by Linsey Hall
But the cost had been too high for her. Faced with the enormous power before her, she couldn’t help but think that maybe being an Oath Breaker wouldn’t have been so bad. Malcolm could do almost anything he wanted. He could wave his hand and make one of the surrounding mountains rise. He could bring lightning down upon his enemies, striking them dead. He could mimic almost any supernatural talent with his magic—like creating fire. If he wanted, he was strong enough to battle a god.
She shook herself. There was no point in being jealous, because no oaths meant no love. No close family. She couldn’t live without that. Worse, she might have had to break her vow to protect her village. She’d had to stand her ground—giving up Malcolm and all the power accessible to a warlock.
It’d been the right choice. The only choice. The fact that her life was nearly as cold and lonely as his was beside the point. Protecting her village might take up so much time that she couldn’t have a real life, but it was her sacred duty.
Sofia lowered herself to the ground and leaned against the wall. There wasn’t a stick of furniture in the empty room, but she was happy to just sit here and bathe in the glow of the aether, letting the warmth and power wash over her. Normally the energy from the aether was dark and cold, but a warlock’s power converted it to bright, pure energy.
Kitty climbed onto her lap, purring like a little jet engine. Kitty wasn’t as fierce as some familiars—hence her name—but she more than made up for it in love and support. Familiars increased their mistress’s connection to the aether, giving them power and strength when needed. Kitty was always quick to donate hers. It was one of the reasons that Sofia was such a powerful Bruxa.
She watched Malcolm as he stood before the aether that pulsed and shimmered, performing some kind of magic she didn’t quite understand. Power radiated out from him. She could feel it, like an eerie caress against her skin. Only the strongest Mytheans radiated power.
She’d given up a chance to be one of them so she could have a normal life. One in which she could keep her vows and thereby have family, friends, and a husband. Too bad it hadn’t worked out. She should have known that duty would get in the way no matter what. The position of Protector was too important. It took up too much time. Not to mention the fact that she was expected to appear as the Crone whenever she was out and about in Bruxa’s Eye.
It was tradition. Most citizens didn’t even realize that it was her—Sofia Viera—who protected the village. It was the Protector, appearing in the most powerful form a witch could take. A symbol meant to comfort as well as do the dirty work of keeping the village safe.
She remembered begging her mother to allow her to appear as herself when she’d first begun her transition to Protector. Sofia had just gotten old enough to realize she liked the way boys looked at her. Willingly looking like an old Crone? No way.
Her mother had refused. Tradition was vital. The Crone was a symbol of power. Strength. Everything a protector needed to be. But Sofia had been stubborn. On their next mission to retrieve a tribute, Sofia had taken her own form halfway through. They’d been deep in an Egyptian temple, hunting for an ancient magical necklace worn by the Pharaoh Hatshepsut. Magical booby traps that had been held at bay by the power of her Crone form were no longer silent. They’d sprung to life, charms meant to dismember intruders.
She’d almost lost a leg. Her mother had lost a finger.
But it had been her mother’s words that had stuck with her: “Sofia, you will die fulfilling your role as Protector, as I will die fulfilling my role and as my mother died before me. It is our fate to serve until our lives are cut short by circumstance. Though other Mytheans may live forever, we will not. Our job is too dangerous. It will kill you. Do not let that moment come early by dropping your guard or the protection that the Crone offers you.”
Sofia had never gone without the Crone form in necessary situations ever again.
The downside of it was that she’d never had a chance to have a normal love life. Malcolm had been her only shot. She’d truly thought they’d be together forever. Not only had she loved him, he’d become her best friend. When he’d abandoned her, she’d felt as if her most vital organs had been torn out. She’d thought losing him would be the worst thing that could happen to her. That it would break her into a million pieces.
How wrong she’d been. Naive. She’d become stronger. Tougher.
Especially after she’d returned to the village from Norway and learned that her mother had died on her last mission to recover a tribute. Sofia had been thrust into the position of Protector. That had toughened her up real quick. Eventually, she’d gotten over him.
