I almost laughed out loud from the strength of the glare he threw Megan when he spat the last word. Clearly Meg and Zepar had a lot in common.
“Let’s go inside and have some tea, hmmm?” Meg turned toward the door. “We can chat and relax and get a plan in order.”
I stared hard at Patrick and mouthed a countdown, three, two, one.
We both lunged. I grabbed Meg’s right arm and Patrick gripped her left. She staggered sideways and landed on her hip. I straddled her ribs and pinned her arm above her head while Patrick sat behind me and held her other hand against the porch. Meg screamed and wiggled beneath us.
“Get her bracelet,” I huffed.
Patrick ripped the band off her wrist and she wailed; either a cry of pain from the tight metal sliding over her flesh, or anger from losing her most powerful talisman.
I snatched the Tiger Eye from Patrick, slipped it over my hand.
The blue sky, brown grass and purple house swirled around me, dissolving into a kaleidoscope of nothingness.
Chapter 8
I blinked, allowing my eyes a moment to adjust to the sudden darkness. Waves crashed a few yards to the left and briny air filled my lungs. Billions of brilliant stars stippled the moonless night sky.
A warm hand clasped mine. “’Tis happening over there,” Patrick said and pointed up the beach.
The rocks and pebbles clanged and shifted under our feet as we made our way around a grassy dune. Flames from a large bonfire leapt high and licked the air. A group of women gyrated in a grotesque dance, their nude bodies glowing burnished gold. In the background, mostly obscured by the fire, a pair of arms lay stretched out and bound against a smooth, washed-up tree. I could make out the top of Past-Patrick’s head and the shadowing of tattoos on his chest.
“How are we seeing this?” he whispered in my ear.
“The three of us touching the stones caused us to go back in time. I wanted to know what happened and the memories in yours and Meg’s minds brought us here. Meg’s somewhere around too. Probably hiding, ashamed of what I’m about to witness.”
Patrick stepped in front of me. “I’m not sure I want you to witness this either, Rose. I had a hard enough time just telling you about it.” His gaze lowered, long lashes blocking his shame from my sight.
“Me, the witches and this Zepar are all somehow connected to Michael’s death. You and I have to be strong. We need to help Michael’s soul.”
The hulking Irish attorney gulped and straightened his spine, towering over me like a warrior. “I don’t remember what happened afterward.” His eyes darted back to the residual scene on the beach. “Can you fast-forward through the rough stuff?”
My heart swelled, pressing against my chest. Instinctually I knew he felt out of his element. And having me—someone he may or may not have feelings for—witness his humiliation, would likely send him over the edge.
“This wasn’t your fault,” I whispered and stroked his hand. “But I’ll try to jump ahead a little.”
“Okay.” He sidestepped back to his spot.
My breath slowed until each inhalation harmonized with the sea’s rhythmic pounding. Chilly ocean spray sprinkled my face. Running my tongue over my lips, I lapped the clean droplets.
I closed my eyes and focused on the rhythm of my body, on the sounds of nature and on the force of gravity holding us in place. “Terram in vento et igni.” Earth, wind and fire. “Originem tempus et posterum.” Origin, time and future.
A vacuum enveloped us in hallow silence. The ground beneath our feet shimmied, rocks and pebbles clattered and bounced. Patrick gasped as our bodies tilted forward and then sprung back to our original, up-right positions.
As the atmosphere settled, heat palmed my face and threatened to singe my eyebrows and blister my skin. The hushed air quickly filled with crazed squeals and guttural, gnashing barks.
Gulp, breathe and exhale. I kept my eyes shut. “Do I need to keep going?”
“Yes, please,” he rasped near my ear. “Quickly.”
I chanted once more. The horrifying noises evaporated and the rocks vaulted and settled again. The air felt tame, eerily quiet—the crackle of fire-laden logs, murmuring voices, soft wind and rolling sea.
“Okay now?” I kept my eyes closed.
He let go of my hand. “Yeah. They’re done and they’ve covered me.”
