Resting Witch Face (Stay a Spell, #5)

by Juliette Cross

I’d left the party and had a driver take me back to my house, where the paintings I’d commissioned taunted me. The echoes of a throaty laughter and gray eyes followed me into a hellish sleep.

She wasn’t ready yet, but she was close. So fucking close. I knew it on instinct. Still, I refused to do anything too fast that would set me off course. I had one and only one endgame in sight, and I’d die before I did anything to jeopardize reaching it. Before I finally reached her.

“You said it already. We weren’t together. You’d broken up with me. But I’d never broken up with you.”

I had continued to behave as if she were still mine. All these long years.

She could go silent and not respond. It made no difference. Because the reality was that she hadn’t once rejected my obvious intent to pursue her again. She hadn’t even rejected my rather frank words just now. And at this moment, I could hear the speeding of her pulse and her deep inhale of my scent from the collar of my jacket draped over her.

It was perfectly fine if she took her time getting used to what was happening, only so long that she understood I wasn’t backing down or playing nice anymore. I’d given her space—twelve years of it. That was goddamn long enough.

Of course, after recent events with the trial of that heinous piece of shit, Richard Davis, it became radically clear that Gareth Blackwater was the most powerful supernatural being I’d ever known. After the trial, Jules had asked Gareth in my presence if he wanted to claim rights as head of New Orleans. As the strongest in magic, it was his right.

It made me wonder how heavy the crown was. I knew it was heavy enough as overlord of the vampires of our region, and her responsibility was even greater.

“I knew that you would,” I said reassuringly. “We know Clarissa supports us. No need to be nervous.”

“His name is Geoff Gentry. He’s a Siphon like me.” Clearing her throat, she glanced away. “He acts as Enforcer over the region of Mississippi. But a while back…he had his eyes on New Orleans.”

“He called me out on an issue that had gone all the way up to Clarissa. It was a dispute between a warlock and a witch. I assured Clarissa I was handling it, and I thought I was. But I’d read the warlock wrong and trusted him enough to heed my warning and back down. Next thing I know, the witch was found unconscious from a black magic spell and the warlock had fled the city.” She kept her gaze on the hallway. “Needless to say, my inept ability to take control resulted in a badly wounded witch who never fully recovered and a criminal warlock escaping without punishment. And Geoffrey Gentry used my mistake as proof that I was too weak to rule a region as big and rife with wild supernaturals as New Orleans.”

Those few months we’d spent together were the happiest of my life, her laughter one of the sounds that brought me the greatest joy. Equal only to the sound of her screaming my name as she came on my cock. She’d become so serious in her position as Siphon that I began to wonder if I’d ever hear her laugh again.

I pulled back, clasping my fingers together loosely in my lap, realizing something about her story. “When did that happen? With Gentry?” She didn’t answer at first and certainly didn’t look my way when she said, “In the beginning of my transition. Right after Mom and Dad moved to Switzerland.”

the heads of covens from all regions, from here in Houston to Florida. There were seven more regions in the US—west of Houston to southern California, northern California to the Pacific northwestern states, the Midwest, excluding Chicago, which was a region by itself, from Pennsylvania down to North Carolina, New York City also its own region and, lastly, the rest of New York state and those above it. That last one was our next stop when we flew out tomorrow to Boston, then took a car to Salem.

I knew everyone already. All that I needed to know anyway. Their names, addresses, spouses if any, hobbies, habits—good and bad—who they fucked, where they drank, partied, and/or lay down their heads at night. It might sound morbid, and perhaps it was, but after spending enough time with Gareth as an employee and now as a friend, I’d become well aware of the importance and power of information.

“This is Dr. Derek Sullivan, head of Baton Rouge and north Louisiana.” And total asshole. The warlock had dated and hurt Juliana’s sister once.

Clarissa went on down the table, introducing Ms. Ramirez, a voluptuous Hispanic woman with beautiful eyes and a deadly smile as head of Florida. There was a vampire named Titus who ruled all of Alabama, not one Siphon warlock or witch in the state. He wore a cream-colored suit, custom-tailored—I should know since all of mine were as well—which contrasted with his dark skin, giving him an attractive yet powerful look. We vampires were all vain creatures. His eyes glinted with silver when he gave me a welcoming smile.

