Witcha Gonna Do? (Witchington #1)(8)
They are the last people I want to work for, but here I am with six months left on my contract and my parents’ lives hanging in the balance.
Finally, the tiny SIM card slides into place. I have no idea why the Council insisted on nonmagical communication, but the Council does what the Council wants to do. My theory is that it’s gotta be some kind of humbling mind fuck to keep everyone in their place, but it doesn’t matter. It is what it is, I just have to toe the line, which is giving me the twitches a little more each day.
I sent my initial report to my handler, Cassius, last night after a deep dive in my research texts. He fired back a message to make contact today and not to document anything else. I got it. The Sherwoods are a powerful enough family that they know the Council exists. In addition, the Sherwoods have eyes everywhere—even in the Council. Not surprisingly, the Council watches everyone too—especially people like me, who they’ve pulled out of exile and blackmailed into cooperating. You don’t end up at the top of Witchingdom’s food chain without learning how to navigate the big bad.
My handler answers on the first ring. “Are you sure?” Cassius asks without preamble.
“The power was off the scales,” I say, stepping back farther into the shadows of the trees that line the cobblestone streets near my rental, which the Council has surely bugged. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”
And it’s still there, a little sizzle of awareness that snaps and crackles whenever I think of Tilda, which is every other second since the almost-kiss at the coffee shop. Stepping back from her was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Even now, I can feel my connection to her—it has nothing to do with my magic, but I can’t deny the extra sizzle of awareness.
I couldn’t sleep last night because every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was her, that sweet, juicy pink mouth of hers begging to be kissed, wanting more that she couldn’t say out loud.
That’s how it works with duíl magic. Once a connection is made between two magical beings, it remains until the desire is fulfilled, and with that comes a certain amount of control. Contrary to popular belief, duíl magic can’t be used to make people do something, it can’t manufacture a want that isn’t there already, and it can’t get people to act against their own wishes. However, what it can do is focus the desire, add a healthy dash of hope to it, and make those affected get a better sense of their own personal power. That is exactly why the Council banished my entire family into exile, sending us to the edge of the powerless zone known as The Beyond.
“And you better not feel it again if you don’t want to end up in exile,” Cassius says, his snarling tone leaving no doubt that he wouldn’t do a damn thing to act on my behalf. When it comes to the Council, everyone is on their own. “You know the rules. Use duíl magic and you go back to that shithole I plucked you out of. I’m sure your parents will love that since it’ll mean they’re never leaving either.”
It takes everything I have not to give in to the urge to whip up a spell that will let me reach through the phone and coldcock Cassius. The asshole has been threatening me for three years since I convinced him I could do the work for the Council that others couldn’t or wouldn’t. However, dragging my parents into it was something else. The prick had promised: three years and they’d get out of The Beyond, where magic doesn’t work. It’s every witch’s nightmare and the Council’s domain to rule over.
“So what’s your plan?” Cassius asks.
“I need irrefutable proof. The Council will never believe just a theory, especially not from me and most assuredly not about the Sherwoods committing a massive magical felony.” There is no way Tilda doesn’t know what she really is. The level of magic it would take to keep it under wraps would be off the charts. There’s no way the Council wouldn’t have noticed that much of a peak on the mystical seismograph reports. “I have to find a way to get close to her.”
“Well, do it soon,” Cassius says. “I’ve managed to get a review of your parents’ case on the docket in a month, but the odds are against them being brought back from exile unless you’re able to do something extraordinary to show the Council you’re a more valuable resource than a duíl agitator.”
The Council is not a fan of duíl magic—or anything that is different than the status quo as they define it. Being able to link into someone’s desires, sexual or otherwise, gives people ideas about change, and that is a little too close to rebellion for the organization with a core mission to force conformity. If the Council knew the real depth of my involvement with the Resistance and its work to expose the Council and counteract its moves, I wouldn’t be doing whatever it takes to get my parents out of exile because all of us would be dead.
“I’ve been proving that for the past year,” I shoot back, unable to keep the annoyance out of my tone and gaining the attention of Griselda as she walks by with her pet squirrel on a leash.
“Would you rather be back there?”
I force a smile and wave at Tilda’s godmother as if shit wasn’t about to blow up in this town. “No.”
“Then stop whining and find a way to get the evidence you need,” Cassius says. “The clock is ticking and there’s no snooze button.”
As if I had ever thought there was. There are no second chances for exiles.