Curses, Fates & Soul Mates

by et al Kristie Cook

  The woman in the water began to speak, her mouth moving silently. My gaze followed her lips, her words obvious to me, and I leaned over to grip the bowl, my hand slipping from NeeCee’s.

  “Oh, no you don’t!” I cried, my unblinking eyes locked on the reflection.

  NeeCee leaned over next to me. “Monroe?” she asked.

  I didn’t break eye contact with the unknown woman. She had a small braid in her hair, tied up into the bun. In my mind’s eye, I could see the red-haired Hunter again from the vision in Belle’s living room. He’d had a braid too.

  “She is an Ayers, no doubt,” I said. “Same hair color, same eyes.” I paused. “And she is our Hunter.”

  NeeCee’s hand went to my shirt. “How do you know?” she breathed.

  I could feel Luther and Lucas at my back, but they kept away from the water. It wouldn’t do for the woman in the bowl to see them.

  I narrowed my eyes, my voice lowering, my gaze on the woman’s braid. “Hunter,” I said. The woman in the water sneered, and I grinned. “I’m right, aren’t I?” I asked the reflection.

  “Monroe,” Belle said firmly.

  I ignored her. I wasn’t letting the woman in the bowl go. I was on my knees now, my face only an inch above the bowl.

  I spoke slowly. “Who are you?” I asked.

  The woman began to pull away, and for the first time since the store disaster, I dared to use NeeCee’s magic. I chanted under my breath, my words calm, steady.

  Belle gasped. “Monroe, no!”

  But I didn’t stop. I had more confidence than NeeCee. I knew now what her magic was capable of, and I was determined to rein it in. The woman in the water froze, immobile, and I grinned wickedly.

  “Who are you?” I insisted.

  The woman’s hands went up to her neck as if she was choking, her face going red. She was fighting my magic, but I wasn’t letting her go. I believed completely in the Rede. I would not harm her, but this woman had harmed other witches, her own family, and I wouldn’t let her go until I knew where to find her. I may not be a Demon with the power to possess someone, but I was a witch, and I knew a damned good coercion spell.

  The woman’s lips moved, and I stared at them. Mary? Mandy?

  “Maggie,” Luther said from behind me.

  I grinned again. “Maggie,” I repeated. “Where are you, Maggie?”

  The woman in the water struggled, her eyes narrowing as she focused on me. I knew what she planned to do before she did it, but I still didn’t drop the bowl.

  The electric shock that went through me was strong, painful, and I grit my teeth as my hold on Maggie broke. Her face disappeared, but I kept my eyes on the water, whispering frantically.

  “Her location,” I begged the dark surface.

  And then there it was. A town. I didn’t recognize it at all, but I felt the subtle shift in my brain, my place of peace, when Luther suddenly intruded. His presence was heavy, and I wondered now why I’d not felt him before.

  “Because he hadn’t been in my peaceful place,” I answered myself. But he was there now, and he was seeing the same town I was.

  The bowl fell out of my hands, shattering on the wooden floor in front of me. I was weak, and my hands went down into the glass. I winced when one of the shards pierced my skin.

  “Ah,” I heard Luther growl as he moved away from me, his eyes red.

  NeeCee lifted my hand and pushed a corner of her blanket onto my cut. “You okay?” she asked.

  I nodded, my hair over my face. Luther was near the door now, his hand tight on the frame. I could see his knuckles turning white from where I knelt. Blood. He liked the taste of blood.

  “Did you find out where the woman was?” Belle asked.

  I shook my head. “I saw a place. A town.”

  “Salem,” Luther breathed.

  I looked up, my eyes meeting his. His jaw was tight, but he looked better, more in control.

  Lucas backed away from me, putting his body between me and Luther. He didn’t seem concerned about Luther’s reaction to my blood. There was no doubt he’d seen it many times before with the Demon.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Lucas said.

  Luther snorted. “Seems the Hunters have a nice sense of humor,” he said wryly.

  Belle stood. “Salem? As in Salem, Massachusetts?”

  NeeCee was laughing now, a frantic laugh that spoke of stress and anxiety. She still held the blanket against my palm, and she was pressing it too hard against my skin. I gently pried her fingers off of mine.

