Michelle Krys - Hexed

“And you’re deadly afraid of vultures and everyone knows it,” Bishop chimes in, then takes another huge bite of burger. “You’re a liability.”

Jezebel lets out a little snort of derision.

“I’m sorry,” Bishop says.

She tilts her chin up. “Don’t be. It’s not true.”

“Okay, so why don’t you explain to me why the Family didn’t help us when they had a chance at recovering the Bible?” Bishop wipes ketchup from his chin with his sleeve, a thing only a guy would do.

Jezebel’s quiet a moment before she speaks. “B-because they couldn’t risk it, knowing they could get killed. Did you see the Priory’s numbers back there?”

“So they sent you alone?” Bishop asks, incredulous. “And they sent me alone, in the first place, to bring back our most important relic, when sorcerers were following our every move?”

“They trusted me,” Jezebel spits, but her voice cracks with emotion. It’s probably the first time I’ve ever felt remotely bad about anything to do with Jezebel. And it will probably be the last.

“They didn’t help,” Bishop continues, “because the real Bible was never missing.”

Dishes clank in the restaurant’s kitchen.

“Forget about this,” Jezebel says. “I’m out of here.”

“Oh, come on, Jez.” Bishop reaches out to grab her arm but misses when she recoils. “Don’t feel bad,” he calls after her. “It’s not just you they don’t care about. The Family obviously tipped off the Priory about me getting sent to pick up the Bible. Who else would have known about my mission except them?”

The bell jangles, and the restaurant door swings closed behind her.

Bishop gives himself a whole-body shake and settles back against his seat.

“She helped me back there, you know,” I say quietly. It’s the closest I’m willing to come to saying anything positive about her after she left my mom to die at the hands of the Priory.

He takes another bite of his burger before standing. “She’ll be fine. She just needs to cool off.”

I force a little smile and stand. “I don’t blame her for being mad, though. I’d be pretty pissed too.”

“She’ll get over it. Trust me.”

I hope it’s true.

Bishop links arms with me and leads me outside. The Sunset Strip is its typical just-after-bar-close self, teeming with sidewalk traffic so dense it competes with the cars clogging the street. Palm trees sway in the light cast by the neon signs of the clubs; music and high heels and cell-phone chatter fill the night. But when Bishop looks down at me, it’s like we’re the only two people around.

He pulls me against his side. “So, I guess life is going to be pretty boring without people trying to kill us every day.”

I laugh, putting my arm around Bishop’s waist. “I’ll take boring.”

A panhandler jangles a cup of change, and Bishop tosses a few large bills into his tin without pausing. “Where to?” he asks me.

My first thought is home, but then I remember Aunt Penny. She’s a witch. There was a Blackwood spell on the fake Bible, and she knew how to break it. I don’t know what it all means, why she lied to me and didn’t help me when my life was in danger. I just know that I don’t trust her, and I can’t go home until I figure it all out.

“Your place, I guess,” I say.

Bishop looks down at me, grinning like a madman.

“I don’t mean it like that.” I punch him in the gut, but I’m laughing now. “I just need a place to stay for a while, until I figure some things out.”

“I think I can help you with that.”

When I look up at him, I expect to see a smirk, but instead I find that same hunger in his dark eyes. Something in the air changes, and suddenly his warm body presses me up against the stucco side of the nearest building, and his lips crush against mine hard and fast. I kiss him back just as urgently, because I’ve wanted this for so long and it seems I don’t know how to do anything without immediacy, without the threat of death looming over me. And then his fingers curl into my hair and his kiss becomes achingly deep and slow, because we’re safe for now, and we have all the time in the world.

“So does this mean you’re my girlfriend?” he asks huskily when he pulls away for air and my insides are the consistency of melted butter.

“Hmm.” I look up for a moment, as if considering. “Okay. But only if Betty gets herself a bikini.” I brush my fingers along the naked Betty Boop tattoo on his neck. “No way I’m dating someone with a pair of boobs on his neck.”

A smile blooms across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes and making laugh lines sprout up around his mouth. “Technically, the boobs are on my collarbone, but it’s a deal.”

I smile too and pull him into another kiss.

It’s not like everything is perfect, or ever will be again, but right at this moment, pressed against Bishop’s warm body, everything is okay. And I’ll take okay.

“Should we call a cab or just conjure one?” he asks after I’ve released him.

I instantly remember my promise to Paige. “Oh shit, my phone.” Somewhere between being chased by a dragon and sloshing through the L.A. sewer system, I lost my purse.

“Not a problem,” Bishop says, winking at me. He holds out his hand, and a small silver phone materializes in his palm.

I smirk at my boyfriend before snatching it up and dialing Paige’s number. It rings eight times before going to voice mail.

“Weird,” I mumble, and dial it again.

Voice mail.

“What’s going on?” Bishop asks.

“I don’t know. She’s not answering.”

I remember the missed call from Paige earlier. At the same moment I remember that she left a message, and frantically dial the number to reach my cell phone’s voice mail. Soon, answering-machine lady speaks to me in her irritatingly monotone voice.

“You have one new message, left yesterday at nine-forty-five p.m.” Static plays through the speaker, and then …

“Hello, Indigo.”

Leo.

I gasp.

“I’m here with your friend Paige, and you know, even though you and I have had our problems in the past, I can agree with you on this one thing: she is an absolute doll. ” There are muffled moans in the background. Someone grunts, and the sound of china shattering pierces through the phone. When Leo speaks again, his cool confidence is gone, and his voice is cut with an edge of hostility. “I was really hoping you’d come by and join us, but since you’re not answering your phone, I think we’ll just have to come to you.”

Four Hours Ago

Iblink my eyes open. At first I see nothing but darkness, but when my eyes adjust I find that I’m in a small room. The muted bass of club music thumps above me, vibrating the wooden beams of the low ceiling. A slow, aching pulse pounds against my skull, and when I swallow, my throat burns as though I’ve just put away a whole pack of cigarettes. I rub my temple, racking my brain for a clue—something, anything—about where I am or how I got here. Think, Paige. Think. With a jolt I recall the man with the scarred face. Remember his threats, his scary obsession with Indie, him pushing me into the backseat of the car.

And then nothing.

My heart races, panic setting up camp in my chest. I need to get out of here.

My eyes lock on a thin strip of pale light I hadn’t noticed before, illuminating the edge of a door. Swallowing, I push myself to my feet, my muscles complaining against the movements. My head drains of blood when I stand and I nearly pass out, but I hold out my arms and soon the world stops swaying. I take a hesitant step forward. Then another.