De-Witched
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Sophie H. Morgan
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1
Balconies were magic, of this Leah Turner was pretty sure. Why else would they appear so often in books and movies? Only a balcony could serve as the setting for a beauty to tell a beast she loved him. Only a balcony could be witness to Richard Gere braving his fear of heights for his pretty woman.
If only those balconies could be this balcony.
Disappointment drowned her as Laurence the warlock crushed his lips to hers, crinkling her ball gown in his grip. He made a passionate sound, deep in his throat. And she...
Felt nothing. No pleasure, no desire, not even a tingle. Unless you counted ones of frustration. They’d been kissing for several minutes, his elegant hands sliding all over, and her stupid libido remained stubbornly stuck in the off position.
She supposed it wasn’t fair to have expected his kiss to blow her feathered mask off. But hell, he was a warlock. And as a human with limited experience in the magical world, she’d expected something...well, magical. This dude could summon portals, float objects, hell, maybe even start fires. Just...not one in her panties, apparently.
Still, she’d wanted to kiss a warlock for what seemed like forever, ever since she’d learned the big secret years before from her best friends and business partners. The only warlock she actually knew was her best friend’s brother, and Kole was more like a brother to her than someone whose wand she wanted to get familiar with. This could be her only chance.
One more try.
As Laurence changed the angle, moaning, she responded, straining for the slightest spark. Damned if she’d taken this risk for nothing. She’d begged, bribed, threatened, offered favors of any and every nature to come to New Orleans for this witchy ball, thrown for Emma’s birthday by her warlock boyfriend’s family. She’d sworn not to draw attention, agreed to be glamoured to the wazoo and wear a full-feathered mask to boot. It had been weeks before her best friends had caved.
Even their reluctance hadn’t dimmed her excitement. After all, Emma and Tia, even Kole, her self-assigned bodyguard for the evening, had good reason to be cautious. Humans were forbidden to know of their kind without permission from their High Family, despite the fact that witches mingled with them all the time. If she were discovered, there’d be consequences.
And if she was thinking about consequences, Leah concluded with a twitch of her brows, Laurence really wasn’t giving his warlock brethren a good name.
Time to call it. Turns out she’d been wrong; warlocks could be just as disappointing as human men. Every day was a learning day.
She shifted just as his tongue shot to the back of her throat, and her gag reflex kicked in. Her teeth snapped down on the fleshy invader.
Laurence’s muffled cry echoed around the intimately lit balcony. He reared back, eyes wide beneath the white mask he’d pushed up on his forehead. “You bith my dunge.” Releasing her, he touched it gingerly.
Thousands of retorts sprang to mind, but Leah swallowed them back. Mostly. “Sorry. I forget that some men can’t handle pain.”
Wrong thing to say, she judged, as his eyes lit up. He stopped fingering his tongue and leered at her. “Oh, I can handle it. Can you, my naughty mystery witch?”
She wondered if it would be considered drawing attention to herself if she jumped off the balcony.
“Gag me,” she muttered.
He made a purring noise. “If you ask nicely.” He eased closer and she matched him backward, the iron railings pressing layers of skirts into her butt. “Your portal or mine?”
She flattened her lips, trembling with the urge to laugh. Clearing her throat, she gestured to her wrist—which was naked. “Look at the time. I promised to meet a friend for a dance.”
“So? Send them a mirror message. If they knew you were with me, they’d let you go.” A cocky lift of his chin. “I’m of the Brochards.”
Somewhere in the distance, something jabbered. It was the only noise for a long moment. “Cool,” she decided on. “Even so...”
“Don’t play hard to get now.” He leaned in, his smile edged with that arrogance. His finger stroked down the bare skin between where her sleeve ended and her long white glove began. “Ten minutes,” he reminded her. “That was all it took to get you out here.”
Leah stared him down, flushing under her mask at the evidence of her determination to bag a warlock. She wasn’t ashamed, exactly; she loved learning, craved new experiences. But she did wish she’d chosen a different warlock. Now she’d have to endure Kole’s lecture, without even a good kiss to tuck away in her memories.
Her guard slipped as she sent Laurence a withering look. “Lesson learned. Excuse me.”
“Hey.” He wrapped his hand around her arm, not bruising but enough to halt her. “Don’t you know who I am?”
“You’re a Brochard,” she said with admirable patience, barely keeping in a sarcastic “whoopee for you.”
