Witch Upon a Star (A Midnight Magic Mystery) (9 page)

“Clifton was right. You need stability. You need to be around people your own age. You need to explore the world. Discover who you truly are, and what you are capable of. Boarding school would—”

“No. No,” I said, so panicked I barely choked the words out. “Don’t send me away. Please don’t—”

“You shall have the finest education. Meet the most influential people in the world. Children of diplomats and royalty. You could become a princess one day. Your children could rule Europe if—”

“I don’t want to be a princess, I don’t want children, I only want you!” I screamed back. “I don’t want anything or anyone else in this whole wide world but you!”

He stared back at me, red tears forming in the corners of his eyes, as the heartbreak spilled onto his face. “And the fact those words passed your lips simply proves just how much I have failed you.” He slowly stepped toward me, hovered for a second, then kissed the top of my head before whispering, “I shall love you until the sun rises in the west, until all the stars have burnt out and the bedrock beneath our feet is no more. And I love you enough to do this.”

And my whole world walked away, leaving me alone out in the frozen darkness. I stared at the place where my soul mate once stood, my Asher, in total shock. He was sending me away. Discarding me like a used tissue—all in the name of doing the right thing. Didn’t he know the only pure utter certainty in this entire universe was that we were meant to be together? How did he lose faith in us? I lost him. But as I stood shivering in the arctic winter night, with the whole of London swinging below me and the Sword of Damocles above, I swore to whoever, whatever was listening I would do anything,
anything
to restore his faith. To prove this universal truth. To gain his love again. Even if it killed me.

He was worth it.

age 15
rome, italy

“Oh, Mr. Enrico Gorga,
what a lovely birthday present you gifted me without your knowledge.
Molto bene.
”

Two hundred Lira. Not bad for a few seconds work. Astrid may have been a terrible mother, but she was a damn fine pickpocket who at least taught me that one useful skill. Not that I needed the precision of a surgeon in Mr. Gorga’s case. In a crowded discotheque it was like shooting fish in a barrel. Most times I’d sneezing hex the mark then swoop in with a handkerchief and flirty smile. While he was distracted by my womanly ways, I’d swipe his billfold. Easy peasy. Purses proved more difficult, just because women weren’t as dazzled by my fluttering baby blues, so I mostly preyed on men while my partner Dario targeted the ladies. We were a match made in hell. A week and a half before, he saw me fleece a mark at the Vatican, recognized a kindred petty criminal spirit, and suggested we team up. He was only a couple years older than me, gorgeous as sin, and immediately offered to let me stay at his place strings free. I was lonely. I didn’t have a damn friend in the world, so I followed him to his squat. To his credit, he didn’t start adding strings for a few days. Still. It beat boarding school.

In less than a week, I had found myself in a Swiss prison masquerading as a school. Once again, based on my test scores, I was skipped two grades, which just compounded my misery. Not only was I the youngest in my grade, therefore the dorm, but the girls knew each other for years and did not like outsiders, especially an American outsider. Prisoners of war received better treatment than I did at that school. The girls stole my clothes, spread heinous yet not wholly inaccurate rumors that I was a slut, that I spent time in a sanitarium, they even attempted to frame me for cheating from the moment I arrived. Every day, every
hour
brought some fresh new hell. They even found ways to torment me in my sleep, making me pee my bed or putting grease in my hair. Every. Day. And the teachers were no help. No one wanted to inconvenience a Duke or Ambassador daddy. I was in such a deep depression already I barely wanted to get out of my urine-soaked bed, let alone fight back. For a whole week I refused to leave my bed or eat. Even then they wouldn’t leave me alone. One even tossed me a razor blade as she giggled, “To help things along.”

I lasted all of a month before I ran away the first time. I found my way back to London, to him, but my pleas, my literal begging on my hands and knees fell on deaf ears. The next morning, Clifton escorted me back to school. I lost all privileges and couldn’t even leave the grounds. Of course that didn’t stop escapes two through five. My Houdini routine continued four more times, each with the same result. That last escape Asher refused to even see me. A week after my final return to hell, I received a letter with no return address, simply a short paragraph with a telephone number for emergencies and a heartfelt request for me to make the best of things. To try. He may as well have plunged a literal blade into my heart.

Then
nothing
.

Not a single word, not a single visit, from him in almost a year. Not even at Christmas. Asher arranged for me to spend summers and holidays with the High Priestess of Athens to continue my neglected magical tutoring. My Greek oasis. YaYa was sweet, and her grandson Costas even sweeter if not clumsy those first few times, but after Christmas instead of returning to school, I made my final disappearing act. I had saved about two hundred marks from my allowance and selling some jewelry, so I hopped a boat to Italy and worked my way up to Rome. Two days in the city and the money ran out. Hence my life of crime.