  “Salem,” NeeCee said. “What a perfect place for them to put us on trial.”

  She laughed even as I lifted her chin with my fingers. “Salem is a haven for witches now, NeeCee.”

  Luther was suddenly kneeling next to me, his face turned away from my injured hand. “And we are the hunters this time, remember?” he said.

  I looked at him, at the way his red eyes looked at NeeCee, and I suddenly knew he was in her head. She went from anxious to calm in the blink of an eye. Much calmer than she’d been before, her laughter gone.

  Luther’s eyes moved to mine.

  “No,” I mouthed.

  He stared at me. “You two swapped magic, Monroe. If I don’t keep a presence inside of you both, Lucifer will take one of you.”

  He stood then, moving back so that he was next to Lucas. The Angel watched quietly, and my eyes went wide.

  “You do know!” I accused. I had thought Lucas was unaware of Luther’s possession of me, but I’d been wrong.

  Belle stood. “Know what?” she asked.

  Lucas looked at me. “The Demon is right, Monroe. If he doesn’t keep a steady presence, then you and Bernice will be in a much worse position than you are now.”

  Belle was getting aggravated. “What is going on?” she asked, her voice loud.

  I ignored her, my heart plummeting. I’d had no problem with Luther possessing me. I hadn’t liked it. I hadn’t wanted him inside of me, but I’d been okay with it. I had fought him, yes. But in the end, I’d do anything to keep Lucifer away. But not Bernice.

  “She doesn’t understand,” I whispered, my eyes moving to my cousin.

  NeeCee had moved to one of the beds, her eyes glassy. She climbed onto it and rolled into a fetal position.

  “She’ll never know I was there,” Luther said.

  Belle had had enough. “What the hell is going on?” she demanded.

  I moved to the bed where NeeCee lay, sitting on the edge of it before placing my hand on her back. Her breathing was even, deep. She was sleeping. Vaguely, I heard Lucas talking to Belle, and her angry reply.

  “He can’t do that!” Belle said.

  “I can,” Luther responded firmly. “And I will until the power swap spell fades and we find the Hunters.”

  No one said anything for a long while. I kept my hand on NeeCee’s back and listened to the occasional snap as logs fell inside the wooden stove, and the pop and crackle as the blaze changed.

  “There’s no other way?” I asked.

  It was Luther who answered me. “In the long run, I will have done nothing but help her.”

  Funny. Bernice and I, Demon possessed cursed witches. How much crazier could things get? I was suddenly the girl in that movie The Exorcist, and I winced.

  “If we start vomiting pea soup, I’ll find a way to have your head,” I said finally.

  Belle snickered. She actually snickered, and it made me grin despite myself. A bowl was shoved abruptly under my face, and I looked up to find Belle standing next to me.

  “It’s cold,” she warned.

  I shook my head. “I’m not hungry.”

  Belle forced it into my hands. She gestured at the Demon and Angel in the room. “They may not have to eat, sleep, or piss, but we do. Eat. You’ll thank me later.”

  I took the bowl and watched as Belle crossed the room toward Lucas and Luther.

  “Here’s the deal,” Belle said. “I wasn’t born with witch blood. You k
now it, I know it. But I have sworn my fealty to the Rede, and Clara took me into her Coven when no one else would. I don’t have a stellar history, but I’m a damn good initiate, and Clara trusts me. Don’t cross me.”

  With that, she walked to the empty bed opposite the one I sat on.

  Her eyes met mine. “Rest,” she ordered. “Just a few hours, and then we are going on our own witch hunt.”

  She laid back then, turning away from me. My gaze moved to Lucas and then Luther. The Demon’s eyes were on the raven-haired witch’s back, a new respect in his gaze, and I found myself torn between my own growing respect for Belle and jealousy.

  I pushed it away when I saw Luther grin. I couldn’t forget he was in my head. I couldn’t forget that the only things I knew about him were his lust for blood, the name he used in Hell, his sour past with witches, and his fondness for baseball caps. I clung to the baseball cap image. It made him somewhat human.

  I was feeling tired, and I crawled into the bed next to NeeCee. The weariness wasn’t natural. My eyes found Luther’s again where he stood next to Lucas by the door.

