AWitchsSkill Read online

  A Witch’s Skill

  Ashley Shayne

  Cassandra is a witch—quite a good one in fact. But not many people know that about her and the ones who do aren’t the type you’d want to meet in a dark alley. Cassandra can take care of herself but when she’s tricked into working her magic on a captive vampire—a very hot captive vampire—things don’t go quite as planned.

  Acayo isn’t about to allow his kidnappers to find out the secrets behind becoming a vampire, but he’ll need help getting out of the dangerous situation he’s found himself in. When a sexy witch comes to his rescue, he can think of only one suitable way to thank her for her assistance—by making love to her all night long!

  Reader Advisory: This story has graphic sexual language and scenes—no closed bedroom doors (or other rooms) here!

  An adult paranormal romance from Ellora’s Cave

  A Witch’s Skill

  Ashley Shayne

  Chapter One

  I looked up as the bell on my door jangled and a breeze from outside lifted the hair off my forehead. Clients! Great. Business as a psychic was never exactly booming but even for me it had been a slow week. I was expecting my usual clientele—older, middle-upper-class women who were concerned about their love lives or their children and wanted reassurance that the future held nothing but happiness for them. I was usually able to satisfy these women, even if their future actually looked terrible. I’m the real thing—a witch as well as a psychic—and could tell them nothing but truth if I wanted to. But I learned early on in my career that people don’t want truth. They want reassurance and I gave it to them. I refused to lie so I tended to dodge a lot of questions. I usually just changed the subject if I saw something horrible, such as the death of a spouse. I’d say something like, “I’m afraid your husband’s future is hazy but I see your daughter. Oh, she’s getting married and she looks so beautiful.” Not a lie, since the future was always hazy, and the client would leave pleased, having forgotten what it was she had wanted to know in the first place. It almost always worked and when it didn’t, a little subtle magic did.

  The people walking through my door toward me weren’t the usual clients. For one thing, they weren’t women. And for another thing, they didn’t look middle-upper-class at all. Instead they looked rough. The taller one swept his gaze around my shop carefully, as if checking for threats, while the smaller one eyed me intently. I couldn’t imagine either of these men wanting advice about their love lives and I couldn’t imagine what else they’d need a psychic for. Of course they could be here to hire me for my witchy skills. Those were advertised through word of mouth alone but it wasn’t hard to find a working witch, if you were inclined to do so. Provided you knew the right people, of course.

  I stood as they came toward me, carefully throwing a cover over the crystal ball into which I had been gazing when they entered, and came around from behind my table to extend a hand. The smaller man took it after looking me carefully up and down. I was dressed in what I thought of as my psychic outfit, a loose, flowing, multicolored skirt, a light linen peasant top and low heels. I had a shawl wrapped around my shoulders and heavy eyeliner around my golden-brown eyes. I looked more like a psychic than a witch and I wondered if that explained his scrutiny.

  I gestured them into the seats in front of my table and the smaller man sat while the larger leaned against a wall behind him. They were both dressed in black—jeans, boots and shirts. The tall one had a tight black t-shirt on that accentuated his muscles while the shorter one wore a button-down open at the neck to reveal scraggly chest hair. The small one was rather greasy and had a pockmarked face and beady, cunning eyes. Both of them were looking at me intently and I repressed a shudder with an effort.

  I joined them at the table and gestured at the short one to begin. I didn’t introduce myself or greet them. I’ve found that putting on a certain mysterious air helps a lot. The man cleared his throat meaningfully and I made myself meet his snakelike eyes.

  “My name is Ryan. We’ve been told you are more than just a psychic.” He spoke in a deep voice that seemed odd coming from such a small man. I nodded gravely and after a moment he continued. “We understand you have certain…shall we say talents? And we require the help of someone with your skills in a small matter coming up.”

  Witch’s work then. I wondered why he’d bothered introducing himself and not his partner before I decided it didn’t matter, and, nodding again, I waited for him to continue.

  “We have a man. A friend, I would say actually. Something’s happened to him. Someone has stolen his memories. Including a memory we need rather badly. We’ve heard there’s a truth spell, a ritual that can be done by a talented witch who will compel him to answer the questions despite his loss of memory. We think the truth is still in his head, just blocked off or hidden. We think this spell will let him give us the information we need.”

  I thought about it for a moment before answering, uneasily aware of his predatory eyes on me.

  “Perhaps. It would depend, of course, on whether the memories are still there or if they have been erased completely. If they are still there, it’s possible a truth spell would bring them out. Additionally, achieving success in retrieving the information would depend on what has been done to him, the strength of the witch or wizard, the strength of the spell. I could not guarantee the results, you understand. It may work, it may not.”

  “We get that. We want you to try. You have quite a good reputation. If the memories are gone, well then, they’re gone. If the other witch or wizard is stronger, you’ll let us know and we will find someone even stronger. If it works, we will be very happy. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. You’ll be paid either way.”

