A Witch's Harem: Reverse Harem Fantasy

by Savannah Skye

  “It’s no joke,” Mick said, frowning a little.

  I couldn’t get my thoughts or questions together. That word, Purging, kept spinning through my head and making my stomach churn. And all of them were looking at me expectantly, yet they weren’t answering my questions or letting me go.

  Finally, Patrick spoke up. “Rowland Skinner and Lady Oralee may have been separated by an ocean, but she knew rightly what that bastard would get up to. You heard it yourself. ‘Tis this Yule, Sadie. December twenty-first. Shortest day and longest night. And if we do not stop him, an endless one at that.” He drew a hand over his face. “If only we found you sooner…”

  “None of this makes any sense,” I said through gritted teeth. Then something hit me. “Rowland Skinner,” I murmured. “Wait! There’s a statue of him in Winter Island Park…” I clawed into my memory for his history. “People leave coins at the base. He lived here four hundred years ago, yeah, but he wasn’t a dark mage.” Anger snapped in my chest. “He was a rich merchant who denounced the Witch Trials – one of the few who did so and lived.”

  “You know of Skinner?” Seamus asked, surprised.

  “And there’s a bloody statue of him?” Patrick’s lip curled with disgust.

  “Rowland Skinner,” Michael said in a tight voice, “was a practitioner of the darkest of magic. Yes, he bore witness to the Salem Witch Trials and spoke out against them, but secretly he plotted against the mortals as well. He hated that the Ordinaries feared us and yet he stoked it as well. Some even say he let loose a demon on the town, which emboldened the likes of Cotton Mather, Samuel Parris, and others to hunt our kind. In the end, instead of peace, he sought war.”

  “I think you’re wrong…” I said slowly.

  The O’Sullivan cousins made noises of disbelief. Mick folded his arms, shoulders swelling like he wanted to go out and tear down that statue with his bare hands. In a clipped voice, he said, “Sadie, please listen. Skinner called together the Covens of New England during those years and tried to convince them to fight against the mortals. To wreak havoc and spill their blood. While not all the poor souls who hung were witches, a few were.” He paused and shook his head. “His speaking out was not for the benefit of our kind, though, but to whet his dark appetite. War and fear make dark mages stronger. Plus, Skinner took it as a sign of what was to come anyway. More persecution. So, when the covens, save his, spoke out against taking revenge, he was incensed.”

  “Rowland Skinner was not some dark mage,” I insisted, growing more skeptical of this story and tired of their trickery. “We can go look at his statue right now.”

  “Skinner played along and agreed when the other covens talked him down,” Michael said, pretending like he didn’t hear me, although a muscle jumped in his jaw. “They had opted for peace, having faith that Salem would one day be as it is now. A haven,”

  “Exactly, so it didn’t work, even if he was…” I was tying myself into knots. This was all impossible, but at the same time, I was getting this dreadful feeling in my gut.

  “You’re not listening,” Michael snapped. “It was all pretense. The Rathbone Coven and Skinner took it upon themselves to decide who should be able to wield the ancient gifts. He was patient. He knew it would take time. So, he gave his coven secret instructions – to spread his word and purpose. Find others and swell the ranks of their clan. To grow their magic and his.”

  “No, he’s dead. In fact, I think his grave is in the Old Burying Point Cemetery,” I said.

  “That grave holds no corpse. Skinner sleeps now, somewhere…” Seamus let out a frustrated sigh. “He found a way to slow his heart so that years pass between each beat. When he wakes, it will be as though mere days have passed. But Skinner’s confidence is such that he expects to waken to a Dark Yule, one where he will see his dark purpose done. So, when he awakens to a world where magic is still hidden and now mingles with the Ordinaries in a haven like Salem… Well.”

  “Sadie, he will make good on his promise and begin the Purging.” Seamus was looking at me with a kind of pity. “Stirring the fear and mistrust of the Hidden World. It will be a witch-hunting frenzy, one to purge all magic – dark and light – who dare go against Skinner. And once we’re gone, he will control the race of magic and ensure it is in his image. You heard Oralee’s words. He will hold the world in his hands and the Ordinaries, his puppets, will be offered up as a feast for every evil thing that lurks in the night.”

