The Carver's Magic (2 page)

The Douche opens his mouth to respond at the same time the Nickelback poser grabs his shoulder and spins him around. Stunned at the ferocity in the Nickleback poser's face, I step back so that I am closest to the blonde, just in case something happens. The vibes between the two males is heated. So much so that I can feel them.

I shouldn't be able to feel vibes.

I look down and notice for the first time that the Douche's hands are misshapen. His nails are dark black, and his hands are covered in long, gray and black hair. I should have known.

Werewolf.

I hate wolves.

The Nickelback poser holds the wolf with one hand. His eyes are glowing amber and locked in a death stare, almost like he was mentally berating the Douche.

Another werewolf?
Ugh
.

The werewolf Douche flinches forward and then sways back, averting his eyes. The movement is barely perceptive, but I have a knack for the details. And I am pretty sure that they just had a stare down for who was more dominant, and the Nickelback poser won.

The Douche tries to pull away but the poser squeezes down harder on his shoulder. The Douche lets out a resentful breath while he tilts his head slightly in ultimate submission.

"You were going to fight a girl, pup?" The Nickelback poser asks with a curled-up lip. The Douche kept his head bowed. The Nickelback poser points at him, then says in a tone that rumbles deeply, "Get your pack, and get out." Stiffly, the Douche takes a few steps backward, keeping his eyes on the more dominant wolf, then he gives the brunette a deathly stare promising some sort of revenge as his eyes begin to glow.

The Douche is quiet for a few heartbeats before he says, "Your little girl has a smart mouth. I would teach her some respect because next time you might not be around for when she needs a lesson in manners."

The poser doesn't miss the fact that the brunette has opened her mouth ready to add her own two cents. However, attempting to help defuse the situation, I clear my throat drawing her attention. Her eyes widen as if to dare me to chastise her. I want to, but I am a professional.

“Ready for that Shirley Temple?" I ask, tossing the dirty rag in the laundry bin under the bar and picking up a new one. The brunette eyes me with venom. I want to laugh at her because I am taking away her tough girly vibes by suggesting a childish drink, but truly, she drinks Shirley Temples or Cherry Coke when she sits at the bar with her sister.

I finally smile at the brunette who is still scowling at me. In my periphery I can see the poser fixing his attention to the brunette.

"I will take a Bud Light, as usual," the brunette lies.

I ignore her little lie about a Bud Light being her usual, however, I don't turn down the order. So, I turn around, grab the beer, twist off the top, hand it to her and wait.

She turns to her sister, the shy blonde who looks utterly bewildered, taps her lip-gloss marked martini glass, and says, "Cheers to your last night." The blonde coughs, holding back a laugh at what apparently is an inside joke.

I noticed the brunette's hesitance when she puts the bottle to her mouth, it is pursed tight so when the liquid hits her lips nothing flows in. The sweet blonde, Cory, sets down her martini and licks her lips slowly as if she knows I am watching. And again, I am. Then again she must know I am watching because she shyly looks up at me then turns away as her cheeks blush pink.

Little tease.

The Nickelback poser and I watch the Douche walk up to his buddies, say a few words, which in turn causes them to tug down their drinks and leave, glaring at all three of my patrons. I wish I were impressed at how quickly that was dealt with, but I truly wouldn't be surprised if they retaliated later against the Nickelback poser or the brunette.

So long as they leave the blonde out of it
.
Groaning to myself for that stupid thought, I look to the roof momentarily, hoping for some semblance of normalcy to get back in my brain. I don't like people, I’m not the nice guy and I never look twice at a human female. And I definitely do not get emotionally involved in the lives of others. Ever!

The poser taps the bar, "I'll take that beer now."

I reach over to the small beer refrigerator when the brunette whirls around and hands him her beer, "You can have mine. I didn't drink out of it." Then she looks at me before the guy has a chance to protest, and says, "I'll take that Shirley Temple now."

The poser pushes the beer bottle back toward the brunette. "Thanks, but that's okay," he says, eyeing her with a look I can't pinpoint.

The brunette gives him a quick once over and says sarcastically, "Afraid I have cooties, Wolfy? I thought your kind doesn't get cooties."

