Fated to the Warlock: An Arcane Affairs Agency Short Read online

  A pistol shot echoes. I stop playing and grab my mouth. He’s gone. The bond tells me it is so. Shock and grief pour from me in a terrible scream. I flail about, searching for something, anything. My hands connect with a candlestick. I throw it through the nearest window. Glass shatters outward. I should have used it to light the furniture. No matter. I will destroy this house and this horrible family one way or another. If I have to call upon Malphas himself to do it, then so be it.

  At this moment, however, I must find my Edward. I lift my skirts and run through rooms and past servants until I find cold, fresh air. I run out into the open moor.

  Show me, witch woman.

  I’m not a witch, I’m psychic. Did this all happen to you?

  Release my Edward.

  I slow to a walk. The world shimmers a bit. I’m more me now, wearing my own clothes. Where or when is this vision taking place now? Is it still the past or is it the present? Shivers rack my body. Wherever it is it’s freaking cold. The wind whips my hair like a battle flag. My face is wet with tears. I keep walking. Instinctively, I know which direction to take. It’s not long until I spot a faint light in the distance. As I approach, I find a naked, transparent man sprawled on the ground. A wound from a silver bullet mars his beauty. His eyes stare into nothing.

  Edward.

  I reach toward, then through him. My hands reach soil and he vanishes. I dig. As I claw handfuls of dirt and rock, I utter a single refrain: this house will fall.

  Eventually, I reach glass. A bottle. It pulses with spirit energy. I take a rock and crack the top.

  “Agent Lowe?” The voice compels me to pause. That’s…Gavin? I met him…today? “Spirit, I command you to leave this woman.” He stands on the moor, holding an athame. He begins to trace a circle around me with it.

  Halfway through, he drops the dagger with a frustrated yell. “What is wrong with me?” His fists are clenched with rage.

  “You have no power, pretend warlock. Can’t even cast a circle.” Is that my voice?

  Edward. Give me Edward. Oh right, the bottle. The bottle is all.

  I slam the rock down again and again. The lattice of cracks expands. The bottle’s pulsing intensifies, as if the energy is pushing from the inside.

  “Renee!” Strong hands grab mine. I drop the rock. I look up. The world warps around Gavin as he kneels before me. “You are Agent Renee Lowe of the Arcane Affairs Agency. I don’t know how I knew you were here, but I did. Use that. Hear me. Follow my voice.”

  “Gavin….” I reach for his face—his beautiful face. In this moment, it is my entire universe.

  You are bonded? How is this so?

  Like I said, I reply, I’m psychic, but I got a little shifter in me too. The world feels more real and less dreamlike as my control reasserts.

  The bottle explodes on its own with a shattering pop. Gavin shields me from flying shards. I catch a glimpse of a bright light escaping into the night.

  You got what you want, I tell the presence inside me, now get out. I feel a rushing sensation as it exits.

  I shiver under Gavin. My hands throb, especially under my nails. Still, I clutch Gavin like a life preserver. I’m probably getting dirt all over him. I shut my eyes and I breathe him in. His scent comforts me. I find he is shaking too. His fright washes against me like a storm surge.

  A ghostly howl pierces the dark.

  “What?” Gavin sits up, searching.

  “I think that’s Edward. Someone really wanted him free.” That wasn’t just a vision. I was possessed. Now I’ve gone and let someone out of a spirit bottle. This is not good.

  “Who? What? Nevermind. I need to get you warm.”

  Gavin nestles me into his seated form, enfolding us in his coat. His body heat is so welcome. He takes my filthy hands and rubs them furiously.

  Something hard presses into me. It’s his erection. My head lolls back onto his shoulder. I suppress a surfacing smile. I muster every ounce of will to avoid kissing him here.

  He abruptly scrambles to his feet and lifts me to mine. He removes his coat and drapes my shoulders with it. “Can you walk?” He collects his suitcase.

  I try. “Yes,” I answer after a few steps. “Hey, I’m part shifter.” I mock flex my muscles, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m strong as a, uh…wolf.” The truth is, I don’t feel like an ox or a wolf right now. My arms are sore as hell. How much digging did I do back there?

