Maleficium

MaLeficium

A Matilda Kavanagh Novel

Smashwords Edition Copyright 2015

by Shauna Granger

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission from the author.

Published by Shauna Granger

Copyright © 2015 by Shauna Granger

Cover art by Shauna Granger

This is the sixth Matilda Kavanagh Novel. I have never written a series this long before – this book breaks my previous held record of five books from The Elemental Series. And it’s not even over yet! Each book is an accomplishment, each book is a trial, so each book comes with many emotions, but when I realized I’d never spent this much time with one particular character, I had a moment. It really struck me and I am so glad that you’re still here, reading these adventures of a witch-for-hire, just trying to pay the rent and feed her cat.

So, as I have with other books before this one, I dedicate this record breaker to you.

Yes. You.

***

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

About the Author

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Chapter 1

The pounding on the door was nothing compared to the pounding in my head. I pulled the covers tighter over my head and burrowed under my pillows, muffling the sound outside, even if the cocoon did nothing for my head.

Artemis made a low rumbling noise before jumping on my butt. His considerable weight pressed me into the bed, making me realize I really needed to pee, but I didn’t want to crawl out of my nest of covers. Artie pressed his two front paws into the small of my back as he stretched long and deep. His claws pierced my blanket, which was—thankfully—thick enough to protect me, but I could still hear the pop of the fabric as he kneaded the spot.

Jerk, I muttered into the mattress.

Shifting my butt, I tried to dislodge him, but Artie, though heavy, was nimble. He just sauntered across my back to sit between my shoulder blades. I was pretty sure the little monster was cleaning his paw.

The pounding at the door had stopped, taking with it the sharp edge of the pounding in my head and making it dull and bearable if I just closed my eyes and let sleep pull at me again. I couldn’t ignore the demands of my bladder for much longer, but with my familiar off of my ass, I could for at least another thirty minutes.

Until I heard my front door slam into the side table where I kept my keys and purse. Only one person could both break my locking spell and had a key to my door, so I wasn’t alarmed. But I did grumble and pull up my legs, curling into a ball and finally forcing Artie to get off of me or risk being squished. I gripped my blankets, balling my fists under my chin to keep them hidden.

The front door slammed closed, the chain lock scraping back and forth and sending chills up my spine. Squeezing my eyes shut, I willed myself to disappear so she couldn’t find me, but between the pressure in my bladder, the pounding in my head, and the dull ache forming in my hip as all my weight settled into it, I felt too much to make me believe I might’ve succeeded.

Matilda Kavanagh! Ronnie’s voice sounded so much like her mother’s it was almost enough to make me peek out to see if it was her or Chris—almost.

Ronnie was light of foot, another clue that maybe she wasn’t wholly witch, but just then, I could hear every step she took as she stormed to my bed. The covers bunched at my ankles as she grabbed a handful and yanked, but my grip on them kept them in place as we played tug-of-war.

Damnit Mattie! The bed squeaked as she braced one foot on the frame and pulled with all her strength.

After my last couple of weeks of self-imposed torture, she was definitely stronger than me, so as I kept my death grip on the blankets, she managed to lift me. The pillows spilled to the floor, and my head spun as the pounding returned with a vengeance.

Bah! Stop it, Ronnie! The last sheet finally slipped away from my face, pulling my hair every which way like a black dandelion. I pushed my hair away from my face and felt the epic tangles and bedhead, so I didn’t bother to try to straighten or finger comb it.

Dear gods, Ronnie said, but there was no trace of empathy in her voice. How long has it been since you’ve taken a shower? Or brushed your hair? I don’t even want to know how long it’s been since you brushed your teeth.

She was moving around the room, but I’d already face-planted back into bed, covering my head with my arms. Pillows hit me from all sides as she tried to straighten up the room. The screech of the curtains being ripped open tore through my head, making me moan. I couldn’t imagine opening my eyes to the light.

Get. Up. Ronnie swatted my ass, punctuating each word, but I just crawled away from her. No, for the love of frogs, no! Ronnie’s hands were on my ass again, but this time she used my momentum to push me out of bed.

I hit the floor in a tangle of sheets and pillows. It was enough to make me forget the pounding in my head, but not the pressure in my bladder. Hey!

It is enough, Ronnie said, looming over me from the edge of the bed. Time to get up.