“You’re a lower born, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“I can’t believe this.” He let her go to pace, the tails on his lilac velvet coat flapping. She’d have found the color choice odd if she didn’t know from the past six years with Emma and Tia that witches preferred bright colors. “That’s the trouble with masquerades,” he muttered, more to himself than her. “I should’ve known the Truenotes would invite all the lower circles. No class.”
Okay, Leah understood now why Emma had left this society behind before hooking up with Bastian again. What an asshole.
“They probably wanted some decent people on the guest list, if all Higher sons are like you,” she said flatly. She wasn’t rude by nature, but bad manners really jammed every button she had. “This is their home. Shouldn’t you show them some respect?”
He straightened his tailcoat. “Warlocks respect only their equals.” His blue eyes swept over her, clearly cataloging everything as his lip curled. “And you are not mine.”
The words slid into her like knives, piercing the quiet insecurity that whispered he was right. That she didn’t belong here. She faltered as he brought his face close.
“If you tell anyone about this...”
That piece of ridiculousness snapped her back. “You think I want to brag about my kiss with the warlock washing machine?”
“I beg your pardon?”
Leah picked up her full skirts, silvery satin that reflected the moon above them. “Get a clue, Brochard. You can’t kiss for shit.”
She shoved past him, aiming for the glass doors that led back to the masquerade, only to be yanked back when a telekinetic hand seized her elbow.
Two things happened then.
A male voice from the side clipped out: “Unhand the—”
And Leah, considering telekinesis an act of aggression, smashed her fist into Laurence’s face.
Something crunched. Blood spurted from Laurence’s nose, gushing down his face and onto his pretty clothes. He cupped his nose with a babbling cry—a spell, maybe, or perhaps he was trying to make sense of being punched by a lower born. Imagine if he’d known she was human.
“—lady,” the crisp voice finished on a bemused note.
Her eyes flew to the shadows, body tensing in readiness as she supported her throbbing hand. A witness. Was there a fine for punching a Higher son? Would she get sent to witch prison?
Was there such a thing as witch prison?
A question for another time.
Leah stepped away, both from Laurence and from the man hidden by the dark at the side of the balcony. Adrenaline rushed inside her as she wondered if she could make it to the doors.
“I suppose inquiring if you’re well is redundant.”
It took Leah a moment to realize the question was for her and not the warlock slumped against the balustrade.
Her mind emptied of words. “Um,” she said inelegantly.
“You didn’t use magic.” Curiosity wound through the accented words like ribbons around a maypole. “Why?”
Hoping for an air of mystery, Leah lifted her shoulders.
“You didn’t need it,” he answered for her. “But did you have to break his nose?”
Leah shrugged again, sidling toward the glass doors.
He matched her step to the right. Now he’d moved, the faint outline of his hair was visible, a dark wave swept back. Light glinted off the sharper features like his chin, nose, a hint of cheekbone. He stood taller than her, not hard since she topped five feet seven in three-inch heels. And, she realized, placing the accent, he was British.
Her heart thudded against her ribs. Fear? Nerves? Delight? All three, maybe.
Her libido cheered.
This was a warlock made for balconies.
“Nothing to say?”
Leah wished she had all the accessories for her nineteenth-century costume. There were only so many times a woman could coquettishly waft a feathered fan. “Maybe I don’t want to talk to you.”
“I came to your rescue,” he pointed out.
“She didn’t need rescuing.”
Laurence’s surly input had the moment shattering. His nose was now intact, though dried blood painted his face.
His lips peeled back from his teeth. “I should give you a taste of your own, witch.”
“But you won’t.”
The firm warning from the stranger made Laurence’s eyes narrow. “What’s it to you, Goodnight?”
“You forced your magic on her.”
“So?” he blustered.
“So, it’s not done.” The warlock called Goodnight cocked his head, light sliding down his face to reveal a perfect pair of lips. He wore his power comfortably as he warned, “Remember yourself, Brochard.”
Laurence cast a hateful look at Goodnight, then stomped toward the doors. Leah shifted so they didn’t touch, watching as he threw open the glass doors, letting out the ruckus of the party before they closed behind him.
And then it was just the two of them.
“Thank you,” she said to break the silence, shifting her weight. “For getting rid of him.”
“I suspect you could have done that.”
“It might have gotten ugly.”
Truth. And, seriously, what the hell had she been thinking, punching a warlock? She really needed to buy a clue and stop being so impulsive before it got her into hot water. Hotter water.