She’d taken on the form of a Crone every time she was out in the village. True, she often spiced it up with a Halloween witch’s hat and broom, but even that was no longer funny. She’d had some relationships, though none had lived up to what she’d had with Malcolm. About two centuries ago, she’d just gotten sick of trying. One-night stands would have been her ideal, but those were impossible in her village since her public image was the Crone and those who knew her without the visage respected her position too much to ever fuck her.
Was that why she’d been so quick to succumb to Malcolm last night? Maybe. She’d prefer to think that she’d been desperate, rather than admit she might still feel something for him. The bastard had kidnapped her.
Power had clearly gone to his head.
She scowled as she watched Malcolm manipulate the aether. As usual, she was in a hell of a bind.
Finally, the aether began to dim. Seconds later, the room was entirely dark. A glow of flame appeared in the middle of the room. Sofia squinted. It hovered over Malcolm’s hand, a magical flashlight. She created one in her own hand, unable to resist drawing his attention.
He turned. “Sofia.”
“Malcolm. What were you doing?” She rose.
“Crafting a charm that can shield my power from Mytheans who might sense it.” He approached her and raised his arm. She saw a wide wristband of beaten metal around his thick wrist. “We’ll need it in Salem. It’ll be best to keep a low profile.”
“All right.” She followed him out of the room and up the stairs into the hall. “That’s your aether room? I didn’t sense any magical shields on it.”
While warlocks could draw a moderate amount of extra power from the aether under normal circumstances, if they wanted a huge burst of it, they needed to have a magically reinforced room built to contain a portal to the aether. Normally, the room had to be built into a place that had an excess of magical energy, either from a large population of Mytheans or because the place itself was special.
“Yes. I used to have one at the university. It was excellent. So much magic there, it was easy to contain the aether.” He turned to face her. “But I wanted to be on my own. There were too many people at the university. So I practiced. Eventually, I could contain it, so I moved here. There’s a bit more magic in Glencoe than elsewhere, so that helps. But now I’m powerful enough to contain the magic myself.”
She didn’t sense any arrogance in him now, though she wouldn’t be surprised if she had. Controlling a portal to the aether on your own took a huge amount of strength. He was even stronger than she’d realized.
She shivered. His strength, combined with the way he looked at her—like he wanted to devour her—was nerve wracking. If he didn’t want to let her go once this was over, she’d have a damned hard time getting away.
She’d just better hope he kept helping her. And figure out a way to force his hand if he reneged. Or tried to keep her.
“We need to plan our story for when we’re in Salem,” she said. “I don’t think we can just walk in there and say we want to find the most powerful witches in town.”
He nodded. “Let’s plan while eating. I’m starving.”
She followed him down the hall to a huge kitchen, Kitty at her side. Sweeping counters were topped with tall windows that looked out on the Glencoe Mountains. On the other side of the kit
chen, a large hearth burst into flame. It was like something out of a magazine.
Sofia couldn’t take her gaze off Malcolm as he walked to the huge, stainless-steel refrigerator and pulled open the door. His slacks were expensive and tailored to fit him perfectly. The sleeves of the black sweater he wore were pushed up to reveal strong forearms and big hands. It hugged his strong shoulders and fit his waist perfectly. He looked like a billionaire on vacation. The wide metal cuff gleamed dully on his wrist.
It had been a good idea on his part. Her level of power wasn’t quite enough to cause alarm in most Mytheans. She was on the stronger end of the spectrum—able to cause destruction and come up with some pretty nasty spells—but Malcolm’s was the kind that made people run. Especially since, as a warlock, he specialized in destruction.
“Are omelets all right?” He turned to glance at her.
Damn. She wished he weren’t so handsome. The dichotomy of his big, muscular body and his elegant features was enough to make her head spin. “Yeah, fine.”
He pulled out ingredients and put them on the counter. Grabbed two fine plates from a cabinet below the counter, then waved his hand over the lot. A second later, a steaming omelet sat on each plate.
