The Seven Year Witch: That Old Black Magic, Book 2 (9 page)

The hated recollection rattled at its locked cage, desperate to escape. She couldn’t free it. Couldn’t grant it that power to once again destroy her. Completely. But Seven’s whisper-like kiss upon her cheek offered no comfort, no reprieve from her dirtied past.

“She never wanted you, sweet Clarissa. And she never will.”

Chapter Nine

Leaving Seven’s mansion after their
chat
ended up cementing one painful lesson for Clarissa. Going up against the creature might not only be futile, but also more dangerous to her emotionally than she’d ever imagined.

Somehow the bastard knew exactly what to say to get to her. How to hurt her with a casual cruelty that left her reeling. By the time she drove back into the city, she still hadn’t shaken off any of the ugly remnants of their encounter. All she could do was hope she could sneak into Charmed Moon without drawing attention.

That possibility shriveled when the loose floorboard in the rear hallway ratted her out. Both Marabella Blanchard and Clarissa’s coven sister, Constance, glanced expectantly in Clarissa’s direction.

Damn
. Clarissa sent the back stockroom a longing glance before sighing and joining the other two witches in the center of the shop.

Constance shoved a shoulder-length lock of her jet-black hair behind her ear and frowned as she swept Clarissa with an assessing look. “There’s something different about your aura today.”

Clarissa swallowed, her skin going clammy, but before she could stammer through a reasonable lie, Constance’s eyes widened.

“Holy shit. You got laid!”

Marabella choked on a cough, and Clarissa debated whether she should be relieved that Con hadn’t picked up on her agitation over her conversation with Seven, or if she should conjure a black hole she could hurtle herself into. To make matters worse, she could tell from the flush of excitement riding Con’s cheekbones that her coven sister wasn’t going to drop the matter of her broken celibacy any time soon.

“Not only that,” Constance said with a decisive nod. “It was the most incredible, curl-your-toes-and-light-up-a-cigarette-afterwards sex of all time.”

Marabella’s eyebrows winged upward. “Wow. You can tell all that just from her aura?”

The wattage of Constance’s beaming grin intensified, nearly outsparkling the small diamond stud piercing her nose. “Yep. Clarissa is almost glowing. It’s probably due to the fact that she’s gone so long without having—”

Clarissa cleared her throat pointedly. “Could we please move on from this? I doubt Marabella wants to hear about my sex life.”

“You’re kidding, right?” A snort fell from Marabella. “You’re talking to the girl who can’t
give
her damn virginity away. Please let me live vicariously through you.”

A wicked smile tipped Constance’s lips. “Yes, do tell. You can start with who your wonder stud is.”

“Nobody you know.” Desperately glomming onto the first thing that could pass as a potential distraction, Clarissa plucked a package of lemongrass incense cones from the tabletop next to her. “When did we get these?”

“That was the lamest avoidance tactic ever.”

Ignoring Constance’s droll quip, Clarissa dropped the cones back in place and headed toward the sanctity of the stockroom. There was no mistaking Con and Marabella’s covert whispering behind her. Despite her firm resolve not to let them get under her skin, she still winced. Undoubtedly the entire coven—hell, all of
Savannah
—would know before the end of the day that she’d finally gotten laid, as Constance so charmingly put it. She also wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if her coven sisters started taking bets on who her mystery lover was.

Her head starting to get that familiar ache again, she closed the door to the stockroom and leaned against it, her shoulders slumping. It wasn’t necessarily that she didn’t want anyone knowing about Logan.

So why did it feel like she was hiding their relationship like some dirty secret?

No, scratch that. This wasn’t a relationship, for goddess’s sake. It was sex. Big difference. Regardless, she’d never been one to overshare her personal business with others. As much as Con and Marabella had seemed comfortable teasing her about her sex life, the conversation only made her feel…exposed. Equally vulnerable as her encounter with Seven had left her.

A soft knock rattled against the door, and she almost yelped. Cursing her jumpy nerves, she pressed a hand over her heart, willing its frantic thumping to ease. “Yes?” The single word came out more as a croak than an inquiry.

“Um, it’s Marabella. Do you have a minute?”

