Instead of the usual shame at losing control, she was angry, angry at having let her imagination turn the bathroom into a rain garden, angry at being unable to keep her faulty magic to herself, and angry at having been interrupted. She wished the water would just dry up. She closed her eyes and imagined it flowing back to the shower, as if the drain were an enormous sponge. She did not want to have to clean this mess up by hand.
She opened her eyes. The rainbows were back, bouncing on the mirror’s silver surface. Water flowed around her feet, but she did not look down. Instead, she watched herself in the mirror. The dark crystalline stone was brighter, more sparkling. The colors made her pale skin glow with the reflected light. She had never seen it so bright. She knew she should stop. Eleanor would have made her stop by now. Without Eleanor here, she was free to watch the rainbows, to enjoy them.
“Sabrina! Where did all that water go?” Carrie’s voice was shrill and as upset as before. Now she was frantic and surprised.
Sabrina sighed heavily. Whether she was at home or here, there was going to be no peace. Someone was going to be watching her at all times, waiting for her to make a mistake. Another unfamiliar feeling welled up inside her—hatred.
She hated feeling like a waste of space, a magical misfit. She was not a normal witch, but she was not a human either. No one understood her. No one allowed her to be herself. She was not even sure she knew what it meant to be herself. She only knew the person in the mirror was not who she was allowed to be. The reflected woman was someone she desperately wanted to know.
She hated feeling alone. Her entire life she had been sequestered from the world. Other witches traveled. Some even moved. Why should she remain in hiding? The Plott Balsam Mountains were beautiful but isolated. That was changing with the influx of strangers and the Internet, but the small farmhouse tucked away in the hills had been a lonely place to be. She had Clay, but he was a boy, a brother. Not really. He was a man, but to Sabrina, he was always going to be her little brother. There was never going to be any romance between them. She wanted more than companionship. Meeting Brandon was proof of that.
The assassination attempt had frightened her. The bombed building had terrified her. Fleeing her home with the only family she knew upset her more. Being abandoned with strangers like useless luggage infuriated her. She was tired of it all, and she hated it.
“Sabrina! Are you coming out of there?” Carrie was becoming more demanding by the minute. Sabrina was on the verge of losing her temper. If she heard her name called out in such a manner once more, she was going to lose it. “Sabrina!”
“Shut up!” She focused her energy on wishing the stupid old woman would stop talking. It was not just a wish for Carrie to stop talking to her in the here and now but for her to stop talking period. A raspy choking sound followed. Sabrina slipped back into her wet nightgown and returned to her room.
She found Carrie sitting on her made-up bed. Tears were flowing down each cheek. There was a defeated, helpless look in her eyes. Both hands covered her mouth. Sabrina felt guilty.
“I am sorry about this. I had no idea this would happen. Remain calm, and let me try to fix this. Okay?” Sabrina knelt down in front of the woman. The lines on Carrie’s face were deepened with the stress and tension of crying.
Sabrina had to close her eyes to concentrate. She remembered the sound of Carrie’s voice when she woke up. There was a smug knowing in it, but it was otherwise polite. She wished to hear it again. A coughing gasp brought Sabrina’s attention back to the elder witch.
“I thought I would never speak again,” Carrie said. She rose from her seat. In a state of shocked stupor, she walked to the bedroom door and left. Out in the hall, Sabrina heard her talking to Brandon. She recounted what had just happened and ended with her resignation.
“You can’t leave. I promised Eleanor to have a witch here at all times.” Brandon almost sounded like he was begging.
“Forget it, Mr. Thorpe. I don’t know what she is, but it isn’t a witch. Some jobs aren’t worth any amount of money. Good evening to you, sir.”
There was a slam of the front door. Something heavy fell off the wall in the entrance hall. Indistinct cursing came from the short hallway outside her door. A heavy pounding was preceded by an irate Brandon barging the room.
