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  My smile stretched, and I lowered myself down to whisper in his ear. “I would use you regardless.” He didn’t react, but as I moved my hand to brush over his groin, I found him hard and ready. My hand reached down into his jeans and wrapped around his erection, enjoying the power I had, and I gave it a slight squeeze to which I heard a sharp intake of breath before I let go.

  I crawled up his body, kneeling at his throat before lifting myself up and lowering myself down onto his mouth. He latched on like there was no other choice, sucking on my clit as his hands gripped at my behind, nails digging into me, and this time it was my turn to hiss a little at the pain. But then I laughed, and it was a sound of relief. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back as I ground against him, my face in an unstoppable smile. This felt so good—pure pleasure without any nasty intrusion. Another laugh escaped me, and I felt myself build up as I used his mouth, jolts and shivers ran through me. Not yet, too soon…

  I released him, slithering down his body, I tugged at his jeans and he helped me pull them free, his cock sprung up once released, and I couldn’t ignore the smile on his face as he looked up at me with lust-filled eyes. The smugness there was annoying, but I averted my eyes as I took hold of him and slipped on the condom that lay on the bedside table. I started slow, easing him in and adjusting to his size. Then I started to move, closing my eyes as I rocked against him, increasing my speed as I felt it start to build up within me again. I sunk down on him hard, taking him in me deep. A small sound emitted from me without permission, and then I gave in to it; letting out a low groan, I collapsed down against his chest, flattening my breasts against his muscles and gripping his arms as I grabbed for traction. All I could hear was the roaring of my own blood in my ears as I increased my motions, faster and faster as my climax drew near…

  “Fuck!” I spat out as I came, a shivering, trembling mess. My fingers dug so tightly into his arms that there should have been blood. As I came back to reality, my eyes opened to my fingernails embedded there. Slowly, I drew them away as I struggled to sit, letting his cock slide out of me.

  I blew hair out of my face, brushing it with my hand where it was stuck with perspiration from my exertions.

  “Well, you really do all the work don’t you?” Caleb said as he pushed himself up to lean his back against the headboard, reaching for his beer. I beat him to it, snatching it up and taking a drink. He raised an eyebrow as I handed it to him after I’d finished.

  “Is that a problem?” I challenged as he took a drink and passed it back to me.

  He shook his head. “No way. It’s like a fucking vacation for me. Normally…well, the other girls aren’t like you. They expect to just lie there and be treated like fucking goddesses.” His voice wasn’t so much admiring toward me as disparaging to every other girl he’d ever slept with. Asshole.

  “You’re so charming.” I settled myself up beside him by the headboard, careful not to touch him. I watched as he eased the condom from him, tying it and flinging it into the wastepaper basket in the corner. It went in like it was a well-practiced shot.

  “Charming.”

  He flashed me a grin. “I like to think so.”

  I rolled my eyes before taking another long drink of the beer. I rested my head against the headboard and closed my eyes. There was still a euphoric, floating feeling going through me… exhausted, yet exhilarated. I took deep breaths to steady my heart, the memory of touching and being with another human being without awful images appearing still vivid.

  “Witch.”

  My eyes flew open. Caleb was watching me with a lazy smirk on his face. “You look like you’re getting comfortable.”

  “Let me guess, you’re the type to throw the girl out once you’re satisfied?”

  He shrugged. “Depends on my mood, and the girl. But I was going to offer you the opportunity to ‘satisfy’ me again before you go.” He stroked himself, his cock all ready to go again. “You’ve got a pretty mouth. I’ll let you use it on me…”

  I smiled. “Maybe some other time.” I maneuvered myself off the bed and grabbed my towel from the hidden mirror. I paused before wrapping it around myself—the glass didn’t shimmer. It remained flat with just the view of me with Caleb lying in the background. I allowed myself a small smile. I didn’t know why this guy was unreadable, but it suited my needs. Once the towel was securely wrapped around my nudity, I headed for the door. It was time to kick out Penzance’s latest lover and go to bed. I pulled it open, about to step through.

