At a Witch's Back: Witches in the City, #4

By Diana Morland

Vanessa has hated kelpies ever since she was attacked by one as a child. As a witch, it’s her job to protect humans from fae depredations -- so when she learns that the fae have mounted an assault on the city, and a kelpie is among them, she’s determined to take it down.

The last thing she expects is for her target-turned-captive to tug at her heartstrings.

Ruby’s never had much use for anyone but herself. She’ll help the fae take the city, and follow orders to catch a witch, because why not?

But then she’s captured by the witch she’s hunting, and everything changes.

Can Vanessa and Ruby overcome their mutual distrust to save Ruby’s life and protect the city? And is there room, in this strange new world, for the attraction blossoming between them?

• Language: English
• Publisher: LoveLight Press
• Release date: Jan 29, 2016
• ISBN: 9781516371457

Book preview

At a Witch's Back

At a Witch’s Back

Witches in the City: Book 4

Diana Morland

Chapter 1

Vanessa

I get off the train, walk out of the station, and look around at the city I’ve reached the middle of, narrowing my eyes at the crowded rows of tall buildings and cacophony of busy streets.

I don’t like cities.

And I don’t like fae.

But I’m here as a favor, and now that Cora’s convinced me to come, I have to admit that it’s only right that I should. I’ve been leaving it to my older sister to be the one to protect our hometown from the fae, and we’ve never had as bad a threat as the one that’s now arriving at this city.

Cora doesn’t know I’m here yet. The last time we talked on the phone, I told her I’d think about coming. Well, I thought about it, and then I hopped on the next train north. I want to scout out the place before any witches—or fae—know I’m here.

Not that I’m going to be able to disguise my presence from fae for long. They know how to smell out a witch. It’s a defense mechanism, learned over the years, so they can avoid us. It works for both sides—they tend to keep out of our spaces.

I didn’t bring much magical paraphernalia with me, though, and what I do have is inside my backpack wrapped in layers of silk, so the only thing a fae should be able to sense is my physical presence. And maybe they won’t be so scared that they scatter right away, and I’ll be able to get a good look at them.

Most important, though, is that kelpie. It’s the one that Cora and her friends have been having the most trouble with, and it’s the one I’m most interested in. I was nearly drowned by a kelpie when I was a kid. I tried to catch the pretty horse, then fought hard to escape when it started to drag me into the river. I took in a lot of water and suffered a bad break to my left leg that’s never healed exactly right.

My mom, the witch in charge at that point, took care of the beast for me, but I’ve hated them ever since. I once chased another out of our town, but I wasn’t fast enough to kill it.

I’m half hoping that this kelpie is the same one, and that I’ll get a chance to finish what I started. But I have no idea if I’ll even be able to tell.

I cross the river and start north, since Cora told me the east side of the river—where people tend to gather—is where the kelpie has been seen. As soon as I can, I leave the street and walk on the green. It’s a wide, deep river, with a deceptively calm surface. I make my way as close to the edge as I can—the shores are reinforced with stone walls—and lean on my walking stick, staring into the water.

There isn’t anything to see from here, of course. I think I’ll have to go further north to even get to the areas where the kelpie has been seen. But I like to get a good sense of the land. Over the next few days, I think I’ll walk as much of the riverbank as I can. I’m just getting ready to start a slow hike north, mindful of the twinges in my leg that tell me when it’s starting to be too much, when I hear a voice beside me.

Beautiful, isn’t it? It’s a woman’s voice, musical, sweet, and high.

When I turn, startled but intrigued despite myself, I see that the woman has a face and body to match her lovely voice. She’s a few inches shorter than me, willowy, with fair skin liberally dashed with freckles. Her red hair streams out behind her almost to her waist. A delicate silver necklace sparkles in the hollow of her throat. Her features are refined, her eyes wide and dark, and she looks at me with frank interest, her lips slightly parted.

Well, I may be gay and she may be gorgeous, but I’m not going to make it that easy for her. I wouldn’t exactly call it that. I was just thinking how easy it would be for a person to drown in it.

Her eyes widen further, but she isn’t put off by my dark cynicism. Oh, no, I don’t think so. The river is patrolled pretty frequently.

People drown in this river every year.

Yes, but I’d say it’s safer than many. Her lips curve into a strange smile. And there are others in this city making it safer, I dare say.

I’d say so as well. I frown at her. There’s a faint trace of an accent to her words, but not enough that I’d peg her for a foreigner. I’m almost tempted to ask, but pestering people for their life histories is not exactly my style.

So what brings you here, if you’re so worried about drowning?

I need my exercise. I thump my walking stick on the dirt. If she hasn’t noticed my disability, let her see it now. I refuse to allow people to get away with pretending it doesn’t exist.

Doesn’t everyone? she agrees cheerfully, showing no sign of whether she’s noticed my leg or not. It isn’t easy to see the twist in the bone, to tell the truth, but most people figure it out when I exaggerate how much I need the walking stick.

I’ll walk with you, if you like. She starts moving north, her loose white pants and top fluttering in the slight breeze. I notice with a jolt that she’s wearing nothing underneath the top; her freckled skin shows through in places.

Why? I start walking with her, leaning heavily on my walking stick—more than I really need to. But I’m not going to let her think that I’m going along with her just because it’s fun.

I like exercise, too. She slows effortlessly to keep her stride the same length as my mismatched one. She’s so graceful that I wouldn’t have noticed the change in speed if I hadn’t been attuned to such changes since childhood.

I have nothing to say to that, but I’m feeling a little grumpy at having a companion. I want to move slowly and watch the river, get a sense of where there might be good spots for a kelpie to hide and where it would be easy to lure someone into the water. But I can’t