Neat trick. “Not much for cooking?”
“Cooking for one is a bit of a bore, isn’t it?” he asked, then pulled forks out of the drawer in front of him. He picked up the plates and approached her. He nodded to the space behind her. “We’ll sit there.”
Sofia turned and went to the delicate wooden table in an alcove surrounded by windows. The mountains stretched out before her, their rounded tops glittering with snow.
Malcolm put the plates on the table. Kitty hopped up onto a chair.
He glanced at her. “Hang on.”
He walked back to the ingredients, pulled out another plate, and made another omelet. He returned and set it in front of kitty.
“Thanks,” Sofia said.
Kitty meowed.
Malcolm shrugged, then turned back to the counter and got down two coffee mugs and a bag of coffee grounds. He filled the cups with water, then waved his hand over them. A second later, they were full of steaming coffee. “Cream or sugar?”
“Neither.” She took the cup gratefully and sipped. Not bad. “So, what’s our cover in Salem? It’s a small, notoriously tight community. They’ll notice strangers. Most of Salem is mortal, but I’ve heard that the Mytheans have their own secret street. Mortals can’t see it, but it’s hard for even Mytheans to find.”
He sat and took a bite of his omelet, met her gaze while he chewed. She tried hers. Also not bad. Kitty was scarfing it down, so she clearly approved. Familiars weren’t normal cats, thank fates, so their diet could consist of pretty much anything.
After he swallowed, he said, “What if you’re looking for your sister? You’ve heard recently that you have a half-sister who is a witch with the Salem coven.”
She thought about it. “Not bad. It’s not out of the realm of possibility, so it could work. You’re my, what? Bodyguard?”
“I was thinking—man. I’m your man. You don’t go anywhere without me.” His gaze was serious. Dark and intense.
Her stomach muscles fluttered. “How about personal assistant?”
He laughed, his gaze lightening. He looked surprised. At his own laughter?
His gaze turned serious then. “I think not. I’m your man.”
It was a loaded sentence she didn’t want to explore. She also didn’t want to argue. They needed to get started. “Fine. Whatever.”
She polished off her omelet quickly, swigged the rest of her coffee, then stood. He rose and stepped toward her, his clean, spicy scent sweeping over her. She wanted to breathe him in forever.
Bad idea. And his clean smell only reminded her that she hadn’t showered in ages. She hadn’t even changed. She’d just gotten out of bed and gone to seek him out.
She definitely had a problem.
“I need a quick shower,” she said. “Is there a bathroom attached to the green room?”
“There is.”
She left without another word, her nerves twisted into knots over the way he made her feel. Eating with him had reminded her of what they’d once had. True, it had been far more fraught with tension this time, but it had taken her back to quiet meals with him at Corrier’s home. They’d fallen for each other during those long nights.
He’d been a different man then. Happier. He’d never been a jokester, but he hadn’t been entirely serious and dark. She’d never failed to get a laugh out of him if she wanted to. As she’d done this morning, in fact. She hadn’t meant the personal assistant bit as a joke. Not really.
But she’d liked it when he’d laughed.
Idiot. He didn’t deserve her soft thoughts. Nor could she afford them.
Pushing thoughts of him from her mind, she raced up the stairs to the green bedroom and found her way to the bathroom.
Whoa. The castle might be old, but the bathroom certainly wasn’t. Marble and wood gleamed. An enormous shower beckoned.
She made quick work of washing up, though in any other circumstance she would have hung out a lot longer. Maybe tried out the huge sunken tub.
A wave of her wand gave her fresh clothes and a warm jacket.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Holy shit, it’s cold here,” Sofia said.
A grin cracked Malcolm’s face as he glanced at her. Surprised, he almost reached up to touch his own cheek. It was the second today. A record.
They stood in an alley near Salem’s main street, having just aetherwalked from his home.
“I suppose you don’t get out of the jungle much,” he said. She wore a puffy brown jacket that somehow still managed to highlight her curves. He still wasn’t used to actually seeing her. After so long apart, it was hard to keep his gaze off her.
