Wytchcraft: A Matilda Kavanagh Novel (35 page)

“Shut up,” I said into the pot, stirring a little too fast, making some of the black liquid slosh out and splash on my work surface. The plastic table top sizzled as the poison ate through, burning a nickel sized hole in the plastic. Roane scoffed behind me and I had to still my hands, reining in the desire to fling some of the black goop at him. But if I maimed him, I didn’t think the Dunhallows would come through with the other half of my payment. If I actually got out of this mess, that is.

“Just ignore him,” Ronnie said to me.

“Your majesty,” the little fairy girl cut in, and I couldn’t help but look at her. There were tears in her eyes and her tiny pointy chin quivered. “They’re just trying to help.”

“I know that, Tommie,” Roane said with a sigh. “I just don’t see the point in getting our hopes up anymore.” A tear spilled out of Tommie’s eye, adding to the red tracks on her round cheeks.

“Hope is always important,” she whispered. A wisp drifted out of the cage and bobbed its way to her, settling in the air just before her chest. I wanted to wrap her up in a warm blanket and hug her tight and wipe her tears away. I glanced over my shoulder at Roane and saw that he had the good grace to look embarrassed.

“From the mouths of babes,” I whispered and turned back to the boiling potion. I dug through the box of useless supplies until I found the bottles in the bottom and grabbed two, one large and one small.

I filled the small bottle, using a glass eye-dropper, relieved when the potion didn’t eat through the glass. Holding the vial at eye level, I whispered, “
Inficio infeci infectum.
” The vial grew almost too hot in my hand to hold as the spell activated, waiting to be used. I corked the vial; now that it was properly activated, it wouldn’t eat through inanimate objects. I tucked the small vial into my bra, hoping Jackson wouldn’t think to search me a second time.

I had just managed to whisper the incantation over the second, larger bottle when Jackson entered the room, throwing the door open so that it slammed against the wall, startling us all. I have never been so grateful to already have a potion corked than I was in that moment. Jackson stood in the doorway, looking around at all of us. His gaze lingered on the now conscious Roane before he turned his attention to Ronnie, his eyes dropping to her wrists.

I realized there was blood on her arms, around her ties. In her earlier excited state, she’d cut her arms on the hard plastic zip ties.

“Trying to get out, are we?” Jackson asked, moving over to Ronnie.

“No,” she shook her head vigorously. “You just pulled them too tight is all.”

“I don’t think so,” Jackson said, and he pulled his fist back and let it fly, striking Ronnie on the cheek. I thought I heard something crack under her cry of pain, but he hit her so hard that her chair tipped and, after a moment where Ronnie hung suspended in the air, she crashed to the ground.

“You dirty bridge dweller,” I screamed, rushing for the door of my cage, grabbing at the bars before I could stop myself. The electric currents shot through my body, shaking me, stealing my voice and setting every nerve ending on fire. The shock of power sent me flying before I could pry my hands off the bars, and I knew, if I was still alive in the morning, my ass was going to be seriously bruised.

I could taste pennies and my nails were starting to turn black. If I wasn’t careful, I’d lose them all before this night was over. The electric shock was bad enough, but coupled with my own telekinetic powers, it was doubly painful.

Jackson
tsked
at me, shaking his head as he watched me climb to my hands and knees. The room spun for a moment, and I had to close my eyes and concentrate on my breathing to get my head under control before I attempted to get to my feet. I could feel my hair lifting around my head as the static electricity danced through it. Whatever or whoever I touched next was going to get a painful jolt.

“We don’t have all night, Ms. Kavanagh,” Jackson said, and I could see him tapping his foot. I really wished I had something to stab that fucking foot with right then. I swallowed against the bile rising in my throat and managed to get to my feet. When the world remained steady, I walked over to the work station I’d set up, snatched the bottle with the poison, and held it up for him to see.

“Here,” I said. My throat was raw enough to make my voice sound unfamiliar even to my ear.

“Wonderful!” He clapped his hands together before coming to the door of my cage. He stuck his arm through the bars, careful not to touch either side, and held his hand out for the bottle.

I stumbled forward and thought about grabbing his arm and pulling him into the bars and frying his ass, but if I did that, I’d be electrocuted too and I wasn’t sure I could take another round without finally hurting something in my brain.

