Outcast (Moonlight Wolves Book 4)

by Jasmine B. Waters

  Ligeia stared at her sister. ‘Come to me,’ she thought, summoning her strength. ‘Leave the crowd and follow me.’ For a moment, she was horrified by the thought that her magic might not work on such a godly young woman. But Prudence’s face grew dazed, and she wandered away from the crowd.

  Ligeia grabbed Prudence by the elbow and yanked her behind a building. Prudence gasped.

  “‘Tis you!”

  “Yes,” Ligeia said angrily, “‘tis I. Your sister, Ligeia!”

  Prudence gasped in horror and started to scream, but Ligeia muttered a quick incantation and soon, Prudence’s voice was reduced to a whisper.

  “Yes,” Ligeia repeated. “I am your sister, and I have done awful, unspeakable acts, Prudence. But these five young women – they are innocent. You must release them! Do not kill innocent women just because you’re seeking the true evildoers of the world!”

  Prudence’s blue eyes heated with anger. “I should have known ‘twas you,” she said angrily. “You are the spawn of the devil, the most evil!” She narrowed her eyes and spat. “And I shall not bend to your will and do your bidding!”

  “Release the young women,” Ligeia ordered. Her eyes flashed with light and magic. “Do not make me force you, Prudence! Do the right thing – the godly thing!”

  “These women are not godly, and neither are you!” Prudence said hotly. “I hate you, sister. I wish that I had never met you. You killed our mother.”

  “I did not,” Ligeia said. She felt shock and horror as she stared at her sister in disbelief. “She was dead when I arrived,” she said. “You are aware of that, sister. You know that, do you not?”

  “I think you killed her with witchcraft!” Prudence said. “You murdered her just to increase my suffering!”

  Ligeia stared at her sister in shock. “Come, sister,” she begged. “Do not make such accusations! Are we not of the same blood?”

  Prudence slapped Ligeia across the face. It didn’t hurt exactly, but Ligeia felt cold with shock and panic. As Ligeia stared at her villainous younger sister, she realized that she was never meant to be an Arrowsmith all along; she had always been wicked, she had always been different.

  Ligeia waved her hand over her sister’s face, muttering in Latin: “Ne obliviscaris, et ne obliviscaris, delere!”

  Prudence’s blue eyes glazed, and her pupils shrank and grew smaller.

  “Forget….” Prudence mumbled under her breath. She stumbled away from Ligeia, looking dazed. Ligeia watched her sister for another moment, making sure that the spell had worked correctly. Prudence stumbled slowly down the alley, holding her arms in front of her like the walking dead.

  Ligeia smelled smoke. Her heart began to race. I’m too late, she realized in a blind panic. She began to run toward the center of town, her feet racing beneath her. To her horror, five young girls had been tied to the stakes. They were all crying, tears streaming down their faces as they screamed for help. The townspeople gathered around them booed and hissed. Ligeia gasped when she recognized Joy Whittier sneering and throwing tomatoes toward the accused girls.

  Ligeia hid herself behind a stall, keeping her eyes locked on the girls at the stakes. She pulled a handful of herbs from her pocket and crumbled them in her fingers, smelling the fresh scent and calling to mind the power of the coven. As she watched the magistrate step forward with a flaming torch in his hand, the screams of the young girls almost broke her concentration. But Ligeia summoned every ounce of strength in her body. She stared, narrowing her gaze and chanting under her breath until her mind was flooded with the images of the girls twisting at the stake.

  As Ligeia stared and chanted, her mind opened. ‘These girls are yet innocent,’ she realized. ‘But they have the power to become witches, to open their minds and escape from the confines of the godly life.’

  “Vivo risus non uror,” Ligeia whispered again and again. “Vivo risus non uror! Vivo risus non uror!”

  The girls’ shrieking stopped as the flames licked higher and higher. Ligeia stared grimly ahead, desperately repeating the incantation under her breath. ‘This will allow them to survive the flames,’ she thought. ‘They will realize their true power, and hopefully embrace it. The flame should only tickle and not burn.’

