A pregnant pause was permeated only by the sounds of the house settling in for the night.
“We’ve certainly made a few enemies lately,” Claire sighed.
“What was her name?” Moira’s quiet, serious voice cut through the building tension with a jarring change of subject.
“What?” Tierra asked.
“Our mother…” She gestured to the book. “What was her name?”
They all regarded the neat, feminine script on the paper as though it contained the answers to the mysteries of the universe.
“Mirelle,” Tierra answered. “Mirelle de Moray.”
“Welp.” Moria visibly gathered herself before reaching out and sliding the book toward her. “I guess we should do what she says, and figure out just how in the Sam Hill we’re going to survive this. Because, in case you ain’t noticed, we have three incredibly powerful men out to steal our powers or take our lives.”
“Not to mention a coven of local witches,” Claire added.
It was enough to sober them all and steal the warm glow their laughter had lent the kitchen.
“I’ll make coffee.” Tierra began to bang open cupboards and bustle about. “It’s going to be a long night.”
“There is no time for that.” Another voice, frail and female, joined them, and Aerin glanced up at the two foreign women standing in the kitchen doorway. One a slim, brassy blonde with penciled in eyebrows that gave her expression a permanent sardonic cast, and the other a wizened red-head. Like them. Eerily similar to them, actually. Lines of age branched from skin that must have once been as smooth and creamy as theirs were now. Shrewd green eyes offset thinning auburn hair streaked with silver.
The infamous Aunt Justine, perhaps? It almost seemed like Claire’s words conjured them out of the night.
Aerin didn’t like the fanatical vibrations emanating from the older woman, but what bothered her even more, was the maniacal, calculating distain she read from the blonde.
“They’re coming for you.” The matron’s ominous warning held a hint of morbid anticipation. “The Horsemen are on their way, and they’re out for blood.”
“What is she doing here?” Moira growled. “You have a lot of nerve showing your face.”
“We have time, Aunt Justine,” Tierra said, setting the kettle on and measuring coffee into a French press. “This house is warded against all enemies. You helped me cast them, yourself. As long as we’re here, we’re safe. Just no one leave until we figure out just what our next step is.”
“Except for ya’ll.” Moira stood and advanced on the older woman, a combination of hurt and wrath swimming in her eyes. “You can git. You’re no longer welcome in this house. And take that wannabe Barbie witch with you.”
“This has been my home longer than you’ve been alive.” Justine’s eyes fell on the book and her emotions became so garbled, Aerin had to keep herself from squirming. “I—we came to make amends for the actions of our coven. We acted hastily out of fear and we may have been—misguided.”
“Misguided?” Moira spat the word like she would a foul taste. “You tried to kill me you old, harpy bitch. Misguided don’t even begin to cover it. I’ve heard better apologies from a whore on Sunday Morning.”
The blonde stepped forward, putting a hand on Justine’s thin shoulder. “In our defense, we thought at the time that we were trying to save humanity from the Apocalypse. Now we’re looking for another way… One that doesn’t end with more de Moray casualties.”
Aerin stood. She may be new at this, but she could read something not altogether honest in the other witch’s emotional signature. “And just who the fuck are you?” she demanded. “And why did no one tell me that our aunt tried to kill Moira?”
“It sort of never came up,” Tierra said, as though the fact also surprised her.
Aerin kind of understood that, she wasn’t at the top of the list of dangerous people after them at the moment.
“My name is Gwen,” the blonde was saying. “I’m High Priestess of the Olympic Coven of Thirteen.”
“Well ain’t you just the tomcat’s batter sack.” Visibly shaking with anger at this point, Moira made what looked like a weird southern insult with her finger. “And then get the fuck out. Both of you.” Clouds began to gather over the calm waters of the bay, blocking the light from the moon.
“Moira, calm down,” Tierra murmured. “Last thing we need is a storm right now.”
“No, I think she’s right.” Claire stood and moved next to Moira in a show of solidarity. “They should leave.”
