Hidden Magic
Authors: Wynter Daniels
Hidden Magic
By Wynter Daniels
Copyright 2013 Wynter Daniels
Published by Wynter Daniels
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.
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Table of Contents
New Orleans, Louisiana
I shouldn’t have come back.
She was a block away when she remembered she hadn’t packed up the only photo she had left of her mama. Her mother had been far from perfect, but now that she was gone there was no fixing all the shit she’d screwed up. She had to return. It would only take a moment then could get the hell out of there, for good.
A slap of icy evening air stung Lauren Picard’s cheeks as she climbed out of her old Toyota, which she’d loaded with a duffel and several black trash bags full of her belongings. She raced across the weed-choked yard then took the steps two at a time to the second-story apartment she’d shared with Jamal for the past two and a half years. Grabbing the framed picture from the mantle, she gave the place one last glance.
The rocking chair she’d rescued from someone’s trash and lovingly refinished would have to be left behind as would the abstract painting her friend Ruby had given her. They were just things.
She couldn’t say she was sorry to be leaving. She didn’t love Jamal anymore, couldn’t wait to put miles between them. There was a time when she’d thought he was the one—the person she could finally find that connection with, something no one had ever given her. But in the end, all he’d wanted to connect was his fist to her body. Goddess knew she had enough bruises and scars to last a lifetime.
After one of her coven mates had been beaten into a coma by the woman’s abusive husband, Lauren suspected it was only a matter of time before Jamal’s attacks escalated to a deadly level too.
The familiar creak of the stairs shattered the silence, the heavy footfalls of Jamal’s boots. Her gut tightened. His shift at the firehouse shouldn’t have ended for another half hour.
The doorknob jiggled. She stashed the photo under her jacket. Only her t-shirt separated the frame from the two-inch long scar Jamal had given her the last time he’d gone into a rage. Would he notice most of her things were gone from the apartment? Taking a quick visual inventory, she bit at a fingernail. The lack of her caldron, incense burners and her mama’s photo from the mantle left it nearly bare save for Jamal’s
Engine 13 Firefighter of the Year
plaque. If he happened to go into the bedroom and open the closet that was now mostly empty, she’d be dead for sure.
Please let my spell of protection work.
His sagging shoulders gave away his exhaustion as he entered the room. “Hey, baby.”
Her mouth felt stuffed with cotton, but she managed a greeting. “How was your day?”
Hanging his gym bag over the back of a chair, he swept his gaze through the room for a long moment before meeting her stare. “Going somewhere?” He stepped closer and she automatically flinched.
“T-to get your birthday present.” She clasped her hands so he wouldn’t notice them shaking.
He folded his arms over his broad chest and sliced her a glance. “Did you work today?” His aura was turning black, the color it always was when his rage simmered just below the surface. As long as it didn’t shift to dark red she might have a chance.
He knows.
Her throat thickened to the point she could hardly swallow. She mentally calculated how she’d get around him to the door, what her chances were of making it. “Yeah, but we were slow so Ruby let me off early. I guess nobody wanted to know their fortune this afternoon.” She tried for a smile but her lips refused to comply.
He nodded slowly. “Want to tell me what
my
future holds? Or maybe you should do a reading on yourself. What do you think will happen to
you,
fortuneteller?” There was no mistaking the menacing edge in his tone.
He circled behind her, a familiar predator. The smell of stale cigarette smoke rose in the air and her stomach churned. “What you making for dinner?”
Could he hear her heart hammering? A deadly calm settled over her, the resignation that he was going to hurt her again.
No!
She wouldn’t take another beating. If she could somehow diffuse his anger, or at least slow it down until she could get the hell out of the apartment.
She forced her legs to move toward the kitchen. “I-I hadn’t expected you for another hour. What do you feel like eating?” Grasping the edge of the counter, she yanked open a drawer with trembling fingers and pulled out a butcher knife. Clutched it as if her life depended on it.
Goddess, protect me.
Jamal followed her, his lips curled into the smile that always made her shudder. His aura now glowed muddy red. The beast inside him had awakened. It was only a matter of time. Every muscle in her body grew taut.
He moved closer, so close she could smell his sweat and feel the rage rolling off him in erratic waves. He sniffed her as a wolf would, possessive and threatening. Hungry for blood. “New perfume?”
“N-no. I had my hair done this afternoon. That must be what you smell.” She tried to free herself, to back away but he had her pinned against the cabinet. She scanned the room in an instant for her best escape route but there was none. He had her trapped. She couldn’t let him smell her fear. He thrived on it.
He gestured at her jacket. “You’re not gonna cook with that on, are you?”
She swallowed hard, attempted to turn away. He grabbed the lapel of her coat and yanked it open. The picture frame she’d been hiding against her chest dropped to the floor, the glass exploding on the tile.