  Smoke filled the Salem marketplace, and the jeering and screaming of the crowd began to die down. As the girls sagged against their bonds, people slowly began to filter away from the marketplace. Soon, everyone but the magistrate was gone, but the flames were still burning high, sending columns of black smoke into the sky.

  Ligeia gathered her petticoats in her hands and ran toward the girls. With a wave of her hand, the fire was extinguished.

  They stared at her in shock.

  “I am Ligeia Arrowsmith,” Ligeia said, almost proudly. “And you will all be coming with me.”

  Chapter Eight

  When I returned to the coven with five girls in tow, I knew that I’d made amends. Henrik was proud. Although he didn’t say so, I didn’t need to hear the words to know. He told me that my strength as a witch exceeded his wildest expectations, and that I had made a successful contribution to the coven.

  I never saw my sister Prudence – or any of my other family members – ever again. I heard many a report from those in the coven who traveled to villages that Prudence had gone dumb. She spent the rest of her life in a daze, wandering from place to place, a glassy look in her eyes, and her lips slow to move. I did not regret cursing her. The hatred in her eyes had been unmistakable, and I knew that she was finally getting what she had long deserved.

  In a way, I still felt guilty. Prudence had very likely been indoctrinated by my father; I wondered just how devout he had become before death. But that did not excuse her wild demands and cries for the murder of innocent girls. After I rescued the girls from Salem, no one else was burned at the stake. Life returned to a state of almost normal, and for many years, the coven was happy.

  Times changed. The centuries shifted, and the former colonies became their own country. Henrik and I aged slowly – our power kept us relatively young at mind and in the heart. Religious fervor gripped the country, but our coven was always safe. Henrik and I shared a bond more powerful than any on Earth.

  Eventually, I forgot about my old life completely.

  But just because the times had changed did not mean that my coven and witches were free of danger…

  ---

  The woods outside of Jaffrey, New Hampshire – Present Day

  It was a crisp fall day. Henrik and Ligeia walked through the woods, arm in arm, collecting mushrooms and various herbs.

  “I had a vision last night,” Henrik said stiffly.

  Ligeia snickered. “And you’re quite sure it wasn’t the wine?”

  “No,” Henrik said shortly. “‘Twas not the wine.” He sighed, groaning as he leaned against the trunk of a tree.

  “Well, what then?”

  “A young girl – nearby, in town – has a familiar spirit,” Henrik said slowly. “A spirit very familiar to that of your sister, Prudence Arrowsmith.”

  The name sent a chill through Ligeia, and she shuddered. “It has been years since I even thought of my family,” she said softly. “What did you see, friend?”

  Henrik sighed. “Nothing good,” he said. “This girl… she is young, but powerful, is fervent, and determined to rid the world of demonic activity and witches.”

  Ligeia frowned. “And she is aware of us?”

  “No,” Henrik said. “Aware of a young witch – a young witch who is much like those girls from Salem many years ago.”

  Ligeia frowned. “And you want to intervene?” She raised an eyebrow. “That is most unusual, Henrik – most unusual for you.”

  “I did not want to alarm you,” Henrik said unsteadily. “But when I say a familiar spirit, I believe she is a reincarnation of your sister. I believe she is dangerous.”

  Ligeia took a deep breath. “I am sure it is not as bad as all that,” she said softly. “After all
, we live in a rational world. People are all too proud of their science, their designs. No one fears us now,” she said. “Which is a good thing, I know.”

  “This girl is different,” Henrik insisted.

  Ligeia fell silent. For a moment, there was no sound other than their feet crunching dead leaves. Henrik escorted her back to her small hut, and Ligeia locked the door before building a raging fire in the hearth. When the flames were as high as her shoulders, she tossed a handful of rosemary and lavender into the fire. The fragrant smoke soothed her, pulling into a headspace of magic and tranquility.

  Ligeia took her looking glass from the mantle and held it close to her face. ‘Show me the girl,’ she thought as she stared into the glass. ‘Show her to me; make me see what Henrik sees.’

  The glass fogged and swirled, as if covered with mist. But after a few seconds, the mist cleared and a girl – perhaps four and ten at the oldest – appeared to Ligeia. In no physical way did she resemble Prudence Arrowsmith. Her hair was light brown, and her face was round, almost chubby. But her eyes belied the same evil fire, the same ‘godly’ drive that Ligeia had seen so obviously in her younger sister.