“I agree.” Aerin crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Didn’t the knife thing just predict that enemies would cross our threshold?” God, she couldn’t believe she’d just said that.
“A knife fell from the table to the floor?” Justine’s eyes widened as she turned to Tierra, who’d frozen with the kettle in her hand, her eyes bouncing from her aunt to her sisters with indecision.
“Yes.” Tierra nodded.
“Then the Horsemen are closer than we thought.” Instead of retreating she went to Tierra, searching for the only friend she might have left in her family. “I know I made mistakes, immense ones, but you have to believe me, Tierra, my heart is in the right place, and we came to warn you. To help you.”
“That makes about as much sense as a shoeshine in a shit storm,” Moira said, clearly unconvinced.
Tierra brought the coffee to the table, biting her lip, conflict heavy on her features.
Gwen stepped forward. “Would I have been able to get past your wards if we meant you harm? The spell was such that no one not of de Moray blood could enter.”
Aerin only had a second to wonder how the Priestess knew that detail before the splintering of wood and breaking of glass shattered the two windows flanking the table, as chaos and violence erupted.
Chapter Twelve
Two powerhouse men unfurled from the glittering shards of glass, landing on their feet, braced for battle before the remains of the window finished hitting the floor. The one next to Moira was empty-handed and swarthy, clad in black jeans and a tight t-shirt the color of blood. The other, a lighter specter of the first, had eyes and hair more the color of an amber whiskey than the black stout of his companion. The moment he landed, his strong arm reached over his head and produced a bow from an invisible quiver, and an arrow appeared between his fingers as he pulled back the string and trained it on Claire.
Neat trick, conceded the only part of Aerin’s brain that wasn’t freaking the fuck out. A rather polite knock sounded on the kitchen door, and she whirled to see Julian push it open, ripping the deadbolt through the wood as though it were nothing.
“What the fuck, Julian?” Aerin demanded, trying not to let the regret pooling in his eyes calm the waves of betrayal and anger building within her.
“I told you we’d be coming,” he murmured.
“I didn’t know you meant like—right now!” Aerin bitched. He looked so different than the man she’d spent the afternoon with. This was the gentleman she’d met at the airport, calm, cultured, suited, and hiding a cold heart and lethal intent behind a veneer of manners and platitudes.
“I’m taking back what’s mine.” The red-shirted brute held his hand out and said something in a language that sounded harsh yet lyrical, Gaelic maybe?
From the floor above, a crash then a drag, muffled by heavy rugs and heavier floors, preceded a flash as a blur of silver raced past them all. He caught the heavy sword with one hand as though the monstrous weapon weighed nothing. Then turned and flashed dark eyes at Claire, his features tightening into a sinister smile of victory as he raised the sword above Moira. “Only one of you has to die,” he said. “If you cooperate, we’ll even let you pick who.”
“I vote for that one,” Justine crowed, pointing a shaking finger at Moira.
“Don’t you touch her,” Claire and the man with the bow said in unison. Stunned, Claire looked behind her at the arrow trained at her back.
“
No one’s going to die today.” Tierra held up her hands. “Let’s all calm down.”
“If you kill Moira, then I skewer your fire witch,” The man who Aerin assumed by process of elimination was Nick Kingswood threatened Dru—War—of all people.
“Hey,” Claire piped indignantly. “I’m no one’s fire witch. I don’t even like Dru, he took something from me, and I only returned the favor.”
“Orgasms don’t count.” Dru’s silken, dark voice held a note of seduction that didn’t fit with the moment.
Claire blanched, then turned red. “Don’t you dare tease me when you’re here to kill my sisters you arrogant douche bag.”
Aerin had not yet taken her eyes off of Julian, as his presence washed over her like silk flowing in a breeze. Insubstantial, sensual, and yet strong. “You have the sword back,” she reasoned. “You all can go without any one getting hurt.”
