“You had no one to rely on but your own self,” Moira’s eyes met hers, their aqua depths swimming with understanding. “That don’t foster feelings of teamwork and shit like that. You had to fight harder to break the glass ceiling.”
They weren’t getting it; she had to try harder to make them see. There were no excuses for her actions, no forgiveness for her dark tendencies and indecent ways.
“I let my own power and magic seduce me. I read from the back of the book.” Shame flooded her.
“As dangerous as that was,” Tierra said. “You were trying to help.”
“Partly,” she confessed. “At first. But then I thought… I thought maybe we should take over the world. That maybe an apocalypse was due. That the devil was right, and not only should we fulfill the prophecy but overthrow her and take her place.”
Silence met her admission, and Aerin couldn’t lift her gaze above the striations of oak in the antique table.
“I was going to try to talk you all into it,” she forged ahead, certain that each word was a nail in her coffin and her sisters would be the ones hammering them home. “I thought, if we’re all forsaken by the Goddess anyway, why the hell not, you know? Why not embrace destiny instead of fighting it? It doesn’t seem to be working, anyway. That’s what I didn’t tell you. That’s why the Horsemen decided to kill me. They know. They can see my damage and my darkness, and they know that I’m…That I’m not worthy.”
The tears fell again and Aerin swiped at them with impatient fingers, awaiting her sisters’ reprimands.
Claire spoke first. “I have to say, I’ve had similar thoughts. We’re in a really bad position here, and maybe we’re not supposed to be fighting the prophecy, but giving into it.”
“No!” Tierra slapped a palm on the table. “You guys, fate is not decided for us, you don’t just give in to it. We make our own path, even if the woods are dark. Come on! We decide whether to end the world or to save it. And we decide together.” She thought for a second. “As long as it’s saving it, because that’s the decision I’ve decided we’re making.”
She was serious, but they all gave in to a little laugh. Classic Tierra. Eldest sister and Mother Bear. Especially now.
“Here’s what I think, for what it’s worth,” Moira cut in. “We are the elements. We are the seasons. We are the directions. Tierra and I, we’re earth and water. Feminine signs representing growth, healin’, life, light, and such. Claire and Aerin, ya’ll are the opposite of that, but maybe not in a bad way. This universe, it’s about balance. Fire and Air are masculine signs. Passionate and chaotic. Destructive and cleansing. The way I see it, how could our light exist without the ballast of your darkness? How could we make the right decisions without contemplating the wrong ones? And who says, just because Tierra and I often make the most compassionate choices, that it’s always the right one.”
Mutely, they all stared at her in wide-eyed surprise.
Moira just shrugged. “Maybe the correct answer lies in the middle.”
Aerin wanted to hug her, but if she moved her arms it would be a half-naked hug, and that would be weird. In her flippant, wise way, she’d validated not only Aerin, but them all.
And the rift that had been open between the sisters, both light and dark, became a little smaller.
“Yes, we should totally explore that.” Claire smiled at Moira. “But let’s get back to the part where Aerin finally took Julian’s V-card, he tells her he loves her again, and she teleports away… Because I thought my love life was fucking complicated.”
Aerin made a noise half laugh, half anguish. “I’ve…never said it before, the ‘L’ word, and before you guys, I’d never had it said to me, either. I don’t know what to do.”
“Do you love him?” Claire asked frankly, her artfully kohl-lined eyes glowing amber with curiosity.
Aerin closed her eyes, assaulted by fresh pain. “I don’t know. I don’t know how.”
“We’ll help you figure it out,” Moira offered kindly. “We’re all kinda in the same boat.”
Speaking of fate. What were the odds that the four witches and the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse would have connections like they did? Something to consider.
“We’re just glad you weren’t attacked,” Tierra added. “You know, in the way that doesn’t end in orgasms.”
Aerin cringed. Here she’d been crying about her relationship issues when they had bigger problems. Like deadly ones. “Well… I sort of was, but I think they’re dead now.” She worried about Sir Barriston. Hoped that he’d fought off her captors, or that at least the Horsemen had gotten to him in time.
