Moon Coven: a Paranormal Witch Romance Page 8

  “I don’t think it’s that.”

  “Of course not,” Cassandra said, rolling her eyes. “Listen, Jules. Paris stands to inherit the entire Louisiana territory when his father passes on. You might not think you’re capable of leading this coven, but that doesn’t mean you can’t help shape the future of that one. It’s purpose, Julia. It’s you helping people. Isn’t that what you always wanted?”

  “You’re right,” Julia answered softly. “I know you’re right. I’m just nervous.”

  “That’s normal. You just got back. You’re only now just starting to readjust to real life. Who could blame you for having cold feet? The important thing is not to let it overtake you, don’t forget who you are, and most importantly, don’t repeat the mistakes of the past.”

  Julia blinked hard.

  “You haven’t seen him, have you, Julia?” Cassandra asked, her tone free of levity. “Please tell that you haven’t seen Roman Blackwood.”

  Julia shuddered. It all came crashing back to her. Roman’s touch, his hands against her skin, the way it felt when he was inside of her.

  Still, she knew what happened when she was with him. She knew how utterly impossible the idea of a future with the heir of her family’s lifelong rival coven was.

  It was an insane thought and, if there was anything Julia didn’t need to be classified as at this present moment, it was insane.

  She had never lied to Cassandra before. Even when she was in the throes of her relationship with Roman the first time around, Cassandra had been an oasis of truth in a sea of misgivings.

  But how could she be truthful now? So much had changed. Cassandra was about to become leader of this coven. Julia would answer to her. Not to mention she would be a married woman soon as well.

  It all seemed so crazy.

  “Answer me, Julia,” Cassandra commanded as though she was already in charge. And maybe, in some ways, she was.

  So Julia swallowed hard, bit her lip, and answered.

  “Of course not, Cassandra. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Chapter 8

  Clara stopped at the edge of the tree line.

  “This is as far as I can take you,” she said.

  She had been walking with Roman for what felt like forever and, now that they were finally back to civilization, it seemed she had reached the limits of her kindness.

  “I never asked you to come,” Roman spit back, staring at the highway, more specifically at the spot where his car had done at least three backflips, leaving him just shy of paralyzed. The fact that he was up and walking now without even the hint of a scratch was a testament to the potency of Romani magic. Not that Roman was in much of a mood for gratitude.

  “The woods can be treacherous and nearly impossible to traverse on your own,” Clara said. “People have died trying to escape it.”

  Roman sneered. “And I’m sure you guys had absolutely nothing to do with that.”

  “The same nothing that allowed your miraculous recovery, I’m sure,” Clara said. “Are you clear on your mission?”

  “Crystal,” Roman answered, remembering the strange thing the old woman requested when he agreed to submit to her will.

  “Good. I wouldn’t have been much help otherwise.”

  “You’re not a great help now,” he said. “Though I imagine I’d be less than on top of things if I had an old woman living inside of me, too.”

  “The Crawley lives in all of us, warlock. And if she came to you as an old woman, it’s because that’s what you needed to see. Let me guess, you were in these woods, too.”

  Roman didn’t answer.

  Clara rolled her eyes. “Typical. I pity you. If the Crawley has use of you, it means you’re in a hell of a situation.”

  Julia flashed across Roman’s mind. The way she felt in his arms, the peace that settled over him as he listened to her breath beside him, the way his heart felt as if it was a time bomb ready to explode anytime she wasn’t around.

  “That’s none of your business,” he mumbled.

  “I guess you’re right about that.” Clara looked over at him with crossed arms and pursed lips. “The only thing that matters to me should be the only thing that matters to you right now—doing what the Crawley asked. After that, the rest will fall into place.”

  “How will I find you afterward?” Roman asked, ready to leave this conversation behind.

  “You won’t,” Clara said. “In fact, I’d be surprised if we ever laid eyes on each other again. But the Crawley will get ahold of you. After all, she has her ways.”

  Roman turned to question the woman, but when he looked, she was gone. Nothing but leaves and branches stood where she had once been.

  “I hate gypsies,” Roman muttered.

  Then he walked away from those damned woods.

  * * *

  Roman nursed coffee for the rest of the day, waiting for the sun to set and resisting the urge to call his family. He had been missing for days now, and they were undoubtedly worried. But he had a mission to complete—one that would take up the entire night. To that end, he figured it was better to keep the family in the dark about what was going on…just for one more day.

  Of course, his family weren’t the only people he wanted to call. There wasn’t an entire minute that went by that didn’t have a thought of Julia in it. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last waking moment that wasn’t at least tinted with her presence, with the pain associated with being apart from her. After tonight, if the Crawley could be trusted, all of that would change.

  But could the Crawley be trusted? Roman’s father had always warned him about the gypsies.

  “They didn’t get that reputation for nothing,” he would always say.

  But even Father was thinking of joining forces with them now; Adam had said as much. And if Father could deal with it, then so could Roman.

  As the sun set low against the river, Roman steadied himself. Finishing what had to be his seventh cup of coffee, he tossed the cup into a nearby trash can and thought about the night ahead.

