When Pegasus landed, he snorted while tossing his head up and down and pawed at the earth.
“You beautiful boy, thank you for coming to me in my time of need.” Lizzie stroked his shining flanks. She patted his muzzle, then slid onto him. Holding his mane, she kneed him forward.
“Fly me to the Royal Witch Arena,” she told him.
As he sailed into the sky, Uaithne hovered nearby. Lizzie smiled, encouraged to finally be on her way to rescue her coven. Soon, she’d rid Wysteria of the banshees and her coven would be free.
Blue sparks popped and fizzled, then Ursula appeared, her curled white hair piled high atop her head. Riding on her broom, she wore a long gold and red robe and ropes of pearls surrounded her neck.
“So, the wanderer returns,” Ursula said. “And riding this beautiful beast, no less.”
Pegasus whinnied.
“Are you here to help or hinder?” Lizzie asked.
“Why, I’m here to help, cutie. I’m slap-my-butt and paint-the-town ready to take on those banshee bitches.”
“I’m surprised to see you on your broom. You usually like to travel on more, shall we say, lavish means.”
“I’m kickin’ it old school today,” Ursula said. “How did it work out with the Spirit Wulver?”
“Why didn’t you tell me he was Kincaid McAllister?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t think it mattered. You needed help with Sorcha and he was just what the doctor ordered.”
“I brought home Uaithne from the Land of the Fae,” Lizzie said. “Queen Dana who guards the Faery tombs promised it will get rid of Sorcha and her spawn.”
“How is the old hag these days?” Ursula asked.
“Young and beautiful now.”
“Eh?”
“She took Kincaid’s essence, then turned him into a gold statue to add to her collection.”
Lizzie stared ahead, the wind blowing tears from her eyes.
“That literally sucks for him.” Ursula narrowed her gaze at Lizzie. “Oops, you still love him, don’t you?”
“I never stopped,” Lizzie said with a sniff. “And I’m so angry at Queen Dana, but she was only doing what she had to. Kincaid insisted on being the queen’s sacrifice and sending me home.”
“He was just doing the job you hired him for,” Ursula said. “Besides, it sounds like maybe he loves you too.”
Lizzie held up her left hand. “We got married in a Faery ceremony.”
“Hell’s bells,” Ursula said, rolling her eyes. “I think you and your sisters are off your rockers sometimes. You got hitched with the Spirit Wulver? What were you thinking?”
“It’s a long story.”
Ursula shook her head. “Just think of it. If you two have kids, they’ll howl at the moon and scratch fleas. No worries though, flea collars are cheap.”
Lizzie couldn’t help but snicker. “Not really, Ursula. It’s not like that.”
“What is it like, then?”
“That’s another long story. I’ll tell you later.”
“Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat, I can’t wait.”
“How long have I been gone, Ursula?”
“Long enough to screw up your life.”
“Seriously, Ursula. Remember, I had a time limit.”
“You’ve only been gone about fifteen minutes.”
Amazing, Lizzie thought. She felt better knowing the banshees hadn’t been terrorizing her clan for long.
Lizzie and her motley crew, Ursula, Pegasus, and Uaithne, flew over a mountain range and in view of the Royal Witch Arena. She winced, noting the dark mist swirling over it, which was infested with screeching banshees.
At a loss for what to do at this point, Lizzie glanced up at the glowing harp. “Uaithne?”
Uaithne grew even larger, hovering over the arena until it covered the edges. It began to play harp music that soared through the air. The banshees stopped moving and held still. They covered their ears and began to shriek and writhe as though they suffered great pain. Those who tried to fly out of the arena hit Uaithne’s strings, then sizzled into ashes, as though they’d hit a bug zapper.
“Let’s give ’em hell,” Lizzie shouted. “Fire of Hephaestus, seek and destroy Sorcha and her ilk!”
She summoned the power building within her and a ball of blazing orange flames appeared in her hand. Ursula did the same, only hers were silvery blue. As Lizzie flew Pegasus into the flustered mass of banshees, Ursula flew down on her broom.
