by Cherrie Mack
“Are you sure you’re a witch?”
Giselle’s arms slackened, she straightened up and let herself fall the few feet she managed to climb. She slapped her hands on her hips, wiping the dirt from her palms. “Do you think this is a joke?”
“No. But I do think you’re a joke. Here’s a tip, Little Witch, look with your eyes and see with your mind. No wonder they kept you holed up in the Bayou all these years. You can’t even get out of your own way.”
“Ugh. I—I hate you! You self-absorbed—asshole!
As he got closer he mimicked her, “I hate you? Are you going to stomp your feet and throw a tantrum now?”
In a reflex, Giselle lifted her hand to smack the smug look off his face.
Grabbing her arm in mid-air, his mocking laughter turned to anger. “Don’t!” He stared at her, his expression softening for a moment. But when he clenched his fists, his eyes flickered with anger.
He clutched her wrist and within seconds she was handcuffed to him. Her eyes widened when she realized her predicament. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”
He leaned in close to her ear. “Can you make it fall off?
Knowing all too well she couldn’t make that happen, she looked away, while her voice seemed to get balled up in the base of throat.
“I didn’t think so.” Pulling her along , he set the rules. “Here’s the deal, Little Witch. I have no choice but to deliver you safe and sound to Cottonwood Landing. But first I must teach you everything I know and make sure you are safe within the confines of your coven. Then, I’m gone. So do me a favor and learn fast.”
Giselle yanked him to a stop in a display of resistance. “Just where do you suppose we do that?”
“We’ll go to my residence in Baton Rouge. There you will listen and learn. I’ve gotta make a witch outta you, and the sooner I do that, the better. Then you can go to Cottonwood Landing to be with the royals, where you become their problem.” He pulled her along like a rag doll.
“It’s not that long of a ride to my estate but—” he glanced at her clothing as if noticing her attire for the first time. “You’ll probably get cold.” He stopped. After a few seconds of silence, he pulled her into the brush. Bending down, he scooped up a swamp rabbit. He placed it on her shoulder and within seconds, the large cottontail provided her with a warm coat. Before she could protest, he held his hand up. “We are just borrowing him for the ride. When we get there, he can hop off and go wherever he wants.”
When they reached the bike he un-cuffed her wrist with the wave of his hand, “Get on.” he ordered. Having to pull her dress up around her thighs again in order to straddle the bike, she felt her face heat. She noticed him look away, occupying himself with the bike’s mechanics. Once she was seated, he turned the engine on then kicked up the stand. Giselle felt the animosity he had toward her. But why?
As the engine roared to life, he shouted to her over the noise. “My name is Julien Beaumont. I would say it’s a pleasure, but you know I’d be lying.” He spun the tires out and they were on their way. She pressed her forehead to his back. Of course, it all made sense now. The little girl from her vision. Angelique said her name was Beaumont. His name is Beaumont. He must blame me. It is my fault isn’t it?
Chapter Eleven
Simon Granvil, a traveler for decades, had defeated many warlocks and conquered much evil. But nothing prepared him for the onslaught of emotional pain he’d suffer by his unexpected assignment in New Orleans. Jacques’ order made him question his desire to remain a traveler. The six-foot-five, muscular traveler stood in the city he used to call home and decided this may very well be his last assignment.
The very streets of the city, although different, brought him back to a time when he’d enjoyed the most perfect love. His appearance was the same as when he left, but he was wiser now, as he had roamed the earth for nearly one hundred years. Always performing his duties with honor, it wasn’t until just recently, he’d grown weary. He abhorred the modern day witch. They were too sure of themselves for their own good. And his assignment this night was to find one such witch, Desiree Mercier.
Ascending the steps to her living quarters, Simon was nonchalant. Told this witch was impulsive in nature, it made him strategic in his approach. But he was prepared to stop at nothing to keep her from interfering with the tenth power. Desiree’s open door made it obvious she was aware of his arrival. He narrowed his eyes as he carefully entered, closing the door behind him without touching it. Studying the beautiful, yet funny-looking witch before him, he quickly decided she was far too independent and aggressive for his taste. She did not greet him, nor lift her eyes to meet his. She stayed in position, palms up, head down.
