Page 8 of Reckless Witch

“She said we would discuss candidates on this visit.” Raith returns to his desk, picks up his cell phone, and thumbs the lock. As the screen lights, he hits the number two: speed dial for Blade. The first ring sounds. A second, third and fourth follow before voicemail switches on and Blade’s cultured English voice announces, “Sorry I’ve missed you, but no one answers phone calls anymore. Text me instead.” After the beep sounds, Raith grates, “Blade, get over here. We found Ciarah.” He jabs the End Call button on the screen. I notice he doesn’t text.

It’s cruel for Raith to break the news to Blade like that, but Raith can be cruel—just as Blade can be an asshole.

Chapter Three

BLADE

Games and More Games

I ignore the whip of wind that lashes strands of hair loosened from its tie into my face and stuff my hands into the pockets of my tailored black slacks. I lean against the brick of the building in the alley across the street from The Witching Hour Cabaret Club. As if on cue, Leilah bursts from the club with Ethan close behind. I wince when he seizes her arm, then laugh when Ethan barely blocks her roundhouse kick and grabs her ankle. If he’d been a little slower, she would have caught him in the nose. Everyone hates a solid nose hit, but dragons more than most, something about the septum cartilage in their noses when they shift. As Ethan grabs her waist and drags her into the opposite alley, I know I’ve kept Ciarah to myself longer than I had a right to.

How did he find her? Even as the question forms, I know the answer. With the power oozing from her, it’s surprising it’s taken this long. Quid erit, erit. There’s no turning back now. In truth, The Academy needs Leilah. Though Ethan and Raith will, no doubt, disagree with my assessment once they learn she’s Ciarah. I had wondered how long it would take before she was identified as a High Potential. She is too powerful for the famed Illumina Stone not to name her.

I wonder if Leilah Crowe being named a High Potential is why Olympia, the Grand Witch of the North, is dragging her creaking bones from Greenland to visit tomorrow. She has a controversial plan to have our students fight the most real mock Shadow battle we’ve ever staged. But I’m not fooled. She’s equally interested in discovering why a High White Witch like Miriam Crowe turned to Shadow magic.

Leilah seizes Ethan’s collar and shoves him against the wall and I shake my head. Trust a dragon to poke the wrong witch. Now, there will be hell to pay. My humor fades as I acknowledge I’ve created a little hell of my own. When Ethan and Raith learn I already know that Leilah is Ciarah, they’ll be furious. I don’t plan to confess, but I’ve lived long enough to know such secrets never stay secret. If I’m lucky, they won’t find out for a century or two. My one saving grace is that I haven’t taken advantage of the situation and fucked her. Yet.

Leilah emerges from the alley. I drink in her every curve. She’s a heavenly body to shame all others. She’s clearly furious with Ethan, and Ciarah and fury make for the best sex.

My cock twitches. Leilah stalks to the curb and flags a passing cab. The cabbie veers across two lanes and halts two feet from her. Ethan emerges from the alley as she enters the cab.

I discern another approaching cab and silently command the driver my way.

Ethan is watching like a forlorn puppy as her cab merges into traffic. I’ll be damned, he has the hots for Leilah. No, I realize with a start. It isn’t Leilah he’s lusting after. It’s Ciarah.

He takes a couple steps toward the curb. Dammit, he’s going to follow her. Instead, he spins and stride’s down the sidewalk. I step from the shadows and slip inside my taxi the instant it halts at the curb. With my mental command to follow Leilah’s cab, the driver takes off.

Now that Ethan knows about Ciarah, he’ll run straight to Raith.

City lights blur past the window. There’s no more keeping Leilah to myself, even though I never really had her to begin with. I focus on her cab, which is slowing and stopping in front of Studio 59. Perfect. She’s gone from cabaret and leather to jazz and cigars. The girl always did know how to get around.

Leilah exits the cab, then my driver pulls into the spot vacated by her cab. I tip the driver an extra fifty, slide from the cab and squint as I enter the club. The lighting is low, and a tall, leggy brunette is playing a baby grand located in an alcove at the corner window facing the street. Cigar smoke hangs heavy in the air and I breathe deeply of the aroma. Cigar clubs are among my favorite in the city.

Leilah is heading toward the stairs leading to the second level. It’s not quite midnight, but the place is almost full. The crowd is a little older, and much more mainstream than the patrons at The Witching Hour Cabaret Club. Still, I know the club will stay busy until its two a.m. closing.

I sidestep a group of men, step up to the bar, and order a Grey Goose on the rocks. Leilah reaches the top of the stairs and leaves my range of vision. The bartender sets the drink in front of me. I leave a twenty on the bar then casually climb the stairs.

She’s seated at a corner booth, a drink in front of her, her raven hair concealing half her face. I’m betting she’s drinking tequila. She’s a whiskey girl at heart, but when she wants to forget something, she drinks tequila, and often a lot of it. I near her and she looks up. The sorrow in her eyes kills me. I stop as if just noticing her, then smile.

I change direction. “Something wrong, love?”

The moisture welling in her eyes tells me she’s on the verge of tears. What the bloody hell did Ethan say to her?

Leilah shakes her head. “Just a long day.”

“Want company?”

“You’ll do better to find one of your lollipops.”

I chuckle. Her way with words remains consistent throughout her incarnations.

“I’m not in a licking mood tonight,” I lie. I’m always in a licking mood.

I slide into the booth to her right and immediately sense the heat of magic. Ethan’s work. He must have marked her with a sigil. So, the little hellion refused to accept her admittance into The Academy. That’s what I most love about Ciarah. Her unpredictability. Being forced to appear against her will must be killing her. Ciarah hates being controlled.

“What do you think of The Illumina Academy?” she surprises me with her bluntness.

“It’s a prestigious institution,” I keep my voice neutral. “Those who train there are the best of their kind.”