To Kiss A Kringle (Southern Sanctuary Book 13)

by Jane Cousins

  Now, with the brighter light, Cullen was able to assess the extent of the damage the trek through the rear gardens had on the two witches. Brambles had torn their clothes and scratched their faces. From head to toe they were splattered with mud. Their damp hair full of twigs and dirt. Whilst various coloured feathers clung to them and several beak shaped bruises appeared on the backs of their hands. Nice to know the waterfowl were still loyal.

  “Dotty, Verona, is that you?” Mara’s voice drifted up from the shaft located some ten feet behind Cullen. It would have been nice if the two witches moved closer to investigate, maybe trip a trap or two of their own, but they remained in place at the foot of the grand staircase.

  “Mara? Where’s Gwynne?”

  Verona slid a quick glance at her companion, there was a hint of exasperation in that look. “I’m guessing if Mara is in hole number one, then logic dictates that Gwynne fell into hole number two.”

  “Gwynne? Gwynne?” Dotty Hulme’s voice echoed loudly around the foyer. Concern and dread lacing her tone. Her grip on Patricia’s neck tightening fractionally. It was all Patricia could do to bite back a groan. She had a feeling she would be black and blue by the time this encounter was over.

  Verona’s demeanour remained one of unconcern, her stance seemingly relaxed. If anything, she looked nothing but amused at the goings on, the edges of her lips tilting upwards ever so slightly.

  “Get them out of there.” The Headmistress demanded.

  Cullen considered defying the request, but perhaps adding more players to this little charade might prove useful. Turning, he slowly moved to the credenza, making it look perfectly natural that he only stepped on the white tiles. There, he tapped out a sequence on a squat marble bust of a bearded, balding man. Right eye, left ear, crown of the head. Two square doors appeared in the ceiling above the open traps and ropes uncoiled.

  Climbing up the ropes was an exhausting process. By the time Mara and Gwynne pulled themselves out they would be cold, quivering messes. So yeah, he could afford to release the two witches from their traps. A goodwill gesture if you will. And while they waited for the witches to climb, it would be the perfect opportunity to get some answers.

  “While we wait. I have some questions.”

  “This is not a scripted play. You don’t get to demand anything, let alone answers. Dotty, fry the mundane woman, I’ll take care of the Archer.” Verona lifted a petite hand.

  “You’ve started a war you can’t possibly hope to win.” Patricia spoke up. Despite the threat of immediate death she wasn’t afraid. She was Head Librarian of the Southern Sanctuary and an ex-Enforcer. Being held in an iron grip with a fireball held so close to her face that her eyeballs were in danger of drying out, it wasn’t the worst situation she’d ever been in. She’d faced off against scarier dictionaries. She wanted answers. Cullen deserved them, and so did the parents of all those missing children.

  “You think I’m afraid of a few long in the tooth Archers?” Verona scoffed in derision.

  Patricia smiled suddenly. “Cullen is pretty much an army of one.”

  “One Archer against four witches, I’m trembling with fear.”

  “All I see are two witches currently.”

  Verona hissed out a put upon sigh. “Mara? Are you ever going to climb out of that hole?”

  “I’m… coming.” Mara’s voice drifted up, her words thin, strained with exhaustion. “This…” A cry of dismay sounded, followed by a loud splash.

  “The ropes can be a little slippery.” Cullen conceded.

  “Gwynne? Let’s hope you are making better progress.” Only silence sounded. “Gwynne?” More silence. “Wait!” Verona’s tone was sharp and Headmistress Hulme, who had taken two steps forward, dragging Patricia with her, froze in place.

  “Something’s happened to Gwynne. I know it.”

  “Yes, I’m standing right here. But you running off half cocked will not help her and might trigger another of those cleverly concealed Archer traps those two idiots set off.” Verona stared hard at Cullen. “Check on Gwynne.”

  “Would you really believe anything I had to say? How about that chat I requested? Mara can check on Gwynne’s status once she’s out of the shaft. Talking will give us something to do whilst we wait.”

  “Or we can just go back to my earlier plan of killing the two of you.”

