“We are both terribly sorry.” Gwen stepped forward after pulling herself up from the floor. She addressed the sisters, but her gaze never left the Grimoire, which lay open where they’d left it, as though waiting for the chaos to pass so they could get back to business.
“No one asked you.” Aerin wobbled a little on her stiletto heels, but crunched over to the table to snatch up the book, glaring at Gwen in mistrust. “This is a family discussion.”
“A coven is a sort of family,” Gwen argued, tossing her blond hair over her shoulder. “And Justine has been a part of this one since before my time.” She addressed the rest of the room. “And so was your mother.”
“Your mother would have wanted me to help you.” Justine grabbed onto the subject of their mother with both hands. “Mirelle was my only sister.”
“I don’t mean to fixate on this insignificant detail, but our mother probably wouldn’t have wanted you to try to kill us,” Moira bit out.
“That is a good point,” Claire conceded. “I don’t think we should trust her.”
“I’m not asking for your trust.” Justine stepped forward. “I’m just begging for a chance. All I can give you is a promise that I’ll never make another attempt on your life. And our coven will do what we can to help you. To prove ourselves.”
Aerin cast a look at her sisters, who in turn sent silent messages to her and each other. They’d discuss Justine and the coven later, as a family.
“I sort of owe you some windows.” Aerin toed the glass sparkling in the moonlight.
Tierra laughed. “I’m sending Nick Kingswood the bill.”
“Bastard deserves it,” Moira muttered.
“And you owe me nothing.” Tierra put her arm around Aerin’s waist. “You owe the windows to yourself, to all of us, because this house belongs to the four of us. And that’s what our mother would have wanted.”
Aerin had to struggle to breathe through a band tightening her ribs and pressing against her lungs. “I don’t care what the prophecy says,” she admitted through a hoarse throat. “I don’t believe in fate. I don’t believe in destiny. And I don’t believe that being together behind this gate is wrong, because we are family, and we belong here.”
Even as she said it, a doubt lingered in the dark places of her mind. What if finding her sisters meant destroying the rest of the world?
****
“Is it done?” Killian Bane’s dark voice crunched like the gravel beneath his favorite pale Chimera custom motorcycle. “I felt… something.”
Julian sat back in his favorite library chair, his fingers wrapped around his glass of Glenmorangie as though it could save him. “You felt the Third Seal break,” he groaned, staring at the scales displayed on a marble stand. They looked too small to hold the world in balance, but that they did, and always had.
A slew of curses both ancient and modern blasted through the phone line, and Julian held the receiver away from his ear.
“We need you, Killian. These de Moray women are stronger than we anticipated. We’ll need all four of us if we are to defeat them.”
A deafening silence screamed the Fourth Horsemen’s displeasure. “The plan was to kill one of them before they all found each other,” he finally said.
“I am aware of the plan,” Julian said through clenched teeth. “But I think you’ll understand the difficulties we faced once you get here and face them yourself.”
Taking another sip, Julian ran his finger over the seam of his own lips, remembering the moist softness of his first and only kiss. She been such a hard woman, the tenderness had been so fully unexpected.
He recalled a conversation with a certain philosopher almost two thousand years ago. The man had been in his cups at the time, but he said that he’d stumbled upon the greatest secret to a successful offense or defense known to civilization. The heart and the mind. Win the hearts and minds of your allies… or your enemies, and you will have won the battle. Or the war.
Never had Plato’s words been so indisputable than this moment. Because one feisty air witch had begun to wedge herself into his heart, and she dominated his thoughts as though he were an untried pubescent boy.
“What happened, Julian? I’ve known you for an eternity. In all that time, you’ve slaughtered more people, women and children included, than Nick and Dru. Combined.” Killian obviously tried, and failed, to keep the irritation out of his voice. “All you had to do was touch one of them, and our problem would be solved without spilling a drop of blood.”
