9781618851307WitchsBrewShayNC

by Unknown

  “I know not, Prince.”

  “You don’t know where Kali is?”

  “No, Prince. The Captain of the Guards swept into the school a few days ago and snatched the princess away before I knew what was happening. I don’t think he actually meant to kidnap her, but still, it was quite a sight with the princess nak—”

  “Naked? Kali was naked when Captain Koran T took her?” Talon’s brows rose. “Why the hell did he take my sister?”

  Clearing his throat, Banjo twitched his whiskers. “Well, I don’t know, Sire. He didn’t say. I’m certain she’ll be fine, Prince. Just fine. And he did wrap a sheet around her, right after he lifted her from her bath and tied her wrists together. You never heard such screaming, Sire.”

  “It’s Beltane, Banjo, and my sister’s alone with a horny waken. She can’t possibly be safe or fine. Why did he tie her wrists?”

  Banjo hid a grin. “Yes, it is. She is. He is. And you’re right, Prince. The princess attacked the captain, Sire, with her nails. You know how long her fingernails are, but I’m betting come All Hallows’ Eve—”

  “No.” Talon held up a hand. “I don’t have time for this. As long as my sister’s alive and well, I have other things to attend to. Stry’s missing, and I can’t find my parents.”

  Banjo clicked his pointy teeth together. “Well, Sire, let’s see if we can find out what’s going on here.”

  Talon turned to leave Kali’s chambers. “I received a message from Topaz. Have you seen him?”

  “Squee,” Banjo squeaked, his whiskers trembling. “The cat? Oh, dear. Well, I certainly wouldn’t be looking for a cat. Not me. No. No. Not me.” He coughed up a string of bubbles. “Rats and cats, they don’t mix, Sire.” Banjo poked a tiny claw, popping the bubbles. “No, they surely do not mix. And Topaz is a very avid hunter. A light-foot, too.”

  “Light-foot?”

  “Females, you know? He can’t leave them alone. Mark my words, he’ll spread his seed everywhere this Beltane. Why, I bet there’s hundreds of kits he’s fathered over the years. Of course, he always swears his innocence. He boffs every female he meets. Mark my words. He’s a whore cat.”

  Talon choked. “That’s true, he is, but the females seem to love him.” Talon slid the rat upon his shoulder. “Relax, old boy. Topaz has chosen a bond mate. He’ll not be fathering any stray kits, except the ones he gives Celine.”

  “Humph! He’ll have others this season. A whore cat, Sire.”

  “Come on.” Talon laughed. “We both know that’s not true. If he’d ever fathered a kit he’d be automatically bonded to the mother. I have to find the big fellow. He summoned me.”

  “You do have a pocket I can hide in, right?”

  Talon found he could still smile despite the fear crushing his soul. “I have a pocket. I don’t know if it’s big enough for you to burrow into and hide. You’re getting fat, Banjo.”

  Banjo hiccupped and watched three fat bubbles float up toward the ceiling, then a look of chagrin crossed his pointy rat face. “I’m a whore rat, Sire. Gonna have babies in a few days. Ten of them.”

  “Good grief,” Talon said, astounded. “Babies? How did that happen?”

  “Well, sire—”

  “Never mind, Banjo, I know how it happened.”

  “Yes, Sire. You do understand that male Futhars of my particular species carry the Mits, give birth, and then turn them over to our mates to raise?”

  Talon shook his head. “This has to be the most fertile Beltane in years and the season hasn’t even reached its zenith yet.”

  “Whatever size your pocket, Sire,” Banjo said, grinning, “it’ll have to do. Topaz will eat me if he gets a chance.”

  Talon snorted. “You know better than that, Banjo. Simply turn yourself into a vicious dog. That will solve the problem.”

  Banjo snickered. “True. Then I could chase the cat instead of the cat chasing the rat. Hmmm. I’ll give it consideration, Prince. That, I will.”

  * * * *

  Topaz stood in the darkness of the queen’s outer chambers, his big body shaking. “Talon, hurry up!”