“We have to end this.” Julian’s shrewd gaze touched everyone behind her, finally landing on Tierra.
Aerin didn’t have time to consider if he sent the appeal to her or to some archaic God because he leapt like a great cat over across the island with the sink and stove toward Tierra, his boot crashing into the faucet and ripping it off in his haste.
Water spouted from the sink, but didn’t slow him, and as Aerin watched in horrified fascination, she caught simultaneous actions in her periphery.
Dru’s sword arced toward Moira’s neck.
Nick separated his fingers, freeing the arrow to find its mark in Claire’s warm heart.
Justine and Gwen both dove for the ancient book still lying open on the table.
The dynamic instantly became clear. The men couldn’t bear to kill their mark for one reason or another. Dru wouldn’t harm Claire, Nick couldn’t bring himself to kill Moira, and Aerin was immune to Julian’s lethal touch.
So he was reaching for Tierra with those deadly fingers of his.
The numb weightlessness that had terrified her for her entire life settled in her limbs and rushed to her core through veins coursing with power and oxygen. It had been more than twenty-four hours since she’d had the chance to suppress it with her cigarettes; reducing the oxygen she had available in her body. She knew now what it was that coursed through her, and exactly what she could do with it. Magic.
They’d said only one of the witches had to die, but in less than a second, all three of her sisters were in danger of losing their lives.
And Aerin would be left alone in the world.
Again.
“No!” she screamed as she flung her power out of her body in a great circular gust of wind. Everyone lifted off their feet, thrown to their backs as every window in the entire house blew out with a deafening explosion.
The arrow embedded in the window frame with a loud ‘thwang,’ missing Claire by narrow inches, blown off course by the blast of wind.
It was Moira who recovered first. She reached her hand out toward the fountain now gushing from the sink and made a fist.
The water congealed into an identical replica of Moira’s clenched fist, only twenty times as large, that raced toward Dru with the speed and force of a tidal wave.
The impact sent him flying out the window from which he’d entered.
“Tell me you still have a lighter,” Claire called to Aerin over her shoulder.
Aerin fished it out of her pocket and tossed it to Claire who, in one fluid movement, caught it, lit it, and blew an inferno toward Nick, who immediately went up in flames like a tinder box.
To his credit, he leapt out the window and dropped to the soggy ground, rolling his now charred body in the water that pooled beneath Dru’s coughing form. By the time he finished his clothes had become nothing more than soot clinging to his severe burns.
They whirled on Julian, who’d gained his feet and was again attempting to reach for Tierra. “Forgive me, Aerin,” he said as he lurched forward.
“Forgive this, asshole!” Tierra cried as the ground shook. They all staggered as vines, roots and plants erupted from the cracks of the hard wood beneath the kitchen floor and snaked up Julian’s body, lifting him, and hurling him outside, farther than the other two, skewering his torso on the dangerous spikes of the wrought iron gate.
Aerin gasped in alarm, a part of her own chest tearing at the thought of him dead, another part of her knowing that they all did what they must to protect each other.
“Is everyone okay?” Tierra asked as the vines and roots withered and retreated back into their hole in the earth.
“Just glad to still have my head attached to my neck,” Moira sighed as she picked up a chair and uselessly tucked it beneath the table, a drop in the bucket of the chaos surrounding them.
Aerin panted, still too shaky to form words as she watched the man to whom she’d given his first kiss groan a bit as he lifted himself from where he’d been impaled in their front yard.
Thank like—whoever—they had trees to hide this from their neighbors. Though the explosion of glass might bring the Police Department any moment now.
Dru also picked his soggy ass up from the ground, his wet shirt and pants sticking to his tantalizingly powerful body as he reached for his barbecued brother.
“We’re immortals,” Dru informed them as though talking to idiot children.
“You can’t stop us,” Nick threatened through cracked, blackened lips, retrieving his bow and threading it.
