Ким Харрисон - Every Witch Way But Dead

"Old habits die hard," he mocked.

Bile bubbled up. Even now she was his. "Leave her alone," I snarled.

From nowhere, a white-gloved hand struck me. I spun into the counter, jaw burning. Gasping, I hunched over it with my hair falling about my face. I was getting tired of this.

"Don't hit her!" Ceri said, her voice high and virulent.

"Does it bother you?" he said lightly. "Pain moves her more than fear. Which is good—pain keeps a person alive longer than fear."

My hurt turned to anger. Eyebrows high, he dared me to protest as I found my breath. His goat eyes slid to the head-sized vat he had brought with him. "Let's get started, shall we?"

I looked at the pot, recognizing the brew by the smell. It was the one to make a person into a familiar. Fear chilled me, and I wrapped my arms about myself. "I'm already coated with your aura," I said. "Making me take more isn't going to make a difference."

"I didn't ask for your opinion."

I sprang back as he moved. Grinning, he extended the basket that had appeared in his hand. I could smell wax. "Set the candles," he ordered, amused at my quick reaction.

"Rachel…" Ceri whispered, but I couldn't look at her. I had promised to be his familiar, and now I would be. Miserable, my thoughts went to Ivy as I set the milky green candles at the spots marked by black nail polish. Why couldn't I make good choices?

My grip on the last candle trembled. It had gouges on it, as if something had tried to break the circle by going through it. Something with big nasty claws.

"Rachel!" Al barked, and I jumped. "You didn't set them with their place names."

Still holding the last candle, I stared blankly. Past him, Ceri nervously licked her lips.

"You don't know their place names," Al added, and I shook my head, not wanting to be hit again, but Al only sighed. "I'll set them myself when I light them," he grumbled, his pale face taking on a ruddy tinge. "I expected more of you than this. Apparently you've been spending most of your time with earth magic, neglecting your ley line arts."

"I'm an earth witch," I said. "Why would I bother?"

Ceri jerked as Al threatened to smack me again, her almost translucent hair swirling. "Let her go, Algaliarept. You don't want her for a familiar."

"Offering to take her place?" he mocked, and I took a fearful breath that she might.

"No!" I shouted, and he laughed.

"Don't fret, Rachel, love," he crooned, and I flinched when he ran a gloved finger across my jawline, tracing the path down my arm to my hand to take the last candle from me. "I keep my familiars until something better comes along, and despite you being as ignorant as a frog, you're capable of holding almost twice the line energy that she can." He leered. "Lucky you."

Clapping his white-gloved hands once, he spun to make his coattails furl. "Now. Watch closely, Rachel. You'll be lighting my candles tomorrow. These are words that move mortals and gods alike, making all equal and capable of keeping my circle whole against even Newt."

Swell.

"Salax," he said as he lit the first candle from the pencil-thick red taper that had appeared in his gloved hand. "Aemulatio," he said as he lit the second. "Adfictatio, cupidus, and my favorite, inscitia," he said as he lit the last one. Smiling, the still-glowing taper vanished. I felt him tap a line, and with a translucent swirl of red and black, his circle rose to arch closed over our heads. My skin prickled from its strength, and I clasped my arms about myself.

These are a few of my favorite things, I heard patter through my mind, and I stifled a hysterical giggle. I was going to be a demon's familiar. There was no way out of it now.

Al's head jerked up at the ugly choking sound, and Ceri's face went still. "Algaliarept," she pleaded. "You're pushing her too hard. Her will is too strong to bend easily."

"I'll break my familiars the way I see fit," he said calmly. "A little grounding, and she'll be as right as rain in the desert." One hand on his hip and the other cupping his chin, he eyed me speculatively. "Time for your bath, love."

Algaliarept snapped his fingers with a showman's flair. His hand opened, and a cedar-slatted bucket appeared hanging from it. My eyes widened as he threw its contents at me.

Cold water smacked into me. My breath whooshed out in an affronted yelp. It was saltwater, stinging my eyes and dribbling into my mouth. Reality washed through me, clearing my head. He was making sure I didn't have any potions in me to contaminate the coming spell. "I don't use potions, you big green turd!" I shouted, shaking my arms in my sodden sleeves.

"See?" Al was clearly pleased. "All better."

The slight ache of my ribs intruded as my pain charm broke. Most of the water was soaking my spell book library. If I survived this, I'd have to air them all out. What a jerk.

"Ooooh, your eye is doing nicely," he said as he reached forward to touch it. "Eating your roommate's Brimstone, are we? Wait until you try the real stuff. It will knock your socks off."

I jerked back when his gloved hand brushed my skin with the scent of lavender, but Al's hand dropped lower to grasp my hair. Shrieking, I swung my foot up. He caught it, moving faster than I could follow. Ceri watched in pity as I fought, helpless. Holding my foot high, he forced me against the counter. His glasses had been knocked aside, and he smiled at me with a domineering delight. "The hard way," he whispered. "Marvelous."

"No!" I exclaimed as a pair of sheers suddenly glinted in his hand.

"Hold still," he said, dropping my foot and pinning me against the counter.

I wiggled and spit at him, but he had me against the counter and I could do nothing. I panicked as I heard metal sheering. He let go by turning misty, and I fell to the floor.

Hand clutching my hair, I scrambled to my feet. "Stop it! Just stop it!" I shouted, alternating my attention between his glee and the chunk he had cut from my hair. Damn it, it was at least four inches long. "Do you know how long it takes to grow my hair out!"

Al gave Ceri a sidelong glance as the scissors disappeared and he dropped my hair into the potion. "She's worried about her hair?"

My gaze shot to the red strands floating on top of Al's brew, and as I stood there in my soggy sweater, I went cold. That vat of potion wasn't for Al to give me more of his aura. It was for me giving him mine. "Oh, hell no!" I exclaimed, backing up. "I'm not giving you my aura!"

Al plucked a ceramic spoon from the rack hanging over the center island counter and pushed the strands of hair down. He had a refined elegance in his velvet and lace, every inch of him as trim and debonair as inhumanly possible. "Is that a refusal, Rachel?" he murmured. "Please tell me it was?"

"No," I whispered. There was nothing I could do. Nothing.

His smile went wider. "Now your blood to quicken it, love."

Pulse pounding, I looked from the needle between his finger and thumb to the vat. If I ran, I was his. If I did this, he could use me through the lines. Damn, damn, and double damn.

Numbing my thoughts, I took the tarnished silver needle. My mouth went dry as its heavy weight filled my grip. It was as long as my palm and elaborately tooled. The tip was copper so the silver wouldn't interfere with the charm. Peering closer, I felt my stomach turn. There was a naked twisted body writhing around the barrel. "God save me," I whispered.

"He's not listening. He's too busy."

I stiffened. Al had come up behind me and was whispering in my ear.

"Finish the potion, Rachel." His breath was hot on my cheek, and I couldn't move as he pulled my hair back. A shudder rippled through me as he tilted his head and bent closer. "Finish it…" he breathed, his lips brushing my skin. I could smell starch and lavender.