Which Witch is Wild? (The Witches of Port Townsend Book 3)

by Kerrigan Byrne

  "What? You're always up for a lecture," Claire sneered, her mood smoldering.

  "Is that how you see me?"

  Moira shrugged. "You're pretty good at it. And to be truthful, you're usually on."

  "Claire, this is something you have to decide for yourself," Tierra said. "You love Tommy, so you have to choose if you can have a life with him the way he is, or love him enough to let him go."

  "I killed him once. I can't do that again. You're asking the impossible."

  "I'm not asking you do to anything." She placed her hand over Claire's. "I understand how much you care for him. Maybe search your heart and figure out how much is guilt and how much is real love."

  "I don't give a fig either way," Justine said. "I just don't want pieces of flesh clogging my drain. Now, who is going to go up there and take care of it? I need to shower. I have a meeting with the insurance agent about the claim on Ambrosia's. Remember your business, Tierra? The one that blew up?"

  Like she could forget, since she'd been set afire at the stake by the Devil herself right before the explosion. "Aunt Justine, use my shower. It's a zombie free zone. And thank you for meeting with the insurance adjuster. I really appreciate it."

  "Well," Justine harrumphed, placated. "Fine, I guess that will have to do for now." She pointed to Claire. "But you need to be responsible and clean up your mess." She stomped out of the room.

  "Old bat," Moira murmured under her breath, but her normal fervor wasn't in the insult. Either she agreed with Aunt Justine or they'd come to some sort of understanding while they'd both been held prisoner by Conquest.

  Claire tightened her hold on the pen she held. "Let's get back to work. Tierra, dreams. Tell us about them."

  Where did she start? "They're really graphic, disturbing. Killian is there."

  "See, I told you they were about him," Moira exclaimed.

  "But they aren't sex dreams. He's being tortured in Hell. He's pinned to a stone wall with copper rods and . . . and I'm there doing the . . . torturing." It sickened her, the things her subconscious had dreamed, and his screams tormented her throughout the day.

  "What?" Both Claire and Moira said together.

  "You're the last person who would torture someone," Moira added.

  "It's me, but not me. She gets off on hurting him. I can't make sense of it. I've consulted dream dictionaries and interpretations. None of them fit."

  "Walk us through the dream," Claire said, busily writing down her every word.

  "Killian's been offered a deal. If he gives up his first born, he's free to go, but he refuses. No matter what I—she—does to him, he won't take the deal."

  "How is he being tortured?"

  "How isn't he? It's horrific. And I'm the one who is doing all those unspeakable things to him. Lightning shoots from my fingertips, and water pours down on him. He's electrocuted over and over again. His screams . . ."

  "Okay, stop." Moira swallowed, clearly affected by the picture Tierra painted. "We get a clear enough idea. Don't we, Claire?" She angled her head in Tierra's direction, and Claire studied Tierra.

  Tierra knew her color had leached out of her face as she felt light-headed and dizzy.

  "Maybe we should take a break," Claire suggested.

  "It's so real." Tierra looked at Claire and then to Moira. "You don't think it’s a dream, do you? You believe that what's happening to him is in real time. Oh, good Goddess," her words ended on a whisper.

  "This is good—" Claire started.

  "Good! How can it be good knowing how much he's suffering for the sake of our child?"

  "Tierra, focus. If you're seeing these images, that means you and Bane are connected through your bond."

  "And since you're connected, you might just be the key to getting him a one-way ticket outta Hell," Moira finished.

  ****

  Tierra's heart hurt as she entered the attic. Could Moira and Claire be right and those horrific dreams—the ones that woke her in full body sweats—be real? Could her senseless action have resulted in the punishment she envisioned? She hadn't meant for anything like that to happen. She'd just wanted Killian as far away from her as she could get him.

  Well, she sure as hell had accomplished that.

  She'd been furious with Killian for taking her choices away, for tricking her into doing what he wanted without consulting her.

  Could that be why she'd dreamt of herself as his torturer?

  It made her sick. While her breakfast was staying put, everything else inside her was in turmoil. She had to do something. But what? Where was the answer?

  Tierra regarded the attic space with its rough plank floors and walls. Trunks lined one area, and shelves stacked with boxes reached to the angled ceiling on the other. Windows flanked both ends of the room, letting in the gloomy, cloud-covered skies promising rain. What she wouldn't give to see the sun shining instead of the oppressive veil outside threatening to completely close her in.