Simon walked around her circle of protection, taking in the sight of her. She had yet to move a muscle. Chuckling, he raised his arms, unraveling her spell. Although it wasn’t difficult for him to do so, he was still impressed with her impetuousness. Did she think she would win? Obviously, she is very young with much to learn.
In an odd way, she reminded him of his beloved Aimee, who was taken by a warlock decades before. Still bearing the scars of his battle with that warlock, Morianis, he freed Aimee’s soul, letting her fly to the heavens. Comfortable wearing the scars as a reminder, Simon refused the master’s offer to remove them. Hiding them from the world, his were the only eyes to linger on the marks of his love. But at this moment, his scars stung. Never had he felt such a sensation.
When the cautious young woman stirred, realizing her incantation had been dissolved, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. When she lifted her eyes to his, his breath caught in his throat. He was immediately drawn to her. Clearly she was his opposite, petite and curvaceous with an expression that forewarned of a fiery character. He gently probed at her mind, but she prevented his intrusion. For someone so young to block his mind thrust, Simon was impressed.
Continuing to circle her, he clasped his hands behind his back. Simon possessed a dominant nature and very rarely did he speak with enthusiasm. “In my time, a guest is usually invited in for café au lait and treated with kindness.”
He watched her eyes follow him.
“Yeah? Well, in my time, we don’t have guests. If we do have a visitor with no prior phone call, text or email, they’re usually a serial killer. So, if you want coffee and a roll, I suggest the café on the corner.”
Ha! He flashed a quick smile. “Miss Mercier, my name is Simon Granvil. I am a traveler. I came by order of the master to inform you that, although appreciated, your help is not needed with regard to the tenth power. You have been forbidden to travel to Cottonwood Landing.”
He watched her blink, long lashes fluttering against her smooth creamy skin. When she laughed, it was like music, soft and low, that flowed inside his head. “I am forbidden? Did you just use the word forbidden? With me? Are you serious? I don’t listen to you. As a matter of fact, I don’t listen to anyone. What kind of game are you playing?”
Simon shook out of his daze, perching himself on the edge of an armchair. What is happening to me? Clearing his throat, he answered her. “I don’t play games, Miss Mercier.”
“Yeah? Neither do I, especially Simon Says—and if I want to travel to Cottonwood Landing to help my friend, then that’s what I will do. Got it?”
Simon stood up slowly and approached her. He lifted her chin so her eyes would meet his. “You can certainly try. mon amour. As a matter of fact, I encourage it. But be warned, I take all the master’s assignments very seriously, and I will subdue you by any means necessary.”
“First of all—I am not your love, so don’t use seductive French words on me. They just creep me out. Second, who the hell is this master anyway? I’ve heard the stories and the legends, but who is he really? Do you even know who you take orders from, Simon?”
He clucked his tongue at her. “The master, at one time, was said to be a great wizard, a sorcerer of epic proportions, but the simple truth is, he is a prophet. He is pure and emanat
es a great light under which we can all find peace.”
“That’s great. So, what now? Do you plan on camping out on my couch until the demonic army of warlocks rise up from the dead and destroy our race?”
“Such confidence you display in your friend, Giselle. Do you not believe in her?”
He watched her closely, trying to read her expression. Her answer was simple, “I want to believe in her, but I’m afraid I don’t.”
****
Simon lay awake on Desiree’s couch, his legs curled beneath him. It was after midnight, last he looked, and still the sounds of the city kept him awake. He lay wondering if it was the noise that kept him from sleeping, or the memories that taunted him awake. Frustration made him change positions and punch his limp pillow. Resting his head, Simon closed his eyes and tried hard not to think about her. But here in New Orleans, it was impossible to take a breath without seeing her everywhere. And as the hours passed, he spiraled deeper into grief.
When the door to Desiree’s bedroom opened, he sat up. Focusing on the doorway, Simon stared ahead into the darkness. With only the lights of the city casting shadows into a small window, he could see Desiree move toward him, seductively touching her body. He widened his eyes in disbelief when she called out to him in French. And he froze.