Kitty stood at her side, scowling. The familiar didn’t like the cold either.
“Not to cold places,” she said. “How is it colder here than in Scotland?”
“Gulf stream. But it’s not much worse. You’re just used to the jungle.”
“True.” She set off down the alley, her footsteps silent on the cobblestone.
They walked out onto a residential street. Behind them were shops. Being one of America’s older cities, Salem was a mix of long-standing houses and shops pressed up against one another.
“Looks like a Halloween bomb exploded here,” Sofia said, surveying the street avidly.
Malcolm dragged his gaze from her. Red, orange, and yellow leaves rustled in the trees and floated through the air to land on the brick walkway beneath their feet. The homes on the other side of the street were all New England charm. Clapboard fronts with jack-o-lanterns on the stoops and a mishmash of other Halloween decorations. Two women in witch hats giggled as they walked down the other sidewalk.
“Mortals,” Sofia said. “I hear they like it here around Halloween. It’s commercial, but the magic beneath it all is what draws them, I think.”
“Makes sense. Some mortals are sensitive to it.” Though they had no idea that another world existed alongside their own, full of real witches and things that went bump in the night.
“Let’s see if we can find the entrance to the Mythean street. Salem Hollow, I think it’s called.”
They turned and headed up the street. A black wooden building sat on the corner. With a steep roof, an overhanging second floor, and mullioned windows, it looked to be from the seventeenth century.
“Creepy,” Sofia said.
“From the witch hunts, no doubt,” Malcolm said. Evil lurked around the place. The two giggling mortals who stood in the front yard of the ancient building beneath a brilliant red-leafed tree didn’t appear to feel it.
The house was a reminder of Salem’s dark history, though the place was entirely different now. The streets were brightly festooned with Halloween garlands and jack-o-lanterns. An emblem of a flying witch was emblazoned on dozens of surfaces—signs, shop wind
ows, cars. It was cheerful in a way that its history was not.
Sofia shook herself. “Come on, let’s go find Salem Hollow. Maybe things will feel more normal there.”
They made their way down a street lined with stores. Mortals in costumes bustled down the street. Magic shops butted up against t-shirt stores and bars. Wooden folding signs for psychic readings sat on the sidewalk and tour guides hustled for patrons.
“This is… interesting,” Malcolm said. It made him itch, being so close to so many mortals. Two screaming children dressed as demons raced down the sidewalk in front of him.
“That’s one word for it. It’s really very charming,” Sofia said. “Let’s go in here. This shop has potential. I’d bet dollars to donuts we’ll find Mytheans peddling goods to mortals in a few of these places. They can tell us where to find Salem Hollow.”
Malcolm ducked through the low doorway behind her. The shop was small, with bundled herbs and flowers hanging from the ceiling and candles and knickknacks on every surface. Books crowded the two tables inside. Wicca, or whatever it was the mortal witches practiced, was obviously the theme of this particular shop.
He sensed no magic within. The proprietress, a blond woman wearing layered skirts and about a dozen scarves, smiled at him. He nodded at her, then caught Sofia’s eye. She nodded briefly, and after a moment of browsing, they turned and left.
“All right, that was a bust,” Sofia said. “I mean, if I wanted my house to smell nice, that’s the place I’d try. But for anything more than that? Nah.”
It took them three more shops before they found one that reeked of magic. Black and red candles burned in the window and pentagrams were painted on the glass. He pushed open the heavy door and held it for Sofia, then followed her inside.
The interior was dark and cramped. It screamed black magic—or at least, what mortals thought black magic might be. Crystals and candles decorated the shelves, along with animal bones and vials of brightly colored liquid. Fog drifted along the floor, coming from a black door in the back.
A young, dark-haired demon from an unidentifiable afterworld sat on a stool behind the narrow counter, snapping her gum and reading a book. She glanced up when the door shut, her eyes widening slightly behind black-framed glasses. She looked like something out of the 1950’s, with bouffant hair and red lips.
