For Witch's Sake (Bless Your Witch Book Five) Read online

  "And?" Reid said. "What happens then?"

  His lips coiled into a scary smile. "Serious trouble happens then. Don't cross your barrier and you won't have to find out."

  "Great," Sera said. "What else?"

  "No magic," he added.

  We gasped.

  "Only Dylan is banned," he added.

  "Why me?"

  "Because you're the one who seems to be the instigator."

  I fisted my hands to my hips. "How do you figure that?"

  He tugged at the lapels of his cape. "Just something I know." He clapped his hands together.

  I crossed my arms. "How can you stop me from using magic?"

  Pearbottom snapped his fingers. "Like this."

  A rush of power scooped into my core. I jutted forward, extending my hands to stop from crashing onto the rug. I clutched a chair and held tightly as the surge of magic seemed to pull the soul from my core. I latched on, fighting to stay upright. My eyes drifted up to Pearbottom. He smiled like a reptile.

  Ugh. You know, I really don't like him.

  When it was over, I eased into a chair and mentally poked around for my power. Not a ball, nor a swirl, not even a wink of magic greeted me in return.

  It had been stolen away.

  "How'd you do that?" I said, gasping for air.

  "Witch police secret. You can search for it as much as you like, but I've got it locked away. Don't worry. You'll get it back when your punishment is over."

  "But where is it?" I demanded.

  "Someplace where you can't access it." Pearbottom's lip curled. "Two weeks. Those are the terms. Break them and you'll see me again—and your punishment will be worse." He tapped the lip of his bowler cap and vanished.

  "Great," Sera said, plopping onto a chair. "House arrest. Is he serious?"

  "So it starts now?" Reid said.

  I met Roman's gaze. His face was dark, distracted. "Now," he said.

  "Let's make sure." I marched to the front door, swung it open and stepped through the threshold. The anklet blipped. I took several more steps, and the faint noise grew louder. There was no point in testing it all the way across the yard. What he'd said about the anklet growing louder would be true, and I really didn't want to see Pearbottom again so soon.

  Or, like, ever.

  "Told you," Roman said.

  "What's all the racket out here?" Nan said, storming into the room. "Does someone need me? Is there a fight I need to help out in?"

  "None right now, Nan," Sera said. "But we may need you soon."

  Reid sank onto the couch. "I mean, I'll be fine for two weeks. I can make it. But what about y'all? What about your stores? You can't run businesses from the house."

  "Oh no," I said. "She's right. What about them?"

  Sera and I owned side-by-side stores down on Main Street. Hers was a bakery called Sinless Confections, and mine was a dress boutique called Perfect Fit—which it was. Both shops were magical by nature and had brought us some success in our little town.

  But we had a real problem. If the two of us couldn't leave the house, how were we going to keep our businesses open? I scanned the room, trying to come up with the solution. Then it hit me.

  "Grandma, you'll have to go work at my shop, and Nan, you could fill in at the bakery."

  All eyeballs circled back to me.

  "What?" Grandma said. "I don't know how to make dresses."

  "You don't have to make dresses," I said. "Only sell them."

  She adjusted the slew of clinking rings on her fingers. "I think I'd be better suited at the bakery."

  "Then go work at the bakery instead." I cocked my head toward Nan. "Nan, you work at the dress shop then, and Grandma, you'll get up at four a.m. and make muffins every day."

  Both women glanced at each other. I felt like there was some sort of telepathic conversation going on that the rest of us couldn't access.

  To be honest, it was probably a good thing.

  "No," Sera said. "I'll bake from here and give Grandma the goods each morning. Then she can leave."

  "Do y'all think this could work?" I said.

  Grandma pulled off the helmet she'd donned to go to war with the flower and tucked it into a cabinet. "What's the worst that could happen?"

  "Oh, please, no one answer that," I said.

  "At least you've got your online business," Sera said.

  She was right. The past few months I'd worked on amping up my website to bring in more revenue. The orders were trickling in daily, which was great. But it wasn't enough for me to close the shop and focus solely on that.