Together, they launched a fireball attack against Sorcha’s underlings, who whined and yelped, twisted and jumped. After each crone took a hit, they fizzled and shrank like popped balloons. As they died, they turned into ashes that fluttered to the ground and disappeared.
Overgrown masses of weeds and banshee goo melted into nothingness and the arena returned to its former glory of shining, polished stone. Clan members in the amphitheater seats began to move and break free of the slime that began melting and quickly dissipated.
Loud and steady, Uaithne’s music continued to fill the air.
“Thank the Goddess we’re free!” a man in the stands called out as Lizzie passed by riding Pegasus. “Bravo, Lizzie! Rid us of these banshee hooligans!”
The Supreme Witch’s Council members were also free now and they waved at Lizzie and Ursula, cheering them on. Lizzie and Pegasus flew past her family who sat in their assigned arena seats. Everyone waved at Lizzie and called out encouragement. Even baby Aurora clapped her tiny hands and pointed up at the giant harp arching overhead.
Encouraged, Lizzie continued hurling her fiery missiles at the pests. Her attack on the banshees, combined with Ursula’s, began to diminish the size of the swarm.
Fists raised in the air, clan members in the arena continued shouting encouragement to Lizzie and Ursula. Many managed to shuffle from their seats, stretching and moving around or checking on friends and family. Men slapped each other on the back and talked excitedly. Women hugged and cried out with joy at being free of the banshee’s spell.
Lizzie flew Pegasus down to the arena and dismounted. She whispered her appreciation into Pegasus’ ear, then he flew up and away, his loud whinny sounding throughout the arena. Uaithne spread its harp strings so the magical horse could escape safely.
Members of the Supreme Witch’s Council patted Lizzie’s shoulder and thanked her for defeating the banshees.
She looked around for Ursula, but the old gal must have slipped away unnoticed, which was typical. She probably had a hot date with an Arabian prince, or something like that. Still, Lizzie would have liked to properly thank her. Later, she would set up her altar with a proper offering of fruit and nuts for all of her ancestor witches.
Her mother, father, and sisters all gathered around, kissing her and hugging her, their appreciation overflowing.
“Thank the Goddess you were late to the ceremony again,” her mother, Dendera, told her. “Since you weren’t here, you weren’t taken hostage by the banshees.”
Her father, James, ruffled the top of her head, just like he’d done when she was little. “You saved us all, Lizzie.”
“I couldn’t have done it without Kincaid McAllister,” Lizzie admitted, enjoying the feel of their loving arms around her shoulders. “We traveled in his ship to the Land of the Fae, where we found Uaithne. Ursula summoned him for me.”
“Thank the Goddess for Ursula,” Dendera said. “But Kincaid McAllister? How is he still alive?”
“Wasn’t he the mortal boy you dated back in Scotland centuries ago?” James asked.
“Yes, that’s him. But he’s not a mortal, Dad. He’s the Spirit Wulver.”
Dendera and James exchanged concerned glances.
As she talked about Kincaid, a sharp ache sliced through her chest. How she missed him. Determination to rescue him coursed through her.
“Don’t pat yerselves on the back too quickly,” Sorcha screamed as she flew into the arena, her hideous teeth bared. “You didn’t kill me!”
Sorcha!
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br /> How could she have forgotten about that old biddy! Lizzie conjured up more of her blazing balls of fire, as did everyone in her family. The Supreme Council Members noted what they were doing and conjured their own fireballs. Together, they threw a mass of fiery missiles at the old banshee.
Cackling in laughter, Sorcha held up her bony hands to stop the blazing balls, which created a giant wall of flames. Lizzie and the other council members continued lobbing the fireballs until the wall of flames grew. Other clan members joined in.
Still, Sorcha held them off.
However, when Uaithne lowered down and wrapped around Sorcha, locking her inside a cage of harp strings, the look of satisfaction on her face began to fade. Her bony brow furrowed, and it became obvious she couldn’t resist much longer.
Streams of fire began breaking through to scorch the old banshee. She yelped with pain, but continued to try and hold off the onslaught. When the wall of fire became too strong, Sorcha’s skin and hair turned black.
