Saved by the Spell (Anna Wolfe Series, Book #2)

Saved by the Spell

Book #2 in the Anna Wolfe Series

Saved by the spell

by

Casey Keen

Copyright © 2013 by Casey Keen

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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To All my Friends & Family-
Thank you for your enduring support!

To my Editor, Teri-
Awesome editing job as usual!

To Jenna, my Graphic Designer-
Thank you for your amazing talents
in creating my cover... truly genius!

To Jordan-
Thank you for your fantastic input!

Chapter 1

Anna

Darkness… complete and total darkness. Ambiguous bits and pieces of my memory slowly whiz in a vicious circle around my head, descending into the only shade left in my new world. I remember gripping the steel bars tightly, forgetting Micah’s warning.
Acting on impulse again, Anna
. With Cara pushing my buttons, it’s hard not to. The prickly images of her face still assault my mind. She knows how to get under my skin… literally. My muscles are throbbing actively from the spell I allowed to thrash through my body. The darkness remains. I lift my heavy eyelids, surprised I don’t have to squint at the dim lighting, which allows me to make out the fuzzy outlines of what I can only assume are people or demons. Their voices filter in my ears as a mixture of mumbles and slushy syllables. I force my eyelids open further, focusing my gaze on whatever happens to be in front of me. The figures disperse, leaving me with a view of a grimy wall.

Figures.

Rolling onto my side, I begin trembling with the agonizing aftershocks of an entrapment spell, courtesy of Micah. My cheek presses firmly against the icy steel, reinforcing my body’s desire for rest. I lift my head like a newborn animal and weakly attempt to view my surroundings. It’s no use. My head slides back down to the steel floor, grateful for its support. My eyes are wide open now, scrutinizing every speck of detail. With my physical and magical prowess snubbed, all I can do is observe. In the distance, a drop of water falls rapidly from the ceiling before slamming onto the concrete floor below. The tiny echo it releases each time pounds into my eardrums.

The overpowering smells of mildew and ancient dirt make my nose crinkle. I examine the dense concrete walls covered in gray goop. This place resembles more of an underground bunker than a room. I narrow my eyes, looking at the gold shimmering below it, pulsating underneath like a heartbeat. It’s the s
trangest thing I’ve ever seen… well, not the strangest; that would be watching Valen shift into a werewolf.

Valen.

My heart tugs in my chest just thinking about him. What I wouldn’t give to see his face right now. I squeeze my eyelids closed, trying to focus my magic awareness on him. Nothing. An endless world of oblivion fills my eyes, mocking me. I try harder. Damn it, Micah! I fling my eyelids open, exhaling a badly frustrated breath. I replay the fateful night over and over again in my head—Cara springing from the woods in tears, and me, running into the night so valiantly stupid, flying right into Micah’s perfectly executed trap. Did I really think I could rescue Janie by myself? I was always a prisoner of my own courage, and now, to Micah. My stupidity has landed me, along with everyone I love, into some troubling times.

Now, we’
re all in danger, considering he has everything he needs to begin his almighty war... namely me, a Grand Witch. My life wasn't always this magical. I was once a normal person, with a normal career. I owned a coffee shop, Déjà Brew, in Savannah and had normal people problems. This, of course, was before I knew I was a Grand Witch; and discovered werewolves, warlocks and vampires actually existed; and before my life was tossed upside down. Now, it’s my responsibility to prevent Micah from inflicting his evil on both worlds—the Earth, as humans know it, and the Netherworld. You can see how well it's going.

Fear bubbles in my chest, scolding me for the idiotic decisions that preceded my current situation. Placing my elbow under my side, I slowly heave myself up, every muscle straining under my weight as tacit testimony to the damage I have inflicted upon them. Sitting up, I feel less incompetent. I slide my knees into my chest, being careful not to touch the bars. I don’t know if they’re still spelled, but I can’t afford to take any chances. Wrapping my arms tightly around my legs, I feel thankful for the small amount of comfort it provides. The beading on my dress indents my forearms as I pull my legs closer, fashioning myself into a human ball. As I carefully survey my surroundings, I notice how microscopically tiny the cubby hole I’m stuffed in is. My cage fits snugly into the brick wall like a puzzle piece. A barren hallway spreads out before me, taunting me by forbidding my escape. It’s eerily quiet in here, except for the annoying splash of dripping water. This will no doubt drive me to the brink of insanity quicker than any physical pain.

I drop my head into my knees, puffing out a long sigh. Tears blur my vision as they collect in the corners of my eyes, insisting that I release them. One by one, they fall down my cheeks, soaking them with despair. Light sobs escape my tight throat as my emotions catch up to my new reality and the devastation I have yet to wreak on so many. The emotional bomb explodes inside of me, drawing out congested sniffs, cries and tears. I allow them to flow freely, vowing this will be the last time I indulge in a pity party. I reach for the bottom of my tattered dress, pulling it towards my nose. With a hard blow, I find some relief at the release of my crammed emotions. After a few deep breaths, my tears dry up and my hazy mind clears. I feel at ease, and accredit it to my newfound emotional liberation; sometimes it’s the only proper way to cleanse the soul.

