Which Witch is Wicked? (The Witches of Port Townsend Book 2)

by Kerrigan Byrne

  "You son of a bitch." Dru advanced, tossing the blinking head onto a pile of countless body parts. "Do you have any fucking idea what we've been dealing with while you were off spying like a pubescent teenage boy on your witch?"

  "By the body parts littering the area, I would have to say zombies. If a horde of the undead pissed you off, your skills were in sore need of testing."

  "Test this you brainless dogshit pain in my ass." Dru came at him with his sword raised, the blade glinting sharp and lethal in the sunlight wavering down through the treetops. War's sword had been shaped from indestructible steel—forged in the belly of volcanic mountains, honed on the skulls of demons, and blessed with aim the gods themselves would shy away from. It was a weapon to be wary of. Even for an immortal.

  Death stood his ground while Dru held the sword at his throat. "I would have expected this behavior from Nick but not you, War."

  "That's before I had to spend all fucking night battling the undead. One word. One goddamn word from you and they would've left us alone. If you had been where you should have been, and had commanded the army of undead back to Hell where they belonged, my night would have been free."

  "To do what? Consult your maps? Drink? Or fantasize about a fire witch who is fucking her dead boy-toy."

  "Shut your fucking mouth." Dru pressed the blade into the skin of Bane's neck, burning a line.

  "Enough!" Julian said, flinging off a wayward bony hand scratching its way up his shoulder.

  "Let the assholes have each other," Nick called over to them, swinging a zombie arm up and letting it rest on his shoulder like it was a bat. "Dru's right. Bane should have been here. I called him and the piss-for-brains hung up on me."

  "And you know why," Bane defended himself. As much as he'd ever would.

  "Well, I sure as fuck don't." Dru pushed him, yet Bane didn't budge. It was hard to get Death off his plot when he chose to put down roots.

  "Drustan, lower your blade," Julian commanded. "This helps nothing. It's understandable that Bane would be watching over the...mother of his...offspring during the witches' fight with the zombie horde. Either one of us would have done the same."

  "Well, he sure as shit can clean up the remains. Put them back in the ground."

  "I second that," Nick said, throwing the mutilated arm onto the pile of body parts.

  The bony hand Julian had flicked off his shoulder, attempted to crawl up his pant leg like a spider. Julian stomped it into the earth and wiped the offending ooze off the sole of his shoe onto a patch of grass. "I wholeheartedly agree with that suggestion. Bane, when you are finished cleaning up this...ghoulish pandemonium, meet us in the library. There is much to discuss."

  "Have fun, gravedigger." Dru flipped him off on his way into the cabin.

  Someone had his cock in a twist. His comment about Claire's Tommy had hit closer to home than Bane had intended. Weren't they in a quandary? Four Horsemen brought low by four comely witches.

  Bane turned and regarded the mutilated corpses littering the yard and adjoining forest beyond with the detachment required of the chore. The majority of the carnage still inched or crawled in whatever fashion it could. Talk about a mess. He should have been here, not watching out for Tierra who'd been fighting these same zombies. One word from him at her place, and they would have left. But he couldn't bring himself to intervene when he'd been praying for just one of the sisters to fall under the macabre onslaught. With Moira operating a chainsaw, it should've only been a matter of time before she'd hurt herself or one of her sisters. Yet, she'd surprised him, but not half as much as Tierra had, wielding a shovel like a warrior.

  Though Aerin had been the biggest shock of the night. Did Julian know that his witch delved into the black arts? Had started on a dark path that didn't have many switchbacks? Could that be what he wanted to discuss?

  Bane faced the remains of the zombie army, said a few words more ancient than Egyptian and watched dispassionately as the pieces and parts crawled, rolled, and carried themselves off to slumber once again to the silence of their graves. Once completed, and the surface looking much the way it had before, he turned and entered the cabin.

  A double shot of Patrón waited for him on the table near the window, along with three very pissed off Horsemen. Julian sat in the leather, brass-studded armchair, nursing a rare vintage red wine. Dru stood sentry over his maps, swirling his Johnny Walker Red, while Nick cocked a hip against the wet bar, shaking a martini, most likely heavy on the dirty.