  Talon opened the door to his mother’s chambers at that precise instant. Banjo squeaked and made good his threat to search for a pocket. He toppled inside Talon’s shirt pocket, peeping over the top at Topaz. “Nasty cat,” he hissed, revealing a row of sharp, pointy teeth. “I hate cats!”

  Topaz was too upset to pay much notice to Banjo. “Pfft. Hush, rat!”

  Talon drew in a shaky breath at the look he read on the Futhar’s face. “Where’s Mother?”

  Topaz swallowed hard.

  “Topaz? Where is she?”

  “Your Highness, please.” Topaz’s voice quivered. “I probably shouldn’t have summoned you, but—”

  “Where is she?” Talon asked quietly, stepping around the tom.

  “The bedchamber, Sire.” Topaz stepped to one side, bowing his head. “I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

  Talon placed Banjo on a lamp out of Topaz’ reach, then he swung around, inclined his head in a brief nod of understanding to Topaz and pushed open the door. He gently closed it behind him.

  “Her Majesty?” Banjo eyed the cat from a safe distance across the room.

  Topaz lifted his head, his green/gold eyes misty with tears as he shook his head. Banjo sighed, unable to halt the grief he felt for Talon’s loss. “The prince shouldn’t be alone.”

  “He closed the door,” Topaz replied. “We’ll honor his unspoken request for privacy.” Topaz slid his gaze up and down the rat. “And I’m hungry, so best you change into something cats don’t like to eat.”

  Banjo nodded, spoke a changing chant, and shape-shifted into a king cobra. He plopped onto the marble floor, rearing his head up in a striking pose.

  “Son-of-a-bitch. I hate snakes!”

  Banjo flicked a black forked tongue in the air. “You sound just like that wimpy illumrof hero Indiana Jones. Come on, Topaz, act like a man.”

  Topaz snorted. “I’m not a man. I’m not even a waken.” He glared at Banjo, but kept his distance from the cobra. “Don’t you dare slither away from that corner.”

  Banjo hissed and slunk closer to Topaz.

  Topaz rumbled a low warning and extended his claws. “I’m warning you, Banjo, you move another foot closer, and I’ll shape-shift into a mongoose, a mean one that will rip off your head.

  Banjo stopped slithering and stuck out his forked tongue. “A cowardly cat, I shoulda known.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Margaret Scott, Mary Easty, Martha Corey, Alice Parker, Ann Pudeator, Wilmott Redd, Samuel Wardwell, and Mary Parker were hanged.

  ~Salem Witch Trials

  September 22, 1692

  Sanctuary

  Saylym flipped the sign on the shop door, turned the lock, and closed the store. Although she’d just opened, barely an hour ago, she simply wasn’t in the mood to deal with customers. Not when Talon had deserted her. How could he stay away all night? A single tear slid down her cheek. She swiped at it angrily. Bloody hell!

  Where was he? She’d thought he’d be at the shop waiting for her this morning. But he wasn’t. She hadn’t seen or heard from him all night and now he wasn’t here this morning.

  Stop feeling sorry for yourself!

  Okay. So maybe she’d told him to leave her house, but she thought he understood she needed a few hours to think things through, to come to some sort of understanding of what he’d said and done to her and the reasons behind his actions.

  To understand what he hadn’t said to her and should have.

  She hadn’t meant she didn’t want to see him at all or ever again. She wanted her mate to make everything right. Damn it! It was his duty to soothe her when she was upset with him. He wasn’t just supposed to disappear. She wanted him to hold her in his arms and tell her the truth and not the half-truths and avoidance tricks. Bloody hell! Whether she liked hearing it or not, she deserved the truth! She wanted him to fix what he’d broken.

 
She wanted his love, freely given. She wanted him to want her, need her, as much as she’d wanted and needed him.

  His love was something she felt certain he had held back from her while telling her half-truths.

  Saylym fought to keep from bursting into tears. She’d done enough crying after Talon left.

  Witches do not cry!

  How many times had he said that to her?

  Everything was changing, even her. Mostly her, she admitted. She sighed. Who was she kidding? Her entire life, world, and future had taken a curve at warp speed from the moment she slipped that magic ring on her finger. She was still trying to catch up to the sparkly blur and not doing a very good job of it.

