A Witchly Influence Read online

  Editor: Grace Nehls

  A WITCHLY INFLUENCE

  Copyright © 2020 Stephanie Grey

  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 publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please write to the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published by BHC Press

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2020934351

  ISBN: 978-1-64397-139-1 (Hardcover)

  ISBN: 978-1-64397-140-7 (Softcover)

  ISBN: 978-1-64397-141-4 (Ebook)

  For information, write:

  BHC Press

  885 Penniman #5505

  Plymouth, MI 48170

  Visit the publisher:

  www.bhcpress.com

  The Immortal Prudence Blackwood

  For my mother, Diana,

  for being a wonderful woman

  whose love and support for

  my passion in life never wavered.

  You are truly inspirational, Mom.

  Always.

  The courtroom was smaller than I had imagined, and much colder. It was in an older building and had high ceilings with beautifully carved crown molding. The floor had been replaced over time with cheap linoleum worn thin after thousands of feet had crossed it over the years. The judge sat high and mighty in his chair, the leather polished to a gloss so shiny it was almost comical.

  I took a seat in the audience section and the chair squeaked loudly. I cleared my throat and the seat quieted immediately. The seats were burgundy and made out of some rough fabric that was meant to be durable, but really took away from the original architecture of the building. Another chill passed through me and I looked upward. Warm air began to flow over me and I smiled, shrugging off my coat and putting my gloves into my purse. I ran a quick hand over my pale blonde hair to smooth the static that threatened it.

  A small gate separated the audience from the actual participants. It reminded me of a perfect little fence you’d see in front of a row of perfect little houses, though this was stained a rich brown and not whitewashed.

  Today there were four people facing the judge: a couple and their lawyers. One of the lawyers was average height, a little plump, and had curls that were so filled with gel that they looked glisteningly wet. He unbuttoned his dove gray suit and leaned forward on his table. “My client wants everything,” he said easily.

  The other lawyer, a scrawny man wearing pinstripes, shot up from his chair. “Absolutely not!” he protested. “The assets are meant to be split equally.”

  The first lawyer snickered. “In the case of infidelity, that is out of the question,” he argued.

  “That has yet to be proven.”

  “There has to be a DNA test on the child when it is born. I believe that proves that your client is an adulterer.”

  I ducked my head to hide my smile. This was better than reality television!

  The judge interrupted the arguing attorneys. “Regardless of who has fathered this child, this couple will agree to a parental agreement for the unborn child. The agreement shall be null and void, should the paternity test show negative for the plaintiff. I would suggest that you discuss with your clients in further detail on how to equally divide their assets. We will continue this at a later date.” The judge dismissed the couple and called for the next case.

  A tall woman with a pile of messy, yellow hair tugged nervously at her red sweater and entered through the small gate.

  “You’re here for a divorce on the grounds of irreconcilable differences,” stated the judge.

  “Yes, sir,” she responded.

  The judge’s eyebrows shot up as he scanned her documents. “You’ve been separated for eleven years?”

  “We have been, yes.”

  The judge chuckled. “What’s the rush for a divorce then?” he asked, still laughing.

  The woman relaxed and laughed as well. “I just felt like it was time to stop putting off the inevitable.”

  “Sure, no sense in waiting a long time to get this sort of thing done. I hereby grant you divorced. Please go to the clerk’s office for your official decree.”

  The woman said her thanks and left hurriedly.

  I was still smiling when my husband walked through the heavy, wooden doors and into the courtroom. My smile immediately turned to a scowl. Had I known he didn’t have to be here for this process, I would have insisted I come alone.

  Matthew’s face broke out into a wide grin when he saw me. He swooped his dark hair out of his eyes—he looked ridiculous with his emo haircut—and headed in my direction. He was wearing all black and it didn’t escape my attention that he was wearing clothes that I had purchased for him. “Do you mind if I sit here?” he asked carefully.

  I wanted to tell him to get the hell away from me. Instead, I was polite and merely nodded.

  He plopped down in the chair and it squeaked. “It’s a lot warmer over here, isn’t it?” he asked. “You must’ve done something about that.”

  I ignored his comment. I’d take care of his memory later.

  “So, how long have you been here?” he asked.

  “I actually got here on time.”

  “Of course you did. Five minutes early is on time for you. I always did admire that about you, Carmen.”

  “Punctuality? That’s something you admired?” I snapped. I stopped myself. I wasn’t going to get into an argument with this idiotic man. “That’s enough from you until the judge calls us,” I said and his lips sealed shut.

  We sat in silence as more couples were declared divorced. Finally, the judge called for us. “Matthew and Carmen Ferrara.”

  Matthew’s mouth unsealed and he held the gate open for me as we passed through it and faced the judge. I turned and beckoned for the warm air to follow me and it sidled next to me, my own personal furnace in the drafty room. The movement was so subtle that no one noticed, except for my husband.

