Sword of Elements Series Boxed Set 2: Bound In Blue, Caught In Crimson & To Make A Witch

by Heather Hamilton-Senter

  As my hands began to shake uncontrollably, the grailfire roiled through my gut, uncoiling tendrils of flame into my limbs, and slipping through my defenses into my mind. The amount I’d siphoned into Peter had made what was left manageable, but only barely.

  Only if I didn’t arouse it with rage.

  “Don’t I have a right to be angry? I didn’t ask to be what I am! I didn’t ask for fire!” I realized I was yelling out loud when the toddler started to cry. People were staring at me. It only inflamed me more.

  “What are you looking at?” I screamed at an elderly man who was leaning on his walker, shaking his head.

  A heavily muscled man wearing a blue shirt emblazoned with a mall security badge approached me cautiously. “OK. Calm down. I think it’s time for you go home now. You don’t want any trouble.”

  Heat was crackling along my nerves, making me want to tear off my skin to release it. “Stay away from me!”

  The mall cop lost patience. “That’s it! Come with me, Miss.” As he put his hand on my arm, the grailfire did what it was created to do—it attacked. Fire flew from my hands into the man, hollowing him out from within into ash. His eyes flared once and then darkened, smoke curling from them as he dropped to the ground like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

  The people in the crowd began to run screaming. The toddler’s wailing was a siren in my mind. Clamping my hands over my ears, I screwed my eyes shut, but I could still see them—still see every living being as a collection of thoughts, emotions, and even latent powers. It was all color. And what I could see, I could use. I understood Merlin finally. There they were all around me—fat little batteries outlined in color, waiting for me take their power.

  Or store what I couldn’t contain.

  The searing tempest began to build again and I could feel the exquisite pain of small points of flame dancing along the exposed skin of my arms. No Earth King or Queen was ever meant to hold this much. Only Dewi, the Red Dragon, could actually be the embodiment of the element of fire.

  The child was closest and easiest to fill. I sent some of the grailfire into him. It travelled along the bond between them into his mother. The child held out longer than she did. One after another they fell—the old man, a tired sales clerk, the middle-aged woman going through the accounts in the back room of a shoe store—after the first dozen, their individual identities blurred. As each one failed, the Grail’s power rebounded back into me with incredible force until I thought my brain would explode with the agony of it.

  Someone with untapped abilities manage to stabilize it for a moment. The woman’s aura held traces of cool green and watery blue; a small portion of mermaid blood ran through her veins. She’d instinctively dampened the grailfire, soothing its wrath. For a moment, hope surged through me, but then she faltered and the power took her too.

  She was the last one.

  The grailfire spun around my heart, claiming it as its prize. I was the Earth Queen. When I erupted into a conflagration of power, I would take the world with me. Binnorie, Redcap, the Mari Lwyd, and the Red Dragon screamed at me, blending into one voice filled with agony.

  Have mercy on us, Child of Blood! Have pity on us, O thou Destroyer of Worlds! The earth is out of balance! Where you fall, it falls with you!

  But my mercy had been burned away. The mall was empty of anything else I could use. I needed to look elsewhere.

  I opened my senses to the world.

  A hand on my shoulder shook me and I awoke with a gasp, surprised to find Goodfellow staring down at me with a strange expression on his face.

  I straightened up out of the slumped position I’d fallen into and ran a hand through my hair. “Sorry. I must have fallen asleep. What took you so long?”

  But Goodfellow didn’t answer. Swallowing hard, his eyes darted around as if they didn’t dare rest on any sight too long. I was just about to ask what was wrong when a small, still form partially hidden under the bench caught my attention. An overturned stroller lay beside it, wheels spinning.

  Frozen with white horror, it took almost impossible force to look up and around.

  The floor of the mall was littered with bodies.

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  Read on for TO MAKE A WITCH

  TO MAKE A WITCH

  A Sword of Elements Novel

  Heather Hamilton-Senter

  Two Paths Publishing

  ONTARIO, CANADA

  Copyright © 2014 by Heather Hamilton-Senter

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  Two Paths Publishing

  www.twopathspublishing.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Layout © 2014 BookDesignTemplates.com

  Cover Design © 2014 BookCoverArtistry.com

  Two Make A Witch/ Heather Hamilton-Senter. -- 1st ed.

  978-0-9938225-3-7

  Head cheerleader and top of her class at her old school, Lacey McInnis had ended up on the wrong side of a conflict between ancient gods. Looking to make a fresh start at an exclusive boarding school in New Orleans, she’s also hoping to forget she was once this close to becoming a powerful witch—that is, before her mentor the Crone had her head chopped off, and before her high school nemesis turned out to be the hero of the whole thing. Which meant that Lacey had actually been one of the bad guys.

  When the tomb of a Voodoo Queen is desecrated and a gruesome murder is committed in the very heart of Westover Academy, Lacey realizes she could be next on the killer’s list. Ironically, fate may once again make Lacey McInnis—a good girl gone bad then good again—a witch.

  .