  She gave another pitiful sniff. If she didn’t do something or think about something else, she would start bawling like a baby. She opened the cash register and began counting the change.

  Talon had sworn they wouldn’t spend a single night apart, but he hadn’t pushed the issue when she’d told him to go away. He’d given up damned easily.

  And his possession of her, while he’d made certain he seduced her first, had still been brutal. She’d begged him to stop. He’d ignored that. He’d said he couldn’t stop, but maybe he was lying to her again.

  A man who loved the woman he was holding in his arms would never continue if she asked him to stop, would he?

  But what did she really know about the handsome waken? Nothing, not even his last name. Maybe he was a man who took advantage of lonely women. Maybe he was a man to whom women were merely sex objects, there for his pleasure.

  No, a voice whispered. He’d pleasured her. He’d been patient, skillful, and loving, in the beginning. He made certain she enjoyed what he did to her.

  Maybe once he had what he wanted, he was the type of male who disappeared, never to be heard from again. But then why go through the elaborate bonding ceremony? Especially when he didn’t believe she was good enough for him? There was no purpose, unless he believed that was the only way he could have her. That didn’t make sense either. He could have had her the day of the picnic if mating with her was his priority.

  There was more.

  There was something important he wasn’t telling her.

  She couldn’t deny he wanted to mate, but she felt he was driven to complete the bonding. Why had he been so ruthless and so determined? She shook her head, more confused than ever. There was no way she could ever love a man who was cold and uncaring enough to make false vows or force a mating.

  And Talon damn sure wasn’t cold.

  She felt betrayed by his actions, but maybe he’d taken her as gently as he could.

  What did she know about witches and their mating habits? She knew he’d been in agony, waiting for his release.

  A thought suddenly slammed into her mind. “Bloody hell! What if I’m pregnant?”

  She wasn’t taking birth control. Besides, what type of birth control did a witch use? Probably some type of magic, a skill she didn’t possess. She knew Talon hadn’t used protection. How many times had he…?

  She gulped. Bloody, bloody hell! How many times didn’t really matter. It only took one time.

  She pushed the pile of change to one side, her hands automatically sliding over her belly in a protective gesture. In that instant, in that moment of first contact, she knew.

  Somehow, she knew.

  A magical aura of light and the softness of new life surged to the tips of her fingers. A faint stirring. Flickering warmth. Two of them. Miniature fingers reaching out. Smiles. A tiny thumb suckled. A sweet yawn.

  “Oh-my-God!” Saylym sucked a sharp breath between her teeth and jerked her hand away. The life forms immediately weakened. Smiles faded. Twin hearts fluttered and the beats slowed. Slower. Slower. Growing fainter by the second. Leaving her. Dying!

  “No! Stop! Don’t go! I want you! I do! Both of you! Come back!” She cupped her belly, gently massaging the tiny replicas of Talon. Somehow, she had to assure them of her love. Tears streamed down her face. “Don’t go. You can’t go away.”

  Once again, tiny fingers sought hers, smiles flashed, so much like Talon’s lop-sided grin she ached.

  Saylym gave a tearful laugh, sniffed. “I do want you. Both of you,” she whispered, swiping at the tears sliding down her cheeks. “Don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me. You’re all I have.”

  She stroked the little ones. Tears of joy slid down her face. “Your daddy will be so surprised. And happy. Yes, happy. He’ll be happy or I’ll know the reason why.” She shouted the words to the empty shop–glaring, daring one single thing to say a word, to deny Talon would want his sons.

  “And he’ll come back to me or I’ll know the reason why for that, too!” She hiccupped. Nodded. She didn’t understand the power that seemed to suddenly zing through her blood. She felt charged. Her body felt like one big current of static electricity and in the very core of her being—life.

  What had he done to her? Besides, giving her babies?

  What hadn’t he done to her was more the question?

  He’d made love to her, yes. And it had been great. Wonderful.

  So what had happened?

  What had gone wrong?

  He’d held her against her will. Okay. It was over. She had to put it behind her if she wanted a life with Talon. It must have been something he had to do or he would never have done it. Talon wasn’t a sadist.

