Witch Tease

by Cindy Keen Reynders

  He pressed his hands against the stone walls, feeling ancient power tingle in his fingers. Whispers of souls who had passed through this place filtered through his mind. Miraculous accomplishments had occurred in this sacred, beloved Wiccan shrine. He tamped down his curiosity. He hadn’t come here to study ancient witch’s lore. Wysteria’s banshee invasion had to be dealt with.

  Quickly.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Conducting an investigation,” he told her.

  “How long will this take?”

  “As long as I need.”

  “We don’t have much time left.” She glanced at her watch, her heart sinking.

  “We canna rush things, lass,” he returned harshly, then felt bad for barking at her. Anxious lines marred her beautiful face and he realized how much she feared for her people.

  He tried not to let her unease affect his judgement. The goal of eliminating Sorcha and her banshees once and for all remained paramount, and he must choose his methods wisely.

  To avoid Lizzie’s beseeching gaze, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The banshee scent permeated the air. He allowed his senses to mull over the musty odor.

  “What are you doing now?” Lizzie asked, impatience edging her tone.

  “Sorcha and her banshees—I can smell ’em.”

  “How does that help?”

  “Their scent reeks of ancient evil. Coppery blood from battlefields permeates the odor, which I can tell comes from the soil of the Scottish Highlands. It was shed by the clansmen who have protected her rocky soil for centuries. Banshees are cursed to forever wash the soiled clothes of those departed.” Kincaid opened his eyes and met Lizzie’s gaze again. “When I dealt with her swarm the last time, I detected the same odor. Back then, I didn’t take the time to determine her exact origins. My eradication method wasn’t tailored to her home territory.”

  “I hope that’s the key,” Lizzie said.

  The first time he’d dealt with Sorcha, he’d been young and inexperienced. Since then, he’d tucked a lot more knowledge under his belt. “I won’t make the same mistake twice,” he vowed.

  “I thought you didn’t make mistakes.”

  “Enough,” he growled.

  The lass was upset, but he hadn’t come here to treat Lizzie Rose with kid gloves. Shaking off his irritation, he decided his previous tactics must have only scattered Sorcha’s swarm. This time, they must be completely annihilated.

  Inhaling the banshee scent, he detected hints of water, but not from the ocean. It had different properties and contained different minerals. He’d traveled Scotland extensively, and he sensed Sorcha and her swarm originated from an area around the Burning Water River. He recalled something he’d heard long ago while sailing around Scotland’s southern coast.

  “Scottish lore claims banshee swarms can be warded off with cleansing blue flames from a storm.”

  Lizzie snapped her fingers and said, “Of course! St. Elmo’s fire will surely work better than the witch fire I hurled at them and the fire you just tried.”

  “It’s a good idea,” Kincaid said. “There are no guarantees in life or in spirit expelling.”

  For Lizzie’s sake, he wished he knew for sure St. Elmo’s fire would stamp out the swarm. Worry lines etched her brow and he disliked how it marred her complexion.

  Admit it, man. You’ve never really gotten over her.

  Aye, he feared that was true. The beguiling witch still clutched at his heartstrings, despite the common sense that warned him to leave her alone. It would complicate matters if he didn’t suppress his yearning.

  Lizzie placed a hand over her abdomen and took a deep breath. “It makes my stomach turn to even imagine what will happen if we can’t free my clan.”

  “We’ll do everything within our power,” he said, realizing he’d included Lizzie in his mission to get rid of the wretched creatures.

  “Sorry I’m acting so irrational, Kincaid,” Lizzie said. “It’s the banshees I need to be angry with. Not you.”

  Kincaid couldn’t resist gathering her in his arms and giving her a reassuring hug. In an instant, his manhood surged with life, hardening against her hip. Mother of Scotland.

  She looked up at him in surprise and he pressed his mouth into a firm line, avoiding the temptation to kiss her senseless. What the hell was wrong with him? It felt wonderful to hold her after all this time, but the icy wall around his heart began to melt. That was dangerous.

  “Indeed, Lizzie girl, the enemies we need to rail against are out there in the arena, flying around like barmy bats.”

