Poison in the Blood (24 page)

True Name
: the name of a magician or magical being that has power over that person. It is considered rude to use a magician’s True Name, especially without permission. Faeries guard their True Names jealously and go by a number of pseudonyms.

wild magic
: a form of magic originating from an animal, known to be unpredictable. Most magicians consider shapeshifters to be
infected
with wild magic. This magic imbues its host with the spirit of the animal it originated from, and it also interferes with the host’s original magic.

witch:
a magician specializing in elemental magic, focused on healing and self-defense. Witches have a strict policy of doing no harm with their magic, which makes them unique among magicians.

About the Author

Robyn Bachar was born and raised in Berwyn, Illinois, and loves all things related to Chicago, from the Cubs to the pizza. It seemed only natural to combine it with her love of fantasy, and tell stories of witches and vampires in the Chicagoland area. As a gamer, Robyn has spent many hours rolling dice, playing rock-paper-scissors and slaying creatures in MMPORGs.

You can learn more about her at
www.robynbachar.com
. Robyn can also be found on Twitter at
@RobynBachar
.

Look for these titles by Robyn Bachar

Now Available:

Bad Witch

The Importance of Being Emily

Blood, Smoke and Mirrors

Bewitched, Blooded and Bewildered

Fire in the Blood

Cy’ren Rising

Nightfall

Magic, matchmaking and murder…

The Importance of Being Emily

© 2011 Robyn Bachar

A
Bad Witch
Story

Lord Willowbrook’s spring ball is supposed to be a magical celebration, but Miss Emily Wright is bored. The only outlet allowed for her magic is matchmaking—for others, not herself. Why bother? The only man she wants, Michael Black, is a man she can never have.

Suddenly the guests are abuzz with news of a young sorceress found drained of blood in the parlor. The mystery calls to her, and since she is the only available seer in all England, she jumps at the chance to prove herself.

Michael has spent his life preparing for his ritual death, when he will join the Order of St. Jerome as an immortal chronicler. Now that dream hangs in the balance, his mentor accused of the murder. Worse, gentle Emily, the woman he silently loves, is walking into a world of horrors beyond her imagination.

Torn between duty to the order and desire to keep her safe, Michael fights his growing need for a love that can never be his. All the while the real killer stalks the shadows of Willowbrook Hall, homing in on the next victim.

Warning: This book contains a tough but tortured seer, a hero with an expiration date, scandalous kisses, scheming vampires and bloody corpses.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Importance of Being Emily:

The night air held a damp chill that was blessedly soothing after my skin had been seared by the bonfire of embarrassment. Though I knew I would regret not stopping for my wrap within a few minutes, I closed my eyes and enjoyed it. For a moment everything was cool, quiet and peaceful, and then Mr. Black interrupted my calm.

“What did you see?” he asked.

Sighing, I opened my eyes and looked up at him. “I would rather not discuss it. I assume it was not your mentor, but I cannot say for certain. I did not see his face.”

Not eager to continue the discussion, I walked deeper into the garden. Some of the braver plants had begun nosing their way from their beds, but for the most part the barren clutches of winter still gripped everything around us. The potential hummed beneath the surface, waiting impatiently for a few warm days to free it. In summer everything would be lush and green again, but for now bed after bed was empty.

Like the cradle.
An empty cradle for my empty life.

Shivering, I rubbed my arms above the tops of my gloves. Without a word Mr. Black removed his coat and draped it over my shoulders. It was warm, but it also carried a strong impression of him—his thirst for knowledge, his dedication to his studies and his loyalty to his mentor. The corners of my mouth twitched as I pictured him as a very tall Labrador dog. If only Mr. Farrell shared a few of Mr. Black’s honorable qualities.

“Thank you,” I said. He stood close to me, and I hesitated, torn between moving away and staying still to see what he intended.

“Simon would never do this,” he assured me.

“I believe you. Once I am able to prove that, we can focus on finding the true killer. With your tight schedule I’m sure you are anxious to return to your studies.” I winced, feeling guilty for my unkind words. It wasn’t his fault that his dreams for the future were so very different from mine. What could the higher powers be thinking by connecting us?

“I apologize for involving you in this.”

“Well it has certainly been revealing, but don’t be silly. I wanted to help you. Your mentor was not…acquainted with Miss Morgan, was he?”

“No, I don’t believe they ever met. Why?”

“That will be in his favor then. It appeared that she knew her…” I trailed off, searching for the right word, “…
companion
well.”

“Oh.” Mr. Black’s eyes widened at the implication.

“I shouldn’t have been so blithe earlier about being unconcerned about the subject matter of visions. But it was necessary to help vindicate your mentor.” I shrugged, and the hem of his coat rustled against the skirts of my gown. If I rejected Mr. Farrell, it was likely that the vision was the closest I would get to experiencing that sort of passion. Unbidden, my mind whispered that when Mr. Black became a chronicler, he could bite me, and I could feel the same lustful pleasure for myself…

I shook the thought away and hastily removed his coat. “We should go back inside,” I said as I returned it to him.

Michael shrugged the coat back on. “Wait. I want to discuss what you mentioned earlier.”

“There is nothing to discuss. In a few months you will be a chronicler, and I will still be a matchmaker. Our paths are star-crossed.” This time I held tight to my control, afraid of falling apart again, and I turned to walk back to the manor. He caught my hand and pulled me to him, wrapping his arms around me. I gasped and shook my head.

“Please, don’t do this,” I whispered.

His lips hovered above mine. “Don’t you want to know?”

Yes.
Every fiber of my seer’s body wanted to know more. Why were we meant for each other? How could we possibly make this work? What would it be like to share his life? To finally know the happiness that I found so often for others? “But you are spoken for,” I blurted.