Out of the murkiness arise the sounds of irregular footsteps, reverberating off the walls. Clicks and thumps crash on the concrete like a dozen horses trotting. I slide towards the back of the cage in terror. Darkness cloaks my visitor as I strain my eye
s to see what or who’s coming. Suddenly, it steps away from the shadows. I throw my hand over my mouth, gasping at the horrid creature standing before me. Its thin skin is the color of scarlet, stretching tightly over its bones. Its torso sits atop four rotating legs as its hooves slap onto the concrete punishingly, inching ever closer to me. Three onyx-colored horns protrude from its head, pointing high into the sky. It opens its mouth, allowing me to view its tiny rows of pointy, yellow teeth. I study the creature I recognize from my
Book of Worlds
. The Jezebel’s lifeless gray eyes pierce mine. It approaches me slowly, cocking its head from side to side like a curious dog. I cringe at the grotesque figure examining me, and finally must lower my gaze.

This demon manipulates emotions and enjoys torturing humans. Since my magic is
either blocked or kaput, my only defense is to avoid looking into its eyes. The Jezebel can only access a human soul through the eyes. That stupid saying,
the eyes are the windows to the soul
, actually makes sense to me now. I clamp my eyelids shut, determined to avoid any manipulation and torture, deciding I have endured enough for a lifetime. The demon’s trot echoes off the walls around me, deafening my ears with its warning. Its scorching breath licks my skin, informing me it's much closer than I'd prefer. I tightly squeeze my legs, silently praying for a miracle. Deep groans escape its mouth, followed by a series of clicks. I tremble inside, waiting to hear the sound of the cage unlocking.

“Enough,” a velvety voice booms. "Leave us now."

Feverish shuffling and challenging moans bounce off the wall by my head, indicating its displeasure.

“My love,” he states calmly, “how are you feeling?”

I refuse to open my eyes, unwilling to take any chances.

“Ah, I see you stu
died your book. Well no bother, the Jezebel is gone. Open your beautiful eyes,” he requests seductively.

I squeeze my eyelids together more tightly.

He sighs heavily. “Anna, if you don’t open them on your own accord, I’ll make you do it, you understand?”

Clearly, it’s a rhetorical question. I groan inwardly, knowing there’s no point in rebelling against such a tiny request. It’s the bigger ones he’ll have to fight for. Slowly, I open my eyelids. Micah’s hazel eyes greet me, gleaming with victory.

“There you are love,” he calmly says.

H
is smile reminds me of a snarling wolf, prompting me to stare at him in repulsion.

“You had me worried,” he confides intimately,
clasping his strong hands around the steel bars. “You’ve been asleep for hours,” he adds somewhat worriedly. “I warned you about touching these,” he continues, as he taps the bar with the top of his index finger.

His eyes glaze over with an emptiness that
cloaks my body in chills. He's obviously dead behind his eyes, making his presence even more haunting than usual. Between his hollow soul and obsessive manner, he makes a serial killer look like Mother Teresa.

He clears h
is throat before speaking. “Now love, I’m going to let you out. Refrain from doing anything foolish.” A grin crawls across his smug face.

Micah slides his hands down the bars gracefully, and a sequence of unlocking sounds
reverberates off the walls surrounding my cubby space. I squeeze my legs tightly together, reluctant to leave my now familiar, but uncomfortable confines. He swings the metal-grated door open, extending his arm towards me. I try to pull back, but he's already wrapping his burly fingers around my ankle. With a robust squeeze, pain shoots through my entire leg, culminating with a whine from my throat. My arms fall to my sides as Micah yanks me towards him. In a blink of an eye, I’m out of the cage, as he attempts to stand me up on my wobbly legs.

“There,” he says proudly. “Let’s get you cleaned up. You have a very important person to meet.”

I remain silent, determined to limit any and all interactions with him.

“Ah love,” he says, pulling me down the long, cold hallway, “I’ve alway
s enjoyed the silent treatment, but you must remember there are ways I can get you to talk.”

In one fast movement, Micah swings me around to face him. I stare into his eyes with grim determination. His hand finds its way to my cheek, indenting my skin with his
rough fingertips. He presses them deeply before dragging them down to my neck. I pull my head away, a mute warning not to touch me. Fury fills his eyes as he grips my chin between his fingers, pressing them towards each other firmly. Pulsing waves of magic invade my skin, firing through my body like hot missiles. The sensation of a blade rips through my muscle fibers, tearing and ripping them from one another, forcing me to my knees.

“Let me know how long you want to play this game,” he states coldly.

I exhale a long whimper before finally giving up. “Okay, enough!” I exclaim with exasperation.

He drops his arm to his side with a smile. “Good.”

The pain retreats, allowing me to breathe easier. I stand carefully, cursing myself for giving into him. The mere thought of being stuck here indefinitely with a psycho makes me cringe. If this is how he plans to obtain my cooperation, I might be dead in a week’s time… or less.