SPELL TO UNBIND, A Read online

  A Spell to Unbind

  Spellbound Book One

  Victoria Laurie

  Copyright @ 2021 by Victoria Laurie

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter One

  All things considered, the interview seemed to be going well. So far, I’d met with several of Elric’s underlings, each of them oozing power but very little charm, and the fact that none of them had managed to kill me yet suggested that I might actually land this job.

  To be specific, I’d made it through six rounds of tête-à-têtes, and each underling had left the interview looking furiously murderous at my very-much-alive self. It seemed like no one would be getting a bonus today, at least not over my dead body.

  Still, I couldn’t afford to be either cocky or confident. Yes, I’d dodged everything they’d thrown at me—from fire to ice, from poison to sharp instruments and projectiles, from wild beasts to birds of prey, from things that slithered, crawled, bit, chomped, and stung to a few even less fun things than those—but I certainly didn’t have this new job in the bag. I mean, I’d survived—but barely.

  Yet, by 4:45 in the afternoon, I was in far better shape than any of the other applicants. At the start of the day, there’d been ten of us: three ladies and seven guys. Assessing the competition, I’d noted that, judging by appearances alone, I was maybe one of the youngest in the group. That’d given me a bit of a pause when I’d traded looky-loos with a guy who could’ve easily been pushing three hundred. He was a mean-looking character—formidably intimidating for even the most hardened among us—with his long, jagged scar, creasing lengthwise across a weathered face, and deep-set eyes that reflected suspicion and confidence. The rest of him was equally menacing: tall, broad-framed, and wrapped in a bulging network of muscles, covered almost humorously by a skintight cotton black T-shirt and camo pants. If I’d been a betting woman, which, on occasion I am, I would’ve laid money on him as the winner. So my confidence was bolstered when I saw that he hadn’t even made it through to the third round.

  By noon we’d been down to just four: two men and two ladies. None of us had spoken to each other. It was better that way, but secretly I’d been pulling for the girls’ team.

  That’s a bet I would’ve won, actually, because I’d come out of the fourth round and saw only one other applicant—the remaining woman—crumpled in a chair. It’d been pretty obvious then that she wasn’t likely to last to the end, or, for that matter, the next hour. Her barely conscious form was puddled in a chair, missing a section of her upper left arm, three of her right fingers, and much of her left foot.

  Comparatively I’d fared considerably better, with only a black eye, bloody lip, broken wrist, a few cracked ribs, talon marks down my left arm, and a somewhat hobbled right leg. Oh, and my head was pounding in such a way as to make me think that a marching band had taken up residence in my cranium. Still, I wasn’t missing any pieces, and that put everything else into perspective.

  When I emerged as the lone applicant after the sixth round, I felt a swell of relief that was decidedly short-lived the closer the clock ticked to 5 pm. The hard part was not knowing what I’d have to face next.

  I figured Elric was the kind of man who saved the best for last, and I had no expectation of success. Just because I’d survived longer than the others didn’t mean I was about to be employed. It only meant I’d outlived the other applicants going into the seventh and final interview. The odds were still against me, and I’d probably leave the building in a body bag, or garbage pail, depending on what deadly creature Elric threw at me next.

  Still, I’d long ago made my peace with dying here, and I’d accepted that it was the price I’d have to pay for failure. So I sat alone again in the waiting area in one of the only chairs that wasn’t smeared with blood.

  The lobby was located in an eighteen-story office building devoted entirely to Signature Property Enterprise, Limited Liability Solutions Inc.

  SPELLS Inc.

  You’d think that someone of Elric’s stature would be a bit cleverer. Then again, flaunting their talents right under the noses of the unassuming, ignorant-to-our-magical-ways mortals—the unbound, as we usually refer to them—is a particular delight to most mystics. At least it is to all of the ones I’ve stolen from over the years.

  At some point maybe the acronym was too on the nose, though, so the official logo had been reduced to simply SPL Inc.

  Either way it was still one of the most exclusive mystic enterprises in the world. Once an employee joined the organization, they’re almost always there for life.

  Literally.

  SPL has no pension plan or 401(k). No, it only has the kind of retirement that comes from six feet under.

  Knowing that, however, did little to dissuade me from wanting to join its forces. And it’d taken me nearly a decade for my application to be accepted and land an interview. The things I’d had to do to gain the skills to be able to even qualify as an applicant would make your hair curl. But desperation has a way of driving one to believe that every obstacle is merely an invitation for creativity. The more formidable the obstacle, the bigger the reward. And I’d obtained a substantial number of rewards in my fairly short time as a thief. Several pieces of that cache had already been turned over to Elric—the price of admission, so to speak. I suspected that a few more pieces would also have to be given up later. Assuming I survived, of course.

  A door on my left opened, and Elric’s secretary, Sequoya—a dark-skinned vision of beauty with almond-shaped eyes, high arched brows, broad forehead, and a long mane of white, braided hair—beckoned me forward with a simple crook of her finger. I swallowed hard, braced myself, and rose as smoothly as my cracked ribs and swollen knee would allow.

