The Forbidden

by Cheyenne McCray

  “I’ll be sure to lock and ward the doors once these people leave. Looks like they’re about done,” he said, and headed to the front door to flip the “open” sign to “closed”.

  Silver strode into the small but neatly organized kitchen, where Cassia had gone ahead of her. It always smelled of herbs and spices, freshly baked bread, and whatever delicacies Cassia was cooking. Unfortunately, the witch frequently managed to break a stoneware bowl or two. Silver had gone to purchasing copper and cast-iron cookware and bakeware since taking Cassia under her wing less than a year ago.

  It would be just over thirteen years before Cassia could serve as one of the thirteen in the Coven should an opening arise. But that might not matter—everything could be gone by the time this all was over with.

  During an apprenticeship, a witch had to serve a year and a day, sometimes longer, with each member of the Coven. Cassia would continue her apprenticeship with the high priestess until she was an Adept. Silver had serious doubts about the young witch, but only fate knew what would become of her. One never knew.

  “I did everything exactly as outlined in the book,” Cassia said as she stood at the stove.

  Silver nodded, but the scent of the brew told her at once that two key ingredients were missing. How Cassia could bake incredible pastries yet leave spell ingredients out of a potion was beyond Silver’s comprehension.

  Cassia went to the bookstand where Silver’s precious family Book of Shadows was opened to a repelling spell. Cassia ran her finger down the list of ingredients. “I put in the pinch of sandalwood, a dash of rosemary, two tablespoons of dragon’s blood, one cup of pennyroyal, and two cups of nettles.”

  Silver sniffed. The sandalwood, rosemary, and nettles smelled just right. The dragon’s blood and pennyroyal were a little off, but close enough. Silver fingered the ancient parchment page of the book. The page was beautifully decorated with dried herbs and flower petals pressed around the antiquated script, just like all the other pages in the book.

  Silver carefully turned the page and pointed to the top two ingredients as she glanced at the witch. “Did you remember the thistle and bergamot oil?”

  Cassia’s cheeks blushed bright pink. “I didn’t think to turn the page. Damn—er, bless the moon.”

  Silver barely kept her focus on Cassia as the apprentice put in several drops of the oil and a thistle plant. Her mind kept returning to last night, and to her memory of Hawk. Why had she been chosen for the warning?

  And why had she and Cassia been the only ones able to escape the Fomorii?

  Her gut clenched at the thought of Rhiannon being taken along with other Coven members. If only her fiery friend was here, she’d have somebody to talk to, somebody to plan with—fresh ideas. Maybe a more level head than her own.

  Is Rhiannon still alive? Are any of those from my Coven still whole? Mackenzie, Sydney, all of them, gone.

  And a year ago Copper. Goddess, this is too much loss.

  Her attention snapped back to the apprentice who now stirred the concoction that boiled in several cups of consecrated water. When Cassia finished, Silver took a deep breath of the brew. “Perfect,” she said, and Cassia smiled.

  “Stir the brew exactly three times clockwise, three times counterclockwise, and three times clockwise again,” Silver instructed Cassia.

  While the apprentice did as Silver bade, she chanted.

  “Ward this shop and all who keep it.

  Turn back outsiders who would do harm.

  Reverse all sent spells, ill-will, and charms.

  Keep us free and clear and fit.

  In the name of the goddess we make this plea.

  Ward this shop. So mote it be.”

  “That should do it.” Silver glanced at Cassia. “For good measure pour the liquid from the brew into these vials.” She gestured toward a collection of blue, green, and brown bottles in a glass-fronted cabinet. “Pour a vial along the front and back thresholds, and along every windowsill.” As an afterthought she added, “It wouldn’t hurt to mop the floor with it. Last thing we want is something to get through our other floor wardings and come up from below.”

  Like the Fomorii came up through Janis’s.

  The witch gave a quick nod, then bit her lower lip. Silver could see fear in the apprentice’s eyes.

  “Will this keep those—those demons out?” Cassia glanced at Silver. “The traditional warding spells and blessings didn’t keep the D’Anu safe last night.”