After fleecing Mr. Gorga, I spotted Dario chatting up a middle-aged woman at the bar. Judging from the sloppy caresses he tried on his mark, in the hour I’d been on the hunt, my partner apparently had drunk his weight in liquor. The mark scowled and tried to leave, but he grabbed her wrist to stop her. I hated when he drank. The night before not only were we bounced from a club, I had to practically carry him home. So unprofessional.

Before the woman could slap him, I threw my arm over his shoulders and sighed. “I’m bored. Can we go now?” I asked in broken Italian. I was nowhere near fluent but the language was close enough to Spanish, I got the gist of what people were saying.

“
Scusi
,” the woman said before hustling away.

“No wait,” Dario called after her. His face contorted into a snarl as he turned to me. “Why the fuck did you do that?”

“Sorry. Come on. We made five hundred. Time to go.”

“We just got here.”

“Well, I’m leaving. See you later.”

As I meandered the few blocks to the squat be it the frigid air, the strolling lovebirds I passed with their inside jokes and eyes for one another, or the fact that all that waited at me at the end of the frozen trek were four water-stained walls and dirty furniture, the depression I’d attempted to keep at bay wheedled through the mortar. It was my birthday and the only gift I received was a canoli and a kiss from Dario.
Dario.
I thought moving in with him would alleviate my loneliness, not compound it. Another in a long line of bad choices. I’d believed it’d be an adventure breaking out on my own, tramping around Italy and surviving by my wits. Finding out who I truly was, and what I was capable of just as he’d wanted for me. Well, Asher achieved his objective, just not with the results he anticipated. Apparently I was a thief capable of nickel and dime crimes. Sven and Astrid would be proud I was carrying on the Olmstead family tradition at least. My real family would be ashamed. Or worse, as I believed that night, he wouldn’t care.

There were a few moments through those lonely two years of exile where I hated that man. I begged, got down on my hands and knees with pleas and tears more than twice, but to no avail. Asher offered to send me to another school, but never to let me come home. He wouldn’t even entertain the idea of my attending a school in London. No matter what spin he attempted to give it, the fact was that sending me away had precious little to do with education. It was all about banishing me from his side. “For my own good.” He refused to tell me where he moved “for my own good.” He even stopped taking my phone calls on the emergency line “for my own good.” One envelope a month stuffed with cash, that was all I meant to him. He kicked me to the curb so he could play with his old friends. Left me alone to be picked on and terrorized by creatures worse than even vampires, miserable privileged teenage girls.

Right before Christmas vacation some of the girls started a rumor that I was a Satanist, that I recruited several boys in town into my coven with sexual favors, and the whole school ran with it. They drew pentagrams and goats inside all my books and clothes. Whenever I passed someone in the hall they’d whisper “Hail Satan” or ask if I’d sacrificed any babies or virgins. It was constant from the moment I woke to even while I slept. Finally when the entire school began calling me Rosemary’s Baby and the local priest came to interrogate me, I made the decision never to return. Of course I left a few parting gifts with the ringleaders, boils and warts medicine could not cure. Far less than they deserved.

Did he even search for me in that past month? Had he simply moved on? Forgotten me? I’d tortured myself with every heinous scenario for a year, but once I struck out on my own, my self-inflicted misery was almost constant. If he were missing I’d scour the world until I drew my last breath. For all he knew I had drawn my last breath. Did he even care? With hindsight, I realize now the reason for my liberation was so he would chase after me, and every day he didn’t ride up on a white horse to save me from myself, my depression grew. The night of my fifteenth birthday, my internal crisis reached its apex. I flopped down on Dario’s mildew covered couch, stared at the black stain on the ceiling, and immediately burst into tears. What the hell had I done? Was this the life I wanted for myself? To be like my parents? To take advantage of people for a little bit of money? To all but prostitute myself just for companionship and a roof over my head? I couldn’t continue. I didn’t have another month left in me, but what choice did I have? Boarding school was worse than prison; I wouldn’t go back. YaYa would just send me back to school. I was trapped. Completely, utterly alone. Why had he stopped loving me?

Dario stumbled into my pity party, and though I tried to quell the tears, the dike was demolished, and there was no reassembling it. Through my tears, I could still see the disgust written on his face.

“What the hell is the matter with you? Stop crying,” he ordered. “Stop it.”

I just sobbed harder, coming close to hyperventilating, and actually curling into a ball. About ten seconds later, the couch shifted as Dario sat beside me. “It … it’s okay,” he said, lifting me so he could hug me. I rested my head on his shoulder. He reeked of tobacco and sweat, but I didn’t care. “It’ll be okay.”

