned, and that, Sara could not forgive.

“I’ll need to go back to my shop for supplies if I’m to do this properly.”

“I’ll retrieve whatever you need,” Knox offered sharply before Mace could reply.