Her head grew dizzy as she crouched to pick it up. Jamal smashed his boot down on the photo and ground it with bits of glass into the floor. Then he grabbed a fistful of her braids and forced her to stand.
Pain splintered through her. She tried to reach into his mind, to make him stop but it was as if he’d erected a concrete wall around himself. His jaw was clenched tight and his eyes wild. She held back the scream that rose in her throat.
Don’t let him see you cry.
“Please don’t.” She tightened her grasp on the knife. He’d use it against her if she let go.
“Give me that, bitch.” He released her hair and went to grab her wrist.
No!
She refused to be a victim anymore. He’d done so much damage to her, added layer upon layer of psychological scar tissue. Gathering all her strength, she swept her arms around her to create a protective shield. Jamal kept coming at her, dumbfounded by the wall of energy in his way. But in her current state, she was having trouble concentrating on keeping her shield in place and Jamal’s will was strong. She could feel him tearing away at her defenses.
His anger rose to a fevered pitch. He snarled like a bull on the warpath. “Let me in, you fucking witch.”
Her powers weren’t strong enough to fend him off much longer. She looked longingly at the door, too far to make a dash for it.
“Let. Me. In.” His aura glowed like fire, darkest red and deadly.
She gulped in a ragged breath. If she didn’t stop him she was as good as dead. She lifted the knife and plunged the blade deep into his side.
Eyes wide, he grabbed the handle and pulled out the knife. It clanged to the floor, splattering drops of blood on the tile. He stumbled backward, fell to the floor, clutching his stomach and let out a yelp. “You fucking whore. I’ll kill you. I swear to god. I’ll fuck you up, you goddamn witch.”
Her blood pounded in her ears so loud it blocked out everything else. What had she done? All the beatings she’d taken over her lifetime flooded into her mind—Jamal punching her so hard he’d shattered her eardrum; one of her mama’s faceless boyfriends shoving her down a flight a stairs, another pinning her beneath him in her bed and trying to rape her.
No. She shook herself out of the waking nightmare that had been her life.
I will not be a victim ever again.
The circle of red on Jamal’s white t-shirt was growing bigger by the second. He slumped back, groaning and squeezed his eyes shut. Then he stilled.
Her fists were clenched so tightly that her fingernails cut into her palms. Was he still conscious? Would he die if she left now?
Dizziness threatened to immobilize her.
Get out!
She didn’t wait around to see if he was all right. Rather, she sprinted for the door then scrambled down the steps to the yard. Time passed in slow motion as the implications of her actions hit her like pellets of acid rain.
She didn’t remember getting into her car but suddenly she was driving, clutching the steering wheel as if her life depended upon it. Was it raining or could it be her tears blinding her? Didn’t matter. She wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t. Jamal was going to hunt her down if he managed to survive what she’d done to him. And it would be way worse than any of the pain he’d inflicted on her in the past.
Unless he didn’t survive. If his wound killed him, the police would be after her. He had so many friends on the force. The cops would never believe that she’d only been defending herself.
Goddess protect me.
Either way, her life would never be the same. She was now and forever on the run. One way or another, Lauren Picard was a dead woman.
Freedom Bay, Florida, One year later
Zander’s neck itched as he entered
Mind’s Eye Occult Bookstore.
A sweet smoky scent made him want to sneeze. He found the source right away—several sticks of green incense burning throughout the place that bathed the dimly lit room in a thin, gray haze. Two women were looking at silver jewelry. A third was behind the counter helping them.
Colorful wind chimes and dream catchers hung from the ceiling, barely clearing the top of his head as he stepped deeper into the store. Floor-to-ceiling shelves chock full of books were labeled with categories like Astrology, Witchcraft and Psychic Development. Music he could only describe as new age played softly.
He picked up a shiny pink stone with black veins running through it from a basket marked “Rhodonite” on the end of the counter. The smooth texture and cool surface felt good in his palm. He nodded at the two jewelry shoppers as they left, then flinched when something bumped against his shin. Glancing down he found a black cat staring up at him.
“Come here, Valiente.” A middle-aged blonde woman behind the glass display counter wearing Cleopatra-style eyeliner made those hissing sounds people did to call a cat. “Sorry, she thinks everyone is her friend. Can I help you?”
The cat leapt onto the counter and the clerk started petting her.
He showed the woman the stone. “Is this for luck or something?”
She gave him a wistful wink. “Keep it next to your heart and it’ll bring you love.”
“Sure it will,” he muttered under his breath. Last thing he needed now was love. He’d tried it out—twice. And both times love had bitten him in the ass. He dropped the pebble back into the basket.
Not that he believed some piece of rock would really bring him love. His grandmother went in for all this hocus-pocus nonsense but he was a realist. His years in law enforcement had taught him to rely only on hard evidence rather than vibes or feelings or God forbid, some imaginary occult force.