  Cullen shrugged. “You still have to get out of here yet. Wouldn’t you rather wait and see if you need my insider knowledge before making any drastic decisions?”

  Verona’s lips curved upwards. Her version of a smile was a little creepy. “Or we could just torture and kill your girlfriend, and you could do what I say.”

  “Then I wouldn’t have anything to lose. You’d have a deranged Archer on your hands with a death wish. And I wouldn’t be going into the great beyond alone.” Cullen’s eyes glittered with promises of all things dire. “Better we wait for the cannon fodder and you and I chat.”

  “Fine.” Verona couldn’t hide that glitter of amused superiority that lurked in the depths of her dark blue eyes.

  Cullen’s magic was designed to multi-task, and at this precise moment he couldn’t be more grateful for that fact. As he monitored closely all likely imminent threats to Trix’s well-being. Keeping a close eye on Dotty Hulme, who held his lady love’s life quite literally in her beefy hand. Not that Patricia seemed overly worried by that fact. Her exceedingly dangerous plan appeared to be working. They knew nothing of Verona Butler, the coven leader, and seemingly their most dangerous opponent. This exchange was giving Cullen all the time in the world to examine and catalogue her motives, and her potential weaknesses.

  Her biggest blind-spot so far appeared to be her misplaced sense of superiority. That and Verona appeared to believe that Patricia was a mundane. Her bad, if she hadn’t bothered to do her homework and question Mara and Gwynne more thoroughly. And their literal ace up the sleeve once he got all the answers they needed and it was time to turn the tables on the coven of witches.

  “Is it true? You didn’t know what Mara was when you laid eyes on her?” Headmistress Hulme all but spat out the question.

  “Was I supposed to?”

  “You… you…” Dotty Hulme appeared unable to form coherent words and settled for shaking Patricia, rattling her teeth with a vigorous display of frustration.

  “Easy there.” Cullen warned. He wouldn’t issue that warning a second time, so he made sure his tone was deadly and unmistakeable.

  Verona barked out a laugh, it sounded rusty, as if it was not something she did often. “Oh, this is priceless. All this bother, lying low and waiting for the other shoe to drop for two years and for what?… You didn’t even know you were facing off against your greatest enemy.”

  “Greatest enemy?” Now it was Cullen who was smiling. “Four witches? I don’t think so.”

  “We’re not some hedgerow backwards simpletons.” Headmistress Hulme hissed. “We are direct descendants of Morgana. You’re not the only ones who can lay claim to history that extends back to Camelot. For as long as there have been Archers, there have been Morgana witches, operating in even deeper shadows, undermining you at every turn. You’ve spent centuries trying to wipe us from this earth and failed miserably.”

  Cullen deliberately broadened his smile and began to laugh, and then laugh some more. “Sorry. Excuse me.” He waved a hand, issued several more chuckles and then took two deep breaths. “My apologies. Morgana witches, you say?” He frowned and then slowly shook his head. “Hmmm, doesn’t ring any bells I’m afraid. Are you sure you have the right Archers?”

  “Oh yes, the famed Archers of Camelot. Tasked with stabilising the sovereign soil through war, famine and disease.” Verona’s tone remained dispassionate but twin bursts of colour had settled in her cheeks, highlighting how narrow her face was. “It’s taken us centuries to overcome the curse of Merlin. He tainted our bloodline and every witch who would ever live. Turning a once powerful group of women into earth loving hi
ppy dippy do-gooders. But not the descendants of Morgana.”

  “You’ve lost me.” Cullen liked a good story but it seemed unbelievable to him that a group of witches had been tracking, and secretly trying to undermine his family for centuries without their knowledge.

  “She’s talking about the three-fold karma kick back.” Patricia had been busy sorting through all the legends and myths she’d ever read concerning Morgana, Merlin’s twin sister, turned evil in her failed quest to win Arthur’s heart. “You found a way to negate it or work around it, didn’t you?” Patricia gasped softly as a thought occurred. “The children. Is that what you needed all those children for? What did you do to them? Where are they?”

  “Let’s just say they were very, very useful.”

  “You killed them, didn’t you? All those missing children.” Oh, Goddess, those poor kids, and their parents? Never knowing what had happened. It was too awful.