  Sera and Grandma started working out details when Roman came over. "Hey," I said, trying to put on my biggest, brightest smile.

  "It'll be okay," he said. "It's only for two weeks."

  He was right, but the funny thing was, without magic in my core I felt empty.

  Don't laugh. I know that's crazy. Over the course of these past months I've gone through a world of emotions about my magic—I didn't like it and didn't want to be a witch, and all that. But having it stolen made me realize I missed it. That I needed and wanted it.

  That darn Pearbottom.

  Witchcraft was supposed to be my culture. That thought I didn't embrace, because I still didn't feel part of that whole thing—meaning I didn't have any friends outside of my family who were witches, and I didn't want them. But my magic…I needed it. It was as much a part of me as eating peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwiches on a warm summer day.

  Hey, don't knock it till you’ve tried it.

  "I'm pretty sure two weeks of confinement is going to feel like a lifetime after about five minutes cooped up in here."

  Roman took my hand and lifted me from the chair. The force of his pull smacked my chest right into him. My hair tumbled into my face, and I'm sure I looked like a hot mess, what with the fight with the flower and then Pearbottom coming in and making my world topsy-turvy.

  As I stared up into Roman's green eyes, all coherent thought slipped from my brain. "There was something you came to tell me."

  He tugged a tendril of hair from my lips. "Mmm hmm."

  "What was it?"

  Roman dragged his gaze from me and leveled it on the others in the room. "Let's go somewhere private."

  I escorted him into the kitchen. "They should stay in the living room for a while trying to figure stuff out. What's up?"

  "I've got a name."

  The blood drained from my face. "Like a name-name?"

  Roman nodded.

  "Well, who is it?"

  Roman leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. "Wanda LaRue."

  The words spilled over my lips. "Wanda LaRue," I repeated.

  This was it, the name we'd been waiting for. Twenty years ago Roman's father, Richard Bane—now called Boo Bane—had watched this person murder Roman's mother and sisters. That same night Boo had disappeared, only to reappear a few months ago. He had amnesia about the event, but details were slowly coming back to him.

  Several weeks ago he'd remembered the face of one of the killers. He and Roman had been going over pictures of criminals, trying to match the face with a name, and they finally had it.

  "Wanda LaRue," I said again, letting the words sink into me. "Oh my gosh! Roman, this is huge!" I crossed over and slid my arms around his waist. "What are you going to do now?"

  He grazed a hand down my back. Shivers lodged in my spine. I swear, there was nothing that man could touch that didn't send me reeling.

  "I was going to take you with me to find her," he said.

  I staggered back. "You were?"

  He nodded. That dark expression returned to his eyes. I felt his pain wash over him and bleed into me. I cupped his cheek with my palm. "And now I can't go. I'm stuck here."

  Roman shrugged. "It's okay. I'm a big boy. Pretty sure I can handle it." He pulled my hand from his face and kissed the inside of my wrist.

  "Great. You two are in love. How disgusting for the rest of us."

&nbs
p; My paternal grandmother, Milly Jones, entered through the back door. She was a short, stout woman who wielded a cane like an extra limb. Though her clothes were brown and shapeless, Milly's expressively snarled face looked more wicked witch than kitten.

  I smiled. "Milly, it's good to see you, too."

  She caned over to the kitchen table. "What's with the earthquake, toots?"

  I sighed. "A magical flower gone wrong."

  She eyed me skeptically. "Where was Hazel?"

  "Grandma was watching the whole thing," I said. "None of us could get control of it."

  "I had to ax it down," Roman said.

  Milly studied us both for an uncomfortably long moment and said, "I smell Jonathan Pearbottom. The room has that scent he leaves—like all life's been sucked from the room."

  I sank into a chair. "Not quite, but close. We're on house arrest. My magic's been taken away for two weeks, and we can't leave."

  She shuffled into a seat and threaded her hands together. "Welcome to the witching world. You haven't lived until you've gotten in trouble with the witch police."

  "Great. I've lived. Now I'm ready to be done with it."

  Milly's eyes sparkled. "Roman, Boo tells me you've got a name."