Fine! I kicked and twisted until I was free of the covers, and I climbed to my feet. Much to my relief, the only light coming through the open window was the dull yellow of a streetlight and weak moonlight. But I’m only getting up to pee, not because you made me. When I turned for the bathroom, a pillow hit me in the back of the head.

Take a shower while you’re in there.

I slammed the door on the sight of Ronnie yanking my blankets and sheets back into place on the bed. I wouldn’t be surprised if she made the bed and spelled it so I couldn’t pull back the covers and climb back in.

Pushy witch, I muttered.

I heard that! Ronnie yelled.

Good!

Take a shower!

You take a shower, I muttered, lower so she couldn’t hear me. But after I’d finally answered the demand of my bladder, I saw what I looked like in the mirror. My hair was a disaster—tangled and frizzy and greasy.

My oversized Black Witch White Magic T-shirt was wrinkled so badly that the words were creasing and cracking. My feet were lost in the cuffs of my baggy flannel bottoms, but the toes that peeked out had chipped paint, making the nails look broken and ragged.

I glanced into the mirror again and saw pillow creases on my cheeks and circles that looked like bruises under my eyes. My lips were chapped, and my eyebrows were in desperate need of a touch up.

Eh, I said with a shrug and walked out.

I found my oversized maroon cardigan on the floor and pulled it on over my shirt, letting it hang open. In a drawer, I found a knitted beanie and pulled it on, tucking the worst of my hair inside the hat. It kind of matched my sweater, so that was something. Right? The bed was made, complete with hospital corners.

When I reached for the edge of the blanket, Ronnie’s voice was like the crack of a whip, swatting my hand away. Don’t you dare get back into bed.

Artie was sitting on the foot of the bed and watching me with his lamp-like eyes, his tail draped over the edge, twitching back and forth.

Whose side are you on anyway? I asked, but the venom that should have been in my voice was lost.

Prrrrow, Artie replied, hopping down to circle my ankles as I slunk out of my room.

Ronnie had opened all of the windows, letting in the fresh night air, and turned on all of the lights, flooding the apartment so that I had to squint for a few moments until my eyes could adjust to the sudden change.

You didn’t shower, Ronnie said as she stacked dirty dishes in the sink.

It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t reply as I shimmied past her to reach for a mug in the cabinet, intending to fix myself a cup of coffee, but my hand closed on air.

They’re all dirty, Ronnie said. She turned on the hot water to fill the sink with soapy water to let the dishes soak.

Whatevs. I turned for the fridge and pulled out the carton of milk. I ignored the glass Ronnie offered me and took a long chug from the spout before putting the carton back. The bottles of hot sauce, wine, and other assorted condiments rattled when I shut the door.

Things are really getting out of hand here. Ronnie had dragged my trash can into the middle of the galley kitchen and was dropping takeout containers in, crumpling and folding the ones that wouldn’t fit.

As she stomped on the contents of the trash, I spilled some dry cat food into a bowl for Artemis, who promptly turned up his whiskers at it until I relented and mixed in a few spoonfuls of tuna.

Happy, Your Majesty? I dropped the spoon into the soapy water.

At least you’re taking care of him, Ronnie said.

I wasn’t wholly sure she meant for me to hear that, and a tiny part of me rose to the bait, ready to demand an explanation for that comment, but the fight died just as quickly as it rose. I collapsed into one of the chairs at my tiny table, letting my head drop to rest my cheek on the tabletop.

The Styrofoam and cardboard snapped and popped as Ronnie crammed more and more inside the can. I wondered if she’d spelled the can to take more than its natural dimensions, but when a box of cold noodles spilled onto the floor, making her curse under her breath, I knew she hadn’t.

Oh no, Ronnie said, snatching the roll of paper towels off the counter. Don’t get up. I’ve got it.

Awesome. My voice slurred since my cheek was stuck to the tabletop.

The smell of coffee mingled with the night air as the carafe filled. The intoxicating aroma made me feel a little more human, and I was starting to feel guilty about what Ronnie was doing.

Ron, stop, I said, lifting my face. I felt the tingling in my cheek that told me there was a big red splotch left behind.

