the books, hadn’t thought to feel the energy of the luck charms to see if she could identify it, hadn’t thought of anything worthwhile.
Typical. Did she want to end up giving thirty-dollar blow jobs off the street corner? No. So she needed to get her shit together.
She set the luck charm down. Time for the—for the other one. While Jillian watched. Fuck.
Her hand shook as she picked the sex magic bag up again. Ugh. Yes, she was ready for it this time, braced for it. But she was also gloveless this time. She was opening herself up to it, flexing those energy muscles the Church had been teaching her about, training her to use.
The spell washed over her again, stronger now without the barrier, faster. It roared through her blood thick and dark, gloating as it invaded her body, found her weak spots—so many of them—and prodded them; it found her empty spots—even more of those—and filled them.
Someone else’s sexual energy forced on her, someone else’s arousal slithering over her skin like hands on her body, in her body, pinning her down, covering her mouth so she wouldn’t cry. Laughing at her fear. Laughing as she struggled and tried to make it stop—and she couldn’t, she couldn’t struggle or stop it, because Jillian was watching and Chess was supposed to be getting information from this, learning something. She needed to do it. Needed to show Jillian she could.
Sweat broke out on her forehead, under her arms, and where she wasn’t specifically sweaty she was still damp. Uncomfortable. And uncomfortably aware that Jillian was watching her, that no matter how she might struggle to hide it Jillian knew what was happening to her, what she was feeling.
Ignore it. Ignore Jillian, ignore all of it. Whose magic was this, who—a man, was it a man? It felt male, it felt rough and demanding. Angry, almost. It felt, deep down, frustrated.
Which was a weird thing for sex magic to feel like, wasn’t it, since the point was to end frustration, to satisfy?
Her palm burned where it touched the velvet bag; the rest of her body burned where it didn’t, wanting to be touched itself. It had been a while, so much studying … so much following the rules.
Shit, she did not want to be thinking of that, of any of it. Later she could do something about it, if she still wanted to. Now … She gritted her teeth against the dark whispers in her blood, the intrusive lure of what the bag promised, and focused harder. A man. It felt like a man. A man’s energy, a man’s magic. Strong, too. Not strong like one of the Elders, but stronger than the luck charm, certainly.
Her hand shook. She was shaking everywhere, she realized, and she opened her eyes and saw Jillian still watching her, watching her with something in her eyes that Chess didn’t like. The bag fell to the floor.
Instantly cool air swept over her. Well, no, the air wasn’t cooler, her body was cooler. The spell’s created lust—created heat—vanished, leaving her standing there trembling with her hair stuck to the back of her neck and her skin tingling. She swallowed hard against the bile threatening to rise; it felt like her heart had been hooked up to a fucking jumper cable. Her legs were too weak, threatening to give out beneath her. She needed to sit down. No, what she needed was to be alone. She needed cold water on her face, she needed to get out of that room because her breath wasn’t slowing the way it should and red spots exploded in her eyes and she was freaking out, she was losing it, she needed to—
“Having fun, ladies?”
Trent stood in the doorway, grinning like a gambler holding a full house while his gaze raked her up and down. Funny to be almost grateful to see him there, but she was; at least she could focus on how much she hated him even though they’d just met, and hold off the fucking full-scale panic attack threatening to take control of her body any second.
Hatred was better than panic. Hatred was strength, hatred was something she could use. She grabbed it like a drowning woman grabbing a life jacket, and let it burn in her eyes while she glared at him. Yeah, he could maybe report back to an Elder that she hadn’t been very nice to him, and later she’d probably think of that and worry, but at the moment she didn’t give a shit. Let him do it. Better he reported that than tell them she’d gone hysterical.
“Are you all done down there?” Jillian stood up. “I’m sure Gloria wants to go home.”
Trent gave Chess one last knowing look—how she itched to slap that right off his face—and nodded. “We tore up the carpet but the blood’s soaked through. We can’t clean that up, either. But that’s all there is for her to see.”
“Guess that’s the best we can do.” Jillian pulled a camera from her bag and handed it to Chess. “I’m going to go ask Gloria a couple more questions, see if she knows anything about her parents being involved in magic they shouldn’t be. You get some pictures of all this stuff, okay? The bags intact, and then take the ingredients out of each, photograph them, and put them back. Got it?”
Chess nodded.
“Good. Back in a few.”
Trent gave Chess one last smirk—oh, he’d definitely seen what had been happening to her, knew what kind of spell she’d been holding, the bastard—and swept out of the doorway, following Jillian, leaving her finally alone.
The second Trent’s back disappeared from view Chess got up, stumbling over her own feet in her rush to get to the bathroom. Whether it was okay to use the toilet or anything in there she didn’t know, but it didn’t matter; she didn’t need it.
What she needed was a door she could close and lock behind her. What she needed was a corner to press herself into, a place to make herself small, where she could see into every space and under every counter, and know no one would come in. Shit, she hadn’t had to deal with anything like that since she’d entered the Church, she hadn’t expected it to be so bad.…
She huddled next to the cold porcelain bathtub with her arms wrapped around her knees, curling herself into the tightest ball she could. It was okay, she was okay. It was just magic. It was unpleasant but no one had actually touched her. It hadn’t hurt. She was safe; she was with the Squad and the Squad was Church and they were safe. She was okay. She was, she was okay, and she kept repeating it in her head, reminding herself with every shuddering breath she managed to take until finally the pain in her chest started to ease.
And a new one to take over. Fuck, what was wrong with her? She was okay, it was just some dumb magic, why the hell couldn’t she just deal with it? How was she going to get anywhere if she couldn’t handle a little sex magic?
Her bag sat right next to her, pressed up against her side. Her left hand rested on it, right near the zipper. She could … It wasn’t a good thing to do, no. It wasn’t the right thing to do. She was working, she was supposed to be working, and she’d already messed up by not testing the energy from those bags and comparing them. The Church had given her an opportunity and she was already wasting it.
But … her head hurt and her chest hurt and her mind raced, all those memories she didn’t want swirling around in a kaleidoscope of shit. If she could just make them go away—she needed to make them go away, and she needed to do it fast because Jillian could be back any second and no way was Chess going to let her see that anything was wrong. Not only could it mess things up as far as her work—her future—was concerned,
