Page 88 of The Royal Street Witch
It’s important for us each to dress in a way that makes us feel most powerful. For Chantal and me, that’s motorcycle leggings and white tank tops. For Mother it’s a flowy black dress, and Jade, cargo pants and a red crop top.
There’s very little on this Earth more powerful than a coven. Four witches can achieve heights one witch alone could merely dream of. Mother is the most confident witch I’ve ever seen, her body is her weapon, her strut keeping predators at bay. And I realize I am comprised of so many of her parts, the good and the bad. And her leaving me may have scarred me, but it strengthened me as well.
I held down our family business, I created a potion that put me out of debt, that may have been the cause for my life to be destroyed in the moment, but I’m smart enough to see past that. Even if my heart can’t, my mind knows that my story isn’t over yet. There’s so much left to accomplish. And the first thing to accomplish—avenge my love’s death. Make Franklin Maltese pay.
We cross the threshold to Comey’s, two at a time. With a wave of Chantal’s hand, the few patrons in the bar get up and walk out just as Oksana eyes us. Mother targets Oksana, gluing her against the wall with her power as Chantal locks the front door to Comey’s.
“Silence,” Mother whispers, and Oksana opens her mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. “You will live if you listen. If you try anything cute, I’ll sew your eyelids together.” Mother unzips the wallet that’s strapped to her hip, pulling out a needle and thread. After licking the thread and eyeing the needle, she kisses Oksana’s cheek.
“It’s been too long.” With elegant hands, she releases the threaded needle and it floats in the air, eye level to Oksana, who swallows tightly, aware that my mother is very serious.
“Let’s do it,” Mother says and we assemble at the back of the bar, Chantal breaking the lock to the back door with the point of her finger.
Our feet barely touch the steps as we mostly float up the stairs, one after the other. When we reach the top, Mother nods at me and I do as planned: arms raising, energy collecting in my fingertips, until a burst of power pushes through the glass. It shatters through the parlor as vampires fly through the air, pinned to the wall closest to them. Jade opens the door, and I walk in first, a single file line of witches behind me. The plan is for Jade and Chantal to keep all vampires incapacitated against the walls while Mother and I take care of Franklin, and my nerves are like jellyfish in my veins.
The room is emptier than usual, with a young male vampire I don’t recognize hissing at us from the side wall. And not far from him is Amerie, her eyes wild, her chest heaving. And next to her, Curtis. That opportunistic piece of shit.
I say his name and Mother perks up. “The traitor?” she asks me, and I nod.
“No hard feelings. Life’s a game of chess,” he says like he’s giving a speech, and I want to slap his fucking face.
“Where is he?” Mother demands, sharing my surprise that Curtis is here and Franklin is not. She approaches Amerie, crossing her arms, dipping her head to her shoulder.
“Who?” Amerie asks, and Mother laughs, walking so close to Amerie their lips are inches from each other.
“Franklin Maltese has broken an agreement by attempting to kill my child. There will be a price to pay.”
“You don’t think we mourn Bastian? I cry every hour,” Amerie says, eyeing me, and my entire body erupts in a fever at the sound of his name.
“Amerie, where is Franklin?” Mother asks and is met with nothing but silence.
“You fucking bitches are so dead. This is gonna be fun to watch,” says the boy against the wall. One of Franklin’s lovers, I presume.
“Little boy, let me make this very clear. Watch your mouth or…” She reaches down and grabs her knife from her boot. “I will slice open my palm and force my blood down your throat.”
The boy swallows, his jaw hardening at the threat.
Amerie growls, “You’re just going to kill us all? Huh? That’s what your plan is?”
“Not you!” I declare, pointing a stiff finger at her. “Probably him.” I nod toward the boy as Nicola’s office door opens.
“What about me?” Franklin asks, sauntering from the room, thumbs hooked through his belt loops. And he’s dressed like the club owner he pretends to be, now that he’s stolen it from the Delacroix family. Velvet blazer in royal blue, hair braided down his back, but he still couldn’t give up those hideous faded black jeans and worn out cowboys boots.
I want to kill him. Everything inside of me screams ATTACK, but I stand still, collecting myself. There’s a gloating twinkle in his eyes. No remorse, no regret. He’s quite pleased with himself.
“Well, I’ll be!” He’s slapping his thigh, looking to my mother. “Look who has finally come home. How lucky are we, the wild witch, gracing us with her presence! What’s the special occasion?”
“Killing you, that’s all,” Mother says and commands a chair into Franklin’s legs so quickly, his knees buckle and he falls back into the seat. There’s no shock, no intimidation on his face; in fact, he fell into that chair a little too easily. He’s going to toy with us.
“Mother,” I warn as she approaches him, plopping onto his lap, her face dangerously close to his.
“Stay,” she whispers, dashing his nose with her pointer finger, casting a spell to keep him right in place, like he’s a dog.
“Oh baby, what’s that sayin’? Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” He laughs, his gold tooth shining like a pirate’s, excited to take siege.
Mother is unflinching. “No, I’m thinking of another saying, Franklin. Payback’s a bitch. Or in your case, a witch.”
“That’s cute. You were always so cute, Delta.”
