Gula: The Oswald Witches

by Mathew Ortiz

  Oliver laughed weakly. “Cheater. Of course, who am I to talk? I use my magic during our cases to figure out if it really is a ghost or not.”

  “You like ghost hunting?”

  Oliver paused before he spoke. “I like helping people more. Some of the hauntings are bogus. Noisy pipes, creaky floors and such, and I don’t charge a lot for those. If I am being set up by some asshole faking a haunting, I debunk them and charge them out the ass. For the real haunting, I don’t charge the people at all. I’m there to give the homeowners peace and to hopefully help the ghost move on.”

  “Does it ever go badly?”

  “Once.” His mate shuddered. “What we thought was a regular haunting was a possession of a child by a dybbuk.”

  “What’s a dybbuk?”

  “In Jewish mythology, a dybbuk is a malicious, possessing spirit believed to be the dislocated soul of a dead person. This soul seeks out a new home, and children are the easiest marks. Their souls are so pure and malleable, the dybbuk can possess and control them with ease. I was scared shitless. I’ve never come across such malevolence in my life. I sent a shadow messenger to have Mills bring my Aunts Mags, Bea and Reeka. I was at a loss for what to do. None of my spells worked, and it was so… so evil, so vile, I feared if we didn’t do something soon, it would devour the child’s soul and claim the body for itself.”

  Fascinated, Donovan spun into a sitting position, Indian style. Oliver did the same. Donovan knew of magic, but this was new to him.

  “What did you do?”

  “Once my aunts arrived they drew out a pentagram in salt. Mags and I used our telekinetic power to force the child-thing into the circle. His parents were just beside themselves. Bea did her best to calm them, but by the time we had gotten there, they were living in fear for their son’s life and for their own. Scared as they were, they welcomed our help.” The fear was evident in Oliver’s face as he told the story. “My Aunt Mags, ever the Keeper, brought a dybbuk box.”

  “What in the Deep Green is that?”

  “A dybbuk box is a prison of sorts. My aunt keeps an empty one on hand for emergencies. It is a box blessed by a rabbi, and it has the Shema Yisrael or Sh'ma Yisrael carved on the outside of it. The Shema Yisrael are the first two words of a section of the Torah and is the title of a prayer that serves as a centerpiece of the morning and evening Jewish prayer services. A holy seal, so to speak. Combining the powers of us four and my cousin Grace, we drove it from the boy and into the open box. I slammed the lid shut and slapped a cold iron lock onto it. The little boy was free and basically unharmed. I worry, though. I fear the little boy, because of the dybbuk, is tainted by darkness. I keep tabs on him for any sign of dark magic.”

  “Wow, that is…well, fucking incredible!” Donovan let out the breath he was holding.

  Oliver gave him a weary smile and then grimaced as he shifted on the bed. “Ouch.”

  Donovan was all over him, concerned. “What? What hurts? Where? Can I—”

  Oliver chuckled and slapped him on the arms. “It’s my asshole, Wolfie. I’ve got a tender bottom, as my Aunt Bea would say. I’m going to go sit in a hot tub.” His mate’s eyes drifted down to his tumescent cock. “I thought it was ample enough before, but holy hell, your meat is huge.”

  Donovan’s cheeks pinked. “I forgot to tell you that when I wolf out, I get bigger and so does my johnson.” He yelped when Oliver pinched his nipple.

  “Thanks a lot.” Oliver got out of bed and crossed to a door to the left of the bed. “Next time it’ll be better. Care to join me?” Tilting his hips, his mate’s ass plumped, and the shifter growled appreciatively, only to be out-growled by his stomach! Splaying a hand over his grumbling belly, he could only grin at Oliver.

  “Sorry.” He got up and took Oliver in his arms. “It would seem I’ve worked up quite an appetite.” He nibbled at Oliver’s neck, making him squeal before kissing him again. When they came up for air, his mate’s eyes were full of mischief.

  Oliver’s laugh was heartfelt and genuine. “Why don’t you go raid the fridge and bring us up some snacks. I’ll meet you in the bathtub.” He wiggled his brow at Donovan. “It fits two.”