“What?” her sisters screeched in union.
“Yeah…” She took a deep breath, wondering where to begin. Lucifer with Death’s powers? Witch Hunters? Reverend Blanding?
“The good news is that the Horsemen have called a temporary truce against us in exchange for our help in defeating Lucifer,” she said, doing her best to soften the blow.
“And the bad news?” Claire asked, her eyes flaring.
Aerin turned to Tierra. “We have to get Death out of Hell.”
Tierra’s eyes widened. “But… I don’t know how to do that. It sort of just… happened.”
“Well, if we don’t want the world to go, quite literally to hell, we’re going to have to figure it out.”
Chapter Eleven
"You got laid." In Nicholas Kingswood's sardonic baritone, the words conveyed more accusation than congratulations.
Julian ignored him, tossing the amulet down on the library desk behind which his conquesting brother held court like a tyrannical Caesar.
They were, after all, in a castle. Since their woodland bachelor retreat had rather been leveled by Moira's temper tsunami, they'd been forced to seek refuge elsewhere. Manresa Castle had provided just the right amount of familiar creature comforts as, through the ages, castles had been their particular residence of choice.
There was just something timeless about a stone fortress, especially now when everything was made of glass and steel and plaster.
Nick barely glanced down at the artifact before him, instead studying Julian with intent and perceptive eyes. "Finally danced the old Barnaby, eh? Ground the corn? Hauled the ashes? Took the bald-headed hermit to the alley? Broke your teacup? Danced the mattress jig? Licked the clicket—" Nick broke his tirade of archaic euphemisms when he finally took a good look at what Julian had thrown down in front of him. "Sweet baby antichrist, I haven't seen one of those since... let’s see... since the de Medici's, I believe. Or was it the Borgia’s? Didn't Da Vinci steal one from them to save a witch he liked once?"
"There was no clicket licking." Julian had snagged on one particular vexing and alternately alluring idea. "And how can you tell if I... had congress or not?"
Dru entered, dressed in his usual uniform of jeans and a black t-shirt, unceremoniously munching on a sandwich the size of his head. "You should always lick the clicket," he admonished, his adopted persona of sexual sage ruined by the mustard clinging to the corner of his mouth. "Lick it before you stick it," he said around a generous bite. "I'm pretty certain that was one of the original Ten Commandments."
"Yes, I think it was bumped off the tablets when the whole thou shalt not lick thy neighbor’s wife’s clicket became such a big fucking deal," Nick recalled.
"Don't be ridiculous," Julian muttered, wondering if one could strain an eye by rolling it too often. Though he pondered...what would Aerin have tasted like, that soft and supple flesh in which he'd buried himself again and again until...
"Though, it's been argued that those particular rules don't apply to us," Nick pointed out, ignoring him. "What with the 'Thou shalt not kill' thing being totally obsolete, as it's sort of our reason for existence."
"We're not being ridiculous," Dru said, flashing a wicked smile. "There are some rules worth following and others that aren't. But, I think the one about oral sex was extra important... Why do you think the bush was burning in the
first place? Know what I mean?"
Nick shrugged. "I thought the whole burning bush thing was some ancient sexually transmitted infection caused by you-know-who." He feigned a covert action behind a hand while pointing at Julian’s blushing face.
Pestilence lamented that even after thousands of years, his brothers could be so infuriatingly juvenile as he watched Dru and Nick bump knuckles. "You are both going to burn in hell for blasphemy," he groused.
"At least we'll be together," Dru remarked, and the room's atmosphere immediately turned sober at the reminder that the fourth Horseman in their ranks was currently doing just that.
Burning in hell... or whatever Death did down there. They’d done all they could to get him out, now they had to rely on some pretty unreliable witches.
"The amulet," Julian reminded them, trying not to consider just how Nick had figured out just what he and Aerin had done. "Do you think it's significant?"
