Magical Whispers & the Undead (Witches) (Mystic Willow Bay Book 5) Read online

  “Whenever you’re ready,” I tell the Death Walkers as I completely slip out of the circle.

  Worry creases across Ryleigh’s face as she peers around nervously. Part of me wants to comfort her, but not only will that get me frozen to death, but I’m also a demon. I’m not supposed to want to comfort anyone, let alone a strangely pretty and very amusing zombie. So, I keep my feet planted in place and watch as the Death Walkers breathe freezing death vapor all over Ryleigh until her body petrifies into a zombie ice sculpture. Then I turn away and pour myself a drink, ignoring the foreign sensation of eagerness stirring inside me. An eagerness for my little zombie pet to unfreeze and return to me.

  “You can go now,” I command the Death Walkers as I collect the glass of whiskey.

  The room settles into silence, so I figure they’ve materialized back into the pits of Hell where I summoned them from. When I turn around, though, the cloaked figures are still crammed into my living room.

  “I said you could leave,” I repeat with a sigh. While Death Walkers have their talents, they’re also kind of slow in the head. “And don’t even try to haggle more of a payment out of me. I already paid you enough.” More than enough, actually.

  To get their mistress to agree to lend them to me from the pits of Hell, I had to give her a piece of my soul. That means she can summon me for one task whenever she chooses.

  Getting your hands on a piece of demon soul is a rarity, since we’re so greedy and usually only think of ourselves. I’m not even certain why I decided to give it away just to keep my little zombie pet from rotting further. Or maybe I do know and just don’t want to admit it. For the sake of not getting utterly disgusted with myself, I’m putting the blame of my decision on lack of sleep and not enough vitamin C.

  Yeah, that’s got to be it. Because demons make irrational decisions when they’re vitamin deficient. I roll my eyes at myself.

  When they show no signs of leaving, frustration bursts inside me. “Look, I’m not paying you anymore, okay? Tell your mistress she can kiss my pretty demon ass if she thinks she can up the price after I’ve already paid.”

  The tallest of the six hooded monsters moves forward. “Time to collect.”

  “Aw … shit.” I really didn’t think my bargain through very well, did I? “Does it have to be right now? I’m very busy with other projects at the moment.”

  The Death Walker’s eyes flash yellow as it hisses, “Now or die.”

  “Well, okay then, when you put it that way …” I down the glass of whiskey, knowing I’m going to need it. Not only because I’m about to endeavor to the pits of Hell, but because I’m about to do a task for the Queen of Hell, a creature that even demons fear. And for very good reasons.

  I cast one final glance at Ryleigh, hoping she’ll remain frozen until I return. Then I stick out my hand so the Death Walker can transport me to the evilest place ever known. “All right, take me to Hell,” I mutter, trying not to think about what task I’m going to be forced to do.

  Trying not to think about how and why I got myself into this situation to begin with.

  4

  Evalee

  Dude, clowns are so creepy. I mean, I already knew they were sketchy as hell, but this … this is beyond weird.

  I’ve been tailing the giggling clown for over half an hour, and for the entire journey, she’s been giggling like a sprite doped up on helium. The really shitty part: I can’t even cover my own ears! My hands just slip through my head!

  Gah! Being a ghost sucks almost as much as tailing a clown. A clown that acts like she has all the time in the damn world, bouncing up sidewalks and skipping across streets in all sorts of directions with seemingly no end destination.

  After another ten minutes of following her, I’m about to say, “broomsticks out,” and go track down my body, Hunter, and Peyton, and hopefully the Ghost Breather, when she suddenly veers into my fake parents’ neighborhood.

  “Where in the crazy clowns is she going?” I mumble as I float after her.

  She skips down the sidewalk, passing the two-story homes until she arrives at my fake parents’, where she pauses at the fence to pluck a tulip from the garden, tucks it into her pink hair, and adjusts her overly large polka dot bowtie.