It didn’t surprise me that there was an entire state without a Siphon, also called Enforcer, like Jules. They were rare. We’d be traveling tomorrow into mostly vampire territory again.

Salem was known for its witches, but vampires ruled the territory now. During the colonial period, the scars that the Puritans had left behind when they burned sisters of witchcraft had carried through time. Still, to this day, n...

That was what most people—supernaturals included—didn’t realize about vampires. Our foremost instinct in this world was to draw blood. That could come through violence or through more sensual means. But when confronted with an enemy—and anyone who’d tried to harm Jules was a fucking enemy—deserved to be punished in the most painful way. That’s what my instincts were telling me at the moment.

“As you are aware, in my preliminary report,” she began, “history has blatantly left the werewolves outside of our High Guild. They’ve never been offered a seat at the table. The only reason has been because of their history of violence and, quite frankly, our own history of bigotry.”

She flipped to the next slide, which showed the data on violent incidents across the globe, separated by supernatural race. Gareth had been quite happy to hand over this information. Where he got it, I didn’t ask, but I was well aware that Obsidian Corporation was one of the hubs of grim intel, owned and run by his uncle, Silas Blackwater. He also happened to be the father of Henry and Sean Blackwater. They were estranged from their father, and perhaps so was Gareth from his uncle, but he’d still been able to acquire what we needed, nonetheless.

“As you can see from the data, the difference in violent crime among supernaturals has leveled out over the years, although werewolves still outpace the other three races. There seems to be a decline in werewolf viole...

“London is the exception. But the outlying parts of the country have never accepted those they see as interlopers or troublemakers, so Titus may be right about why we see less violence in werewolves in England. There simply may not be a large population of them left.”

“My parents live in London. They have many connections

“As you’ll see, there’s been a sharp decline in werewolf violence in the past year. Specifically in the United States and Canada.” “Where did you get this information? Can we even trust these numbers?” Geoffrey sneered at the screen. He had no idea how close to a bloody beating he was.

“As I was saying,” Jules continued, “the data clearly shows that the violence isn’t so lop-sided as it used to be. Especially in the last year.”

“This is my sister Violet and the Blood Moon pack. She used an old magic on them that—” “Old?” questioned Geoffrey. “You mean black magic? Your sister dabbles in the forbidden arts?”

Geoffrey’s thin face paled as he realized his rude, cutting remarks were irritating the oldest supernatural in the room. He might be an Enforcer with the power to null magical powers, but I could easily trace faster than he could blink and rip out his throat before he’d even thought of it. He held my gaze, beady eyes wide with shock and a touch of fear. The vampire Titus simply smiled from his reclining position, apparently enjoying the display.

“As I was saying,” Jules went on calmly, her gaze flicking to mine in appreciation, “Violet discovered the ability to imbed spells into ink and tattoo it into the skin as a permanent charm to help supernaturals with their magic. Or I should say, she rediscovered it because this practice was used by druids and witches centuries ago. My sister also discovered the correct spell to aid werewolves in controlling their inner beasts. For every werewolf descended from Capitán Ortego, the original Lycan curse instilled the need to let the beast out. And as we know, this can happen spontaneously and against the werewolf’s will in times of distress, anger, or when the wolf feels threatened.”

“We are positive,” said Jules. “And I can second her findings,” added Clarissa.

“My sister has been training other witches to spell tattoo ink like she does, which is why we’ve seen the spread across the United States and Canada. Our proposition today is two-fold. One, we propose to create an organization of witches to teach this practice across the globe to benefit all werewolves. My sister Violet has volunteered to be on the board of this organization. And secondly, we propose to open a seat on the High Guild for werewolves. Their exclusion is against their civil rights to be a part of our supernatural community. They deserve a voice, and the refusal of this is nothing more than blatant prejudice.” Her eyes brightened with both passion and empathy. “Please know I accuse no one here. I am aware that I’ve been a part of this blindness, never seeing this as a problem that needed to be addressed, but now that I’m aware, I can’t allow the exclusion of werewolves at our table to continue.”