  Verona’s continued smirk said everything Patricia needed to know. The bitch was proud of what she’d managed to achieve and couldn’t give a damn who she’d had to hurt, kill, to get the power she needed.

  “They were noble sacrifices. Verona succeeded where centuries of our ancestors failed.” The words passing Headmistress Hulme’s lips sounded a little too practised, a little too rote.

  “Did she? Did she really?”

  Verona’s small mouth puckered, her dark blue eyes fixed upon Cullen. “The proof stands before you.”

  Cullen shrugged nonchalantly. “It sounds like you might be re-writing history to suit yourself. I think the one who really successfully cracked the spell was your new friend. It was Elena, wasn’t it? The time line certainly fits.”

  “Elena is no witch.” Verona’s chin lifted.

  Patricia could see where Cullen was going with his theory. “Perhaps, but she’s no stranger to magic, strong magic. I can’t help but think Cullen is right, look at the time line of events. Before Elena you and your coven had set up a very risky existence, just so you could fund ventures that would allow you to to find and transport children that no one would kick up a fuss about if they went missing. Given the large numbers kidnapped I can only assume you made a lot of mistakes to begin with. Either that, or whatever spell or ceremony you cobbled together eked out only a little protective power from each child. Or maybe some of the children were outright failures, while some were mysteriously effective.”

  “There were no failures.” Verona’s pride had been pricked, blotchy colour was now staining her throat as well as her cheeks.

  Cullen shook his head. “The time line fails to support your claim, Madam Coven Leader.” He allowed clear derision to drip from his tone. “Elena Carlyle entered your lives four years ago and suddenly your entire operation shifts. Gone is the adoption agency, the employment agency, the transport and banking operations. Suddenly the four of you are turning your lives upside down and running a school. Marrying men. Adopting children. Raising step-children. All so you can have easy access to a handful of specially selected children. And just who selected those children for you exactly? I’m guessing it was Elena.”

  Verona’s chin lifted even higher, her dark blue eyes glittering with anger. She wasn’t enjoying listening to Cullen’s theory, the fingers of her right hand twitching as if she was thinking of doing something drastic. Like casting a spell his way and shutting him up for good.

  “Verona had the idea for the base spell.” Dotty Hulme loyally defended. “Elena just found a way to pinpoint children with magic who would power the spell much more effectively.”

  “But without Elena how long could you have sustained your former operations? That many missing children? Someone would have gotten suspicious eventually. In effect, when you think about it, Elena owns your asses, doesn’t she? I’m betting it was her idea to take over the international school. Her idea to install you as Headmistress. And was it Elena’s idea that you fulfil the drab executive assistant role? Hmmm, makes me think she secretly hates your guts Verona.”

  “Does Elena know you are here? Chasing your own personal vendetta? I hope you have her permission.” Patricia piped up, watching as Verona’s anger levels continued to spike.

  “We are Morgana witches, we answer to no one.”

  “Well, that’s not strictly true, is it? You’ve clearly set yourself up as coven leader and have your three underlings jumping through hoops. You clearly expect them to answer to you.”

  Verona’s blue eyed glare was now directed Patricia’s way, just as she’d planned. The woman’s fingers looked a little too twitchy for her liking, this way she was hoping the witch would take into account her close proximity to the Headmistress and hold her magic in check.

  “But the real question is, what does Elena get out of the equation? Beside a coven of witches at her beck and call.” Cullen mused out loud. “I bet Elena’s good and pissed at you four. You’ve blown your cover. No matter how well you cover up the incidences at the Christmas party or the musicale. Worse, you’ve outed your existence to my family. You have our full and undivided attention. And trust me, with Archers, that is never a good thing. Not when you are considered the target.”

  Patricia could feel frustration and maybe a tremor of fear pass through Headmistress Hulme. “Did Elena cut you loose tonight? Is that why you are here? Why she’s disappeared? She’s not at her Mansion. Her bank accounts are probably empty and she’s in the wind.”

  “We don’t need Elena. She was the one who needed us.” Verona spat out.