“I did touch one of them.” That had been the problem, hadn’t it? Touching her skin. Feeling her warmth. Caressing her unspeakably lovely face. “She is immune to me. I couldn’t have known it at the time. Killian, listen to me. The weavers of fate conspire against us, they always have. And if we are to defeat our enemies, we need to be four strong, as they are.”
“Well, shit,” Killian agreed with a weary sound. “I’m on my way.”
Julian placed the phone on the stand at his elbow and drained his scotch, reaching out for Nicholas to refill the glass with the offered decanter as he studied the fire.
“What did Bane say?” Dru asked.
Taking another sip, Julian closed his eyes and ran his finger over his lip again, a ball of anticipation and dread settling in the void where his heart had once been. Taking a deep breath, he tried not to think of lovely silver eyes and moonlight as he turned to his brothers.
“Death is coming.” And Hell would follow.
Tierra
by
Tiffinie Helmer
Chapter One
“What the hell are you doing?” Tierra asked, catching Moira in the kitchen straining a pot of boiled angel trumpet blossoms.
Moira poured the mixture into a delicate bone china teacup that was decorated with red and pink roses. She set the teacup next to the matching plate with a soft-boiled egg and buttered toast. “Makin' tea.”
“You can't use angel trumpets in tea, not unless you're trying to kill someone.”
“You don't say.” Moira turned and hollered up the backstairs, “Aunt Justine, your breakfast is ready.”
“Oh, no, you don't.” Tierra took the tea from Moira and poured it down the drain. Smoke hissed out, and she looked at Moira in alarm. “What else did you put in there?”
“A little bit of Cheeto's spit. Call it an attitude adjustment in case the angel trumpets didn't git 'er done.” Moira shrugged as though she'd asked a stupid question. “And I didn't pick enough to kill her—probably—only enough to make Aunt Just-for-now want to leave us be. She ain't the woman you believe she is, Tierra.”
“She's family.”
“Yeah, and I'm the queen of cream cheese,” Moira muttered.
“What's with all the yelling?” Claire demanded. “I thought we were being invaded again.”
“More like you hoped we were,” Aerin said, entering behind her and stepping gingerly over the broken and scarred wood floors with her sky-high, strappy stilettos. “I know you want Dru's…sword back.”
“Like you wouldn't want another killer caress from Julian.”
Aerin shrugged. “Touché, sister.”
The house was in a bad state after last night. They'd done the best they could with sweeping up broken glass and other debris, and covering windows and doors with sheets and tarps. Surprisingly, the stained-glass transoms had survived along with most of the furniture, but not the windows or door jams. The back door was nothing but splinters. There was a lot of work to do to put the old lady to rights again. Another thing that Tierra had to do today. Besides, keep Moira from killing Aunt Justine.
“Moira, you have to forgive Aunt Justine. She's not the villain you seem to think she is,” Tierra said.
“You sure you didn't take an arrow to the head last night or somethin'? You seem to be forgettin' that sour-faced ol' bat tried to off me.” She unscrewed a bottle of whiskey and poured a glass.
“This is her house too, and she's back to stay. This house is big en
ough for all of us and probably half the coven. Aunt Justine knows she was wrong. She's scared and…elderly.”
“And double-ugly to boot.” Moira took a sip of the amber liquid, showing no more reaction than if it have been apple juice. “Anyhows, you're reaching.”
“So what if I am? We're her nieces and we need to look out for her.” Tierra took the glass of whiskey from Moira. “And you can't have hooch for breakfast.”
“First you won't let me make tea for Aunt Justine, and now I can't even make my own breakfast? Quit motherin' me, Tierra. Just because you're the oldest doesn’t mean you're the boss of me.”
“How do we know she's the oldest?” Aerin asked. “For all we know, any one of us could be the first born. Hell, I'd be more inclined to think she's the baby. After all, she's the only one still a virgin.”
Claire snickered along with Aerin. “Good one.” She held out her hand for a fist bump.
“Hey,” Tierra said.