If Frankie finds out how bad you’ve let the apartment get, she’ll kick you out. She’d moved on to the dishes, sinking her hands elbow-deep into the soapy mountain. And if I can smell it, you damn well know she can. I don’t know why she hasn’t come in yet.

I glanced around the apartment, finally taking in everything. The kitchen looked better thanks to Ronnie, but the dishes were out of control, and though the trash can was full, there were still takeout boxes here and there. Half-empty pizza boxes were stacked like remnants of a party that had never happened. An empty carton of ice cream was becoming sticky. My table was covered in junk mail and coupon circulars. Blankets and clothing were scattered and draped like defeated ghosts all over the living room.

It was musty and gross—just like me.

I tugged at my beanie, wanting to pull it over my face and hide from the mess I’d made. But the clink and splash of the silverware and dishes stopped me.

Ronnie, I said as I stood, the chair scraping along the wood floor. Stop. Let me.

It’s fine, she said without stopping. I’m already doing it.

But you shouldn’t. I walked up beside her and tried to pry the sponge out of her hand, but she flicked a glop of suds at my face, making me sputter.

Go take a shower, she said.

I am a grown-up, I said. I can clean up my own mess.

But she just kept scrubbing and rinsing, resolutely refusing to move out of the way and let me take over.

Stubborn as a troll, you know.

I walked out of the kitchen, Ronnie’s voice following me, If that’s not the cat calling the cauldron black.

Bah.

I picked up the scattered clothing around the living room, wondering when I’d started to dress like my crazy grandmother in the last few years of her life. Everything was baggy and shapeless and mostly knitted. When my arms were too full to take anything else, I stumbled into my bedroom and dumped it all into the hamper. Things looked cleaner, even if they’re still dirty, so long as they’re in their place.

There were so many dishes to be done that Ronnie was still going after I’d folded all the blankets and sorted through the piles of papers and mail, tossing what I didn’t want into the fireplace to be burned. I reached for the trash can, but Ronnie stuck out her foot, catching me in the thigh to stop me.

You’re not going out into the hall looking like that, she said.

I’m just taking out the trash.

If Frankie sees you, she’ll smell it on you. Don’t.

I’m not letting you do everything.

I’m not telling you again, Ronnie said, shoving me away with her foot. Go take a blasted shower before I dunk your stinky head into this sink.

I stared at her for a second before relenting. You know, I don’t like this color on you.

Wash your hair twice, she called before I slammed the bedroom door closed.

Peeling off my clothes seemed to take way too much energy. I had to wonder, despite the amount of food containers in the kitchen, just how long it had been since I’d actually eaten. I knew I’d fed Artie, but I couldn’t be sure if I ate yesterday.

Well, that’s healthy, I said as I stepped under the hot water. It was a shock at first, but after a few minutes, my body relaxed into the heat.

I scrubbed until my pale skin was red, and though Ronnie had goaded me, I had to shampoo twice before my hair felt normal. It wasn’t until the water started to run cool that I finally turned it off and got out.

In the mirror, I saw I looked a little more like myself, but I still looked as if I was recovering from a long illness. The glow had yet to return to my face. I looked years older than I was, and that was pretty bad for a witch with such a long life.

I grabbed a jar of the lotion I’d sold at Valentine’s Day and slathered it on my face, neck, and arms. It helped, taking away some of the pigment from the circles under my eyes and filling in the lines that had almost become permanent, but it would take at least a week of applications before it undid all the damage I’d done to myself over the past couple of weeks.

With my hair twisted into a towel, I grabbed my best pair of tweezers and attacked my eyebrows. It wasn’t much, but getting them back in order went a long way to making me feel more like myself.

I took my fluffy midnight-blue robe off the back of the door and pulled it on, cinching the belt around my waist. When I opened the bedroom door, the scent of coffee and something sweet pulled me out of my bedroom, making me walk faster than I had since Ronnie shoved me out of bed.

On the table was my favorite Wicked Witch of the West mug, full of cream-and-sugared coffee, and a bowl of oatmeal sat beside it. Cream was drizzled over the oatmeal, just like I used to eat as a kid. Ronnie was waiting for me with her own mug of coffee held in both hands. The drain board was overfull with all the dishes she’d washed, and the trash can was empty and back in its place.

Sliding into my chair, I became aware of just how hungry I was. It was as if my navel was gnawing at my spine. So much food wasted, and I was frickin’ starving. I was doing adulthood right.