  Realizing he’d slipped and used his old pet name for her, he felt like kicking himself. She burrowed her head against his shoulder and trembled with sobs. God, he hated crying women. Clenching his jaw, he felt her wet tears soak through his cloak and his shirt.

  After all this time, how could she still manage to send his senses reeling? His heart was in peril of being lost to her again, but he did his best to harden it. He needed to remain objective.

  “It’s all goin’ to work out, lass. Just wait and see.”

  Reluctantly, Kincaid pried Lizzie away from his chest. She stood back and dashed the glistening tears from her cheeks with the backs of her hands, as though she wanted to erase all traces of emotion.

  “What do we do now?”

  “This.” He snapped and a small blue flame appeared in one of his outstretched palms, illuminating the inner sanctum.

  Lizzie eyes widened at the sight of his small, flickering miracle. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Aye, a spark of St. Elmo’s fire.” Now able to see things with more clarity, Kincaid walked around, examining every nook and crevice of the stone walls. A flash caught his eye. “There’s something over in that corner.” He walked over and knelt down, feeling around on the sandy floor with his free hand.

  Lizzie hunkered next to him, her curls falling in a dark curtain around her shoulders, her berry-colored lips slightly parted. As she inspected the ground, the low neckline on her dress revealed the two creamy orbs he’d once had the honor of caressing.

  Ah, sweet distraction.

  Kincaid suppressed a groan. He couldn’t help but appreciate Lizzie’s finer assets.

  Get a grip on yourself, man.

  Lizzie sat up and thrust a piece of glinting jewelry toward him. “Look at this, Kincaid. I think it’s one of Sorcha’s armbands.”

  When he took the object from her, their hands touched—skin to skin. By all that was sacred, his disloyal heart picked up its pace. In an attempt to deny his attraction to her, he focused instead on what she’d found—a silver arm cuff engraved with ancient carvings.

  “Can you read what it says?” Lizzie asked.

  “They’re Scottish runes. I’ll translate them later.”

  He placed the cuff in a pocket of his cape, then stood and helped her to her feet. Though he wished he could continue to hold her small hand, reason urged him to release it. Every touch of her flesh filled him with longing.

  “What do we do next?”

  He wished he could discourage her from working with him. Lizzie possessed a stubborn streak, and he realized he would lose the battle if he tried to deny her.

  “We’ll give the banshees a taste of blue fire,” he said.

  When he heard a noise, and the scent of a strange animal filled his nostrils, he sensed something unearthly roamed the hallway. He nodded at the flame and it died, leaving the closet draped in darkness.

  He drew Lizzie against his chest. Her breasts heaved and her shapely body tensed in his embrace.

  “Shhh,” he whispered in her ear, then nodded at the door. “We have company.”

  ***

  Fear of what might be skulking outside the broom closet urged Lizzie to heed Kincaid’s advice. Pressed against him, she noted how her heart beat almost in time with his. For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to bask in his protective embrace.

  Every shred of hatred she’d harbored for hi
m scattered like dust in the wind. Though her mind whirled with self-recriminations, Kincaid’s familiar, reassuring manner held her captive.

  Every snap of a twig or the scraping of a footfall raked her ears. Her heart beat with a combination of dread of the unknown, and the nearness of the man she’d never forgotten.

  Her imagination began to work overtime. Though she hadn’t mentioned anything when he’d called her Lizzie girl, she decided he must also be struggling with his former affection for her. Shocked, she realized she still nurtured a secret wish to be with Kincaid.

  “Do you trust me?” Lizzie whispered to Kincaid, realizing she had to put aside their troubled past and focus.

  “Aye,” he returned, his blue eyes shining like lapis lazuli stones.

  “Bell and book affirm our plight.” Removing her cloak, she swept it around them three times, then put it back on. “Goddess lend thy hand, make us blend into the night. Defluo paries parientis.”

  From head to toe, a tingling numbness swept through her. She glanced up at Kincaid. His expression indicated he must be experiencing a similar sensation. A faint silver aura glowed around his body, as it did hers.

  “We’re invisible to whatever is out there,” Lizzie whispered in his ear.