"Oh, it's significant as fuck." Nick picked it up and conducted a thorough examination. "There are only four of these in the known world," he marveled, allowing the Baltic amber to shimmer in the rays of the afternoon sun, illuminating the effervescent orbs encased within. "Created by an evil Macedonian Necromancer some handful of millennia ago, I believe. Darkest of the dark magic."
"Air, encased in amber from the original tree of life." Julian reclaimed the amulet from Nick's clutches. "The only thing that could render Aerin de Moray powerless. Curious, that a few upstart Americans could get their hands on a relic such as this." Something they should most definitely investigate.
"It is fortunate that we now have it," War inserted.
"Would that we had the other three amulets." Nick's eyes took on the dreamy expression of a tween girl contemplating the capture of Justin Beiber. "They would be at our complete mercy."
Julian's forehead wrinkled. "They only work against the witches."
"I know," Nick countered. "I was referring to the witches."
"You're terrible." Shaking his head, Julian pocketed the amulet, not comfortable with it in anyone’s hands but his own.
"Only on the days I'm not feeling ambitious."
"So..." Dru cut in, swiping at a place on an ancient tome where he'd dripped some pastrami and cheese grease. "You and Aerin just finish hate-fucking or what?"
An exasperated noise echoed through the library before Julian realized that his own throat had produced the sound. "That wasn't what—How the devil do you two know what transpired? You didn't—you weren't—watching, were you?"
Dru shrugged. "We were enjoying the shit out of watching Barriston fence with those witch hunters."
"Then how?"
Nick stood. "Relax, Jules, we just know. You live with a guy for a few thousand years, and you get to know him pretty well."
Dru made a gesture of agreement. "We haven't seen someone so pent up since Alexander the Great had that bout with erectile dysfunction.”
“Those were the days,” Nick chuckled. “But we totally get it. It’s either have her against the wall or explode. Welcome to being a dude.”
Troubled, Julian caressed the amber amulet in his pocket with his thumb, hard and smooth as any gem stone, and a hundred times more valuable. “It’s not how I imagined things would progress between us,” he confessed.
“Join the fucking club.” Dru turned the page, not looking up from his book. “None of us were ready. We always knew this time would come. The end of days. We knew that we’d have to fulfill the prophecy. But I sort of thought we’d be helping some old hags put down a populace of fucktards who’d already destroyed their planet. That we’d be helping the Goddess sweep the board clean and create something new. Something better.”
Nick made a bitter sound. “Instead we’re caught in-between Satan and her forces of darkness, and some unpredictable beauties with a fucked-up destiny.”
They each reflected for a silent moment, perusing the torn-apart library full of what was left of the ancient texts they’d salvaged from the ruins of their cabin, and what else they’d imported from Julian’s Chateaux. They’d been immersed in frenetic and fruitless study for days, trying to figure out how to get their captured brother back.
A pall of hopelessness threaded its way through the room weaving a heavy blanket of doubt and darkness. Through their bond, each man could sense the maelstrom of bleak questions and bleaker decisions that needed to be made.
Were they fools to challenge fate? Were they wasting precious time and energy fighting a battle that could not be won? Should they have allowed the Apocalypse to commence some thousand years ago? Should they allow it now?
“It can’t be now.” Julian slammed his fist against the wall with an uncharacteristic show of temper. Shards of stone peppered the ground as the entire castle seemed to shake with the force of his frustration. “Humanity has yet to make the final decision. They think that we are the destroyers of worlds, but that just isn’t so. We’re little better than the clean-up crew. Cosmic janitors, if you will. For a time, it certainly seemed that humans would bring about their own demise, but look at all the pinpoints of hope in their dark tapestry. They’re starting to revive the feminine divine, to return the ideal of equality for all man and womankind to this earth. The majority of them want to combine ideals, to find common ground, to facilitate peace and prosperity. They are rising up against those in power who would continue to damage the earth upon which they live. They are beginning to revolt against oppression. Against destruction. Against evil…but they need more time. Time I feel we must fight to give them.”