“There is the matter of the name the High Witch Guild. I realize in its inception, the guilds of each region were organized by witches and warlocks. Shortly after, vampires and grims were given seats at each regional guild.” I knew where she was going, and I could hardly suppress my pride in this woman. The High Witch Guilds across the world were the regional coven leaders of all supernaturals in the area. The leaders of an area were run by either a witch or warlock Enforcer or the most powerful vampire, typically the eldest, of the region. “And though there are covens only for individual supernaturals, such as for vampires, witches, and grims—even packs for wolves—the High Witch Guild has professed its purpose to unite and uphold the laws for all supernaturals. However, the name has never changed. It seems only natural to me that if our guilds are comprised of all supernaturals, the name should reflect that.”

She was the same woman I’d met and fallen in love with years ago, but she was also different—more confident and self-assured than the woman I knew then. Though we’d worked alongside one another all this time, I wanted to know more of the woman she was now. She stared down the table, regal and magnificent and utterly bewitching.

“Simply the High Coven Guild would seem to suffice since it is the highest office of all united supernatural covens.”

She looked up at me, the flicker of that unsure, vulnerable younger woman appearing on her face. She didn’t ask me what I thought or how I thought she did. She wouldn’t ask me, but I wanted to give her an answer anyway.

She wrapped a hand around Jules’s upper arm. “You won. On all counts!” Jules let out a laugh and exhaled a heavy breath she’d obviously been holding. “Really?” “Truly.” Clarissa leaned in and whispered, “Not even Gentry dared to vote against.” Then she winked at me and tapped me on the arm. “Well done putting him in his place, Dubois.”

“We are officially now the first to be called the High Coven Guild instead of the Witch Coven Guild. Funny that I never even noticed our own name was exclusionary.” “We can all become complacent and accepting of what’s handed down to us,” said Jules. “But just because something has always been done one way doesn’t mean that it’s right.”

“They’ll be easy votes. I know it. You’ve got the hardest one anyway, which is why I leave it to you.” She glanced at me. “And you, Dubois. I’m expecting you to exert some of your influence over Declan. He can be a hard one.”

Clarissa had been a good friend to Jules’s mother and had done well in mentoring Jules as the new and youngest Enforcer in New Orleans. She had been in her thirties when she took over for her mother, but even now in her forties, she was considered to be a very young witch to hold such power.

“Both of you are. But beware when you’re abroad. That will be the tough part.” “I know,” I answered before Jules could.

“Of course. My father will help you in England. He’s a good strategist and knows all the influential players.” “We’ll rely on his help,” I assured her.

She deserved it after what she’d just done, not simply for werewolves but for vampires and grims as well. Interesting that no one had questioned the passively oppressive title of our guilds. Not in the modern age, anyhow. Except Jules.

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, now would it?”

A giddy sensation filled me at the thought of Ruben planning a surprise.

That he intended to…what? Date me? Seduce me? Either way, I wasn’t entirely averse to the idea because my entire body lit up like a firecracker when he told me he had a surprise for me.

Even though my mental walls were slowly crumbling, we hadn’t gone over all the reasons we’d broken up in the first place. I suppose I was ignoring that little conversation because I was afraid of what it might lead to. Besides my own likely meltdown of emotion, which was something that made me want to vomit just thinking about it, there was the po...

I was pretty sure that the well of bursting excitement inside my body, sending adrenaline coursing through my veins, was indeed a sign of my willingness—e...

I actually shivered at his nonchalant suggestion of getting a quick bite. Against my will, my attention went to his mouth. Why did he have to have such a pretty mouth? And why was I remembering how well he could use it? Then his lips curled upward, reminding me I was staring and he’d noticed.

There was a moment of shock on his face that I was actually flirting. Flirting with fire, that is, because I was still unsure but also crazy excited that this might be happening. Again. And this time, I felt more prepared. I wouldn’t be blindsided by my obsession. My gaze dropped to his mouth again. At least, I hoped I wouldn’t be blindsided.