Magically Bonded Read online

  A smile came to my face as my energy balanced out again. It was nice to use my warlock magic again, but I had to be careful.

  “Devon?” Kurt’s voice was tense as he called me.

  Turning, I frowned when my gaze landed on both of my bosses. They were rubbing their palms, a wince on their face. What was wrong with them?

  “Something’s… Do that again.” Kurt’s order was confusing.

  “What?” I said, holding up my hand. “Throw another ball?”

  Nodding, he gestured for me to do it. Shrugging, I did as he said, forming a bright pink magic ball this time. It was his colour; he could totally pull it off.

  “Ouch!” Justina’s cheeks turned red as she furiously rubbed her hand against her thigh.

  “Great!” Kurt shouted. “The bitch has linked us!”

  Huh?

  “Agreed,” Gerard shouted through the open door. “I just felt Devon’s warlock magic filter through me.”

  Oh, that sounded… intimate. Which wouldn’t have been a bad thing if the others weren’t also feeling my magic. Ewwww!

  “I don’t understand. How are we linked?”

  They both came to me, holding out their hands. Their palms were blistered, the skin puckered and red. Ah, okay, that was quite obvious. It was on their right hand, too. The hand I always used for warlock magic.

  “I’m… Sorry?”

  Justina shook her head. “Don’t be, it’s not your fault. Just don’t use too much magic for the time being. Same goes for us.”

  My breath sucked in as someone else’s magic wormed its way out of my fingertips. Wait, what was…?

  “Gerard, you twat,” Kurt called as I approached Lucia’s house. “We’re all linked. We can feel your magic, too.”

  Sticking his head out of the living room window, he grinned. “Sorry, I was just seeing if there was any paperwork that could link Lucia to her brother.”

  “Then search for it, like a proper detective.” Justina shook her head, her smile only lasting a moment.

  “Get back to work,” Kurt told me, clearly wanting to speak to Justina alone as she turned.

  Striding into the house, I joined Gerard as he searched through a desk in a small room. My hands instantly raked through a pile of beauty magazines that were sitting on an armchair. Even witches were obsessed with looks. Not me, though, I rarely brushed my hair, let alone put on tons of makeup. What was contouring, anyway?

  “There are some photos here, but…” Turning to face me, Gerard held up a picture of the witch we had just confronted.

  “The head of the person she’s with has been cut out.”

  Frowning, I snatched it from him, studying the mystery person’s arm. A small tattoo was on her wrist where it rested over our new friend’s shoulder. There was something about it…

  “What do you see?” Gerard’s breath fanned over my face.

  I hadn’t even noticed him move closer to look down at the picture. His energy was mixing with mine, the linking spell making sure that whatever happened to one of us, would happen to the other, too.

  “I know that tattoo,” I said, clearing my throat. “But, I can’t remember why.”

  Footsteps sounded in the hallway as the others searched the rest of the house. If I could remember where I’d seen the tattoo of a pentagram wrapped in a rose vine and thorns, I might be able to pinpoint our suspect.

  “We’ll take these back to the agency. Maybe you can study them to help jog your memory.”

  Tucking them away, Gerard finished his inspection of the room. I followed, my brain trying to work. It was one of those memories that remained just out of reach.

  “All clear,” Justina announced as she came downstairs.

  The house was spotless, unlike my apartment. The witch had pride in her home, which meant she wouldn’t appreciate our grubby hands all over her stuff.

  “Wait,” Kurt said, pointing at the wall. “I’ve seen that before.”

  My gaze went to where he indicated a frame, hanging a little askew. No, no, no.

  “Isn’t that…?” Gerard’s sentence fell flat as he snatched the spell off the wall.

  Yes, it was another page from my mother’s grimoire. How the hell was it in the home of a traitorous witch?

  Reaching out for the frame, I frowned when my sweaty palms almost dropped the wooden surrounding. That made two of my ancestor’s spells found in homes of those who were involved in the slave ring.