  “The Purging has to be stopped,” Michael said, sounding frustrated. “As the year dies, it will begin.” Now his tone became biting. “Unless the Good Witch of Salem wakes up to her destiny.”

  There was a moment of silence, where all that could be heard was the whisper of wind through the trees and the snap of the burning logs. As I tried to comprehend what they were saying, my brain rejected it, yet my heart began to beat faster and faster.

  “Sadie, it’s you,” Michael said with a flash of blue eyes, and the air crackled around him. “Everything points to you. What, you think we would waste our breath telling you all of this and scaring you if not? What proof do you need? There is the picture. Oh, and the fact that she would come of age on the eve of the new millennium. You turned five in the year 2000, correct?”

  “You’re basing this on my birthday?” I asked, a nervous laugh escaping me. I’d forced myself to ignore that nagging jolt in the back of my head. “Wow. My mother did put you up to this.”

  “There’s more than that, Sadie,” Patrick said, his tone far sweeter and more wheedling than Michael’s impatient one. “Your powers–”

  “Powers, yeah, hm. If this is all true, you have the wrong witch.”

  “An unlikely choice but our only chance,” Mick said, stepping forward, and I stumbled back. “But one of pure heart and spirit.” He paused. “It could only be you.”

  Shaking from head to toe, I marched towards the open door, head held high, even as a voice whispered at the back of my head to stay. “I’m done. Bye, boys,” I said in a choked voice. “This was an entertaining Halloween, I’ll give you that.”

  The door slammed shut as I approached it and a rush of cool energy went through the room.

  “Not this again,” I sighed and whirled around. “Let me go.”

  “You can leave when I say…” Michael started, then he swallowed something and said in a far smoother, patient voice, “When we are done talking." Behind me, I heard the door lock and I rolled my eyes. “If you need proof, lass, fine. We’ll give you proof. And if you still do not believe us when we’re finished, then you can leave.”

  We stared at each other and the air crackled with tension again. For a moment, I almost couldn’t believe that Michael had kissed me. It must have been part of the ruse to get me to stay. Which meant there was probably some grand finale coming.

  I was about to tell him where he could stick his prophecy when Seamus spoke.

  “Please sit, Sadie,” he said, stepping closer and blocking Michael’s icy glare. “I promise you’ll understand in time.” He glanced at his older cousin. “It is a lot to take in.”

  Shrugging, Michael turned to the fire and laid his forearm on the mantle.

  Walking over to the couch, I plopped on it ungraciously and Seamus drew up a chair, while Mick and Patrick sat on either side of me. All of them were trying to smile and failing miserably. It sent a strange jolt of nerves through my stomach.

  Suddenly, I realized too, their demeanor and way of speaking had changed subtly. It was more polished, less jovial and had an air of the old-world about it. Not to mention each of them looked gravely serious.

  I wished they would stop already.

  “You don’t want to believe it,” Patrick said softly and I jumped, staring at him. “Neither did I, lass. Not exactly a nice bedtime story, eh?”

  Looking down, I saw my hands were shaking and my heart began to race. The coldest of horrors began to envelop me, like serpents and iron bands looping around my skin.

  Chest rising and fa
lling, I tried to reject it, but instead, I began to do the opposite. I was thinking back over this last year and all the strange days it had brought.

  Hadn’t Treysi Belaba, my friend and a Peruvian curandera woman, mentioned several times about how she kept seeing dark portents, yet couldn’t find the source? With several other witches and mages adding they had as well?

  Hadn’t there been an extra chime by the village clock on each of the three Friday the Thirteenths? Never mind the three Friday the Thirteenths in one year…

  And hadn’t my own grandmom complained her thumbs wouldn’t stop pricking?

  Sometimes, poor witch that even I was, I’d felt something on the air.