  Gavin cocks his head. “You’re what? I…I thought you were a psychic.” His voice is raspy, as if his throat had gone dry.

  “I’m that too.” Didn’t he read my file?

  His gaze darts left and right as if something is sinking in.

  He pivots and heads to the house. “If you can walk, we need to find the Cobbolds.”

  Chapter 4

  “What on Earth?” Audrey shuts the door behind us. “And what was that howl?”

  We must be quite the sight, especially me.

  “Can we get Agent Lowe some tea?” Gavin asks.

  “What I need is my laptop.” I never got to listen to the boy’s EVP, and who knows what the hell my recorder picked up when Edward’s mate decided I would be a good vessel.

  The four of us gather in the bedroom James and Audrey had set me up in earlier—the one Edward’s mate found me in. Gavin does a better job salting and smudging the room than I, although he seems nervous doing so. I remember my possessed taunt about his powers, or lack thereof.

  I head to the bathroom to try and clean myself up. There’s white tiles, sumptuous towels, and a large, luxurious bathtub. One that can easily fit two.

  Shit.

  After scrubbing off as much dirt as I can, I return to my computer. I get back to the task of searching my audio for anything useful.

  Angry lady. The words crackle in my headphones. It’s the boy. I scroll around and do my best to enhance, but I can’t get anything more from our encounter. Sorry, little boy. I’ll do my best to take care of Angry Lady.

  I shift my attention to the conversation on the other side of the room.

  “Has this spirit ever left the drawing room before?” Gavin paces, clenching and unclenching his hands.

  “No, not to our knowledge,” Audrey answers.

  “Not to your knowledge.” Gavin halts and lets out a breath. “Well, who knows where it is now.”

  “That’s a good thing?” James looks like he’s missing something. “It’s moved on?”

  I too hope Angry Lady took her Edward and moved to the light, but somehow I doubt it.

  “We don’t know that for sure,” I say. “She seemed awful bent on revenge.”

  “Revenge?” James looks at his wife. The mates share a look.

  “She said she was going to destroy this house. She said Malphas would help her.”

  At my mention of the demon, Gavin should be dancing a jig. Instead, he is stone-cold sober. He turns square-on to our hosts. “Mr. and Mrs. Cobbold, did your family ever get into a dispute with a witch?”

  “Actually,” I ask, “did a witch ever marry into your family? Married an Edward Cobbold, perhaps?”

  Audrey pointedly looks at James. “Violet,” he finally says. “Violet Cobbold.”

  Gavin resumes his pacing. “When were you going to tell us we are dealing with the ghost of a witch?”

  “We said the screams were human and you acted like everything would be fine. Then you swanned off for who knows how long.” James sighs. “Look, it’s a shameful bit of family history, all right?”

  Gavin’s nostrils flare. “Shameful that a shifter married a witch?” His tone is low and tight.

  “What? No. The way my family treated her was shameful.”

  The turn of conversation is too uncomfortable. I go back to my audio. This time, I examine my room encounter. I can still hear the discussion behind me.

  “The story is that there was a duel or fight,” Audrey says. “Edward was killed with silver bullets when he was in wolf form.”

  “And had his s
oul captured in a spirit bottle?” Gavin asks.

  “What? Who would do that?”

  Malphas betrayed me, but now I’m free. The words emerge from the static of my recording. That was probably Violet. The EVP picked up what I couldn’t hear. Then the audio plays a real voice, clear as day. “This house will fall.” It’s me. My stomach drops. I rip off my headphones.

  I steady my nerves with a shake. “‘Malphas betrayed me, but now I’m free.’ What do you think that means?” I ask the room.

  “Who is Malphas?” James asks.

  “The thirty-ninth demon,” Gavin says. “A powerful one. He can be called upon to build structures—and also destroy them. Thing is, calling upon him is tricky because he loves to deceive.”

  “We need to phone the clan.” James looks ready to shift right now and protect his home. “I will not see anything happen to Moorwolf.”

  “Mr. Cobbold, we can’t have more bodies around for Violet to possess, in fact you shouldn’t be here either. Is there somewhere you can stay? With a clan member, perhaps?”

