Witch’s Bane, #2
by Ann Gimpel
Publisher: Dream Shadow Press
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Romance
Urban
Fantasy Romance with a heaping side of Hexes, Spells, and Magick!
Excerpt from Witch’s
Bane:
Roxanne Lantry—Roz to everyone who
knew her—paced up and down the sodden lawn outside the huge old Victorian that
housed the Witches’ Northwest Coven headquarters in Seattle. Rain pelted her
from beneath a gunmetal sky, but it was better out here than inside. She fought
an unfamiliar thickening at the back of her throat and balled her hands into
fists.
“I will not cry,” she muttered to an
inquisitive ground squirrel that ran across her boot tops, but telling herself
and controlling her emotions were two different things.
One of her two best friends, Colleen
Kelly, would be getting married in less than half an hour. Roz had been inside,
in the midst of all the bride-craziness, but seeing Colleen swathed in
cream-colored lace sent her into a tailspin.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
She kicked at a hummock of grass and
yelped when it didn’t move, but the pain from her stubbed toes helped her
focus. If she was honest, not an easy task when men were involved, she knew
exactly what was bothering her.
“Yeah,” she mouthed the words,
lecturing herself. “Two failed marriages and a whole bunch of loser dudes
before, after, and in between. I’m jealous and I need a good, swift boot in the
backside. Just because Colleen finally stumbled across Mr. Right doesn’t lower
my odds of ever finding someone who’s gorgeous and magical and worships me.”
Now if I could only believe that…
Roz was happy for Colleen and Duncan,
the Daoine Sidhe she was marrying. They made a great couple, but surely there
was enough connubial bliss in the universe to sprinkle a little her way too.
Her last go-round with a strikingly handsome Oklahoman she’d met online had
ended in fireworks when he’d admitted all he really wanted was to tap into her
magical ability. When the rubber met the road, he didn’t even like women. Her
stomach churned. She hated being made a fool of. She’d turned the guy in to his
Coven for false advertising and laying a trap to delude a fellow magic wielder,
but she doubted they’d done much to censure him.
Water dripped off her nose. She stuck
out her lower lip and blew upward, but the rain kept on dripping. Roz shook her
fist at the low-hanging clouds, recognizing it for displacement activity. What
she really wanted to do was pound her fist through the Oklahoman’s nice,
straight nose.
Enough of this. Give it a rest. That
happened months ago.
For Christ’s sake, I need to get
moving, go inside, and trade my jeans and serape for fancy duds.
Roz took a few deep breaths to settle
her angst. She couldn’t show her tear-stained face to the world. She’d never
live it down. When she closed her eyes, the Oklahoma asshole formed behind her
lids, taunting her. Roz clenched her jaw and summoned a calming spell. It
seemed like cheating, but time was short. As the wispy edges of magic caught
her up, they soothed her frazzled nerves and she turned hard right and headed
for the house at a brisk trot.
She, Colleen, and Jenna Neil were the
last of a long line of demon assassins. Witches with specialized powers, they
lured Irichna demons, immobilized them, and sent them packing to the
netherworld. When things worked right, she and her sister witches—along with
Colleen’s familiar—shanghaied the demons and locked them behind the gate
guarding the Ninth Circle of Hell.
The demons didn’t go without a fight,
though, which was what had killed off the other demon assassin witches. It
didn’t help that demons as a group had been gathering power these last fifty
years or so. Witches lived a long time, but they were far from immortal, and
demon assassination ability was genetic. She, Jenna, or Colleen would have to
produce children or that strain of magic would die out. None of them had a
shred of domesticity, so no one had signed up for motherhood. At least not yet.
I can’t put two weeks together without
a major demon battle these days. How the hell could I take time off to raise a
kid?
Rain ran down her neck and Roz
shivered. Thinking about demons chilled her bones. Realizing she’d stopped
walking, she plodded toward the house again and forced her thoughts to the
magicians’ supply store she owned with Colleen and Jenna in Fairbanks, Alaska.