The flames wrapped around Sorcha’s bony form and her ragged clothing, destroying her like a burnt offering. Her screams eventually died away, leaving a raging bonfire in the middle of the arena. The orange and red flames turned bright blue and purple, then faded.
A cheer went up from the clan members as individuals gathered around to stare at the ashes. The back slapping, hugs, and tears among men and women continued. Children jumped up and down with excitement, chanting blessings and calling out happily to one another.
Uaithne disappeared in a shimmer of silver sparks.
“Where did the harp go?” Dendera asked.
“It must have gone back to the Land of the Fae, just as Queen Dana had said it would.”
“Thank the Gods you found it,” Morgan, Lizzie’s sister, said. She tossed her tawny curls over shoulders. “And thank the Gods you returned to us safely. What is it like—the Land of the Fae?”
“I’ll tell you all about it later, sis,” Lizzie said.
Free to fly once again, the brooms burst into the sky, circling above the arena in glorious formation.
Mistress Constance Hawkthorne held up her hands and the ruckus died down. “We have witnessed true bravery today. Not only from our High Witch Elizabeth Rose, but from our coven members. May we always stay one in purpose and spread love and kindness throughout the world. And, we must always protect our humans, who are now also free of Sorcha’s grip!”
“Blessed be!” someone shouted, and a chorus of voices joined in the next rousing cheer.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Those rotten banshees flew around like buzzards circling a dead carcass!” James Rose, seated at the head of the dining room table, tossed his fork in the air and muttered a spell. The eating utensil zoomed toward the ceiling and began circling above everyone’s heads.
Seated in a high chair, little Aurora clapped her chubby hands and squealed, “Papa, air-pwane, air-pwane!”
“James, stop that. Your parlor tricks aren’t appropriate at dinner.” Dendera, who was seated at the opposite end of the table, frowned.
“My daughter is going to grow up like a wild thing around this family,” Aurora’s father, Maxwell Chadwick, said with a chuckle.
Miranda, Lizzie’s youngest sister and Max’s wife, punched his shoulder. “Admit it, you love being a member of our clan.”
“I can’t help it, but I do,” Max admitted with a grin.
Along with everyone else seated at the Rose Mansion’s dining room table, Lizzie encouraged her father to continue his antics. After that banshee attack, they needed levity. Dendera rolled her eyes and joined in the laughter, apparently realizing she’d never be able to stop the fun.
As if the fates had determined everyone should release their pent-up emotions, family members took turns describing what they saw and how they felt while being held captive by Sorcha and her banshee swarm. Thank the Goddess, the threat to their lives had ended, so they could laugh about it now.
Looking at the people she loved—her parents, her aunt, her sisters, her brother-in-law, and her baby niece, Lizzie decided the best part of Mabon was celebrating with those nearest and dearest to you.
She couldn’t recall a time when they’d celebrated harvest time’s Feast of Mabon with such enthusiasm. Laughter and jovial banter filled the air as everyone piled their plates with roast goose, mashed potatoes, peas, and Aunt Aggie’s wonderful homemade rolls. Mabon cake and ginger ale sat in the kitchen. Later, it would provide a sweet touch to round out the meal.
The nature spirits had blessed them with good health and safekeeping, especially considering that in the end, Sorcha and her banshees hadn’t completed their evil plans. It could have been a dismal ending if the clan hadn’t been released in time.
Recently dedicated to their witches at the Blessing of the Brooms ceremony, each family member’s broom rested safely along a wall. Lizzie’s beloved broom Wren was among them. Piecing back together her belt parts, Lizzie had even managed to restore Vera, and the veritable vacuum had joined the ranks as an honored member. These days, however, she rode a bit lighter without her bag and now resembled a stick-style cleaner.
With everything back to normal, Lizzie felt complete. The familiarity of the room comforted her—the floral-patterned wallpaper, the paintings, the beautiful blue silk drapes, and even the thick carpet. Being home never felt so good.
Kincaid.
A guilty sensation washed over her for experiencing joy, especially since the man she loved was still trapped inside that golden statue. He’d sacrificed himself for the coven and uneasiness riddled her soul at the knowledge. She hadn’t really been hungry before she thought about him, and she definitely did not feel like eating now.