  “You can do this,” she says as she giggles to herself. “No more talking in riddles. You need to make them understand. Understand the puzzle to the riddle that you speak.” Grimacing, she shakes her head and bounds up the paved driveway to the front porch.

  I slink after her, floating up the driveway, over the railing, and onto the deck. “Why is she here? My fake parents hate clowns.”

  Summoning a deep breath, she knocks on the front door while chanting under her breath, “No more giggling. No more giggling. Giggling is for sprites. You’re not a sprite. You’re a clown. No! You’re not a clown. You’re a creature of magic dust, glittery wings, and portals. You can glamour yourself when you’re in your true form. You are powerful.”

  Almost every word she’s uttering is evasive or mixed in with a riddle, but as I replay her words, I have to wonder … “Are you a faerie—”

  The front door swings open, and my mom steps into the doorway. She’s dressed in a floral dress, topped off with a string of pearls and high heels. Her hair is in a bun, not a hair out of place.

  For as long as I can remember, she’s always been very put-together. My fake dad is the same way, and so is Ryleigh. Or, well, alive, witch Ryleigh was. The zombie-witch Ryleigh seems about as far from put-together as a creature can get.

  Anyway, as I stand here, observing my fake mom, I question how I didn’t see it. That she isn’t really my mother. Same with my father. Honestly, as twisted as this is going to sound, now that Ryleigh is a zombie-witch, she seems more like my sister than ever. Sure, we got along before she started craving the gooey taste of brains, but like my fake parents, she was always so perfect. Too perfect at times. Meanwhile, I was about as far from perfect as a witch could get.

  Sighing, I lean against the railing and wait for my mom to rip the clown to bits, due to our shared mutual hatred for clowns.

  Disdain flickers in my fake mom’s eyes as she eyeballs the clown over. “No clowns allowed.” She points to a sign beside the door where the words she just uttered are printed, then moves to shut the door.

  The clown sticks her foot out and wedges the tip of her huge-ass shoe into the doorway, stopping the door from shutting. “The sign is a misunderstanding. I don’t come from the land of giggles and animal balloons. I come from the land of magic dust and portals.”

  My mom crooks a brow, unimpressed. “Are you trying to convince me in riddles that you’re a faerie and not a clown? You should know that, if there’s anything that I trust less in this world than a demon, it’s a creature that paints their smiles on and has eyes big enough to swallow up my soul.”

  When a giggle slips from the clown’s lips, she hastily slaps her hand across her mouth. “I didn’t mean to laugh. The noise just controls me.” She lowers her hand.

  Shaking her head, my fake mom nudges the clown’s foot out of the way. “Leave before I call the police.”

  The clown stomps her foot, panic flaring in her eyes. “Please, just one more riddle, and then I’ll go. This riddle, it’s the key to my name. My real name, which is important.”

  My fake mom mutters incoherently under her breath then says, “You have thirty seconds before I call the cops.”

  Nodding, the clown smooths her hair into place. “My real name is after a stone that comes in various sorts of colors, depending on the conditions of how the stone was formed. But a lot of the stones in Mystic Willow Bay have an iridescent coloring to them. And these rocks are everywhere up in the hills, particularly in the cave where the Mystic Willow Bay Society holds their secret meetings.”

  “How do you know about the secret …?” My fake mom trails off, her eyes enlarging. “Opal?”

  I stare at the clown in shock. Holy insane magic! Is it really Opal?
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br />   The clown eagerly nods, bouncing on her toes. “It’s me! It’s me! It’s me!” She makes a ta-da pose, raising her hands.

  My fake mom gapes at her. “What in the cursed witches happened to you?”

  The clown—Opal—claps her hands. “What lives in a lair and curses those who roam the town whenever he pleases? And has an obsession with rainbow trout?”

  “Oh, for the love of all annoying sprites,” my mom grumbles. “You’re stuck talking in riddles, aren’t you?”

  Opal nods, her painted on smile growing. “I like to dance. I like to—”

  “Hush. We can’t let anyone know what happened to you. Not if we don’t want anyone figuring out what we’re up to.” My mom snags ahold of her sleeve and yanks her inside, throwing an anxious glance around the neighborhood before slamming the door shut.

