The Problem With Witches Read online

  “Two?”

  When I put my empty water glass down, a gritty, dirty handprint is imprinted on it: a souvenir of one of the disasters. I have a sick feeling that the other disaster is going to be far worse.

  Ratticus has already suffered. First he watched Sylvia being killed, then he had to relive her death when he shared the memory with me. Then we were attacked by monster dogs trying to kill us. After all that, he deserves a quiet, peaceful life.

  But I have to face up to what I’ve done to him.

  I walk into the living room, forcing myself to look at his cardboard box in the corner. Or rather, to where his cardboard box used to be. It’s torn into several pieces, which are scattered across the floor, together with his food and water. His wheel lies on its side by the couch, still turning in slow circles.

  But where’s Ratticus?

  Xander makes a strangled sound. “What the—?”

  Chapter Two

  I follow Xander’s horrified gaze to the large stack of paint tins in the corner of the room.

  Crouched behind them is a monster.

  Ratticus still has the body of a rat, but now he’s the size of a dog. And not a Chihuahua, either. More like a… well, like a Labrador. Some of my earth magic must have still been tangled in with my animal magic. He’s sitting up on his hind legs, scratching his stomach and studying us.

  “Shit,” I whisper. Then I raise my voice. “Ratticus? You okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”

  Ratticus focuses on me, and his nose twitches. “You,” he squeaks in a high, reedy voice.

  “Did you hear that?” I mutter the question to Xander out of the corner of my mouth. “That wasn’t a word, was it? Please tell me it was a perfectly normal rat noise.”

  Xander’s mouth is hanging open. He closes it and swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “It sounded like a word.” His shocked expression mirrors the way I feel.

  I gulp down a rush of panic. “Ratticus, did you just speak?”

  The rat blinks. “Speak.” The word is high-pitched, but clear.

  “Did he say squeak? He said squeak, right?” I don’t know why I’m hoping Ratticus is just squeaking in English instead of rat language now. It’s the thinnest of straws, but one I’m desperate to clutch.

  Xander shakes his head. “You said talking rats were ridiculous. Remember? You said he’d need a bigger brain—”

  “I remember.” I don’t want him to repeat our conversation in front of Ratticus, in case he now understands English. “I must have still had that in my mind when the animal magic was released, and it picked up on it.” I give him a pointed look. “You said you’d seen stranger things than talking rats.”

  “I may have been mistaken.” Xander scratches his chin. “So now you need to do another spell to turn him back to normal.”

  I press my lips together. Xander doesn’t seem to understand how unlikely it is for any spell I do to go well. Watching me remove the chicken spell from Agnes has given him false expectations. I’d have thought watching me mess this spell up so badly might disillusion him, but apparently when it comes to my magic, his glasses have a stubbornly rose-colored hue.

  “Hey,” calls a voice from the top of the stairs. “Is everything okay? I was in the shower and heard some weird noises.”

  Jess. My roommate. Also, my best friend. Who doesn’t know about witches or magic. Or giant talking rats.

  After she’s been out playing gigs with her band, she usually puts in ear plugs and sleeps late. If only she’d stayed in bed a little longer today.

  I rush to the bottom of the stairs, flapping my hands at Xander in the hopes he understands what I’m trying to communicate. Somehow, we have to keep Jess from seeing Ratticus.

  “It was nothing.” I force a smile that I hope looks casual. “No need to come down. We’re fine.”

  Jess is dressed in her normal jeans and T-shirt, but has a towel wrapped around her wet hair. “Who’s we?” she asks, starting down the stairs.

  I look over to where Xander is herding Ratticus through the hall and into the laundry, and let out a sigh of relief. He must have understood my frantic hand gestures.

  “Ah. Just me. And Xander. But there’s no problem here. We’re fine. No problem at all.” I sound ridiculously guilty, like a cartoon villain, and I have an overpowering urge to smack myself on the forehead. But I’m too busy watching Xander push the giant rat into the laundry to be coherent.

