Witches Get Stitches by Juliette Cross

Chapter 9

~VIOLET~

“Did he actually start to shift?”asked Jules.

Ironically, Jules was the oldest of my sisters and the most powerful, but also the smallest in stature. Her short, bobbed hair, a deep shade of auburn, perfectly haloed her heart-shaped face.

“No,” I said emphatically for the second time.

Ruben and Devraj sat on our living room sofa while Nico stood leaning against the shelving on the wall with our flat screen, hands in pockets, and not even remotely coming off as calm and collected as I thought he was trying to.

“Seriously, I’m sorry,” said Livvy, looking as penitent as was possible for her from her seat on the loveseat next to me. “If I had any idea it could’ve endangered you, I wouldn’t have posted it on the SuperNet.”

“I think you’re all blowing it out of proportion.” I ignored the huffing sound Nico made. “Yes, they were werewolves, and sorry to offend, Nico, but sometimes werewolves can behave aggressively. But that doesn’t mean they intended to harm.”

“We don’t always intend it.” Nico’s gaze burned into me. “But it happens anyway.”

Ruben had been listening in complete silence as I’d recounted my encounter with Shane at the shop. He sat in his typical three-piece suit, charcoal gray and expensive looking. He’d come over to the house as soon as I’d made Jules call him. Devraj arrived without warning at the same time.

“Nico’s right,” said Ruben, combing a hand through his perfectly styled blond locks, a silver skeleton ring winking in the candlelight. “Though I’d trust Nico and Mateo with my life, a pack of werewolves roaming the city with dubious intent isn’t something we can simply ignore. They need to be watched.”

Clara had started burning her happy candles infused with her Aura magic in the hopes to keep this conversation civil. So far, it actually seemed to be calming everyone’s nerves.

Well, everyone except Nico, who looked like he was about to burst into flames at any moment.

“Nico,” said Ruben calmly, “what are your thoughts? Is this pack a threat?”

“Yes,” came his emphatic reply. He dragged his burning gaze from me to Ruben, clenching his jaw.

“Did he ever say what kind of spell he wanted?” asked Jules from her quiet place in the chair next to the loveseat.

“No, he didn’t.” Which had bothered me. Frowning, I went on, “The thing is, these tattoos aren’t like spells witches can do that can be for anything they want. The way this magic works is that it targets the magic-bearer and what he or she needs the most. That’s why I didn’t want to advertise yet. I want to be able to clearly define what this is before I start telling everyone.”

“I’m sorry.” Livvy looked despondent.

I reached over and squeezed her hand. “It’s okay. I’m not saying that to make you feel bad.” I turned to Devraj. “Like for Devraj, the tattoo I gave him works to quell his craving for blood. Because it’s the one thing that works against his magic of vampirism. He’s not like most vampires who enjoy that craving.”

Jules shot Ruben a look, who merely lifted an eyebrow at her. I’d often wondered if she’d ever let him feed on her when they were together way back when. She looked back to me, her steel-gray eyes cool.

“And so now you’re working on one for the werewolves?” she asked.

“With Nico’s help, yes. If he’s willing.”

His grave expression softened a fraction. “Of course, I will. It’s you that would be helping me, anyway. Not the other way around.”

“Do you think that Shane might want the same thing you do?” I asked.

I didn’t want to expose Nico’s vulnerability in front of everyone—his obvious shame about his lack of control—but I thought this was important information everyone needed to hear.

“Possibly,” he said, a line crinkling at the center of his brow. “When I was a part of their pack, Shane seemed to relish the fights with other gangs. Other packs. But then there were times he’d admit he didn’t…”

He bit back his words a moment, obviously struggling with confessing this weakness. I wanted to reach out and tell him not to, hating the look of anguish crossing his features. But he went ahead anyway.

“He didn’t always enjoy the lack of control either. The instant violence that could come over us when the wolf was stirred up about something.”

Jules sat straighter in her seat, hands clasped neatly in her lap. For one who coveted her self-control, she should have empathy more than anyone for their problem.

“Mateo struggled with this as well before Evie broke his hex,” she said softly, seeming to remember something about that time.

“All werewolves struggle with it,” Nico said, his voice gone deep, his wolf rising to the surface. A flash of electric green rolled over his eyes that he then blinked away. “It’s part of the curse,” he said with sad finality.

“The curse put on the first werewolf by a witch,” I added with a hint of bitterness. “So it only makes sense that a witch be the one to finally help them.”

“You can’t make a werewolf no longer a werewolf,” said Jules. “That ancient curse will never be broken.”

The one put on them to curse every male descendent with werewolf blood in their veins.

“I know that,” I snapped back, not angry at Jules but at the whole fucking situation. “I’m just saying that they suffer unnecessarily. And it’s because of a witch that they do suffer. One of our kind. And this whole no werewolves thing has ostracized them to the point that no witch has ever helped them. It’s fucking ridiculous.”

I was aware that my voice was far louder and more aggressive than I’d intended. And it definitely wasn’t Jules’s fault. She was only following protocol of her higher-ups in the Guild and advice from our own mother who’d learned it from her predecessor when she’d spouted the same rule. Before Mateo came along anyway.

Ever since that first witch used dark magic to curse the first werewolf and every one of his male descendants, there had been a longstanding prejudice against them. Even in our enlightened age, it was still quite prevalent.