The other two witches had moved there
months ahead of her. She hated the idea of all that snow and cold and winter
nights that lasted twenty hours, but she’d boxed herself into a dicey situation
and hadn’t had much choice. Her temper, never very controllable on a good day,
had gotten the better of her, and she made short work of her cheating husband
and his two—yup, count ’em—girlfriends. After that, she’d packed up and headed
her aging Subaru north. Next stop, Fairbanks…
That had happened a few years ago. So
many, it was almost time to move on before anyone noticed she and the other
witches didn’t seem to grow any older.
Roz shook her head, not wanting to go
there, either. She forced her mind back to the special skill she shared with
Colleen and Jenna. She hated to admit it, but demons held the high cards these
days, and she had no idea how to even the odds.
Aren’t I just the queen of cheerful?
She gave herself a mental shake with
instructions to snap out of her funk.
Roz made it to the huge house and
tugged on one of the ground level doors. When it didn’t open, she hit it with a
jolt of magic, and the deadbolt snicked aside. She stopped long enough to shake
water off her and then loped down a long corridor with a concrete floor toward
one of the old mansion’s many stairwells. Fluorescent lights, recessed into the
ceiling, gave off a sickly yellow gleam that matched her sour mood.
She’d just begun climbing upward when
a rush of footsteps sounded from the hallway below.
“There you are,” Bubba, Colleen’s
familiar, cried out and leapt up the stairs after her.
Roz glanced over a shoulder and saw he
was in his normal form: a three-foot-tall changeling with oversized feet, long
arms, and a bow-legged gait. His shaggy, black hair had been brushed until it
shone, and his dark eyes glittered mischievously. Colleen had a hell of a time
keeping him dressed, but today he sported black pants and a black jacket over a
white shirt.
“Yes,” Roz countered, still feeling
out of sorts. “Here I am. The question is why aren’t you upstairs with everyone
else?”
“Colleen got worried. She sent me to
hunt you down.” Bubba crossed his arms over his chest, looking pleased with
himself.
Roz rolled her eyes. “Bubba, look—”
“Uh-uh.” He uncrossed his arms and
waggled a finger at her. “Niall. Remember, you all promised to use my real name
from now on.”
“So we did. Crap! I don’t have time
for this.” She unkinked her neck and trudged upward.
“No kidding,” he agreed. “Everyone’s
here, and you’re not even dressed yet.”
Rather than focus on her shortcomings,
Roz changed the subject. “You’re looking pretty spiffy, bud.”
“Do you like it?”
“What I saw of it. It’s sort of like a
black tuxedo, but with Velcro instead of buttons.”
“I hate buttons.”
Roz grinned in spite of herself. “I
know you do, sweetie.”
She came to the third floor landing
and pushed the stairwell door open, holding it for the changeling. “Run and
tell Colleen I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.” Without waiting for an
answer, she walked briskly halfway down the long hall and let herself into her
bedroom. Locking the door behind her, she unlaced her wet boots and toed them
off. Next she shucked her sodden clothes, ducked into the bathroom, and
gathered strands of coal black hair, pulling it into a ponytail with both
hands. Once she had her hair together, she wrapped her head in a towel. She
didn’t believe in hair dryers, so once she’d soaked as much water as she could
into the towel, she grabbed her comb, made several sections, and plaited her
knee-length, straight-as-a-stick hair, weaving it into a pseudo-French braid.
Before she left the bathroom, she
inspected her face in the mirror. She never wore makeup because it made her
look like a clown. Her bronzed skin and stark bone structure declared her
Native American blood more clearly than words could have. She smoothed her
eyebrows with a few drops of water and considered which of two outfits to wear.
Colleen had said it didn’t matter to her, so long as Roz didn’t show up in her
usual tattered blue jeans and combat boots.