  The spells in this book are taken from passages in several pieces of ancient Celtic literature, including Llyfr Taliesin (The Book of Taliesin) and The Lament of the Old Woman of Beare.

  The events of this book take place between the events of BOUND IN BLUE and CAUGHT IN CRIMSON.

  CONTENTS

  ST. LOUIS CEMETERY NO. 1

  AN ARRIVAL

  AN INVITATION

  A CHANGE

  AN EXPLANATION

  A MESSAGE

  A TASK

  A DISCOVERY

  A DEATH

  AN ALLIANCE

  A DEAL

  A CONFRONTATION

  AN UNDERSTANDING

  A DECISION

  A BEGINNING

  Kilkeel, Maine

  PROLOGUE

  ST. LOUIS CEMETERY NO. 1

  On December 17th, 2013, in St. Louis Cemetery No. 1, a vandal painted the tomb of Marie Laveau, the legendary Voodoo Queen of New Orleans, bright pink. It was thought that the perpetrator’s intent was to cover the marks that had been scratched into the brick and plaster tomb by tourists over the years. Decades before, a rumor had spread that if someone wanted the spirit of the great Marie Laveau to grant a wish, they were to leave an offering, draw three Xs on the tomb, turn three times, and then yell out the wish.

  This story takes place just after that act of vandalism.

  CHAPTER ONE

  AN ARRIVAL

  This air is alive with witches . . .

  ― Conrad Potter Aiken

  As I smoothed the quilt down over the bed, I counted in my head—one, two, three—and resisted the urge to run my hands over the flat surface one more time. Taking a deep breath, I stepped away and slipped out of my nightgown, folding it neatly and putting it under my pillow.

  I am Lacey Ann McInnis, I reminded myself, and I am in control.

  I examined my surroundings as I got dressed. T
he wood panels lining the bottom half of the walls gave the somewhat cramped room a feeling of warmth, and the desk under the window allowed enough room for one comfortable chair. Across from the bed, two narrow closets were separated by a small mirror and vanity. My brief exploration the night before had already found the shared bathroom at the end of the hall with its rows of showers, stalls, and swan-necked faucets swooping over ceramic sinks veined with cracks. All in all, I liked what I’d seen thus far.

  The only negative was that I’d been assigned a double room. My roommate hadn’t turned up yet, but an alarming quantity of personal effects, including three tennis rackets, were strewn across the desk, bed, and floor, though they did manage to keep to their side of an imaginary line down the middle of the room. Still, it was an effort to stop myself from tidying it all up, and I made a mental note to request a single room when I met with the headmistress.

  Pulling out my makeup bag from my purse, I began my routine: moisturizer, some concealer to knock down the bit of redness around my nose, a shimmer of eye shadow, a dusting of power, and a slick of neutral lipstick. Unlike most dirty blondes, my eyebrows and eyelashes were naturally black, so I left them alone. I’d showered before going to bed so three quick brush strokes restored the bounce to my hair.

  I checked myself out in the mirror and smoothed the pleats of the skirt over my hips, happy to feel some of my curves returning. I wasn’t back up to my normal weight yet, but I felt physically stronger than I had in weeks. Last to go on was the close-fitting blazer with its red and gold crest resting directly over my heart. I surveyed my reflection with satisfaction. As the head cheerleader at my old school, I was used to uniforms, but Westover Academy’s was a step up from the gold and black sweater and skirt set which always reminded me of a bumblebee.

  Armed and ready, I crossed over to the window and pushed back the curtains to check the weather. The sky was grey, but even after the many hour’s drive from the Canadian border to New Orleans—the view outside the car changing as if time was slowly winding back from winter to spring—I still wasn’t used to the sight of green leaves and grass in December. There might be a bite in the air at night, but I would probably only need a light jacket even at winter’s worst.

  “Hello!” A tall girl with pixie-cut black hair burst into the room. She stared at me for a moment and then flashed a smile that made her somewhat strong features light up. Lean and clear-eyed, she could have walked straight out of a Hemingway novel. “They told me I was getting a roomie, but I didn’t expect you until the new term started.” She threw a sports bag onto her bed. “I thought I’d be the only one stuck here over Christmas break. When did you get in?”

  “Late last night. I’m Lacey. Lacey McInnis,” I added.

  “Ava Brady.” She smiled again, all dazzling white teeth framed by tanned skin. “Canada, right?”

  I nodded, surprised.

  “My parents own a lodge in Stowe. It’s swamped by Canadians once the leaves start to turn color, so I recognized your accent.” She jerked her chin towards the view outside the window. “I bet you’re not missing the snow. I know I’m not. You’d think growing up in a ski town that I’d love it, but I wouldn’t care if I never saw snow ever again.”

  Smiling politely, I passed my fingers over the small tattoo on my left wrist. The slightly raised edges were warm, which meant the spell was still suppressing the natural charm and glamour of my lorelei heritage. I relaxed. My roommate was obviously just naturally friendly. I’d always enjoyed being popular, but discovering it was only the by-product of being descended from a magical creature had burst that bubble. The suppressing spell was the first one I asked my mentor the Crone to teach me. I wanted to know who admired me only because of the magic—most of the student body, as it turned out. After the Crone was murdered, all the spells I’d mastered as her apprentice failed, and the tattoos associated with them disappeared from my skin. This one was the last vestige of my few brief weeks as a witch.