  Roman paused. His entire demeanor darkened. "We do. I have a name and a location. Want to do me a favor?"

  Milly smacked her lips. "What's in it for me?"

  My grandmother wasn't anything if not savvy.

  "My undying affection," Roman said, clearly flirting with disaster as much as he was an old lady.

  "I'll consider it. But until then, what's the favor?"

  Roman knuckled the top of the table. I swear testosterone wafted off him like cologne. "I want Dylan to come with me."

  Milly thumbed her nose. "Where?"

  "Witch prison."

  I gasped.

  He glanced over his shoulder at me. "You'll be fine."

  "It's witch prison. I'm already in enough trouble."

  He cocked a brow. "Hold that thought."

  Milly hooked her cane on the edge of the table. "She's under house arrest."

  Roman straightened, crossed his arms and leaned a hip against the table's edge. "You know magic that can get her out of this. At least for a little while."

  "What's it to you? Why risk it?"

  Roman paused. "Let's say I'm invested."

  Milly's beady eyes slewed from me to Roman and back. "There are things I'll need."

  "Like what?" he asked.

  "Blood," she said.

  I grimaced. "Whose?"

  "Yours, toots." She pushed herself to stand, huffing and puffing the whole way. "Just a drop. That should do it."

  I rocked back in the chair, steadying it on its hind legs. "Roman, you sure you need me for this? Can't you do this without me?"

  Roman smiled. "I'd like you there. Besides, don't you think you deserve it?"

  I raised my legs. The chair pitched down with a thump. "Deserve what, exactly?"

  "You've seen a lot with me these past few months. We've seen glimpses, hints of who murdered my family. I want you there when I see the witch face-to-face. I want you beside me when I look in her eyes and find out the truth."

  I arched a brow. "You sure?"

  He nodded grimly. "I'm sure. I also need you to make sure I don't kill her."

  I gulped. Roman was nothing if not honest.

  The magnitude of his desire struck me like a gazillion bolts of lightning. Roman wanted me beside him when he met the woman who had changed the course of his life forever. Part of me didn't think I deserved the honor—that it should be him and his father there at the prison, not me. Of course, there was the one tiny complication that I was locked in my house for two weeks.

  I twirled a strand of dark hair between my fingers. "You're positive you want me?"

  Roman smiled, his expression earnest. "I wouldn't want anyone else."

  I exhaled a stream of air and glanced at Milly. "Okay. So what do we need to do to make this happen?"

  Her lips coiled into a mischievous smile. "Get me a good, sharp knife."

  My stomach churned into a mess of queasiness. "For what, exactly?"

  Milly rose and crossed to the counter. She yanked a knife from the butcher block and tipped the steel left and right. Light glinted off the surface. She steadied her gaze on me. "To draw your blood. We're going to switch bodies, toots. It's the only way to sneak you into witch prison."

  THREE

  "Blood magic," I gasped. "Isn't that the darkest magic there is?"

  Milly nodded. "This is a modified version. But it's the only way I know to get you out of here."

  I sat at the kitchen table, mulling things over. "We're going to switch bodies?"

  She nodded again. "That's how this particular blood magic works. It's the only way to get you into witch prison."

  "So we're pulling a Freaky Friday."

  Milly shrugged. "Sure. Whatever that is."

  I eased my back into the chair, thinking. Was this safe? What if I got trapped inside Milly's body and wasn't able to get out?

  "Don't worry. I'll get you back. The spell doesn't last forever."

  I drummed my fingers on the table. "Have you ever done this before?"

  "Sure. Every kid does it."

  "Oh, every kid," I said sarcastically. "Everyone but us."

  She shrugged. "Take it or leave it."

  Roman squeezed my shoulder. "If you're not comfortable, don't worry about it."

  I wove my fingers through my hair and shook out all my fear. "Okay. Let's do this."

  Milly smiled. "This is going to be fun."

  I snapped my finger in her face. "Don't even think about doing anything I wouldn't do."

  She rolled her eyes. "I'm going to be on house arrest, remember? My choices are limited here, toots. Don't worry about it."