I extended the bottle, stopping just before I placed it in his open palm. “Just one thing,” I said.

“What’s that?”

“This isn’t meant to be taken by Bernadette,” I said. Jackson took his hand back, stepping back from the cage to squint at me.

“How’s that?”

“Well, I mean, you take half of it first,” I said, trying to think of something to get that look off of his face. “Then you give the other half, with three drops of your blood added to it, to whomever you want to bespell.”

“I told you I was tired of blood magic,” Jackson said as he crossed his arms over his chest.

I dropped my hand, holding the bottle tight. “I know, but that’s how all love potions work. You have to add some of your essence to the potion, otherwise it’s just a cherry brandy cocktail.”

I held the bottle up again and lifted my eyebrows, waiting. The way he continued to stare at me, I was surprised that Jackson hadn’t asked me to brew a truth spell first so that he could force anyone to drink it before he asked them questions.

“So I drink half, add my blood to the rest, give it to Bernadette, and she’ll love me again?” Jackson asked.

“If you want to call it that,” I said, unable to help myself. Jackson tilted his head, his eyes narrowing at me, and I heard Ronnie make a noise on the floor. “All I mean is that it will be manufactured, not really
true love
.” I made air quotes with my fingers. After a moment, Jackson seemed to accept my explanation and held his hand through the bars again. I set the bottle in his hand. He pulled his hand out of the cage and eyed the bottle just as he’d been eyeing me.

“Never seen a love potion that was black before,” he said, tilting the bottle back and forth to catch the light, as if he expected to see something sinister inside the potion.

“Well, this one is,” I said with a one-shoulder shrug, keeping my eyes on him. I didn’t want to do anything that would make him second guess me. I just needed him to take one tiny swallow of the stuff and he’d be down in half a second. If he actually managed to drink half of the potion, his organs would shut down before his heart stopped beating. Right then I didn’t care which outcome happened, so long as he drank some of the damned potion.

Jackson pulled the cork out and took a whiff of the potion, recoiling with a grimace almost immediately. Poisons never smelled pleasant, and this one smelled like black licorice and dirty socks – a combination that only a troll would like.

Jackson set the bottle on the dresser and moved over to Ronnie. He grabbed the back of her chair and hauled her back up. When he snatched the bottle, I flinched, terrified some would spill out and burn his hand and give me away, but miraculously, it didn’t.

“You drink it first,” Jackson said, thrusting the bottle out and holding it in front of Ronnie’s mouth, dangerously close to her lips. I blanched and took a step forward, stopping just short of touching the bars. Ronnie’s eyes were so wide I could see the whites all around. She turned her terrified eyes on me, and I shook my head. No, she couldn’t do this.

“It’s not meant for her,” I said quickly, fighting the urge to reach out for my friend and pull her out of harm’s way.

“I know that, but so long as I make sure not to get her blood into it, then it should be harmless for her to drink some, right?” he asked, keeping his eyes on Ronnie and pressing the bottle closer to her face. Ronnie cringed away from it, pressing her lips into a tight line, but a whimper still managed to escape her.

“Stop!” I screamed, holding my hands up as Jackson started to tip the bottle forward, threatening to spill the toxic liquid on her face if she didn’t open her mouth. Jackson stood up straight and turned to face me. He poured the potion out, spilling it onto the floor in a black, oozing puddle. Stupid, tricky human.

“I thought so,” he said, smiling at me. “Now, make it right. I’m going to go get Bernadette, and we’ll just make this nice and neat.”

Jackson set the bottle on the dresser again and took up his gun, pulling the slide to put a bullet in the chamber. I hated myself for not taking that with me when I had the chance. Jackson pressed the tip of the barrel against Ronnie’s cheek where he’d struck her, making her cry out in pain. I stepped closer to the cage, feeling the electricity humming through the metal, almost as though it was reaching out for the current in my body.

“Any more games, any more bullshit, and you’re going to see what the inside of your friend’s skull looks like,” Jackson said in that same low hiss. He twisted the gun, grinding the metal tip into Ronnie’s swollen cheek. I could see Ronnie gritting her teeth, trying not to give voice to her pain but failing.

“Okay, just stop, damnit,” I begged, hating the sound of my voice, but keeping my eyes on Ronnie as my heart pounded against my ribs.