  I stay frozen where I float as I watch my fake mom and ex-friend disappear inside the house I once thought of as home. If I didn’t know any better, I’d wonder if perhaps my mom was conspiring with Opal. Opal who betrayed me and Ryleigh by handing over her dead body to the demons so they could get to me. But no, my fake mom would never do that to me. Or, well, at least to Ryleigh, her real daughter. Me, I’m not even certain she ever thought of me as her daughter. Her lack of visits over the last couple weeks more than proves that.

  But that’s not the only reason behind my dumbstruck state. No, what’s put me into a state of utter shock is the riddle Opal uttered before my mom towed her inside. The riddle that made it sound like a demon cursed Opal into a clown. A demon who is obsessed with rainbow trout.

  “Freakin’ Max.” My head bobbles back as I grimace.

  So, Max turned my traitor ex-friend into my worst nightmare. While I want to be furious at him, I’m not. After what Opal did, she kind of deserves to be forced to endure countless self-giggling and endless riddling. Not to mention those awful shoes and squeaky nose have to be uncomfortable. Regardless, why did Max turn Opal into a clown? As a punishment? Or was he trying to keep her quiet?

  “Just what’re you up to, Max?” I mutter as I glide through the door. “And what have you done to my sister?”

  The moment I return to life, I’m going to find out. Demons never do anything out of the kindness of their hearts. Well, unless they’re in love with someone. Then they go from being the most selfish creatures that ever existed to the most self-sacrificing, but only for the creature they love.

  However, Max isn’t in love with me, so why did he do it? Why change Opal into a clown? Other than to keep her quiet about something.

  5

  Max

  Flames blaze wildly around me as I sit at a table perched on a rock that’s surrounded by a lake of boiling lava. Volcanoes erupt in the distance, funneling thick smoke into the smoky sky. I’d be okay with the scenery, except for the gargoyles dancing around me.

  “I really hate the fucking pits of Hell,” I murmur as I thrum my finger against the stone tabletop, growing more irritated by the bubbling second. And not necessarily with the Queen of Hell, either. No, my frustration lies more in myself for ending up in this position. I don’t even fully understand how it happened.

  Okay, that’s a lie.

  I’m here because I made a terrible decision to help another creature. I haven’t done something this stupid in decades, so why the stupid demons did I suddenly start back up again?

  I tap my fingers harder against the table. This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t felt sorry for that little zombie-witch. I should’ve ditched her the moment I let Opal live—that’s not my normal demon MO. But no, I let the faerie talk me into turning her into a clown instead of taking her life.

  “I’m known for my evil punishments, dammit!” I mutter, pounding my fist against the table. “A clown, Max? What the hell were you thinking?”

  One of the shorter, winged gargoyles sneers, “Demon’s going soft. Demon’s in love with a clown.”

  “Oh, shut it,” I snap then drop kick the little nuisance into the lake of lava.

  Watching him scream and sizzle away gives me a drop of satisfaction, but not much.

  “I am going soft,” I grumble, yanking my fingers through my hair.

  “Yes, you are.” The Queen of Hell appears, her fiery dress matching the flames around me. Her hair is spun of ash and smoldering embers, and the strands hiss as she lowers herself into the seat across from me. “I have to say, out of all the stupid demons that I’ve stolen souls from, you’re definitely my favorite. Do you want to know why?”

  “Not really,” I say with a tired sigh. “But I’m sure you’re going to tell me, anyway.”

  Her charcoal lips twist into a smile “Because you always seem too clever to make such a bargain. In fact, a lot of demons refer to you as the Untouchable.” The tips of her fingers emit smoke as she gestures at me. “Yet, here you are, right in front of me, with a sliver of your soul missing until you complete my task.”

  “What do you want?” I ask, more than ready to get the hell out of Hell.

  She surveys me closely. “So anxious, are we? Why?” She reclines in the chair across from the table. “You don’t have anyone waiting for you at your lair, do you?” The teasing flickers of flames reflecting in her eyes makes me frown.