  “I need to speak to the prisoners,” I said, reading the top of the page.

  It was a spell of protection. A simple, yet powerful spell. In fact, it was one of the first ever created by a witch.

  “I’ll take you,” Justina said, waving Kurt and Gerard away when they went to protest.

  Clinging to the frame, I moved to follow my boss. Instead of going outside, she paused, her hand on her hip. “We need to hurry this up.”

  Taking my wrist, she flashed us. I gasped as my boots thumped on the concrete floor. The cells in front of me were closed off with individual doors. It was like a regular prison, except for the magic proof rooms.

  “It’s me,” Justina announced when a guard got up from his seat.

  Surely, she shouldn’t have been able to flash straight into the supernatural jail? Unless she had very high clearance. I often forgot how kickass Justina was. She might be fairly laid back and low key, but her brain was always in gear. Whereas mine… the clutch of my brain had been burnt out long ago.

  “Can you bring the prisoners to the interview room, one at a time?” Justina asked the guard.

  Nodding, he went over to open the exit door for us. I studied the spell that was still in my hands as we went into a hallway full of doors. Interrogation rooms for all kinds of supernatural beings. Each one would be fully proofed to make sure none of them could escape or cause damage.

  “Let me do the talking.” Justina opened a door and ushered me inside.

  Seriously? Why couldn’t I beat their arses? I’d seen it in all the cop shows. And, those were human policemen. I should at least get a pass to get some answers. I could be the bad cop. It would suit my personality perfectly.

  “Okay,” I said, trying not to scowl down at the floor as I lowered myself into a chair.

  “Don’t sulk. If anything comes up that you think might help, you can talk. But let me take the lead.”

  A smile came to my face. I knew full well that something would come up, which meant, I was allowed to speak. As if I could just sit there with a straight face and not say a word. Did Justina know me at all?

  “Here,” the guard announced as he pulled a man into the room.

  He was the witch that Gerard had shot at the hotel. When we had arrested them, they had come easily, unlike their much older lady friend. Her fight hadn’t ended well for either of us. And, yet, we were all still here.

  Slouching in the chair opposite us, the man, Harry, leant on his elbows. “It’s you.”

  Instead of looking at Justina, like I expected him to, he was watching me. Errr, yeah, it was me. I had a memorable face, but his staring was a little creepy.

  “Harry, we know that you’re connected to the witch slave trade. If you give us a name, we’ll go easy on you.”

  His scoff made me grit my teeth. The spell was on the floor, resting between my knees. I didn’t want him to see it right away. There had to be a way to break his resolve, and if the spell was familiar to him, he would show us with his reaction when I revealed it.

  “Are you not going to speak?” he asked me.

  Sitting back in the plastic chair, I folded my arms over my chest. The press of my dagger into my side made me feel more confident. I had bought a light jacket with shorter sleeves to make it easier to carry my weapon. And, my phone, my keys… basically my whole life. It was much better than having a bag.

  “No,” Justina said. “Not yet, anyway.”

  The man had grey curly hair. It was short on his head, clipped low to reveal the growing wrinkles on his face.
His build was average, yet, he stooped a little, his later years starting to catch up to him.

  “I’ve already told you. We had a magic dealer, he-”

  “A magic dealer? Like a drug dealer?” I snorted, unable to hold back my laugh. “Come on!”

  Yes, people did deal in drugs, magic and slaves, but there was no way this guy was innocent. The magic that got people high wasn’t as strong as the power the three witches had possessed. No, they had a much higher source.

  Justina was staring at me, her eyebrows raised. She was lenient with me, I had to give her that. If it was the other way round, I would be pissed that she was laughing in the man’s face. Although, if his expression was anything to go by, I had irritated him. Maybe I could be useful after all. Gerard often said that I was annoying. Maybe that would work in our favour.

  “You know full well that I don’t believe you.” Justina leant over the table. “Which means you’re probably going to be sentenced to death.”

  His eyes widened. Okay, Justina hadn’t threatened that before. Good move, boss lady.