With a snort of amusement, she padded
back into the bedroom and pulled a long, beaded black buckskin skirt off a
hanger. She stepped into it and laced the side fastening. Next came a turquoise
deerskin top, also beaded, that clung to her like a second skin. In addition to
not bothering with makeup, she also didn’t care for underthings, so the outline
of her breasts was clearly visible through the soft leather. She slipped a
heavy silver and turquoise necklace over her head, arranging her braid on top
of it, and grabbed a matching ring off the dresser.
The only thing left was her moccasins.
Roz wriggled her feet into them, enjoying the way the deerskin warmed and
hugged her feet. Jenna always wore high heels, but Roz had never understood how
she could tolerate them. They’d had a few heated discussions years ago before
Roz finally gave up.
“To each her own,” she told the
mirror. Satisfied she looked presentable, she focused the threads of her
calming spell, strengthened it a bit to make certain she’d last through the
ceremony without breaking down and bawling like an idiot, and let herself into
the hallway.
The buzz of a crowd reached her from
the main floor. She glanced toward the stairs and then the other way, wondering
if Colleen was still up here. Figuring it couldn’t hurt to find out, she walked
two doors down and knocked. The door flew open almost immediately and she
looked into an accusing set of pale blue eyes.
“It’s about fucking time,” Colleen
exclaimed. Auburn hair with lily of the valley woven into it swirled around her,
falling to waist level. At six feet, Colleen was normally a good four inches
shorter than Roz, but today she wore heels and they were of a height.
“Huh?” Roz murmured, confused. “I
almost went downstairs. I had no idea you were waiting for me.”
“We’d planned to all go down
together.” Colleen sounded sullen. “You know, like a proper wedding party.”
“If we were all that proper,” Roz
said, “Jenna and I would be wearing matching—”
Jenna made chopping motions with both
hands and unfolded her well-rounded frame from off the bed. Blonde hair, hacked
off at shoulder level, framed a gamine’s face with shrewd, hazel eyes. Rather
than her standard, thrift store couture, today she wore a short beige silk
skirt, a lacy blouse, and her trademark high-heeled boots. Huge, golden hoops
graced her ears.
She walked to Roz’s side and looped an
arm through hers. “Don’t think anything of it. The bride—” she waved an airy
hand Colleen’s way “—has been antsy as a scalded cat all day.”
Colleen closed her teeth together with
an audible clack. “Maybe I’m making a mistake.”
Roz and Jenna turned to stare at her.
“What?” Jenna asked, incredulous.
“Hey, if you don’t want him—” Roz
began.
“No shit,” Jenna interrupted. “Tall,
blond, drop dead gorgeous. Those green eyes are to die for and those
shoulders.” She made panting noises. “The couple of times I saw him without a
shirt, I almost came just watching his muscles rustle beneath his skin when he
walked.”
Colleen rolled her eyes. “You two are
impossible. Can’t a bride have a case of jitters without her two closest
friends turning into vultures?”
“No.” Roz looked down her nose at
Colleen. “Considering how long and hard I’ve hunted for decent partner
material…” She let her words trail off before the extent of her jealousy leaked
out.
The door blew inward and Bubba marched
in, hands on his hips. “Come on. Everyone’s ready.” He lowered his voice, but
not by much. “I think Duncan’s worried that you—” he pointed at Colleen “—got
cold feet.”
“She nearly did,” Jenna muttered.
“Aw, crap. Guess I need to go tell
everyone the wedding’s off.” Bubba did an about face, but before he could
sprint through the open door, Colleen snatched him up.
“You’ll do no such thing.” She
swallowed audibly. “I’m ready. I guess.”
“Let go of me.” Bubba writhed in her
grasp.
“Not before you promise to keep your
mouth shut.”
Roz smirked. Circumspection was not
exactly the changeling’s long suit. She walked to Bubba’s other side. “I’ll
take him.” She held out her arms.
“I can walk,” the changeling said with
a great deal of dignity, “as soon as Colleen lets go of me.”
“You haven’t promised,” Colleen said.
“Please, sweetie. It’s important to me. A girl needs to have some things stay
private.”
He blew out an annoyed sounding
breath. “All right. I promise.” Colleen relaxed her grip. Shaking himself like
a dog might have, the gnome-like changeling chuckled. “Too bad. Something like
that’s a prime piece of gossip.”
