“You dare to threaten those I protect?”
She was clenching the other woman’s magic tightly now, but if it was doing her any harm she wasn’t showing it. Instead, Hester’s expression became mocking.
“Oh, look, the little protection witch wants to coddle some more weaklings.”
The fact that the woman was referring to her own family this way only infuriated Emma more. She started sending magic through the end of the compulsion she held.
Hester just smiled at her. “And what will you do, if I decide to just take them?”
She had made her mistake then, had started to reach out toward Jenny. Emma’s patience frayed, and her hand rose, sending a vicious jolt of protective magic at the intruder.
Even the formidable Hester flinched, suddenly enraged. “You dare . . .?”
She heard Natalie gasp, knew her eyes were glowing, knew what was happening—and finally understood.
Giving back the withered end of the compulsion spell to the older sorcerer, she saw the woman’s eyes widen at what had happened to it.
Emma’s words ground out. “I. Dare.”
Even Hester stepped back just a little, as Emma gave her the only leeway she was likely to get at the moment.
“I will allow you to leave my house under your own steam for only the next five seconds, Hester.” The woman could just do a fire dance, if she wanted her to use her title again. “After that, I send you.”
It was clear to everyone that it was no idle threat.
Hester saw this too, even as her gaze darkened. “You have not heard the last of this, little witch.” But the taunting name was no longer fully appropriate, and she knew it. A moment later, she was gone.
It took a great deal of effort for Emma to turn back to her friends and guests, knowing what had changed—allowing them to see her eyes’ fierce green glow, more intense than ever before.
Jenny stifled a gasp. Natalie looked both sad and supportive, and Benjamin seemed fiercely proud, while Frederick appeared enraptured.
Benjamin spoke for the uninitiated. “She’s started her conversion.”
Clearly, nothing would keep her from protecting them now.
Chapter 6
Frederick
An hour after Emma’s startling stand against his great-aunt, Frederick was sitting in a bedroom beside her grandfather, watching his sister finally sleeping.
Or, at least, it had been an hour in his world’s time. Frederick had no idea any longer if that meant anything here.
The several hours since his baffling arrival certainly didn’t argue in his favor, everything he had learned—and the world full of questions he faced—making him feel a little frantic. There was a large part of him which simply wanted to start screaming and never stop. Another portion wanted to sit the beautiful Emma down and demand to know everything she could tell him, about everything—including her feelings toward him. Still another had a desire to go and . . .
What was the term Natalie used to describe it? Ah, yes . . . “bitch slap.” It was distasteful, but possibly appropriate.
Well, he wanted to go do that to every member of his remaining family, save his sister and her child. And possibly Aunt Pen.
No longer questioning his father’s attitude toward them, he was only amazed at the man’s patience. But his lingering desire to never end up anything like as cold and judgmental as his parent was nearly proving the final straw on Frederick’s back now.
His other, major cause for concern lay in front of him, sleeping fitfully. Sighing, bone-weary, he had no idea what to do about his sister or his niece. While he was relieved that she had found either the courage or the insight to escape his family, he had no way of getting young Olivia out of their clutches as well.
Still, he tried to calm himself with Emma’s assurances that the Everlys would never think of harming the child—not out of any actual human decency, which he was no longer foolish enough to see in any of them, but because her apparent, young powers would be too prized a possession for them to risk damaging.
While he wished this to be true, he no longer entirely dared hope. If nothing else, this day had taught him some very grim knowledge: that his entire life up this point had been a lie. No one and nothing in it had been what they had seemed.
He was just beginning to despair, and very much wishing that Emma were with him, but she had set off with Natalie to “check out something important.” He was grateful for her mental lexicon but still had little idea what she meant.
Hearing a sigh from Benjamin, he knew his emotions hadn’t gone unnoticed, the older man patting his shoulder. “She knows what she’s doing, don’t you worry.”
Frederick suspected there was a bit of his own anxiety reflected in his companion but was too used to politeness to point this out.
“I can make a small spell to soothe you, if you’d like.”
He knew his host was trying to be nice but couldn’t accept. “No, I need to keep my wits about me, thank you.” In fact, in the new life he was suddenly living, he would need to be more alert than anyone in his entire world had ever seemed to be before.
Feeling Benjamin stiffen slightly at his rejection, he wondered. But a moment later, he saw the man forcing himself to relax once again. “I wouldn’t give you something like I gave your sister. You’re just confused and upset. She was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”
He had to use the darn dictionary again but wasn’t distracted enough not to notice that he had apparently insulted the man. “I’m sorry.”
Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees, as he watched his sister’s fitful sleep.
“I’m just not certain how anything works, any longer.” His head drooped to stare at the rug. “And I’m also not certain how I may react to any of the herbs you may use.” He assumed that was how it was done, at least.
His defense only seemed to irritate Benjamin that much more. “Look, I don’t . . .” He broke off, appeared to be pulling himself back together with an effort. “I’m a domestic witch, okay? It’s not possible for me to make a mistake over something like that.”
