Bewitched (Fated #1)

by Kelly Moran

  Hypocritical much? Taking the weapon to have it spelled in order to slaughter those who possessed such powers only served to prove his ends-justify-the-means mentality. A mindset that had never boded well in history. Oh, and Minister Meath had murdered the voodoo priest with the dagger to ensure it worked.

  The “witching blade” couldn’t be destroyed unless the original maker was killed by it, severing the spell. Which was out of the question since Minister Meath was obviously dead. It would, in fact, entrap the powers of whatever witch it slain for all eternity. And had since its creation. There were nine original magical bloodlines, two of whom had been eradicated by the dagger. One wielded by Minister Meath himself and the other by his predecessor.

  Thus began the Venatores Brotherhood—a group hand-picked by the Minister. According to dictation, there were always five members sworn in and actively hunting, and the only way to leave the organization was by death. One man had attempted to quit in all that time. His body was found in pieces near the Black Forest in Germany in 1901.

  Since then, the seven remaining families had scattered and thinned out, making it difficult for the Venetores to hunt them. Not for a lack of trying. Many had been discovered and murdered, though the bloodlines remain. The dagger has been passed down from generation to generation and has never left Meath possession.

  The Galloways were the sole original family to not uproot or hide. Yes, there were distant members all over the globe, but the immediate descendants were still on the island. Hope, Celeste’s daughter, was the lone Galloway to have been killed by the witching blade, and her death occurred a mere night after delivering her twin daughters. Something not even Mara had known because it had been made to look like a suicide.

  “I’m never going to sleep again,” she muttered to herself. A habit she’d had since childhood and had cultivated this week being alone so much.

  The telltale beep of the keypad sounded and the library door swung open. Riley stepped inside and glanced around.

  “Hey, blondie. Brought you a caffeine boost.”

  “Bless you.” She accepted the to-go cup and took a sip of coffee. “I needed that. My eyes are starting to permanently cross.”

  He laughed. “But what pretty eyes they are.”

  “Flirt.” She grinned. A check of the clock showed it was three in the afternoon. “You’re home early.” Five days, and she’d gotten used to the guys’ schedules, their routines a part of hers.

  “I barely escaped Mayor Bridgeport’s clutches as we finalized the Founder’s Day celebration for tomorrow.” He shrugged. “Decided to call it and check on you.”

  “Aw.” Both of Brady’s brothers had been unerringly kind and had done lots of little things to make her feel comfortable in their big ole house. They’d had the maid buy her favorite brand of yogurt, brought in an iPod station so she could listen to music while reading, and had even called periodically through the day to see if she’d needed anything. “The mayor’s quite a character. She cornered me yesterday at the bakery and gave me the riot act. Nonstop questions. I could’ve used Fiona’s distraction skills, for sure.”

  Riley did a double-take. “You left the mansion alone?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I only went to get a muffin. Don’t flip out. I needed a break.”

  “I could’ve brought you whatever you needed or taken you somewhere.” He scowled. “Brady’s going to—”

  “Freak out, which is why you won’t mention it to him.” She gave him a pointed look. “I’m fine, and what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

  “He cares about you. We all do.” He sighed. “But, okay. I’ll keep my trap shut if you promise to use the buddy system from now on.”

  “Yes, master.” She rolled her eyes even though her chest swelled at his admission. Truthfully, she’d grown to care about them, too. More than was probably wise. Despite never really being shown love by the man who’d raised them, all three boys had proven they were more than capable of the emotion themselves.

  “I like this nickname.” He wiggled his brows. “Say it again, but with a come-hither voice.”

  “God.” She tilted her head back and laughed.

  “That’s good, too, but I like ‘master’ better.”

  Shaking her head, she swatted his arm. “I needed a laugh. Thank you.”

  “Well, at least one of you sisters appreciates humor.” He brought the cup to his lips. “Ceara’s not so bad, but Fiona’s death glares are enough to have a guy piss himself.”

  She hummed in her throat. “All the bickering between you two makes for interesting foreplay.”