She glanced at the Celtic wedding band on her left hand, biting her lower lip. Worried about her husband, she put down the roll she’d been nibbling on. The food aromas didn’t smell right, and her stomach gurgled.
Her plan to slip away when it grew dark made her even more anxious. While she loved being home again, she also wanted to return to the Land of the Fae to try and free Kincaid. She hated hiding her intentions from her family, but they wouldn’t understand. They would insist she shouldn’t take such a risk. Kincaid’s job was dangerous, they would tell her, and he could handle himself.
Well, too bad. Even if she did feel like bat doo, she refused to leave him there. Hopefully, with the time difference between the Land of the Fae and the Earthly Realm, they would never know she was missing.
Her gaze came to rest on the candelabras that displayed thin, white tapers and flickering tips. White represented purity and healing, which is what everyone needed right now after banishing Sorcha’s evil presence. Warmth suffused her face as she watched the orange, dancing flames. Her stomach lurched, and she knew she was going to lose it.
Pushing away from the table, she ran through the living room and down the hall. She barely reached the bathroom and knelt by the toilet before the meager amount in her stomach came up.
Dendera, who had been following her, hurried across the black and white tiles. She sat down beside her daughter and pulled her hair out of the way.
“Goddess help you; I hope you didn’t contract some sort of banshee disease dealing with Sorcha’s wretched imps of hell,” she said. “Remember how Miranda wound up getting that Seven-Year Witch Disease when she was completing a task for the Supreme Witch’s Council?”
“Ugg, how could I forget? She grew mossy brown spots on her…” Lizzie leaned over the toilet and upchucked again. She felt more miserable than she ever had in her life.
Dendera rose and walked to the sink. She wet a washcloth under the faucet, then returned to Lizzie and pressed it gently against her brow and cheeks.
“It doesn’t feel like you have a fever,” Dendera said as she handed Lizzie the washcloth. “That’s a good sign.”
Revived by the coolness, Lizzie decided to stand. Somehow, she managed to keep her knees from buckling. At the sink she used a glass to get a drink.
Then she sorted through the cabinet, located her mother’s homemade wintergreen breath rinse and swished it through her mouth.
“Sorry about that,” she said, patting her lips with the washcloth. “I didn’t intend to make a scene in front of the family.”
“You can’t help it when you’re sick, Lizzie. I know you were looking forward to the clan festivities this evening—the bonfire and the full moon rituals,” Dendera said, her brow furrowed. “But I don’t want you to go. I think you need rest.”
“That would probably help,” Lizzie answered, realizing it would give her more time to gather a few items she might need before she left.
“Oh, my Goddess,” Aunt Aggie said as she entered the bathroom. “Lizzie, you’re as white as a fen turnip!”
Vroom, vroom! Vera rolled beside Lizzie’s mother and aunt. “Smells like a vomit comet exploded in here.”
“Uggh,” Lizzie muttered.
“Oh, pish, posh.” Vera revved her engine. “By the way, where’s that handsome wulver of yours, Lizzie? One look at him sure heated up my belts.”
“Vera!” Aunt Aggie gave the vacuum a censuring stare.
The lights on Vera’s hood blinked several times, but she remained silent.
Bouncing along on her straw bottom, Wren entered the bathroom, making the small space even smaller. “Devochka! You had us all worried!”
“I’m fine now,” Lizzie said. “Please, go back and enjoy your dinner.”
At the mere thought of food, Lizzie swallowed and gripped the edge of the counter, doing her best to fight back a dry heave.
“Wren and Vera, please return to the dining room and let everyone know that Lizzie is fine,” Dendera said as she patted Lizzie’s back.
“Let’s go, grill face,” Wren told Vera as she brushed past the vacuum.
“Sure, you bossy bark butt,” Vera shot back as she followed the broom. “Remember, I was the one who helped Lizzie and Kincaid with the banshees.”
“Oh, puh-leez! Lizzie and I had many adventures before you decided to steal the show,” Wren said.
Their voices faded.
“Now we need to get you tucked into bed,” Dendera said.
Witch Tease Page 20