A sudden thought had her head snapping his way. “How long were you standing there?” Had he seen their second-rate make-out session? Embarrassment threatened to curl her toes in her gorgeous shoes.
“I came up the steps as you were scolding him for insulting the Truenotes.”
Relief kissed her heated skin. “Manners matter,” she told him. Absently, she rubbed a gentle thumb over her sore knuckles. “I should’ve known it would end badly. It always does.”
“It?”
“Me. Men—ah, warlocks. But you have to keep trying. Kiss those frogs.”
A beat passed. “Frogs?”
Oh, God. It must be a human idiom. Shoot her now. “I just mean, I have the worst taste.”
Clearing her throat, she clasped her hands lightly and wandered toward the view. She settled, choosing to forget that Kole would be furious when he found her. She wasn’t ready to leave yet. “So, why were you in the garden?” Behind him she saw the faint shadow of a winding stone staircase leading off below.
He didn’t speak.
“Space?” she guessed, throwing him a quick once-over. “You don’t strike me as a party person.” Not when he stood there, all quiet and solemn in the shadows, posture perfect.
After a beat, he inclined that sharp chin. “Not precisely.”
“Me, I love a party.” Leah hated silence more than anything. She’d had too much of that in her teenage years. “Surrounded by the press of people, listening to everyone laugh and talk.”
“It’s easier to be alone.”
The lack of emotion there made her wonder if that was really true. Since she couldn’t offer a hug—she doubted that would go down well—she said the first thing that came to mind. A bad habit. “You can be alone with me.”
Confusion melded with the accent now. “What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure.” A small laugh as her skin grew clammy. Nervous, she was actually nervous. “I guess...it’s like this moment doesn’t exist. We don’t know each other and we don’t have to. We can let go of ourselves for a bit. Rest.”
Another beat. “Okay.”
He didn’t get it. She swallowed, turning to the gardens, embracing the press of the night air and the faint sounds that came in from the bayous beyond. She didn’t care if the warlock thought she was an idiot, she told herself, gripping the railings. She wasn’t trying to impress him.
Then she felt him at her back and knew her words were a lie. She didn’t dare move, every nerve turning electric. He didn’t touch her, but she felt him everywhere.
“Why do I feel you are never alone? Never someone else.” His words brushed by her, along with a hint of scent, nothing she could name. Sexy, like his cultured voice. “Even with a stranger?”
She stared hard at the darkened gardens, trying not to hyperventilate. “I like people. But I can feel alone.”
“When?”
The dark pressed around them, cocooning. Intimate. She found herself saying to it, “Sometimes I feel on the outside of things.”
“How could anyone keep a witch like you out?”
Because she wasn’t a witch. But this was her chance to act like one.
She released the railings and turned, her chest brushing his body. Inhaling at the contact, she looked up. A plain navy mask slicked over his features, hiding what she wanted to see. Except for his eyes. They were an intense green, inhumanly so. As he scanned what her mask didn’t cover, they almost gleamed blue.
Her knees turned to Jell-O. “Hi.”
Those eyes flickered, puzzled. “Hello.”
She pressed her lips together. When his gaze went to them, a rush of tingles swept across her skin. “It’s like a secret,” she said, surprised her voice came out normal.
“What?”
“Being with a stranger. You can tell them anything. Do anything. And then it’s forgotten as you go back to your lives.”
He watched her in silence.
She watched him back. Words trembled at her lips and she couldn’t keep them in. Didn’t want to. “What would you do if you knew there’d be no consequences?”
The wind tousled his hair, but he stood perfectly still. “There are always consequences.”
“So, let’s pretend.”
“I don’t play.”
“That’s a shame.” She inched closer.
“I take it you do?”
“Life’s there to be lived.”
“We’re very different.”
“Apparently.”
“Yet... I find I’m curious.”
Her breath lodged in her throat. It took several tries before she could wheeze, “About?”
The wind teased her updo of curls, slid down her skin, had her shivering as she silently begged him to say the words. Complete the fantasy.
And then he did. “What you would do if there were no consequences.”
The surge of desire drained any rational thought from her. Like it belonged to someone else, she saw her hand close over his neckcloth, using it to pull him down. Their lips had barely touched, a sizzle of anticipation in her blood, when the glass doors banged open.
“There you are.”