“Maybe if she got her cherry popped she'd be more laid back,” Claire said. “Girl is strung way too tight.”
“Ha! Laid back. I get it.” Aerin poured some coffee and sat at the table, booting up her laptop. “Tierra, you really need to do something about that.”
“Ain't natural,” Moira said, joining Aerin with another pilfered glass of whiskey.
“There is nothing wrong with being a virgin,” Tierra defended.
“There is at our age,” Claire said. “You're missing out on so much of life. I know my powers intensified after losing my virginity.” Moira and Aerin nodded in agreement that this had happened to them also. “Do you even know what your sexual power is?”
She had a sexual power?
“Tell me you know your sexual power?” Aerin asked. “You've at least experimented with yourself. Oh my God, you've never masturbated?”
Color flared in her face. She couldn't believe they were talking so blasé about this subject.
“Sugar, we've got to talk,” Moira said. “Idle hands are the Devil's workshop, or so Reverend Dupuis always said. That's the very reason I made sure mine were always plenty busy.”
“I know, let's kill two birds with one stone,” Claire added. “There’s more than one thing around here that would benefit from a good hammering.”
Moira squealed. “Ooh! We need fix-it men with them sleeveless shirts and big ol' tool…belts.”
“I do like a man who knows how to nail things home.” Aerin fished out her phone and started scrolling through her contacts. “I know just who to call.”
“No, wait. I don't want my house—our house—overrun with men.”
“You hush,” Moira said. “We get enough muscle in here and you'll be spreadin' them legs faster than peach jam at a church picnic.”
“That's probably her problem,” Aerin said. “Growing up in this house with Aunt Justine and only the freaky coven for friends. Not enough men.”
“Hey, that's not fair. I don't—I don't need or want—”
“Oh, you want. We all want,” Claire interrupted with a snicker. Moira and Aerin joined in with more snide remarks.
“That's enough! I'm going to work. Call whoever you want to fix up the place. Just-just make sure Moira doesn’t kill Aunt Justine.”
“Hey, I don't need no babysitter.”
Says the one drinking for breakfast.
“Don't worry about anything,” Aerin said, dialing her phone. “We've got you covered.”
“You can bet your ass, we do.” Claire winked.
Oh my hell.
She had to get out of here or she was going to cast a spell. One that shut everyone up. She needed to check the Grimoire and see if such a spell existed. That would be handier than any handyman.
Grabbing her crocheted bag, Tierra hung it crossways over her top, and wrapped a cream throw around her shoulders. She pushed the tarp aside in place of the busted door. Contractors—minus the sexy and shirtless—were definitely a good idea.
Outside in the cool air, Tierra decided to walk the distance to Ambrosia's rather than drive. It was a lovely day, with bees buzzing, birds singing, and nature unfurling all around her in her glory. For once it wasn't raining. It seemed since Moira had shown up, it rained more often, definitely more violently. But the vegetation enjoyed the extra moisture.
Why did she think growing up as an only child was lonely? What she wouldn’t give for some alone time now. She loved her sisters, even though she didn't know them that well yet and wasn't sure if she liked them. She still loved them.
What difference did it really make that she was still a virgin? It wasn't like she couldn't have changed her status if she'd wanted to. She'd had plenty of opportunities. She was pretty to look at. There were three mirror images of herself at home, and her sisters were beautiful. Stunning. Captivating each in their own way.
She wondered which way was hers?
Mother hen, Moira would say. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing, Tierra thought, but it wasn't sexy. She didn't think any of her sisters would use sexy to describe her.
She glanced down at what she wore. Today she'd thrown on a billowing floral chiffon skirt in dusty pinks and purples with a lacy lavender top that looked like it could have been worn by her grandmother, or great grandmother, maybe even great-great grandmother.
She'd procured most of her clothing from the chests in the attic, after all. But she liked how roomy and comfortable her clothes were. She had updated her look with goddess sandals and glittery painted toenails, adding an ankle bracelet that gave a soft, musical sound each time she moved.