  There had been pain, excruciating pain, but she realized some it was because she’d been untouched. It had felt as if he was tearing her asunder as he filled her. There had been more, heat, and a wall of flames. After awhile, she hadn’t been aware of the passing of time or even of their locked minds. It was as if they’d soared to another plane, their bodies and minds one.

  The next thing she remembered was waking up, hearing Talon sobbing. His face had been ravaged with fear and worry. A man who didn’t care wouldn’t have looked at her with apprehension in his eyes, would he?

  So, where was he now?

  He should be here, comforting her. Damn it, a man didn’t just up and desert his fragile bride! She wanted to tell him about their sons. She wanted to tell him how much they looked like him.

  Saylym chewed on her bottom lip. She suddenly felt restless, twitchy, as though there was something urgent she should do or as if something called to her. She felt the urgent pull, the need, the silent command to explore the catacombs below the store.

  Compelled. Summoned. Oh, yes, something pulled her, yet there was no voice calling to her, just an urgent feeling.

  So what is stopping you?

  “I can’t do it alone.”

  You don’t need Talon. Remember, you’re a witch.

  “Yes, but not a very good one.”

  Go for it!

  “I’m not a good witch.”

  You’re not a bad witch, either.

  Saylym grabbed a flashlight, matches, incense, and a box of assorted colored candles from beneath the counter. She stormed through the beaded curtains to her office. “Nothing to it,” she muttered, puffing a strand of hair from her eyes. “I can do this.”

  She could do this. She could.

  Saylym quickly removed the narrow belt from her waist and slid the holster with the knife Talon had given to her for a wedding gift from it. Lifting her denim skirt, she strapped Talon’s athame to her thigh. A woman couldn’t be too careful, but now she felt like some kind of undercover agent. She shrugged. There was the possibility she was overreacting, but she might need the athame for self-defense too. Who knew what hellish creatures might dwell below?

  Placing the other items in a sack, Saylym struck match to torch and descended the steep staircase to the cellar.

  Nothing had changed since she was last there; it was still a dark, spooky place. She glanced around the interior. She would need an altar.

  How did she know this?

  Why did she need an altar?

  “I just do,” she breathed. “I know I do.”

  She held up the to
rch, waving it back and forth, searching out the darker corners of the room. Ah, there in the far corner to her left lay an old, nearly dilapidated, wooden crate. That would do perfectly. She shoved the torch in the soft ground and pushed the wobbly crate to the center of the room.

  There she set two white candles on it, aligned top to bottom. She dug out a red candle and grinned. Personality candle. Red was her signature color, something she and Talon shared. Beside the red candle, she placed a purple one. Passionate purple. Her grin widened.

  She couldn’t complain that Talon wasn’t passionate. He had enough passion for the both of them.

  Drawing out the athame, she hacked off a lock of her hair and, just beneath the personality candle, placed the silver curl.

  Last, she positioned the incense.

  She anointed the candles with sandalwood oil, then, chanting soft and low, she lit each one.

  “O gracious Goddess, day or night,

  Always protect me with your might.

  Thrice around the circles bound,

  Evil walk not on this ground.”

  She raised her arms in a graceful curve above her head and closed her eyes. A soft, resonant hum vibrated through her body, warming her deep inside. The wind gently brushed her cheeks. When she opened her eyes, she was below the cellar, standing in front of the stone statue of Queen Shy-Ryn.

  A pleased smile spread across her lips. Hey, maybe being a witch wasn’t so bad after all. She hadn’t even felt the movement of shifting from one place to another.

  Maybe she wasn’t a very good witch, but maybe she was a better witch than she knew.

  Then it dawned on her, how had she known the words of a chant? When had she learned them? She sighed, realizing that she hadn’t just learned them. They’d been there in her mind for years, dormant, just waiting for the right time and place to be used. Her lips curved with a generous smile as she realized exactly who’d taught her all about being a witch and then buried it so deeply in her mind that she couldn’t remember, until now. She knew exactly who had been driving that cab the day the plane landed in Salem and who had pressed that ring into her hands.