“Oh heavenly Goddess, we’ll have to work out for days for this sinful calorie intake,” Olivia said, in between mouthfuls.
“But it’s so worth it.” Zoe smiled, then frowned when she remembered something she’d read. She still didn’t know what to believe, but she couldn’t help but be curious. “The book mentioned a perfect match. Do you know anything about it?”
“Most likely a myth.” Olivia shrugged. “The talents of two witches combine when the two match, making both more powerful. The closer the match, the more power is shared. A perfect match would result in complete harmony of power. I’ve never seen it happen but Jack swears he has.”
The hairs on the back of Zoe’s neck and arms stood on end as if electricity had suddenly shot through her body.
“Who is the clan warring with?” Zoe asked, changing the subject. “Doesn’t say anything about that in the book.”
“They don’t war with anyone anymore. They’ve signed treaties with most of the other clans.”
“Then why call them warring?”
“The term is centuries old.” Olivia shrugged and licked her spoon. “Let’s just say they have a tendency to fight for what they want.”
“And the men, tonight. They’re part of this…warring clan?”
“They’re Iesco. The most powerful clan on the east coast.” Olivia’s face went tight. “Jack’s their leader.”
Zoe shivered and heat spread through her limbs at the mention of the man’s name.
“So, what powers do they use? To fight with, I mean.”
“Warring witches capture the electrons around them. They can focus them on a target. Most can only generate a mild electric current.”
“Can you?”
“Definitely not.” Olivia shook her head. “Healers see auras and sense people’s illnesses. We use that knowledge to heal. I’ve already shown you just about everything I can do.”
“So what about my tornado thingy?”
Olivia paused mid-bite and stared open-mouthed at her. “You conjured a vortex? I’ve never seen anything stronger than what Jack’s family doles out. I thought the rest pure myth.”
This time when Zoe shivered, it was fear that sent a chill down her spine. She still didn’t want to believe that any of this was real, but how could she doubt what she’d seen with her own eyes?
Chapter 4
Two months prior
Ivar smiled to himself and hummed a Russian folk tune. Perhaps in a day or so, he would call his clan leader in Moscow and let him know of his progress. Perhaps not. Soon he would not have to beg and bow to that pompous ass.
He had located his target again. The woman had left New York and found a nest of American relatives in southern New Jersey. The task of taking the witch home was going to be a bit trickier. The woman remained under the curse his healer had placed on her, still unable to use her powers, but she was smarter than he’d given her credit for.
“Tupa Shmara,” he cursed.Woman witches.
The world would be better if they could keep them strapped to a gurney with their legs open wide, ready to take in sperm, and spit out babies. As he pictured that pleasant thought, he opened his computer and began to check the progress of the rest of his plan.
Most of his young drug mules were in Europe being prepped for a wonderful trip to the US, courtesy of a small Baptist church in Pennsylvania.Do-gooders! Ha!Ivar chuckled. How horrified would those little old women and milk-toast men be to know he’d stuffed those Afghani girls full of grade ‘A’ heroin?
He made a mental note to tell the girls again what would happen to their families if they tried to speak a word to anyone. After their very holy retreat, he would decide which ones to sell as prostitutes, and which to use again. It was all a matter of profitability and that’s what kept his clan alive.
Some of the poppy growers in Afghanistan were quite desperate when he’d called in their debts. Was it his fault the farmers had let the Americans burn their fields? They were lucky that his clan had allowed them to pay their debt with daughters instead of death.
“Uncle Ivar?” A girl stood by the door holding a tray of food. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, making her look younger than her thirteen years.
He needed to find a buyer for that one before his cousin found out. He’d no idea how she happened into the group of mules, nor did he care. He was not one to check the teeth of a horse that fate had bestowed upon him.
“Erina, come in.” Ivar stopped what he was doing and spoke to the girl in her native tongue, ushering her forward. He took the food, then patted her on the head. She gave him a dimpled smile before scurrying off in the direction she came from.
