Anya Bast - Witch Fury

Theo looked up from her photos. “After her mother died what happened to her?” “She didn’t have any extended family to take her, so she went into foster care. She went to a couple of different families before finding one woman whom she stayed with until she was of age. They were very close. In fact, she’d just come home from burying her foster mother when Stefan snatched her.” Theo gazed down at Sarafina’s smiling face. In all the photos she was laughing and smiling, yet she’d had such tragedy in her life.

“Bastard,” said Isabelle under her breath. “So Sarafina probably didn’t know what the hell she was until Stefan showed her. Sounds like her mother didn’t accept her power, then offed herself accidentally when Sarafina was just a child. There were no other blood relatives and the father disappeared when she was just a baby. Sarafina’s foster mother was a non-magickal, right?” Micah nodded.

Isabelle pushed off the desk and walked toward them, her expression thoughtful. “So she’s one of the few out there who made it to adulthood without knowing who they truly are.” It happened sometimes, witches slipping through the cracks, though it was uncommon. The only one Theo knew personally was Mira McAllister. Her parents had been air witches sacrificed in a demon circle by William Crane, Stefan’s father and once the head of the Duskoff. Mira’s aunt had raised her with strict instructions from Mira’s parents to keep her witchiness a secret. All that had changed once the Duskoff got wind of her status as a rare and powerful air witch. They’d wanted to sacrifice her in a demon circle, but had ended up with more than they’d bargained for.

Theo looked back down at the pictures. “She’s strong. You can feel it radiating off her in waves. It’s uncontrolled, but the intensity is there.” “I know what you’re thinking,” Micah answered. “You’re thinking that’s why Stefan seemed to be paying extra attention to her, because she’s kicking powerful.” He shook his shaggy head. “I don’t think that’s the reason why.” “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Judging from her mother combusting like she did, she had to be really powerful, too.” “There are lots of powerful fire witches in the world,” Micah answered. “It doesn’t mean His Majesty, Stefan Faucheux, would want to spend personal time with them. I’ll do some more digging and see what I can come up with.” “In the meantime, let her go. Send her to me, Theo,” said Isabelle. “I’ll smooth things over with her a little and then send her home.” He turned and glared at her. “What makes you think I can’t smooth things over with her?” She made a scoffing sound. “Uh-huh. No offense, but you lack skill in the diplomacy department. Better send her to me. I can only imagine how you’ve treated her. I heard all about the run through the cornfield. In hindsight that was pretty brutal, wasn’t it? She probably hates your guts.” Theo thought back to the conversation he’d had with Sarafina the night before. How she’d asked him to tell her about the world she’d fallen into and how he’d rebuffed her. Isabelle’s words hit him in the solar plexus. Sarafina almost certainly did hate him.

He glanced down at the file folder. “Probably.” “Okay. We’re agreed. Un-abracadabra the earth wards on your door and send her down to me, poor woman.” Theo rose, holding the file. “I’ll go get her.” He left the room and headed to his apartment. He should be happy to be free of the woman and her yapping little dog, but tension had settled in the pit of his stomach instead. Perhaps it was because he still sensed that Sarafina — never mind the fact she was named for a kind of angel — was dangerous. Theo didn’t like the idea of releasing her. Or perhaps it was because she was, in fact, an innocent and he’d treated her so brutally. Hell, she’d been abducted just like he’d been. Maybe guilt was the reason for the tension in his gut.

He entered the apartment and found her lying on her stomach across the couch, reading one of his spell books. She’d folded the blanket and set it on the end of the couch, on top of the pillow.

Sensing something was different, he glanced around. The room was spotless. It looked like she’d even taken a dust rag to the bookshelves. A glance into the kitchen revealed the same level of cleanliness.

Damn, that was the first time he’d seen the countertops in months. His best spell pot gleamed on the stove. It looked like she’d polished it to within an inch of its life.

She glanced up at him with an annoyed look on her face and then returned to giving the book her complete attention. Grosset seemed happy to see him, at least. He bounced like a dust mop on crack at Theo’s feet, small pink tongue hanging out.

Sarafina’s hair spilled loose down her back, silky white blond against the black of the T-shirt she’d pilfered from him that morning. Her nose, long and slightly snubbed at the end, was buried deeply in the spell book, but Theo had a feeling it was all just for show. As he watched, she puckered her full lips a little and turned a page. One bare foot jiggled with irritation, toenails painted light pink. He tried really hard not to notice the luscious shape of her smooth calves where the hem of the sweatpants she wore had ridden up.

The woman really did look and act innocent, but Theo suspected that was all a show, too. Even though he wasn’t crazy about the thought of having her as a houseguest, he wished he could keep her here a little longer, long enough to ferret out her mysteries. Maybe it was better he playact now and try to make amends. If she liked him better, it would be easier for him to keep an eye on her once she left the Coven.

He stooped to pet Grosset, then rose and walked to the center of the room. “They’ve been able to sort out the people rescued from the farmhouse and there’s proof that you were abducted.” He paused a moment, hating having to admit he’d been wrong. . maybe. “You’re not a warlock.” “No kidding.” She closed the book with a thump. “I was falsely accused. I told you so.” “I know. I’m. . sorry.”

Her lips twisted and she tilted her head to the side. “Do the syllables of the words I’m sorry taste bad? You’re grimacing.” He ignored the comment. “You and I got off on the wrong foot—” “You think?” She sat up, put the spell book on the coffee table, then leaned back with her arms crossed over her chest. “Normally, I love being buried alive.” “Look, I’m sorry, all right? Sorry for everything. I was really rude to you last night and I feel bad about it, so if there’s anything you want me to tell you about—” “Everything.” She uncrossed her arms and leaned toward him, her blue eyes suddenly bright. “I feel like I’ve been transported to a foreign country and I don’t know the language or any of the customs. I feel like I’ve found a missing part of myself, a part that’s completely familiar to me, and yet totally alien at the same time.” He rolled his eyes. Gods, were they going to have to talk about their emotions? He’d rather stab himself in the eye.

“Plus—” She snapped her mouth shut. Her hands were clenched in her lap and had gone totally white. “It pisses me off that I’m admitting this to you, but I’m grieving right now.” She practically snarled the words. “Not that you care.” His heart softened a bit. Damn it . “I heard. It’s unfortunate all this is happening to you at once.” “Yes, I think that’s why I feel extra. . lost. If you could give me a compass, I’d appreciate it.” He leaned forward, bracing a hand near her shoulder on the couch, and pulled a book from the shelf behind her head, bringing his body uncomfortably close to hers. She smelled good. He’d noticed it yesterday, even under the scent of the dirt he’d tried to drown her in. It was her perfume, maybe, or the shampoo she used. Her soap? Whatever it was, it was subtle and seemingly an integral part of her. His gaze caught hers and he noticed her eyes were a little shiny. A beautiful blue. . and filled with just the lightest sheen of tears.