  A snuffling, snorting noise at the entrance drew her attention. She watched, heart hammering, as the doors opened.

  Though difficult to see in the darkened room, she saw a large black bird with a tail plumage of red-tipped feathers strutting on long legs through the inner sanctum. It glanced around and opened its deformed orange beak, revealing a row of tiny sharp teeth that could easily shred prey. Turning its head in all directions, the beady black eyes on either side of its face examined every corner.

  Kincaid’s aura moved toward the ugly bird. Lizzie wanted to warn him to stay back, yet she remained silent. She held her breath as his arm reached toward the scraggly tail feathers and plucked one.

  “Aak, aak, aak, aak,” the avian beast screeched.

  The bird ran out into the hall squawking. Kincaid followed it, as did Lizzie. He dove for the bird, as though engaged in a greased-pig chasing competition. He wrestled with the creature for a moment and managed to pluck yet another feather.

  Holy witch’s brew, what did he think he was doing?

  Finally, the bird broke loose and ran. It shook its head, then its wings and stick legs, and transformed into Sorcha. Dressed once again in tattered gray banshee rags, she shrieked like the furies. Meanwhile, she rubbed her backside with a gnarled hand.

  “Where are you? Come out of hiding, coward!” she cried.

  With a rumbling noise, Vera roared onto the scene. Front grill light blinking off and on, she bore down on the head banshee. Sorcha screeched with bone-rattling force and conjured a mighty wind to bear down on the brave vacuum.

  V-room, v-room, v-room…

  Belching black smoke, Vera deftly swerved away from the whirlwind and headed once again toward Sorcha. Caught off guard, Sorcha barely managed to avoid the angry carpet sweeper’s path. The air stirred with mighty force as an army of Sorcha’s banshees flew down the hallway to rescue their leader.

  A tingle pricked Lizzie’s skin and she noted her invisibility had begun to wear off. She noticed Kincaid was in the same predicament. Taking advantage of Vera’s diversion, she ran toward him.

  “What were you doing?”

  “Trying to save our arses,” Kincaid said, holding up the two feathers. “I never realized before that Sorcha is a shape-shifter. If I’d stolen one more of these, I could have controlled her.”

  He pocketed the feathers, thrust out his palm and more blue flames of St. Elmo’s Fire flickered to life. Kincaid hurled the blaze in the banshees’ direction. When it exploded in a million shimmering sparks, they shrieked like wounded creatures and disappeared.

  Lizzie and Kincaid, both wary of the results, stood watching and waiting. She prayed the St. Elmo’s fire had done the deed, but didn’t dare believe it had worked. Unfortunately, the banshees slid back into view, fierce expressions on their grizzled skull faces.

  The St. Elmo’s fire had failed.

  “Profundus nebulium,” Lizzie murmured, and a thick, swirling mist rose up. It cloaked the hallway like the folds of a heavy blanket, providing them with another type of invisibility. Vera’s v-room, v-rooming picked up its tempo, the mist parted, and she rolled toward them.

  “Need a lift?” the vacuum asked.

  “You bet,” Lizzie said as she climbed aboard and gestured at Kincaid. “C’mon.”

  “Flying isn’t my style, lass.”

  Lizzie patted the vacuum’s bag. “Now it is.”

  With a frown, he seated himself behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. His body heat melted into hers. Velvet warmth traveled the length of her body and fanned her face. A delicious shiver traced her spine. Even with all of the harsh warnings she’d given herself about behaving like a fool around Kincaid, she realized her heart wasn’t listening.

  “Wahoo, you old biddies can’t catch me,” Vera shouted as she shot like a rocket into highest area of the hallway. In order to avoid the banshees’ skeletal fingers, she barreled past them, dodging left and right with precise movements.

  Lizzie gripped the vacuum’s handle as she swooped beneath the arched entrance and soared straight up toward the amphitheater’s edge, almost defying gravity. Gathering speed, she circled the ancient structure.

  With another loud v-room, Vera blasted through the starry night sky.