  “The death sentence doesn’t exist anymore.” The man’s hands shook slightly as he pulled them under the table to rest in his lap.

  The handcuffs clattered on the surface, making me want to grab them to stop the noise. Metal scraping on anything wasn’t exactly a pleasing sound to the ear.

  Slanting her head to the side, Justina smiled. Her blonde hair almost touched the table as she drummed her fingertips on the cool surface. “The death sentence doesn’t exist for humans anymore. However, it is well and truly in existence for supernaturals. How do you think the human government keeps us under control?”

  The man’s cheeks warmed to pink as he picked his fingernails. His gaze darted between us, his eyes blinking. Ah, nerves were a pain in the arse. But in this case, they weren’t mine, so I didn’t mind.

  “Do you know anything about this spell?”

  I picked up the frame and put it on the table.

  His swallow answered me long before his mouth opened. Goody, he knew something.

  “I… Where did you get that?”

  Even more nerves as sweat lined the small space above his lip. I was enjoying the interrogation side of things. Maybe Justina would let me accompany her in more interviews. I could probably get quite good at scaring people.

  “What do you know about it?” Justina pushed the question without answering his.

  Rubbing a hand over his skull, he glanced between the pair of us. His brow furrowed as his gaze settled on me, studying every inch of my face.

  “You don’t know, do you?”

  “Know what?” I snapped, ready to bring out my sexy little fists for a play.

  If he didn’t start answering questions, I would consider pounding them out of him. His smug expression would be too much if it wasn’t wiped away. By me. And, my fists.

  “That spell…” Harry sat back in his chair, his confidence apparently returned. “…It’s from your mother’s grimoire. I’ve got one at my private home. She… She gives them out to those of us in her circle.”

  “My mother is a part of the slave trade? No way! She’s dead!”

  His eyebrows rose this time, a small smile lighting his face. “I said… ‘she’ gives them out… I didn’t say who ‘she’ was. You’re going to have to torture me for that info. Or, kill me, I don’t care.”

  Chapter Eleven

  My fingers shook as I picked up the envelope. It had been left in my letterbox in the hallway, but I had resisted reading it. The writing… it was way too familiar. And, not in the same way as my father’s.

  “Are you okay?” Gerard was outside the apartment entrance.

  Tucking the letter into my pocket, I nodded and followed him to the car. Apparently, we were going on a little road trip. We had found the address to Harry’s private home. And we were going to collect the spell he had spoken about.

  “I’m surprised you’ve not offered to drive,” my partner said as we both climbed in.

  “On the motorway? You’ve got to be kidding me. Have you heard of the term woman driver? When it comes to motorways, I embody that term. However, any other type of driving, I’m amazing. So, don’t be thinking you can be sexist with any remark about women drivers.”

  His smile would have usually lifted my mood, but the laugh that came out was forced. We both knew that I was pretending to be okay. When, really, the letter was burning a hole in my pocket.

  “I got you a hot chocolate.”

  Handing me the takeaway coffee cup, he used his other hand to start the engine. I held the cup in front of me, frowning at it in a most intense fashion.

  “How did you know I like hot chocolate?”

  His laugh made my muscles finally relax. We were on duty. The letter would have to wait until later. I had to focus on the mission at hand. Harry had given us a clue about our criminal mastermind. She… was a she.

  “Who doesn’t like hot chocolate?” He winked as he steered the car into the flowing traffic. “Have you had any more thoughts on the tattoo from that photograph?”

  Ah, yes, Lucia’s picture had shown her with another woman. The head had been cut out, but her arm was clearly visible. The tattoo on her wrist had been a pentagram with roses and vines wrapped around it.

  “No, I can’t quite place where I’ve seen it before. Which is so frustrating. My memory is usually shit-hot.”

  Taking a sip of my drink as Gerard successfully navigated London’s roads, I smiled to myself when the warm sweet liquid filtered down my throat.