  “Don’t,” I warned.

  Luther grinned again. “Sweet, tempting dreams,” he said.

  My world went black.

  CHAPTER 14

  I’ve been reading the parts of the Ayers grimoire that I can translate. A good deal of it is in Latin, which I’m actually pretty good at reading. The Ayers are powerful witches. In our line, the females hold the most power. This isn’t always the case. There are plenty of powerful natural born male witches, but it’s the female line in the Ayers family that seems more predisposed to magic. According to the text, most of us survived the witch craze in Medieval Europe, and we traveled to the new world looking for religious freedom. We migrated toward the South, to the land of magnolias and swamps. There is something mysterious about the South. It has hidden us well, cloaked us. I haven’t found anything that would connect me to Demons, but there’s one part of the book I still can’t read. I’ve tried, but the tingling in my body gets so bad, I have to stop. Only Demons make me hurt like that. Why would the grimoire?

  ~Monroe’s Totally Wicked Book of Shadows~

  In the blackness, I dreamed.

  Light surrounded me, gentle sunlight burning through an early morning haze. A rolling green field with low stone walls spread out in front of me with a small stone cottage sitting crookedly on the meadow’s edge. White, puffy clouds floated above the house, and smoke lifted from a narrow chimney.

  I walked toward the home, breathing in the scent of early morning. It was cold, but not as cold as the lake and forest. It was the kind of cold that would heat with the rising sun. Damp grass clung to my boots.

  Someone yelled, and I froze.

  “Mac! Mac!” a girl screamed.

  From the edge of the field, a blonde-haired girl ran down a hill, her hair flying behind her. I knew this girl, and my eyes narrowed. Eta. This girl was Eta. She was an older Eta than the one I’d seen at the lake in my vision, the one who’d watched her father killed by Hunters.

  The door to the cottage slammed open, and a broad-shouldered young man stepped out into the sun. His brown breeches and knee-length black boots clung to him. A loose white tunic hung open, his bronze chest bare to the elements. He didn’t seem to notice or care, his hand coming up to shield his eyes.

  “Eta!” he called out.

  The girl flew into Mac’s arms, and his shirt tightened over his back as his arms enfolded her, one large hand coming up to the back of her head.

  “Shhh ...” he soothed. “What’s happened, Lass?”

  Eta pulled back, her startling red-rimmed blue eyes going up to Mac’s face. Eta was beautiful, her skin ethereal, her features soft and doll-like. I found myself wondering briefly if I looked like that. I certainly didn’t see myself that way.

  I edged closer to them, my experience with the Hunter in the vision I’d had at Belle’s making me cautious. I didn’t know if I was dreaming the scene, envisioning it, or participating in it.

  Eta’s hand came up to Mac’s longish, chestnut hair. There were red highlights in his thick mane, and the sun made them glint as Eta ran her fingers through it. The move was familiar, intimate, and it made my chest tighten. What would it feel like to trust someone that deeply?

  “It’s the Coven, Mac,” Eta said after a moment. “They want me to take over for my father.”

  Mac smiled, his handsome, rugged face transforming. “That’s good, is it not?”

  Eta didn’t share his enthusiasm. “Mac, if I choose to lead them, I’ll have to leave. The Hunters have been breathing down our necks now for a while. First, they killed my father and now they have infiltrated the nobility. The witch craze begins. Our Coven ... we will need to leave to escape it.”

  Mac had grown still, his shoulders tensing. His hand went to Eta’s stomach. For the first time, I noticed it was rounded, soft. Eta was pregnant.

  “You canna go,” Mac said fiercely. “Not now.”

  Eta’s hand moved to Mac’s face, to the new growth of whiskers along his chin. I could almost feel its roughness against my own palm, and I clenched my fist, my heart pounding. My hand went to my stomach, my eyes welling up with tears. Somehow, some way, I was inside Eta’s head. Her love for Mac was my love, and my heart was breaking.

  “The Coven ... most of them are my family. Cousins, aunts, uncles, children ... I cannot let them die.”

  Mac’s hand came up to cover Eta’s on his face. “Someone else can lead. I can protect you here. I protected you before.”