  He manages to get the door shut just as Jess reaches the bottom of the stairs. Then he leans against the door, his expression innocent.

  Jess gives Xander a knowing look, as though his presence is the reason I’m acting so weird. “Hello, detective. You’re visiting early. Or did you stay the night?” Before either of us can answer, she frowns, her gaze going from me to Xander and back again. “A bit early for Halloween, isn’t it? What have you two been rolling around in?”

  I exchange a glance with Xander. He’s covered in dust. His clothes, his face, his hair, his eyebrows, and even his eyelashes are all light gray. He looks like a ghost.

  I run my hand over my own hair and release a cloud of dust that makes me cough. Guess we’re both ghosts.

  “Xander was helping me decorate the courtyard,” I say, making up a story off the top of my head. “I had an idea to give it a whole new look, but it turned out to be a dirty job.”

  “Oh-kay.” She shakes her head, and I can tell she doesn’t believe a word I just said. “Has all that hard work given you an appetite? I was thinking of making waffles.”

  I glance at Xander. “Thanks, Jess, but we already ate.” Although, after all the meals we’ve missed over the last few days, I could do with some extra food. Spells are exhausting and I feel weak from the one I just did.

  But we don’t have time for more breakfast. Not with Ratticus in the laundry, and the council’s deadline ticking quickly away.

  Xander brushes at his filthy clothes and grimaces. “Mind if I wash up?”

  As soon as he disappears up the stairs, Jess turns to me with wide, excited eyes, and makes a muffled screaming sound. “The hot detective stayed the night, didn’t he? I want to know everything. Did he conduct a full and proper investigation of your body? Did you use handcuffs? How many times did he take you down to the station?” She uses her fingers to add quote marks to the last bit, as though I can’t tell she’s making up very lame euphemisms for sex.

  I hold up both hands. “It wasn’t like that. Nothing happened. We didn’t even make it up to the bedroom.”

  “What? Why not?”

  I shrug, wishing I could tell her the truth. “We were talking and fell asleep on the couch.”

  Her mouth drops open and she puts both hands on her hips. “You fell asleep on the couch?” she repeats in the same horrified tone she might use to describe a murder.

  “We were tired.” I’m trying not to sound defensive, but it’s difficult when Jess is looking at me with such a shocked expression. “Anyway, what about you?” I ask. “Shouldn’t something have happened between you and Mikey by now?”

  Mikey’s the bass player in The Flaming Buttholes. He and Jess have had crazy chemistry for years.

  “Don’t try to change the subject.” She shakes her head sadly, as though I’ve let her down. “Seriously, it’s about time you hooked up with someone nice, and it’s obvious how much he likes you. He looks at you like he’s a hungry lion and you’re a fat goat with a broken leg.”

  I grimace at the graphic image. “Can we not talk about this anymore. Please?”

  “Talk about what?”

  I turn to see Xander coming back down the stairs, his face now clean, but his clothes still dusty.

  I’m opening my mouth to say something that will distract him from his question when a tingling sensation ripples through my body. I taste something metallic and nasty in the back of my throat.

  Before I have time to think about what I’m doing, I find myself striding toward the front door.

  "Where are you going?" asks Xander.

  I force my legs to stop and look back at him in confusion. “I’m not sure.” The compulsion to keep walking to the door is getting stronger and stronger.

  I’m not in control of my body any more. A putrid smell fills my nose, and I feel a slimy presence in the magic that’s tingling against my skin.

  A single red thread of magic extends from my chest to the door, and it’s tugging at me, pulling me outside.

  The Unseen.

  He’s cast a spell on me. He’s forcing me to walk out of the house.

  But how could he—?

  Sudden realization squeezes my heart with fear. He must be using the blood in my mother's ring to summon me. Why, oh why, did I ever let him take it?

  I can’t let him control me.

  Clenching my fists, I grit my teeth and plant my feet on the ground, refusing to move although the compulsion is still pulling me.

  Pain erupts in my chest. It's like a blunt axe is splitting my body in two.

