Oh, fuck me…
Suddenly, the blood on her fingers began to burn and itch. She glanced at the Tarot cards—Devil reversed, Eight of Knives, Three of Grails reversed.
Everything in her mind crystalized, clear and sharp and impossible to deny.
The demon who’d bound the dark witch’s curse on the Redthorne line was one of the most ancient, powerful, terrible demons hell had ever known.
Her sister, Viansa.
She’d been wrong to think she could weaken or alter the curse. Next to Viansa, Jaci was a little girl brewing mud-puddle potions in the backyard.
And actuallydestroyingthe curse, now that she knew who’d bound it? Well, that wasdefinitelynot an option.
Not with her father’s soul still on the line and no locator spell to speak of. Meech hadn’t found him. Jaci’s spells had so far been a bust. Viansa was the only one who knew where he was.
Obtaining that knowledge was close to impossible, but as long assomeoneknew where he was, she still had hope.
And she wouldn’t risk that hope. Not for the dickhead vampire who’d kidnapped her and ordered her to fix his problems and smashed her mug without apologizing.
“Did you feel that?” Gabriel asked suddenly, making her jump.
“Hmm?” She lowered her eyes to the cards, pretending to be deep in thought.
“A buzzing. Something in the air, like…” He held out a hand, and from the corner of her eye, Jaci saw the slight tremor. “You said the words and I just… felt it. Are you sure it wasn’t part of your spell?”
What the hell?
It was as if he’d been completely aware of the last several minutes.
Bullet dodged. Jacireallyhadn’t been looking forward to explaining his spontaneous demonic possession.
“Maybe you spilled a little too much blood, Prince,” she said, dialing up the sarcasm. “Need some orange juice or something? A cookie?”
“What I need, witch, is for you to figure out this bloody curse before it drives me bloody insane and I take you along for the bloody ride.” He seethed in the chair, hands clenched into fists, his anger masking the true fear she sensed beneath it.
For an entire second, she almost felt bad for the guy.
Then he kicked one of the shards of porcelain across the room and shoved his blood-stained hand through his hair, leaving a smear on his forehead that reminded her of their first conversation.
“Sorry.” She headed into the kitchen to scrub her hands. “I can’t help you. Not with this.”
Gabriel was right on her heels, looming over her, sucking all the air out of the room. “So you couldn’t get a read on my blood? I thought you were a skilled witch.”
Jaci bit her lip, considering her next move. She wanted to tell him to fuck off—that her skills weren’t the issue. That the trail on that old curse had gone as cold as his heart. That he should walk away and enjoy the last of his days, however long he had left.
But if Gabriel believed she couldn’t help him, where the hell would that leave her?
Homeless. Hungry. Desperate.
Prey for whichever powerful vampire family decided she’d make a nice addition to their collection of slaves.
No. She wouldn’t go back to that life. Not ever.
She turned off the water and dried her hands on the dishtowel, trying to decide how to backpedal. “I got a read, okay? It was just… kind of murky.”
“What do you mean, kind of murky?”
Hell. Maybe the Eight of Grailswasreferring to Jaci’s prison.