  Snarling playfully, he smacked Oliver’s butt loudly and let the man go. Oliver disappeared into the bathroom as Donovan found his pajama bottoms. Donning them, he tied them tight and left Oliver’s chambers.

  Stealing away across the mezzanine, he found himself at the top of the grand staircase. Only the bong of the large, ornate grandfather clock in the main entry broke the complete silence of the house.

  Two bongs. Two o’clock in the morning. Damn, I’m not even tired.

  With a bounce in his step, he ambled down the stairs and made his way into the kitchen, not bothering to turn on the light. The large Viking model refrigerator filled one wall of the kitchen and had two large doors. He swung one open wide and poked his head in, peering around. Sniffing, he passed on some items that smelled sketchy, then snatched the container of fried chicken that had been left over from dinner, a wedge of cheese, and a covered bowl of fruit. Balancing them, he shut the refrigerator and then searched the pantry, coming out with a fresh baguette.

  Putting the baguette under his arm, he pivoted around and stopped dead. William Blackthorne sat facing him at the kitchen table. Donovan was stunned speechless. How? A soft green glow began to emanate from William, and the tang of ozone touched his nostrils.

  “So, you and my brother.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Dodge and weave.

  “Please, Donovan. Don’t insult my intelligence. I’m head of this house, and very little gets past me. I mean, you just walked into the room, and I was sitting here the whole time. People underestimate my power. I’m eldest and head witch of my branch of the family. I knew you were sniffing around my brother, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. Plus, that howl of yours rattled the rafters. I came running down the hall and nearly collided with Duncan. We were at Oliver’s door when we heard the moaning. We also heard Oliver scream you were fucking the cum out of him.” William spun the glass of water in front of him. Donovan opened his mouth and clapped it shut. “Lucky for you two, no one else heard. My only question for you is, is he your mate?”

  “Yes.” No sense lying.

  “Do you love him?”

  That question hit him hard. Did he love Oliver? He certainly craved his mate’s touch. When he wasn’t with him, it took all he had not to shift to full wolf and hunt him down. He liked the little witch. Oliver was funny, exasperating, and driven. The more time they spent together, the more he wanted to know about him. Did that mean he was falling in love with Oliver Blackthorne? Maybe.

  “I’m not getting any younger here.”

  “I--I’m not sure.” Stumbling over his own words, Donovan tried to convey his feelings and failed.

  “Tell me something. How do you feel about the idea of Oliver being in the arms of another man?”

  The jealous snarl erupted from him before he could stop it. William only nodded and smiled. He leaned forward, elbows on the table and asked.

  “What if a man threatened to hurt Oliver or even kill him?”

  “I’d fucking rip out the asshole’s throat, then rip his head off with my bare hands!” The words came from deep in his soul. His growl rumbled in the room. Without meaning to, he shifted. Claws, fangs and fur sprouted all over him. William only arched an eyebrow at him.

  “Yes, you love him.” William pushed out of his chair and deposited his glass in the sink. He turned and leaned against it. “Have you claimed him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he bond with you?”

  “Yes.” Donovan shifted back to human form. “Do you have a problem with me and your brother being a couple?” He had to know. Mating outside your branch of the Supernature was not common. Many frowned on it while others outright condemned it. The rub was how William felt. He was head of Oswald house, and his aunt was the Keeper. Stil
l, a bonding or mating superseded racial lines to most, but not all.

  “Please, Donovan. I bonded with a human. My Aunt Mags was against it, and many so-called friends and members of the Supernature turned their back on me and my family after our bonding. The fallout is still going on. Rush lost friends, and his father barely speaks to him. Some of my own cousins won’t let me bring Rush to their homes. Would I change a thing and not bond with a human and turn my back on my bondmate? Never! He is my world. The first thing I see when I open my eyes is his face, and it’s the last thing I see when I go to bed. And the Other be willing, his face will be the last I see when I draw my final breath. I sense him with me always. Words can’t describe the emotions we share…but I think you know what I’m talking about. You can feel him right now, can’t you?”