“First, you flood both bedrooms. Then I find a flower garden and it raining in my bathroom, which explains the flooding. Now, Carrie has quit with no notice saying you stole her voice.”
“In my defense, I didn’t do it on purpose, and I did give it back. Plus, I dried up all the water. I don’t know how, but I did it,” Sabrina retorted. She did her best to look innocent. Telling Carrie to shut up had been intentional. The result was not.
“I gave Hadrian and Eleanor my word to keep you safe. Eleanor made it clear you needed someone to help with your magic. It’s not like there were many people interested in the job. Dropping Eleanor’s name made most of them hang up without as much as a good-bye. What do you suggest I do, if you are going to run off the first person I get?” His jaw worked in a steady rhythm, clenching and unclenching. He seemed to be working to keep his anger in check. He ran his fingers through his hair. “Get dressed and come out for breakfast. I have a few calls to make before I join you.” He closed the door without slamming it, leaving her blessedly alone once more.
* * * *
The phone rang and rang. Brandon knew Hadrian would be up. Finally, the ringing stopped. No one spoke. This was typical. If you spoke and Hadrian wanted to talk to you, he would. If not, he would hang up without uttering word.
“Hadrian, it’s me, Brandon. The witch I called quit. I can’t get anyone else to come after this evening. They say she isn’t a witch, and there is nothing they can do to balance her magic. What do you suggest I do with her?”
“Babysit her yourself. It will only be a few days. Eleanor has taken care of most of them and fewer are coming into the area. If the local witches aren’t useful, then there’s no point in having more people involved than needs to be. Do the job yourself,” the husky voice answered.
“But I’m not a witch. Eleanor—” Brandon did not get the chance to plead his case. Hadrian cut him off.
“Well, neither is she, apparently. You’re a smart boy, Brandon. Figure it out.” The line went dead. That was going to be Hadrian’s final word on the matter this evening.
Brandon tossed the phone on his bed in disgust and stood with his hands on his hips. Now what? What did he have to work with? He looked out the window at the bustling city below.
He scooped the phone up and dialed another number. A weaseling voice answered on the first ring.
“Yes, sir, what can I do for you this evening?”
“Farrell, I need you to bring up some things that would entertain our guest.”
“Like what kind of things?”
“I don’t know. Think modern young female. I’ll trust you on this one.”
“You got it, boss.”
He closed the phone and gave it another toss. He scooped up a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and headed into the once-flooded bath to make himself presentable.
Sabrina slipped into the jeans Carrie had left on her bed. They were stiff and too new to be comfortable. A quick check of the floor was needed to find her bra. The T-shirt she tucked into her pants. If nothing else, it provided a barrier to the overly stiff waistband. A quick check in the mirror told her the outfit accentuated her curves. The V-neck collar gave only a slight hint of cleavage and framed her pendant. The new sneakers felt too hard and inflexible. They required breaking in before they were going to feel right.
She found a few hair accessories on the dresser beside a brush. Opting for a simple head band, Sabrina pushed the heavy blue-black curls out of her face. The damp hair stayed in place without any product. There was no makeup or other jewelry, outside of what she had worn yesterday. This, she decided, was too much for such a casual look and left the room.
Brandon was already seated at the dining table with an annoyed scowl. In front of him was an expensive-looking bone china mug containing a thick dark-red liquid. A teapot with a solid-black cozy sat beside the mug. Sabrina smelled the faint copper hints. It had to be warm blood. He flipped through a copy of the local newspaper.
“Who’s for breakfast?” She slid into the chair next to him, propped her elbows on the table, and placed her chin on top of her clasped hands. She gave him a smile that she hoped would soften his mood.
“Don’t you mean what’s for breakfast?” He was not going to play along.
“No. I mean who. You’re having somebody’s blood. I just wondered if you knew the person,” she continued in a playful tone.
He gave her an appraising look for a brief moment. His jaw clenched and unclenched a few times. Suddenly, his face took on a smooth, expressionless blank look. A smile spread across his face. His shoulders relaxed. It was like watching a switch being flipped. The grumpy vampire was replaced by a pleasant, happy man. He made eye contact and held it.