  “Yes, without us she would never have got her hands on-”

  Dotty Hulme’s words cut off as Mara abruptly lifted herself out of the shaft and flopped onto the marble floor, a sodden mess, water dripping onto the tiles, her chest rising and falling in shallow gasping breaths. Damn it, Cullen would have loved to have known just what Elena Carlyle got our her arrangement with the witches.

  “About bloody time.” Verona muttered under her breath. Only those standing would have heard her. “Mara, so good of you to join us.”

  “I just… I… just… need a minute.” Mara coughed weakly, rubbing her hands together absently. They were red and blistered in places.

  “No reason to hurry, now.” Verona’s tone was clipped. “I mean, it’s not like we have jobs or lives to go back to anymore… thanks to you. The Archer here was just confirming for us what Gwynne asserted. He had no idea you were a witch, let alone a Morgana witch, when he met you.”

  Mara all but froze, clamping her mouth tightly shut, muffling her panting, her eyes darting up quickly through stringy clumps of wet hair to look at Verona before dropping her gaze to the ground abruptly, in clear submission. “The… teachings all say… that an Archer will recognise us on sight. I had no… no idea when I met The Professor that he would be an Archer, and there was… a…. a calculating look in his eyes. As if he could see right through me.”

  “He looks that way at everyone.” Patricia volunteered, rather helpfully she thought.

  “Not quite everyone.” Cullen’s jade green gaze settled upon her and heated up. Memory flashes of their night together assailed Patricia. Grrr, this was a potentially deadly situation they were in here and the idiot was having way too much fun. “But I’m afraid you are correct. If Morgana witches are the arch enemy of Archers, then this is the first I am hearing about it. Which means that you and your ancestors were either very, very good… or probably, more likely, extremely ineffective as a threat to my family.”

  “We were biding our time. Knowing that some day one of us would break Merlin’s curse and then we would wreck vengeance on Merlin’s lapdogs. Thanks to Mara’s persistent paranoia, not only did we lose our element of surprise, but we’ve spent the past two years looking over our shoulders, expecting the Archers to declare war.”

  Cullen laughed again. “You thought I was playing some kind of cat and mouse game with you, didn’t you? Stalking you. Waiting to spring a trap.” He chuckled softly under his breath. “You’re going to laugh. I thought the h
it on me was politically motivated, that MI12 had a mole, a traitor. I’ve spent the last two years collecting data on the three most likely suspects. Looking for terrorist or criminal links. Mara connected to witches? Never even crossed my mind until we witnessed that little coven meeting at the Christmas Party. And even then it was Patricia who twigged to the dynamic.”

  Verona flicked her hand to the side and strange bolts of sizzling white hot fire shot through the air and hit Mara. Her entire body arching upwards, juddering, as if all her nerve endings were being fried. Mara collapsed forward, gasping, and trying to stifle breathless sobs. Steam gently rising in the cold air, lifting from her clothes and hair. Both mostly now dry. “There we go Mara, something to warm you up. What do you say?”

  Mara managed to get her arms under her and sit up, her lips no longer blue but still quivering. “Tha… thank you… V… Verona.”

  Patricia tried not to tense up, noting that even now white fiery flickers of light were sparking across Verona’s fingers. Those bolts, they’d been a cross between Mara’s lightning power and Headmistress Hulme’s fire magic. Problem was, Verona hadn’t had to touch either one of the women to access their power.

  Damn, Verona’s threat level had just escalated exponentially. And it wasn’t like she was the sanest individual to begin with. Guessing her next move would be all but impossible. Patricia could only pray to the Goddess, that a master strategist like Cullen had a plan forming to deal with the coven leader.

  “You’re very welcome, Mara. Always happy to help a fellow witch.” Except she sounded anything but.

  Cullen noted Verona’s hand twitched ever so slightly, surmising that she not so secretly would have liked to have shocked Mara again. Hmm, Verona’s display of power was interesting, and very useful. But it was the interpersonal dynamic of the witches that was important right now. No one particularly liked Mara. Everyone was scared of Verona. And Headmistress Hulme cared for Gwynne’s well-being. Every few seconds the woman’s gaze would shift to the dark, silent shaft that Gwynne had fallen into. Concern slowly but surely escalating in her demeanour.