  Sequoya’s lips parted seductively as I came close. With my one good eye, I held her gaze and refused to blink. The slight smirk on her face hinted at approval, and she waved me into a grandiose room with golden textiles, emerald accents, high ceilings, and the distinct aroma of power.

  “Sit,” she ordered. I made no move to do so, and she dipped her chin demurely, that quirk to her lips lifting a bit. “Or stand. You won’t have long to wait. But try not to bleed on the carpet. Or anything else.”

  With that she closed the door, and I waited a beat or two before relaxing my posture and shuffling painfully over to a wing chair, but I didn’t sit down just yet. Instead, I used the chair to steady myself while I appraised the room.

  The setting, honestly, was a bit unnerving. All of the other rooms I’d been led into had been bare. Even the floors had been stripped down to the concrete—probably to make cleanup a breeze.

  This particular suite, however, was carpeted with a luxurious weave, and the elegant furnishings were probably costlier than my entire net worth.

  Clearly, whatever the seventh round entailed wasn’t going to be messy.

  Neat meant quick. Quick took power. And that’s what made me nervous.

  I strongly suspected that this was Elric’s office, so my final interview would be with him. A thought that both terrified and excited me.

  The heartbreak spell that
bound and protected me was itself immensely powerful, but there was no way to test its limit without subjecting myself to this kind of trial. At some point the spell had to fail because, in my opinion, there was no mystic in the world as powerful as Elric Ostergaard. Not even his wife Petra.

  And certainly not the old hag who’d cursed me.

  At least I hoped that was the case.

  Still, if Elric wanted to kill me, he would. Simply. Deliberately. Efficiently. I’d never have a chance. But if the spell that bound me could withstand even a bit of his effort, then I might pass the test—he might find me worthy enough to make me his newest employee. And that was the key to everything. If I had any chance at a life free of perpetual, soul-crushing heartbreak, a life open to the possibility of finding true love, then Elric Ostergaard was my only hope.

  “Game on,” I whispered, easing myself slowly into the chair. The effort cost me a grunt or two, but I managed it without getting the chair dirty or bloody, or falling to the floor. I figured I’d take my victories where I could.

  Glancing at the large mahogany clock mounted on the wall to my left, I watched the minutes tick down with nervous excitement.

  The terms of the job application were specific. Anyone left standing by 5 pm was an automatic hire. So either I had ten minutes left before starting my new job, or I had ten minutes left to live.

  My gaze traveled from the clock to the door, then back again, but no one entered, and there were no sounds outside to indicate that someone was about to. I took a moment to focus my breathing, which was difficult. My ribs screamed in pain at every inhalation. I kept my breathing shallow but steady, and with effort I managed to slow the rate of my heartbeat using a technique taught to me by a Buddhist monk.

  While I waited, I held as still as possible, focusing only on breathing, my heartbeat, and that clock. Nine minutes melted into eight, which gave way to seven, which demurred to six, which bowed to five, which headed to four. I bit my lip with anticipation as the big hand rounded the turn toward the twelve. Would Elric simply let the clock run out? Had I already passed his final test by making it through all the others?

  Abruptly, the door opened, and the man himself walked in. “Hello, Esmé,” he said, his wonderfully silky voice hypnotic and inviting.

  I steeled myself, not out of fear, but out of my intense reaction to Elric, who was as tall, lithe, and eminently beautiful a man as ever I’d seen. He had dark mahogany hair that fell to his collar, a perfectly shaped goatee of a richer color, sharp light-blue eyes, and angularly European features.

  His shoulders were broad, his waist small, and there was an erotic quality about him that I physically responded to even though I did my absolute best to cover it.

  “Elric,” I said, adding a small nod. “A pleasure to finally meet you.”

  My host studied me intently, his hand still resting on the handle of the door. I couldn’t tell if he’d noticed my reaction to him or if I’d managed to hide the instant attraction I’d felt quickly enough, but I suspected he’d noticed, and I also suspected he was amused by it. I wanted to tell him there was no reason to feel flattered. The more dangerous the man, the more attracted I became. But that was one secret I’d take to my grave.

  Elric crossed the room silently, the only sound the loud ticking of the clock, which I was now refusing to look at because I knew we had only two minutes to go and I couldn’t afford to appear eager.

  At last, the most powerful man in the world sat down across from me and we locked eyes.

  My physical reaction to him rose up and washed over me for a second time. Despite my best efforts to quell it, I felt my face flush, my heartbeat quicken, and my palms become slick. Against my will, my lips parted and my chin lifted lustfully.

  Elric crossed his legs and relaxed into his chair, no doubt pleased by his effect on me. I forced myself to take a deeper breath than was comfortable, and the pain helped me focus again. I’d never make it out of the room alive if I didn’t curb my lustful attraction.

  “You’re more attractive in person than I’d anticipated,” I said, hoping to cover the spell’s influence.

  Elric sat there studying me, with a hint of a smile. “Jacquelyn would like to have another go at you,” he said, referring to the mystic from Round Three.