  There was a rustling of papers as the judge fumbled through our paperwork. We had opted to not use lawyers because he couldn’t afford one and I wasn’t offering to pay for it. That was something Matthew was learning the hard way: life without a bank roll wasn’t as easy as he had thought it would be.

  “I see you, too, are suffering from irreconcilable differences,” the judge said, looking at us over his reading glasses.

  A husband running around with several other women is more like it, but that wasn’t an option on the questionnaire when I had originally filled out the paperwork.

  “Yes,” Matthew and I said in unison.

  The judge waved his hands around, feeling helpless. “Is everything in these documents true? You have nothing to add?”

  “That’s correct,” I answered.

  “I see that you wish to take back your maiden name of Devereaux.”

  “I do,” I said.

  Matthew’s mouth dropped open in shock and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from grinning at his reaction.

  The judge sighed heavily. “I hereby declare you two divorced. You may go down to the clerk’s office to pick up your divorce decree.”

  And just like that, I was a free woman.

  Matthew followed me to the clerk’s office, chatting idly about his day and his family as if nothing had just happened.

 
There were several clerks milling around the dingy beige-and-tan office, busily handing out paperwork. One stopped, took our names, and darted off to retrieve our documents. She disappeared behind a row of gray filing cabinets, but the sound of her shoes tapping against the concrete floor could still be heard.

  “My brother’s thinking about going back to school,” Matthew was saying.

  I was tapping a short pink fingernail against the desk, my patience having run dry. “Will you shut up? What do you think just happened here?” I asked.

  Matthew stopped, his expression wounded. “I was just trying to make conversation.”

  “You’re my ex-husband and I have no ties to you anymore. I don’t care about you or your life.”

  He gulped. “I thought we’d still be friends, you know?”

  I laughed coldly.

  “Why can’t we be?”

  I snapped my fingers and everyone in the room froze except for the two of us. “You cheated on me several times. I worked my ass off while you tried to write a book and what did you do while I was gone all day? You screwed other women. I paid for everything and let me tell you something, you selfish prick. That new lady of yours that you didn’t think I knew about, how do you think she’s going to take it when she realizes that you’re nothing but a broke piece of shit with no ambition and drive? You’re lucky I didn’t give you a permanently flaccid dick!” I paused, mulling over the idea. I dismissed it immediately. The Council didn’t really appreciate it when we interfered like that with a mortal. I wouldn’t get in trouble save for a mere slap on the wrist, but it wasn’t worth having the point added to my record. I already had one over the hippopotamus incident. You hang a cheating husband over a river filled with hippos and suddenly you’re “endangering” someone.

  Matthew was looking down at his black shoes, his cheeks flaming. “I was hoping we could be friends because we’ve known each other for so long that it’d be weird not having you in my life.”

  “When we part ways today, you will never see or hear from me again,” I promised. “You just want to ask for money anyway, don’t you?”

  Matthew was silent.

  “Of course you did.” I snapped my fingers and everyone went back into motion as if nothing had happened. I shook my head. “I don’t even know why I fell in love with you in the first place.”

  A red plume of smoke appeared suddenly and a skinny woman wearing a red leotard covered with hearts stood next to us, her smile too white and eager. “Need a reminder why you’re in love, you say?” she asked.

  I looked up toward the ceiling. “You thought a Cupid would be a good idea now?” The Cupid held up her harp. “Don’t you fucking dare start playing that thing,” I warned. “We’re already divorced.”

  “Really?” The cupid frowned and pulled a scroll out of her harpsichord. “I see.” She shook her fist toward the ceiling. “We’ve got a communication problem back at headquarters.” She shrugged. “Whatever. Well, good luck!” She vanished, this time without the theatrical smoke.

  The clerk finally returned and handed us each an envelope. She patted my hand tenderly. “You take that with you, honey, when you go to change your name.” She shot Matthew a frown. “Shouldn’t take too long.”

  I nodded and thanked her. I left the clerk’s office, Matthew almost on my heels. He shoved his hands into his pockets for warmth as we went outside into the frigid air. “If you ever need help or just anything, please call me. I mean it.”

  I paused and looked into his brown eyes. They were sad and I knew he was close to crying. I had been that upset, but that was seven months ago when we first separated after my discovery of his infidelity. Less than a month after our separation, I presented to him the divorce papers and made him go through the photos to choose which ones he wanted. I kept a few photos for myself, though I was just biding my time until I could get a proper bonfire going and burn them all. I couldn’t erase the memory, but I could erase some of the evidence of our marriage.

  “Speaking of erasing,” I murmured. Matthew took a step back and I grabbed his wrist.

  “Please don’t. I don’t want to forget.”