  He choked on his coffee and violently coughed. “Christ. Are you kidding me?” Reaching for a tissue, he wiped his mouth and coughed again. “Foreplay? You and I have very different versions of that word. Half the time I think she’s fantasizing about castration and the other half she’s plotting manslaughter. We rub each other the wrong way and always have.”

  “So start rubbing in the right way.” She shrugged. “Foreplay. I predict something will come of it.”

  Eyes bugged in a clear kill-me-now, he stared at her. “Please tell me you’re joking. You haven’t really, you know, seen us...” He swiped a hand down his face and cursed. “I can’t even say it.”

  “Did I get a premonition about you two having sex?” This earned a wheeze, and she chuckled. “No. I have visions of the present, remember? Call it a hunch.”

  “Lord help me,” he groaned and sucked in a breath. “Can we talk about something else? Anything else? I’m going to have nightmares.”

  “Nightmares, wet dreams. Tomato, tomauto.” At his new strand of wicked curses, she took pity on him. “Okay, calm down. I’m only teasing.” Mostly. Riley and Fiona could create an inferno with all their sparks. She just hoped she was clear of the vicinity when the smoke plumed.

  Her grin fell as she glanced at the journals again. “I finished all the entries today.”

  “Hmm. Speaking of nightmares.” He set his coffee aside, all traces of humor gone. “I don’t think I even want to know what they say.”

  Before their early evening training routine, Ceara had been casting a spell every night for the passages Kaida had read to jump ship and embed in the others’ memory. It had saved time so not everyone had to go through the journals and, that way, no one missed anything. What might seem unimportant to one could be pertinent to another.

  “Cliffnotes version?” She chewed her lip. “The last two books are from your uncle. He was, in fact, training you to become hunters. The last log was the day he quit trying. According to him, Brady was too logical about history and saw both sides of the story. You didn’t take anything seriously. Tristan kept his emotions close to the vest, thus making him a good candidate, but he was too sympathetic. Actually, the word he used repeatedly was weak.”

  She sighed. “And thank God for that. It was one thing listening to Brady recant some of what your uncle had done and another to hear it from the abuser’s mouth. I spent most of the day in tears.” If she had to read another account of belt whippings, or starvation and isolation techniques, she might die.

  “I’m sorry this fell on you.” He rubbed circles over her back. “He is a prick of the highest order, but take comfort in knowing he didn’t break us.”

  “I do.” She massaged her aching forehead. “He was aware of my existence all along. I’m not clear on why he didn’t come after me sooner. I get the impression he needed the three-by-three to fulfill their destiny, but he’s very vague on the reason why in what he wrote. They’re mostly rantings.”

  He nodded slowly, watching her. “Rough day, huh?”

  “You could say that.” Something else had been screwing with her head, too. The niggling sensation had crept up her spine earlier in the week and was now throbbing in the back of her skull since she’d finished all the journals. Every time she’d tried to rationalize the inkling, she kept circling back to doubt. “Take a peek at something, would you?” She arranged the books in order o
n the table and flipped to random pages, leaving them open. “Do you notice anything odd about them?”

  He stood and leaned over the table. “You mean other than the fact they’re written in Latin and I can understand them?”

  Breathing a laugh, she rose, too. “Yes, besides that.” She didn’t want to give him any hints. Sometimes just implying a theory could make the collective whole less objective. Better to wait and see if someone else spotted a pattern.

  He ran his gaze over each book, then took a step back and did it again. The longer he studied them, the deeper his furrow of concentration became. “Color me crazy, but the handwriting is really similar.”

  “I thought so, as well.” Her pulse kicked rhythm. “The first four journals are from Minister Meath and were penned in quill ink. The succession goes on down your family tree. When a different member takes over the dagger, about every fifty years, the name gets entered at the beginning of the passage. There’s dates to confirm, and I matched them to your line. Now, the newer ones use both sides of the paper and change to ballpoint, acclimating to modernization. The verbiage adapts for the times, too, as do descriptions. Yet there are a lot of similarities.”

  He straightened and crossed his arms. “What are you getting at?”