  “Hey!” Caleb called. I turned and waited for whatever gem would come out of his mouth next. “You’re acting like the guy here.” I couldn’t read what was on his face and wasn’t sure if that was considered a good thing or not in his book.

  I gave a shrug and left. He had no further purpose to serve for me.

  As it happened, Penzance was alone in her bed, sprawled out with a long leg hanging off the bed and her breasts showing. She snored lightly but looked peaceful and happy. I pulled the blanket up to cover her before slipping into the other twin bed in the room. Caleb’s parents must have been loaded. This place had at least six or seven bedrooms, and each one that I had seen was well furnished for a vacation home, even down to the ornaments sitting on the shelves. My eyes scanned the room before I turned off the lamp and tried to sleep. However, it wasn’t long before my thoughts turned to Lake, and I wondered what he was doing right then. To my horror, tears began to prick at the thought of his betrayal.

  Chapter Two

  Penzance vomited for the third time when we got to the bottom of the mountain. “Shit,” she said as she wiped her mouth and leaned against the side of her car. “I’ve never been this sick in my life.” That wasn’t true, and I didn’t need any special talent to know that. Penzance always over indulged. She would spend the week recovering and then once the weekend hit, she would be back to partying with fresh enthusiasm. “Thanks for driving.”

  “You’re welcome. Ready to go?”

  She gave a nod, before weakly pulling open the passenger door and getting in. By the time I was back in the driver’s seat, she looked like she was asleep. I was just relieved to be off the mountain. I hated heights, and driving around the winding roads cut into the side made me tense with anxiety. The drive up had been okay with Penzance behind the wheel. I had just kept my eyes down and ignored the climb, but that wasn’t an option when I was forced to drive.

  She just woke up when I pulled the car into the parking garage of our apartment. It was a nice building. Penzance’s parents paid most of her rent as she earned next to nothing as an intern at a PR firm. I had my own trust money, supplemented by my work as assistant to an occult researcher. So far, life after college had been anything but glittering for either of us.

  “I can’t believe we have to go to work tomorrow,” she groaned as she grabbed her bags. “I think I’ll call in sick.” I smiled at her and said nothing. She wouldn’t. Her work ethic was too great. We ordered pizza and spent the rest of the evening watching TV. “Hey, I’m glad you came this weekend. It was fun having you around. You should hang out with us more often.” Penzance said before yawning and getting to her feet.

  “I had fun.”

  “’Night, Ivy.”

  “Good night, Penzance.” After she was gone, I turned off the TV and proceeded to switch off all the lights. Penzance never liked the dark and always had the place lit up like a Christmas tree. Even in her bedroom, she slept with a dim lamp on.

  Once the apartment was dark except for the light under Penzance’s door, I went into my own bedroom. It was fairly sparse, with no pictures on the walls interrupting the white paintwork. A pale green bedspread was the main intrusion of color; other than that, everything was wood and white. I liked simple; it helped to calm my mind when I saw distressing images. Too much going on in a room gave me blinding headaches, and consequently I could rarely walk into Penzance’s room with its differing shades of bright pink without leaving with a thumping in my head. There was a m
irror over my dressing table, but that was covered with a white blanket except for when I specifically needed to use it. The only frivolities adorning my dressing table were my boxes. There were a dozen or so that I had picked up in flea markets or antique stores since I was young. They varied in patterns and sizes; their only commonality being that their surfaces were matte and if any of them had color, they were pale tones that didn’t hurt my eyes. Before I went to bed, I ran my hand slowly over each one, feeling the smooth wood and taking pleasure in how uncomplicated they were. If only life were that way; I could deal with uncomplicated on the surface, even if the secrets, like with my boxes, were locked tightly away forever.

