Fatal Retribution

  Fatal

  Retribution

  By

  Diana Graves

  This book is a work of pure fiction. Characters, places and incidents are creations of the author’s imagination, and any similarity to people, living or dead, businesses, events or places is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2010 Graves Publishing

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be scanned, reproduced or distributed in any printed or electronic form without the author’s permission. Please do not take part in any sort of piracy. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Acknowledges

  Huge thanks to my husband, James. His words of encouragement got me through the worst of times, and his constant support did much to create the best. To my mother for reading through the roughest of drafts, and giving much needed criticism. To Clella, my lovely cover model. To all my many friends and family members not yet mentioned for always being there for a kind word and great advice. I love you all. Thank you.

  1:

  I WAS SITTING on my bed with a knot in my stomach. The man who called himself my father was yelling through my cell phone. He wasn’t angry, as he continually reminded me. He was simply concerned for my wellbeing.

  “I love you, Raina. You know that!” he shouted. Did I really know that? Ten years ago, at the ripe old age of eleven, I finally accepted that I didn’t have a father. I had a man who was sometimes a parent when it was convenient for him. “I just don’t think you should advertise your differences. It’s dangerous!” he said.

  “You mean it’s embarrassing. I’m sorry if I ruined your barbecue last weekend.” I so wasn’t sorry. I wore my ceremonial coven robes just to bust his chops. Even so, it wasn’t my fault that his friends took issue with my choice in clothing. If he wanted to play daddy I wasn’t going to make it easy on him. He had a witch for a daughter. He needed to be okay with that and so did his friends.

  “Not everyone tolerates non-humans as well as me. I love you, but...”

  “But, I’m not going to be invited to anymore of your barbecues, am I?” He said nothing and I knew I was right. He was ashamed of what I was. I was the unwelcomed surprise after a failed marriage. He and my mother were married when I was conceived, but divorced before I was born, making me his bastard daughter. As a witch and an elf in part, I wasn’t human enough for him to accept, but unlike my older brothers, I was born too late for him to learn to love me in spite of myself.

  “I don’t really have time to talk. Tristan should be here any minute and I’m not done packing,” I said.

  “I love you,” he said for the umpteenth time before he hung up. I wondered which one of us he was trying to convince of that, because he wasn’t fooling me.

  “Well, damn,” I breathed and looked out over the room. My green walls were nearly hidden completely behind a gigantic collage of pictures. The pictures varied in subject matter. From people I loved or admired, to breathtaking architecture, aged graveyards, stunning skies, mountains, etc.

  Three days worth of clothes and all my camping gear were piled on my bed waiting to be packed. My brothers and I were heading up to Mount Rainer tonight for a weekend camping trip to celebrate my oldest brother’s new job at Vamps, a vampire entertainment rental company. Their slogan is, “Vamps, vamp up your party.” Catchy, no? His orientation was today. I couldn’t wait to hear how that went.

  I just finished packing when I heard Mom come through the front door. The sound of the door’s squeaky hinges and the fragrance of sweet spices were all the usual signs that Mommy was home. Even with my bedroom door shut I could smell jasmine and spices. She and my Aunt Fauna owned a shop together called, “The Natural Kitchen.” Fauna brewed potions and Mom baked goodies. Hence the yummy scent.

  I readjusted my eye glasses out of habit not need, before leaving my room. Elves didn’t usually have bad eye sight. I guess I can thank my human father for that one. The only part of me that looked remotely elf-like was my long straight hair, which shined like rich chocolate streaked with red amber. It was elf tradition to never cut one’s hair, and Mom was all about tradition. It irritated her to no end that I kept my hair cut short in the back and only let the front grow unhindered. The color of my eyes, however, distinctly revealed my witch blood; a rich mahogany, more red than brown.

  I found Mom in the kitchen with the evening sun flooding through the windows, making tall shadows. A brass incense holder sat on the oak dining table. The smoke rose in an elegant dance, filling the room with the rich scent of cedar. Leafy plants overflowed from metal baskets that hung from the tall ceiling, and a large wrought iron chandelier hung directly over the table. Mom matched the kitchen well. They were both exotic, both unaffected by the violent ghetto in which we resided in.