Maybe she wore too many bracelets? Both wrists had multiple crystal and homemade hemp jewelry. An old Celtic moon hung around her neck and rested between her breasts. She'd found that in the chest in the attic too.
Well, hell she even wore a wrap to ward off the chill. Was she eighty?
Aerin didn't have anything hanging off her. She was so well put together, sleek and sexy like a cat. Men took her seriously.
Claire was similar except instead of the boardroom power suit she'd preferred more leather that befitted a bar room. Moira never had enough clothes on to have any kind of style, while Tierra maybe wore too many.
All of her sisters seemed to have their fair share of sexual experiences. They were completely confident in who they were as women. Until today, Tierra hadn't doubted her confidence as a sexual being.
Did she put men off?
No, men approached her, just not the right man. There was a big difference. She hadn't been tempted to sleep with anyone because she'd wanted her first time to be special, memorable. Maybe even be forever. She wanted that guy. The one in her romance novels. The one who would kill for her, lay down his life for her, love her for eternity. Epic love that sonnets were written about, not a forgettable one-night-stand.
Do you hear yourself, Tierra? Love like that doesn’t exist. This is not Wuthering Heights, it's Port Townsend. Men like Heathcliff or Mr. Darcy are stuff of fiction.
If she could, she'd conjure up a man who was part Mr. Darcy and Heathcliff. Now that would be a man worth sleeping with.
You've really lost it now.
Tierra turned on Water Street. The Puget Sound came into view catching her breath like it always did. She loved living by the ocean. While she didn't love being on it, and certainly never in it, the cycle of the ocean and moods she stirred added so much to the nature that whispered around her. It was beautiful.
So unlike the conversation she'd just left. What was it with the word masturbate? It was such an ugly word. She wasn't naïve, and she understood how her body responded, but she didn't talk about such things.
Did that make her a prude?
Ha, an unapproachable prude. She caught her reflection in the storefront windows. A dumpy, unapproachable, prude.
Oh stop. She looked eclectic. No one wore the same clothes she did.
Well, maybe homeless people.
That's enough.
She had no time for this. There was plenty to
worry about with Horsemen trying to kill them, Aunt Justine and Moira trying to kill each other, and supposedly the end of the world drawing near.
Did it really matter what she wore or that she was still a virgin?
She liked her clothes, but hated that she was twenty-six and didn't know how it felt to have a man inside her, giving over a little of his soul when he lost himself inside her.
The magic and power that her sisters spoke of, what would it be like? She wanted to experience that.
So what was she waiting for? It was just a hymen for goddess's sake. She was an earth witch. And if the end of the world was coming, no way in hell was she dying a virgin.
Chapter Two
“Morning, T,” Sunny greeted when Tierra entered Ambrosia's. “Glad to see you doing well. Heard there was a wicked storm out your way last night. Everyone okay?”
“Everyone's fine, but the house took some damage. The…girls are taking it upon themselves to make calls.”
“You don't sound too happy about that.”
“No, it isn't that. Well, partly.” She took off the wrap and her purse and hung them up, tying an apron over her clothes. “You have sisters. How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Get along?”
“Oh, no, hon, sisters don't get along, they get through. The bickering and name-calling is normal. But there is no one I'd rather have at my back when everything goes to hell, than one of my sisters.”
“Hmm, I can see that.”
“One of them say or do something that bothered you?”
Tierra had known Sunny Brooks for years. With her pink-dyed dreadlocks, and multi-ear and body piercings, she definitely stood out. So much so that Aerin had nicknamed her Tacklebox. Today she had on military boots, with fishnet stockings and a blue-plaid mini skirt secured down the sides with safety pins. A bleeding heart t-shirt with a studded dog collar completed the outfit.
She probably didn't care what she wore. Tierra loved Sunny's confidence. She was a walking contradiction with her kick-your-ass outfit yet, a giving and compassionate nature.
Which Witch is Which? (The Witches of Port Townsend) Page 26