I have to force myself not to smirk. Yeah, she does have a smart mouth.

The poser grabs her drink, and before he takes a swig he sniffs the top. I watch his jaw flinch and his eyes close halfway as he drains the bottle. He drops the bottle back on the bar after a long swig and says with a sneer, "You must have backwashed your cooties. That tastes like shit." And then he walks away.

The brunette's jaw drops and the blonde is covering her mouth, but her eyes are smiling. I fold my arms waiting for her to pay her charge and also enjoying her humbling moment. She pulls out a card and tosses it at me. I am surprised she didn't ask to check out, by the way she is looking right now, it’s clear that his words stung. They shouldn't have, I mean who cares what some stranger thinks, but apparently this chick is easily offended.

"Hey, bartender!" Echoes from the north side of the bar, and I use that as my cue to leave.

CHAPTER TWO

BETH

The bartender, in all his male bravado, finally leaves after almost sloshing my Shirley Temple in front of me.

Jerk
.

Cory watches him walk away, and I wait impatiently for her attention.

"Cory!" I hiss. "Stop mentally undressing the jerk." She turns around with a mixture of embarrassment and irritation. "I don't mentally undress people, Beth," she says pointedly. Cory sneaks another look at the bartender before taking a small sip from her martini.

Liar
.

"Anyway," I begin drawing her attention, "let's first talk about why that fleabag was practically humping your leg when I walked in here." I tilt my head accusingly, even though I know she would never have instigated anything. Cory is the quiet and shy type, most of the time. But if you push her, she becomes a mountain, unmovable and hardheaded. Oh, and heaven forbid you ask her personal questions.

Cory exhales dramatically and shakes her head, "I'm an idiot." I watch her closely because she and I both know she is closer to a genius than an idiot, so I hope she explains herself instead of leaving that statement up in the air. "The bartender heard me tell that guy my name was Cory."

It takes a few seconds for those two little points to click. I put a spell on her driver’s license. The spell was initially made to protect her. When we were in college a dirt bag had stolen her driver’s license and credit cards from the school lab. He hasn’t been able to get near a computer since. If anyone read her driver’s license it would read Charlene Davis, but her real name is Cory Kamp.

I try not to click my tongue in that motherly way to joke with her, she seems a little on edge, plus, joking would hardly get her to explain why that douche was sniffing her from head to toe.

The driver’s license thing is hardly a big deal considering who I am and what I can do; plus her new driver’s license came in the mail today and I don’t plan on renewing my spell.

Cory usually is the girl that adheres to all things moral, for the most part. Okay maybe not all things moral or even most things ethical, I mean she did blackmail me a few times when we were kids. But, she hates looking foolish.

It’s not in her to be wrong about much, considering she is the closest person I know to being a microbiologist genius. So the driver’s license having the wrong name on it bothered her as soon as I made it.

"He probably won't even notice," I say, hoping she lets it go.

Cory rolls her eyes and purses her lips, clearly upset but not wanting to verbally say it. She takes a sip of her martini and her eyes fade out, giving me the ultimate cold shoulder. Great. Just great.

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

Usually I let her play in her head, but we were out to have a good time. And truth be known, she is the one who wants to come here every Friday night. I have no idea how she heard of this place. It’s a human bar but obviously there are wolves in here. Not the safest bar for Cory. She may be super smart but she falls short when it comes to practical matters.

I am going to give Cory ten more seconds before I poke her in the ribs and make her talk to me.

I take another sip of the Shirley Temple. I turn the glass around with my index finger and thumb a few times, rehearsing my weak moment to order something I knew I wasn’t ever going to drink. It was stupid to even pretend that I would drink it. I never would. I have seen drinking cause too many problems in my life and I just don't feel compelled to drink. Not ever. But of course I did it so that I didn't look childish in front of
him
.

The one person on the planet that could make me feel like I was the most insignificant person in the world had to walk into this bar tonight. He makes me doubt myself with his snarky comments, and of course he did it with little to no effort.

