If I’d never gone to that stupid party, I would never have met Richard.

  … That’s not true, a little part of my mind points out. I would’ve still met him, just after my birthday.

  From what I’ve learned, I would never have been able to dodge this destiny. It was only ever a matter of time.

  Richard looks at me evenly. “Nothing ever happens by chance. Not in this world. And you must take every opportunity you get.”

  I’m not a fanatic or anything, but I’ve always been particular about the way people use their words. How they use their concepts. I hate it when people mix metaphors, which is exactly what he’s doing right now. I arch an eyebrow. “If you don’t believe in chance, then you don’t believe in opportunities.”

  He arches his own eyebrow. Then he sighs. It’s heavy, and it really drags down his shoulders. For the first time, I think I catch a glimpse of a real man underneath that suit and the sharp eyes. The kind of man who – just like every other human on earth – can be crushed by circumstances. It gives me my first glimpse that Richard isn’t all he seems. Under the billionaire, powerful persona, he obviously has his problems.

  Though I know I shouldn’t – though I want to hold on to my anger – I swallow.

  For some reason his expression underlines one fact – a fact I’ve conveniently pushed away over the last several days – that I don’t know enough about this world to make any conclusions. And the only person I trust the most in this world has told me to trust Hargrave.

  I take a breath.

  Richard looks at me. “I just want you to trust me for a little, that’s all. Soon enough you’ll understand this world,” his voice drops down on the words this world. “Until then, I’m going to do everything I can to help you,” he emphasizes the word help.

  Though I want to spit back that I don’t need his version of help, and all he’s doing is using me, I hold my tongue.

  I draw up an image of my grandmother in my mind. Of every time she was kind to me. Of every time she helped me out. For the advice she’s given me over the years.

  I hold on to that image as I let out a sigh. “Fine. What do you want?”

  He pauses for several seconds, as if he’s waiting for me to change my mind and to continue the argument. When I don’t, he lets out a quiet, relieved breath. “I want to buy you some clothes,” he says.

  It’s out of the blue, and all I do is blink slowly like an actor on stage. “Sorry, you want to buy me some clothes?” I bring my hands wide and indicate my jeans. “These are clothes. I found them in the wardrobe. Your staff said I could take them. I don’t need any more. These fit fine.”

  He clears his throat. “I see there’s something I’ve failed to explain. I need you by my side,” he says flatly.

  My stomach kicks. You know the kind of kick I’m talking about. That specific kind of lurching, tingling feeling you get when the guy you’re interested in finally makes it obvious that he’s interested in you.

  But that feeling is so inappropriate. For one, I’m not interested in Hargrave. For another, he technically owns me.

  I clamp down on the sensation and frown as hard as I can. “You already own me – I saw you sign that contract. What—”

  He brings up a hand. “I can see you’re argumentative. You don’t deal well with situations where you don’t have enough information,” he comments under his breath, as if he’s a psychiatrist noting down my faults. “You will need to remain by my side during the day. Though I will obviously send you on missions as I see fit, you will need to have a significant presence alongside me.”

  I blink. All thoughts of my stomach kicking are gone. “What exactly are you talking about?”

  “I’ve discussed the options, and I think it will be the most believable if I make you into my PA.”

  I stare at him. I don’t think my expression could be any blanker. “Sorry, PA? You want me to answer your phone calls and organize meetings?”

  He takes a heavy sigh. He brings up a hand, latches it on his mouth, and slowly lets his fingers draw away. “You will have the appearance of my PA, without any of the duties. Now, please, I don’t have all day. I need to buy you some appropriate clothes. Then work will begin.”

  I’m flabbergasted, exasperated, and really, really pissed off. Yeah, I’ve had several days to grow accustomed to the idea that I have magic and that I’ll now be working for this guy. But at the actual prospect of working for him, I feel my gut clench like crazy.