  “The D’Anu never expected anything to come from the ground in the sacred chamber.” Silver gave her a hug and patted her back. Cassia smelled of the cinnamon and other spices she’d used to make pumpkin cheesecake earlier.

  She didn’t want to tell Cassia she’d wondered how Janis could have been so lax as to not strengthen the floor-warnings. It wasn’t like her, but she was well over a hundred-plus years. Maybe she was tired now that she was reaching retirement age.

  “Between the potion, the spell-casting, and every other repelling charm in this shop,” Silver said, “I think we’ll be safe here. The Coven wasn’t expecting what happened last night. We now know what is out there, so we have far more warding in place than the Coven had, and the potion will simply make it stronger.”

  Warding bells tinkled in the shop and Silver heard the side door slam. Something in her gut told her that she’d better double-check to make sure the door was locked. Eric was usually very careful, but still...

  She turned to head through the kitchen doors to attend to it. She heard a crash and a low curse behind her, but simply sighed and left Cassia to whatever destruction she would cause in Silver’s absence.

  She paused just before pushing the door open and stepping over the kitchen threshold. Cold fingers of instinct dug at the back of her neck.

  Something…off.

  Something…wrong.

  The shop was noticeably silent, but it was more than that. A presence. Something that didn’t belong.

  Evil? Her heartbeat doubled. But then why don’t I detect it?

  She stepped from the kitchen to behind the café counter, and the door swung closed behind her. Her fingers twitched and sparked.

  Her shop was eerily empty and the lighting seemed dimmer than normal. Apparently the last of their customers had left, along with Eric.

  Only those within her circle of protection could cross her warding spells—unless their magic was far stronger than hers. The thought made her stomach clench and she wished the repelling potion had already been distributed to enhance her own magic.

  Warding bells on the side door tinkled again. Air breezed through the shop. Her heart slammed in her chest.

  She wasn’t alone.

  9

  Junga sucked in her breath. “You let her escape?”

  She growled at Hur as she dug her nails into her human palms. “I send you to fetch a single witch and you could not perform such a simple task?”

  He glanced at the other employees currently checking guests into the Marquis Hotel. One of the women looked at them, but quickly turned back to hand a guest his key card.

  Junga lowered her voice but didn’t keep the scowl from her face. “The next time I send you after her, you had better not fail me.” She clasped her fingers around his wrist and allowed her magically-enhanced Fomorii claws to lengthen just enough to pierce his soft skin. “Darkwolf wants her.”

  He winced but held still. “I understand, ceannaire.”

  Still seething, Junga retracted her claws and strode toward the ballroom. When she walked into the room, she looked at the witches kept behind Darkwolf’s powerful shield of magic. The warlocks were not contained, but they were not allowed to leave the ballroom, except for the high priest. Junga wished they had all thirteen warlocks instead of having dined upon the unfortunate few.

  Darkwolf and Bane were talking just feet away from the shielded witches. “I can get none of the witches to cooperate,” Bane said through clenched human teeth as she approached.

 
“What about that one?” Junga indicated a strong-looking female witch clothed in an iridescent robe that shimmered beneath the lights. She had a proud tilt to her head and an expression of fury on her face. In her multicolored apparel, and with her fierce look, she stood out among the other somewhat blander candidates.

  Bane gave a stiff nod of his human head. “I will retrieve the prisoner and bring her to you.”

  Junga simply focused on the witch who refused to lower her gaze or turn away. This one was full of spirit—spirit that Junga had every intention of turning to her own advantage. Rage, willfulness, pride—all of those qualities made a witch vulnerable, with the right shaping.

  When he reached the force field, Bane looked to Darkwolf. The warlock held up his hands and his dark eyebrows narrowed in concentration. Purple light spilled from his palms as he projected his energy through the shield. Thick purple ropes lashed around the witch, binding her hands to her sides so that she could not use her magic. Fortunately, these witches had to use their hands and were not capable of mind incantations.