The promise of some precious alone time dissolving before her, Clarissa sighed and opened the door. “Come on in.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate this.” Marabella stepped into the cramped interior, her gaze skipping over the countless boxes holding unchecked inventory. Her expression reminded Clarissa of a raccoon’s while staring down the headlights of an oncoming semi. “Wow, talk about a lot of…stuff.”

“Constance went on a buying splurge last month.” Something she needed to talk to her coven sister about. If they didn’t start scaling back, they’d have to rent a larger space.

Suddenly remembering that come next week, Charmed Moon would no longer be hers to worry about, a dull pain bloomed inside her chest.

For the sake of her sanity, she’d never obsessed over what would happen once Seven owned her soul. It’d been easier not to think about it. But with that day roaring down on her, she could no longer turn a blind eye to her circumstances and how it affected not only her, but the others she’d sworn to serve and protect. Topping the list of harsh realities that she couldn’t just sweep under the rug—the coven would be without a mistress. Nearly hyperventilating at the realization, she swayed, her vision going wonky for a moment as she struggled to breathe.

“Hey, are you okay?”

The sharp concern in Marabella’s voice snapped Clarissa back to the present. She blinked before returning the younger witch’s stare. “Y-yes, I’m fine.” Her fingers shaky, she smoothed her hair off her perspiring forehead. “I’m sorry, what exactly was it that you wanted?” Whatever it was, she prayed it’d be something easier to manage than the potential disaster looming on the horizon if she didn’t find a replacement for her position in the coven within the next couple of days.

“If this isn’t a good time, I can—”

“Marabella, trust me, if you need my help, ask for it now.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.” Gnawing on her lip, Marabella cleared off a corner of the receiving desk so she could sit. “I’ve been mulling over the idea of opening up a web-based gift store, but now I’m envisioning what my bedroom would look like after
my
first buying trip.”

Clarissa frowned. “I’m sure Domino would be more than willing to free up some space so you wouldn’t be forced to work out of your bedroom.”

“Please. My mother can barely stomach the idea of me investing my inheritance this way, much less encouraging my…” Marabella mimicked quote marks with her fingers, “…
harebrained idea
by clearing out the damn basement for my workspace.”

Despite her own considerable troubles, Clarissa couldn’t help commiserating with Marabella. It must be hell living with Domino at times. As head leader of the witches guild, Domino was used to dishing out orders and having her will obeyed at all times. Her need for dominance over others didn’t stop at the office, either. Marabella had practically been kept on a short tether from the time she was old enough to leave the cradle.

“Have you considered investing your money in a physical storefront? Like what we have here? Space wouldn’t be an issue.” Wrinkling her nose, Clarissa scanned her surroundings. “Assuming you possess more self-control than Constance, that is.”

“But…I’m not sure I’d know what I was doing, running a physical store. What if I fell flat on my face?” Marabella caught her bottom lip between her teeth, the nervous habit giving away her self-doubts.

Clarissa wanted to throttle Domino for the part she’d played in aiding Marabella’s insecurities. “So what if you did? Would it mean the end of the world as we know it? Probably not.”

Marabella remained pensive and quiet for a few moments, presumably pondering the pros and cons of what Clarissa had said. Finally she broke into a huge grin and hopped to her feet. “I’m going to do it.” Giving a happy little squeal, she flung her arms around Clarissa.

Unused to such profuse displays of affection, particularly from a female, Clarissa stiffened. Her hands cramping at her sides, she battled against the tension and uncertainty that automatically prodded her into panic mode. She knew how to
do
things for people. That was easy and didn’t require her fumbling through socially awkward moments. But this? She had no clue how to react. And that realization only sent the tumultuous brew of anxiety already racing through her into hyperdrive.

Obviously unaware of Clarissa’s inner turmoil, Marabella tightened her hug. “Thank you for having faith in me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The heartfelt statement delivered an additional twist to the emotional vise clamping Clarissa’s chest. Would every little thing amount to a reminder of her numbered days? The lives she would no longer be a part of?

Giving one last exuberant squeeze, Marabella scooted from the room, leaving Clarissa alone with her glum thoughts.