  Donovan set the food down on a counter and closed the distance between him and William. “It’s not like what I expected. I understand the mate-bond and the scent of my mate. How I can hear his heartbeat, the pounding of his blood in his veins? Shifters can sense their mates…but not like this. He’s with me now. In the back of my head. Not intrusive, only a steady presence. He told me we can talk to each other mentally.”

  “Telepathy via the bond.”

  “Yeah. I don’t have the crazy need to be right next to him because I feel him with me at all times. It’s confusing my wolf. It’s also comforting my wolf in a way I never expected.” Donovan rubbed his neck in frustration. “Am I in love with your brother? Maybe. Has he become the most important thing in my world? Definitely.”

  William smiled knowingly. “I feel the same about Rush. Well, Donovan, it’s late, and I can sense Rush is awake, wondering where I am. Have a good night.” William reached the door to the entryway and stopped. “Welcome to the family.” And with that, he left.

  Donovan rested his hands on his legs and took in a long breath. In less than four weeks his life had been turned completely upside down. When was he going to tell his brother? Would Dathan embrace his new mating? He doubted it. Dathan’s distrust of solids was only overshadowed by his distrust of witches.

  Donovan?

  Jumping, he dropped to a crouch, fangs and claws shifted back. Inhaling, he scented the air. No one was there. The voice ghosted across his mind again, startling him. It was Oliver, calling out to him. Rattled, he shook it off and sent out a reply.

  Is that you, Ollie?

  Yeah, I got worried. You’ve been gone a long time. The warmth of his concern washed over Donovan like spring rain and his eyes welled with unexpected emotion. Was this love? If it was, he would die protecting it.

  Sorry, got sidetracked by the goodies in the pantry. I’ll be right up. Do you have any champagne?

  Yeah, the pantry has a liquor fridge. Just grab what you want. His mate paused. Why do you want champagne?

  ‘Cause I want to pour it on that delicious body and lick it off! Donovan grinned as he projected the message to Oliver and heard his laughter echo in his head.

  Then get your mangy hide up here.

  Snickering, he gathered up the food, made a quick dash back into the pantry, grabbed the champagne, and headed back upstairs.

  They welcomed the dawn, limbs and souls intertwined.

  ***

  Reeka Oswald dusted the dirt from her fingers, satisfied with the work she had done planting deadly nightshade. The flowers were so pretty, and the medicinal properties were astounding. Since first discovered, man had cultivated it for its many uses. Belladonna, aka deadly nightshade, had been used in herbal medicine for centuries as a pain reliever, muscle relaxer, anti-inflammatory, and to treat menstrual problems, peptic ulcer disease, histaminic reactions and motion sickness.

  She kept several plants for such uses. Thanks to magical healing spells and draughts, few members of the Supernature had to go to human hospitals. The clans tended to take care of their own and to such end, plants like deadly nightshade were a staple. She supplied the supernatural hospital of Callendon’s Spear for the last twenty years. Before her, her great uncle Thaddeus Oswald had been their supplier. The second greenhouse was the primary location of the medicinal plants, and here all sorts grew. Deadly nightshade, oleander as a toxin for some magical tumors, cinchona trees containing quinine used for malaria, opium for pain relief, digitalis or foxglove for cardiac failure, and even aspirin made from the willow tree’s bark were staples in her greenhouse garden. She even grew mandragora, a magical plant, which was useful in reversing potions and spells.

  She focused her power and gave the plant a push. Her power over plants was a World power under Evocation, allowing her to enhance the plant’s growth with her abilities. The sprout shivered and elongated, growing over six inches. She pushed the other twenty plants, and they followed suit. She was about to leave but thought about it and chanted.

  “Pluviam revertemur, pluviam revertemur.” The air above her darkened with miniature storm clouds, and moments later a gentle rain fell. The spell would last an hour, saturating her plants. Leaving the greenhouse, she clicked the door shut and locked it, saying one last enchantment to seal the door tight and make it imperious to both physical and magical force.

  “Et dicetis haec stricta.”

  A green flare ignited around the lock on the handle then settled down, dissipating. Her uncle warned her to keep it locked. Children and humans were a careless lot.