As Desiree came close, Simon watched her. Quietly, he moved over, allowing her to sit. There was no denying her talent for the craft and this could surely be a case of trickery. Desiree reached out to him, placing her hands on his thighs.
He remained still, guarded.
As her hands found their way to his groin, she applied a gentle, yet direct pressure to his cock, blurting out words he recognized. “My body aches for yours.”
Simon lurched up from the couch, snapping on the light. Aimee?
He studied her posture, her eyes giving away her obvious trance-like state. He bent down and gave her a firm shake.
As Desiree blinked her eyes in rapid succession, her distress heightened his grief as he realized she was not Aimee.
Simon pushed her hands away when she continued to reach for him, and he hung his head. Disappointment stabbed at his chest like a thousand knives.
Desiree reached up, touching her lips. “Simon ... I ... I”
He leveled a stern look at her. “Desiree, this is the worst kind of trickery I’ve ever been subjected to. There is a reason I detest the modern day witch, and this is it. How dare you play with my emotions and my—my body! You owe me an apology.”
She stood up, rigid in her stance. “I can’t explain it, but in these last moments, you were so familiar to me. Honestly, I—” She glared at his naked chest. “Merde! You are covered with scars.”
Pulling his shirt closed, he demanded an explanation. “What kind of ruse do you play?”
“I’m not, I swear it.”
He was skeptical of her innocence. “Is this the first time you’ve had an experience such as this?”
“Yes. I don’t recall something like this ever happening before. Honest.”
Simon folded his arms across his chest. “Have you found your true calling?”
He noticed her look down, the shame evident. “No. Not yet. I guess I’m a late bloomer?”
“Hmm. I don’t think so.”
For the first time, he saw a beautiful blush rise up her neck and appear on her cheeks. “Desiree, I’m no expert, but your gift might be trying to get your attention. Maybe you can channel souls, but you’re blocking it.”
“Blocking it? How?”
“We will try to seek an answer. In the meantime, you and I are taking a trip.”
“Where?”
“The witch, Giselle, remains in the Bayou. We will seek her out and put your mind at ease. Once you agree not to interfere, I will watch over you from afar. I cannot take the chance of this ever happening again.”
Simon thought he saw a fleeting look of regret in her eyes, but almost immediately, the fiery Desiree returned. She squared her shoulders and stood up. “Won’t the master be upset if you don’t follow his order?”
Simon turned his back to her and waved her away. “I will first seek permission. The master forbade you to travel to Cottonwood Landing, not to Baton Rouge.”
“I’ll have to arrange for my absence.”
“Take care of what you need to. Giselle will not be traveling for some time. Once I get back, we will go to her together. Goodnight, Desiree.”
Closing his eyes, Simon heard the bedroom door close. Believing, somehow, his Aimee had returned to him shook him right down to his very core. He must finish this assignment and put as much distance between him and New Orleans as possible.
Chapter Twelve
Giselle breathed a sigh of relief when she and Julien turned off the main road. Just ahead, a sign announced their arrival at Beaumont Plantation. The bike began to slow down. Julien navigated the motorcycle up a path surrounded by huge oak trees. The large oaks hung over the path, their branches coming together, creating an illusion of a tunnel up to the main house. Moonlight shone through the swaying leaves, casting shadows that resembled open arms, welcoming them home.
They stopped in front of a large antebellum mansion, complete with big, white columns. It was beautiful and grand, and she immediately felt a great peace settle over her. He was careful helping her off the motorcycle and his touch gentle when he tapped her shoulder. Chilled from the loss of her fur coat, Giselle watched the little rabbit scurry away into the brush. She shook out her arms and stared at the house, admiring its loveliness. Although it needed some tender loving care, there was something about the old sugar plantation that made her feel at home. “It’s beautiful.”
Unable to wait before taking a look inside, she rushed toward the front door when a hand reached out, abruptly pulling her to a stop, “Oh, no, you don’t. Your place is that way. And it’s, Mr. Beaumont to you, Little Witch.” He stood in front of her clenching his fists, then pointing in the other direction.
She glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the gardens.
“Oh—uh—okay.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’ll show you the way, since I’ll be doing a lot of that from now on.”
Giselle struggled to swallow the lump that seemed to form in her throat every time he opened his mouth. She walked quickly behind him, noticing the disheveled bushes around her. Although it was dark, she could tell the home and its grounds had been neglected. Trying to keep up with him, a beautiful scent wafted in her direction, causing her to slow her footsteps. She craned her neck over a shabby hedge. There, across the gazebo was a lovely garden, but there was something odd about it. It called to her, begging for her presence. Julien glanced back at her. “Keep up, Little Witch!” Snapping to attention, she fell behind him with hurried footsteps. “Stop being such a jerk! I’m right behind you.”
When they entered the cottage, a strong gust of air rattled the windows. The rooms lit up from a bright flash of lightening followed by a low rumble of thunder in the distance. An old fashioned hurricane lamp flickered to life with the wave of Julien’s hand. “The storms can be bad. The lights will come on as soon as I hit the main line. Is there anything you need, besides clothing?”
“I’ll be fine, thanks.”
“Get some sleep. You’ll need it.”
****
Julien left Giselle in the guest cottage and walked toward the main house. With a heavy heart, he scanned what was once a place of grandeur. Beaumont Plantation had been a gift from his parents, with the assumption that he would have many heirs. But, at twenty-nine years of age, he had not a one. The home held the memories of a time in his life when joy reigned. Now, looking around, the only beauty he could find was the magic gardens. A gift from his sister, Chantilly, the magic garden was the only thing left to thrive on his land.
Julien approached the main house. Eyeing the peeling paint and slanted shutters, he shook his head in regret, then entered the foyer. Inside, he found very much the same as he’d found outside.
The interior was in serious disrepair. The large sweeping staircase, once inviting to the eye, resembled a mass of peeling spindles and splinters. Plaster fell from the ceiling when the door closed behind him, leaving a gaping hole in the wall. Dust and cobwebs, thick with time, zigzagged across the room.
With every painstaking repair, he lovingly restored the estate only to return months later to find a rundown, ramshackle of a home. After the fifth time, he gave up. It had to be cursed. It was the only way he could explain its state. The home he loved was now an empty, dilapidated shell, heavy with fault, empty of love, and frozen in time, much like his heart. He found his bed just as uninviting as his home. He couldn’t let Giselle come inside. He was ashamed of his home. But, with a strange sense of relief, he fell onto his pillow and slept like he hadn’t slept in years.
Chapter Thirteen
Giselle quickly left the warmth of her bed and changed her clothes. It had been the same for the last two mornings. Get up, listen to the tyrannical traveler blabber on about the tenth power, practice, and repeat. Yesterday was the worst. Recalling how Julien towered over her, ripping into her about not being truthful with him, made her mouth twitch.
“You’re telling me you haven’t experienced any power that sets you apart from the coven? Even a little witch like you should be able to figure out what powers you possess. You’ve been lying to me. We will never get anywhere if you don’t tell me everything there is to know.”
Ugh! It was enough to drive her crazy. If he weren’t so ruggedly handsome, she would be completely exasperated. She needed some fun, and Julien was way too serious to consider granting her any time for trivial things. Deciding to visit the garden on her own, curious about its origins, Giselle felt a need to walk amongst its beauty.
****
Julien paced the length of the master suite. Ineffective in his plans to sway Giselle to trust him caused him much frustration. Maybe she doesn’t like to be yelled at. Covering his eyes with the heels of his hands, he tried rubbing away the self-induced headache coming on. Out of options and close to giving up, he needed to clear his mind. What was it about her that had him on edge all the time? Julien had to clench his fists every minute he was around her to remind himself of the anger. Otherwise, he found himself wanting to kiss her, protect her. And each moment he spent with her, it was getting harder to control. He had to fight it. It could cost the covens the war. He had to stay on the straight and narrow yet—something was pulling at the corners of his mind.