  Once he was certain the coast was clear, Roman snuck back into his apartment and ransacked it for supplies.

  Rose petal, cinnamon sticks, money grass, and tulip—all the essentials.

  Stuffing them into a backpack, he slipped back out and headed for the street.

  Punching up an Uber, he tapped his foot against the pavement impatiently, glaring up at the cloud-filled sky. A storm was coming. He tried not to take it as an omen.

  A car pulled to a stop in front of him, and he jumped in.

  “Roman Blackwood!” said a voice from the driver’s seat. “How about that!”

  Roman looked up, meeting the man’s eyes in the rearview.

  “I’m Scott Parker. We went to high school together. This is so weird. You know what. I gave a ride to another of our classmates like a week ago. I think you know her, J—”

  “I don’t care,” Roman said, and he blew crushed rose petal into the air around Scott, who shut up instantly. “Take me to 35th and Vine,” Roman said, remembering the address the Crawley gave him. “Drop me off, leave, and don’t put it in your report.”

  “Okay,” Scott answered flatly. “People around here are so weird.”

  When they pulled up to the address, Roman balked. The Crawley hadn’t told him where he was going—only that he was supposed to break in, steal an urn, and bring it back to her.

  Right now, though, he was looking at a boat. And not just any boat. A boat with a cursive ‘F’ across the side.

  “The Fairweathers,” he muttered. “This bitch wants me to steal from the Fairweathers!”

  There would be extensive magical defenses. This wouldn’t be an easy steal. It wouldn’t be an easy anything.

  Roman sat there, considering what he was about to do. If he was caught, this would be the tipping point that sent the two covens into a full-fledged war.

  He thought about directing Scott to turn around, charming him to forget all of it and leaving hi
m a handsome tip for his trouble, but then he thought about Julia.

  If what the Crawley said was true, then Roman wasn’t the only one in danger. He had lived through what Julia did eighteen months ago, and it was the hardest thing he had ever done. Watching her slit her wrists, seeing her bleed out all over the floor, and then pretending it wasn’t killing him in front of his family was the most difficult endeavor he’d ever survived.

  Doing it again would be impossible.

  “There’s been a change of plans, Scott,” Roman said, digging into his bag. Pulling out a handful of gray mirror like stones, he said, “I want you to put one of these every two hundred feet along the pier. After that, you can go.”

  “Okay,” Scott said.

  Throwing a few hundreds down on the front seat of Scott’s car, he grabbed his bag and made his way toward the boat.

  After dipping his hands into his pockets to coat his fingers with dander root, he touched the zinc chain of his necklace and whispered, “Conceal.”

  That would make him effectively invisible to any monitoring systems.

  Magical ones, however, would be a harder nut to crack.

  Scott’s car crunched over broken glass as he pulled away, which meant the stones were in place and it was time to do this.

  Keeping low to the ground, Roman snuck up the side of the boat and crawled onto the deck. With the storm coming, the open upper deck was empty.

  Roman muttered an incantation, hoping against hope that it would be enough to shield him from any Fairweather magic that might be put in place to keep intruders out. Then he cast another spell, using the lilac in his bag, to pinpoint the location of the object he desired.

  Closing his eyes, he saw it. The urn was on the bottom floor, at the top of a high shelf. And surrounded with crackling magic.

  Of course. This wasn’t going to be easy, but nothing worth anything ever was.

  Stepping forward, Roman eyed the door leading into the lower decks. Thinking of Julia and all that securing this favor would mean, he reached for the knob.

  Before his hand touched the damn thing, he heard a loud rumbling.

  He pulled his hand back, but it was too late. He had tripped a magical wire, and nothing was going to stop it now.

  Before he could move, a bolt of lightning leapt from the sky, striking him where he stood.

  Roman flew backward, electricity searing through his body.

  “Really?” he muttered, lying on the upper deck with his body smoking. “Fucking lighting! Are you kidding me?”

  Normally, something like that would have sidelined him at least for the night, but he still had the Romani healing magics in his system. As he sat up, Roman felt a surge of energy course through him, healing his wounds and filling him with power.

  He stood, new rage pulsing through him like a second heartbeat.

  Throwing his hands forward, he used the power in his system to burst open any barriers between him and the urn.

  The doors flew open, tearing from their hinges. A loud alarm echoed throughout both the ship and its surrounding area.

  Roman rushed through the open door and down the stairs, finding the doors to the lower levels open as well. This was one good spell.

  He pushed into the lower deck, finding a pair of guards readying themselves by drawing counterclockwise circles around themselves.

  Roman growled lowly. If those fuckers finished those circles, it would make them untouchable. It would also allow them to work whatever magic they wanted on him without the threat of retaliation.

  Not today.

  Thinking of the mirror stones Scott placed along the pier, he murmured another incantation. “Ignite.”

  The stones exploded one by one, knocking out the pier and rocking the boat violently as it pulled out into the river.

  The guards stumbled, leaving the safety of their unfinished circles.