  “For starters, there’s two Bible verses that are repeated throughout all the books. Coincidence? Probably. However, certain words like “heathen” and “sorcery” are frequented. Pretty outdated terms. So are specific insults. Could also be a coincidence.”

  “But when you compare them with the handwriting, it adds up to more.” He nodded, his gaze distant. “What’s the connection?”

  “I don’t know. Obviously, they weren’t written by the same person.” She sighed. “The T’s and I’s have an identical curvature at the top in all entries, though. A pattern throughout. So do the lower-case G’s and Y’s. Even the slant of the sentences are alike. I mean, yes, they change faintly between time periods, yet not nearly enough. Weird, right?”

  “Definitely.” He scratched his jaw. “Bring it up with Brady and see what he says. He’s the brainiac. Maybe he can shed light on it.” A glance around, and he resettled on her. “Are you hungry?”

  “No.” Her appetite had vacated the premises after reading the first passage five days ago. It had yet to return. “Thanks, though.”

  “Have you eaten anything today? Have you left this room at all, for that matter?”

  “Does going to the bathroom count?” At his frown, she rose on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry about me. I think I’ll head home. Could you let Tristan know I’m skipping training tonight? He can kick my ass twice as hard tomorrow to make up for it.”

  “Sure.” His concerned gaze trailed over her. “I’ll drive you. Come on.”

  Mara was stirring a pot on the stove when Kaida returned. The kitchen smelled like roasting meat and spices, making her stomach rumble with hunger pains.

  “Can I help with anything?” She set her keys on the counter and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

  “No thanks, dear. Just whipped up a batch of good Irish stew. It’s a damp one out there today. Thought it would warm our bones.” Mara turned with a smile, wiping her hands on a towel. “You look mighty worn around the edges, lass.”

  Grinning at her aunt’s thick brogue, Kaida took a healthy gulp from her bottle. “Who knew reading could be so exhausting?”

  Mara’s stoic expression indicated she was interpreting Kaida’s mind or mood, and not caring for what she found. “I suspect the content of the reading material was the draining part. Put that water down. We’ll getcha something stronger and have us some fresh air.”

  She poured two glasses of white wine and handed one to Kaida. “Come. We’ll sit in the garden. It’ll do us good.”

  Following Mara outside, Kaida breathed in humid, chilly air scented with brine and took stock of the blooms budding as they strolled through the intricate maze of plants. Gemstones dangling overhead reflected off the dwindling late day sunlight while latticed arches created shadows on the crushed shell path. Wind chimes tinkered in the distance, and she loved the melodic sound.

  Mara claimed a spot on a stone bench in a circular seating area next to a shallow fountain and patted the place beside her. “Sit with me, dear.”

  Kaida complied and took a sip of wine, letting it cool her throat. “It’s beautiful out here.”

  She hadn’t had much time to truly explore the gardens, but it had obviously been a labor of love. It covered nearly the whole expanse of the eastern grounds and gave a semblance of privacy. Between the statues, flowers, vines, and trails, it made her think of a fairy garden hidden in a pocket among the real world. A wonderful escape.

  “Aye, a work-in-progress for quite some time.” Mara sighed, the sound world-weary and more than a little sad. “I always seem to be adding to it, what with my earth element. I’m at my happiest with my hands in the soil. I wonder who’ll care for it when I’m gone,” she added as if to herself.

  Her shoulder-length white hair caught the breeze, gaze trained on a thatch of pink phlox, and Kaida was suddenly struck by the enormity of what her aunt must’ve endured.

  She was but a girl of twenty when she’d been put in charge of the enormous task ahead of her, and forty years later, her immortality had kicked in. To guide future witches until destiny unfolded. All the changes over time and loved ones she’d had to bury. To live three-hundred years, never being able to fall in love or age or truly rest would leave any sane person bitter. Instead, Mara seemed to be a cross between utterly lonely and hopefully optimistic.

  Maybe they weren’t so different after all.