  I gestured to the bed. “How come you didn’t sleep here last night?”

  Ava grimaced. “The Aged Parents decided to do the whole family bonding thing before they went on their annual cruise. It leaves from Florida so they ever so graciously decided to take a side trip to see me. I was at their hotel downtown, but they kicked off this morning.” She plumped up her pillows against the headboard and hopped onto the bed. Twirling a tennis racket in her hands, Ava looked like she couldn’t care less that her parents had ditched her on the holidays

  She stopped abruptly and looked at me intently. “What about you? What did you do to deserve being dumped here?”

  I shrugged as I sat on the edge of my bed, careful not to wrinkle the sheets I’d just smoothed. “My mom and dad only have a few days off work over the holidays. We drove down and had Christmas dinner at a restaurant. They dropped me off last night and then headed back.”

  “Hmmm,” Ava grunted. “Do you play?” She brandished the racket in the air.

  “Not very well.” That was an understatement. The first and only time I tried, I was so bad and showed so little possibility of any improvement that I never dared to try again.

  “Damn. There isn’t a girl at this school capable of giving me a decent game. Tennis is the whole reason I’m down here letting the humidity ruin my hair.” She ran her hand over her sleek hair as if she were soothing a small animal that might bolt at any moment. “Westover’s program is top notch, but I need some real competition to keep me on my toes.”

  Ava continued to expand on her plans to go to an Ivy League school on a tennis scholarship, but I was barely listening. There was a hum in the walls as if the plantation-style building had suddenly awakened and become expectant and alert.

  My cell phone rang and I picked it up off the desk. “Hello?”

  “Miss McInnis?”

  “Speaking.”

  “This is Ms. Dalton. I just heard that you’d arrived. Would you be able to come over to my office in Stradford Hall?” It was the school’s headmistress. After agreeing to meet her in fifteen minutes, I disconnected the call, and the strange tension dissipated like an exhalation.

  Ava half-heartedly offered to join me, but I declined, assuring her I could find my way. Before I’d even left the room, she was already burrowed into a blanket fast asleep.

  Stradford Hall was the second building over from the student residence. It stood at the end of the circular driveway, stone steps leading up to broad columns framing double doors with brass handles. As I pulled one open, surprised at its weight, I already knew what I would find from my obsessive study of the information packet the school had sent me in the mail. The first floor was taken up by the administrative offices, the dining room, and the kitchen. The second floor held a small assembly hall. Larger meetings were held in a separate building at the edge of the property which housed a good-sized theater. I’d studied the pictures online, allowing myself just the smallest trickle of excitement. The Crone had made me give up being involved in most of my normal activities, including being in the school musical. Hopefully coming in halfway through the year wouldn’t leave me out of any upcoming productions Westover Academy might have planned.

  As the door closed behind me with a dull thud, I looked around with interest. Confused and unsure as to why I’d chosen to leave home—leave them—Mom and Dad had delayed driving me over to the school until it was too dark to see much of anything of the grounds or the buildings. A security guard had met us at the gate and helped to bring my bags up to my room, and then there’d been tears and a flurried goodbye when my parents left.

  Across the spacious foyer with its elegant furnishings was another set of double doors with equally ornate handles. A small sign to the right of them indicated that this was the dining hall. Pulling the door open a couple of inches, I peeked inside. Wood tables and benches sat in orderly rows, shining in the light streaming in from tall, arched windows along the back wall. The scene was less like reality and more like something you would see in a m
ovie. The guard had told me there was no staff present over the holidays—except for them and a small cleaning crew—so I would have to make my own meals from the supplies provided. I was looking forward to it.

  I closed the door carefully. Two wide hallways branched off the foyer in opposite directions. The right one had a small sign with Kitchen and Security written in gold, and the left said Offices. My shoes clicked as I stepped off the carpet and onto the wood floor and headed down the left hall, passing paneled doors with brass knobs, and framed prints and paintings in the spaces between. A small print hanging crooked caught my eye and I couldn’t stop myself from pausing to straighten it, but my fingers hesitated on the frame as I realized what I was looking at.

  A shiver went down my spine. The black and white engraving depicted a robed woman pointing at a ghostly being while a group of bearded men cowered at her feet. In spidery lettering at the bottom of the print was the title: The Witch of Endor by Doré.

  I knew the story from Sunday school. King Saul of Israel had made the Witch of Endor summon the spirit of the prophet Samuel to seek his advice in battle. Instead, the prophet had foretold the king’s defeat and death.

  Something hard settled into the back of my throat as I forced myself to pull my hands away and hold them tightly clenched at my sides, but I couldn’t stop looking at the image. The witch was beautiful and carelessly powerful. She had been the instrument of a king’s despair and then had disappeared from the narrative, untouched by the wars of men.