  Chapter Nine

  Silver moonlight bathed the rugged coastal mountains stretching beneath Kincaid and Lizzie as her enchanted vacuum carried them through strong wind currents. Pillows of air kept him from tumbling off the cleaning device, but it still didn’t reassure him that he wouldn’t fall.

  His stomach lurched.

  He decided he’d rather be padding on all fours across the dips and swells of land, his snout tilted toward the wind as it rippled through his thick wolf fur.

  Focusing on the dark ocean waves crashing against jagged coves and sandy shores helped him ignore the queasiness gripping his gut. As he studied Oregon’s wild terrain, he appreciated its rich splendor, unmatched by none other than his beloved Scottish homeland.

  He could understand why Lizzie and her family had decided to stay here after they’d come to America. A twinge of regret passed through him. What would have happened if he’d been brave enough to declare what he felt for her all those centuries ago? Would she have stayed with him in Scotland?

  Destiny hadn’t held a future for them. He tried to tell himself it was for the best that he’d left her. He’d always lived the life of a loner and would continue to do so. Because of who and what he was, and because of his strange heritage—half man, half wulver—getting too close to people only complicated things.

  Gulping the cool air, he resolved he would never fly again. It was for the birds. Literally. When Lizzie’s long black curls tangled across his chin, he brushed them away. A flowery scent filled his nostrils, reminding him of the hours they’d spent together so long ago, wrapped in each other’s arms.

  “Sorry,” she murmured. With a snap of her fingers, her wayward tresses arranged themselves them into a braid.

  Tension coiled in Kincaid’s nerves. Being pressed up against Lizzie’s enticing backside caused his nether regions to spring to life. He shifted, but that didn’t help.

  “Are you okay?” She glanced over her shoulder at him.

  “Never been better.”

  “You’re green around the gills. Flying isn’t really your cup of tea, is it?”

  “I’m fine,” he barked.

  She chuckled, apparently seeing through his gruff response. “We can go back to the store and—”

  “No, it’s not safe,” he told her in an unnecessarily harsh tone. He glanced away, determined Lizzie wouldn’t blast through his emotional wall. She offered kindness and understanding—things he secretly craved from her. Damn the fates who had placed
her in his path again, this woman whose memory had teased him for centuries.

  “Then where are we going? Vera needs directions.”

  “Yada, yada, yada.” Vera rumbled her engine for emphasis. “I’m not a carpet-sucking fool and I can’t turn cartwheels in the freaking sky all night. Where do you want me to take you?”

  Kincaid’s mind snapped to attention. “According to legend, Sorcha is the mother of all banshees. If we destroy her, the rest of her followers will die. I think I know who can tell us how to do it.”

  Lizzie’s eyes opened wide. “Who?”

  “Aedh, king of Gorias, one of the four great Faery kingdoms. Banshees were once Faeries and when they began to interfere with humans, the Fae monarchs cast them out and doomed them,” he explained. “King Aedh was one of the kings who issued the curse. He’ll know how to deal with Sorcha.”

  He could feel her body stiffen. “We don’t have time to consult with Faeries!”

  “Faery time is different, lass,” Kincaid said. “Even if we spend several weeks in the Land of the Fae, we’ll be gone but a wee few minutes from the Earthly Realm.”

  “In that case, how do we get there?”

  Kincaid realized how difficult it would be to describe his malleable vessel, Iolar, and how it could transport him all over the world, and even through different dimensions.

  “We’ll travel in my ship,” he merely said. “If you agree.”

  “We need to do whatever it takes,” Lizzie declared.

  “Will someone tell me which way to go?” Vera pleaded. “Do I continue due north or should I turn in another direction?”

  “Stay on your present course,” Kincaid said.

  When Lizzie leaned back against him, Kincaid sensed her distrust fading. A muscle twitched in his cheek. The knowledge that she would rely on him was both flattering and frightening. It touched a deep chord in his body, and he wanted to protect her.

  A great weight of responsibility rested on his chest. If he failed this mission, Lizzie would never forgive him. He frowned at the idea of her being hurt. He’d hated doing it all those years ago and didn’t want to do it again. Not until Sorcha and her motley crew were gone would he be able to relax.