  I nodded. Magic was always uncertain and messing with someone else’s spells even more so. If the spell was what I thought it was, countering it could be relatively easy. More often than not though, I’d run in to something unexpected. Some aspect of the spell would be unusual or different. In that case, the results ranged from some spectacular failures to the more usual nothing at all. I was always a little uncertain about contracting out my magical skills and I never did so without a promise I’d get paid, regardless of the outcome. In advance. I’d had a few grumpy customers thinking I had ripped them off when in actuality, what they’d wanted wasn’t possible. I had to give a man a cat’s tail once, to prove I really could do magic (just not the magic he wanted) and to get him to back off and leave me alone. He ended up paying me extra—on top of our agreed-upon fee—to remove the tail. Although I’d been pretty certain that was the end of it, I admit I did watch him in my crystal ball for a few weeks to make sure he wasn’t planning on revenge. My response to his anger may have seemed rather cruel but the story got around and I’d had less trouble since then.

  Turning my attention back to the man in front of me, I resumed the conversation. Details about how much I charged, how much material would cost, and when and where were hammered out before the strangers left. The tall one cast a suspicious glance back at me as they went through the door and I shivered. The moment they’d gone, I locked the door behind them, taking down my open sign.

  I hoped I hadn’t just bitten off more than I could chew. Unfortunately, I needed the money, and their fee was very generous. Even though Ryan’s eyes had made me shiver and even though the tall one seemed to be nothing more than a thug, it wouldn’t be the first time I’d worked for people on the wrong side of the law. I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be the last.

  I prepped for the ritual over the next week. We’d determined a warehouse they owned would be a perfect place for me to do my thing, and the tall one came by and dropped off keys a couple days after our meeting. I preferred to prepare by myself. Not that there was anything secret about the pro
cess… But people tended to ask too many questions and the whole procedure always ended up taking at least twice as long when I had an audience.

  Alone at the warehouse, I spread salt in a series of circles, moving outward from a set point where I would place the subject. I put candles in iron sconces around the space—they didn’t actually do anything but people seemed to expect them—and spread a protective cloak over the whole building. The last thing we wanted were strangers wandering in halfway through the ritual.

  Finished, I dusted off my hands and looked around me. Yep. Ready. The ritual was set to happen the next day so I headed home for an early night’s sleep. Sadly, I didn’t sleep well at all. I was nervous about this job. I considered the matter carefully, since I don’t like ignoring my instincts, but I couldn’t figure out what was bugging me. It wasn’t as if it was my first time performing this particular spell. And this certainly wasn’t my first time doing magic for money. Maybe my unease simply stemmed from my dislike for my clients. Still… That wasn’t anything new either, and I never ended up this on edge. I tossed and turned through the night and when I finally got up I realized I was in a horrible mood.

  I threw on a comfortable pair of black jeans, a baggy, gray tank top over a sports bra and a soft, wool cardigan. I put my long black hair up into a ponytail, grabbed my bag and headed out the door. I tried to think positively and gave myself a little pep talk on the ride there.

  Both the men I’d met before were already at the warehouse when I arrived. I nodded at them and Ryan greeted me. True to form, the taller one remained silent. As I wandered around, lighting the candles, the tall man went into a back room. When he returned he was dragging another person—a person who was chained. His head was down and I couldn’t see his face. The taller man was not particularly gentle with him and I winced as the chained man’s knee banged into the concrete floor. I bit my lip and turned away to find Ryan watching my reaction.

  “What’s going on?” I asked him, glancing back at the man on the ground. “You said this was your friend. Why is he chained?”

  The chained man lifted his head as he heard my voice and I caught my breath. He was gorgeous. He had dark-brown hair, olive skin and a straight Greek nose under eyes that were so dark they were almost black. A trickle of blood leaked from a cut on his forehead and he stared at me, desperation clearly visible in his gaze. The tall man yanked on the chains and quick as a flash, the prisoner turned his head and lunged for the tall man’s leg, long fangs flashing. The tall man jerked out of the way and kicked the chained man in the head as I scrambled back, gasping.

  “That’s a vampire!” I shrieked in surprise.

  “So?” Ryan approached me, his cold gaze pinned to my face. “It won’t make a difference to the magic, so why does it matter?”

  I stuttered and hesitated, my eyes glued to the vampire as he rolled on the floor, clutching his face and moaning. If this were how my clients treated their friend, I would hate to be their enemy.

  “You said he was under a spell,” I told Ryan, fear making my voice sharper than I’d intended.

  “He is,” he assured me, sounding as though he fought to keep his temper in check. “Really, if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be fighting us.”

  I heard a snort from the man on the ground and he looked up at me.

  “Don’t listen to them,” he croaked, his voice dry and cracking. “I’m not under a spell—I’m a prisoner. Don’t help them. They’re evil!”

  “Says Satan’s spawn,” the tall man sneered, surprising me completely with the unexpected speech, before he kicked the vampire in the face again.

  Why wasn’t he using his powers to escape? I glanced at the chains again and had my answer. They must be made of silver. Silver drastically weakens vampires, though it won’t kill them.

  “Please don’t kick him again,” I said, horrified by the unnecessary violence. Though I’d had my share of troubles over the years, torture or anything like it turned my stomach.

