The Mark (Interracial Paranormal Romance) (Toil and Trouble) (19 page)

"Josephine!" I screeched, taking a step forward. I had a sudden, irrational need to propel myself forward. She was so beautiful...I had to save her.

"No!" Jack yelled, pulling me toward the door. "It's not real, Jade!"

But it felt real. Her writhing form called out to me. I could still feel her hot lips on mine. Hot like the blue flames that licked the ceiling.

"The alarms are about to go-"

The shrill of the fire alarm sliced through his words. But all I heard was a small squeak. An unpleasant chirp that paled in comparison to the horror in front of me.

"You there!" A voice shouted over the commotion. I peered over Jack's shoulder and spied two men in uniforms charging toward us.

I flailed my arms manically, beckoning them toward us.

"Stop it, Jade!" Mom hissed. But it was too late, I saw the swirl of police lights, the sirens mixing with the hoot of the fire alarm.

"We were just passing through," Jack continued, the quiet power of his glamour emanating from his words. "And we will continue on our way."

"Unfortunately no," she said, sliding into the backseat. "A succubus's glamour is like the flu...it just has to work its way through the system."

"What a shame," Jack said quietly. I couldn't tell if he was talking about me being infected by Josephine or the fact that we were officially out of leads.

Chapter Twenty-Four

A Little Help

We sat on the patio of Qdoba. The sun was warm and bright and people chattered about the nice day and their weekend plans. I was sipping on the best margarita in Raleigh and I just wanted to roll up in a ball and die. Not because my Trial started in a few measly hours, but because I'd watched Josephine die a slow, agonizing death.

I swiped at a tear coursing down my check. "It was so terrible."

"Gods," Sia said with an eyeroll. "When will her bond to that, thing, break?"

Mom let out an exhausted sigh, dipping a chip in queso. "It's gotten better if you can believe it. She was inconsolable all night, wailing on and on about her long lost lover Jo." She shook her head. "Saying goodbye to her boyfriend was a sidebar."

"I didn't want him to kiss me goodnight," I said, sticking out my lip stubbornly. I glanced over my shades at a skinny blonde who sashayed to our table. "Naomi?"

Naomi's new blue eyes went silver and I could feel her putting up a ward. "Your fairy friend," she said to me. "She gonna be a problem?"

Mom winced at her name, like she was worried just the mention of her would push me over the edge. It wasn't lost on Naomi, whose perfect lips curled into a grin. "She fed on Jade?"

"They kissed," Sia replied.

"You're really taking this live like you're dying thing to heart, huh?" Naomi said with a wink. She bit her lip when I pushed my shades to the crown of my head and saw I wasn’t in a joking mood. "Don't give up hope, Jade."

"Hope?" I snorted. "I have to face the Watchers in a few hours. I can still feel Josephine coursing through my veins. And I have a bad feeling."

I looked down at them in disbelief, not even knowing what to say. I flipped through the signatures in amazement. There were a couple from a few necromancers from the office, one from Luna Madison, the owner of a new age bookstore in Chapel Hill. I saw a couple of signatures from my fledgling days in New York--a Healer that I went to after the first ghost I summoned projected me through the wall, a troll that worked at my favorite coffee shop on 65th and Madison, and a muse I'd lent an ear to when her boyfriend was being a jerk after a burlesque show. Seeing all the support from the magical community was humbling...and it made the very real chance that today was my last day on earth heartbreaking.

This couldn't be the end...not after I spent years feeling like a freak and an outsider. Not after psychiatrists and holy men alike had told me that prayer and drugs were the answer and I did it with no relief.

Magic had saved my life and opened a world of possibilities...I wasn't a freak. I was a witch that could bridge the gap between the natural and supernatural world. There was still so much I wanted, needed to do.

"Twenty supernaturals staking their heads on your innocence?" Mom said, bouncing with delight. "That's amazing, Naomi!"

"I haven't officially gotten my summons yet. I don’t know whether to be worried or optimistic,” I said, chomping on a tortilla chip.

“Oh you should definitely be worried,” Sia said, without missing a beat. “My great cousin Lazarus was brought up on charges of exposure after he laid into a sorority house in Connecticut back in the 60’s. The humans pawned it off on Satanists of course, or a Manson copycat or something or other, but The Watchers weren’t so forgiving. They compelled him to Trial and clipped his wings.”

I gulped. When a fairy had its wings clipped, it’s a double edged sword. First, they have to go through the brutal mutilation of the Executioner hacking off their wings with a crude instrument. Then, they’re scorned from the fae community, doomed to live out the rest of their days alone.

Sia let out an indignant scoff. “They didn’t even care that he was from a noble line. The Executioner just took the blade and-”

Naomi cleared her throat, exchanging a glance with Sia. Sia took stock on the ashen look on me and my mother’s face and forced a smile. “Gods, that was so long ago though!” She reached over and squeezed my hand. “I’m sure everything will be fine.”

But the damage was done. My shoulders sunk with the reality of my situation. There really was no getting out of this. All signs pointed to me being royally screwed.

“Well you know what, Mom? This could very well be my last day on Earth. You’ll have to excuse me if I’m not really in the mood to stuff my face.”

An uncomfortable silence descended upon the table. Everyone was suddenly extraordinarily concerned with their plates and drinks, no one wanting to say anything that might set me off.

I turned my attention to the sidewalk, watching the people stride past. Each person told a story-there was the overpaid executive, barking at some poor soul on the other end of the call. A bubbly group of coeds in pink Delta Delta Delta t-shirts giggled as they strut by the patio. A harried looking mother followed, with a stroller in one hand and a precocious toddler in the other.

I saw three different paths that I could have ended up on if I’d decided to ignore my call to the Craft—one where I’d gone on to become successful. A ‘B’ in my own right. There was another where I’d buckled down academically and took the SAT, getting into a modest state school and spending my days gossiping and dreading finals. And then there was the mother—what would that have been like? I felt responsible for the deaths I’d unintentionally caused, but being responsible for a child, your own flesh and blood; that was a whole different thing.