Page 4 of Reckless Witch

“You know how dangerous it is to practice magic on the streets,” he whispers. “You’re exposing more than yourself to danger.”

I twist in the chair and meet his gaze. I’m aware only of the raw maleness that makes my skin sizzle. His gaze drops to my mouth and I’m startled by the need to find out what his lips feel like on my body.

Heart pounding, I bolt to my feet and grab my jacket off the back of my chair as I head for the door. I have to get as far away from him as possible. My legs feel strangely heavy, as if I’m slogging through quicksand.

Damn you, Ethan Bordeau.

Already, his sigil is bending me to its will. I can break the damn spell. I have to find Jax. He’ll know how.

I shove my arms into my coat sleeves and force my way through the standing-room-only crowd. The Witching Hour Cabaret Club is one of the most popular clubs in the City, not only because the cabaret acts are the best or because the club is owned by the vampire queen Desiree, but because Margiddians blend nicely with the alternative lifestyles of the customers. I sense two vampires and several shifters. They’re Desiree’s biggest fans.

Halfway to the exit, I glimpse shadows near the main door. I slow, caught in the strange rhythm that pulses in sync with the music. My heart pounds harder. Dark magic? Fear slides down my spine. I hadn’t sensed a black witch earlier. How did I miss her?

Someone jostles me and my gaze sharpens as if I’d been staring out of focus. The man who bumped me mumbles something and pushes past me. I quicken pace toward the front door. I may engage in a dubious profession, but I don’t dabble in black arts. Everyone knows black magic is like candy to The Shadows.

I reach the door, burst into the cold December air, and stumble two steps right while dragging in deep gasps. Strong fingers grasp my arm. I pivot, leg raised high for a roundhouse kick. I register Ethan’s face as he clamps a hand around my ankle. I leap upwards and yank my leg free while whipping around to kick with my other foot. My skirt rides up nearly to my crotch.

Ethan ducks with the speed unique to his kind then bands an arm around my waist before my feet touch concrete. He yanks me against an impossibly hard body and drags me toward the alley. Instinct summons my magic, but the sigil on my hand burns. I blink in surprise.

“Don’t fight me, Leilah.”

His order, spoken low in my ear, only infuriates me all the more. Rage has been a near-constant companion since the day Grams ripped me from all I’d known. I’d been fifteen. Fifteen. Tears well from some dark corner of my fifteen-year-old self.

Once in the alley, Ethan releases me. I spin and face him.

“I’m not your enemy,” he says.

I can’t speak. If I do, I might embarrass myself and cry. Then I would have to kill him. I can’t have him telling anyone Leilah Crowe cried. The door to the club creaks open and music blasts in the instant before the door slams shut.

“I want to know what’s going on,” I say.

Ethan releases a breath. “Zadkeil is leading the investigation—”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I cut in. “For Christ’s sake, demons are more reliable than angels. Zadkeil can’t be trusted.”

In my experience, few angels can be trusted. Maybe none. Talk about self-righteous beings who think they’re right all the time… They make Ethan look like an amateur.

“Would you feel better if I told you we did, in fact, get corroboration of her guilt from a demon?” he asks.

I stare in shock. “Angels and demons don’t take part in earthly matters.”

“In fact, they sometimes do.”

I start to reply, but he says, “You’ll get answers when we have them.”

We? Who the hell is we? Raith Vanderkoff runs The Academy. Ethan is, essentially, his second in command. Does Raith have something to do with the investigation into Grams’ death? As Cadette Commander of Illumina Academy New York, Raith has a buttload of power, but he’s not a council member. What could he or Ethan have to do with an investigation into my grandmother’s death—and why the fuck are angels involving themselves in a witch’s death? Witches and angels aren’t on the best of terms given the old testament, ‘thou shall not suffer a witch to live’ deal. Sure, their leader later denied having anything to do with that clusterfuck. After all, it’s not his fault his followers misunderstood. Right?

I consider casting a truth spell on Ethan and the sigil on my hand heats. What the fuck? I pin the dragon with a glare. “Your little sigil is more than a compulsion spell to enforce attendance.”

“You know it’s against the law to practice magic without proper training,” he says.

“And the permission of the Illumina,” I snarl.

“You’re too young to remember The Shadows.” Sorrow clouds his eyes. “Be glad for that.”

I’m startled by the sense that his secret is closer to the surface than it normally is, and realize I’m extending my magic when his damn sigil heats my hand again. I yank back my magic. It’s best Ethan doesn’t know how hard I’m willing to work to break through his dragon magic. I’ll save that for just the right moment. Like when I get the fucking thing removed from my hand. Then he and Raith will get a nice surprise.

While dragon magic isn’t as encompassing as that of a natural witch, with dragon magic at his disposal, Raith is a powerhouse. Dragons are natural enemies of vamps—everyone is a natural enemy of vampires, when you get right down to it—but I guess Ethan isn’t afflicted with a sense of loyalty to his clan. He’s obviously Illumina first, and that means he’s Raith Vanderkoff’s man, dragon, and anything else Raith wants him to be, including—and most importantly, today—what they call a recruiter and what I call a henchman.