It was lovely having someone just hold me. The sobs lessened as he kissed the top of my head, then down my forehead. He lifted my head to kiss my lips. He tasted of liquor and cigarettes, neither of which were appetizing. Neither was the tongue he shoved in my mouth. I pulled away.

“Stop.”

He kissed me again. I tried to squirm away, but he held on tight. “I said stop!”

“Come on,” he muttered.

“No!” I said as I pinched his side.

“Ow!”

He released me enough so I could literally shove him down on the couch and spring up. “I said no!”

“Bitch!”

“I may be a bitch, but at least I’m not a shitty thief like you. I’m outta here.” I started collecting my meager belongings, mostly clothes strewn around.

“Good. Saves me the trouble of kicking you out. Just leave me the money from tonight, and get the fuck out.”

I scoffed. “Hell no.
I
earned this money while you were drinking your weight in booze and getting turned down by someone’s grandmother. It’s mine.”

He leapt up, face contorting in fury. “Give me that money, Anna.”

“No way. I need it, I earned it, it’s mine.” I zipped up my suitcase and hoisted it from the kitchen table. “Nice knowing you.”

I made it one step past him before his hand clamped on my forearm, and he spun me around. “Give me the damn money, Anna,” he growled.

“Go to h—”

Merde.
I’d asked him not to bring the switchblade to the club, but of course he had. The moment that blade popped in his hand, my blood ran cold. Not good. Not good not at all. “Give me the money,
putana
.”

My first instinct was to hand him the cash and run. But aside from the fact that without it I’d have to sleep on the street that night, I just didn’t want to. The scared little boy bullying me had no right to it. He had no right to threaten me. Who the hell did this bastard think he was? I glanced down at his hand, then at his angered expression. Mine went deeper. “You have three seconds to let go of my arm, or you’ll lose yours.”

“What the fu—”

He reacted to my knee going for his groin, releasing me but turning to deflect the blow. With only a split second for us to both adjust our tactics, he was almost faster than me, slashing the knife toward my chest. Just as it was about to make contact, I raised my palm and shouted, “
Lapsus
!” as YaYa taught me. I’d never used the spell on a person before, so I gasped as Dario literally flew across the room, whacking his head against the corner of the cabinet then collapsing to the floor. His eyes remained shut the ten seconds I stood stock still, just staring as the blood began to pool around his head.

I’d killed him.

No, his chest slowly moved up and down but not in a steady pace. My mind ran so fast, a thousand miles a second, I couldn’t focus on a singular thought. So my body took control. While my brain remained screaming in that squat, my body ran me down the block to the first pay phone I spotted and punched in the emergency phone number. I almost fainted with relief when he accepted the collect call.

“Anna?” Asher asked, that beautiful baritone shaky and desperate. “Anna? Is it really you?”

“Asher,” I cried. The second wave of relief almost overtook me that time. I consciously had to will my knees from buckling. “I-I-I’ve done something really bad. He-he came at me with a knife. I-I think he’s dying.”

“Are you injured? Are you safe?”

“I-I’m fine. I-I used a spell, and he hit his head. There was so-so-so much blood. I didn’t know what—”

“Anna, love, where are you?” he cut in. “Tell me where you are.”

“A st-street corner in Rome.”

“Rome? Then I want you to go to 27 Paradiso Piazza. Someone will be waiting to let you into my flat there. I shall arrive in about two hours. Do not leave. Repeat the address back to me.” I did. “And what is the address where this man is?”

I rattled it off. “He-he was alive when I left. Should I call the ambulance or—”

“No. I will take care of everything. Simply go to the flat and wait for me. I will be there as soon as possible, my love.”

“Please hurry. I love you.”

“I love you too. Now go,
mo chuisle
. I shall be with you soon. Go.”

I hung up but couldn’t move. He’d take care of everything. Like he had with Sven and Andie. That thought tied a knot in my already fragile stomach. Despite the fact he tried to stab me, I didn’t want Dario dead. So despite Asher’s orders, I picked up the phone and called emergency services for him without leaving my name. He’d live to grift another day.

The elderly woman in a housecoat at Asher’s building grumbled at me for waking her as she showed me up to the flat. It was stuffy, dusty, and sparsely furnished, but to me it was the Taj Mahal. The adrenaline rush I was surviving on ended the moment the woman shut the door. I could barely keep my eyes open as I took a quick shower to warm up with no luck. It did nothing to stop my quaking limbs. I was so uncoordinated I could barely tie the knot on my robe. Ten seconds after I climbed into that four-poster antique bed, I was asleep.