  Kaida thought about her own sisters, the growing bond she’d developed with them, and couldn’t fathom what she’d do if she had to watch one or both of them be killed like Mara had with Celeste. She didn’t think she’d survive it. And on top of that, Mara had to raise Celeste’s daughter while in the throws of grief in an era when fear ran rampant. Tack on three centuries of rinse and repeat, and Kaida’s heart broke right in two.

  “We’ll take care of your gardens, Aunt Mara. Ceara, Fiona, and me. I promise.”

  A fond smile curved her lips and she patted Kaida’s arm. “That’s the first time you’ve called me that.” Her twinkling blue eyes landed on Kaida. “Put ‘aunt’ in front of my name. Dare I say you’re accepting us as family?” She looked away. “Perhaps forgiveness isn’t far off. I wish for nothing else.”

  Tears burned Kaida’s eyes, and she struggled to formulate a response. Since arriving on the island, she’d been in a push/pull battle between her heart and her head. Between long-ago desires and reality. In the end, her aunt did all the talking and saved her from the agony of indecision.

  “The day you were born, it rained a maelstrom.” Mara chuckled. “I thought it would never cease, the pouring. The ocean was restless that afternoon. Nothing but white-capped waves and turbulent tossing. And then your ma pushed you into the world. The storm halted, just like that. All was quiet, even you, lass. You hardly cried, simply cooed noises nonstop.”

  Her sudden grin was wicked. “Ceara’s birth took forever, but she arrived in her own sweet time when she was ready. Hours of straining and pain. She didn’t make a sound. Not one little peep. Now, Fiona? Oh, that girl came fast and loud. The lungs on her. Pissed off from the start, that one. I guess some things never change.”

  Finishing her wine, Mara set the glass by her feet. “You opened your eyes almost immediately, studying this new place and questioning everything. We’d talk and you’d hang on every word, absorbing. Learning. So inquisitive, even as a newborn babe.”

  She paused for several heartbeats, and when she spoke again, her tone held a remote quality that was chilling. “I had an inkling after Ceara came that something was different. Couldn’t put my finger on it until we learned that the Meath boys had arrived. They were supposed to be twins, the doctor said. That was the rumor around the island, anyway. Brady was a sur
prise, and I knew, just knew, the time had come. Your ma was weeks away from delivering Fiona, you weren’t even a glimmer in her eye yet, but I knew.”

  Kaida held her breath, anticipation humming under her skin. In her bones. She’d learned the logistics, had heard the rationale, yet to sit here and have the reasons for sending her away laid out for her from someone who’d actually been there caused panic to build. Because this was it. The moment she’d been waiting for since as far back as she could remember.

  “You were born on a new moon, all six of you.” Mara sighed. “That spoke volumes, it did. New moon children have a lot of emotional power, a strong sense of self, and are a force to be reckoned with since they often are the ones who initiate things where others back down. They rise up when others fall.” She nodded. “Aye, the fates were aligned. Finally, after three hundred years, I would have my chance at peace.”

  She met Kaida’s wet eyes, eviscerating heartbreak etched in their depths. “I was the first to hold you, and you are the last Galloway I’ll deliver in my lifetime. But as I gazed at your cherubic face and blonde curls and in those brilliant eyes, I recognized right then and there it wasn’t about any curse. It was about keeping you safe so you could fulfill your own destiny. For you to have the opportunity to live and learn and love, unlike myself and all who came after me. I had faith in you the moment I saw you.”

  Her voice hitched on a sob and Kaida reached for Mara’s hands, lacing their fingers. “We had one blessed, beautiful week with you, and then we let you go. It tore out a piece of me I’ll never get back, but it had to be done. I knew you’d return, stronger than I’ve ever been, wiser than I could ever hope to be. And you are all those things, Kaida. I couldn’t be more proud. I hated giving you up, but I did what I had to, even if it killed me, even knowing you’d probably hate me.”

  “I don’t.” Pulling her in for a hug, Kaida held Mara against her chest and cried for the time they couldn’t get back, the misery her family suffered, which she’d been too selfish to see before. She hadn’t been the only one scared and alone, desperately seeking purchase. But they were together now for whatever time they had left. “I don’t hate you, Aunt Mara. I forgive you.”