Scent of a Witch

by Bri Clark

  Then the familiar muscled arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her much too close for propriety. “All right, lass. I know we said midnight but you and I both know that something stirs in the air. A great many somethings, and they all seem to be gathering around this celebration. How about you tell me why that is?”

  He spoke into the hollow of her ear with their faces cheek to cheek, guiding her around the floor in an easy progressive waltz. The heat this immortal awakened in her was a distraction she couldn’t afford. For now, the best thing to do was lead him along where she needed to be because, after midnight, he couldn’t follow.

  “The strongest one approaches…better tell me now, sweet.”

  “Guide us as close to the band as you can, where there is a small opening behind the right back corner of the stage. From there, follow me and I’ll explain everything when we are hidden.” The smell of rotten apples and burned flesh permeated the air. Maeve almost fainted in Fionn’s hold.

  “He’s here,” she whispered just as they ducked out of the tent. As soon as cool, clear air hit Maeve, she gathered her skirts and took off for the main house at a sprint. Running at an impossible speed, Fionn caught Maeve up and kept going. The wind whipped at her face as they traveled. Maeve had ridden in slower cars.

  “The cellar…” she said. The wind created by his inhuman velocity thrust the words back down her throat but she managed to point to a set of wooden doors along the east side of the main house. He wasn’t even winded when he set her down, but she had no time to spare him a glance. Instead, she pulled a bobby pin out of her hair and set about picking the padlock. At the sound Fionn made low in his throat, Maeve finally looked up. He only glared at her with a thick arched brow raised, then ripped the lock and hinge from the wood.

  “Well, we can’t all have eternal strength can we?” she clipped, stepping into the dark stairwell and snapping her fingers where a light appeared above her palm.

  “You could have a great deal from me, lass,” he responded bringing her up short.

  Turning around, Maeve studied the immortal tracker, Fionn Hughes. Here stood the same type of tracker that had killed her beloved family, the same clan that might have betrayed her grandparents. Could it be he was flirting with her? The darkened brown of his eyes showed desire, the shortness of his breath hinted lust, but without the smell she could never know for sure. That was the defense the trackers had against a Scent Witch. Every magical/unnatural being had a distinct smell. Except a tracker, which made them the perfect magical assassins. She recovered the few steps that separated them, staring up into his eyes as the reaction of his words exploded out of her mouth.

  “All I ever wanted was to stay hidden in my dearly loved history books, traveling the world, exploring the ruins of long ago, correcting the mistakes of mankind’s recorded history. Then to be able to come home here to my beloved South…to ride bareback and run barefoot across the fields with my Patty. To bake bread and sew with my granny. That was what I had and all I ever wanted and now it’s gone. Because of trackers like you.” She stopped abruptly with a sob.

  Angry with herself for letting him goad her into almost revealing her plans, Maeve tried to calm herself. Unable to breathe deep she opted for small even breaths. But seeing the dark brown of desire change to a warmer caramel almost made her feel guilty. Without another word, she turned and easily maneuvered the steep cellar steps. Fionn followed close behind.

  Dead set on what had to be done Maeve was unashamed revealing the arsenal of weapons that hid beneath her skirts. She may be dressed for a time where it was deemed acceptable to bare cleavage and the tops of shoulders but scandalous to show an ankle or foot but that wasn’t her. Strapped to one leg was a holster, and in it a dagger and two silver knives. On the other, a small brown sack hung. Unable to hold her skirts and bend forward enough to reach her supplies Maeve silently looked to Fionn for help.

  A satisfied smirk settled in place as he kneeled before her. It was a bit disconcerting that Maeve had anticipated everything and it would have been the restriction of underwear that ruined it all, that is if Fionn hadn’t been there.

  His fingertips brushed along her inner thigh as he untied the small bag, and Maeve’s breath caught. It shouldn’t have been possible for her skin to heat beneath his touch, not through the material of the pantaloons. And it didn’t seem fair that every graze of his fingers made her heart beat faster. Unable to hold her breath any longer, she released it slowly through pursed lips. Finally, the ties came free. Did she imagine it, or had his hand lingered against her knee just a tad longer than necessary?

  “And here I was fixing to call you a clever lass…” he teased, standing up and offering her the small bag.

  When she reached for it, he jerked the bag back and grabbed her wrist instead, and held her snug against him.

  “It’s 11:58, sweet. Are you ready?”

  His breath blew across her face as he spoke and Maeve shivered. Nevertheless, there was no time for thought. Turning her wrist down, she broke his hold and grabbed the bag with the other hand. Then, before the darkness that followed her could come, she slammed the bag to the ground with a tinkle of glass breaking. The smell of long extinct herbs mingled together in the air as balls of light began to build up from the dirt floor.

  Still standing directly in front of Fionn, Maeve recited the secret spell for a time shift in the Gaelic tongue her family preferred. “Born of two, but to this world still new, I seek a slide back to the side, which is truly mine.”

  When Maeve finished, she noticed the contorted features on Fionn’s face and how he still held tight to her hand. She brushed a light kiss over his lips.