“I don’t know the donor’s name or gender. It tastes like O positive. I assume you don’t want me to share. Your tray has long since gone cold. So, what would you like? Coffee? Juice? Any food?” he asked, still smiling. He snapped his fingers without taking his eyes off hers.
A tall, rail-thin young woman entered from the kitchen area. Her short, platinum-blonde hair was spiked into a carefully sculpted bad-pixie style. Her clothes were modern steampunk, all black with buckles and grommets everywhere. There were several earrings in each ear. A nose stud and silver eyebrow ring adorned her face. Sabrina was not sure what she was, but it was not a vampire. Her skin was pale from lack of sunshine, not dead pigment. There was a thick scar along one side of the young woman’s neck. She stood without speaking, waiting for orders. Brandon did not acknowledge her.
Not understanding what to do, Sabrina just sat in her chair and looked back and forth between the two. They, in turn, watched her. Finally, Sabrina spoke. “Just a glass of orange juice will be fine, thanks.”
The woman disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a small juice glass. She sat it front of Sabrina and left without waiting to be thanked. Sabrina stared after her.
“Ignore Scarlet. She prefers it that way,” Brandon said, as if answering some unspoken question. “She is very antisocial but a good and loyal servant. She will do anything you ask of her, and she is very discreet.”
“What is she?” Sabrina’s curiosity got the better of her.
“She’s a human survivor of a rogue werewolf attack. The scar on her neck is from where he tried to tear out her throat. The damage healed, but her voice is gone forever. We found her right after the attack, but vampire blood can’t heal everything.” He took a long drink from his mug.
“What happened to the werewolf?”
“Oh, he’s still here,” Brandon said with a wink. He nodded at a thick animal fur rug on the floor in front of the balcony doors. Sabrina had not noticed it last night.
“You killed him,” she gasped.
“Of course, we couldn’t very well turn him in to the cops. I can’t have rogue werewolves running around eating people. It’s bad for business.” He made it sound so practical, so logical. “Since she was already in on the secret and she was owed restitution for her injuries, I gave Scarlet a very good paying job and one of the apartments downstairs. She’ll have everything she needs for the rest of her life.” He went back to his paper.
Sabrina drank her orange juice and wondered what sort of man she was sitting beside. He had admitted to mob-style criminal activity for his income and now to murder. She wished she had been paying more attention yesterday. This was not the sort of person to safeguard her for Eleanor without asking for payment. The question was how high a price was he asking. The answer did not matter. Eleanor had already agreed. She downed the rest of her juice and went to the balcony doors.
She stood staring up at the moon, hoping to find comfort in its presence. A chilled hand touched her shoulder, but she did not look at its owner. Instead, she leaned her cheek over and brushed her skin against it lightly.
The now familiar rush of heat spread over her skin. Her nipples tightened into hard pebbles. They strained against the soft lace of her bra and rubbed the knit cotton of her T-shirt. She was aware of the wetness building along the lips of her pussy. An aching need to have his bare skin against hers throbbed from her very center. Her heart gave a flutter out of time and started back faster than normal. Her blood felt like a raging fire being pumped through her entire body. Every nerve was tingling, as if they were high-voltage lines. She inhaled sharply, taking in his scent, earthy dark amber.
The effect he was having on her was so new, so confusing, and yet, she craved it like a drug. There was nothing in the world except the two of them. The noises from the city below disappeared. The apartment and its staff melted away into nothingness.
She looked over her shoulder at Brandon. He was staring down at her. The look of a predator was back. This time, it was more lustful than conquering. The heat of her skin flared between them. It was like a solar flare lashing out, consuming anything close enough to burn. He was in her space. Only she wanted to be the one who was consumed by the fire in her veins. He grabbed her by the shoulders, spun her around, and kissed her hard.