The Witch's Kiss

by Tricia Schneider

  Her friend…

  Marry David…

  Mrs. Watson and Sage…

  Marianne squeezed her eyes shut to squelch her tears. She swiped her wet cheeks to dry them. After taking several deep breaths, she pushed through the crowd to follow Sage as he led her out of the ballroom. Upon entering the corridor, she caught sight of him ascending the stairs. He glanced at her, checking if she followed.

  The urge to spite him nearly overpowered her common sense. She wanted nothing more than to run and hide away. To sulk. Marianne was quite adept at sulking.

  Perhaps he didn’t wish to lecture her. It was something she was accustomed to from Julia. But Sage had never been one to behave so paternally, so she should fear no lecture from him. Yet lately, his behavior did baffle her.

  So she followed. If he began with a sentence such as “What were you thinking?” as Julia was wont to do, Marianne vowed she’d turn around and walk out the door.

  She followed him into an empty bedchamber. She stifled a giggle. If anyone knew she willingly entered a bedchamber with the Merriweather Rake, they’d hang! Then he’d be forced to marry her.

  Her heartbeat quickened at the thought of Sage being forced to propose to her. Indeed, she should be sickened by the thought. He was as a brother to her. Her friend.

  And she was in love with David.

  Was she not?

  Thought of marriage to Sage did not sound so unappealing. A mixture of emotions stirred in her chest, but she could not think upon that now.

  He was waiting.

  She stepped fully into the room, then watched him close the door. He turned to face her.

  “Are you all right?”

  It warmed her to hear the concern in his voice. He did care for her…as a surrogate brother should.

  “Yes.”

  “What did she say?” The thundercloud appeared over his features, taking Marianne by surprise. He did not immediately condemn her for her actions, but he was angry.

  “Several things,” Marianne muttered, glancing at the empty fireplace. “Where shall I begin?”

  “At the end. The beginning. Anywhere,” he said, taking a step toward her. “Just tell me what she said to anger you so.”

  Marianne’s gaze flashed to his. Did his voice tremble? She stood transfixed. The myriad of emotions raced through her again as he stepped closer. He raised his hand, reaching for her cheek, then stopped.

  A glimmer of pain passed over his features. He clenched his hand, pulling away.

  “Tell me why you were so upset?” He whispered the words. Marianne heard them, but she stood spellbound by the look on his face. He had never seen her behave in such a violent way.

  He was her friend. Of course, he would be concerned if she were made to be upset.

  She shook her head, trying to snap out of the spell she found herself caught in as she gazed into his eyes. She blinked several times before finding words to answer him.

  “I-I…she…She said you…,” Marianne stuttered, struggling to form a coherent sentence. What had Charlotte said to enrage her?

  Sage was to marry Mrs. Watson.

  Marianne swallowed hard as she recognized the truth. It wasn’t the revelation that David planned to break off their engagement. That part had surprised her, but it hadn’t elicited the rage that struck to cause Marianne to lash out.

  It was the part about Sage planning to marry Harriet Watson.

  Marianne never expected Sage to marry. They called him a rake. Rakes did not marry. But Sage was different, was he not? Although he behaved as a rake in public, in private she knew him better. He was kind, thoughtful, caring. A gentleman of the highest order. He deserved to marry. To have a family. To be happy.

  But Marianne did not want him to marry…

  It was pure selfishness…this feeling of not wanting Sage to marry. What sort of friend was she that she did not wish him to have the same happiness her sister now shared with her husband? Marriage would do well for Sage. She could easily envision him happily wed to some beautiful, talented woman who would gift him with dark-haired children with the most amazing blue eyes.

  Her stomach clenched. She felt ill.

  No, she did not want Sage to marry anyone, except…her.

  This knowledge should have shocked her. It should have sickened her. How could she feel this way about Sage? Her neighbor and long-time friend?

  She was not immune to his many charms, it was true. But he never played the rogue in her company. The part he played in society was not the way he behaved toward her. With his close friends and family, he was himself.