  “And come back to find our house gone? I don’t think so.”

  “There’s a good chance the match will be lit by your own hand if you stay. Agent Lowe and I are professionals. We will see to it the house is purified and contact with Violet attempted— perhaps with Edward as well—to see if they are still in this plane, and if they are, direct them off it.”

  See to it? He’s probably going to call the agency for backup, or a replacement. He’s one of The Agency’s top warlocks. He should be able to do this himself. His abilities are somehow compromised, and it’s probably my fault.

  Our goodbyes to our hosts are as polite as can be given the circumstances. It was not easy to convince them to leave. They’re not staying, but they won’t be far either. Who can blame them? It’s their home.

  Since I am more sensitive to possession than the average person, it’s best to not leave me alone for the time being. I assist Gavin as he methodically smudges every room except the drawing room. However, the rooms are only as protected as sage will protect. We will need a functioning witch or warlock to do better, which, at the moment, Gavin is not.

  Our task completed, we return to my—sorry, our room. My insides flutter with every step of our silent march.

  Once we’re inside, I retreat to the island of my computer desk. However, when I’m seated I don’t open my computer. Instead, I watch Gavin pull a sack from his luggage. He practically hurls a handful of runestones onto the bed. He pounces on them, urgently scanning for an answer.

  “Again.” He pounds the mattress, causing the stones to bounce.

  He pins me with a look. I clutch my chair for dear life. “Agent Lowe,” he says. “If I am to phone HQ for a replacement because I can no longer perform my duties, I would like to know why. I don’t know why I can’t cast a circle, or even recharge the ward protecting my car, but I know it has to do with you. I spent hours on that moor trying to restore my energies, to no avail. I cast runes several times, hoping for some answers, and everything pointed to you. I got out my tarot deck. Again, you.”

  He stalks me, a barely contained pot of frustration. I rise from the chair to meet his piercing gaze. “And there’s my thoughts,” he continues. “Every other one of them today has been of you. I can’t cast a spell to detect what kind of magic is at work, so I’ll just ask.” He enters my personal space, sending shivers through me. “Agent, what have you done?” His question is a hoarse whisper.

  His scent intoxicates me, causing my breath to pant. Our lips hover inches apart, suspended by propriety and fear. How long can they hold until primal lust overcomes us? We should never had gotten this close. It’s as if a magnetic force is in control now.

  “I’m part shifter.” I steal another centimeter. “I can’t control this. If I could, I would.”

  “Agent….”

  “You need to call me Renee.”

  His mouth closes over mine. It’s like closing an electric current. Our explorations are tentative at first, but the hunger increases the ferocity of our kisses. His five o’clock shadow scratches, but I don’t care. I run my hands across it and through his hair. He draws me in.

  Pressing against him, I sense unadulterated lust. It intertwines with mine to the point they become hard to distinguish. His cock is hard against me. I want nothing more than to take it quick, rough, and right now.

  Gavin starts to guide us toward the bed but I halt. “Cobbolds,” I say, breathless between kisses. “They’re shifters. They’ll smell us on the sheets.” I can imagine them calling The Agency furious that agents were fucking on a case. “The bathtub.” It’s got plenty of room.

  We stumble into the bathroom. In the mirror, I’m reminded that my clothes are a mess from my digging excursion.

  Gavin spins me around and starts to unbutton my blouse. When he finishes, I slip it off and onto the floor. He takes my bra and shoves the entire thing down toward my waist.

  “Gods, you’re beautiful.” Gavin cups my breast while he leans in to nibble my neck. My knees weaken and a soft moan escapes my lips.

  The throbbing in my pussy passes a threshold. Maybe some other time I can foreplay-it-up, but now I need to fuck. The little bit of wolf in me demands it.

  My hands tremble with urgency as I undo his trousers. Gavin inhales when I grab hold of him. He rips himself away and removes his shirt and undershirt. He balances on the edge of the tub to take off his shoes and the rest of those pesky garments. Standing, I do the same.