  Mom was sitting at the dining table with a gold pin held between her thin ruby lips as she considered her next move. The black marble mortar sat in front of her. In it was a small portion of freshly crushed herbs and oils. Using her thin wand, she drew a pentagram in the air. I watched in silence as she scooped the herbs into a small green vial, placed the long gold pin in with it and closed it up with a cork. Careful not to drag the lengthy sleeves of her long red dress into the mortar, she leaned forward and reached for some hemp string.

  “Hey Mom,” I said quietly when she was finished with her craft.

  She turned to me with a smile. Her eyes matched her long hair, black as pure onyx laced with gold. All of her features would suggest her to be an elf, but her curves. They gave her away as something else. The something else was half witch. Having the full attention of her large black eyes was always a little unsettling. Good thing it didn’t happen often.

  Every move was graceful as she stood and reached for me. In her hands she held a necklace with a small green vial I recognized as a talisman for protection. It was her original design that she called slan. Slan heightened your fight or flight response to danger. My brothers and I wore them often when we were children. She tied the vial around my neck and gave me a wide conflicted smile, full of worry and love.

  “What’s with the vial?” I asked.

  She ignored my question. “I wish you would leave your hair alone, Ray,” she said. She stuck her bottom lip out in a pout as she played with my hair.

  “If I had it my way I would be sporting a pixy cut. Now, what’s with the vial?” It was this sort of badgering that made me want to find a real job and move out on my own. I graduated college a year ago, and I was still working part time at The Natural Kitchen. Pathetic.

  “Last night you mentioned that Nicholas might be going with you and Tristan,” she said.

  “Okay, now this makes sense,” I said while I ran my finger down the long teardrop shaped vial. Nick was my older brother, second to Tristan, and he was a shady sort of guy. You never knew what he might pull out of his bag of tricks, literally. “Um, could you possibly make another? Tristan also invited Michael.” Mom cringed at the sound of Michael’s name. About a year older than me, Michael was Dad’s love child with his then mistress, now ex-wife, Rachael.

  “You make it,” she said, and handed me her extremely heavy book of shadows. “It’s on page 23.” I immediately set the book back down with a heavy thump.

  “Will it be as powerful if I do it?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer. Mom shrugged her shoulders and left the kitchen.

  I sighed in frustration and sat down at the table. All the materials were there. I just had to follow the directions, and hope I had the talent and magic to pull it off. The spell was made for a level four witch and I wasn’t even level three, more like one and a quarter. I could hide a zit or change the colors of my nails, but not too much else. Of the three of us, Nick was the trouble maker, Tristan was
the golden boy and I was the nobody. We were witch-elf hybrids also known as common witch-mutts. Nick had all the magic, Tristan had all the elven grace and I had none of that. I was plain-Jane, besides my off and on ability to read people’s emotions. I was a weak empath. It was my saving grace, but it didn’t quite make up for being a piss poor witch.

  The instructions for the slan talisman were written in Flegen, a made up language that Mom taught only me and my brothers how to read. The book would be useless in anyone else’s hands.

  I ground the herbs into a fine powder in the mortar. The bark of Rowan tree proved to be difficult to crush. I had to put all my weight on the pestle to break it into slightly smaller bits of wood. There was no way I’d get it as fine as mother did. Hopefully it wouldn’t affect the spell.

  After I finished Michael’s talisman, I cleaned up the materials and called Tristan. It was nearly three o’clock. He should have been here by now. I dialed his cell phone and left the dining room for the more private atmosphere of my bedroom.

  It rang three times before Tristan answered, “Yeah.”

  “Hey, it’s Raina. When you coming over?” I asked.

  “I’m just at Dad’s picking up Michael. Is Nicholas there? He’s supposed to meet me at Mom’s.”