I can't believe he’s actually in this bar right now. I sneak a peak in his direction, hoping he won’t notice. I never thought I would see him after high school. Hell, I never wanted to see him after high school. I never wanted to have to smell his tangy scent that draws me in and makes my cognitive function blow a stupid fuse. Why! Why now and why tonight? I mean, why did I have to see how utterly amazing he still looks after all this time?

A familiar heaviness settles on my chest. Ugh! I can't let him get to me again. Not again. He doesn't deserve it and I refuse to go down that bleak rabbit hole again. I was in hell all day every day for years until I graduated and left that small-ass town as fast as I could.

My biological parents showed up after 18 years of absence, offered me a chance to live with them, and I took it. I wanted out of that forsaken town and they had my one-way ticket, plus they had the answer to why I was different, why I could do magic and no one else could.

Noticing Cory was turning her glass too, I ask, "Hey, you see that guy that was just over here? The one I gave my beer to?" I look over to him, the tall, stunningly gorgeous man with bronze skin, coffee brown eyes and hair, wearing a red, black, and gray plaid button-down with a dark grey shirt underneath. He is looking away from me at the moment, but even from this angle he looks just as heart-stopping as he always did.

Cory takes a sip of her drink, looks around the bar, then shrugs and returns her eyes to me with a blank expression. She probably doesn't remember because it's been ten years since I graduated high school and seven years for her.

"Remember? The guy from high school who was mauled by a bear?" I wait for Cory to nod that she remembers, but again she shrugs and I fear I’m losing her to whatever is going on in her head. "He was in a coma for almost a month," I add quietly, hoping those stupid wolf ears can't hear me from the other side of the bar.

My sister takes another slow sip of that nasty dirty martini and shakes her head absently.

"Are you serious?" I ask indignantly. How could she not remember that? She has to be lying. Or maybe she doesn't care. I mean she has a photographic memory for heaven’s sake. So the odds are good she remembers. And I am not going to let her lack of interest in my story stop me from rehashing it with her.

"His name is Dar. He was in my grade. His younger brother had gone missing a few weeks after school started that year." I can't really explain why Dar always stood out to me in high school. Of course other girls thought he was gorgeous with his strong, silent brooding, but for me it was so much more. During high school I didn't shut up about this guy for four years. Every day was another great day because I saw him, albeit from a distance.

I was obsessed.

It was absolutely disgusting. Ogling and pretending that Dar would one day notice me, that kind of pursuit was beneath me.

That silly girl I used to be no longer exists; not since I found out that my last name, Carver, had nothing to do with my biological father's last name and everything to do with my bloodline being a multiple-magical bloodline.

I never got a straight answer from my adopted parents as to why their last name was Kamp and mine was Carver, even though I was their adopted daughter. It wasn't until my biological parents found me the night of my high school graduation that I understood why I still had the name Carver instead of Kamp. Carver was a title, not a surname.

A Carver, by their definition, had to have at least three magical bloodlines. And because magical blood doesn't mix well, we were some kind of anomaly.

They also gave me the Cliff's notes version of the supernatural world and the different species inhabiting the world. My parents explained that being a Carver was something to be proud of because it means we are more powerful because we are able to tap into all the good stuff from all the bloodlines.

The night of my graduation, my biological parents took me from my family, without so much as a goodbye. One moment I was watching Dar talking to a group of girls and felt almost out of control, when poof, my parents pop in next to me, introduce themselves and ask me if I will give them a second chance. That night I was in a house made of red brick and lots of stucco on the other side of the country.

I was far too brash that night and I shouldn't have left like that, but I was angry and stupid. I know that some adopted kids always yearn for the love of their biological parents, or at the very least want to meet them.

I was just like that.

I learned quickly that mine were jerks. They told me their sob story about how they were forced to give me up or the Magical Council would punish them. And then they gave me a history lesson that went a lot like this: when the Magical Council found out about Carvers, they went bat-shit crazy and tried to kill us all off because the Carvers then, like the Carvers now, can’t be controlled by a pureblood, we are universally more powerful. A first-generation Carver with only three bloodlines would easily win a fight against the strongest pure-blood. Well that’s their story anyway.