“You can only delay the inevitable.” A wet, sickening sound heralded through the night as Julian pulled himself free of the fence and walked between the other two Horsemen.
The men advanced, all semblance of reluctance erased and replaced by pure, lethal intent.
Tierra, still standing closest to Aerin, grabbed her hand and reached out to the other two.
“By the power of four, you may harm us no more,” she chanted, squeezing Aerin’s hand tightly, prompting her to join in.
“By the power of four, you may harm us no more.” Aerin whispered along with her, feeling utterly foolish even as her words gathered momentum and volume.
Claire joined in, her voice clear and strong, as she latched onto Tierra’s other hand.
Moira lunged for Aerin, her accent lending a lyrical sound to the chant as their powers and voices melded.
By the power of four, you may harm us no more.
By the power of four, you may harm us no more.
Their magic surged, each of them feeling how the other fed and also tempered her.
Fire devoured oxygen to burn, destroyed organic life, and evaporated water.
Earth and all of her sentient life fed on oxygen, smothered fire with dirt, and drank of the water.
Air directed or extinguished a flame, tossed the sand about, and comprised two parts of the molecular structure of water.
Water covered the earth, drowned the fire, and tangled with air, always a part of it.
They needed each other. Balanced the seasons. Were essential to life.
And they would find their way through this. Together.
Love spread along with their combined magic, creating a dome of elemental protection that extended to encompass the kitchen, then the house.
Nick’s arrows bounced off of it. Dru’s sword failed to puncture it. And all the men were physically repelled backward by its strength, until they stood in the streets gawking like awe-struck victims of war, bloodied, burned, and cast aside.
A flash of lightning forked through the night, touching down at Julian’s feet, but leaving him unscathed.
When the light receded, a set of scales, like the one’s held by the Lady of Justice sat at his feet. These were about two feet tall and looked to be made of the purest gold.
He studied it for a moment, they all did, knowing the truth of his words before he skewered Aerin with a hard gaze and spoke them. “The Third Seal has been broken.”
“And the fault is yours,” Aerin volleyed. “You forced us to protect ourselves.”
“We’ll return for bloo
d,” Dru promised, fading into the darkness.
“Practice your pleas for mercy,” Nick threatened, following his brother into the night.
Julian stood at the edge of the dome, as the colors faded, but the magic and protection remained. He looked dejected, conflicted, and still resolved. “Sweet dreams, ladies,” he murmured, bending down to retrieve his scales. “Until we meet again.”
Chapter Thirteen
To Aerin’s surprise, she found herself reluctant to release her sister’s hands, wondering if the protection would fade once they separated.
“We did it,” Tierra breathed, though whether it was a breath of victory or defeat, Aerin couldn’t tell. “We cast together, and this protection spell is so strong. Can you feel it?”
“We broke the Third Seal, didn’t we?” Aerin asked, staring into the shadows that moments ago had swallowed the regal form of Julian Roarke.
“Yeah…” Claire let go and crunched over broken glass toward the table. “Maybe we should stop doing that. It really doesn’t lend much credibility to our claim that we don’t want to bring about the Apocalypse.”
“We wouldn’t have had to cast magic together if those sons of bitches hadn’t forced us to protect ourselves.” Moira pointed out before turning toward the two witches still on the floor where they had been thrown by Aerin’s blast. “Like we were saying before, time for you to scat.”
Tierra also picked her way through the carnage that had once been a charming kitchen and reached down to help her elderly aunt back to her feet. “Hold on,” she argued. “I know that things are tense right now, but Justine is our aunt. The only family we have left. And she’s also a witch. Don’t you think we should try to stick together for both reasons?”
“Is everyone forgetting she tried to kill us?” Moira put her hand on a thrust out hip, abjuring her aunt.
“Every family has its problems.” Tierra patted her aunt on the shoulder. “She was trying to stop the Apocalypse. Plus she said she was sorry.”
Which Witch is Which? (The Witches of Port Townsend) Page 25