  He obviously sees a new blast of anger spiraling through my eyes, because he sighs even louder than before. He clamps his hand even harder around his mouth, his fingers now digging into the light ray of stubble over his chin. “As I have already said multiple times before, I don’t have the luxury of wasting time with you.”

  “Then leave me the hell alone,” I spit. “Go find some other witch,” I say.

  And as I do, I have a reaction to that word. To the fact I just referred to myself as a witch.

  Shit, it’s like I’ve finally accepted that fact.

  I feel cold all over, but I don’t stop staring at him like I’m going to stab the guy.

  “I cannot. You’re the one who was promised to me. And whether you like it or not, Lydia, we’re going to have to learn to get along. Now, please, just come down and get in the car. And once we are out in the city,” he suddenly makes direct eye contact, and it’s the kind of eye contact a General would make with a misbehaving soldier – one who he’s trying to pull into line one final time, “you won’t speak of magic and witches, or breathe a word of any of this. It is forbidden to share the secret of magic.”

  I’ve learned that fact in my books, as well as a lot of other stuff. But that doesn’t prepare me for the vehemence behind his words. Richard’s shown a range of emotions since we met, but this is the first time I’ve seen him truly angry.

  “Once we have bought you the right clothes, you will begin accompanying me to certain meetings.”

  I’m now holding my arms so tightly in front of myself, I can feel how stiff my neck muscles are becoming. I’m at the risk of giving myself a migraine if I keep this up, but there’s no way I will ever relax in front of this guy. No way I will ever let him think I’m at ease in his presence. Still, what he’s saying puts me off guard. “What do you mean? What meetings? Why wouldn’t I be going to all of them?” I add, as if I’m suggesting I don’t want to be left behind.

  He snorts – the first time I’ve ever seen him show humor. “Because I need to get some real business done, and you would only get in the way.”

  I stare at him as angrily as I can. “Well—”

  He brings up a hand. “Before you say I can just get another witch, I’ve already told you I can’t. It’s time you start to accept your responsibility. You have a lot of power, Lydia, and that power will consume you if you don’t learn how to use it properly. And if you don’t learn to use it for good, others will consume you,” he adds flatly.

  It’s the first time I’ve heard him put my predicament in those words, and it’s a brutal way to hear it.

  Brutal enough that I blink hard as a pang of fear sails through my gut.

  Again he notices it. Shit, even if we had a closed door between us, I get the feeling Richard would still know what I’m feeling.

  “As for why I’m going to take you along to specific meetings, it’s because I’m going to need you to vet my clients.”

  “What? I don’t have any special skills. I mean, technically, I’ve studied one business unit—”

  His hand is still out, and he spreads his fingers wider. “My magical clients,” he adds.

  I stop. I stare.

  I swallow.

  “What do you mean magical clients? Are there… other people out there in the city who practice magic?” It’s a naïve question, and one I already know the answer to. From the books I’ve been reading, it’s been made clear that magic is practiced all over the world. In secret, yes, but it’s not exactly a rare thing. A controlled thing, absolutely. But there’s no reason to believe that Richard, me, and my grandmother are the only people in Fairchurch who practice magic.

  “I assume you already know the answer to that. Which is yes. There are many in Fairchurch who understand the craft.”

  “And what exactly do you want me to do at these meetings? I don’t know how to—”

  “Before you point out the obvious – that you don’t know how to use your powers – please stop. I will teach you.”

  I pause. The fire in the pit of my belly tells me to keep pushing. But something else controls me. The fact that this is real. This isn’t some fantasy, some crooked dream. Whether I like it or not, a billionaire socialite is soon going to teach me how to use magic.

  And I have no idea what that will entail, but I can guess that it’ll mean we’re going to get pretty close.

  I swallow.

  His eyes are darting over my face – they do that all the time, as if they’re continuous scanning beams that want to pick up any single change in my expression, any micro movement, any minute alteration in blood flow. Anything to suggest I’m changing my mind or – heaven forbid – getting angry again.