  She knows about Ryleigh? How?

  “Of course not,” I lie. “I just hate this place, which you already know.”

  She simply shrugs. “All demons do. This”—she motions at the landscape of flames around us—“reminds demons too much of what they once were and what they could become again if they don’t obey the Laws of Evil.”

  “Oh yes, the Laws of Evil. The most important laws of the demon species.” I fight back an eye roll.

  Almost all demons, including me, hate the Laws of Evil. Not because we loathe being evil. We just despise laws. And obeying. And listening to a power-tripping queen who has short, fat dancing statues for bodyguards. She’s powerful enough without the creepy, little, beady-eyed statues, which is why no demon has ever successfully overthrown her.

  “They are important.” Smoke billows from her lips. “Without laws, there is no fear. And without fear, I can’t do whatever I want, can I?” She sweeps a flaming strand of hair from her blistering shoulder. “Besides, without the laws, demons would kill each other into extinction.”

  She may be right. Still, it doesn’t make me like the laws.

  I straighten in my chair. “As much as I’d love to sit here and chitchat with you about laws all night, I really need to get back to my lair. So, just tell me what the task is, so I can be on my way.”

  Her eyes cloud as she leans in. “Fine. I can tell you’re in a rush, and since you clearly don’t want to tell me why, I’ll make this quick and easy.” She smirks, her lips sparking.

  I cringe. Whatever she’s about to say isn’t going to be good. Then again, she’s the Queen of Hell—nothing she says is great.

  “You currently have connections to a rare hybrid-creature from Mystic Willow Bay.” Her smirk broadens. “For your task, I want you to bring this creature to me.”

  Fuck, that’s what she wants? Evalee?

  My mouth sinks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do, Max.” She slants forward, slamming her hand on top of mine. My skin hisses as flames ignite across her flesh. “And you’re either going to bring this creature to me or I’m going to take your entire soul and own you for the rest of your miserable existence.”

  I grit my teeth until my jaw aches. “Why?”

  She stabs her fingernails into the back of my hand. “Why what?”

  Blood pools from my skin, but I don’t so much as flinch. She can fuck with me all she wants, hurt me, make me bleed, but after what I endured during my childhood, physical pain is a piece of yummy sprite cake for me.

  “Why do you want her?” I ask in an even tone.

  More heat and flames pour from her flesh, scalding my hand. “That’s none of your concern. Your only task is to brin
g the zombie to me.”

  “I need to …” I pause. “Wait. Zombie? I thought you said you wanted me to bring you a hybrid.”

  “Yes, the hybrid-zombie you currently have in your lair. She was just created. Has a little bit of witches’ blood in her along with zombie and something else.” She gives a short pause, her smoldering eyes burning a hole into me. “Unless you have another rare hybrid-zombie hanging out in your lair?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. In fact, I’m pretty sure I don’t even have one hybrid there.”

  She laughs, but the sound is anything but cheerful. “Oh, Max, how I love it when you toy with me.” Her laughter fizzles as she brands the back of my hand with her fingerprints. “Just remember my warning. Bring me the hybrid-zombie, or your soul and you are mine.” Her foul breath fans across my face as she leans closer. “But I want the decaying process stopped before you bring her in. I have no use for a zombie that’s going to rot away soon.”

  I carry her gaze as I nod, a portrait of calm. However, restlessness stews inside me over why she wants my little zombie pet and what she plans on doing with her. Plus, although I don’t want to admit it, the idea of handing Ryleigh over to the Queen of Hell isn’t sitting well with me. And that doesn’t sit well with me, either.

  I internally grimace. Since when do I feel guilty about cursing another creature?

  You don’t, Max, so why are you starting now?

  My confusion only magnifies as the queen releases me. I instantly start conjuring up plans on how to get Ryleigh out of this. The moment I realize what I’m doing, I remind myself that I’m a demon and I’ll do what demons do best.

  Put myself first, no matter the cost.

  6