Witches Get Stitches (Stay a Spell, #3)

by Juliette Cross

A new kind of thrill ran through me, my thoughts instantly jumping back to Nico and his werewolf problem. Actually, all the werewolves’ problem with control.

Better to ask forgiveness than permission, I always said. Actually, that advice came from our grandmother, Maybelle. She was always a rule-bender. I was fairly positive I carried more of her genes than my mother’s.

You might think that a woman carrying a bowtie-wearing rooster down the street might seem odd, but this was New Orleans. Much stranger sights have been seen,

By the time I reached the dead-end street that housed Nico’s place and Empress Ink, I was rethinking this plan. And wondering why my first thought was to go to him. What I should’ve done was call Aunt Beryl.

Aunt Beryl was our go-to person when we needed help with something. She also happened to be the Dr. Doolittle of witches.

A high brick wall completely enclosed this space for privacy, which also made me think Fred would be fine here. While he liked to prove he was head cock of his domain, he honestly was a total chicken when it came to venturing beyond his grounds. Also, he was kind of fat, if I were honest. He couldn’t fly very high, and I was pretty sure he’d look at that brick wall and think it wasn’t worth the effort. The grassy area in the back looked sufficient for him to peck around in.

It was a naked fairy about three-feet high. She had one knee bent and was dipping a toe into the water fountain. Her hands were on her hips and her wings were dangling leisurely behind her, brushing her bare ass. She looked…sassy. Even from behind. I couldn’t help but laugh. Leave it to Nico to commission a feisty fairy and to Mateo for having the talent to fill the order.

Putting thoughts of his Lovers card and that hot look he gave me away, I plastered a friendly smile on my face.

A soft gray throw on the sofa—my heart thudded—the same sofa from my vision of us snuggled together. I forced myself to move on.

“It was a long time ago. He’d lived a nice, long life for a werewolf. His heart just gave out.” “Really? How old was he?” “Seven hundred and two.” “What?!” Most werewolves were lucky to live to five hundred. “Shit on a cracker, how old are you?” “Only a hundred and three, Violet.”

“I figured you liked savory for breakfast.” “I like anything for breakfast. Love sweet, too. Chocolate chip pancakes is a particular favorite.” “I’ll remember that.”

“Violet,” he said my name with force and emphasis.

I knew in that very second that he would be super dominant in bed.

“I just feel like I’ve been a total fuckface to you lately, so I guess I expected… I don’t know.”

I’d managed to restrain my lusty thoughts and longings before we went into business together. But now that I was with him so often, he was all I could think about. And let’s not even get started on the wet dreams.

I wasn’t getting any sexy vibes. Only Nico vibes. Usually one and the same, but he was radiating more walled-off aggression from behind a calm veneer. It was almost creepy.

“Tits are great, right? Possibly the greatest body part on man or woman. So if you’re THE tits, then you’re like the best of the best.”

“You’re the strangest girl I’ve ever known.” “But also the coolest. And most badass. And amazing.”

I took the key and looked at it. A single thread of magic zinged along my skin. Not sure why. It was just a plain, silver key, but my psychic abilities were stirring as I held it in my palm.

“You may need something. Keep the key, Violet.”

I stood, pretending I hadn’t just been punched with werewolf dominance that was now buzzing sweetly between my legs.

The word was soft and deep, but also hard and smooth. How? I have no fucking idea. It wasn’t the words that Nico said, but how he said them. How they sounded coming out of his mouth that made me weak-kneed.

I filled in the final white touches on the face of the barn owl on the hip of my client Tia. She was Isadora’s best friend as well as Aunt Beryl’s niece, a Conduit witch, a healer like Isadora.

was going to work on a spell for Conduits next, for you and Iz, but I can’t help but feel like I have to work on the werewolves first.” “And by feel, I assume you mean your magic is telling you so.”

“I’m working on it. I’ve been meditating on a vision I had earlier this week. I had it while tattooing Nico and talking about a scar he got from his wolf losing control.” “Interesting. What was the vision?” “It was all witch sign.” I paused, wiping the excess ink from her hip. “Like my magic was trying to voice the spell but through witch sign. And it wasn’t completely clear, so I was hoping to recapture it, but I haven’t yet.”

“Hmm. Does Jules have any books on witch sign?” My head snapped up. “I’m an idiot.” “Not most of the time.” “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it.” Sitting back, I shook my head at my own stupidity. “We only have the rarest book of witch sign ever recorded. The Etymology and Definition of All Known Witch Sign by Marigold Lord. It’s a compilation of ancient knowledge and rare, even forbidden, witch sign. Ruben acquired it through Devraj when Mateo had that spell put on him and we needed help.”

Livvy said a soft opening with family and friends as clients while she got our website up and running would be best. Let us get our feet wet slowly, then make a big splash on social media to reel in new clientele and line up the calendars. We were of course listening to Livvy, the PR expert.