  “Forgive me Fionn, for after midnight I will be where you cannot follow. Thank you for saving me so that I may finish my last task.” She embraced him quickly and attempted to disengage her hand to pull away. Still he wouldn’t let go. Light enveloped the cellar and a gush of wind whooshed, signaling the completion of the spell.

  Chapter Seven

  Fionn refused to let go of Maeve as the power of the spell exploded around them. She may have thought he couldn’t follow, but she was wrong. Not only could he follow, he could hitch a ride. Interlocking their fingers, he grabbed the medallion around her neck, no longer hidden by the cameo, and boldly representing the interlocking of their family lines.

  When the light vanished, leaving them in the dark, Fionn inhaled, not surprised when he smelled the scents of cold storage used by those of long ago: damp earth, potatoes, onions, and wooden barrels. So they’d traveled back in time. The weight of humid air and the memory of the word slide in her spell gave him the assumption they were still in the south. But when?

  And there was someone else there. His heightened senses immediately picked up another presence nearby.

  “By all that is holy…” Maeve almost cursed but he covered her mouth and dragged her into the shadows under the steps. A creaking door opened and light appeared, followed by heavy but sure footsteps.

  “You get down there boy and you get that barrel before the mas’r notices the drink runs low,” a heavily accented woman’s voice called. Yep they were still in the south.

  Light from the full moon slanted through the open door, momentarily filled by huge shoulders and a bulky figure. A large man lumbered down the rickety steps, his nearly black skin and the rough material of his dark clothing blending him with the shadows. A litany of swearing was on the tip of Fionn’s tongue. He recognized the slave named Little Jim, and now he knew to which time she’d brought them. They were back just before the Battle of Franklin…a time Fionn had already been to. Suddenly, he was thankful for the blue uniform and his longer hair, which made him feel a little safer. But that didn’t stop the fact he needed to know exactly why they were here. However, his interrogation of the little witch in his arms would have to wait until Little Jim retrieved his barrel. Lips of rose petal softness pressed into his callused palms teasing him. It had been ages since Fionn’s arms had held a
woman. And according to his memory, none had ever felt as perfect as she. The top of her head pressed against his shoulder, her body’s soft curves molded to his hard muscles. It was as if they simply fitted. What was he thinking? He had to concentrate on his interrogation as the sound of Little’s Jim’s grunts and heavy steps faded and finally stopped after the slamming of cellar doors.

  With more force than needed, he turned Maeve around, snapped and all the candles in the room lit.

  “How did you—?”

  He held up an impatient hand, warning her into silence. “No lass, it is my turn to ask questions and you gave me your word you would answer.”

  Maeve’s eyes narrowed and she jutted her chin out. “Fine. Get on with it. I haven’t much time.”

  Fionn studied her before he let her go. Oh, she was a beauty. But her features gave up none of her thoughts.

  “Why are we here…now? Better yet, how did you perform a slide that easily?” Going back in time was one thing, going to the future was a disaster no sane time walker would attempt, but a slide in either direction took not only talent but intelligence, and also true power. One had to be at exactly the right place at the perfect time to attempt a slide back. Buildings were built, the earth changed, powers aligned on different planes. All these things had to be accounted for in order to slide.

  “There is a nexus under this plantation and I’m here to fix a mistake my grandparents made on this night. Consider it the fulfillment of a last wish,” she answered, untying her sash and pulling her sleeves down to reveal her corset.

  “What exactly are you planning to fix?” Fionn demanded as she took off one of the many layers of skirt. He struggled for enough saliva to swallow over his suddenly dry throat. “And why are you undressing?”

  “Preventing the kidnapping of a child born this night. And I can’t very well be seen walking around the slaves’ quarters looking like this, now can I?” she retorted, pushing down another skirt.

  “You will not be going around the slave’s quarters. Not on this night especially,” Fionn insisted, remembering the plans of some of the soldiers. With the speed that cost him the lock of hair above his right ear she pulled a knife…a silver knife, backed him up against the wall holding the blade at his neck. Never in his life had he been amused, afraid, and proud all at the same time. The lass truly had spirit and skill.

  “I don’t know how you traveled with me and I don’t have time to care. There is one thing and one thing only that I am here to do this night. When I’m done, everything will be as it should be. Now, you may be immortal and you are obviously a warlock…a strong one too. But silver certainly does hurt and a wound that would prove fatal to anyone else may not kill you, but it will take time to heal.” She slid the blade along his skin while the candle light flickered in her feral cat-like eyes. Determined eyes.

  “I’m not one to result to such barbaric means…and right now for this night I’m stronger than you.” Without backing away, she spoke what he recognized as a bondage spell. “Born of two, but meant as one, by birthright, by blood right, I invoke the power of the nexus…” She smiled, her cat’s eyes glinting in the dim light. “To bind this man, until the light of dawn’s rays.”

  Unseen restraints held Fionn’s wrists and ankles.

  After returning her knife back to the holster Maeve continued to undress. Unable to look away, Fionn couldn’t help but appreciate the irony of the situation and therefore couldn’t resist goading her.