  The stroll to the house was pleasant, not a chore at all. The warmth of summer was not brutal. Still, by the time she made it to the house, her breath was short, and she was dizzy. Damn! Dr. Azonia’s diagnosis was right. Heart failure. The digitalis she grew was for the hospital and for her own use.

  Congestive heart failure, more commonly known as heart failure, occured when the heart was unable to pump sufficiently to maintain blood flow to meet the needs of the body. Hers was caused by a childhood bout with viral myocarditis. In her younger days it hadn’t slowed her down. However, as she aged, the signs and symptoms had grown worse: shortness of breath, excessive tiredness, and leg swelling. All were making life more difficult. It even affected her powers, weakening her. Nothing magical could be done. The damage was too extensive. Her time in this world was finite.

  None of the family knew how bad it was. She hid her legs under skirts and sat as much as possible. With some effort she made it to the library and settled down into a high backed chair. She’d wait until she caught her breath before attempting the stairs, her worst enemy.

  She was just getting comfy when the door opened and Donovan walked in. She had to admit, the young man was beautiful. With his caramel skin, light eyes and a gorgeous form, it was no wonder her nephew was so enthralled with the handsome shifter.

  “Oh, I didn’t know you were in, Ms. Oswald. I was coming for a book William recommended.” The young man was nervous. Why on earth—Hecate! Magic shimmered around him. If she hadn’t been so tired her witch’s sense would have sensed it immediately. Young witches may not notice it, as it was a subtle change in the wolf, but her razor sharp senses saw it now. He had Oliver’s power signature emanating from him. That would mean…oh, this was going to fun!

  “You’re looking for the book: A History of InterClan Bonding by Dianne Forbes-Abergranvy. Top shelf, far left, the violet cover.”

  “Ummm…thanks.” He didn’t move, so she pointed her finger, and the book sailed off the shelf and floated down in front of him. Gingerly he took the book and smiled.

  “Thank you, Ms. Oswald.”

  “Call me Aunt Reeka or Reeka. Since you’re family now, I won’t stand on formalities.” She tittered when his cheeks flushed red. “Congratulations to you and my nephew. Hecate bless your bonding and mating.”

  Donovan laughed self-consciously. “Dang. Is it that obvious?”

  “Not to all, dear boy. The children are not as experienced as I. My witch’s sense is quite sharp. You have his magic about you, and no doubt he wears your scent now. My sisters will be able to tell the moment they see you.”

  “William knew.
”

  “I’m not surprised. He is more powerful than the others realize. If I may, are you comfortable with mating to a witch? It is uncommon and not always welcomed by some.”

  Emotions played across the shifter’s face. “I’m completely comfortable. He is my mate, my one and only granted to me by fate.” Stopping, he tucked the book under his arm. “I honestly hope my brother is happy for me, but in the end, a mating or a bonding is sacred.”

  “If he doesn’t approve, what could be the consequences?”

  Donovan grimaced. “He could cast me out of the pack. I’d be dead to my family, a rogue wolf, welcomed nowhere.”

  “That frightens you.” It wasn’t a question.

  Donovan nodded. “More than anything. A wolf without a pack is vulnerable. I--I can’t imagine not seeing my pack.” The distress emanating from him was visible. Lone wolf shifters tended to go feral without their packs. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”

  “You did because you needed to voice your concerns to a person that is not your mate. It would hurt Oliver, and you can’t stand doing anything to hurt him.”

  “You’re right. He means so much to me.”

  Breathing better, she shoved out of the chair and walked up to him. Halting, she rested a hand on his arms, his anguish-filled eyes boring deeply into hers.

  “Be comforted, Donovan Temple. No matter what happens, know this. You are now part of the Oswald family, the most powerful Wiccan family in the world. We can be your pack if needed.”

  He blinked, and she smiled at his wet lashes.

  “Thank you, Ms. Os--Reeka. I appreciate the sentiment, but it’s not the same.” She only nodded. She had done her best. The rest was for him and his pack to sort out. Hecate, please guide him,,she prayed as she set about climbing the stairs to her room. Her nephew deserved happiness, and so, it would seem, did this young shifter.