“How do we fight destiny?” Dru stood, his lunch half-forgotten.
“We go to the witches,” Julian said. “We convince them that we’re on their side.”
“As long as their view aligns with ours,” Nick pointed out. “As far as I know, they’re split down the middle.”
“I believe we can find common ground,” Julian insisted. “We can all concur that we can’t stomach the idea of Lucifer winning the day.”
“Fucking A,” Dru agreed, before his dark eyes turned pensive. “The question is, how do we approach them? They’re still pretty convinced we’re out for blood. Specifically, their blood.”
They stared at each other, their minds working furiously.
“We could just…go over there,” Dru suggested, his face screwed into a grimace.
Nick let out a caustic snort. “Don’t be an idiot, they’d zap us with that fucking horsemen repellant the second we showed our faces.”
“Well I didn’t say we’d go in unarmed.”
“Yeah, like that inspires confidence.” Nick stood and made his way around the desk. “Hey ladies, we come in peace, don’t mind all these weapons, we just don’t trust you.”
“You have a better idea?” Dru held out his hands in a gesture of encompassing defiance. Or of crucifixion, one couldn’t be completely certain.
Julian pulled out his cellular phone. “Perhaps we could…phone them or maybe send them one of those electronic correspondences people are so fond of? Contact them through social media or the like.”
Neither of his brethren would meet his gaze.
“Tried that,” Dru muttered.
“Me too.” Nick regarded his phone on the desk as though it were the enemy. “I sent like… a million texts.”
Pensive silence descended again.
“There’s only one thing left to consider,” Dru finally said.
“What’s that?” Nick asked.
“WWDD…” Moving to the window, Dru stared out the casement at the specter of a riderless pale horse. “What Would Death Do?”
“We can’t leave his perspective out,” Nick agreed. “He’d break down the fucking doors and force them to listen.”
Julian winced. “Indeed, and look where those tactics landed him.”
Dru hissed in a breath through is teeth. “Good point… I say we give the house a wide berth. Meet on neutral ground.”
“Agreed.” Nick crossed his arms over h
is chest. “Let’s not give them a chance to…”
Julian blinked as his vision blurred. The castle seemed to wrinkle beneath him, and a strange vibration started in his bones and rippled outward, as though the very space between his molecules was being ripped apart.
He reached out to steady himself, and gripped nothing. Opened his mouth to protest, and found he didn’t have one.
Just as panic began to spear him, the sensation vanished, and he found himself in a very different place, indeed.
A bedroom. Done in white and black arabesque with wispy curtains and a bed that might as well have been a cloud.
“Excellent,” Aerin purred, moving to stand from where she’d been cross-legged in a circle of candles. “It worked.”
Dumbfounded, Julian only stared for a few breathless moments, trying to orient himself.
“Dru was right,” she said as she walked toward him, clad in a creamy, translucent robe. “You and I have some shit to work out.”
Chapter Twelve
Julian had never been driven to his knees. Not by any personage either God or man.
And plenty had tried.
However, the wave of reverential lust at the sight of Aerin’s breasts thrusting proudly against the gauze of her gown—if such a garment deserved the distinction—threatened to buckle his legs from beneath him.
“You…summoned me here.” The blatancy of his bewildered statement was cringe worthy, but he focused most of his attentions on not retreating from her seductive advance.
“I did,” she admitted coyly, her eyes glowing quicksilver in the lantern light. “Like I said, we need to talk.”
“Aerin,” he warned hoarsely, putting his hand up against her advancement. “We both know that…that…garment isn’t at all crafted for the conduction of conversation.”
“This old thing?” she purred. Somehow, his outstretched hand was captured by hers, and then placed on her body, curving around one perfect breast. “Well, if you don’t want to talk, there are other ways to occupy your mouth.”
Which Witch is Wild? (The Witches of Port Townsend Book 3) Page 5