Magic in Her Touch

by Donna Dalton

  A boot stamped the floor, startling a gasp from her. Thacker’s menacing gaze plowed across the short distance. If hatred had a face, it would be his.

  “My Jimmy never had a chance to visit a fancy city like Philadelphia,” he spit out. “His last days were of pain and suffering…all because of her and her poisons.”

  Moira swallowed her last bit of moisture and went up on her knees, ignoring the bite of sharp-edged rocks. Time was slipping away. She had to work faster, else she’d be joining little Jimmy in heaven.

  “You are wrong, Mr. Thacker.” She sawed at the bindings trapping her. Poke hot pain rasped her wrists, but she refused to stop. Giving up would be her death sentence. “My potions allowed your son to pass easily into God’s hands. Without pain. Without suffering. You saw that. He died peacefully.”

  Thacker stalked toward her, eyes bulging, knife waggling. “What do you know of God, heathen witch? He should strike you down for such blasphemy.”

  Witch. Lord, how she hated that word. It ground against her soul like broken glass. Her mother had been branded by it, as had her grandmother. Both had died because of it. If she never heard that word again, it would be too soon.

  She shoved up her chin, refusing to be marked. “I am as much a Christian as any other God-loving disciple. I follow the teachings of the Bible and attend church when I am able.”

  He hovered over her, hate buckling his face. “Then you know that the Lord said an ‘eye for an eye; a tooth for a tooth.’ Edeline and I shall have our vengeance.”

  She slowed her tussle with the rope. Thacker mustn’t get wind of what she planned, else he might undo all the progress she’d made. He wouldn’t win. Not this time. He wouldn’t take another innocent from this earth.

  She craned her neck and peered around him. Mrs. Wentworth stood at Alice’s shrine, head bowed, shoulders quivering. A grieving mother, still feeling the pain of her loss. Perhaps she could reach the woman, prod her compassion to the surface.

  “I know what Mr. Thacker claims I have done.” She poured gentleness into her tone. “What is it that requires your vengeance against me, Mrs. Wentworth?”

  The older woman whirled around, her expression switching from forlorn to venomous in the blink of an eye. “Bah. You know very well why I want vengeance. You have cast a spell over Anson. He believes he is in love with you. I won’t have Alice’s memory besmirched by his replacing her with a witch.”

  There was that word again. Sympathy for the woman began slipping. She had to grab onto what little tenderness she had left. “Anson has the right to find happiness again. Alice would want that for him. You know in your heart she would.”

  It was the truth. Alice’s ghostly form had said as much. A cool mist brushed over her wrists, soothing her raw skin like a gentle caress. The hairs on her arms stood on end. She’d felt a similar sensation once when Nel had called forth a spirit from the dead. Was Alice at the mine? Was she trying to help? Or was she siding with her mother?

  “Don’t tell me what my Alice would want.” Mrs. Wentworth sliced the air with an agitated hand. “You know nothing of her.”

  A stiff breeze plowed through the tunnel. The lantern flame flickered. Alice’s portrait bounced and rattled on the ledge. A second later, it toppled over and fell to the floor in a shatter of glass. Mrs. Wentworth gasped and jumped back.

  Thacker’s eyes went wide as wagon wheels. He leaned away from her and made the sign of the cross over his chest. “She has called forth the Devil. We must kill her now before he pulls both our souls into Hell with him.”

  Mrs. Wentworth retrieved the crippled picture and clutched it against her chest. Her eyes held a fanatical glow. Her mouth twisted into a hateful grimace. She had slipped to the other side.

  “Gag her so she can’t call for his help,” the woman snarled. “Then we will send her to join her master.”

  Moira’s heart thudded against her ribs. Things were spiraling out of control. The ropes weren’t loose enough to slip free and fend off an attack. She needed more time.

  “Please don’t do this.” If groveling slowed their plans, she’d clean every speck of dust from their shoes. “I will leave town. Today. You won’t ever see me again. I swear on my grandmother’s grave.”

  Thacker grunted and yanked a handkerchief from his pocket. “We’re going to make certain of that. To truly kill a witch, a heated blade must be run straight through her black heart. You and your evil will never rise again.”