“Good,” Jackson said, dragging the barrel down Ronnie’s cheek, making her groan in pain. I waved away a wisp, making Jackson turn to look at me, his brows knitted together. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” I sighed. Humans couldn’t see wisps unless a wisp was trying to bewitch them, and I just didn’t have it in me to explain it to him right then. Without another look, he stormed out of the room, slamming the door closed behind him. When we heard the front door slam shut, Ronnie finally gave over to the pain in her face and sobbed openly, her body shaking with her labored breathing. My legs gave out and I fell to my knees, twisting and pulling at my hands, desperate to get to her and get her out.

“The tricky witch isn’t so clever, is she?” Roane asked, and I didn’t have to look at him to know he was smirking.

“I should’ve just let you rot up here and told your parents to shove their threats up their ass,” I said back, but there wasn’t enough heat to my words. I hated him right then and was happy he was in a cage that he couldn’t even stand in.

“Just make the stupid potion, Mattie,” Ronnie said once she got her tears under control. I nodded. It was one thing to risk my life, but I couldn’t take watching him pick Ronnie apart to get me to cooperate. Who knows, maybe this Bernadette still loved him? The image of her bruised cheek swam into my mind, looking a lot like Ronnie did now, and I knew there was little chance she still loved him, not after being struck by him.

And here I was about to brew a potion to tie her to the man that had beat her. My stomach rolled again, threatening to make me sick right there in the cage as my self-loathing grew exponentially in mere moments. I tried to tell myself I was only doing this to save my friend and hoped it would be enough to keep my hands from shaking as I poured salt into the copper pot with the remaining poison. I found another, smaller pot in the box and started over, this time without the mistletoe.

“Damn him,” I whispered, blinking away the tears that blurred my vision as I measured the cherry brandy.

***

“What do you think is going to happen after you brew that?” Roane asked. His voice sounded stronger, clearer than it had earlier.

“I imagine the maniac will give it to his ex-wife,” I said, staring into the rose-colored potion, giving it a stir, making sure to use a different spoon than the one I’d used for the poison.

“Right, and then what? You think he’s going to let you go?” Roane pressed, and I suppressed the desire to punch him in his pointy face.

“No, I don’t think that,” I answered.

“Guy, would you just shut up?” Ronnie said in the voice of someone who just wants to go quietly into the void, not listening to some jumped-up fairy prince whining and giving us a hard time.

“Ignore him, Ron,” I said counting the number of stirs, pulling the spoon out of the potion on the thirteenth revolution. I watched as the rose tint faded to the pleasing shade of pink I was waiting for. It was clear as water and smelled of the honey and cherry I’d mixed in. Unafraid to touch this potion, I dipped a clean bottle into the pot, filling it before corking it.

The cloud of pixies started tittering in their cage, their wings buzzing loudly as they started moving around. Tommie turned to face the door of the bedroom, a pinched look on her sweet face. “He’s here,” she whispered.

I understood the pained look on her face when Jackson shouldered the door open and threw Bernadette in, sending her tumbling to the floor. She hit the floor with a sound of pain, and I cringed when she lifted her face. Her lip was split open, there was a trickle of blood on her chin, and the older bruise on her cheek had a cut in the center now, as if she’d been struck again in the same place. Angry electric pulses danced around my hands and I imaged digging my fingers into Jackson’s face, burning out his eyes as he screamed under my grip. Wisps floated in the middle of the room, feeding off of Bernadette’s fear and my anger and Ronnie’s pain.

“Here we are,” Jackson said with a bright smile. His eyes were a little too wide as he pointed the gun at Bernadette, who was struggling to get to her feet. She took in the room around her, the cages, the dying creatures, Ronnie bound to a chair and bleeding, and me, standing there with electricity pulsing through my hands with a steaming pot on a camp stove behind me.

“Jackson, what have you done?” Bernadette breathed, holding her hands to her chest, shaking her head slowly.

“I’ve secured our future, Bernie,” Jackson replied, gesturing to the room at large with his free hand. “See, the fairy has granted me wishes for the lottery and taken care of Derrick for me, and we have that other fairy to grant us even more wishes once she’s older.” He gestured to Tommie as she shrank back in her cage, moving as far away from him as the bars would allow her. “And now I managed to get us a couple of witches to brew any potion we could possibly want! Imagine what we can do with all of this. We’ll never have to worry about money again. We’ll be happy again.”