Page 13 of Total Eclipse of the Moon
"None of your brothers give a fuck about language. Why're you the language police?"
"I take God's words seriously. My brothers interpret his writings in their own way. There's no need to curse."
Antonio sipped an energy drink. He scowled as he read its ingredients. "Such a nasty tasting invention to stay awake."
"We go back. Are you not listening to me?"
"She left. I went back to check on her after I picked you up."
"I said not to follow me."
"You say a lot of things, but as we know you're not right in the head." Antonio grinned.
"Neither are you." In his mind he asked, "You still there, demon?"
"Course I am."
"We did okay together. Perhaps we need to learn how to coexist better?"
"I can't not try to stay in charge. It's so much fucking fun to play with you."
"Rule one if we work together is the language."Shane could feel its internal eye roll. "We work with God's angels from time to time. We need him on our side. To God, cursing is a sin, especially to take his name in vain."Shane lifted the pendant of his patron saint, Jeremiel, the divine deliverer of mercy and grace, and kissed it. He murmured a quick Hail Mary.
He felt the slither of the living tattoo on his back, the one of an angel. His patron saint, Jeremiel. The strange, intricate tattoo appeared as if by magic a few months ago. It didn't speak or do much other than eerily watch and sometimes change shape. It was a new mystery, one he needed to consult with his brothers about when he deemed it time to reveal to them that he still lived.
"Both God and his angels hate me. So, I'll say fuckity fuck when I want."Baku gaffawed a dastardly noise that was almost comical.
"Enough."
"Come on. Say it. You want to say the d-word so bad. Damn, damn, double damn you."
The demon might be right. Did God really care if he cursed once in a while? He'd not punished his brothers for doing so. In fact, God sent his angels to help them and watch over them. Shane had tried to walk the life God recommended to humans. He tried to keep his family in line for almost a century. Where had it gotten him? Cursed and possessed. And alone. The vampire didn't count.
"That's it,"the demon encouraged. "Say it."
"Fuck it," Shane said out loud. Guilt swamped him to the point he said another Hail Mary. The demonwaseroding his sanity.
Shane massaged his wrist. It didn't have its normal buzz to remind him of his ever-present attachment to the Crown. He did a doubletake of his curse band.What the—?
The geometric shapes that had formed a blue bracelet-like band had changed. It no longer consisted only of a tattoo that encircled his wrist. A new tattooed branch deviated off the line, making it look more like a cross. What had Madeline done?
Chapter Five
Ten months later…
Madeline breathedshallow breaths to avoid doubling over in the kitchen chair when a new wave of agony ripped through her. A glance beneath her T-shirt showed, like it had the last ten times she checked, nothing. Yet it felt as if acid melted the flesh from her ribs.What's happening to me?
"Tea?" Cora Roales placed a teacup in front of Madeline and poured from an antique porcelain set she'd used for as long as Madeline could remember. Cora crossed her arms and pressed her hot-pink lip-sticked lips together while narrowing her black-lined and mascaraed eyes. "Are you okay? You look pale."
"Fine," she gritted out.
Cora didn't look convinced. "Now that you're finally here, we can work on getting you closer to being a level two witch. Helps if you can commit to being here longer than an hour at a time." Cora pulled her white-blonde hair with pink tips into a haphazard bun and took a seat across from her at the small kitchen table. Her often mentor, loyal friend, and occasional counselor had the appearance of a short, curvy twenty-five-year-old, but she was several hundred years old. And she was her aunt.
Most witches experienced arrested aging so long as the magic they used stayed away from heavy black magic. That type of magic, with its profound negative energy, stole time. All magic came with a price tag. Small spells might steal a witch's energy for a while, be it hours or a day such that the witch felt tired and couldn't perform other spells for a bit, although age made her more resistant to the drain. Practicing black magic, which involved the invocation of evil spirits for nefarious deeds, was different. It’s what earned witches the generic reputation of being evil, stooped, wrinkled hags.
"I suck at potions, divining, tarot, and most spells. They usually end up ten times more potent than intended." Madeline flashed a stress smile as her mind replayed moment she'd slipped the groping patron at the bar a potion. She meant it to be a deter spell that would make him want to leave. Instead, she'd set his balls on fire.
"You seem to be decent a curses." Cora's eyebrows rose.