My eyelids fluttered open, my jaw clenched tight with anxiety. Gillian, now fully clothed, knelt on the sand facing us. Her brown eyes skimmed over Patrick and me as if we were vaporous phantoms, her gaze glassy and moist. The twisted smile on her face could have been one of pleasure or one of fear and, after what the girls had just done, either would be appropriate.
Sally strode toward the water, raised her skirts and dipped her toes in the receding foam. Her loose brown hair snapped around her head like an angry kite. I wished I could see her face. Of all the Vashon witches, I always felt a kindred connection with Sally. It saddened me to realize she had followed Josie down the dark rabbit hole.
Frannie, Meg and Josie sat near the log Patrick had been strapped to, whispering and watching the flames. Frannie also surprised me. She was like the fun aunt in a very straight-laced family. With her warm smile and gentle soul, she had guided Meg and me through the trials of puberty and spells and the importance of not doing the latter while burdened with the former. Witches and PMS were not a good combo.
“Where did you go?” I asked, referring to the location of Past-Patrick.
“I’m on the other side of the log, under the blanket. I was pretty out of it, although I do recall hearing a few weird sounds. Hopefully t’will happen soon.”
As we watched, Past-Meg stood and leaned over the log. She drew an ornate blade from her belt and tugged on Past-Patrick’s blanket. Then she sawed, her elbow sliding back and forth in rough jerks.
Next to me, Patrick raised his hand and felt the spot behind his ear. I looked and saw a small patch of hair shorter than the rest.
“Ladies!” Josie shouted and clapped her hands. “Please, let’s wrap this up.” Her silver-blonde hair shimmered beneath the stars and the flames. Her round eyes tapered as they flicked around and watched Sally and Gillian wander back to the small group.
Meg scraped the strands of Patrick’s hair into a silver chalice and then handed it to Josie who held it to her mouth and spat. One by one the witches passed the cup around and each woman spit. Josie took the dagger from Meg and slid the blade across her left palm. She made a fist and blood dripped into the cup like syrupy wine. The gesture was repeated by the others.
The beautiful leader of my old coven held the goblet high and chanted quietly. The fire roared, shooting sparks into the dark sky. The air turned heavy, thick with humidity, lust and fear. The woman shimmered and wavered as if we were watching the scene on an old television with poor antennae reception.
Josie chucked the chalice into the bonfire.
The flames retreated, leaving only glowing umber embers. An ear-piercing groan erupted around us and a shadow began to materialize, shifting and swirling high above the witches. A head and shoulders and torso became clear, eyes as red as a dying sun blinked and glared down at the women. The inky silhouette began to solidify as human features replaced the shapeless image.
A bald man, much taller and thicker than Patrick, stepped out of the pyre. His skin shone like varnished bronze, his muscles quivered and his chest rose and fell with each grating breath. The being’s private parts shamelessly hung on display, but I kept my eyes trained on his harsh face.
“Necromancer.” Zepar held a kielbasa-sized finger at Josie. “Why have you summoned me?”
Josie tilted her pointy white chin up. “We have what you want, Lord Zepar.”
He snorted again. “I have all that I need.” His eyes bounced from face to face, briefly skimming over blanket-covered Past-Patrick. “I have his brother.”
“We have Michael’s true love, my lord. We have the virginal siren.”
The
incubus tilted his head and squinted.
Past-Meg stepped forward, her face calm but her hands fidgeted. She gave her leader a quick glance, and with her raised eyebrows and puckered mouth, she seemed to ask do I really have to do this?
Josie flicked her hand in an impatient waive.
“Rose, my sister, was with Michael the night he died. We…” Meg swallowed and looked at Josie again, but Josie kept her eyes on the demon in front of them. “We believe you were really after her that night.”
Zepar threw out his chest and laughed, harsh and grating. “One virgin or another, makes no difference to me. She must be quite a prize if you are so eager to sacrifice her.”
Past-Meg whimpered, bowed her head and shuffled back a few feet. I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
“What is it you want in exchange for this siren you claim I covet?”