  She loved him.

  Calm rushed over her. As if she had denied the truth for ages and now after admitting it finally, peace descended upon her.

  But she could not tell him. He would despise her for it. What a horrid way to ruin their friendship.

  He awaited a response. She had to tell him something to explain her behavior.

  “David wants to break off our engagement,” Marianne said, the words spilling from her mouth.

  A flicker of…something dashed across his features. He looked away before Marianne could identify it.

  “She said this?”

  Marianne nodded. “She claims he wants to marry her. They plan to wed next spring.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  Marianne closed her eyes. “Perhaps,” she admitted her voice soft. “I haven’t had word from him for quite some time. And last week I hadn’t the chance…”

  Sage’s hand catching on fire had ruined any chance to listen to David speak at the party they attended. Perhaps Charlotte was being overly optimistic in her assumptions that David planned to break it off with her.

  But now…

  Marianne did not wish to marry David. Her heart did not thump madly whenever she thought of him. Nor was he in her constant thoughts. Her love for David faded to tenderness. She cared for him still, but as a friend.

  Where it had faded with David, it had grown with Sage.

  Could it be she was fickle enough to fall in love with Sage simply because he was the only male able to speak to her? She paused to consider the thought. But Sage spoke again so she decided to think about it later.

  “Do you love him, Marianne?”

  She took a deep breath. She could lie to him. But if she did, would he know the truth? Would he see the love shining in her eyes was for him? No, she could not let him know. He would withdraw from her completely. Marianne couldn’t imagine how she’d survive Sage’s absence from her life. She needed him.

  But did she need him only because she was condemned by this curse?

  Better to lie to him now and learn the truth later.

  “Yes,” she said, staring boldly into his face. She focused on his nose to avoid looking directly into his eyes. “I love him.”

  Sage, she whispered in her mind. I love you.

  He stared at her for a moment in silence. She waited for him to acknowledge the truth. How could she mask her soul when he gazed upon her so intently? Again, something akin to pain flickered across his face. He turned away.

  “Very well,” he said. “I’ll look into it.”

  He turned and walked to the door.

  “Wait,” she said. He paused with his hand on the doorknob. He looked back at her. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll discover what his intentions are,” Sage said simply. “If he plans to marry Miss Smythe or if he remains devoted to you, I’ll know of it.”

  “How? Our engagement was never declared. It was kept secret until I could discover a way to tell my sister. And to explain about our family to David. Most witch families do not marry outside our community. It’s been too dangerous to do so in the past.”

  “It is not unheard of,” he said. “My father was not a witch.”

  “No, he was a scholar. A man of education. Did he have difficulty learning the truth of your mother’s abilities? Of her family?”

  Sage frowned. “I suppose he was a bit shocked. B
ut he loved her. He accepted her.”

  “There are many who would not.”

  “Do you think Fernsby among these?”

  Marianne hesitated for only a moment. “No. Not David. Not if he loves me.”

  “Very well,” Sage said. His jaw clenched as he looked away. “I’ll discover the truth for you, Marianne. I promise.” Then he opened the door and walked out of the room, leaving her to stare after him.

  Another promise.

  Many months ago Sage had promised to find a way to end this curse. Had he done it? Not yet. But he hadn’t relented. Marianne had little hope, but Sage’s persistence rallied her.

  They would find a way to break this curse. And when they did, Marianne would know for certain whether or not her feelings for Sage stayed true.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sage danced and danced. The faces of his many partners became a blur. And while he danced, Marianne searched. He watched her from the dance floor, catching glimpses of her moving through the crowded clusters of matronly women and hopeful debutantes as they gossiped along the sidelines.

  At several moments during the course of the evening, Sage had doubts as to whether or not Miss Green would make her promised appearance at the Carutherses’ ball. Nearly an hour after Marianne’s incident with Charlotte Smythe, Miss Green’s stunning red hair caught his eye as she entered the ballroom. She scanned the dance floor. When she spotted him she smiled.

