The Frozen Witch Book One (2 page)

My belly
gave a sudden rumble, and I
turned to face the fridge. Opening it with my foot, I stared glumly
at the contents: one half eaten packet of Chinese take-out that was
several days old.

I grabbed it, sniffed it experimentally,
winced, and shrugged my shoulders. It was the best I could do.
Grabbing a used plastic spoon from the counter, I sat down at my
cracked Formica table.

As I settled down to eat my old Chinese, I
plucked my phone out and began texting my mother, telling her I
wouldn’t be able to make it to Nona’s. She was currently holed up
in her mansion in a room that had been renovated with specialist
medical equipment.

Even though I’d only gone to see her a few
times over the past few months of her palliative care, for some
reason that room was seared onto my eyeballs. I could even hear the
hiss of her oxygen machine.

Rubbing that particular image from my mind
as I pushed my fringe from my eyes, I leant over my phone.

I lied, quickly coming up with a better
excuse than I had to work. Then I sat back and downed my Chinese in
a few unpalatable gulps.

Even though I’d just gotten up, I headed
back to bed. I had a feeling tonight would be a long one.

…

Hank Chaplin

The room was dark, gloomy, a
musty s
cent
filling the air. Running along with it was the sharp smell of fresh
blood.

Hank walked forward, hands in his pockets.
He tipped his head down and nodded at the box on the plinth. “Tell
me we finally found it?”

A man stood behind the plinth in a long,
dark robe that touched the dust-covered floor. The robe was
completely black except for red accents of perpetually fresh blood
rimming its sleeves and collar. The blood dripped along the fabric
until it splashed onto the floor.

The man inclined his head to the side,
bringing up a hand as it escaped from his long sleeve. His hand
caught the light. It was gnarled down to the bone, nothing more
than a thin sheet of skin stretched across joints.

Hank didn’t shudder back in fear; he’d
seen much worse and done much worse. “Tell me it’s the right box,
finally. Tell me we’ve got our hands on it?” he demanded once
more.

The other man ignored him as he picked up
the box carefully with the gentle touch of a soldier brandishing a
live grenade. The old man tapped one of his twisted, skin-covered
fingers along the wood. A dull, resonant thump echoed through the
room. It sent a thrill racing up Hank’s spine.

“I need fresh blood,” the old man
announced.

Hank didn’t wait. He shoved a hand into his
pocket and pulled out a vial, chucking it at the old man.

“And the victim?” the man
asked.

“Killed in all the right ways. It’s as
fresh as fresh can be. Just what you need.” Hank’s words were
quick, snapped, all his attention locked on the box and the promise
within.

The old wizard didn’t waste any more time.
Carefully, he undid the lid of the vial, and with a single word
echoing under his breath, he tipped the blood over the box.

At first, nothing happened, and Hank’s heart
sank. Then an explosion of magic covered the box, blue flames
sparking so high Hank had to take a step back and protect his
face.

As he let his hand drop, an enormous grin
cut across his face. “Finally, finally, we found it.”

The wizard didn’t reply. Instead, he brought
his hand down, and despite the licking blue flames, he plunged it
past them to run a gnarled nail across the wood.

Though a protection spell ran along the
wizard’s hand, it wasn’t strong enough to completely protect him
from those dancing flames. The old man gave a hiss, but did not
stop running his nail down the length of the box.

“Open it,” Hank insisted as he pressed
forward. The heat from the flames simply wasn’t there, and yet he
knew if he reached a hand out without the right protection spells
in place, the flames would consume him. It took practitioners of
the strongest caliber to be able to push the power of that fire
back.

The wizard continued to rake his fingernail
across the runes carved into the wood, but the flames kept licking
higher and higher. With every second, his protection spell ran out,
until, with a rattling gasp, he jerked back.

“Open it!” Hank screamed, spittle flying
from his mouth.

“I cannot,” the wizard conceded as he drew
his damaged hand back into the protection of his blood-soaked
sleeve.

“Then find a way.”