  He thrust the cloth into her mouth. Old sweat and stale tobacco basted her tongue. Her stomach roiled. Bile burned in her throat. The strength went out of her spine. This was it. She had lost. Anson would be robbed of yet another woman he loved. Deprived of a life he could have cherished. He would be devastated. He would retreat into his shell. May never come out again. May never love again. All because of her failure.

  ****

  Breaks in the foliage offered a clear view of the gapping maw twenty yards ahead. There was no evidence of a cave-in. No debris littering the ground. No people scurrying about. The only signs of life were several horses tied to a nearby tree and a man standing at the opening.

  He was tall and slender and armed with a pistol. He kept turning his head from side to side, watchful and alert. There was only one reason to post a guard…either to keep someone in or to keep someone out.

  Was Moira inside? His gut said yes. His head swam with more questions. Was she still alive? Or had he arrived too late? Fear rose in his throat and threatened to strangle him. Would he ever feel her gentle touch again? Hear her lovely voice? Had he lost the chance at having something wonderful?

  No. He shook off the maudlin thoughts. She was alive. He wouldn’t allow himself to think otherwise. Positive thoughts led to positive outcomes.

  He studied the area around the mine entrance. As much as he wanted to rush in, he had to go slowly, plan his attack. Intricate surgeries required patience and a clear head, else the procedure could turn fatal. He didn’t want any recklessness to cause her harm or worse.

  He’d left his horse tied to a tree back where the slope ended and the trail leveled out. Horses were social creatures, neighing when they sensed others of their kind. Not to mention plodding along noisily, unmindful of the placement of their feet. The whispers in his head had warned of danger. His approach required stealth and silence.

  He crept through the thicket, watching where he walked. The snap of a branch or crunch of debris could alert the guard to his presence. He wanted to get a clean jump on the man.

  The grove thinned just before the mine entrance where several large boulders standing elbow to elbow offered the perfect concealment. He crouched behind the tallest one and peeked around the side. The guard hadn’t moved and appeared to be unaware of his approach. Good. Maybe all those years of playing Hide-and-Seek with his boyhood playmates were paying off.

  He grazed a hand over the ground and found a palm-sized rock and another just a bit larger. Now he could direct the guard’s attention to where he wanted it to go.

  He tossed the smaller rock into the brush on the other side of the trail. The guard alerted on the sound and bolted forward, pistol aimed and ready.

  Anson prepared himself, hauling in a breath and tightening his muscles. As the man surged past, he sprang from his hiding spot and smashed the rock against the man’s head. Not hard enough to kill, but enough to render the man unconscious. The guard crumpled to the ground like a ragdoll.

  A woman’s scream echoed from within the mine, making the hairs at the back of his neck stand on edge. Moira. She was alive. But clearly not unharmed.

  He snatched up the guard’s pistol and ducked into the mine. Darkness quickly enveloped him. He paused to let his vision adjust to the lack of light. He had never been afraid of the dark, but this dank hollowness had his pulse thrumming.

  A faint glow glimmered in the distance. Moira was down there. With whom, he had no idea. But they would pay dearly if they hurt one hair on her head.

  He
moved slowly down the shallow slope, taking short, cautious steps while running his hand along the rock wall for guidance. Rushing wouldn’t do him or Moira much good if he ran into the business end of a weapon.

  The light grew brighter. Faint murmurings echoed from deep within the shaft. Not clear enough to identify, but enough to let him know someone was there and he needed to employ caution.

  He molded against the rock wall and inched closer. A hundred heartbeats later, a macabre sight came into view. He stopped and pressed into the shadows, his veins filling with ice.

  His former mother-in-law stood holding a lantern as she watched the man called Thacker pressing Moira against the tunnel wall. A meaty forearm trapped her throat. A thick-bladed knife hovered over her heart. Thacker was going to carve the sunshine out of the world.

  Anger smashed through his fear. Not today he wasn’t.

  He stepped into the light, pistol aimed at the thug’s back…a hand’s breadth below the left shoulder. A fatal point should the need arise. “Drop that knife, Thacker, or I’ll shoot.”

