Page 2 of Kiss the Filthiest King

Except she’s been missing for five days by now so it doesn’t feel like nothing.

I call Pat Tuesday.

“Rain, darling! It’s been too long,” she answers cheerfully, in a tone that immediately appeases me.

Rina and her parents have weekly lunches on Sunday; if their daughter hadn’t turned up, she wouldn’t be this casual.

“Hi, Pat!” I force some happiness into my voice. “How are you doing?”

“Good, good!” she replies. “How about you? You should come for dinner soon.”

I’m quick to agree. Then I clear my throat. “I had issues reaching Rin; do you know if her phone’s working well?”

“Hm…” Pat muses. “Oh. Rin…yes. Yes. I think…”

She sounds far away. Dazed.

“Isn’t she away for work?”

My stomach drops. Something isn’t right.

Pat is never this hesitant about anything; and she should know whether her daughter is away or not. Why is she voicing it like a question?

“Is the philharmonic traveling?” she asks again.

I bite my lip, hard. Reluctant to alert her, I agree she could indeed be away from work. Then, I make my way to her part-time job. No luck, but her conductor is just like her mother; uncertain and confused, like he thinks that she should be somewhere else, but isn’t quite sure where.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

That means one thing: magic.

I take a few personal days at work, and head straight to the office of the best paranormal PI in town, blowing a whole month of rent on a retainer. If she’d just disappeared without leaving a trace, it would be one thing, but the fact that no one really seems worried, believing that she’s supposed to be somewhere else, means that there’s a spell in play.

It’s not unheard of for young, pretty women to disappear, captured by dark sorcerers, or even rogue shifters, who pay off a witch to cast spells on their loved ones. Such spells easily confuse regs, but as a witch, I’m mostly immune to low-level general magic. Someone has to specifically target me in order to fuck with my perception, and they’d have to be pretty powerful to do so without my sensing there’s something wrong.

On Friday, I groan in frustration, and do the one thing I never, ever do. I grab my phone, scrolling through my contacts until my finger hovers over the details of someone I’ve blocked years ago.

Rachel Thorn.

The very name has me clenching my teeth. The prime, judgmental, hypocrite little bitch probably has my ass blocked, too. But I call her all the same.

* * *

The thing about Rachel is, she’s weird, for a completely regular human. Maybe it’s because she grew up with Rina, and has been fighting my friend’s magnetic charisma all her life, but she has an awareness of magic that’s astounding to me. Sometimes, even I react to Rina’s inerrant power of persuasion—when she lowers her singsong voice and her eyes darken, turning as deep as the sea, and we just want to please her.

Rachel never, ever falls for that shit. In fact, she’s even pulled me out of the lull before, if only by throwing veiled insults about how easily influenced I am.

That’s a word she uses often to refer to me. Easy.

Look, it’s not my fault her boyfriend can’t keep his hands to himself. They were always on and off in high school; when he cornered me at the homecoming dance, I figured they were on an off period. Teen witches are horny. That’s an actual fact. Not as excitable as shifters—we’re not actual animals—but we’re attuned to nature, and whatever humans have decided, from a purely animalistic viewpoint, fucking is just normal. It’s what beasts and men alike are meant to do.

Anyway, he kissed me. I let him. They weren’t on an off period. No matter how many times I explained myself and apologized, Rachel and her high horse never got over it.

Still, I call her, because I know a general confusion spell thrown over all of Rina’s acquaintances would likely not affect her. Maybe she knows something. She’s likely also tried to find Rina.

I’m surprised the line connects. I was expecting a robotic voice telling me I can’t reach it.

She answers on the third ring.

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