  "What happened last night?" Julian asked, not looking at him.

  "You know as well as I do. Aerin can fly. She'll be sharing that knowledge with her sisters as we speak."

  "That isn't what I'm talking about," Julian said, taking a sip of his wine. "Who performed black magic and sent the zombie army our direction?"

  "You know who."

  "I need it confirmed."

  "Aerin de Moray. Satisfied?"

  "Never." Julian drained his goblet and reached for the bottle of Italian wine he'd placed close.

  "We received a call from...you know," Nick said, pouring his martini into a glass. "She's been able to infiltrate the premises and hidden a fair amount of brimstone inside."

  "We should see results of their exposure to the poison soon." Dru refused to look at him.

  Brimstone.

  That demon whore.

  What would prolong exposure to elements from the depths of Hell do to Tierra and the babe? "Where did she put the brimstone?" If he had his way, it wouldn't be there long.

  "She didn't say, but seemed especially proud of herself." Nick leaned back against the wet bar. He looked like a businessman who'd had a particularly bad day at the office. His gray suit was smudged and stained with bodily fluids. He'd lost his jacket some time ago, and his usually pressed dress shirt looked as though he'd been living in it for a week. Torn at the seams and frayed at the bottom, it hung untucked from his slacks. In Nicholas Kingswood's case the clothes didn't make the man, his arrogance and superiority over others shone no matter what he wore. He was a man to be cautious with. He'd shot an arrow into Tierra's chest, his aim true enough to have killed her. Bane had refused to take her soul, and that of her unborn child, his child. Without her sisters' quick thinking, he would've lost her and the miracle they'd somehow created. He didn't trust that Nick wouldn't try to kill Tierra again if given the opportunity.

  "What did you find out?" Julian asked, reading Bane's yearning to wrap his hands around Nick's throat.

  "About what?" It took considerable effort for him to turn his deadly stare away from Kingswood and focus on Julian.

  "Whilst you were watching the witches, you observed Aerin perform black magic, and we all witnessed her fly. Did you see anything else?"

  "Do you think black magic is how Aerin figured out how to fly?" Dru asked. "The undead she'd sent our way didn't even question her orders. Orders usurped from...you know. She commanded the undead to kill the witches and take their powers. So what did Aerin do to upset the order of command?"

  "Flying on broomsticks is not black magic," Julian said, holding up his hand when Dru went to interrupt. "Not all witches who have flown in the past were bad. But flying in itself doesn't make a witch good or bad. She's just a flying witch."

  "Which we don't need." Nick loosened his necktie and flung it off. "Gods, it's been hard enough to fight them on the ground. Airborne puts this battle on another playing field."

  "Bane can fly, so can your arrow," Julian pointed out. "Being able to fly doesn’t mean they will own the skies. That takes skill and practice. They don't have time for either."

  "They sure as shit seem to learn fast and faster every day." Dru knocked back his drink and slid the glass aside rather than pour another. "It's time we made a solid battle plan to take out Aerin."

  Julian's breath caught, and he went suddenly still.

  Dru pointed a finger at him. "You agreed. We all did. It's Aerin."

  "You really should have fucked her when y
ou had the chance, brother," Nick said. "It's a shame, good pussy like that going to waste. She could've been your one and only. Want us to capture her so you can have your first fuck before we kill her?"

  "If you want to continue to breathe out of any orifice in your face, keep talking." Julian's words were much more threatening because of the quiet, deadly way he'd delivered them, much like an unassuming virus that snuck in and killed in gruesome, unimaginable ways.

  "Now that Aerin is aware of our plan, the sisters will band together and take countermeasures." Dru hiked up a pant leg and set his booted foot on the coffee table, leaning his elbow onto his knee. "This is how I see it. Now that she can fly, she's going to want to. It will be like a new toy for her to try and conquer. So we use him—" he pointed to Bane "—to capture her and bring her here. He can't help himself from watching the mother of his spawn, so we kill two birds with one stone. So to speak."

  "And the wards?" Julian asked, looking at each man in turn.

  It was Bane who answered. "Do you really think your witch will stay within her boundaries when she owns the clouds?"