I dug into the oatmeal, eating huge spoonfuls. I knew Ronnie really did feel bad for me when she didn’t comment about my table manners. When half the bowl was gone, I finally came up for air and a sip of my cooling coffee.

Bit more human now? Ronnie’s orange eyebrows were lifted as she watched me over the edge of her mug. I saw a smile at the corners of her eyes, though she tried to hide it.

A bit, yeah, I said after swallowing. Thanks for… you know. I waved my spoon in the general direction of the kitchen. And you know. I lifted my mug.

Sure, she said, not making me give her proper thanks. So you want to tell me just what the hell is going on with you?

Right to it then?

Mattie, it’s been weeks.

Breakups are hard, I said, shoveling another spoonful into my mouth. Can’t a girl wallow for a bit?

Yeah, but not if it doesn’t even seem like she liked the guy all that much.

I liked Cole, I said, but even to me my words sounded weak.

Sure, Ronnie agreed again, but not this much. You look like you’re resigning yourself to being Cat Lady of the building.

Maybe I am. I scraped the bottom of my bowl, getting the last bit of oats and cream before licking my spoon clean. I was still hungry. Maybe Ronnie hadn’t cleaned out my fridge.

Mattie, talk to me, Ronnie said, setting down her mug and leaning toward me. You haven’t been this bad since Owen.

His name made me flinch. When I opened my eyes again, I saw Ronnie giving me a look that let me know she hadn’t missed my reaction and I couldn’t play it off.

Can we not do this right now? I pulled the towel off my head, letting my still-wet hair fall around my face. The cold tips brushed against the back of my neck, giving me a chill.

Why not? Ronnie pressed.

Because I don’t want to. I finger combed my hair so it wouldn’t dry in tangles.

Ronnie was still watching me, and when I stood and took my bowl to the sink, she just spun in her seat to keep her eyes on me. I’m not going to pull the best friend card, or remind you of the fact that I’ve been keeping your business afloat by keeping your customers’ orders filled, or remind you that I’ve been making sure Frankie didn’t find out how bad things in here have gotten, but I do think I deserve a little more than what you’re giving me.

You didn’t have to do any of that, I said as I rinsed out my bowl.

Would you do it for me?

Of course, I said without hesitation. Ronnie didn’t say anything else, so I set my bowl in the sink and turned to look at her. I’m just tired, Ronnie.

Tired? she prompted.

Yes, I said, crossing my arms to hug myself. Look, you found Prince Charming; you’re happy. Spencer is going to be with you for as long as you want, and I am so happy for you—I really am. But I’ve gone through a string of guys not right for me. I’ve had my heart broken one too many times in a row. I’m tired.

Ronnie pursed her lips, looking as if she was trying to puzzle out a particularly difficult word problem.

What? I asked when she took too long to speak.

I’m sorry, she said, shaking her head so her orange curls slid around her shoulders, but I’m calling codswallop.

What?

That is a load of troll dung, Mattie.

I stared at her, my arms falling to my sides.

A string? Please. Yes, Owen broke your heart and then had the nerve to show up again and toy with it. And I’m really sorry for that, but if you’re going to compare the minute you spent with Fletcher and your relationship with Cole to that, I’m not buying it.

Ron—

No, Mattie, she said, cutting me off. Yeah, you make some crappy decisions when it comes to guys—I’ll give you that—but you’re just being a melodramatic banshee right now.

Hey!

You didn’t have a real relationship with Fletcher—that was just a maybe, a flirtation that you pulled yourself out of before anything could happen. And Cole… yeah, something could’ve come of that, but did you really see a future with him?

When Ronnie finally paused, she held up a hand to stop me from speaking right away. I glared at her for a second before taking a breath to really think about her question. I’d liked Cole, I really did, but after the whole Valentine’s Day fiasco, something had always been off with us.

Then when Cynbel captured and tortured him, something broke in Cole’s brain. He couldn’t forgive me for saving Ronnie first, whether or not I had a choice in the matter. Knowing that I’d gone for Ronnie first, who he thought had enough power to protect herself, was too much for him to accept. He thought he’d needed me more than Ronnie did, but believing that I didn’t need him as much as he needed me had broken us.

I couldn’t really blame him; you should never be more important to