“Yes. Of course!” Roberto croaked, the exertion making his eyes bulge.
I winced at the sound of the second ping. I didn’t want to say anything – I was literally condemning the man to the mercy of the MA.
But it didn’t matter, because my mother only had to take one look at my face.
“Another lie,” she said.
The tie rose higher as Roberto’s shiny leather shoes paddled in the air like he was riding a unicycle. I looked around at my mother, the Warlock, Maribel and the other five Witches that made up the upper rankings of the MA. Their faces were passive, the only emotion a faint glint of glee in the curl of their lips.
“Did you make false promises upon accepting our payment?” Salvador continued, his voice laced with sympathy.
The man’s answer was half words, half gurgle. “Please. I would never… I have already let my… team know the plan. I’ve bribed the right people…”
The tie, although loose enough to allow Roberto to speak, was now holding him up by nothing but his jaw. He was gripping onto the fabric above his head, using his upper body strength to take the strain off his neck.
Stop lying, I wanted to scream.
Salvador turned to me, his eyebrows raised, expecting an answer. I shrugged and shook my head slowly, my eyes turning away from the struggling politician.
With a crash, Roberto hit the ground and I heard the crack of bone as I covered my eyes. At the sound of him taking a deep, painful breath, the knot in my stomach eased. He wasn’t dead. Good. It was over.
I turned to go, heading for the door where I knew my sister was probably watching me through the keyhole, but my mother twisted me around again, forcing me to look at the injured man.
“You did this,” she said quietly in my ear. It wasn’t an accusation; her words were laced with a rare pride.
Maribel stepped forward and ran her hand through the politician’s damp hair.
“Never cross the MA, we always win,” she said to him, stroking the side of his stubbly face with the tip of her index finger. She turned back to the rest of the Witches and, in her usual authoritative tone, declared, “a Witch does not burn!”
I cowered as all but Salvador echoed back. “For she is made of fire!”
And as if by an unspoken command, my mother stepped forward, a flash of silver glinting at her side. She grabbed Roberto by his hair, angled his head towards the symbols on the floor, and I watched in horror as my mother slit the man’s throat.
Chapter One
“Fuck you and the were-panther you rode in on!” I glare at Jackson, placing my palms on either side of his desk so that I tower over him. With bears you’re supposed to make yourself big and menacing, maybe it works with giant Shifter men too.
“Language, Saskia,” he tuts disapprovingly. “I’m still your editor. And were-panthers do not exist.” He crosses his thick arms, clearly not bothered by all the menacing and towering I’m doing.
At a normal newspaper you would get fired for speaking to your boss like this — but at The Blood Web Chronicle, the world’s most widely read Paranormal news source, it’s just another Monday. Although even I know when to stop pushing Jackson’s buttons.
I sit back down. Time to play this smart.
When Jackson first announced he was sending me to Barcelona, I reluctantly agreed. The scoop is that Maribel, head of the Mage Association, has gone missing, plus strange sigils have been appearing around the Gothic Quarter, and Jackson thinks the two are connected. My mother has already asked me to come out, so at least she won’t be questioning me for turning up out of the blue. Easy peasy, witchy squeezy.
Yet over the weekend I thought about it properly, visualizing in great detail what time back at the MA would actually feel like. And what being around my mother meant. It was enough to make me gag.
I was adamant I was going to stay in New York and say no to both Jackson and my mom. But then I realized this is the second high-profile MA disappearance since Mikayla, my sister, went missing two years ago. Since I discovered she was pregnant and then never saw her again. Maybe this story will get me closer to finding out where she is.
So now I have to go. But I won’t go unarmed.
“You have to help me,” I say to Jackson, resuming our earlier argument. “I moved my flight by a day so you can get me some protection. I need the warding equivalent of a Trojan Magnum.”
“And how would I procure that, Saskia?”
My eyes bore into his. “You have a Witch-for-hire in your employment, and I happen to know she’s good, what with all the bewitched gadgets you’ve given me on the job.” I think back to my fake passport that makes any immigration officer let me enter a country without question, or the Vamp antidote to Witch blood that Jackson gave me. I know he’s paying some Witch, somewhere, for these trinkets, and whoever she is, she’s more powerful than me.
“Maybe she could place a protection spell on me that neutralizes my mother’s Touchmage abilities?”
Jackson turns his attention back to the scrolling code on his desktop. “Not sure this Witch has that kind of power.”
Ping!
I throw up my hands in irritation. “You’re lying!”
“I’ve asked you to not use your Verity Witch magic on me.” Jackson’s slick English accent makes every phrase sound like a scold. Or a tease.
“Unlike you, I can’t just turn my powers off.” My fingers dig into the micro cloth of my swivel chair as I sit back down. Regardless of how inconvenient they are to my boss, these measly truth-telling powers of mine will do nothing to protect me from my mother, the great Solina de la Cruz, or the vast influence she has over me by touch alone.
Jackson is watching me carefully. “Why is this so