Colleen broke into a broad grin.
“Right up your alley, eh?”
Roz made shooing motions. “Let’s get
going. You don’t want all that food the Sidhe catered to get cold do you?”
“I don’t care about food,” Colleen
mumbled. “I’m so nervous I probably won’t be able to eat a thing.”
“Well I do,” Jenna said. “I’m with
Roz. Let’s get this show on the road.”
“Have a couple belts of whiskey,” Roz
suggested. “It’ll do wonders for your nerves.”
The hallway air brightened and
shimmered. When it cleared, Titania, Queen of Faerie, shook floor-length
silvery hair out of her ice blue eyes and pushed it over her shoulders. A
diaphanous gown, more jewels than fabric, floated around her tall, thin frame.
“Is there some problem?” she inquired with asperity, and her gaze zeroed in on
Colleen.
Colleen half curtseyed.
Roz considered it, but didn’t because
Titania wasn’t her queen.
“No problem at all.” Colleen inclined
her head. “We were just on our way.”
The Queen of Faerie’s severe
expression softened. “Thank the goddess. For a minute there, I was afraid you
were going to break Duncan’s heart.” She strode forward and thumped Colleen’s
chest with a bony forefinger. “If you ever hurt that boy, I’ll hunt you down
and make you very sorry.”
“That boy—” Colleen held the queen’s
gaze “—is a thousand-year-old man.”
Titania furled her perfect silver
brows. “Details. Besides, it’s rude to contradict me. Privilege of age and rank
and all that. Let’s go. I haven’t performed a marriage in centuries. I’m quite
looking forward to it.”
Colleen’s eyes widened. “I thought
Naomi, the leader of this Coven, was going to join Duncan and me.”
“We both have roles to play.” Titania’s
mouth twitched. “Surely you didn’t think I’d let one of my own be bound in
marriage without my magic involved.”
“I have no idea what I thought,”
Colleen managed, but she looked ready to throttle the queen.
Before things got any tenser and
Colleen started in about it being her wedding, Roz herded them out the door and
down the hallway. Colleen stopped for a moment at the head of the stairway,
tension rolling off her in waves.
Roz wrapped an arm around her. “It
will be fine,” she whispered. “Just fine.” After a quick hug, she let go.
As if those six words did the trick—or
maybe it was the hug—Colleen swept down the long, curved staircase, looking
regal. Roz, Jenna, and Titania jostled one another as they made their way down
the twenty-five steps. Bubba made an end run around them and fell in behind
Colleen, where he picked up her lace train.
They marched through the dining area
where caterers and witches bustled about laying out a spread of food that
smelled delicious, into a large, luxurious room that took up much of the bottom
floor of the old Victorian. At one point, they’d talked about having the
ceremony outside, but the weather put the kibosh on that idea. Roz wondered why
they’d wasted their breath even considering an out-of-doors event. It was the
winter solstice in Seattle. She bet there’d never been one when it wasn’t
raining like crazy—or snowing.
Chairs lined the wood-paneled great
room, and a fire burned merrily in a huge stone fireplace that took up one end
of the sumptuous space. Old-fashioned chandeliers were festooned with hundreds
of blazing candles. Witches sat on one side of a center aisle, Daoine Sidhe on
the other. Roz guessed between three and four hundred people were in
attendance—more Sidhe than witches. Everyone turned in their seats to stare at
Colleen, and a collective aaaaah surged through the room.
Roz clamped down on a grin. Colleen
really did make a lovely bride, with her Irish complexion and red tresses. The
creamy lace dress was perfect. White would have made her look washed out.
Titania strode around all of them and took her place at the head of the room.
Roz noted with amusement that Naomi held her ground when Titania tried to push
her to one side.
Before she and Jenna left Colleen to
find their seats, her gaze landed on Duncan—Lord Regis—and her heart nearly
stopped. All Sidhe had an ethereal beauty, but Duncan practically glowed.