  Thacker yanked his head around. Beady eyes narrowed. Pale lips thinned. But the hand on the knife didn’t waver.

  Moira’s gaze washed over him, fearful, pleading. A cloth plugged her mouth. Her hands were bound behind her back. She was helpless as a newborn kitten. One thrust of that knife, and she’d be lost to him forever.

  Anson waggled the gun. “Drop the knife, Thacker. Now. Or I’ll put a bullet in you.”

  The man’s lips twisted upward as if he held all the aces. He didn’t. “Don’t think I won’t shoot just because I’m a doctor. I’m a man first. A man who won’t let you hurt the woman he loves.”

  Mrs. Wentworth took a step toward him. Her expression was animated, almost fanatical. The lantern swung in her grip, casting dancing shadows on the walls. “Come, Anson. You’re bewitched. Let us rid you of this sorceress before you fall further under her spell.”

  He shifted the barrel a fraction to cover her as well. “Don’t come any closer, Edeline.”

  She pulled up, eyes going wide. “You would shoot me, Anson?”

  “If I have to, yes.”

  Her gaze fled to a rocky ledge holding a boy’s tweed cap and a framed portrait of a young lady wearing a familiar blue dress. “What would Alice think of you doing something so heinous to her mother.”

  “Alice is dead. There’s nothing you or I can do to change that. We must go on with our lives. I want to do that…with Moira.”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “I know exactly what I’m saying. Now move over by that shrine and stay there.” It was sad. She was a lost soul who couldn’t get beyond her grief. He almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

  “I disown you, Anson Locke,” she hissed. “You are no longer a part of our family.”

  He hadn’t been part of a family for years. His parents were gone. Grandfather was gone. Alice was gone. But he now had Moira. She was going to be his family, his future.

  “You no longer have any hold over me, Edeline. I don’t owe you or Alice anything. I am free of the guilt. Moira helped me see that. So, do as I say and move over to that ledge. Now.”

  Pale eyes deadened. Shoulders slumped. With the lantern nearly dragging the ground, she trudged to the opposite wall and plucked the framed portrait from the ledge. She stroked a finger over the shattered glass.

  “I’m sorry, Alice. I tried. But our Anson is too far gone.”

  Anson closed his heart to her sorrow. She was the one who had let grief carry her too far. She was the reason Thacker had come to Mineral. The reason a hate-filled man was poised to kill the only thing that could make his life whole again.

  He pointed the pistol at Thacker’s black heart. “Drop that knife and release Moira. I won’t say it again.”

  The man hesitated. The dirt-coated skin covering his jaw twitched. Was he chewing over his options? It would be a most unsatisfying meal.

  Mrs. Wentworth’s demented cackle echoed in the mine. “You had best do as he says, Jack. Satan has taken over Anson’s soul. He’ll kill you if you harm the harlot.”

  Thacker’s beady eyes bounced from the gun barrel to Moira and back. After a few seconds, his mouth sagged. He gave a resigned grunt and dropped the knife with a dramatic flourish. It clattered to the rocky floor and stilled.

  Smart man, for once. “Now kick it over here.”

  Thacker toed the knife. It bounced across the uneven rock floor and came to a stop near Anson’s feet.

  “Good. Now release Moira and then move over to the ledge with Mrs. Wentworth. Slowly, no quick moves.”

  Thacker dropped his hands to his sides and stepped back. Moira pushed away from the wall and sprinted toward him. She molded against his side, body quivering. The tension went out of him. She was safe. She was his. He wouldn’t be spending his days in an empty room or his nights in a cold bed.

  He slung his free arm around her shoulders. “It’s all right, darling. I’ve got you.”

  Her eyes lifted and raced over him. No words were necessary. But he wanted to hear her voice. Wanted to know she was unharmed.

  He tugged the gag out of her mouth. A pink tongue swept across rosy lips. He couldn’t wait to taste her again. A movement caught his eye. Thacker. He’d best keep his focus on the present, or his future would come crashing down around him.