  “If I don’t do it, they will and you don’t want the Erasers doing it. They’re a nasty bunch.” The Erasers were actually a group of very nice men and women who quickly and quietly Erased magic from the memories of mortals, but I didn’t want them to clean up my mess. That would be unnerving. Matthew hung his head again and his wrist went limp. I pushed back his sleeve and rubbed my fingers against his skin. Most mortals couldn’t recognize magic when they saw it, but witches and wizards could create an invisible tattoo to counter this. It was a pain in the butt to get the permit for one, but you just had to write a quick letter to the Council requesting permission for a removal. They generally responded with an approval signature in less than a minute.

  Matthew’s skin turned red as I rubbed it and he flinched. It did burn slightly, but I was removing a tattoo, not taking him for a walk in the park. Satisfied that it was gone, I released his wrist. His eyes had glazed over and he blinked several times to clear his vision. “Is magic real?” I asked tentatively.

  “What?” he asked, confused. “You’ve got the wildest imagination.” He smiled and shook his head.

  He followed me to my Volvo and watched me toss my belongings into my passenger seat. He held out his arms expectedly.

  “What in the hell are you doing?” I asked.

  “I thought it would be nice to hug one last time before you disappear from my life for forever,” he answered simply.

  I snickered. He was an ass who had brought this upon himself. I ignored his outstretched arms. “Goodbye, Matthew,” I said.

  His arms dropped pitifully to his sides. “Goodbye,” he said softly.

  I pulled the door shut to my sedan and started the engine. I watched my ex-husband walk away and I began to giggle uncontrollably.

  “Everything go all right?” asked a voice that surrounded me.

  “Sure, it was fine as far as getting divorced goes,” I answered. I turned up the radio so that I could hear the voice that belonged to my boss, Simon Walters, more easily.

  “That’s great. Listen, you take all of the time you need.”

  “I’ll be back on Monday.”

  “Monday?” Simon was sitting in my back seat. He was a short, stocky man who closely resembled a bull frog. He pushed his glasses up on his nose. “That’s awfully soon. It’s only Friday.”

  I turned around in my seat to face him. “I know that. I’m going to change my name today.”

  “Why don’t you just use magic for that?”

  “It’s the red tape. Easier to just do it the mortal way.”

  Simon nodded and ran his hand over his short, spikey hair that he thought would hide his onset of hair loss. “I get it. You’re not going to be alone tonight, are you? You could come over and have dinner. Cindy makes a mean chicken casserole.”

  I debated. My boss’s wife was an amazing cook, even without magic. “No,” I finally said. “I’m going to go out and drink away my wiles.”

  “You’re leaving this boat of a car behind, right? Don’t know why you bother driving around most of the time.”

  “Hey, now!” I protested. I put my hands on either side of my steering wheel as if the car had ears and could hear us. “I like my Volvo. Some of us still like to drive around to blend in a little more easily. Some mortals can recognize magic, you know.”

  “Keeps the Erasers in a job,” Simon argued.

  “And you’re just helping out the economy, right?” I laughed.

  He grinned and pointed to himself. “That’s me! Listen, Cindy and I figured you’d do something stupid, so here’s a cake.” He touched the seat next to him and a cake appeared, hovering as if in a bubble. “You start a marriage with a cake. Might as well end it with one, too.”

  Neon lights began to flash above it. “HAPPY DIVORCE, CARMEN!” it read.

  “Thanks,” I said. “That looks de
licious!”

  “Be careful. Teleport if you can’t drive!” In an instant, Simon was gone.

  I checked to make sure the cake was still in its bubble and pulled out onto the road, heading toward the social security office.

  Hours later, I was standing in the doorway of my townhouse. I hung up my keys on the hook by the door and frowned when I saw the second hook. I waved my hand over it and it was gone, as if it had never been there.

  Exhausted, I fell onto my navy blue couch and sighed. It had been a long day, but I was officially Carmen Devereaux again. The thought made me grin and I sat up, beckoning my mirror to me. It hopped off the wall and floated over to me and I stared at my reflection: long pale blonde hair, pale blue eyes, and pale skin. I had tried to alter my appearance when I was a teenager so I wouldn’t look so odd, but my mother showed me what women pay in a salon for my hair color and I decided maybe how I looked wasn’t so bad after all.

  Seeing my long hair, I raised my hands upward and gently touched the top of my shoulders. The length shortened to what I had once heard someone call a lob and I nodded, happy with the new hairstyle. “Thank you, very much,” I said and the mirror returned to its space on the wall by the front door.

  I was pouring myself a glass of wine when my doorbell rang.

  “Surprise!”

  I smiled. Three women stood on my front porch and ushered past me after I opened the door.

  “Just in time! She’s already drinking alone!” Tess Lyon said. She put her hand on her forehead dramatically.

  “Yes, thank goodness we caught her in time,” Siobhan Waters said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “It’s like none of us have ever done that, even without having a good reason.” She winked at me.

  Enid Wilson was quiet, observing the rest of us. She poured a glass of wine for herself and the others before speaking. “How about a toast?” We raised our glasses. “To Carmen not having the balls to shrivel his dick, which means she didn’t get in trouble with the Council and can hang out with her friends tonight!”