  “Would her second attempt involve a bigger dragon?”

  “Oh, I’d count on that,” he replied. Neither one of us was joking. “I’ve waited two years to find someone skilled enough to make it through all six rounds. I’ve had to promote from within to fill the last few vacancies.”

  “How long have you waited for someone to make it through the seventh round?” I asked, referring to our present little meet and greet.

  Again, Elric’s lips quirked. “Considerably longer.”

  “Ah.” I felt oddly calm as I sat there—my life in the balance. It was then that I allowed my gaze to travel to the clock. Surely it was five o’clock by now, wasn’t it? My breath caught when I spied it. The second hand was locked at fifteen seconds to five, and the clock itself had stopped ticking.

  “Time can be such a nuisance, don’t you agree, Esmé?” Elric said softly. “I find that it’s sometimes necessary to halt its progress entirely.”

  I understood then that he meant to kill me. There’d be no running out the clock. I hadn’t succeeded. As well as I’d performed through the interviews with his underlings, I hadn’t impressed him enough to get the job, and he wouldn’t be sparing my life.

  Reluctantly I pulled my gaze away from the clock and back over to Elric. Our eyes met again, and I could see the cold-blooded amusement there. He liked that I’d just realized the truth of things. There was something I could offer him to perhaps change his mind, but it angered me that he’d so quickly dismissed me. I’d made it through all of his trials only to have the prize pulled unfairly away from me at the last fifteen seconds?

  Fuck that.

  My chest burned with the injustice of it.

  Denying him a prize suddenly felt like something I wanted to do, so I settled my expression into one of neutrality. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. I simply waited.

  One of his brows arched.

  Still, I stared at him blankly. It was over. All I had left at my disposal was to die with grace and withhold something he would surely have coveted.

  We sat like that for what felt like an eternity. I focused only on my breathing and the pain in my ribs. I knew he was waiting to see me crack, to break down, to dissolve into a weeping puddle, pleading for mercy, but that wasn’t my style. I don’t crack. I don’t regret. And I certainly won’t beg.

  Elric inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. I kept my gaze on him steadily, waiting to black out, or see a shining light, or simply wink out of existence, but for a long time, absolutely nothing happened.

  When my host at last opened his eyes again, I made sure to keep the triumph out of mine. If the mystic truly wanted to kill me, I thought he wouldn’t hesitate to resort to “other” measures.

  “That’s a powerful binding,” he said, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair as he posed his elegant fingers into a steeple at his chin. “The spell protects you well.”

  I was a little stunned to realize he’d been assessing the spell that bound me, and I allowed myself the smallest nod as I felt my simmering anger at him falter. The fact that I wasn’t dead yet meant there was still a chance he’d hire me.

  “What are your terms?” he asked.

  A little thrill went through me. “The standard contract you offered Welker plus fifty percent of what I bring in.”

  Elric’s eyes narrowed. “Twenty.”

  I leaned forward slightly, like a moth to a flame. God, I wanted him. “Forty.”

  The mystic drummed his fingertips together. I’d just taken a hell of a chance, and clearly, I’d displeased him. But then he did something unexpected. He paused the drumroll and leaned forward himself. “What are your real terms?”

  I dipp
ed my chin demurely. Elric was indeed as clever as his reputation suggested. “Welker’s contract, thirty-percent and, at the end of five years of loyal service, I want one favor from you and to be released from the contract.”

  Elric barked out a laugh. “You really think you’re that special, Esmé?”

  I held his gaze. “I made it here, didn’t I? All in one piece, I might add.”

  He nodded, and his amused expression lingered. “What’s the favor?”

  I took a deep breath. I might as well go for broke. “I want the name of the mystic who bound me, and I want to know where she is.”

  My host seemed pleased. Or maybe he was simply toying with me. It was hard to tell. “You don’t know who bound you?”

  What I did next was hard for me. Really hard. Admitting to Elric that I didn’t know the name of my binder was like admitting a personal failure. “No,” I said stiffly. “Even after searching the globe, I haven’t been able to either identify or locate her.”

  Mystics almost always know who binds them. It’s part of our culture, similar to how a vampire might absolutely know the name of who had first turned him or her.

  But the mystic who’d bound me had been a total stranger. She’d never made her identity known in the five minutes it took her to murder my father and uncle right in front of me before cursing me into a living hell.

  She’d come like a thief in the night to commit these terrible crimes, and then, rather than killing me too, she’d bound me by the cruelest of spells. One I couldn’t escape or hide from. I lived under its dark skies and craved nothing but sunshine. More than anything in the world I wanted to find the elusive mystic who’d killed my family and cursed me so that I could kill her in turn and free myself from her spell. A spell that haunted my dreams and my everyday thoughts:

  Beauty, beauty with eyes of green

  All those men will watch you preen

  Bound to love only those who leave you

  Never catch the one you need

  To mend your heart and unbreak the tie

  With these words I cast the die

  Those of true hearts will elude