  Chapter Three

  "You are out of your ever-lovin' mind!" Moira parked her hands on her hips. "We finally cleared this place of the bad juju, and you want to muck it up again?"

  "She's scared," Tierra said. The discussion about Aunt Justine's request to return to the manor wasn't going well, not that Tierra had expected it to. And that damned sulphur smell stinking up the kitchen was making her sicker by the minute. It was late in the day, and she'd yet to keep any food down.

  "We're all scared," Moira said. "The whole world's goin' to hell quicker than a greased gator."

  "Now, wait," Claire interjected, pacing in front of the fireplace, her finger tapping her lip in thought. She'd returned from somewhere with Tommy hours ago. Supposedly he was out back helping Sunny's father Basil rebuild the shed that had caught fire last night. Tierra had been feeling too rundown this afternoon to check on their progress. "While Aunt Justine is about as comfortable to be around as wearing wet socks, it might be better to have her close. We'd have eyes on the coven that way. She does plan to stay involved with them, doesn’t she?"

  Tierra shrugged. "I don't think so. She seemed really shook up."

  "Why would we need eyes on the coven?" Aerin asked, sitting in the Queen Anne chair with her knees crossed typing away on the laptop and yet somehow keeping track of their conversation. "They are on our side. They want to help. Lucy—"

  "Lucy is not what she seems," Tierra interrupted. "I don't know what she is, but I know she's dangerous."

  "And how do you know that?" Aerin glanced up from her computer.

  "I feel it." Tierra couldn't sit any longer and strode to the open window, but instead of breathing in the calming scent of lavender from her flower beds, she inhaled the stench of leftover zombie. How long would the odor stay? For that matter when would the next attack come, because sure as hell there had to be a limitless supply of undead wanting to eat them. They needed to be ready and not fighting over Aunt Justine.

  "You feel it? I'm the empath," Aerin said. "What? Now that you're carrying death's spawn you're all-knowing?"

  "Aerin, turn it down a notch," Moira said. "Be nice."

  "I'm not nice. I'm honest and sometimes the truth hurts."

  "Lucy knows I'm pregnant." Tierra rubbed her arms. Her skin crawled and for some reason her hair hurt. Everything in her body felt sore and achy as though she had the flu. She wasn't that out of shape, and last night's fight shouldn't have made her feel like she'd competed in a triathlon.

  "Yes, she does," Claire confirmed. "She told me the first time I met her. She could feel the new life about you."

  "And you were going to tell me this when?"

  "I actually forgot, what with Tommy coming back and all."

  "You forgot that this powerful witch from somewhere in Ireland figured out I was pregnant. Does she know who the father is?"

  "Hey, it's not like you'll be able to keep it a secret long, anyway," Aerin said. "You'll be bigger than the house before you know it." She visibly shuddered at the thought.

  "Aunt Justine knows," Moira said. "Dagblast it! She is going to have to move back in so we can keep an eye on her. If that thought doesn't taste like the back end of a toad."

  "How do you know what the back end of a toad tastes like?" Claire asked.

  Tierra wrapped her arms around her middle. "Please don't bring up tastes. Any kind of tastes."

  "Tierra, what the hell's wrong with you anyhow?" Moira asked, laying a hand on her shoulder.

  "Don't. Don't touch me" She jerked away. "Everything feels wrong, like I'm going to come out of my skin. Can't you feel it?"

  The three of them looked at each other, then back at her.

  Aerin shrugged. "I feel great." She shut down her computer and sat up straighter in the chair, taking more notice.

  "If anything, I feel better than I have in days," Claire agreed.

  "Well, I for one could use a walk," Moira said. "I must admit, the walls are gettin' mighty confining."

  "Yes, that, too." Tierra breathed. "I haven't kept anything down today, and I swear I'll cry if one more of my flowers loses a bloom."

  "Now, sugar, that's them pregnancy hormones talking."

  "No, it isn't. Something isn't right. Not since Justine, Gwen, and Lucy were here."

  "I'm sure it's got more to do with the thought of Aunt Justine moving back in," Moira declared, trying to soothe. "That old bat—"

  "Hey, no insulting bats," Aerin said. "Doctor Lector will take that personal and so will I."