  “You look like you’re enjoying that far too much.” His glance was brief before he focused on the road again. “Maybe the tattoo doesn’t mean anything personal. Maybe it’s quite a common one.”

  Shaking my head, I closed my eyes and bought the image into my mind. A flash of someone kept trying to show, but I couldn’t grasp them. “I… I think I’ve seen someone with that tattoo. It must be someone I was connected with because I get a bit of a heavy heart when I think of them.”

  “A heavy heart?” Gerard manoeuvred the car onto the entrance of the motorway. “You possess a heart?”

  Ha bloody ha. He was in a sprightly mood considering we were all still linked. We had promised not to use our magic as much as possible. When one of us did, it drained the rest of us. And, we all knew how precarious my current magic situation was. So, of course, we had to be weak, because I was weak.

  Ignoring him, I watched as we sped past the cars. Gerard put his foot down, his driving skills evident in the smooth way the vehicle took us to our destination. Was there nothing the man couldn’t do? It was kinda hot. In an annoying way.

  “The ringleader is a she… and she gives out pages of my mother’s grimoire. How did she get the book?” I whispered to myself.

  “I just assumed you had possession of it.”

  Coming off the motorway, Gerard checked the sat nav before settling into his seat even more.

  “No, I’ve always had the one spell, but I don’t remember ever having the book. I looked for it among my parents’ stuff when Isaac Senior helped me box it up before I moved in with him.”

  “You lived with him?”

  Checking the address we were heading to, I nodded without replying. A lump tried to force its way up my throat, but I wasn’t going to let it get the better of me.

  “We’re here,” Gerard announced, letting me off the hook.

  There was no need to keep going over old ground. I had made a mistake. The biggest mistake of my life, and I had to live with that. It was time to accept it and move on. Especially now I was no longer the leader of the warlock coven. Although, they might seek to avenge their previous leader. Oh well, let them come.

  The house we pulled up at was quite understated considering the opulence the three witches had lived in at the hotel. The man lived alone, according to him. And, yet, our weapons were within reach as we approached the cottage door.

  Not bothering to knock, Gerard took somethi
ng out of his pocket and started to pick the lock. I opened my mouth to speak, but before any words came out, a click resounded before the door swung open.

  “Let’s go,” Gerard whispered.

  It was pretty obvious that no one was there as soon as we walked in the door. Dust lined every surface in the hallway. Pretty antique furniture was starting to smell of mildew. What a waste. I could easily have the grandfather clock in my apartment somewhere. Maybe.

  “Do you think he’d notice if I moved in?” I asked Gerard as we came into the living area.

  We both stopped still as our gaze landed on the framed picture on the wall. The man had been telling the truth. Another spell was in the frame. Ripped from my mother’s grimoire and handed to him as a prize.

  Gerard went over and took it down, wiping the dust from the glass. It flew up into the air, making me cough. I thought my home was bad, my enemy had taken over as the winner of the dirtiest home award. And, I was happy to give it away.

  “This is a healing spell. Again, same writing. Do you have any idea about your ancestry? Who wrote these spells?”

  My mouth went dry at his question. If I pretended that my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth, maybe I wouldn’t have to answer him.

  “Devon…?”

  He knew me too well already. Which sucked for me. I had been a pro at avoiding any type of interrogation before. Not anymore.

  “Errr…” I slowly turned to check out the rest of the house, looking over my shoulder as I paused by the door. “Ever heard of the Essex witches?”

  If I had my phone ready at that moment, I would’ve snapped a photo of Gerard’s strong jaw almost dropping to the ground. Yeah, that nugget of information seemed to shock most witches.

  “You’re… an Essex witch?” He was frozen to the spot, his gaze glued to mine.

  “Descended from them, yes. I don’t think they actually exist anymore. My mum’s line just happens to come from one of them. It’s been quite a few hundred years since the witch trials.”

  A bang from the hallway made me shove my head around the living area door. I was about to throw my dagger when I paused.

  “You would be an Essex witch if you were a full witch.”