  When I don’t show any sign of anger, Richard nods. It’s a firm, direct move. And it has a note of finality. “Come on, Lydia. It’s time for things to begin.”

  With that, he turns and walks out. Reluctantly, I follow.

  Chapter Six

  I don’t want to be doing this, but what choice do I have?

  The answer is I don’t have a choice.

  I can sit there on my bed railing against Richard Hargrave and his tyrannical rule all I want, but it isn’t going to change anything.

  Plus… there’s something I can’t deny.

  Curiosity. It’s been billowing in me ever since this mess began. And one promise more than any other has snagged hold of my heart with all the grip of a chain.

  Just how much magic I’ll be capable of.

  I won’t lie to you – I’ve always felt weak. That’s stupid, right? As I’ve already pointed out, I’m practically the modern equivalent of a ninja. Yeah, I’ve got a black belt in karate. And yeah, I did gymnastics up until a couple of years ago. I know how to use my body. But I still know my limitations. And more than anything, I know what really matters in life. It doesn’t honestly matter how good I am at throwing a punch or dodging a kick. What matters in this world is how much money you have, where you were born, and who you have on your side. Apart from my grandmother, I’ve always pretty much been alone.

  But at the prospect of magic… I dunno.

  I follow Richard several paces behind as he leads me through this massive building, down an elevator, and into a car park at the base of the building.

  Predictably, he motions me over to an extremely expensive car.

  Just as predictably, he doesn’t get in the driver’s seat. No, he has a staff member for that. Because it seems that Richard Hargrave has a staff member for everything.

  I’m hustled into the back seat alongside Richard. The car isn’t exactly a limo or anything, but it’s big and spacey, and there’s a full arm-length between me and Richard.

  He appears to ignore me entirely as he pulls out his phone and begins working on it.

  We drive out of the car park and into the city. And that’s when it hits me.

  As we drive through downtown and I recognize all my usual haunts and favorite places to shop, I appreciate that I’m never going to be able to live a normal life again.

  I get a real rush of blood to the head as I think about Lisa and the rest of my friends. What have they been told? Have they even been told anything? Or do they think I’m a missing person?

  I grip my seatbelt harder with every second, my fingers really digging into the tough fabric until pain shoots down my nails into my knuckles.

  We drive for several blocks until Richard turns his attention over to me. He clears his throat when I don’t immediately lock my gaze on his. “As I’ve already told you, it’s important to maintain a sense of discipline when outside. The very last thing you can do,” he warns through stiff, clenched teeth, “is let your secret out.”

  It takes several seconds to gather the gumption to turn and stare at him. And when I do, I know my expression is unchecked – my gaze is as wild as that of a trapped animal. “Yeah, you’ve emphasized that. I get it already. But… what the hell do I do if I meet somebody I know? What exactly am I meant to tell them?”

  He looks at me evenly, his expression completely nonplussed as if my pertinent question was nothing more than the squeak of a mouse. “You tell them what I’ve already told you. That you’ve accepted a job, and you’re now my PA. There’s nothing suspicious about that.”

  I clench my teeth together. Richard Hargrave has this unusual ability to turn my abject fear into irritation. Which is actually something I need right now. Because the more I concentrate on how screwed up my life is, the more I lose it. But the more I concentrate on how irritating Richard is? The more I just want to scream at the guy.

  It’s my turn to clench my teeth and slowly part my lips back. “So what exactly have you told my friends? Are people looking for me? I mean, aren’t people going to be pretty suspicious if I started working for you a single day after I met you?”

  “Firstly,” he places his phone on his lap with a long, measured sigh – the kind of sigh you would give when you realize you have to deal with the juvenile beside you because she sure as hell doesn’t have the adult life skills to process her emotions on her own, “it hasn’t been a day. It’s been several days. Secondly, no one is looking for you,” he says that bit gently. At least more gently than his usual snaps and grunts. “Your grandmother has already informed your friends that, due to financial issues, you have dropped out of uni to find employment. There’s nothing suspicious about that.”