“Violet,” Jules said softly, “it’s not that we don’t agree with you, but this prejudice has been going on for centuries. It’s not like we can wave a wand and make it go away. Even if you’re able to help Nico and others.”

Not that witches used wands, but I got her meaning. Still, I was enraged. “I understand that. But just because something has been wrong since the dawn of existence doesn’t make it fucking okay.”

The silence thickened with tension. Livvy reached over and squeezed my hand for comfort this time. Clara, who’d been standing behind me and ghostly silent the entire time, reached forward and placed a hand on my shoulder. I was so ornery, I almost shrugged her off, wanting to hold onto my anger.

But rather than hit me with her happy juice, she let me feel my righteous anger and simply said, “Violet’s right. This prejudice against werewolves only hurts the whole supernatural community. Not just werewolves. And Violet has the power to change all of that.”

I glanced over my shoulder, a little shocked.

She smiled sweetly. “Don’t you?”

I nodded to my sister then locked on Nico’s gaze, which burned with intense adoration. My heart tripped faster.

“I think so.” Clara squeezed my shoulder, sending me the confidence I needed. Sitting up straighter, I said with conviction, “Yes, I do. Once Spirit gives me the incantation I need.”

Jules spoke with perfect calmness as always, as if I hadn’t just called our entire kind a bunch of self-righteous bigots moments before. “Your spells have always been innate. A few words, a little flirting with the new moon, and the right divination charm just falls into your brain.”

At her words, a powerful pulse of magic rocked through my body. A vision of the slivered new moon popped into my mind, hanging above us at a witch’s round in our back courtyard. Then a flash of Nico’s face, his eyes electric green, his canines extended from his half-open mouth, a vicious expression reflecting the pain of his wolf transformation.

“Damn, why didn’t I think of that before?” I whispered to no one.

“Think of what?” asked Jules.

“The ink for werewolves needs to be spelled on the new moon.” I stood suddenly. “I need to go and check something.”

Ruben stood as well. “I’ll get my men on the lookout for this pack,” he told Jules.

As the overlord of vampires in this region, his only immediate supervisor was Jules, so he reported to her.

She stood, too. “Thank you. I’ll alert my channels as well.”

I left the room, quickly heading for Jules’s library, needing to get my hands on that book by Marigold Lord. It was the physical connection I needed to confirm the vision I’d just had.

The book was a treasure trove of witch sign. Witch sign were markings we used in casting circles and spells, to channel our magic to do what we wanted it to do.

Think of our magic as being like a remote control, and the witch sign was like flipping the channels. The problem was, I didn’t know what fucking channel to flip to for helping werewolves control their rage issues.

Maybe that was the problem. I was too focused on controlling their highly emotional nature, when their passion—whether it was violence or lust or something even stronger—was part of their nature. Maybe that couldn’t be changed, even by strong magic.

Because that’s what it came down to, I learned after a little light reading last night. If the wolf is threatened or someone they care about is threatened, then the only response is shift then maim. Not even in that particular order.

There were hundreds of historical examples on the SuperNet. Since Jules was, well, Jules, I was able to study up on what others had found could help werewolves.

Know what I found?

Nothing.

Because no one seemed to have ever given it a shot. I supposed it all went back to the fact that the one who actually cursed and created the first werewolf was a witch hunted by the hunter she cursed. And since every generation of witches had kept werewolves on the outer perimeter of the supernatural circle, werewolves had never had access to the kind of magic they needed. Witch magic.

Not until me anyway. Because I was going to fix this. I didn’t give a shit if every witch and warlock snubbed their noses at me for doing it. They could all suck a bag of dicks. It was ridiculous that in the 21^st century, they were still clinging to old prejudices that not only spread hatred, but also danger and violence. The only way to heal old wounds was through mercy and kindness. And one thimble full of fucking compassion.

Nico’s face appeared in my mind. His expression was guarded despite his easy-going nature. I wanted to wipe that look from his face permanently. I didn’t want him to doubt himself. To fear himself. How horrific to even contemplate that what lived inside you could do irreparable harm to a loved one against your own will.

I plucked the book off of Jules’s shelf, knowing exactly where it was since I’d been reading from it excessively lately. The book fell open in my palms to a page with a passage entitled Black Moon. This was another name for the new moon when it was fully in shadow, and the witch sign to call upon cleansing and transformation.

A rightness hummed through my body, magic singing through my veins. My psychic power whispered reassurance. “Yeah, that’s it.”

As for the incantation, my magic never failed me when the time came.

“Thank you for that.”

I turned at Nico’s voice in the doorway. His face was blank, but his rigid stance told me he was riddled with tension.

“For what?”

He blinked, a flare of tenderness sweeping from him. “For saying something no witch ever has.” He glanced down at the book in my hands. “For trying to help us.”

Swallowing the sudden well of emotion that tightened my chest, I said softly, “I’m not going to try. I am going to help you.” My breath quickened. “I promise.”

His gaze roved over from my eyes down my cheek to my mouth then back up, his haunted but grateful expression keeping me frozen on the spot. With a sad lilt in his voice, he said, “You already have.”

Then he quietly left, leaving me with a hammering heart. But also new determination to use every ounce of magic I had to forever wipe away that look of painful despair from Nico’s beautiful face.