  I gasp, turning to Xander and Jess. I want to tell them what’s happening and ask for help. But I can’t. Jess has no idea about any of this, and if Xander finds out, he’ll insist on coming with me. I can’t let the Unseen find out the demon’s moved in to Xander’s body and is making itself at home. When the dark witch talked about Jeqabeel, there was a disturbing note of admiration in his voice. He’d find a way to take advantage of the demon being inside Xander, I’m sure of it.

  No, I have to keep Xander away from him at all costs.

  “Are you okay, Saff?” Xander takes the rest of the stairs two at a time.

  “I’m fine.” I manage to sound casual, though the compulsion to leave is too strong to control. "I just remembered that I need to head out for a little while. Sorry. I
’ll be back soon.” As soon as I take a step toward the door, the pain in my chest eases a little.

  “Now?” Jess’s brow wrinkles with confusion. “You’re going out all dirty?”

  “Won’t be long.” Still walking, I shoot a reassuring smile over my shoulder, trying to pretend everything’s normal. But my stomach is turning itself inside out and my mind is whirling.

  I have less than forty-one hours to figure out how to save Xander. What if the Unseen kills me, or keeps me prisoner? What if I can’t get away from him?

  Should I really just walk out the door like nothing’s wrong, when I might never see Jess or Xander again?

  "Wait, Saffy.” Xander follows me down the hallway to the door. “What's the matter? Tell me where you’re going."

  I bite the inside of my cheeks, forcing myself not to spill the beans. Last time we saw the Unseen, he called Xander a cockroach and asked if he could keep him. If I face the dark witch alone and find out what he wants, there’s a chance I’ll be able to get away quickly. But if Xander comes, I won’t be able to protect him.

  “I can’t explain right now.” I manage to get the words out almost normally. “But have waffles with Jess and I'll be back as soon as I can.” I open the door, giving him another fake smile even as the pain in my chest increases again.

  “I need to leave after breakfast,” calls Jess. “I have band practice.”

  “If I’m not back by then, Xander will be okay here on his own. Right, Xander?” I shut the door without waiting for his answer and hurry to my pickup truck.

  I can’t fight the Unseen’s spell, and I don’t have time to waste. Not with the clock running down on Xander’s life.

  Chapter Three

  Pulling up outside the Unseen’s house, I vow to get my mother’s ring back. It has to be the reason he can summon me like this. I should never have given it to him in the first place. Not that I had much of a choice.

  The compulsion that pushes me out of my truck feels painful, like a million biting ants crawling over my body. I can still see the red strand of magic that’s pulling me into the Unseen’s house. It sucks that he can use my family's blood against me.

  Stumbling toward his sweet-looking home—with its flowers, gnomes, and perfectly mowed lawn—makes bile rise in my throat. I keep trying to stop and turn back, but the closer I get to the Unseen, the stronger his summoning spell seems to get.

  The defence wards the Unseen has around his house snag me briefly, sending the same unpleasant sensation over my skin as last time. But they release me quickly, and the front door creaks open before I can reach it.

  He’s expecting me, after all.

  The hallway is empty, but I know the Unseen is in his basement because the thread of magic is leading me in that direction. My feet feel like they’re operating without me, but I force them to stop at the top of the stairs that lead down to the basement. My heart pounds hard and my stomach contracts as I stare down into the black stairwell. The stench of his dark magic crawls up the stairs and infects my nostrils.

  "Come, my dear. There's no point hesitating." The Unseen's grating voice floats up the stairs.

  I take a deep breath, then another. I can do this. I'm strong.

  Walking down the steps into inky blackness, I ignore the way my legs shake. The Unseen is standing beside his spell table at the back of the room, studying an open grimoire. He’s bent and wizened, and his thin hair hangs dankly over his knobbly skull. The room is hot, and there are several bowls on his table filled with liquids. One is clearly full of blood, one smells like cat pee, and the other looks like it could be a bowl of porridge.