  “A delicate witch,” Ryan sneered, grabbing me by the arm. “We have a deal. You better not back out on us.”

  His tone was serious and he glared angrily. Fear ran through me and I cursed myself heartily, wishing I’d trusted my instincts and cancelled this gig. I swallowed hard and nodded unhappily at him.

  “Put him in the circle then,” I told them, trying to stop my voice from shaking.

  The prisoner kicked and fought as much as he could in his chains, and several moments passed before the tall man finally succeeded in depositing him in the innermost circle. Once there, the bindings kicked in and he was unable to move out of the rings.

  “Release his chains please,” I told them, making sure I kept out of reach of his arms.

  “Is that necessary?” Ryan asked, suspicion coloring his voice.

  “It is. I am trying to set free the truth. How can I free anything with all these chains around?”

  A half-truth, at best. Sure, the chains would confuse the magic but probably not enough to make the ritual fail. Still, I wanted them gone. They were hurting him and he couldn’t reach me through my wards anyway. Ryan nodded to the tall man and he stepped into the circles, making sure to keep his feet out of the innermost one. He quickly unlocked the chains before leaping backward out of the way. The prisoner shook the chains off his wrists and quick as a flash, flung them at the tall man with enough force that they flew out of my protective wards. The tall man ducked and the chains whipped by, barely missing him. I gasped and stared. Getting through my wards took force and something more than that, and vampire or not, he shouldn’t have been able to do what he’d just done. I hoped the circle would contain him. I hoped he wouldn’t be mad at me if it didn’t.

  The vampire stood slowly, shaking out his shoulders, and I just stared. He must have been around six feet tall and his muscles were perfectly sculpted. He looked at me across the circle and I stared back at him, losing myself in his eyes. The moment stretched and would have continued for who knows how long, but Ryan coughed and I reluctantly looked away from the prisoner’s face.

  I turned to kneel and dig through my bag, busying myself for a second while I tried to think about what to do. I didn’t like my clients. I didn’t trust them and this was so not what I had signed up for. There was a huge difference between recovering memories from someone who had a spell put on them and stealing truth from an unwilling victim. Vampire or not. I didn’t have any time to come up with a plan though, and leaving didn’t appear to be an option. The one thing I had on my side was the fact that Ryan and his bruiser buddy didn’t have any idea what the spell involved. I could do almost anything as long as it looked witchy and they wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. Being able to talk with the prisoner would help, I thought to myself, and that gave me an idea.

  I stood up and lit the incense I’d taken from my bag to give me an excuse to stall. Quickly, head bowed, I intoned the words to one of my favorite spells, taking care with my inflection and letting my voice rise and fall in the correct pattern. This particular incantation was simple but no less effective than if I’d gone with something more elaborate. The result? I’d be able to talk to my target…without anyone else knowing we were communicating. Not true telepathy by any means—with this, we would speak to each other but no one around us would hear us or notice our mouths moving when we spoke. Very cool but not perfect. Until I released the spell, nothing the prisoner or I said to each other would be audible to others. I’d nearly been caught out as a witch once when I’d forgotten the spell was active and had treated a neighbor to the odd experience of watching my sister and me communicate without words. I’d stopped the spell as soon as I’d realized she was there and my sister and I laughed and tried to pass it off as a special ability shared between really close family members, but that neighbor had eyed us suspiciously ever since. I now did my best to avoid her when I returned home to visit my parents.

  Slowly, I stepped forward and spoke to the creature but kept an eye on Ryan and the tall m
an.

  “My name is Cassandra. I won’t hurt you.”

  He looked at me in surprise, raising an eyebrow at the others as he did so.

  “They can’t hear us or see us speaking. What’s your name? Why are you here?”

  I started a mumbling nonsense chant for the benefit of my clients, waving the incense importantly around me, waiting for the vampire to speak. After a suspicious pause, he did.

  “My name is Acayo. I’m here because I was stupid enough to be captured. Are you sure they can’t hear us?”

  “Positive.” I glanced at them nervously despite having total confidence in my spell, but neither looked anything but bored with my chanting. “How did you break my ward?”

  He smiled at me slightly but his expression had an edge to it. “Help me and I’ll tell you.”

  I brushed that off for the moment. “What do they want from you?”

  “What humans always want. The secret to being vampire.”

  I was so surprised I stopped chanting for a moment and stared at him. I hadn’t realized there were people out there who actually wanted to become a vampire. Real vampires didn’t have much in common with the ones portrayed in literature. They kept themselves very secret. I knew relying on the popular myths when dealing with them would likely get you killed but I didn’t know much more than that. And I was a member of the magical community. I wondered who my clients were, that they knew of vampires and could catch one. Catch one and then hire a witch to control it.

  Acayo coughed, and I realized I’d just been staring at him and my clients were starting to shift restlessly. I dropped the incense and raised my hands above my head, clapping them together loudly. I intoned a few Latin phrases and then entered the first circle solemnly. Obviously reassured, Ryan and the tall one seemed to relax, and Acayo raised an eyebrow at me, the corner of his mouth lifting.

  “Nice performance,” he told me, amusement coloring his tone even through his tension.