  Eta’s hand tightened on Mac’s jaw, her eyes searching his. Desperation ran rampant through her blood, my blood. “Come with me, Mac,” she begged. “For me. For the baby.”

  Mac’s eyes darkened. “This is my land, Eta. My birthright. My family fought for generations for this land, bled for it, and you are asking me to leave it?”

  “Aye,” Eta whispered. “I am. The witch craze, it won’t just kill witches. You must know that. They will accuse anyone associated with us. They will torture you.”

  Mac stepped away from Eta, and her hands fell to her sides.

  “I canna go, Eta. I canna. These men and women are my neighbors. We have shed blood together. We have sweated together. They willna accuse me or you,” Mac stated firmly.

  Eta stepped toward him. “It willna matter. Magic scares people. They think witches are evil, that we ally ourselves with the devil. Your bond with them willna matter. Please understand—”

  “Understand what, Eta? That you want me to leave my land, my family to follow you? You are asking me to do the same thing you refuse to do for me. I stood up for you once, protected you when your father died, and you now refuse to stay here with me.”

  Eta hugged herself, her arms going around her middle. I could feel the baby in her belly moving, like butterfly wings, and I hugged my own middle, the wonder of it completely overwhelming me.

  “Please, Mac! Don’t make me choose between you and our baby,” Eta whispered.

  Mac’s jaw dropped. “Choose! You think I am asking you to choose?”

  Eta nodded. “If I stay, I risk being killed. I risk the baby being killed. Do you not see that?”

  “They wouldna do that,” Mac argued. “You are safe here. Our baby is safe here.”

  Eta’s eyes were sad when she looked at Mac. “I have visions, Mac. You know that. It willna be okay.”

  Mac went down on his knees, his hands clutching Eta’s homespun white dress, the brown cloak she wore over it falling down her shoulders as Mac’s head went to Eta’s stomach.

  “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t.”

  I’m not sure even he knew what he was begging for. A tear slid down Eta’s cheek, and I knew when the sharp pain blossomed behind my chest what decision she’d made. Her hands went to Mac’s hair, and she clutched it.

  “Let’s go inside,” she said, her voice calm. The baby within her moved again, sealing her decision, her fate.

  Mac
stood, his face hopeful as she led him inside. The door shut.

  The dream changed.

  It was suddenly dark outside, the bright moon above not quite full but close. An owl hooted as the dark cottage door opened. I caught a glimpse of a low burning fire within as Eta stepped outside, silently shutting the door behind her. Her eyes went to the moon, and her hand went to her belly.

  “You know not what I sacrifice for you,” she whispered to her child as she scurried away from the cottage.

  With each step, her heart tore, bleeding into her chest until I thought we would both die from internal bleeding. But she didn’t. I didn’t, and I followed her, my booted feet running on slippery grass.

  I fell to my knees, my eyes going to Eta’s back as she met up with a group of cloaked figures on the hill above the cottage. The Coven.

  “You willna be followed?” an older woman asked, her white hair thin where it lay against her brown cloak.

  Eta looked back down the hill. “I am a good witch, Maren. He will sleep peacefully tonight.”

  Maren nodded, her eyes sad. “I am sorry, Eta. You made the right choice.”

  Eta frowned, anger moving through her veins. “I didna choose the Coven, Maren. Remember that. I do this now for my child.”

  The woman didn’t answer, and the group of cloaked figures moved away again, disappearing into a thick forest at the edge of the field. Eta didn’t look back.

  Once more, the dream changed.

  It was still night, but there was no doubt time had passed. There was thick snow on the ground. Trees were bare. The wind was sharp. I shivered, but I didn’t move. I was near the cottage again, but now there was yelling in the distance and torches bobbing in the blackness beyond.

  “Witch lover!” someone screamed.

  My heart sunk when the mob appeared on the hill.

  The cottage door opened, and a much thinner, broken Mac exited. His skin was bare from the waist up, and his young face was covered with a brown beard, his eyes empty. The red in his hair glistened as torchlight covered his figure.

  “Take him!” a man yelled.

  Hands were suddenly gripping Mac’s arms—hard hands, large hands, frightened hands. Mac went down on his knees as a rope was wrapped around his wrists and then his body.