Bad Witch: The Emily Chronicles - Book 2 | Add to Goodreads
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She is honey to his throat...but one sweet taste could part them forever... Bad Witch: The Emily Chronicles Banished from home while her husband adjusts to life as an immortal, blood-drinking chronicler, Emily Black is homesick, heartsick and struggling under the constant sensory barrage of a city drenched in ancient magic. When an old friend asks for her aid in solving a string of murders, she welcomes the distraction, despite the danger. Justine Dubois is grateful for a seer's help, and more understanding than anyone of Emily's plight. As a guardian, Justine commands respect; as a woman, her magic is considered inferior. Together, they are determined to prove their worth to London's magicians, starting with solving these murders-with maybe a bit of matchmaking on the side. Long before he met his soul mate, Michael Black made a commitment to join the Order of St. Jerome. He will live forever, forced to watch the woman he loves age and die. As Emily hunts the murderer, Michael struggles to protect her. But if he loses control of his hunger, the greatest threat to her safety could be Michael himself. Includes the introductory novella The Importance of Being Emily.
Normally
stepping into a garden would soothe me, but we were still within London, where
there was no comfort whatsoever. I looked up at the night sky and wished I were
with Michael.
“You
have the soul of an artist, Miss Rose. It is a rare gift.” Mr. Paris stroked my
hand, and I tugged it free of his arm. I folded both hands before me primly and
smiled.
“Again,
that is very kind of you.”
“I
consider myself a patron of the arts.”
“So
you attend gatherings such as this often?” I asked.
“Of
course. I am always on the lookout for new talent.”
“I
see. Did you know Mrs. Harding?” I tried to examine his aura to determine his
reaction, but his magic continued to be so overwhelming that my eyes watered.
Mr. Paris must be unspeakably powerful, and I found myself both worried and
intrigued. Perhaps he was a sorcerer? One who specialized in darkness?
“I
did. Poor girl. What a terrible thing to have happened to her and her family…
Tell me, are you working on a second collection of your work?” he asked,
quickly changing the subject.
“I
am, though I am afraid the subject matter is quite a bit darker.”
Mr.
Paris smiled a predatory grin, and my pulse leapt with a thrill of fear. “I am
not afraid of the dark, Miss Rose. Are you?”
He
stepped closer, but I held my ground, studying him with a curious tilt to my
head. “What are you?” I asked.
He
blinked, startled. “I beg your pardon?”
“What
sort of magic do you practice?” I clarified.
“Oh.
I am a librarian, of course,” he replied, and I laughed, unable to help myself.
“What’s so funny?”
“You
are most certainly not a librarian. Do people truly believe that lie?”
The
smile slid from Mr. Paris’s face as his expression hardened. He stepped forward
and tried to grab my arm, but Miss Dubois was suddenly between us, a shining
silver blur. With a snarl he turned and ran, and the guardian chased him out of
the garden and into the street.
Uncertain
of what to do, I followed. I stood hesitant at the garden gate, wondering which
way they went. My vision shifted, and I followed Miss Dubois’s blazing
footsteps. I paused next to a blur traced over the high brick wall of another
garden. It was another magical doorway, rather like the one I had discovered
near Mrs. Harding’s body outside the Undiscovered Country. Foolishly I raised
my hand to touch it, despite knowing full well that doing so could trigger
another vision, but a hand emerged from the brick wall and grabbed my wrist.
Overwhelmed
with shock, I barely managed a strangled gasp as Mr. Paris stepped through the
wall and glared down at me. “Who are you?” he demanded.
“You
first.” My voice trembled, and Mr. Paris grinned. He tightened his grip and
snapped several small bones in my wrist, and I screamed.
“Who
are you?” he repeated.
Something
bubbled up within me, a bright plume of prophetic magic that became my answer.
“I am your end.” That time my voice did not tremble at all, but was filled with
terrible certainty. I would cause Mr. Paris’s death, and I knew it with as much
confidence as I knew the sun would rise in the morning.
Something
in my gaze must have worried him, because he snarled. Scowling, he grabbed my
forearm with both hands and twisted. The bone snapped like dry kindling, and I
screamed again. Before he could torment me further Miss Dubois arrived and
bashed him with a round silver shield. Mr. Paris vanished into thin air, and
the guardian stood near me. One arm bore the shield, while in her other hand
she held a sword. How cunning of her. I wanted a sword as well.
“Are
you all right?” she asked.
My
knees wobbled and began to buckle, but then two dark blurs streaked up to us,
and I was suddenly swept from my feet and cradled close in Michael’s arms.
“Darling!
What happened?” he asked.
“You
caught me.” I blinked—however had he moved that fast? Simon sighed and shook
his head at his student, and I sensed that Michael and I were both in for a
scolding.
“Of
course I did. I will always catch you. Are you all right?”
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