Dressed in a black tuxedo with a crimson cummerbund and diamond studs, he cut
an impressive figure with his high forehead, sculpted cheekbones, and strong
jaw. Longish blond hair had been braided in tight rows, but the severe style
suited him and make him look like an ancient warrior.
Roz averted her gaze, afraid he’d
catch her staring, but he only had eyes for his bride. She said a quick prayer
asking the goddess’s blessing on their union and turned toward the witches’
side of the room.
Because Ronin came up from her other
side, she didn’t notice the Sidhe leader until he wove an arm around her
shoulders. “I saved you a chair next to me.”
Her heart slammed into double-time
rhythm. She’d met Ronin two weeks before at his castle in northern England, and
they’d shared several spirited conversations over meals. Something magical and
electric had sparked between them, but she’d chalked it up to everyone’s
emotions running full tilt. She’d just escaped demons by the skin of her teeth,
and he was dealing with shame or guilt—or whatever he felt—about forcing
witches into being demon assassins two centuries before. While his
attentiveness had been welcome—and more than a little flattering—she’d been
more focused on her relief at being alive than anything else. Besides, after
the Oklahoman, she’d sworn off men—forever.
Ronin smiled, not looking anything but
glad to see her, and her heart did a funny little flip-flop, in addition to
beating much too fast. Dark hair hung loose to his shoulders, and his blue eyes
twinkled warmly. Every bit as handsome as Duncan, he was dressed in formal
clothing, black with a blue cummerbund, and what might have been ruby studs.
“I can’t,” she whispered. “I’m
supposed to sit over there.” She gestured in the general direction of the
witches’ side of the room.
“No one will notice,” he assured her
and hooked his hand beneath her arm.
Roz didn’t fully understand why she
let him guide her to a padded straight-backed chair near the front of the room
and help her into it, but there was something irresistible about his energy.
Too late, she recognized a mild compulsion spell. Anger spiked, but now wasn’t
the place to give in to it. With every shred of self-discipline at her
disposal, she forced her attention to Duncan and Colleen reciting their vows,
and to Naomi, who’d muscled her way in before Titania could get rolling.
When Ronin draped an arm around her
shoulders, she shot him a harsh look that made him move it damned fast. Good,
she thought. It’s about time the Sidhe realize their days of pushing witches
around are over. Yes, he was gorgeous, and he seemed interested in her, but the
last thing she needed was some overbearing mage mucking things up. She still
wasn’t quite certain how Colleen’s marriage to Duncan would impact her and
Jenna. They’d always been kind of like The Three Musketeers, demon style. The
permanent addition of a Sidhe was bound to have some effect. Exactly what was
hard to gauge.
Who am I kidding? We didn’t just get
Duncan. We’re stuck with his kinfolk now too. All of them.
She bit back a sigh. If the series of
meetings a couple of weeks before in the U.K. was any indication, she, Jenna,
and Colleen would have to fight to be recognized as anything remotely close to
equal.
Roz snuck a glance at Ronin. He sat
straight in his seat, his profile heartbreakingly beautiful. His long-fingered
hands were clasped together in his lap. She couldn’t stop herself from
wondering what they’d feel like stroking her body. Warm. Electric. Compelling.
Maybe I should give him a chance, a
tiny, inner voice piped up.
Bosh.
Roz tried for a stern note, but the
other part of her brain wouldn’t shut up.
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Author Info
Ann Gimpel is a national bestselling author.
A lifelong aficionado of the unusual, she began writing speculative fiction a
few years ago. Since then her short fiction has appeared in a number of
webzines and anthologies. Her longer books run the gamut from urban fantasy to
paranormal romance. Once upon a time, she nurtured clients, now she nurtures
dark, gritty fantasy stories that push hard against reality. When she’s not
writing, she’s in the backcountry getting down and dirty with her camera. She’s
published over 30 books to date, with several more planned for 2016 and beyond.
A husband, grown children, grandchildren and wolf hybrids round out her family.
Author Links:
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