“I will,” the wizard promised.

“And keep that thing safe, for god’s sake.
Who else knows about the box?”

“Only the fools who sold it to me,” the
wizard replied.

“Have them eliminated at once.”

The wizard nodded his head down low.

“Right.” Hank shoved his hands back into
his pockets. Before he could turn and leave, he shot one last,
lingering look at the box. Within was the power to change
everything. Whosoever held that power would hold the world in their
hands.

I didn’t like the waitressing business.
Never had. I’d fallen into it like every other job in my life. If
you asked my grandmother, I had no direction. In her books, I was
worse than a murderer, because I had talent. I was intelligent, and
under my frumpy hair and baggy eyes, I was almost pretty. But I
never did anything with my potential. I wasted it. Squandered
it.

As she’d once told me to my face, in her
books, ignoring your abilities was as bad as killing a man.

Rubbing my sleepy eyes, I listened to the
train’s PA announce the next stop.

Sighing into my hand as I yawned, I got up
and followed the other commuters off onto the station.

Even down here it was fiendishly cold.
Despite the fact it was midsummer, and it should have been a warm,
balmy night, I felt a tight shiver press down my back. I shrugged
further into my thick winter jacket, just as I noted that the other
commuters were in shirts, skirts, and shorts. They hardly looked
like they were about to face a blizzard. But me? I couldn’t chase
away the sudden sense of cold that had descended over me in a
wave.

Clenching my teeth and listening to them
chatter in my skull, I headed up onto the street beyond.
Immediately, I glanced up and stared at the clouds gathering along
the horizon.

“Christ, those look like storm clouds,” I
muttered to myself as I huddled further under my jacket.

A cold blast of wind slammed into my back,
chasing the loose ends of my hair over my shoulders.

Despite the fact the street was packed, no
one else appeared affected by the gale. Which was just my luck –
even the weather was out to get me.

After a few city blocks, I made it to the
right place. Dragging my phone out of my pocket, about as chipper
as a prisoner about to be sent to the gallows, I checked the
address Larry had texted to me.

“Yep, this is it,” I said under my
breath.

I took a few seconds to drink in how
expensive the building looked. It was one of those new towers that
had replaced one of the inner city parks. Weirdly, though I’d lived
in Saint Helios my whole life, I didn’t remember this particular
building.

It seemed… kinda weird for some reason.
Almost like it was a cardboard cut-out someone had propped up on
the horizon. Kinda like if I turned back and blinked, the building
would disappear completely….

As I tilted my head back and took in its
enormity, it looked as if it had cost more than the GDP of a small
country. As someone who always had to scrounge to get by, that
pissed me off.

Before I headed around back to the service
entrance, I smoothed a smile over my face. I even checked my
reflection in the shiny door as I entered the kitchen. Larry, who
was always up in my face when I turned up for work, was nowhere to
be seen.

Instead, Stacy appeared, holding a bundle
of clothes. “Hey, kid. You’re late.”

“Sure am. Where’s the codger? Off robbing
old ladies?” I quipped as I looked over my shoulder in case he was
somehow hiding in one of the giant industrial ovens.

“Haven’t seen him,” Stacy said as she
handed me the clothes. “Now change into this uniform; we’re already
running pretty late.”

I frowned obviously, gesturing to my black
skirt and shirt with a brush of my hand. “I’m already wearing a
uniform.”

“Not good enough.” Stacy shrugged and
handed me the new uniform. “This is a high-class gig.” She gestured
to the expensive kitchen equipment behind us. “I’m surprised Larry
isn’t making us wear evening gowns.”

I snorted. “That, or lingerie,” I quipped
as I spied a bathroom sign and hustled over, tugging my jacket off
before I’d made it into one of the female stalls.

I heard Stacey walk into the room behind
me. “Larry’s going ballistic about this one. Got a long list of dos
and don’ts. He made me personally promise to remind you to look
presentable. Seriously, he’s crazier than usual.”

