Jodi Redford - The Seven Year Witch

The reminder of how she’d let Logan down socked into Clarissa with all the subtlety of a two-by-four. The awful sensation intensified when she recalled how angry and hurt he’d looked before he’d turned and stalked away from her yesterday. She hadn’t seen him at all since then. Probably just as well. He needed space to cool off. And she needed time to figure out how to make things right again between them.

Plastering on a smile that she prayed didn’t appear as pained as it felt, Clarissa rose from her seat and crossed to the built-in bookshelves. She pretended to be busy searching for a particular tome, using the time to compose herself. “Our celebration had to be postponed, unfortunately. No doubt he’ll be swinging by sometime in the coming week though.” Hopefully. If he hadn’t finally decided that he’d had enough of her.

The possibility tightened the vise in her chest. She turned back around and met Jemma and Griffin’s all-too-shrewd expressions. Oh shit, had she somehow revealed too much? The last thing she needed was the entire coven knowing about her chaotic emotions where Logan was concerned. She’d never hear the end of it.

Sucking in a deep, steadying breath, she pivoted toward her desk. The clock caught her attention and a splinter of dread pierced her fragile bubble of calm as she took in the time. The rest of her burdens immediately exited stage left as the hour of her judgment glared her in the eye.

Seven years had come down to this.

It was time to face her fate.

The interior of Tatum’s was exactly as Clarissa remembered. Dark and dingy. Still, a twinge of relief scuttled through her. The dim, smoky gloom provided a modicum of obscurity. Not that she expected her mother to be working the floor tonight. And even if she was, not much chance the woman would race over, ready to dole out a hug and a smile.

A waitress who appeared to be poured into a slinky black leather halter dress tottered up to the hostess stand in her sky-high platforms. “Here for the band tonight?”

“No. I’m meeting someone. I don’t think they’re here yet, but can I grab a spot near the back?”

Responding with a nod, the waitress led Clarissa toward a vacant table a safe distance away from the smoke-filled bar. “We’re expecting a packed house tonight. Might want to put your order in now, before the kitchen gets swamped.”

She doubted her stomach would agree to the idea of food, but she accepted the grease-splattered menu anyway. Soon as the waitress wobbled off, she ditched the menu and wiped her fingers on the available paper napkin. Obviously Seven chose Tatum’s out of a twisted sense of sentimentality and not because of its two-star luxury.

Then again, dark, dismal places seemed to be Seven’s preferred hunting ground. Places where oblivion could be found in a bottle—and any soul could be bought for the right price. She was all too familiar with that last reality.

Leaning back in her seat, she watched the noisy quartet who’d wandered in off the street tromp toward the crowded bar. None of the four appeared to be old enough to drive, much less drink. Still, she doubted Tatum’s was the sort of establishment that looked too closely at their patrons’ drivers licenses.

“Foolish children, walking straight into the devil’s den.” The melodic, raspy voice managed to crack through the aura of calm Clarissa had so painstakingly worked on for the past twenty minutes, causing her shoulders to jerk. Silently berating her jumpy nerves, she tipped her gaze upward. Seven stood close enough to her chair the immense heat radiating off him nearly scorched the fine hairs on her forearm.

Truthfully, Seven wasn’t exactly a him . Or even a she . More like a conglomerate of personas that took multiple personality disorder to an extreme new level. The little she had managed to glean during her limited dealings with Seven all those years ago hadn’t shed too much light on the creature’s mysterious origins. To this day, the only thing she knew with absolute certainty was that Seven held an insatiable hunger for one thing above all else.

Souls.

Today, the creature wore the trappings of an average, everyday Joe dressed in tailored khakis and a navy polo. She was more acquainted with this personality than the others, although she’d met them all during that harrowing week seven years ago, when she’d hammered out the contract on her soul. But for whatever reason, the personality standing before her had seemed to be the one most intensely interested in her. As seemed to still be the case now, judging from the way those black, reptilian-like irises focused on her.

Seven’s head cocked to the side. “What, you don’t agree?”

It took her a moment to remember the creature’s earlier observation. “That this is the devil’s den? Or that they’re foolish children?”

Slipping on a smile that didn’t reach those cold eyes, Seven brushed by her and lowered into the neighboring seat. “Both.”

She stifled the urge to shiver as Seven watched her intently. Her overwhelming unease didn’t just stem from the fact this creature held the contract on her soul. Although that small detail certainly was enough to pump anyone with dread. No, there was also something oddly, frighteningly hypnotic about Seven. A magnetic force that simultaneously repelled and beckoned. She’d seen firsthand that power in action and how it’d lured in victims. Even so, that in no way made her immune to its draw.

Somehow she pulled her stare from Seven and glanced toward the young quartet up at the bar. “They’re teenagers. It’s a requirement to be foolish at that age.”

“Tell me, Clarissa, were you ever foolish? Or young?” Once again, that dark, fathomless gaze seared into her as if trolling her subconscious for the memories she preferred to keep submerged in the deepest recesses of her mind.

Maybe that was the secret to Seven’s allure, a telepathic skill that amounted to a twisted version of a Jedi mind trick. She battled to resist its potent pull. “We were all young once.”

“Not you. Those parents of yours made sure of that, didn’t they?”

A suffocating sense of vulnerability washed over her, and she swallowed. The interior of her mouth felt dry, gritty. She searched the table for a glass of water before remembering that the waitress had never returned for her order.

“How is your good ole pops doing these days, anyway? Perhaps I’ll stop by and say howdy, for old time’s sake.”

Her panic dissolved, replaced instantly with blistering fury. “You stay away from him.”

“Still protecting the very ones who robbed you of your youth? An admirable, if not foolish trait.” A taunting smile curled Seven’s mouth. “Deprived of youth but not foolishness. Pity, that.”

Her hands clenched in her lap. “Why did you bring me here? To amuse yourself and torment me?”

“Am I tormenting you, sweet Clarissa?”

She winced at the mocking, silken purr of Seven’s voice. Damn it, after all her talk about not showing any weakness, she blew it within the first five minutes of their meeting.

“Imagine. Me having the ability to do that to you.” Something resembling hunger flashed in the bottomless black depths of Seven’s eyes. “You who refuses to crack under any pressure. Who contains more strength and power than her entire coven combined.”

An icy sliver of fear trickled down her spine. She didn’t know which to blame more for the sensation—the intensely covetous way Seven stared at her, or hearing this strange and disturbing creature speak of her coven. There was no reason to interpret a hidden menace there, but the fine hairs standing to attention on the nape of her neck didn’t seem to agree with the assessment. She swallowed past the thick apprehension clogging her throat, desperate not to reveal her anxiety. “Flattered as I am by this conversation, I’d prefer if we just cut through the bullshit, and you tell me exactly how long I have before you call in my marker.”