  My stomach twists. Yours would too. Here Richard is telling me that between him and my grandmother, they’ve completely destroyed and dismantled my old life. With no input from me whatsoever.

  But I latch onto one concept. “You really think that’s understandable? That a couple of days,” I emphasize the word couple, “after meeting you, I would suddenly become your PA? Exactly what kind of PA skills do I have? Anyone who knows me knows I’m not the most organized soul out there. Plus, presumably you already had a PA.”

  He takes another long-suffering sigh, one that pushes his chest against his shirt. Though he’s not wearing a full suit at the moment, and is only dressed in a white shirt and chinos, they don’t suit him, either. Which backs up my original proposition that clothes don’t suit Richard Hargrave in general. His face and demeanor are simply too damn intense. All you really need is a close-up of his eyes and stiff-lipped mouth, and everything else is irrelevant.

  “I have a reputation in this town for doing exactly as I please. I also have a reputation for hand-picking my staff. Not necessarily based on their skill set,” he emphasizes the word skill set, “but on what I think they are capable of. I already demonstrably showed… interest in you,” he picks over the words interest in you carefully, his tone suggesting this is nothing more than business, “at the party. So no. I can’t agree with your conclusion. I think it would be perfectly understandable to your friends and associates that I employed you. So I suggest you put this behind you and concentrate on what will come next.”

  I want to hit him. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to hit someone more in my life. And that’s saying something coming from me. I’m a disciplined mind when it comes to violence. I may not be when it comes to studying and organizing the rest of my life, but when it comes to training, I know that you have to control violent urges. It’s not just that they will get you in trouble; it’s that in a real fight they’ll often be what defeats you. It’s the ability to keep a cool mind and see opportunities when they come that ultimately leads to victory.

  But all that goes out the window when I look at Richard Hargrave. Because he’s in control. And he knows that. He doesn’t care about what I’m feeling or experiencing – all he wants is for me to be malleable to his will, like I’m some jar of Playdough and he’s a three-year-old who wants to fashion me into whatever he pleases.

  I no longer clutch the seatbelt. I let my hands draw into my lap, and I pull my fingers into my palms one by one, as if I’m slowly gripping an invisible sword with both hands. “Where exactly do you get off—”

  “Here.” He brings up a finger and points across the road as we suddenly draw into a park. “Now,” he pulls his lips around the word, and they practically twang with frustration. He also leans in, planting a hand on the seat between us and drawing his face close until it’s right up near mine.

  Though I’m not the kind of person to get uncomfortable when someone’s specifically trying to rile me up, my stomach clenches. “You will act normally when we go in there. You understand that, don’t you? I… appreciate that on some level this must be a difficult situation for you. And I would’ve preferred for it to be smoother. Believe you me. The fact of the matter is, you are a witch,” he says flatly, pulling no punches, “and you do have power that must be contained. I will help you to contain it. This is not a situation that has been engineered to harm you, Lydia. It’s here to help you. The pact between the Hargraves and the Golds has existed for centuries. It has been productive for centuries. Countless lives have been saved. And you,” his lips do it again, pretty much twanging around his words, “can save more. But you have to trust me. Now, get out of the car.” He transitions so smoothly from begging me to trust him to giving me a categorical order that I almost feel like I’m about to get whiplash.

  He places his phone diligently back in his pocket, smooths down the fabric of his pants, undoes his seatbelt, and gets out of the car.

  He leaves me there blinking, wondering what the hell just happened. But when he clears his throat and makes it clear that I’m wasting his time, I finally undo my own seatbelt and jump out. I’m so frustrated and angry I almost jump right in front of a taxi. The guy’s on the ball, though, and he swerves out of the way. He honks his horn, leans out of his window, and swears at me.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15