  The high priest used a pushing motion with his hand and the shield bowed inward until it passed around the witch and refastened behind her so that she stood alone. Her eyes were angry, defiant, as Bane grasped her upper arm.

  He dragged her so that she stumbled across the ballroom floor until she stood mere inches from Junga. Bane took the witch’s shoulders in a firm grip, forcing her to stay in place.

  The interesting captive said nothing, simply stared at Junga. With a cold smile, Junga reached out and caught the witch by her chin. Again she followed Elizabeth’s instincts. She brought her mouth to the witch’s and slowly licked her lips.

  The witch jerked her head back, but Junga tightened her grip, and Bane didn’t let her shoulders go. Junga bit the witch’s lip and she cried out in surprise. Junga enjoyed breaking through the haughty witch’s reserve with the unwelcome kiss.

  Junga raised her head and lightly stroked her fingers over the witch’s cheek. The woman had a look of revulsion upon her face. “I believe I heard one of the others call you Rhiannon, yes?” Junga trailed her hand down the woman’s throat until her fingers grasped the witch’s neck. “Of course it is so. I have a perfect memory. You are Silver’s friend.”

  Rhiannon continued to glower at Junga, her green eyes flashing with fire, but kept her silence.

  The Fomorii’s smile grew colder. “Tell me how to draw out this witch. Tell me where to find Silver.”

  The woman finally spoke, slowly and deliberately, as if addressing a simpleton. “May the Ancestors banish you back to Underworld.”

  Junga reacted immediately, as Elizabeth would have. She drew her hand back and slapped Rhiannon so hard the witch’s head snapped to the side. A white handprint remained and quickly turned to red. It would no doubt become a healthy bruise. Rhiannon slowly turned back to face Junga, her features almost expressionless, as if the slap had meant nothing.

  A low, fierce growl rose in the Fomorii legion leader and her own instincts took over. Her fingers elongated into claws. The new magic from Queen Kanji’s blacksmith flashed at the claw tips. Her teeth lengthened long enough to pierce her tongue. The taste of blood flooded her mouth and she had the intense desire to eat this bitch, to devour her while she still lived.

  She slashed her claws across the other side of Rhiannon’s face, slicing four perfect lines through the thin flesh of the witch’s cheek. This time Rhiannon shouted her surprise and pain, then bit her lip as if to hold back any more cries. Blood welled in the cuts and dripped down the witch’s face. And the cuts—they seemed to burn into the witch’s face. Perhaps witches were vulnerable to iron, as well?

  With all her strength, Junga regained control of herself before she destroyed the witch. Her claws slowly retracted back into her human fingers, and her teeth returned to their human size.

  She curled her lips as a thought occurred to her. She leaned forward and lapped at Rhiannon’s cheek, the taste of the witch’s hot blood pleasant on her tongue. She licked the witch’s lips next, spreading the red fluid across her mouth.

  Junga drew back. Irritation flashed through her when Rhiannon did not so much as flinch. But it pleased Junga to see blood flowing freely down the witch’s cheek, to her neck, to splatter onto her colorful robe.

  “You will be of great use to me.” Junga gave her a wicked smile. “I know exactly how you will assist me in capturing the witch.”

  Not even a flicker of concern passed over Rhiannon’s features and Junga wanted to lash out at her again. Perhaps this time opening her throat.

  Instead, Junga gestured toward Bane to return Rhiannon to the magical holding cell, Darkwolf assisting with his magic. Rhiannon’s bonds were released and Junga smiled when she saw the witch rub the blood from her mouth and cheek with her sleeve.

  The next few moments went quickly as a red-scaled shape-shifting Basilisk and a Fomorii warrior were stationed at the doors and lights dimmed for the night. Still furious, Junga caught the attention of the Balorite high priest, who was speaking with Za in one corner of the room. She slowly perused the warlock whose Balorite name was Darkwolf.

  She motioned for the warlock and Bane to accompany her into the quiet hotel lobby. “Follow me,” she ordered the two males. She had to work off her anger and frustration so she could think clearly. She knew exactly how to do it. She’d wanted this for so long. Needed it.