  “If you wanted me to watch you undress I would have been willing.” Her response was to cut a strand of hair from above his left ear this time. The laughter came perhaps more easily than it should have, but he couldn’t suppress it any longer. With only one petticoat left on her, she turned the white material in her hands inside out and revealed a white cotton dress. After stepping into the skirt part, she began to button up the front of the bodice.

  “Perhaps I should have given the compliment. You are a bonny clever lass.”

  She flinched when he said “bonny,” but then picked her rhythm back up.

  “Aren’t you going to relieve yourself of that corset? Lasses of lower standing wouldn’t wear those now. I would be willing to help,” he offered.

  “Nay, it will keep my ribs in place when I jump from the cliff. I’d rather die of a broken neck than a rib piercing my lung. Much quicker and less painful.” She spoke of her death with such calm, even precision; it took a moment for the words to sink in. Fionn swore violently at her in Gaelic and English as he fought against his bonds. This behavior finally got her to look at him.

  “Peace, Fionn Hughes. No one will find you and at sunrise you can go on with your life.”

  He’d only known her for hours but the thought of living in a world or a time without her breathing caused him pain that didn’t seem possible.

  “Tell me lass…tell me, Maeve, what game do ye play?” he asked as rage boiled within him. She pulled the bobby pins from her hair, freeing the curly mass of copper and brown to fall chaotically over her shoulders. Licking her lips, she approached him.

  “You said you weren’t here to hurt me. Why are you here, Fionn?”

  “My father, laird of the Hughes, sent me to your time for your grandparents. Only I was too late. And it is so that I can’t change. But I guess you already tried.” He briefly felt bad for not telling her the truth but he was desperate. She was talking of dying and he had to stop her. Those who could manipulate time could oftentimes prevent death, so long as it wasn’t fate’s plan. Only that hadn’t been the case with Cordelia and Patrick Sweeney. He had tried to go back and prevent both their deaths only he couldn’t…proving that it had been fate’s design. If he had tried he assumed she had too. But he figured she wouldn’t answer him clearly, which was why he employed the manipulation of words. The gentle tear that slid her cheek confirmed his accusation.

  Sweeping the tear away she hoped, for the briefest moment, the plan was wrong, but Fionn’s mission confirmed her thoughts as well. Her grandparents were needed much more than she was. “Like I thought, it’s not really important to what I must do. Because I know my granny spoke fondly of the clan Hughes laird and there is nothing you can do to stop me, I will share with you my plans.”

  “I was abroad when my granny died. By the time I returned she was already dead and buried per her last wishes as indicated to her attorney. I travel and often am difficult to reach. She knew that and prepared. All her will said was that I should go to the attic of the Sweeney House and would find what I seek.” She laughed but it was a sad sound, as she wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Granny was like that…all cryptic and riddle-like. When I got there, I found a chest with my name written on it. In the chest was a scrap of material stained in blood, directions to find this necklace, and a letter.” Maeve held the Celtic Knot forward from her chest and massaged it with her thumb.

  “What did the letter say lass?” Fionn spoke tenderly, as he would to one of his wee cousins.

  “It explained the origin of my birth. My mother was heavy with child when she was stolen away from the time she belonged on the day of my delivery and brought here. A kind slave man found her and brought her to his wife where they delivered a healthy son…” She paused looking into the dark then her eyes met his. “And a very small, very weak, twin daughter. Me.”

  “I don’t understand…why wouldn’t you just prevent your mother’s kidnapping?”

  “My mother died after I was born and my brother was brought to the Cartons to be raised. Only my twin is a cruel and devious man by nature. He must be allowed to live in this time and stay ignorant of our lineage. And I must keep my grandparents from retrieving me. With my death they will not be hunted by the leaders of Witchery and then killed. They will live and die together as it should have been.”

  She stood and went toward the stairs. Fionn fought against his restraints again.

  “Maeve you’re wrong!” He twisted in the grip of the invisible bonds, straining his muscles against the for
ce of the spell she had spoken. “Maeve! Come back! This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. I will stop you…I swear I will protect you…Even from yourself!” he vowed. But she took the steps two at a time without looking back.

  Chapter Eight

  Maeve leaned against the side of Carton House, panting as she caught her breath. The emotional power coming from Fionn had been so strong it had almost stopped her. Never had she felt the same kind of connection with anyone except her blood family.

  She inhaled deeply, taking comfort in the smells of autumn. Lanterns adorned the steady stream of carriages traveling the lane to the mansion, their feeble light outshone by the full moon. Each carriage that pulled in front of the massive, white-columned mansion stopped just long enough to spit out a guest or two and then drove on. It amazed Maeve how they could continue with life when war raged all around them. She sighed. In a few short weeks the deadly Battle of Franklin would change the way of life they knew so well. Perhaps ignorance was a tender mercy, and they deserved to live the carefree time for now.

  Maeve took a moment to remember the description of the plantation she’d memorized from the old records. There was no guarantee they were correct but it was a good backup plan to know the lay of the land. Her first choice was to find the slave man named Little Jim and follow him to her mother.