  “No, he’s not here.”

  “Well, we both left his apartment about ten minutes ago, so he should be there soon. Did you ask Mom to make some jasmine loaf for us?”

  Jasmine loaf was Mom’s signature recipe at The Natural Kitchen. It calmed and soothed the mind. It was the perfect snack after a long days work, and I had forgotten to ask her to bring some home. “Um, let me see if Mom remembered?” I lied. I walked out of my room and down the short hallway. Mom was sitting on the sofa, smoking on her herb pipe while watching the news.

  “Hey, Mom. Did you bring home some jasmine loaf?” I asked her.

  She looked at me with her face scrunched in thought. “I don’t know. Go look in the fridge.” Damn it.

  I raced to the fridge. I hated making promises and then not keeping them. As I made my way through the house I played with the idea of baking a loaf in what little time I had, but when I opened the fridge I felt a rush of relief. “Yeah, she remembered.”

  “Cool,” Tristan said. “I’ll see you soon. Michael is still getting ready to go. Hey, would you mind if we brought Katie along?”

  It was nice of him to ask. Katie was our other half sister, and we never really got on well with each other. She was all pomp and prim and I was rough and awkward. She was pretty in pastels with a pound of makeup on her face. I was jeans and a t-shirt with a chip on my shoulder. But, this weekend wasn’t about me and my grudge against a snotty teenager. If Tristan wanted her there, then he could have her.

  “I don’t care,” I lied. “See you soon.”

  “Yeah,” he said before hanging up.

  I didn’t bother getting all the materials back out to make Katie a slan talisman as well? She wouldn’t accept it. She’s a good little Christian girl, so it would be a waste of materials and time.

  After hanging up the phone, I put the jasmine loaf into one of my bags and set them by the front door.

  “Hey Mom,” I said before plopping down on the sofa. I wrapped my arms around her and rested my head on her shoulder. “How do you put up with hateful brats?” like my sister, I added in my head.

  “I don’t,” she said without taking her eyes off the TV.

  “Me neither,” I said. How I wished that were true. Raina, the-Bad Ass. She doesn’t take shit from anyone—yeah right. The dream.

  Fifteen minutes later there was a knock on the door to the rhythm of an old rock ballad. I got up to get it and moved the metal leaf, revealing a peephole. As I had suspected, it was Nicholas. His face was hidden, but I’d recognize that crazy red hair anywhere. I opened the door with a smile spread wide across my face.

  “What’s up little sis?” he asked by way of greeting. He reached out to hug me, flashing me a devilish smile. He was twenty-three years old with baby fine red hair and permanent bed-head. He had our dad’s big doughy brown eyes and a heart shaped face. He would look as innocent as a pup if it weren’t for that sly smile of his, with full long lips that were naturally red. Nicholas was dark in a cliché kind of way; all black nail polish and fake leather. Today was no exception. He was full on Nick, wearing all black, like any self respecting dark wizard.

  Mom stood quickly. “I will not have a warlock in my home!” she shouted.

  She was taller than Nicholas, so he had to glare up at her to give her the evil eye, but there was no magic behind it. He might be angry with Mom, but his smile never faulted. Mom and Nicholas had been at odds with each other for seven years, way before he started his website. No one knew why their grudge began, or at least, no one was telling me.

  “Calm down, Ann,” Nick said. “I’ll be waiting outside.” He was looking at Mom while talking to me. Awkward!

  “Um, I’ll be out in a bit, okay,” I said before I closed the door.

  Mom sat back down as if nothing happened, except for the anger radiating from her. I didn’t know what to do to make her feel better, so I just bent down and gave her a reassuring hug. She hugged me back tightly.

  “Do you have your slan vial?” Mom asked.

  “Yes,” I said, and pulled it out from inside my sweater.

  “Good girl. I love you,” she said.

  “Ditto,” I said and grabbed my bags.

  “Just be very careful Raina.”

  “No way,” I joked. She gave me the mom look and I smiled.