  The sight was shocking. Ligeia felt the strength drain from her body as she focused harder and harder, watching as the girl’s thoughts opened to her. She learned that the girl was attempting to expose one of her friends as a witch – one of her friends who surely had powers but was likely still unaware.

  Ligeia set the glass down and closed her eyes. She breathed in the fragrant smoke, summoning Henrik to her cabin. After only a few seconds, his face appeared in the fire.

  “She is dangerous,” Ligeia said. The flames flickered in her blue eyes as she spoke. “You must stop her. We must bring the girl she seeks to accuse here and give her warning.”

  Henrik chuckled. “I am pleased to see you’re taking this seriously,” he said, “because we could all be in grave danger. Grave danger, indeed.”

  “You must spirit her friend, Monica, away,” Ligeia said. Knowledge was blossoming in her mind with each passing second, and she felt her body weakening with the force of the ritual.

  Henrik chuckled again. “Aye. She will be frightened,” he said. “Just as you were, Ligeia.”

  “She will survive,” Ligeia said dryly. “But we must hurry.”

  Henrik dipped his head in a signal of respect. “Aye,” he said. “Worry not. She will be safe, and so will we all.”

  “May it pass,” Ligeia whispered into the dying fire, “may this danger pass swiftly.”

  ---

  A day later, Henrik brought the girl to Ligeia. She looked even younger than Ligeia had suspected, with fine, blonde hair layered around her face and big, brown eyes. Ligeia chuckled. This girl had evident strength about her that seemed to radiate off her body in waves.

  “Who…who are you?” The girl swallowed. “I want to go home!”

  “Soon,” Henrik promised. “This is Ligeia Arrowsmith. She is the mistress of the coven.”

  The girl gasped. “Not you, too,” she said. “This guy keeps trying to tell me that he’s a warlock!”

  Ligeia chuckled. “Aye,” she said. “That may well be because he is indeed a warlock, but that isn’t any of your concern right now.” She patted the stone bench. “Come, child. Sit.”

  The blonde girl stepped forward nervously. Ligeia could tell she was fighting the power.

  “I won’t hurt you,” Ligeia said. “You have to trust me.”

  “I don’t have to do anything,” the girl retorted.

  “Child, what is your name?”

  “Monica,” she said defensively. “Monica Boer.”

  “And tell me, Monica, have you not noticed anything strange, anything unusual, going on around town?”

  Monica stiffened. “How…how did you know?”

  Ligeia smiled serenely. “You don’t think we could just spirit you away, do you?” She laughed at the surprised look on Monica’s face. “Dear child, we were behind the activity.”

  “You murdered a bunch of my neighbor’s cattle,” Monica said angrily. “Why?”

  “We sacrificed them to ensure your protection,” Henrik corrected. “Someone you call a friend is out to hurt you, Monica. Someone very powerful. Someone reincarnated from your worst nightmare.”

  Monica shivered. Ligeia put a homespun cloak around her shoulders.

  “Child, do not be afraid,” Ligeia said softly. “I was like you once. Afraid and surrounded by people who called themselves godly. But they were not godly at all. They were cowards and prone to making false accusations.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Monica said. She began to cry, and Henrik and Ligeia exchanged an annoyed glance as the girl sobbed.

  “Andrea D’Amico is a powerful girl,” Ligeia said. “She is a descendant of my sister, Prudence Arrowsmith.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything to me,” Monica sobbed. “I wanna go home! I don’t care!”

  “Child! Cease this,” Henrik said sharply.

  Ligeia glared at him. “I promise, you are safe,” she said softly. “But you must listen to Henrik and myself. You can go home very soon – as soon as you understand.”

  “Understand what?”

  “You’re a witch, Monica,” Ligeia said softly. “You have very strong powers.”

  “Aye,” Henrik agreed. “And you may not have believed me, but you ought to listen to the mistress. She is wise, child. She knows.”

  “What happened to you?” Monica sniffed.