  How many times had I glanced over my shoulder to find nothing was there? Or had a cold wind whispered across my neck? Inexplicably sweeping down the narrow streets, with a hint of sulfur and smoke on warm and cold days alike. The agitated cries of birds? The reports of less cod in the bay than usual? And sightings of animals migrating sooner than usual…

  Strange and dark dreams all around Salem, a town holding its breath in anticipation…

  “Even if it is true,” I said slowly, “I couldn’t possibly be the one you’re meant to find. I’m not some sort of savior." I put my hands on my cold cheeks. “You have to find the real witch, I mean, not that I’m not a real witch, although my mother could tell you some days she doubts it. What I’m trying to say is, I’m no good at it. Magic. I mean, earlier today I was fooling around with a spell, okay? I had been working on it for most of the day and I don’t know how, but I turned my dog into a parrot. He’s still stuck like that, too. And, oh yeah, I have a wiener dog as a familiar, talk about not your average witch… I’m… I’m sorry.” I put my head in my hands.

  Mick’s fingers tangled in my hair and a spark of heat leaped in my belly. He tugged on my hair gently and I looked up at him.

  "Sadie, lass, that's what we're here for." His green eyes were filled with both affection and pride. “To watch over you. Protect you.” He poked my chin. “And teach you.”

  “Are you sure, though?” I asked in a hushed voice. “I mean, the birthday, and okay, the picture…”

  “You’re also the nicest witch in Salem, Sadie,” Patrick said now and he grinned at me as I gave him an incredulous look. “No one said one bad word about you. We asked. And then some.”

  “Guess you didn’t talk to my mother,” I muttered.

  “Enough,” Michael said, looking over at us with a scowl and I dropped my eyes. “There’s also the fact that we know it’s you. And as Mick said, we’re here to keep an eye on you. But more than that, we need to get you up to scratch if you are to stop the Purging. You are cutting me to the bone, here.” He made a frustrated sound. “I mean, what more proof do you need than the Libris Ides? It wouldn’t open if you were not the one.”

  “There’s also the amulet,” Seamus said and Michael grunted. I looked up to see a look passing between them. “What, you think it’s not the time?”

  “If she won’t accept her destiny, what makes you think she’ll accept that?” Michael asked.

  “Have a wee bit of patience and faith, cousin,” Seamus said and to my surprise, a smile twitched onto Michael’s face. Then he turned back to the fire. “This is yours, Sadie.”

  From his pocket, Seamus withdrew a heavy silver chain with a sparkle of white fire at the end of it, like a star caught in glass. For a moment, it blinded me and I blinked as Seamus stood up, walking around the couch. His arms came around me before I could utter a word, Mick holding up my hair as his cousin clasped the necklace on.

  “I can’t accept this,” I said, holding it up. “Woah.” The charm was a white heart, shimmering like fresh snow. No one had ever given me jewelry before and certainly not a guy. “This looks priceless.” I couldn’t stop looking at it and noted the symbol on the back. “Is it Fae-wrought?”

  “Perhaps,” Seamus said wryly and I looked up to see him sitting back down with a smile. “I know not. It came to me in a dream and I saw your face, as well as this town. And when I awoke, it was in my hand. That’s Oralee’s charm, there. The white heart with a triquetra etched on the back.”

  “I think the Fairies brought it to him,” Patrick said in a confidential whisper. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Seamus is the one with all the connections in the Hidden World.”

  “Besides Fae trinkets,” Michael said, coming over and snapping his fingers. The Book of Ides returned and fell open on my lap. “Maybe she should take a look at what else is in these pages.”

  “Michael–” Mick rumbled, but Michael shot him a look and he fell silent with a scowl.

  “I know we agreed to wait, but we didn’t anticipate–” Michael nodded at me. “Well, look.”

  The writing shone and shimmered with life, unlike any ink I’d seen before. At my touch, it briefly became a flame again, then went back to a plain book. The pages were heavy and crinkled in a musical way as I turned them. A scent of saffron and musty paper rose up from it.

  “Not that,” Michael said, glaring at the book. “Oralee’s vision.”

  The book seemed to sigh, pages wilting, and then I froze as the pages rifled, turned by a ghostly, impatient hand to the end. Here the ink was so black it looked wet. And no shine of fire curled through the words. The air became stale and cold, the room utterly silent. The fire no longer crackled, the clock no longer ticked and something seemed to press on my eardrums.