  The Cobbolds must be going for some high-end clientele with a tub this luxurious. I don’t turn on the water. The dry tub will do nicely. Gavin settles seated on the opposite end of the faucet. I climb in and straddle him.

  Despite my desperate need, I take the time to savor his naked skin against mine. We explore each other with our hands and mouths, but only for a few moments.

  “I need you,” I whisper, resting my forehead against his. His hazel eyes meet my ravenous gaze.

  I close my eyes and take him inside me. We both gasp as he enters. He slides in easily because I have been dripping down there for what seems like ages. I grip the tub on both sides of Gavin’s shoulders and rock my hips. Gavin meets my thrusts from below, clutching my rear.

  Sensations scorch me in ridiculous bliss. Every so often, one of us utters a gasp or something about gods.

  We get louder as our rhythm quickens. Gavin grips my cheeks tighter. My breasts sway, then bounce.

  The sensations pass a point of no return. I can sense the release building in Gavin. It spurs my own. We buck against each other in our final throes of pleasure.

  When we quiet, I flop against him in exhaustion. Gavin enfolds me in his arms—this man I just met today. My fated mate.

  We turn on the pipes to wash the tub and ourselves. Warm water envelops us. We sit on opposite ends and luxuriate. What’s happened has left me in a daze. I suppose it’s fitting I’m in a bathtub. I need time for this to soak in.

  I gape at the lines and curves of his arms and chest. I want to lean over and trace them with my fingers, but somehow that seems wrong, even after everything.

  Gavin extends his hand, as if he’s introducing himself on an awkward blind date. “Hello,” he says. “I’m Gavin. I’m from Hampshire. My parents wanted me to join a respectable coven, but I joined The Agency instead.”

  I chuckle and shake his hand. “Nice to meet you Gavin. I’m from Oregon. My parents are kind of hippieish, but they like The Agency just fine because they’re big on cooperation among paranormals.” We’re on an awkward blind date all right—one set up by fate. A date soon to be followed by a shotgun wedding. I really don’t want to think about that. We live a continent and an ocean apart. How is this supposed to work?

  We make only light conversation as we dress, too exhausted to tackle much else. Where do we go from here? I’m not about to start patting him on the butt and calling him honey. Can’t we just go out for coffee like normal people first?


  The Cobbolds left us a portable bed, in addition to the sumptuous four-poster. It would be ridiculous to use the second bed at this point, but we must maintain appearances, or rather smells.

  I’m still on North American time, but The Agency provided me a pouch of an experimental dried potion I can reconstitute and drink in order to sleep and realign my internal clock.

  I sit on the portable bed and open the pouch. Between my sense of smell and my physical and mental exhaustion, a good whiff triggers a yawn. So much for the need to mix it with water.

  I put it back in my messenger bag and flop back. The portable bed soft enough. If Gavin wants to argue about who’s taking the big bed, good luck to him. My eyelids are lead weights.

  Chapter 5

  I wake in stages. The sound of a spell chant seeps into my consciousness. My eyes flutter open. Gavin has candles, salt, his athame—a full circle cast. He peers at me over a naked shoulder. He’s kneeling wearing only a pair of pants.

  “This room is better protected.” He says. I smile in relief. My warlock is back. He grins with that sparkle in his eyes. “Fancy a look ‘round the drawing room?”

  I dress and lead us to it. Yesterday, James and Audrey had showed me a door sealed with painter’s tape. I tear it off and slip inside. Behind me, Gavin wheels his luggage case of supplies, the same items he used to protect our room earlier. I have a messenger bag full a few things myself, including my own athame. It was consecrated by an Agency witch or warlock. It’s one of the few useful weapons against hostile spirits.

  I smile to myself. It’s nice getting down to business. I can even tolerate Gavin’s scent now. After our encounter, it no longer makes me crazy. It’s just nice.

  The walls in the drawing room are bare. A paint job was left partway done. Tarps cover the furniture. Is there an antique pianoforte under one? I don’t see a silhouette that could be it, but I recognize a window from my vision. It’s the one Violet hurled a candlestick through. My stomach flips. I point out the window to Gavin. Obviously, it’s fixed now. It was probably fixed centuries ago.