  I placed my hand over my heart and felt a little better. "Okay. I'm ready."

  Milly sterilized the knife with some alcohol. She mumbled a whirl of words. Utensils in the dish rack rattled, paper towels fluttered and the curtains twisted in an invisible breeze. She sliced the knife through her skin. Blood trickled down her arm. Before I could protest, she jerked my arm toward hers, cut into me and mingled my blood with hers.

  My head felt dizzy, light. I teetered on the edge of my chair, nearly falling off. I felt Roman's strong hands on me, easing me back into place. I tried to focus, keep my eyes open, but Milly's chanting and the electric buzz of magical energy in the room was too much.

  I closed my eyes, pressed my forehead to the cool table and fell asleep.

  ***

  "I'm never taking off these clothes."

  Roman smirked. "Not interested in seeing what it's like under there?"

  I threw him a scathing look.

  "I might be."

  "That's not funny."

  "It is." He wrapped an arm around my shoulder. "Nervous?"

  I pushed up the sleeves of the brown cardigan. "Of course not. I've just switched bodies with my grandmother, technically I'm on house arrest and we're about to walk inside witch prison to see a criminal. Why would I be nervous?"

  Roman chuckled. "You're doing great."

  "Wait a minute before we go inside." I yanked a compact from my purse and snapped it open. It was absolutely amazing. I swear ten minutes ago I was me, Dylan Apel. Now I was still Dylan Apel, but I was in Milly's body. I studied the lines and discolorations of her face. There wasn't a drop of me bleeding through. I looked like Milly, even sounded like her.

  "You're her, you know," Roman said. "No one's going to question it."

  I closed the mirror and tucked it back into my bag. "I know. It's just…"

  "Weird?" he offered.

  I nodded. "I'll be able to get back, right?"

  "She said you would."

  I bit my lip.

  Roman wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into the hollow of his chest. "Darlin', do you think I would've let you do it if I didn't think�
��no—if I didn't know you'd be okay."

  I sniffled. "I guess not."

  He hooked a finger beneath my chin and tipped my face to meet his. Sunshine warmed my skin. "I would never risk you."

  I sighed and absorbed the truth of his words. "I know. Sorry. This is just weird."

  He smiled. The corners of his eyes crinkled. My heart thumped against my chest as I felt myself drawing near to be kissed by him.

  "I'm not going to kiss you," he said.

  "Oh. Is it the whole I-look-like-Milly thing?"

  "Yep."

  "Let's go inside."

  So witch prison existed somewhere between Fairyland and Castle Witch, according to Roman and Milly both. Fairyland and Castle Witch both existed behind the Veil, and so did the prison. Milly had whisked us there by magic, and at the agreed-upon time, she would whisk us back.

  We crossed toward the dark, bleak building that was witch prison. It was daunting, with a black exterior and twisted towers with dark vines creeping up them. Guards roamed the rooftops, watching and waiting for anyone who dared try to escape.

  "We're here to see Wanda LaRue," Roman said to the guard once we were inside.

  The guard nodded from behind a pane of glass and touched a button. Gears clicked and turned as a sliding gate grated open.

  We stepped through. Black and gray walls occasionally met a splash of color, but for the most part it was a foreboding place. Cold creeped into my soul. Fear gripped my throat, and I suddenly felt like someone would realize who and what I was. They would know I was supposed to be trapped at home, not here where I was an inch away from being locked up myself.

  But I didn't have time to wallow in these thoughts. A guard met us on the other side of the gate. He wore a bland regulation uniform with a billy club hitched to his belt.

  "This way," he said.

  We followed him down several corridors, turning right, then left, then right again. Every ten feet or so a series of numbers were painted in white on the wall. I started to ask what the numbers meant, but didn't.

  I leaned over to Roman. "So what's she in here for?"

  His jaw clenched. "Murder. Convicted ten years ago of murdering another witch. Said they were arguing over who got some sort of powerful ball or something. LaRue killed her for it. It didn't take long for the police to track her down and lock her in here."