He frowned. “By whom?”

“The Order.”

Michael laughed. “The Order is not a jealous wife. There are no rules prohibiting relationships, or even marriage.”

“No? What sort of marriage could we have? Should I offer you a vein instead of bringing you tea, until I fade away while you remain unaging? Immortal?”

“But we would be together.”

I sighed, thinking of my family’s definition of togetherness—in general it involved them poring over an old, moldering text while I looked on in irritation. It was not what I wanted in a marriage, though I supposed at my age I could not afford to be particular. In December I would be twenty-seven years old, an age my sister Sarah assured me was positively ancient. “But I am spoken for.”

Mr. Black frowned. “You’ve accepted Farrell’s proposal?”

“No. Not yet, but I should.” Shaking my head once more, I began to pull away, but he stopped me with a kiss. At first it was little more than a stalling tactic, a light brush of the lips meant to distract me from escaping, but then he drew me tight against him. Michael’s hand slid up my back and cradled my head, his thumb caressing the line of my jaw. He kissed me again, and my hands clutched the lapels of his coat for balance.

I must confess, I had been kissed before, though that was many years ago. Most of the appeal of that kiss had been in sneaking away from the Yule celebration and doing something forbidden, but this…was amazing. Everything that I expected a kiss should be—warm, soft and completely intoxicating. Closing my eyes, I abandoned myself to the experience, and he seemed happy to lead as I slid my arms around his neck. In the back of my thoughts a voice of reason lectured the need for caution. Being close to him had already triggered a flurry of visions, and I should be wary of more of them. A strong vision could incapacitate me for hours, possibly even days if it was very traumatic.

Like a fool, I ignored it, even when I began hearing his thoughts. My senses brushed against his as easily as our lips did. I caught a flash of a memory of the two of us sharing a quiet moment together at a previous gathering, and the impression of how much he enjoyed speaking with me. Mr. Black thought I was beautiful, and he had wanted to kiss me for a very long time.

Even a bad witch deserves a second chance.

Blood, Smoke and Mirrors

© 2010 Robyn Bachar

A
Bad Witch
Story

Wrongly accused of using her magic to harm, the closest Catherine Baker comes to helping others is serving their coffee. Life as an outcast is nothing new, thanks to her father’s reputation, but the injustice stings. Especially since the man she loved turned her in.

Now the man has the gall to show up and suggest she become the next Titania? She’d rather wipe that charming grin off his face with a pot of hot java to the groin.

Alexander Duquesne has never faltered in his duties as a guardian—until now. The lingering guilt over Cat’s exile and the recent death of his best friend have shaken his dedication. With the murder of the old Titania, the faerie realm teeters on the brink of chaos. His new orders: keep Cat alive at all costs.

Hunted by a powerful stranger intent on drawing her into an evil web, Cat reluctantly accepts Lex’s protection and the resurrected desire that comes along with it. Lex faces the fight of his life to keep her safe…and win her back. If they both survive.

Warning: This book contains one tough and snarky witch, one gorgeous guardian, explicit blood drinking, magician sex, gratuitous violence against vampires and troublemaking Shakespearean faeries.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Blood, Smoke and Mirrors:

“Cat.” Lex held out a hand toward me in a placating gesture, and I shot to my feet, backing away from them both. “Simon and I negotiated the payment before we came here.”

“Well I didn’t know that, and I wouldn’t have let you come here if I did,” I protested, still in shock.

“Which is why I didn’t tell you. Go on up to the car, I’ll be behind you in a minute.”

“No.”

“Let her stay then, it doesn’t matter to me,” Simon suggested.

“No, you can’t do this, Lex. This is my fault, you shouldn’t have to pay for information I need for my problems.” My voice cracked as it raised a panicked octave.

“Would you pay it then?” Simon asked, gazing at me contemplatively.

“Would—what?” I blinked. My train of thought ground to a screeching halt. Had I finally gone crazy enough to willingly offer my blood to a vampire? Or chronicler, rather. Whatever.

“No, she isn’t,” Lex said firmly. My mouth worked but no sound came out as I struggled to deal with the very concept of it. If I had given the matter more thought, I would have known the price of Simon’s help. We had no information to give him, and what else would a vampire place high value upon? The idea of letting him drink my blood was terrifying, disgusting, horrible beyond words.

But this was
my
problem. I agreed to petition to become Titania, I threatened my father, I lit those vamps up outside the Three Willows. This was my burden to bear, and I couldn’t let Lex suffer for it.

“Yes, I will,” I said in a small, frightened voice.

“No!”

“Done.” The vampire smiled. Furious, Lex leapt to his feet and for a strained moment looked as though he was going to take a swing at Simon, but he barely managed to keep himself in check, his body trembling with the force of his self-control.

“She doesn’t know what she’s doing, she can’t make this bargain,” Lex said, almost through gritted teeth. The peculiar mix of scents that made up guardian magic rose around him, and his face flushed with anger.

Simon smirked, appearing as though he very much enjoyed watching the guardian’s discomfort. “Just because she hasn’t been bitten before does not mean that Miss Morrow cannot understand the bargain. In fact, considering her past, I’m sure she has a keener understanding than you do. Don’t worry, I assure you that I won’t harm her.”

“I know you won’t harm her, that’s not what concerns me.”

“Then you should have stipulated the conditions of payment more carefully when you contacted me. Bluster all you want, Duquesne, she has agreed, and you can’t undo it. Think of this as an educational experience for you both—you’ll be more careful with your bargains in the future, and Miss Morrow will have the benefit of learning what it’s like to be bitten in a safe environment.”