I’d left the door to my stall ajar, and
Stacey nudged it further open. She handed me a cute, little makeup
bag.

“I’ve already got plenty on,” I said as I
wriggled into an extremely well-fitting skirt and
blouse.

“It’s not enough. Larry wants everybody
looking our best. And Larry…” she trailed off.

I frowned, finally managing to wrestle the
blouse over my bust. “Larry is what?” I nudged the door open with
my knee and faced Stacy as I zipped my skirt up and buttoned my
top. “He was weird on the phone,” I pointed out as I grabbed
Stacy’s makeup bag and rifled through it for a shade of lipstick
that didn’t belong on a news anchorwoman from the 90s. Clutching a
suitably soft pink, I darted over to the large mirror behind the
sink and started to apply the lipstick with a quick
hand.

Stacy frowned as she turned around and
jumped onto the counter. She sat there, swinging her legs, looking
decidedly un-Stacy as she continued to consider me with a concerned
look. “Something’s not right with him. I mean, I know we’re always
saying that, but seriously… I’ve never seen him like
this.”

I smudged my lipstick, hand ticking to the
side as a sudden burst of nerves pounded through my gut.

Whilst I thought, deep down, that Larry was
a good guy. The cops might not agree. I’d heard enough around town
to know he wasn’t always an upstanding businessman.

I frowned at Stacy as I grabbed some
mascara and started applying way too much until my eyes looked like
they were framed by spider legs. “What do you mean? Where is he,
anyway? He should have been at the door, chiding me for being
late.”

Stacy shrugged. “I saw him when I got
here. But I haven’t seen him since. Camille from the kitchen staff
said she saw him darting off into a taxi an hour ago, after he had
a conversation with a god.”

I arched an eyebrow. No, I didn’t think
Stacey actually thought old Larry McGregor of Fabulous Catering
Services had nicked off in a taxi after a meeting with the
divine.

One look at the way Stacey was biting her
lips told me the only godly thing about the guy Larry had talked to
would be his butt. Or his abs. Or his chest – Stacey was never
picky.

“What guy was he talking to?” I clicked
the lid on the mascara and shoved it back into Stacey’s makeup
purse.

She took an entirely unnecessary breath,
as if she had plans on swooning into the sink. “Franklin Saunders.
This party is his. I heard from the other waitresses that he has
just rented out this entire tower. You know who he is,
right?”

Yeah, sure – I knew Franklin Saunders.
Anyone who stepped foot in Saint Helios City soon met the guy. And
no, he didn’t walk up to you and personally introduce himself – he
was just everywhere. From the gossip rags to newspapers, you
couldn’t move without news of Mr Saunders. The city’s number one
philanthropic, rich, handsome bachelor. The media couldn’t get
enough of him, and nor could any red-blooded female.

Franklin was the kind of perfect you didn’t
actually see in real life. Though I’d never met him personally, by
all accounts, he looked like a Greek statue come to life.
Airbrushed, muscled, and crammed into a fine Kashmir suit, Gucci
loafers, and a Cartier platinum watch.

“It’s like the guy’s been carved out of
hotness or something.” Stacey fanned herself.

I ignored her text-book, girlie move and
scratched at my neck.

What was going on here? When Larry had said
he would rather owe me than Franklin Saunders, had it been more
than a throwaway comment?

“Anyhow, when you’re finished here, we
need you on the floor. Drinks are about to start.” Stacy jumped off
the bench, pivoted, checked her lipstick, and waved as she walked
through the door.

She left me there, frowning at my own
reflection.

M
y phone vibrated with a message, the sound
so unexpected I had to stifle a yelp.

Groping in my bag, I pulled out my mobile
and frowned all the harder when I saw it was my mother. The text
was suitably brief. Just three words, in fact: not good
enough.

It was a response to my earlier message that
I wouldn’t be able to see grandma today.

I sucked in what I hoped would be a calming
breath, but it just made me all the more pissed off. Lashing out, I
kicked the bench. Though everything in this building was made of
steel and polished chrome, I still managed to dent it.