Page 5 of Magic of the Damned

“Of course I believe in this.”

I pointed at the bookmark on the open page. “You believe in witches, shifters, and vampires?” Leaning closer to him, I looked around the empty room. “Do you see them now? In this room?”

He threw his head back with a peal of laughter. “No, they’re not here. But they exist, Luna.”

“Okay, they exist and they came from one source.” I flicked through the book, skimming the pages that discussed them, looking for the source.

“It’s not in there,” he said. “It’s rumored that all magical beings came from one source and how they changed was a result of a curse. Experiment, maybe? But I’m so glad I ended up with the good curse.”

Was there such a thing as a good curse? Wait, what? He’d ended up with the good curse? Silence stretched taut as I debated the incivility of me placing the book on the table, walking out, and never speaking to Reginald again. But curiosity overrode all.

“Good curse?” I finally said.

“Yes,” he whispered. “I’m a witch.”

“A witch?” Surprisingly, my skepticism sounded like curiosity.

He nodded, his face alight with pride.

“Casting spells type of witch?”

“You saw in the book that there are different types. Witches born of witches are stronger. And we all have different magical abilities.”

“Yes.” I flipped through the parts of the book where I’d stuck Post-its. Reading the book as fiction, they were just interesting passages I wanted to revisit, not study the way I would nonfiction. “Elementals, necromancers, and spell casters, who are said to be the strongest and able to perform spells and manipulate the world.” The book focused so much on them because they were the strongest and the most abundant.

“My magical ability isn’t listed because so little is known of it. I suspect because it’s so fluid,” he admitted.

“What’s your magic?”

“I’m an influencer,” he said cryptically, his smile growing wider.

That’s an Instagram job.

Committed to not closing my mind to any possibilities, I kept my opinion to myself and from my expression.

“It’s very nuanced,” he added.

Also sounds very made up.

“I make things work in my favor. I guess it would be considered… probability magic. If the odds are close, I cast a spell to move things in my favor.”

My mouth dropped open. He took it as intrigue.

“That’s amazing,” I said. “Do you ever feel like you’re cheating? Making yourself so lucky?”

“I try not to use it. We all have laws we must abide by, and one is remaining hidden from humans.” He leaned forward, taking my hands in his. “You must keep this between us.”

Believe me, buddy, you do not have to worry about that. If I tell anyone about your fake-ass witch power and this world you believe in, I’m going to get some looks. I glanced at the clock on the wall.

“I have to go, but you have my word. Thank you so much for this and for trusting me with your secret.”

He was so full of crap, but still a nice guy. I’d give him that. Mr. Not-a-Witch had to see the absurdity in what he just told me. If he could change the odds in his favor, why not go to Vegas and make a killing, or at least make enough to just tarot read and not have to work a second job? Reading, which he seemed to really enjoy, could be his full-time job.

Before I opened the door, I turned. “The tarot reading, is that linked to your magic?”

He gave me a coy look. I had no idea what it meant.

“No, that’s taught, but I do believe my magical gifts help me be more skilled with it. And perhaps occasionally I cast a spell to ensure the accuracy of my reading.” He was a talented tarot reader, but I suspected it had nothing to do with his alleged magical ability.

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