  “I was born to a Puritan family in England, but my family moved to Ipswich to seek their version of religious freedom,” Ligeia said. “The people in England were too worldly – too bold – and my father thought they were all damned. He thought we, too, would be damned if we stayed. So, we left.”

  Monica listened, obviously interested. Her tears dried up, and she pulled the cloak tightly around her shoulders.

  “My younger sister, Prudence, was born shortly before I had to leave home,” Ligeia said. “My parents gave me to a family in Salem, a wicked, rich family who sought to make me miserable. I escaped because of Henrik. He saved my life.”

  “That was hundreds of years ago,” Monica said slowly. She reached out to touch Ligeia’s shoulder, the cold tips of her fingers brushing Ligeia’s cloak.

  “Aye,” Ligeia said. “But the powerful do not age like normal humans, Monica. We do not shrivel and die – we can sustain ourselves for long past a normal human lifespan.”

  “My fanatical sister has been reborn as your friend, Andrea,” Ligeia said softly. “And unless you work with Henrik and myself, everything is at stake.”

  Monica shook her head. “That…that can’t be true,” she said slowly. “Andrea’s crazy, but she’s not that crazy. She wouldn’t, like, hurt anyone.”

  “Are you positive about that?” Ligeia stroked Monica’s back. “Can you not recall a time when you angered or frightened her?”

  Monica’s eyes glazed over, and after a few moments, she nodded.

  “The séance,” Monica said dimly. “It frightened Andrea so badly that she wouldn’t speak to me for months.”

  Ligeia nodded. “Andrea does not realize that witches are not evil,” she said slowly. “She is just like the Puritans of my time: hell-bent on destroying anyone who isn’t like her.”

  “But what if I talked to her?” Monica swallowed. “Isn’t there some way I could make her understand that she’s wrong? I don’t want to hurt her,” she said fearfully. “I mean, I don’t like her. But I don’t want anything bad to happen to her, either.”

  “Harm shall come to everyone unless you help,” Henrik said strongly. “You must accept your fate, Monica. You are one of us, and you will help us…or else everything you know, life as it stands, will change forever. Your town and your home and your family will all be destroyed if Andrea has her way.”

  Monica blinked. “I don’t believe it,” she said slowly. “I don’t believe anything that bad could happen.”

&nb
sp; “It is true,” Ligeia said. “Jaffrey will be the scene of the biggest witch hunt of all time unless you intervene. You must work with Henrik and myself.” She paused. “I could force you, but it would be better if you agree.”

  Monica’s brown eyes shone with fear. “And what if I consent? What then?”

  “Then you get to go home,” Henrik said. “For a time. You will watch Andrea. You will observe her every move. You will ensure that she remains in the dark.”

  Monica looked frightened.

  “‘Tis for the best, child,” Ligeia said softly. “‘Tis what must be done.”

  As Henrik led a mute and dazed Monica back toward her home, Ligeia sat in front of the fire, contemplating her next move.

  ‘I will not let you win, Prudence,’ Ligeia thought as she stared into the licking, hungry flames. ‘I will not let you triumph over my coven.’ ’

  THE END

  Book 2: The Ritual

  Chapter One

  Elizabeth – Present Day

  You know that moment right before you wake up, when you’re almost still dreaming? You can see the light and the shadows playing in front of your eyelids, and you’re warm and wrapped up and comfortable?

  Sometimes, I wished I could stay like that forever. It sounds crazy. Even I know that. But sometimes, I can’t shake the thought of how much I want to disappear from the world.

  When I keep feeling like that for more than a few minutes, the guilt starts to seep in. ‘I have a great life,’ I think. ‘I shouldn’t want to escape from everything.’

  But I can’t help myself. That’s part of being human.

  The morning after my twenty-second birthday, I was in one of those moods. Spring had come early, and the windows were open. A fresh breeze was blowing in, the kind that we normally wouldn’t get until much later in the season. Steven or Karen or someone had done laundry that week, and the duvet still smelled like fresh cotton. ‘This is heaven,’ I thought as I nuzzled the pillow, refusing to open my eyes. ‘I wish I never had to get up.’

  The second that thought flashed through my head, the bedroom door opened with the same creak as always. We lived in an old house, and the wood was always swelling and bloating with the change of the seasons.