  Behind the Unseen, an enormous stone statue looms. It’s a horned creature with a hideously deformed head and a sinuous, eight-legged body. As ugly as it is, it’s still better looking than the Unseen. His skin is even grayer than the last time I saw it and his face is covered with scabs, like he’s been picking at his collection of sores. He’s thin and bent over, with an old man’s hunched posture.

  I take a step forward, my hands clenched into fists. "What do you want?" I snarl.

  The Unseen smiles, displaying his rotten teeth. The ones that aren’t missing are sharpened to points. For a moment, I can't help staring; his mouth is a car wreck and I'm rubber necking. Then I wrinkle my nose with disgust and drag my gaze away.

  “I want information.” His voice is smug, and it’s clear how much he’s enjoying having me at his mercy.

  “Information about what?”

  “About Jeqabeel, of course.”

  “I don’t know anything. And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

  “Let me show you what I can do." He dips his index finger into his bowl of blood and draws a rune on the back of his hand. Quick and simple, the rune is a splash of brilliant red against the dull white of his skin. The magic glows red over his hand, and then more strands of magic curl toward me. I can’t move back. The wisps of magic creep over me like fingers. Painful pins and needles erupt wherever they come in contact with my skin.

  And just like that, my feet start moving again on their own, walking closer to him. Inside I'm yelling at them, ordering them to stop. But my body isn’t my own.

  A horrible compulsion to kiss the Unseen overcomes me. My lips purse, even as my stomach clenches in sick horror. I can't even make a noise, the scream I want to let out is trapped inside me. I’m really going to do it. I’m going to fasten my lips over his disgusting sewer of a mouth, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it.

  But before I can reach him, the Unseen holds up the back of his hand with a gloating smirk, displaying the fact that half his pinky finger is missing. He wipes off the rune, smearing the blood with his fingers, and the compulsion to kiss him drops away.

  I step back quickly, rubbing one shaking hand over my face. I feel like puking down the front of his stinking, old-man clothes. "If you ever do that again, I’ll kill you."

  His nasty smirk widens. “Then tell me what I want to know.”

  “Compulsion spells need strong animal magic. How are you doing this?” He’s an archivist, which means he can dabble with every type of magic, but only a witch with natural animal magic ability should be able to cast a spell that strong.

  He tsks. “Your laws don’t apply to me, Sapphira.”

  I flick a glance to the enormous bookshelves that cover the walls, with hundreds of books stacked inside them. The grimoires tremble with power, and he obviously studies their spells. I’m not entirely sure how dark magic works, but I know it gives him incredible power. He can probably do all kinds of things he shouldn’t be able to.

  One thing for sure, I’m not going tell him the demon’s stuck inside Xander. Nor that the Blood Council made me drink their blood, joining me with them. Nor that my magic has been set free.

  I press my lips into a tight line. It might not be easy to keep all that from him, but the less he knows, the better.

  “I don’t know anything about Jeqabeel,” I say in a firm voice.

  “There’s also something else you can give me.”

  “The number of a good dentist?”

  His face twists into a snarl. “I want the grimoire.”

  I look at him like I’m confused, but of course I know the one he means. The dark magic grimoire, written by the suicidal idiot who summoned Jeqabeel into our dimension in the first place. I wish I’d never shown the Unseen that damn book.

  He narrows his eyes, hovering his fingers threateningly over his bowl of blood. “Don’t play games with me. I can make you do things that will give you nightmares for the rest of your life.”

  I resist the urge to tell him his face has already done that. “Why do you want the grimoire?”

  “It’s becoming apparent that Jeqabeel has been unleashed. There are now only two options open to us all. Either side with the demon, or die.” To illustrate the two options, he waves his hand from one side to the other in front of him. As the collar of his shirt moves, I catch a glimpse of a faint red light glowing from underneath it.

  With a shock I realize what it is. My mother's ring is on a chain around his neck. Her blood is encased in a crystal orb, and it’s giving off a soft red glow.

  “You want to help the demon?” My anger surges. Why the hell would anyone want to side with the thing that killed my parents and Sylvia? My magic rises as well, boiling hot and looking for release.