Such a pronouncement only confused the time traveler further, staring back up to the man, but he wasn’t even certain what to ask.
The look only caused his host to sigh. “Is it the ‘domestic’ or the ‘witch’ which is throwing you?”
Frederick opened his mouth to answer but didn’t know how to.
“Yeah, yeah.” The older man waved him off. “Both, I get it.” He nearly sounded like he was grumbling to himself. “Your time is so goddamned gender specific.”
Frederick blinked at his curses, still uncertain what else to do, and, a moment later, Benjamin leaned back, seemed as though he were settling in. “Did Emma explain the difference between witches and sorcerers to you?”
Frederick nodded.
“Well, that’s the only real division there is, magically. It has nothing to do with gender.”
It was a good start, but, the younger man knew his confusion still showed, making his host continue.
“Sure, there are different subdivisions of magic—a million of those, with subdivisions of subdivisions, more identified every day—but, as far as power goes, it’s only witches or sorcerers. There are weak witches and strong ones, male and female, and powerful sorcerers to dangerously-powerful ones, but there’s no general difference in terms for men and women—except that women are about a thousand times more likely to be sorcerers than men, especially strong ones.”
This had been a bit of a . . . He tried to remember the term again.
Right: an info-dump.
. . . but a useful one. He’d had several of those today and could use several more to fully gain any feeling of comprehension.
Working with the moment, then, he asked just one of a million of his questions. “Why is that?”
Benjamin looked confused, as though he were trying to track back through all he had just said. Finally, he made a guess. “The female sorcere
r thing?”
Frederick nodded and was met with a shrug.
“No one knows. Researchers have thrown about a thousand different theories at it, and you can get any of a dozen groups’ supposedly definitive answers, but there’s no solid information, really.” He seemed to be thinking it over. “It may go back to Hecate. The first witch . . . well, sorcerer. Maybe she passed down her abilities more through the female line.”
Frederick was beginning to feel slightly insane again, realized he was holding onto his head. He let it go with an effort, also dropping at least a hundred questions the man’s speech had led him to. They would have taken a year. He was about to ask something more important but was interrupted again.
“Y'know, that difference—the fact that there are more female sorcerers—is really the reason your half of Salem did that whole group insanity/burning everybody alive thing a few centuries ago.” Benjamin shrugged. “Don’t know whether it was jealousy or simply because someone accidentally saw a witch and was angry at a woman with any sort of power, but it was something like that that started it.”
Frederick supposed this was true but had no answer. Instead, he focused back on where this had started, trying to find a polite way to phrase what he was asking. “What does a domestic witch do?” All it brought to his mind was an image of housekeepers on broomsticks.
Benjamin sighed and was silent for several, long moments. “That’s kind of like asking, ‘What does a . . .’” He glanced at his guest. “What did you do back in that Salem, anyway?”
“Actually, I’m from Bost—. . .” Frederick broke off, deciding it probably didn’t matter. “I’m a doctor.”
His host picked up where he had left off. “What does a doctor do, then?”
Frederick’s mouth opened but nothing came out.
“See? Kind of hard to describe it all.”
Supposing he saw his point, Frederick nodded, but, fortunately, his host went on, before he had to try to find a way to ask again.
“My magic works best on all the things which keep a home orderly and a family well taken care of—from cooking to cleaning to minor healthcare.” He stared at the young girl he had earlier soothed into unconsciousness with one of his teas. “That doesn’t really cover it, but it’s a start.”
Frederick would have liked to leave the issue there but had too much experience of his own world to overcome it easily. He looked for a way to phrase his confusion so as not to offend any further. “So, certain types of magic aren’t limited to or more prevalent in one sex than another?”
Benjamin stared at him. “That was the most byzantine question I ever heard.”
Supposing he was right, his guest smiled.
“But no, not really. Magic conforms to its users—their interests and personalities. If a young girl is interested in cars, then she could end up as a mechanical witch—using her magic to fix anything automotive.”
Frederick was desperately looking things up.
“If a young boy likes to take care of his younger siblings, he could end up a nursery witch—looking after babies and children.”
The younger man was still distracted by a previous topic, though, confused his host hopelessly a moment later. “Those have become that popular?”
Benjamin just stared, and he saw where he’d gone wrong.
“The automobiles, not the children.” In his time, only a few of the most eccentric and wealthiest people had ever considered buying one.
“God, yeah,” he was told and had to accept it. Just because he hadn’t seen them around in the last few hours didn’t mean they couldn’t exist.
Still, he didn’t know what else to ask. It was either a hundred million questions or none at all.
He wished Emma were with them, could ask her silently. Of course, he hadn’t actually heard her thoughts as clearly ever since her conversion had apparently begun, but her presence still calmed him in a disturbingly sweet way.
He couldn’t keep himself from wondering. “How long do you think it will take till Emma returns?”