  “Don’t be sarcastic. Unintelligent people hide behind sarcasm.”

  I just nodded and walked out the front door. Well, this camping trip was off to a great start. Oops, more sarcasm. Damn it, I must be dumb.

  2:

  NICKS’ HEARSE SAT in the drive way, and he sat on the steps scratching at his black nail polish. My little blue pinto looked sad parked beside Mom’s red smart car and his antique hearse, which looked like it just had a shiny new black paint job.

  “Nice car,” I said. He sneered and I shut the door behind me. I plopped down next to him and let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

  “I’m sorry about Mom.”

  “Nah, don’t worry about it Ray,” he said. He smiled his usual shit-eating grin. After Mom kicked him out of the house at sixteen years old and Dad refused to take him in, he was homeless. He lived on the streets for a while before he found a way to use his natural skills to make money, selling harmless curses and magical pranks online. He went from a homeless teen to a well off entrepreneur in a matter of a few years. I was proud of him and I felt sorry for him. Our mother hated him, our dad ignored him, and our coven labeled him a warlock. And yet there he sat, smiling down at me.

  “What do you think about Tristan’s new job?” Nicholas laughed. I guess a change of subject was called for.

  “You think it’s funny?” I asked.

  Nicholas looked at me with raised eyebrows. “He’s a vampire pimp.”

  “No, he’s not. He schedules vampire entertainment for events.”

  “The only event anyone would want a vampire for is an orgy.”

  I gave him an ugly face. The only vampire I knew well was our uncle, who was turned as a teen after being violently mugged by a gang of vampires. “Gross, I’ll be sure to let Uncle Seth know how you feel about him,” I said. Nick gave me a hearty laugh.

  “No, no, Seth might be a vampire, but he wouldn’t know a good time if she was sitting on his face,” he said. I had to shake my head at that. Nick was such a pervert sometimes.

  “You don’t really think vampires are only good for sex?” I asked. He shook his head and I exhaled in relief. “Good, I didn’t want to have to kick your butt.” Nick looked me up and down, as if measuring my worth and finding me lacking. “Hey!” I said with a smile and an elbow to his gut.

  Kids ran out of the way as Tristan pulled up in his white civic and parked right beside
Nicholas’s hearse. Did everyone have to outshine my car?

  “We’re taking the hearse,” Nick said. “It’s the only car that will fit all of us and our camping gear.”

  Nicholas and I got to our feet and walked over to his hearse. He unlocked the doors with a button on his keychain, and I threw my bags in next to his. Tristan went straight up to the house and opened the door without knocking. He looked so much like Mom, it was almost scary. They had the same long dark hair, tall frame, dark eyes and narrow face.

  Michael came out of the back seat of Tristan’s car. He had sandy brown hair, big brown eyes and a round face. He wore his college sweater and faded jeans with a sharp pleat down each leg. Who the hell irons jeans?

  I took off the slan talisman Mom made me as I made my way to Tristan’s car, and put on the one I made. If we did get into anything bad this weekend, he would need better protection than my magic could give him.

  “Hey Mike,” I said. He looked up at me with our father’s big brown eyes. “I made this for you. It’s for protection.” He smiled and he put it on right away. “It’s called a Slan. That’s Gaelic for Safe.”

  “Wow, thanks, real magic! How does it work? Does it—” he began to ask, but he was interrupted.

  Katie had been eavesdropping. “He’s not practicing your evil magic, witch!” she said as she stepped out of the car.

  Her dirty blond hair was combed tightly back into a short ponytail, making eyes very pronounced. Her makeup looked heavy on her face; thick black eye-liner, fake eye lashes, shimmering blue eye shadow and pale pink lips. She wore pink on pink shorts and dress shirt.

  “Magic is natural to her,” Michael pointed out and I didn’t correct him. Magic came naturally to Tristan and Nick. Me, I had to work at it. “How can that be evil?”

  “Thou shall not suffer a witch to live!” she said, her face twisted in anger that no one here disserved. My mouth fell open in shock.