Josie stepped forward. “Consummation. We’re all prepared to raise your offspring as our own. We have Michael’s brother’s seed in our bellies. Your children will be born of the most powerful witches and walk the Earth with the strongest blood coursing through their veins.”
Patrick leaned down, his breath tickling my neck. “What’s she talking about?”
“Incubi and succubae need human semen in order to actually induce pregnancy. Their power combines with the human chromosomes to create a demi-demon. Kind of like when Roman or Greek gods mated with humans and produced demigods.” My stomach rolled as Josie’s sinister plan unfolded through my mind. She evidently wanted a strong, magical army. For what purpose, I had no idea.
The demon raised his head and his bright gaze raked the night sky. “Bring me the virginal witch and the brother and I will consider what you ask.”
Sally and Frannie seemed to give a low sigh of relief. Meg, Gillian and Josie grimaced, likely feeling all their efforts tonight wasted.
Zepar took a giant step back and burst into black and red flames. When the fire subsided only an innocent bonfire remained.
Patrick and I stood hand in hand and listened to the plans Josie made with Meg and Gillian. The other two dug their toes in the pebbles and looked everywhere except at their leader.
Chapter 9
“Give me that,” my sister hissed in my ear and yanked on the bracelet. I twisted to the side before Present-Meg’s fingers gained purchase of the Tiger Eye.
Patrick yanked me with one hand and shoved Meg with the other. She stumbled and landed on her butt with a deep huu-wuff.
Dragging me along, Patrick strode to my sister, snatched her wrist and yanked her to her feet. “Yer effin’ lucky you’re of Rose’s blood, witch. Or else I’d throttle you within an inch of yer pathetic life.”
“Ooh, such a big scary man.” She wiggled her arms, feigning fright. “I’d like to see you try.”
I closed my eyes and felt the ground shift and quake. When I opened them again, we were back on my parent’s porch, the sun high and bright.
Patrick dropped Meg’s arm and wiped his palm on his jeans as if he’d touched something filthy. Which, I guessed, he sorta had.
My normally stoic big sister slumped against the old rocking chair as if she had the weight of the world pressing on her shoulders. Her lower lip trembled and tears glistened in her eyes. The only other time I saw her fall apart was when we learned of our parent’s death.
Under different circumstances, I would have felt compelled to console her. But anger and fatigue hardened my heart. “We can’t trust her. Could you bring her inside?”
Stalking into the house, I yanked on the foyer hutch’s drawers, brushing aside letters and papers, finally finding Meg’s cell, car and boat keys. I shoved them in my pocket.
In the kitchen I set the kettle on the old gas stove, opened cupboards and shifted bottles around until I found what I needed. Once the Earl Grey steeped properly, I sprinkled in a bit of belladonna chased by a lump of sugar and a drop of cream.
“Good,” I said approvingly as I entered the living room and saw Patrick had bound my sister with the curtain ties and a scarf covered her mouth. “Take off the gag.”
Patrick loosened the knot and jerked the scarf down. Meg’s emerald eyes blazed as she stared at the steaming cup in my hand. “You can’t make me drink that,” she snarled.
Cocking my head, I flashed my sweetest smile. “I’m twenty-four years old, I’ve spent the last eighteen hours with one helluva sexy man and I’m still a virgin. When my will is strong, I can do anything.”
I handed Patrick the mug. Then I gripped Meg’s jaw, my fingers and thumb digging in until her mandible dropped free. “Biberet atque gauderet.” Drink and be merry.
Her eyes unfocused and her body went slack. Without breaking my gaze, I extended my free hand and Patrick passed me the mug. I held it to her lips until she drank every single drop of the drugged tea. Minutes later, Megan lay horizontal on the antique pink velvet couch while snores escaped her sickeningly cute button nose.
Patrick hooked his hand under my arm, helped me to my feet and followed me to the kitchen. I sank into the chair at the small table overlooking the bay. He dragged the other seat out and sat across from me. Steepling his fingers, he pressed them against his square chin.
I swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the bulge of trepidation from my throat. “I’m so sorry they did all that to you.”
He shrugged and a smarmy grin crossed his face. “Well, at least one good thing came out of it.”