Benjamin smiled at him, and he felt distinctly like a humored child. “You’ve taken quite a shine to her.” It wasn’t even a question.
Frederick tried not to blush but without much success. “I’m probably at least a decade too old for her.”
While that wasn’t strictly true in his time—such an age gap only seen as giving a man more life experience and time to establish himself—he didn’t like the thought of anyone pushing an intelligent woman like Emma toward marriage, or partnering, or whatever it was called here. He didn’t want to give her grandfather ideas.
Sadly for him, this only brought forth a lingering, barking laugh. “You’re too old for her? How old do you think she is?”
Frederick demurred with quiet sounds. He was definitely old enough to know never to guess a lady’s age.
“All right, all right,” her grandfather soothed. “Then, how old are you, exactly?”
“Thirty-two,” he admitted reluctantly. He still didn’t want to give the man any ideas about pushing his granddaughter toward him—as much as he would have loved to know she desired such an outcome.
He wasn’t aided by Benjamin’s reaction, the older man laughing until he started to cough. “If anyone’s too old for anyone else, she is. She’s 50, you silly goose.” He was still coughing from laughter. “If anything, she’s trying not to rob the cradle with you.”
Well, this did explain a few things. Then, Frederick’s mind slipped sideways—and suddenly he began to wonder how much he might want to convince her to.
This question went unanswered, as he tried to push his thoughts away, not wanting to ponder them in the same room as her grandfather.
The two men fell into silence for several minutes, then, before Frederick addressed one of the many concerns he had—his gaze back on his dear, tormented sister. “Are you sure her daughter will be safe? I no longer trust my family.”
He was certain Benjamin couldn’t blame him for this, but the older man reassured him, nonetheless. “You think they’d harm a baby sorcerer?”
Frederick’s gaze said he did, but the older man shook his head.
“No way. They’d just as soon shoot every member of the family in the head, themselves included, than damage their key to the future.”
Not at all convinced, Frederick remembered seeing that spell his great-aunt had lobbed at his sister. He might not have a specific name for it, but one look had shown him its ugly intent. “And that sort of . . . mental leash Hester threw at Jenny earlier?”
“Mm,” the domestic witch nodded. “The compulsion. Bad piece of business.”
“Yes, it . . .” Frederick trailed off suddenly, his eyes going wide, as he made a connection. Those ugly lights, the way they had clawed, searched . . . They were what he had seen on the train earlier, what had tried to damage that poor baby he had protected, the spell which had left him with the lume-noirs lodged in his back. They hadn’t been the same color as Hester’s, but . . .
He stood up, as the realization flooded him. “Good God!”
Benjamin tried to break in with a “What? What is it?” but he wasn’t listening.
Turning to the older man, eyes desperate, Frederick wondered. “Can I contact Emma?”
Possibly out of shock at his guest’s sudden change of mood, Benjamin didn’t answer, which only made Frederick more frantic.
Leaning down, he grabbed Benjamin’s shoulders. “I haven’t heard her clearly since she started to convert.” He was shaking him. “Can I contact her?”
It took a moment for the older man to break away from his shock slightly. “Yes, I suppose, if it’s an emergency, but . . .”
That was all Frederick needed to hear. Standing back up to close his eyes, he pressed his will into the summons, crazed to understand the connection between Hester’s attack and the earlier one on the train—driving his thoughts at her.
Emma.
Nothing. He dug in mentally.
Emma, do you hear me?
Still no response.
That was it. The situation was desperate. Channeling all his fear, his rage, his confusion, he pushed whatever magic he possessed forward, his mind screaming for her.
EMMA!
But it proved too much for him. A moment later, he fainted—but even he knew that the woman had been well and truly called.
Chapter 7
Emma
It was never an easy thing to leave those she was protecting, even if she had every intention of returning soon. Still, there were things Emma needed to understand—and there was only one person who was likely to tell them to her.
Immediately upon warding off Everly Distaff, she had headed toward him, leaving Frederick and his sister to her grandfather’s care. As uneasy as it made her, she knew her protection spells over the house and grounds were solid, and Benjamin was more than capable of looking after their guests.
True, there were at least a dozen spells which would have allowed communication between herself and the informant she now sought, Natalie in tow as usual, but none of them would do. Hester Everly was a formidable sorcerer, would be watching over anything which came out of the house closely, and thoughts and words were all too easy to pick up from the air.
Honing in on their one hope, then, she was rushing into town at a pace that was far more than natural. All the while, she kept one hand on Natalie’s arm, dragging her poor friend panting behind her. She had made them invisible, as well, would have normally been concentrating constantly to keep from running into people and objects at this speed—but her conversion was now well underway.
As little as she liked to admit it, there was one thing Frederick’s great-aunt was right about: she was a protection witch. She had never quite quantified it before, but it was true. Their current journey was all about protection, as well—so there was no way that anything or anyone would be allowed to slow her for long.
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