  I let my hand linger on the smallest box. I should have really thrown it away, but every time I saw it I marveled at how perfect it was. It fit in the palm of my hand and featured an etching of a bird colored in pale pink to match the blossoms on the branch that it sat on. When Lake had given it to me I had sat examining it for hours. There were no hinges and the top could be lifted off to reveal the wooden interior. There had been a bracelet inside it when he gave it to me—a glittering piece that would be worth well over what the box cost. That bracelet now sat at the bottom of the river, but I had kept the box. I liked the box.

  The next morning, Penzance and I got ready for work at the same time. She swore as she stomped around and gulped coffee. I left her to it; I worked at the house of my employer, and it took only a half an hour to get there on foot.

  The house sat amongst a row of houses that were all at least one hundred years old but had all been restored when the area’s property prices began to boom. Magdalena’s house was the exception. It begged for a new paint job and for its rusting iron gates to be replaced. No doubt that weird woman was considered the scourge of the neighborhood. Not that she would care.

  I used my key to let myself in. My employer was away, and my job was to water the plants and sort through her emails. Several years ago, Magdalena made the mistake of going on a reality TV show where people complained that their homes were haunted. She became a sensation in busting people who made up stories about supernatural occurrences in their houses, exposing their dirty secrets, such as the wife who convinced her unsuspecting husband that the odd noises he heard were a ghost when in fact it was her lover sneaking out of the house. She could be a cold, brutal, ball-breaking bitch, and the public loved her. Unfortunately, she didn’t love them that much, and every day she was inundated with requests from people saying that their hauntings were real and asking her to investigate. She didn’t go on TV anymore, instead she wrote books, and every so often she would follow up on one of the requests.

  I enjoyed my work. Magdalena didn’t scare me. She’d had a tough life and that had manifested itself into her harsh persona that called bullshit when she saw it, which was often. The only slight apprehension would be if her work ever came upon the discovery of the Circle. Who were they? I truly did not know myself. Only that they traced their bloodline down the centuries and always held power. In this day and age, their power was through business. No longer did they need to be Kings to rule; now money could be gotten through commerce that gave them power and wealth without the scrutiny they would get as public figures. They had no special talent like myself or witches, so they used us. Unlike ordinary humans, we could not predict their futures without taking part in a ritual. It was like we were naturally blocked from them, and in any other situation, it would be ideal…

  I spent the day in front of the computer screen, sorting through the emails and categorizing each one. The reflective surface of the computer screen rarely brought forth anything for me, perhaps it was because I was so busy and calm that my mind wouldn’t let anything unnatural in. My phone buzzed a few times as Penzance texted me about how awful her day was. I couldn’t help but laugh at how dramatic she made everything.

  When it beeped again just as I was preparing to leave, I pulled it from my purse as I locked up the house. She was going to have drinks with her work mates and did I want to come? I rolled my eyes. Her hangover hadn’t lasted too long. I declined her offer, and started down the path, closing the small iron gate behind me with a clang. One day it was going to fall off its hinges, and Magdalena would just leave it like that and ignore the wrath of her neighbors. I smiled at the thought, but that smile dropped off my face as I saw the car that was parked on the street.

  The tinted windows were too dark to see who was inside, but I knew all the same, and I didn’t need any talent for that. I stopped mid-stride, ignoring the urge to run, because it wouldn’t do any good. They would always find me. The driver got out and rounded the side, opening the door to the backseat before looking at me expectantly. I swallowed, clutching my bag closer to my body, and ducked my head as I got in the car. The door closed swiftly behind me, trapping me with him.

  Michael Corin was striking to look at. He was not yet forty, and his face was unlined, and his hair showed no sign of grey. All the same, he had the air of a man who had power, a man who should not be questioned or disobeyed.

  His lips slid up into a quick smile. “Ivy.”

  I shifted nervously against the leather seats. “Michael, what do you want?”

  His smile was more genuine this time, indulgent almost, as if speaking to an ignorant child. “You know the answer to that.”

  I managed to make myself meet his eyes. “The ritual isn’t far away. You’ll have me then.”