“What in the world could that be?”
“I fell head over heels in love with you.”
I crossed my arms on top of the table, closing myself in a protective posture. “I don’t think that’s really true. Spells are devious, especially when it comes to love.”
“But you said the enchantment was erased by your protection spells.” His warm eyes iced over. “Or is it that you don’t feel anything for me?”
Lowering my temple to my folded arms, I gazed out the window. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t reveal my feelings. “Everything’s happened so fast, Patrick. We need to focus on helping Michael.”
His chair screeched across the wood floor. “Michael,” he spat. “You still love him, don’t you?”
I looked up, face to face with the same man I dragged into my house in the middle of the night. Mean, angry, hurt.
“Oh, crap.”
“What now?” he asked fiercely.
“I think when we went back to the beach, the love spell they placed on you returned.”
He stood and stomped across the kitchen. “Don’t you think I know me own mind? Don’t you think I know t’difference between an effin’ charm and the real deal?”
Sucking on my upper lip, I sorted through my exhausted brain for the best answer. “Maybe. But the bigger question is how do I know you care for me for real? It’d be awful if you woke up one morning, scratched your head and wondered what in the heck you were doing with me.” Would he catch-on to my practical dread?
Patrick stopped mid-stride and glared down at me. He tilted his head and thumbed his eyebrow.
“I couldn’t bear it if that happened,” I whispered.
His eyes searched my face as the creases in his forehead softened. “Point taken.”
He yanked the chair around and straddled the seat back. “So, I guess we just go to Flynn, tell him it was Zepar and let him deal with the witches.”
“That’s not going to work.” I caressed my ruby and then reached down to trace the Tiger Eye on my wrist.
“And why not?” Impatience and anger tiptoed along the border of his voice.
Instead of answering I stood and opened the cabinet, took down my mother’s Braun coffee grinder and a container of beans. For the second time that day, I got busy brewing. The scent of the coffee filled the warm air and pacified my pulse. I knew once the caffeine hit my system, my nerves would be a jangled mess again. But I needed to remain alert. Tonight was going to be a long night.
When the coffee pot hummed and groaned as it worked its magic,
I stepped behind Patrick. His foot tapped an annoying beat against the hundred-year-old floorboards and his fingers clenched into tight fists. For the first time in three years, I placed my hands on a man’s shoulders. I dug in, kneading the tight knots and kinks. Patrick tensed but eventually relaxed, giving in to my strong hands.
“Crap. Yer wicked good.”
“I’m glad you can handle my abuse.”
He huffed a low laugh and rolled his shoulders forward. “M’love, you can abuse me anytime you want.” I smacked the back of his head. He yowled. “Kidding, kidding.”
When the coffee pot beeped, I poured two cups and brought them over along with cream and sugar. I resumed my place at the table.
“So, you gonna answer my question?” Patrick asked as he poured cream into his cup.
I blew on my coffee’s willowy steam and then took a tentative sip. I smacked my lips and allowed pangs of misery to ebb and flow through my body. The old house, the hideous flower mug in my hand, the heady coffee made me miss my mother and father more than I’d ever had before. With my sister bound and drugged, and a near-stranger erroneously in love with me, I’d never felt so utterly alone.
Clearing my throat, I stared directly into his eyes. “I have no doubt Flynn has nothing but good intentions with regard to Michael.”
“I hear a ‘but’ in there,” Patrick muttered.
“But, I picked up all kinds of mischievous vibes from him when we were on campus.”
“Like what?”
“I just don’t trust him. Doppelgangers are inherently naughty. They like to cause trouble before settling down to business. You said at first he wanted you to meet me and then he didn’t. Why?”
Patrick brought his coffee to his lips but drew the cup away without taking a sip. “He wanted you and I t’meet under normal circumstances. But when the witches got a hold of me, he was adamant I not approach you until he figured out a way to release me from their spell. But I wasn’t having any of that. I had t’see you. So I stole a boat and crossed the water where Flynn couldn’t follow me.”
Shadows in the Mist: A Paranormal Anthology Page 10