  He steadied his aim on the thug. “Don’t even think about doing anything stupid, Thacker. I learned at an early age how to shoot, and I do it well.”

  Thacker thrust his hands in the air. “Fine. Fine. I was just moving over to the ledge like you told me to.”

  The man sidled sideways and settled beside Mrs. Wentworth. His words might be conciliatory, but that rigid stance and fierce expression warned of more to come. He would be ready for it.

  “How did you know where to find me, Anson?” Moira asked.

  “I rode out to the main mine as your note instructed, but found no sign of a cave-in. The foreman provided directions to this mine, even though he said it was boarded up. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have a look.” Telling her about the little voice directing him where to go and to hurry would make him sound as deranged as the two zealots eyeing him with hatred.

  “What about the guard? Thacker posted an armed man to watch over the entrance.”

  He jiggled the gun. “This is his. A rock to the head took care of him. He’ll have a nasty headache for a few days, but he’ll recover.”

  “What are you going to do with us?” Thacker demanded. “Bash our heads in, too?”

  “I will if you try anything. I plan to turn the two of you over to the sheriff. Let the law exact justice for what you tried to do to Moira.”

  “We didn’t do anything to the witch,” he spat. “She’s still alive, even though she should be dancing in the fires of Hell.”

  Moira stiffened in his grasp. Knowing her past, he could only assume the mere mention of fire filled her with fear. She wouldn’t have to fear any more. He would always keep her safe.

  He gave Thacker a piercing look. “Shut your mouth, Thacker, and keep it that way. One more peep from you and you’ll be the one dancing.”

  The man snapped his lips shut, but his eyes continued to shoot daggers across the short distance. The man could stew in his hatred for all he cared.

  Anson gently pried Moira away from his side. “Let’s get those ropes off you.”

  Keeping one eye and the pistol trained on Thacker, he squatted and retrieved the knife. A quick slice and Moira’s bindings fell free. Her wrists were raw and oozing with blood. She’d been trying to free herself. She was so strong and resourceful. Yet another trait he admired.

  As he started to rise, Moira’s gasp sliced the air. Before he could react, something sharp dug his shoulder, carving a heated path of pain. He staggered with the blow. The knife dropped from his grasp. The pistol bucked in other his hand, blasting a piercing gunshot through the tunnel.

  Ears ringing, he swiveled
around and faced his attacker. It was the guard. He must not have hit the credent hard enough. Time to remedy that.

  Pushing through the burn in his shoulder, he hefted the pistol. He wasn’t quick enough. The guard lunged, knocking the gun from his hand and slashing at him with a knife. The blade bit into his side just below his ribs. Poker hot pain surged around the assault. His vision went dark. His knees buckled, and he fell against the rock wall.

  Over the clanging in his ears came the crash of falling rocks and Moira’s horrified scream.

  Chapter Twenty

  The mine shaft shook and grumbled. The guard’s attack had caused Anson to pull the trigger on the pistol. The bullet had struck one of the support braces. The rotted wood had collapsed, and other posts were quickly following suit. Rocks and dirt rained down from the ceiling. Moira crouched and covered her head. She had to get everyone to safety before they were buried alive.

  A pained scream rolled over her skin and then died just as abruptly. In the spluttering lantern light, she could just make out a large pile of rocks where Mrs. Wentworth and Jack Thacker had been standing. There was no movement or sound. Just a large puddle of blood seeping from under the mound. They were gone. There was nothing she could do for them.

  The lantern gave one last gasp and went out. Darkness enveloped the mine. Her heart thudded against her ribs. She had to find Anson. The last she’d seen, he had been leaning against the wall, a spreading circle of red staining his jacket.

  “Anson, where are you?” she shouted.

  “O-Over here.”

  She followed the raspy reply, arms stretched out in front of her. Dust clogged her nose and charred her throat, making breathing a struggle. Walking was even more difficult. Rocks littered the floor, threatening to twist her ankle at every step. As much as she wanted to rush toward him, she wouldn’t do herself or Anson any good if she turned up lame.

  The rumbling slowed. Debris stopped raining down. Thank the Lord. The cave-in was coming to a halt. For now.