  "Speaking of bats, has anyone seen our familiars?" Claire asked. "Kai has been missing for hours. Usually he comes running when I call him."

  "Cheeto!" Moira suddenly screeched for her fire-breathing teacup pig and ran from the room.

  "Now you've gone and done it." Aerin slid a look at Claire.

  "Where is that bat of yours?" Claire asked her.

  "He's nocturnal. I never look for him until the sun goes down."

  "Jinx hasn't reemerged since the coven was here," Tierra admitted, looking around for the cat, adding another worry to her growing list.

  Moira ran back into the room. "I can't find Cheeto. If your bat has been feeding on him again, I'm crisping up his wings in a vat of lard."

  "You know what lard's made of, don't you?" Aerin raised a brow.

  "Oh, good goddess, please no talk of food! Especially greasy food." Tierra swallowed and closed her eyes, trying to focus on anything but the upset in her stomach.

  "The familiars are probably fine. Just sleeping off last night's zombie bender," Claire said. "There's no reason to add more to our plate."

  "Maybe you need to see a midwife?" Moira suggested to Tierra.

  "You mean a doctor," Aerin countered. "A real MD."

  "Women have been birthing babies since Adam and Eve. Where were the doctors then?" Moira's hands were back on her hips.

  "Nowhere, which is why the mortality rate for women giving birth was astronomical and like seven out of ten babies didn't survive their first year," Aerin preached.

  "Be quiet! Just all of you be quiet. Please." Tierra deflated onto the cushions of the couch and buried her face in her hands. "It's too much. Zombies, covens, Horsemen, and goddess, babies." She couldn’t take it anymore.

  "Oh, Tierra, you poor thing," Moira said. "Want me to make you some soothing tea?"

  Aerin folded her arms over her chest. "There is a way to take care of your condition."

  "No. Don't mention that again—"

  "Aerin's right, Tierra," Claire said. "Maybe this isn't supposed to happen. You are miserable. You look like death warmed over—okay, okay, not the best choice of words, but we are worried about you. What if this baby kills you?"

  "It won't." Though she wasn't sure. She'd yet to find a case online or in Grim that addressed the topic of witches and the Horsemen procreating. Plenty about demons. So that begged the question: were t
he Horsemen demons? Were she and her sisters?

  "We don't know that," Claire continued, pointing to Tierra's belly. "Death is that thing's baby daddy." There was silence for a minute as Claire's word sunk in.

  "It'll be okay." It had to be. Tierra took a deep breath and nearly choked on the rotten-egg smell coming from the kitchen. "But if we don't air out this house, I will be moving out."

  "I can help with that." Aerin jumped to her feet and stirred the air. "Moira, let's make an ocean breeze to rival the air freshener companies."

  "On it."

  Fresh air with a hint of brine and sunshine circulated into the room, driving the hellish smell away, and Tierra breathed easier.

  Claire sat next to her and took her hand. "There, that's better. Have you tried meditating lately? Close your eyes and think of your gardens."

  Tierra moaned. "My gardens were trampled by zombies last night."

  "Right, not gardens. Think of the Standing Stones."

  "Where I died?" She looked at her in horror.

  "Ugh, help me out here."

  "Think of our mother," Moira suggested. "Remember how lovely she was, how much she loved us. She carried four babies. Lord love a donkey. What if...what if you're so sick on account of you're having more than one?"

  "It's too early to tell," Aerin said, looking worried. "It's hard enough to think of one."

  "Not helping," Tierra said, opening her eyes and getting to her feet. She had to grab the back of the couch as a wave of dizziness attempted to take her down.

  Moira reached out and steadied her. "How about we go outside for a bit."

  "Hey, we can practice flying our brooms!" Aerin jumped to her feet. "It'll be a nice break for all of us and something we need to master—and fast—anyway."

  "Except the coven is watching and wanting to know how to do that very thing," Claire pointed out. "And something like that is best done under the cover of darkness."

  Aerin waved her hand as though to shoo away a pesky bug. "I'm not worried about them."

  "They could have spies on us right now," Tierra said. Tommy would be the perfect spy as Lucy gave Claire the spell to bring him back. No matter how they brought up the subject, Claire refused to evict him. Could he be what was stinking up her kitchen?