  * * *

  Bane was still in human form as she had not instructed him to return to his natural state. Not one of her legion mates would do anything without her instruction.

  Darkwolf kept his expression blank, yet she swore she saw a knowing glitter in his eyes.

  The heels of her blood-red stilettos clicked across the marble floor of the hotel lobby toward the bank of elevators as they threaded their way through several of the hotel guests. The heels matched the tailored suit Elizabeth had been wearing when Junga had taken over the woman’s body, mind, and soul. Bane still wore the expensive suit of his host. The warlock had donned his usual black robe.

  Junga led the males into the elevator and up to Elizabeth’s penthouse on the top floor. She keyed in the entry code, then strode into the sumptuous suite with its thick white carpet, black furnishings, and freeform works of art. She sank into the exquisite leather of one of the black couches and crossed her elegant legs. The short skirt of her suit slid up her thighs in an enticing manner. Every instinct ingrained in Elizabeth’s body and mind came automatically and naturally to Junga.

  Elizabeth’s essence even relished Junga’s rage, and her blood pounded all the harder because of the sensations associated with the emotion. Heat. Strength. Violent urges not unlike bloodlust. Junga knew she had to relieve the fury, and she knew how she planned to calm the raging beast within her.

  “Strip,” she ordered the two males.

  Without question, Bane removed his clothing, from his suit jacket and shirt, to his shoes, socks, belt, trousers, and boxers. Junga’s host body reacted immediately to the sight of him. Elizabeth had considered him a perfect male specimen.

  She turned to the warlock. His arms crossed his chest, a dominating glint in his eyes. “Remove your clothing,” he demanded in a tone that shocked Junga. She’d never been spoken to that way—ever. But somehow it turned her on.

  She hesitated, but then drew on her authority. “Watch yourself, warlock. Because I am in the mood to play, I will allow this game to continue. But do not overstep your boundaries.”

  He slowly approached her, like a wolf pacing its prey, his dark eyes glittering.

  Junga shivered with lust. What harm could it do? If the man annoyed her too much, she would eat him, useful or not. Eye or no eye.

  “Now,” he commanded, and his dark power emanated off him in waves.

  Her heart pounded as she slipped off the red heels and stood. She was shorter and smaller than the males. Her fingers trembled as she unbuttoned, then slid off the tailored suit jacket to reveal her satin bra. Vaguely
she was aware of Bane, and a part of her wondered what he would think of her allowing herself to be dominated. But all thought fled her mind as desire rushed through her at the hungry look in Darkwolf’s gaze.

  “Hurry,” he demanded, and she rushed to unfasten her skirt and let it drop to the carpet. The warlock’s eyes burned through her as she removed the bra and shimmied out of the garters and the tiny scrap of panties.

  When she was naked, she enjoyed the rush of cool air over her body, the silken feel of it on her human skin, and her long black tresses caressing her shoulders and back.

  The warlock gave a soft murmur of approval. He slowly walked around her and she shivered from the heat of his gaze.

  These human bodies might be pathetic in many ways, but the sensual feelings she experienced were so much stronger now than when they were in Fomorii form. It had been centuries since they had been exiled to Underworld. Centuries since she had taken over other beings. She truly hadn’t realized just how much she had missed sex in another creature’s body.

  The heat of her anger returned, and she needed immediate fulfillment. Without ceremony, she shoved the Balorite warlock backward. Darkwolf looked enraged, but Junga didn’t care. He winked out of her consciousness like a distant star.

  And then it became a blur of lips, tongues, hands, bodies. The men took her and she took them, until she all but lost herself. Everything was so wild, so strong, that she saw sparks in her head and felt them throughout her host body.

  She was left limp, sated, barely able to think beyond the trembling of her limbs and the spinning of her thoughts.

  A very female human sensation overtook her, as if she were bonded with these two males. What did they think of her? What did they think of her body?

  Horror at the weakness of her thoughts caused her world to darken and she tumbled closer to the abyss. She sagged against the men, clinging to the last shreds of consciousness until she could do nothing but let it slip away.