  His hand touched my knee just below the hemline of my skirt. He began to rub my bare skin as I made sure that I stayed as still as possible. The problem with Michael was that he made me feel so good. He knew what he was doing, and if I weren’t strong, it would not be hard to find myself as one of his mistresses. That’s what the women of my bloodline were to him—whores. For centuries we had been used by his family, for our bodies and our talents. I would not repeat history, except, of course for the ritual, but I had no say in that. It was my fate, as distasteful as it was.

  “Ivy…this could be mutually beneficial.” His hand pushed under my skirt, riding higher up my thigh. I hated how weak his touch made me. Lake had the same effect on me…perhaps that was how all of those in the Circle would affect me. I had only been with Michael, his wife, and Lake. The other scryers were taken by anyone within the circle, but Michael had enough power to keep me for himself during ritual nights. He was strong on tradition. “I need some information on a competitor, and I can’t wait that long. I need to know now.” His hand was so high now that it skimmed the lace of my panties, stroking across it, toward my inner thigh.

  “You’ll just have to, now, won’t you,” I told him coldly, still keeping as still as possible. There was no way I would give him the satisfaction of knowing that he turned me on.

  He gave a small laugh and shook his head at me. “Do you know why I like you, Ivy? Because you’re strong and stubborn…and you’re naïve, to ever think that you have power. Your kind are powerless,” he said in a tone that was kind. “There is nothing to stop me from taking you and enslaving you to do my will. You know that, don’t you?” The gentleness in his voice was deceptive.

  My eyes widened slightly at his words, before I recovered and made sure that my voice was smooth and unshaking. “The rules…”

  “The rules,” he repeated mockingly. “Who cares about rules that are centuries old? Honor is gone; power is ours. No one will go against me if I decide that I want a scryer all year round instead of that ridiculous monthly agreement.”

  “Now you’re just being selfish.” I wanted to squeeze my eyes shut as he began to stroke me through my panties. If I moistened, if he knew…

  But he did, I could tell by the look on his face. That smug, satisfied look made me feel shame. “What’s wrong with selfishness, Ivy? This could be mutually beneficial to both of us…” His voice was soothing, magical almost as if he were the one with the talent instead of me. How easy it would be…how simple to become his plaything, his toy, to never have to think about anything or cope with th
e pressures of life. It would be like falling down a dark hole, always dependent on him and his ilk to catch me.

  I shoved his hand away. “Don’t touch me.” My voice was nearly a snarl, but he merely raised an eyebrow.

  “Very well, Ivy.” He straightened his tie with those hands that had been caressing me mere seconds before. He didn’t need to though, because it was perfect. Everything about these people was perfect. Whenever I conjured up the word in my brain, it was tainted with disgust. “I’ll wait until the ceremony if it pleases you.” Then he smiled slyly. “Did you know that it will be Lake’s first time participating? I wonder who he’ll choose? Maybe that little blonde thing, what’s her name? Anne?”

  I pressed my lips together, hating the thought of him taking her, but it wasn’t out of defensiveness for Anne; I wasn’t a good enough person for that kindness. My distaste was borne of jealousy, pure and simple. Although, I would never admit it out loud.

  I merely shrugged, and Michael laughed, showing white, perfect teeth.

  “Oh, wait, he can’t. The poor girl’s dead, isn’t she?”

  My eyes shot to his with an alarm that I didn’t even bother to try and disguise.

  “What?” I rasped out.

  His open-mouthed smile reduced to a mere closed lip one for a second. “Didn’t you know? It was a terrible event. It’s in all the papers. They’re calling it a ritualistic killing. Probably Satan worshippers or something. It’s the second one of you to die like this, isn’t it?” He picked up a neatly folded page of newspaper from beside him and passed it to me. I took it dumbly, my eyes scanning over the words.

  24 year old Anne Dumont Scryer found with her throat slit, heart ripped out, naked, candles, ritualistic.

  I ceased to breathe. It was just the same as Abbey last year, and no arrests had been made for her death.