  On the page were hundreds of anguished faces. Scenes of horror and bloodshed. Wasted cities, fields, groves, and mountains. Nothing had escaped the despoiling of demons, who laughed as they plundered. Carrion birds, ghouls, and dark mages crowded the sky.

  There was no light left anywhere. Not a glimmer, a spark or a star.

  The pages flipped slowly, revealing more of the Purging. I wanted to look away, but I could not. On the last page, a sound left my throat as I stared at it.

  A man in a dark hood raised his arms in triumph as Ordinaries fled. Rowland Skinner is coming! cried a voice, seeming to come from the book itself. Behind were the corpses of all magic kind, from tiny pixies to goblins to witches.

  My hands were no longer shaking, but gripping the book as I took this in. It was slowly dawning on me that I had to accept this.

  This was real. Rowland Skinner would awake. Endless night was coming.

  The Purging would begin on December twenty-first, the Yule, my favorite Wiccan holiday.

  Raising my eyes, I looked from Mick to Patrick to Seamus. They all had the same bleak look in their eyes, but there was also worry and concern for me. Then I looked up at Michael.

  His eyes were stormy and his jaw was set.

  The four of them were dead serious and the charm on my breast gave off a low throb.

  My hand flew to it and I sensed the crowding of hungry shadows all around. Evil was coming, it was knocking on the door. Lips parting, I struggled to comprehend the magnitude of what was happening. What this all meant. It was like a cruel joke, only none of us were laughing.

  Because the fate of our kind rested on my shoulders.

  Chapter 7

  “Enough,” Michael said and I wondered with vague hysteria if that was his favorite word. The book flopped closed and he once again spun it into the ether. “Sadie?”

  I didn’t respond. Every beat of my heart echoed through my body. I was surprised the room was intact because it felt like the whole world was spinning off its axis and I was about to pass out.

  Maybe this is a really weird dream, I thought, then Patrick’s hand squeezed my knee.

  “Bit much to digest, eh, lass?” the blond tried to joke, but his brows were knotted.

  Um, yeah… Talk about your memorable Halloweens.

  “Maybe we should let her sleep on it, think it all over and come to grips with what is happening,” Seamus suggested quietly. “Eh, Michael? Did you hear me?”

  “It’s not like we don’t know what she’s going through,” Mick added.

 
“Fine,” Michael said shortly. “One of you take her back. I have things to do.”

  “I’ll take her,” Patrick said, standing up and pulling me with him. An arm went around my waist as he gripped me tightly. I squeaked as my chest overflowed more from my bodice. “Hold on tight, Sadie,” he whispered, and on instinct, I fisted my hands in his shirt.

  Again, the world whirled around us, but this time I was not alone. Patrick cupped the back of my head so that my forehead rested on his shoulder. In a way, it seemed like we were standing still while everything else spun into nothing. And when we stopped, a twinge of regret went through me, then again when Patrick let me go.

  Behind us, I could hear the thud of music, chatter, and clink of glasses. We were back at the party. It was all the same and yet it wasn’t. I put a hand to my head.

  Patrick looked down at me, studying my face and clearly reluctant to go back. Seizing my hands, he said, “Sleep well, lass,” and then kissed my cheek. And then he was gone. Nothing but the warm memory of his lips on my cheek, which I touched with trembling fingers.

  Turning around, I went back to the party, but it was a surreal and uncomfortable scene. The music sounded tinny and strange, the bass too loud and the smells too harsh. As much as I’d wanted to leave that room with the O’Sullivan cousins, I suddenly hated the thought of being alone.

  Hugging myself, bits and pieces of the last few hours kept coming to me. The flash of Mick’s green eyes as he flirted, Seamus pulling out the amulet, Patrick's hunched shoulders, the obnoxious doorknob in that room, the window I'd been stuck in, Michael's shadow against the fire, and then, the scripts of fire spelling out an impossible destiny for me.

  "Sadie!" came Belinda’s voice, sans British accent. “There you are.”

  Turning, I saw Belinda’s lovely and familiar face. Her smudged lipstick and wide eyes. It seemed to ground me in reality as she cupped my elbows in concern. “Sadie? Are you feeling alright? You’re white as a ghost.”