Leah jumped away from Goodnight as if he’d burst into flame. Her gaze swung. “Kole,” she squeaked. “Hi. Hello. There you are, too. We were just...” She blinked fast. “This is...”
“Lord Goodnight.” Kole’s voice was as sharp as a blade, his glare even sharper.
Lord? She liked that.
With the doors open, the cozy silence was blasted apart by the thirty-piece orchestra playing to the crowd. When Leah had first seen the opulent ballroom with its gleaming floor, floating chandeliers and white columns around which ruby roses climbed, she’d almost swallowed her tongue. Her family wasn’t poor by any means, but even they didn’t have ballrooms.
Still, everything else paled next to meeting her warlock. Something Kole seemed to take great exception to as he stiffly walked forward and flung his arm around her shoulders. The gesture wasn’t unusual, both of them touchy, affectionate people.
But the last thing Leah wanted was to give her warlock the wrong idea. Unfortunately, when she tried to sidle away, Kole tightened his hold.
She elbowed him in the side and he grunted, stubbornly keeping his arm in place.
Goodnight fell back with the new arrival, eyes darting between Leah and Kole. Then he gave a clipped nod. “Lord Bluewater.”
“Didn’t realize you had time to socialize, with the business and all.”
“Family obligations.”
“Naturally,” Kole mocked.
Nothing moved an inch on Goodnight’s face but Leah felt his annoyance like a whisper across her cheek.
He faced Leah and pressed a hand to his chest, bowed. She noticed the glint of a ring on his pinkie as he straightened. “Thank you for being a stranger with me.” His voice was toneless but soft.
Her smile bloomed. “Anytime.”
He didn’t go through the doors to the party, instead retreating the way he came. Leah stared after him as Kole muttered a curse and dropped his arm. When she went to speak, he held up a hand, casting his other up and around. Something sparked, a faint white light that covered them like a translucent globe. She’d seen it before; soundproofing spell.
His eyebrows were tight when he rounded on her. “What did we say, Leah?”
She ignored him. “Who was that?”
Kole didn’t wear a mask so his frustration was easy to read. All signs pointed to pissed. “What did we say? Don’t draw attention.”
“I wasn’t.” She chose not to mention Laurence and the punch. “We were just—”
“Yeah, I saw what you and Gabriel Goodnight were just.” Rich brown eyes that matched his hair raked her with a hot glance. “Don’t you have any common sense?”
“Nothing about me is common.” She tweaked his nose, smiling when he batted her hand away. “Gabriel Goodnight? You have to be making that up. Sounds like he belongs in a fairy tale.”
“Yeah, well, if this was a fairy tale, he’d be a villain.”
Her heart dove. “No,” she denied. “He was so nice.” And he’d come to her rescue.
Kole laughed, then scrubbed his face. “Goddess. I can’t leave you unsupervised for one minute. I knew this was a bad idea, especially Sloane coming, too.” Sloane was Emma’s half-witch sister, who’d been as sheltered from this world as Leah was. When they’d relented about Leah, Sloane had insisted on being her plus-one.
Leah looked past him. “How is she? I don’t see you lecturing her.”
Kole pinched her chin, pulling her attention back. “She’s dancing with Bastian. Leah, you could’ve been found out. You get that, right?”
“But I didn’t. It’s all good.”
“It’s not all good when I catch you making out with the Warlock of Contempt.”
“We weren’t ‘making out.’” Barely even a kiss, she thought with some disappointment. “And seriously, you’re calling him names now?”
“Society calls him that. He’s so full of his family and name, of his status. And he’s against our people mingling. Thinks witches should stick with witches.”
“What?” But that was...
Kole nodded, releasing her chin. “Except when it comes to business, I guess, since his company’s mixed up with both witches and humans.” He tugged on a loosened blond curl. “See how I rescued you now? How about some gratitude? I have a few ideas on how you could thank me.”
She wasn’t in the mood for their usual flirty banter, disappointment coating the joy she’d had in the moment.
Kole sighed, reached for her hand—luckily not her injured one, as that would’ve brought on a whole new lecture. “Let’s get back inside. Bastian said he has some big announcement.”
She threw one last searching look at the gardens. Kole was wrong, had to be. Not that she’d ever see Gabriel Goodnight again, but she wanted to think of him as the lonely stranger she’d almost kissed on a starlit night. If this was the only piece of this world she could have, that was how she’d choose to remember it.
They’d always have the balcony.