  A chill crept up his spine at the sight. It was a predatory smile, to be sure. The knowledge that she had demon blood worried him, but he rallied himself, knowing the only path to save Marianne might lie within this woman’s grasp. He would not give up until the spell cast over Marianne was broken.

  The song ended just as Desmonda Green advanced into the room. She found her way through the small crowd until she stood in front of him.

  “Shall we dance?” she asked, a seductive smile taunting her rouge-colored lips. The sight did little to arouse him. Instead, he thought of Marianne’s spirited smiles and how differently these two women compared.

  “I believe my card is full,” Sage replied.

  She laughed, taking his response as the teasing comment he’d intended it to be, but somewhere inside he’d been quite serious. He did not wish to dance with her. The mere thought chilled him. There was only one woman he wished to dance with, but a quick glance round the room revealed she was nowhere in sight.

  Desmonda lifted a hand in invitation as the musicians prepared the next piece. Sage took her hand, leading her onto the dance floor.

  “I thought you didn’t wish to be seen with us,” he whispered into her ear before they parted to perform the moves of the dance.

  “Miss Grey is not here, is she?”

  “Hereabouts.” Again he searched the room, but noticed no sign of her.

  “There is someone I want you to meet.”

  Sage’s gaze lifted to the ceiling before returning to her. “I’ve heard this before from my brother.”

  “I know of only one way to help you, Mr. Merriweather, and I cannot do it alone. We’ll need his assistance if you wish to break the curse.”

  “Anything to help Marianne,” he muttered. “When do I meet him?”

  “No,” Desmonda said, frowning. “You misunderstand. Michael can help you, not Marianne.”

  Sage stumbled on a step, but quickly recovered. “And what of her curse?”

  “Forgive me,” she said, at a moment where she could lean close to him. “I know of no way to bring back the dead.”

  “She’s not dead,” he protested, disliking the way those dreaded words lodged in his throat.

  “But she is,” Desmonda said. “This limbo will last a year. After that, her body will cease to breathe. Her spirit will travel into the afterlife. She will finally be at peace.”

  He stopped dancing. The couples around him tripped as they nearly collided. But he didn’t move, just stared at her.

  “Perhaps there is somewhere else we might speak?” Desmonda forced a smile to her lips as she glanced at the dancers around them. The unwanted attention seemed to make her nervous, but Sage could barely focus on anything other than her last words echoing in his mind…her body will cease to breathe…her spirit will travel into the afterlife…she will be at peace…

  Desmonda tugged on Sage’s arm, awakening him from his dazed state.

  “My apologies,” he said, as he noticed several sets of curious eyes staring at him. A shiver crept along his spine, as thoughts of his ancestors’ fear of discovery flashed in his mind. Did the dancers overhear his conversation? They looked at him oddly, just now. Did they suspect he was a witch?

  Reluctantly, he grabbed her hand and resumed the dance. No need to draw further attention themselves. Relief flickered across his partner’s features as she relaxed back into the dance.

  They performed the rest in silence, each with a forced expression of pleasure to ease the curiosity of any onlookers. When the music finished, he strode from the dance floor, her hand on his arm as he led her to the refreshment table. After he acquired drinks for them both, he found a quiet corner where they could speak in relative privacy. On the way, he kept searching the sea of faces for Marianne.

  “There is a spell to break Marianne’s curse,” Sage said firmly. “Wherever there is dark, there is light. It’s a lesson my aunt instilled in us since we were very young.”

  Desmonda shook her head gently. “If there is a spell, I know not of it.”

  “You must know someone who can help us. What of this man? This Michael? What sort of magic does he possess?”

  “Michael knows of demon magic,” Desmonda said. “I’m certain he can break the curse set upon you.”

  “Is he half-demon, like you?”

  “No.”

  “And if he cannot break the demon’s spell?”

  “Then he can teach you how to use your magic.”

