Witches of Barcelona: A Dark, Funny & Sexy Urban Paranormal Romance Series (Blood Web Chronicles by Caedis Knight (hardest books to read .txt) 📗

Nox once. Saw dead people for a week. Some dead people you really don’t need to see again.” Rafi’s face grows somber, then his lips twitch into a smirk. “You could say he gave me a Bruce Willy.”

I laugh so loudly the family beside us gives me a dirty look.

“On the flip side,” Luisa intervenes. “I got with a French Dreamchaser once, and I had the most amazing Parisian sex dreams for a month.”

“What’s a Nox?” I ask.

“Mages who communicate with the dead.” Rafi looks at me incredulously. “You’ve seriously never heard of them? Well, they are rarer than other factions.”

“Haven’t fucked a lot of Witches, have you?” Luisa asks me. Her gaze is darker now, her eyes and leather jacket flickering in the candlelight.

“Or Warlocks,” Rafi corrects her.

“No, I haven’t. Mage relationships aren’t really my scene.”

“Your loss,” Louisa says. She takes a sip of her Coke then pouts at it. “It’s flat.”

I’m about to catch the waiter’s attention but Rafi has already reached over for Luisa’s drink. He holds his palms over it and straight away bubbles start to rise, gathering at the surface until he’s turned the Coke into a mini jacuzzi.

“Right,” I say, putting my hand down and feeling stupid. “Elemental. I forgot.”

“Carbonating drinks is my calling.” Rafi smiles, pushing Luisa’s drink towards her. “Luisa thinks of me as her personal Sodastream.”

She sticks her tongue out at him. “It’s give and take, and you know it.”

He smiles at her adoringly and I look away. It’s weird to witness these moments of intimacy between them. I don't remember the last time I shared that kind of friendship with anyone. Distant images of Mikayla and me on the beach float up to the surface of my mind. I drown them.

Our food arrives, causing me to lean back as a giant platter is laid before us.

“But we didn’t order...”

Luisa grins. “You get whatever is fresh on the day here, that’s why it’s so hard to secure a table. Even this time in the evening.”

I’m conscious of the fact this is the third time today that the decision of what I eat has been made for me. It reminds me of dinnertime as a child, but I ignore it because I know they mean well.

Besides, I guess that’s the beauty of Barcelona. A tantalizing assault on your senses — the music, the aromas, the food. You don’t choose in Barcelona; Barcelona chooses for you.

The platter before us is nothing but seafood. It looks like a giant crown with langoustine and golden calamari rings at the top, boquerones, octopus’ legs, mussels, and clams tumbling down the bottom, and beneath it all an assortment of grilled fish, including sardines and sea bream.

“No way will we eat all of this!”

“This is just the first course,” Rafi says with a grin. “There’s way more to come. Seriously, forget the MA, the only reason I’m in Barcelona is for the food.” He lists the dishes on his fingers. “Canelons, Arròs Negre, Botifarra, Escalivada…”

Luisa elbows him and nods at the food, dipping her calamari in the aioli. With a wicked grin, Rafi twists the head off a giant prawn and sucks it.

I take a deep breath, and for a moment, I forget I’m surrounded by powerful Mages. The Spanish chatter and the smell of seafood take me back to my childhood in Marbella and I’m happy. For a split second, my father hasn’t died yet, I haven’t discovered how useless my magical powers are, and my sister is my best friend.

I blink and reality comes crashing down.

The waiter places a bottle of red wine and three small glass cups on the table. Luisa takes no time pulling out the cork and pouring it out. I go to ask what wine it is, but Luisa cuts me off.

“Calla i menja.”

Eat and be quiet was a phrase I heard all the time as a kid in Spain.

“Venga, get your hands dirty!” Rafi shouts out.

Using my fingers, I take a bite of the sardines, then involuntarily groan at the flavor.

“I know, right?” he says, dangling an octopus tentacle into his mouth.

The rest of the meal is peppered with small talk. I tell them lies about my fake accountancy job in New York, they tell me what life is like in the MA, mainly studying and the odd bit of spell work. I don’t get one lead whatsoever about the sigils or their missing leader, but it’s nice.

And they were right about one thing, we manage to finish all the food and everything else that follows. The creamy Catalan pudding arrives last. Overcome with nostalgic bliss, I crack the golden sugar crust with a spoon. I grin at the sounds it makes, like jumping in icy puddles.

The waiter brings us the bill, but he only has eyes for the Warlock. I’m sure if Rafi let him, he’d sit on his lap while we pay.

Rafi reaches for his wallet, but Luisa stops him with a stern look. She whips out her own card and places it on the bill.

“No,” he says, pushing her hand away. “I told you, business is doing well.”

It’s the first time I’ve seen Rafi look even mildly angry. I place another card on top and shove theirs aside.

“Just bill it to Solina’s account,” I say.

Luisa lets out a whistle. “Jesus, you really hate her.”

“How could I? She’s my mother,” I say with a shrug, as if that’s an answer. Though in Witch speak it is — mothers are holy. They can do no wrong in our culture, which makes it all so much worse.

I sign the bill and Rafi jumps up. “Let’s go. Hopefully you’re a better swimmer than you are liar.”

Chapter Seven

Swimmer?

If he thinks I’m getting in the sea, he can think again. The last time a cute guy convinced me to go swimming at night it resulted in me blowing up an entire Merhive.

We’re heading away from the port and restaurants towards the large, dark expanse of beach. To our left, hundreds of yachts and sailing