  Roman knocked the both of them out with a simple concussive spell. He watched them fall to the floor and then rushed down to the room he saw in his vision.

  Catching site of the urn, he ran to the end of the room and reached for it.

  Like the front door, another sound warned Roman of impending doom. This was nothing as harmless as a rumble or lightning, though.

  The low whistle and high creaking could only mean one thing.

  “A displacement,” Roman mumbled, bracing himself.

  A displacement was the equivalent of a magical H bomb. It would tear this ship apart, saving the urn from Roman, and then, if left unchecked, it would spread outward, attacking the family line of the perpetrator. In this case, that meant the Blackwood line.

  Roman had really fucked up this time.

  Roman jerked back, watching the bright green swirl that signaled the start of the displacement take shape in the air.

  It sucked the urn into it.

  “Fuck!” Roman yelled.

  He dove after it, but it was no use. It was gone. The displacement would move the urn to another safe house. But that wasn’t the worst of it. It wouldn’t stop there. It would never stop, not unless it was forced to.

  Roman pulled out his phone, running toward the top level.

  “Adam!” he yelled as soon as his brother picked up the phone.

  “Roman? Jesus! Where have you been?”

  “No time,” he said. “There’s a displacement in one of the Fairweather storage boats. I need you to help me fix it before it reaches the city and starts taking out our family line. I can’t do it by myself.”

  “I’m passing by the pier now. Which one are you…oh my God!”

  As Roman threw himself on the upper deck, two guards from earlier stumbled to their feet and started charging toward him.

  Roman jumped into the river, swimming as hard as he could against the current.

  There was Adam, off in the distance, his eyes wide and his face pale. The displacement must have been huge by now, but Roman didn’t dare stop to look at it.

  Instead, he reached into his mind and shouted out for his brother. Adam answered in the way only warlocks who shared the same coven could.

  Together, they called on ancient magic as Roman continued to swim against the river.

  The storm had started, beating rain down on the brothers as they pulled at everything they could to close the breach.

  It wasn’t working. Nothing was working!

  Roman stumbled out of the water and onto the shore, trying to get eyes on his brother. His chanting had died down. Roman tried to make up for it, but the displacement was still growing.

  Fuck it.

  He shut his brother out and focused, this time channeling dark magic. The displacement stopped growing, but he couldn’t tell if it was dying down. He glanced around, still unable to get eyes on his brother. If they could work two spells at once, maybe that might be enough.

  But he couldn’t divide his mental energy looking for his brother right now. He pushed more magic into the dark, let it take everything from him. Everything the gypsies had imbued in him, everything he had already had in himself. The time to meter out magic was gone. If he didn’t stop this soon, it wasn’t going to end.

  Finally, the displacement started to retract. Slowly at first, but then sucking in on itself until it was gone.

  Roman dropped to his knees and sucked in gasping breaths of icy air that stung his lungs. Rain beat down on his back and shoulders, and the sand scraped at his forehead.

  All that for nothing.

  He took another calming breath and reconnected with his brother’s psyche.

  “Adam. I know I screwed up, but I need—”

  He was cut off by the rumbling again, loud and angry.

  His eyes went wide as a bolt of lightning reached out from the tumultuous sky again. This time, though, it didn’t come for him. Roman ran to where the lightning had struck.

  No.

  His steps slowed as his gaze fell on the spot. Landed on his brother.

  Absorbing the scene before his eyes, he picked
up into a run again, a mantra of no, no, no ticking through his head, beating in his heart.

  The bolt had torn into Adam, and Roman screamed, collapsing next to his brother’s lifeless body. The rain continued to fall without apology. Without sympathy. It continued to spit from the sky as though its drops weren’t pelting against death itself.

  Adam’s shirt had been torn open by the force of the lightning, and etched across his chest—a signature of the heathens who would use this magic to kill him—was one word.

  Fairweather.

  Chapter 9

  Julia spent the rest of that night tossing and turning. Sleep didn’t come easily and, when it did, it was plagued by horrible nightmares of a green glowing light and lightning.

  When the morning finally came, blissfully relieving her of the burden of resting, it came with a bang.

  She felt him only a little at first, like a memory gently nudging her from sleep with an easy hand. Then, and all at once, that hand became a shove, almost knocking her out of bed as it shook her awake.

  It was familiar—as familiar as the voice inside her head. In fact, there were days when she thought they were one in the same.

  “Roman,” she said, sitting up in bed.

  But why was she feeling him, and what was the tint of horror that surrounded his aura as she took it in.

  Julia got out of bed and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, moving toward the window and trying to beat back the building sense of dread that was starting to pool inside her heart.

  She pulled the curtains open. It didn’t matter. Whatever was causing this sensation had already happened. This was no premonition. Whatever it was couldn’t be stopped.

  But when she saw him, her breath caught in her throat.

  Roman stood on the steps of her family’s home, dripping wet, hands balled into fists at his sides and eyes trained on Julia.

  “Jesus…” she muttered, flinging the curtains closed again. “No! No, no, no!”