  “No. I won’t accept that possibility. This is not my magic.” Sage’s voice lowered to a growl as he glanced briefly at his fingers. The memory of fire springing from them would haunt him for the remainder of his days. “But, for lack of a better word, my infection is not the reason Basil sent me to you. We were to help Marianne.”

  “Then I apologize, Mr. Merriweather. I have failed to assist you,” Desmonda replied with a frown. “I did search, thoroughly, but all I found were myths and legends. Stories. The curse set upon her will reach its conclusion a year after it was cast. Then her body will wither and die. Her soul should be pulled into the ever after.”

  “Should be? You do not know?”

  “I know of no one who has suffered this curse. All I know is the spell used to cast it. It was a lover’s spell, used by the ancient spellcasters to discover what was called their beloved. My mother discovered a tale that claimed if the beloved was not discovered within a year, the cursed would sleep for a hundred more and awake reborn. Most likely it means after a year her body will die, and in a hundred years her spirit will be reborn.”

  “How does a beloved awake one cursed?”

  “The lover’s token from one who is true will undo what was once done.” Desmonda’s gaze lifted as she read the spell from her memory.

  “Sounds rather cryptic.”

  “Most spells are written in such a way to stay hidden from discovery of those who are not magical,” Desmonda explained. Sage understood. For centuries witches practiced their magic for the good of mankind, to cure the sick and discover truth in the world. But not all magic was perfect, nor were all witches of good heart. Occasionally, a witch might use a spell for nefarious purposes. Those few witches who turned to dark magic were the reason people hunted them throughout the world. And since there was no way to differentiate between a light and dark witch by appearance alone, the witch-hunters killed them all.

  “So Marianne needs her lover’s token,” Sage replied, staring at the floor. “And what is that? A ring? A lock of hair? What?”

  “It is but a story associated with the
spell,” Desmonda said. “It might mean nothing more than legend and lore. Without a specific spell or a potion, I don’t believe we can help your Marianne.”

  At that moment, Marianne’s ginger ringlets came into view. She stood at the edge of the area where the dancers performed a waltz. Whom was she watching so intensely? His gaze roamed over to the couples swirling around to discover the familiar visage of David Fernsby.

  The man Marianne loved.

  “…tomorrow, I know he will help cast the circle to perform the spell.” Desmonda was speaking, but Sage had no memory of what she said. His attention focused solely on Marianne as she stared woefully at her beloved.

  “I know I can help you, Sage,” Desmonda said, touching his arm.

  Sage flinched at the contact. He pulled his arm away from her, taking a step back to ensure she did not touch him again.

  “I prefer never to be touched by a demon again,” Sage snapped, rubbing his arm.

  Desmonda’s eyes widened.

  Guilt assaulted Sage. Desmonda was not the demon who hurt him. He looked away. “My apologies. I—”

  “No need,” Desmonda interrupted. “I understand most interactions with demons are not…pleasant.”

  Sage said no more of the subject. Flashes of fire-lit eyes and hideous laughter still haunted his daytime thoughts to say nothing of the dreams he suffered at night.

  “Meet me in two days. At dusk,” Desmonda said, deciding to abandon the subject of demons. “At the church in Highston. Michael and I will await your arrival.”

  “Very well,” Sage said.

  With a brief nod, Desmonda Green took her leave of him. As soon as she walked away, he turned his attention back to Marianne.

  She loved Fernsby. But did he love her? Sage vowed he’d have the answer before the end of the night. His gaze strayed to Mrs. Watson who, as luck would have it, was currently dancing with Mr. Fernsby. There was his source of information. Sage could always guarantee on Mrs. Watson’s knowledge of famous gossip, even not-so-famous. He would discover her secrets before he approached young Fernsby. No need to frighten the poor fellow off. Marianne would never forgive him for that.

  Marianne…

  His attention returned to the forlorn young woman standing on the sidelines, watching her beloved dance with another woman. The sight pierced Sage’s heart.