“You’re a fucking grim. And you’re also a Blackwater, which means not only do you know every basic thing about everyone within a hundred-mile radius, but you probably know every deep dark secret about them, too.”

Henry Blackwater worked for Ruben. He was Sean’s older brother and seemed to collect every minute piece of information on every person living in the lower Garden District. He had his hands in everything but was also tied to no one.

Grims didn’t even like people knowing their names. They were…odd. The strangest of the supernaturals by far. They collected info like data-drive hoarders and yet wanted no one to know anything about them at all.

Nico and I had never talked about his time with the pack in Austin or why he left. But something about the cold look in the blond’s eyes and Sean’s distinctly defensive stance had me labeling this little encounter an immediate threat.

“Look, Shane. I’m aware that you think you’re a big bad wolf and your coming in here with your pack of dogs is meant to be some sort of intimidating display of prowess. But I’m not intimidated. Or impressed. What the fuck do you want?” His charming smile slipped. Good, dickhead. Now get to the point.

“It’s not a big secret,” I finally said. “Though I didn’t know my sister had advertised yet.” “So these tattoos are permanent spells, right? They can help supernaturals with what they want?” “Look, I’ve only just perfected the charm for Auras. Each spell is specific to the supernatural and their magic. It’s not like I can permanently spell love potions or some shit like that. It doesn’t work that way.”

“Have you created a spell for werewolves yet?” Before I could answer, he curled his lip with a touch of disgust. “Probably not. I’ll bet we’re lowest on your priorities.” Offended, I crossed my arms and scowled back at him. “You don’t know anything about me.” His expression went cold, rigid. “Known enough of your kind. The only way to get something we need from witches is to take it.”

“This isn’t just a potion in a bottle you can take. It’s a complex incantation and a kind of magic that hasn’t been practiced in decades, maybe centuries.” “And you’re the only one practicing it?” He lifted his brows, the menace leaking away with a note of amusement. This guy’s Jekyll and Hyde mood swings were giving me whiplash.

“I’m actually trying to figure out the right spell for werewolves right now. That’s what I’m currently working on.” I almost added jackass but was trying to keep him calm so I refrained from my normal name-calling. “Nico has volunteered to help me.”

Nico seemed to always help me when I needed it. My heart clenched at that thought.

“I’m working on it,” I assured him. “It’s not easy, these spells. I have no one to teach me, so I’m figuring it out.” “How long?” “I don’t know.” “Give me a timeframe.” “I can’t do that.” “Because you’re lying,” he accused and stood abruptly. “I’m not lying.”

“Sure thing, Terminator. And I’ll be right here when you do.” “You’re not afraid of me.” He actually sniffed the air. Probably was using his wolfie senses to detect my heartrate and so forth. “Not at all.” I glared right back. “You should probably be afraid of me.”

A shift in the air, emanating from me, billowed my hair off my shoulders. I popped my neck and exhaled slowly, willing the primal pulse of my magic to simmer. The Tarot empress tattoo on my forearm heated my skin. Glancing down, I caught the slightest shift of her head and eyes, moving mystically, the inked moon above her brightening under my skin.

It wasn’t until after I’d given myself the tattoo that an incantation came to me in a dream. It was the same night I’d held that book by Marigold Lord. Ever since then, the empress on my arm had become like a guardian, warning me when I needed to heed a particular vision or premonition. Or when danger was near. Like now.

This wolf had no idea who he was dealing with. That became more obvious when he belted out a cynical laugh, probably thinking his eyes were playing tricks on him or that I was only joking that he should be afraid. Or both. I wasn’t, but whatever.

“No need. I can take care of it myself.” “A single werewolf is dangerous,” he said, like I didn’t already know this. “A whole pack is lethal. I can guarantee you that those four aren’t the entire pack. There’ll be more.”

“You can ask Henry to find out how many are in town. I’ll report to Jules.” “On it.” He pulled out his phone and started texting.

Mateo had texted and said he was coming by, which I’d totally forgotten about. He hadn’t been by since we’d made renovations to the shop, and I wanted to commission a piece from him, a metal rendition of the logo, to stand in the center of the lobby.

Interlopers. Invaders. Frenzied fury burned through my blood. I wandered along the sofa, smelling the familiar scents of the guys from the Blood Moon pack. Then a very distinct one hit me, and it was coming from…Violet’s workspace.

I strode toward her in three long steps, narrowing in on the source. Grabbing her hand, I leaned over and lifted it to my nose, then skated up to her wrist. There. That motherfucker.

No. Just the wrist. I swept my nose along her skin, the silky texture barely distracting me as I double-checked that it was indeed Shane touching my territory. “Nico.”

“When was Shane here?” Oh, fuck. My voice was so deep. I was riding a razor’s edge, literally about to shift right then and there. Glancing at my hand, I saw my nails had already transformed to black claws and were now abrading her silky skin. I flinched and dropped her wrist, then backed away.

She stood slowly. “It’s alright. No need to go wolfie,” she teased, even though her expression was a touch hard and grave.