Page 5 of Reckless Witch

A man turns into the alley, stops short, looks from Ethan to me, then backs away and heads up the street.

I return my attention to Ethan. He’s given me more information about Grams than I’ve discovered in the two weeks I’ve been here.

“Maybe you’ll find the answers you seek at The Academy,” Ethan says.

I narrow my eyes. “You’ll never convince me that my grandmother, a High Witch of the Light, was consorting with Shadows.” Grams was a lot of things, but this… I shake my head. “No way. I would have known.”

Yet even as I make the claim, I see Grams in the cellar pouring over an ancient scroll in the dead of night. Alone, that isn’t suspicious. Witches are known for reading ancient scrolls. However, another time, when I sneaked up behind her and shouted ‘boo,’ she’d whirled and thrown a flame spell that singed my hair as it flew past and hit the wall. Normally, Grams was unshakable. Something had scared her for her to react with such violence.

I once saw her standing in the dark, arms outstretched, eyes closed. Shadows danced about her feet. Perhaps most damning of all had been our last encounter. I’d awakened to find her standing over me in the dark, chanting. The next day, she tossed me onto the street and cast a spell on the potion shop to prevent me from finding it again. I grimace and cut off the thoughts. Dammit. Fifteen minutes with Ethan and he’s already summoned more memories than I’d thought about in years.

“These are underhanded, false accusations to justify the Illumina’s actions,” I snap. So much for the school mantra of Light, Honor and Duty.

A corner of Ethan’s mouth lifts. “You can’t honestly think your grandmother’s shop is worth anything to the Illumina?”

His comment is insulting. Grams had specialized in one-of-a-kind Shuhadaku potions that allowed users to harness elemental magic. They’d been the best on the East Coast. Plenty of people would kill to get their hands on the formulas.

“Her recipes are invaluable,” I say.

“The Illumina doesn’t need her magic,” Ethan states. “The dark arts leave an undeniable imprint. Once the Illumina finishes its investigation…” He shrugs. “The house will be disposed of.”

Disposed of? My heart beats faster. Over my dead body. I step closer, grab the lapel of his expensive shirt and yank his head down so I can look him in the eye as I tell him they had better not touch my home. My home. But this close, his eyes capture mine. Despite being the granddaughter of the whitest witch who ever lived, I’m comfortable with natural shadows. I see in the dark as almost as easily as a cat, so I don’t miss the silver dragon energy swirling in those irises an inch from mine. Something deep inside me hums, as if I’d just stuck my finger in an electrical socket.

His brows shoot up in surprise. His secret rushes to the surface. I reach for the answer. The sigil on my hand burns. I grunt and take a faltering step back. What the hell? I haven’t summoned any magic. Then I understand.

Dragon energy.

I shoot him a dagger-filled glare, then spin on my heel and leave him standing in the cold alley.

Chapter Two

ETHAN

Ciarah/Leilah, Leilah/Ciarah

I stand frozen in the alley. She has finally returned. My heart thunders in my ears. Forty years. The blink of an eye. An agonizing eternity. Leilah Crowe, Illumina’s newest High Potential. I break from my shock. Illumina’s newest High Potential. I race from the alley, halt, and glimpse her dark hair as she ducks into a taxi. The cab takes off and I stare until she’s long out of sight.

An hour later, I’m out of the city and nearly at The Academy. Icy flakes strike the windshield with a relentless staccato that grates on my nerves. After all these centuries, I should be immune to the mingling of euphoria and fear I experience every time Ciarah returns. The Illumina Academy’s stone wall comes into view up ahead on the left and my hands still shake as I turn into the drive, pass under the archway and enter the school grounds.

I heave a breath and will my heart to slow, but my thoughts continue to race. I’d entered The Witching Hour Cabaret Club to recruit a student and felt an attraction to Leilah the moment I laid eyes on her. But who wouldn’t? Hazel, kohl-lined cat eyes. Tall, with long raven hair that down her back, and long legs.

I swallow. I’d sat across from her in the club without a clue as to her true identity. Hell, I’d touched her, dropped a sigil on her skin. In the past, physical contact had always been enough to stir the recognition. Why not this time? Only when she collared me in the alley did my dragon energy leap to meet hers.

I slow, pull into the parking garage attached to the instructors’ living quarters, park the Aston Martin in my designated spot, then turn off the car. I close my eyes and drag in a long breath as I let my hands drop from the steering wheel onto my thighs.

Ciarah is back. This time, as Leilah.

Can we do this again? Can I do this again?

Over the years, I’ve known many beautiful women and even loved a few. But not the way I love Ciarah. I’ve known her by many names. But to me—to us—she will always be Ciarah, the slave girl we met millennia ago, the one who keeps appearing in our lives again and again. Even after centuries, we still haven’t discovered the reason why.

Each time, the pain of losing her hurts more than the last.

I need a long vacation. The Orient. It’s been too long since I’ve visited Japan. A couple months surrounded by soft spoken geishas would soothe the fire raging in my gut. At least, for a little while. No, that’s a lie. The pain of knowing she’s here and being so far away from her would kill me.

I consider staying in my off-campus apartment, but the idea is a fantasy. Rest isn’t on the docket for tonight. Probably not for the next ten years; fifteen, if I’m lucky. Not until we lose her again. Besides, I have to let Raith know I found her. He would toss me into a deep grave if he learned I’d found Ciarah and hadn’t told him. That’s one trait vampires and dragons share; neither is forgiving.

I step from the car into the frigid garage. The dragon in me recoils. I long for a whiskey, a raging fire, and an opportunity to recall every second of the fifteen minutes I’d spent with Ciarah. Instead, despite her return, we have work. I start toward the door leading into the building.