Shortly after six o’clock, Clarissa gave up the pretense of getting any further work done. Snicking the door shut to the storeroom, she tracked down Constance in the small kitchenette. She waited until her coven sister finished rearranging the tray of whatever freaky health-kick food she was sworn on this week before tapping on the doorframe. “Are you okay locking up tonight?”

“Yep.” Constance licked her fingers, her eyes sparkling. “Hot plans tonight with the mystery stud?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Leaving Con to grin like an obnoxious fool all on her own, Clarissa stalked toward the back exit. The Miata waited in the small parking lot behind the cluster of stores. She climbed behind the wheel and, after keying the engine, retracted the roof. It was a perfect night for riding with the top down. The temps were mild, for once, and the sky held not even a hint of rain. If her mind weren’t so damn backlogged with worries and frustrations, she might actually have enjoyed the drive ahead of her.

Shifting into gear, she pulled out of her space and approached the lot’s exit. She hesitated, the temptation to take a left out of the drive luring her. That way led to Tybee. To Logan, and the promise of blissful forgetfulness in his arms. It’d be at least two hours before he’d leave work though. She couldn’t wait for him in his driveway like some pathetic woman desperate for her man to come home. Not that he was her man, anyway. Besides, she didn’t want to get into the habit of running to Logan whenever things got tough. If nothing else, she would end this last week of her life with her dignity intact.

She turned right, heading for the coven house. Less than twenty minutes later, she pulled into the long, snaking drive leading to the stately antebellum mansion that she’d called home for a good portion of her life. The coven house held a wealth of memories for her. Some good, some bad. All of them in their own way contributors that ultimately shaped her into the role of mistress. What would she have been without that title, without this place? An empty shell without a soul? The possibility left a sour taste in her mouth.

Shoving her dismal musings aside, she parked within the garage, which was miraculously unblocked this time, and headed into the house. The sounds of laughter and animated chatter drew her to the parlor. She stepped inside the room, her gaze first landing on Jemma and Fiona, who were sitting on the floor amongst a veritable mountain of bridal magazines. The sheer number of the periodicals made Clarissa’s head spin.

“Oh shit.” Ms. Peach’s loud outburst managed to slice through the audible activity in the room, and everyone’s focus veered in Clarissa’s direction.

All movement seemed to freeze, automatically stirring Clarissa’s suspicions. “Okay, what’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Peach’s expression turned shifty. “Who said anything about stuff going on? We’re just sitting here, not doing a damn thing.”

Oh hell. Had Constance already ratted her out? She scanned the room, on the lookout for anything that resembled a betting sheet. A weird noise that could have been a squeak or an
arf
broke the weighty silence and Clarissa frowned. “What was that?”

“We didn’t hear anything. Obviously you’re imagining things.”

Her suspicions buzzing a three-alarm warning, Clarissa glared at Peach. She opened her mouth, intent on getting to the bottom of things, just as the squeaky
arf
sounded again. This time she spied a flash of movement from the corner of her eye. She whipped her head in Jade’s direction and caught the teenager trying to covertly maneuver her backpack behind the couch. Even from ten feet away, it was patently clear that the backpack was wiggling—an interesting feat that an ordinary, inanimate object shouldn’t be capable of performing.

Gritting her teeth, Clarissa marched toward the couch and stared Jade down. “That better be an angry leprechaun stuffed in your bag.”

Jade gave a nervous giggle. “Oh man, talk about a scarily accurate guess.”

Clarissa held out her hand. “Give me the bag.”

Nibbling her nail, Jade glanced in Peach’s direction. Growling beneath her breath, Clarissa sidestepped the girl and swiped the bag from the floor. The unzipped flap slipped open and a small head with big floppy ears popped through the gap. Clarissa eyed the mini Floyd. “Sweet goddess, please tell me you shrank Floyd, and this isn’t really his offspring.”

“Um…”

Jade’s sheepish tone giving her all the answer she needed, Clarissa reached into the bag and pulled out the puppy. Without getting too personal in her inspection, she quickly determined it was a female. Great, just what they needed. More estrogen in the house. Apparently oblivious of the drama unfolding around it, the puppy snuffled Clarissa’s hand before licking her finger.