  Moira and Claire were searching through everything they could on magical bonds, and she needed to do her part. While hunting in the attic for clues was probably a waste of time, she didn't have any other ideas, and she needed to physically be doing something. Not researching and speculating. Neither of which were her strong suits.

  She needed something solid. Family was her strength. Whether living or dead, she always found solace in family.

  She'd seen journals packed away in one of the trunks. But that had been ages ago when she was a teenager. At the time, she'd been looking for answers on why she'd felt part of her was missing. She'd had no idea that three parts of her had been stolen at birth until she performed the spell that called her sisters home.

  The spell she'd found here in their grandmother's personal grimoire.

  If her ancestry had all been witches clear back to Malcolm de Moray, there had to be more family grimoires or journals that could offer up something helpful.

  She wished Aerin would return.

  On the other hand, going through the many trunks and boxes would be useful, even though Aerin hated it up here. Mainly because they were making her wear old clothes that Tierra treasured, and Aerin considered junk. In Tierra's opinion, Aerin had never looked better. She'd lost that don't-touch-me veneer with the softer, more relaxed style. Now that they'd made a temporary truce with the Horsemen, and the Horsemen weren't trying to kill Aerin, she'd be able to return to her over-priced designer wardrobe.

  Tierra bypassed the area that held the clothes. She'd gone through them enough times to know she wouldn't find the books there. Instead, she focused on the north corner.

  Securing her hair on top of her head with a pencil, she got to work.

  Hours passed and still no luck. She sat back on her haunches and wiped sweat from her brow. There had to be an easier way. She was a witch, damn it, and this called for a little help. Adapting a mini version of the spell that she'd used to call her sisters home, she began to chant.

  "Keeper of what is lost, hear me now,

  reveal to me what I seek,

  What is now hidden, return to me,

  by earth, air, fire, and sea . . ."

  She repeated the spell four times and then waited. It didn't take long. She jumped to her feet when the steel shelf unit in front of her slid aside as easily as if it were on castors. A ray of sunlight poured into the room, highlighting the wall behind.

  Okay, that was weird. But then weird was becoming the new norm.

  Unfortunately, her spell revealed nothing but a blank wall. Her shoulders slumped in defeat, but she quickly straightened when the wood began to pulse. Cautiously, she ventured forward. Edges of the wall beamed with light, forming a door and then a crystal knob.

  Her hand shaking, she reached for the doorknob. It twisted freely, and the door swung open on silent hinges to expose a room dusty with neglect.

  A wooden altar stood in the middle of the area. Across from it was a stained-glass window that depicted the Standing Stones on Siren's Cry. How had she nev
er noticed this window from the outside of the house before?

  How long had this room been hidden and why?

  "Tierra!" Moira hollered, running up the stairs. "Grim just lit up like a freakin' light bulb." She rushed into the attic with Claire on her heels, the Grimoire in her hands glowing as if fire burned within its pages.

  Moira's mouth fell open, when she spotted Tierra inside the secret room. "Holy shit."

  "What is this?" Claire asked. "How?"

  "I wasn't having any luck with trunks so I did a simple seeking spell. I think my spell broke someone else's."

  "You had no idea this was here?" Claire asked.

  Tierra shook her head. "I don't think anyone did, at least not for a very long time." She wiped her finger in the dust on a shelf and held it up to show.

  Moira strolled toward the altar and set the heavy Grimoire on top. The pages hummed with a moan that sounded like pleasure. Moira jumped back. "Well, slap my ass and call me a weasel. Would you look at that? It's like he belongs here."

  "You think the Grimoire is a he?" Claire entered and wandered the space with its floor to ceiling bookcases.

  "Damn skippy. He's a smarty pants, ain't he? And right now holding out on us."

  "I know a lot of women like that, too. Our own sister who is suspiciously absent is one." Claire picked up a mason jar filled with something suspended inside the liquid. "What do you think is in this?"

  "Please don't let it be eye of newt." Moira shuddered.

  Tierra walked over to see what Claire held. She took the jar from her and blew dust from the top and unscrewed the lid. She sniffed the contents. "Witch hazel with stalks of aloe, I'm guessing."

  "Thank the Goddess," Moira said. "Any idea who this room belongs, too?"

  A book suddenly flung itself off the shelf landing on the floor in the middle of them.

  They all jumped. Tierra's hand went protectively to her belly, while Moira covered her heart. Claire remained composed.

  "I'm thinking that's a clue." Claire reached down and picked up the book. Tierra and Moira huddled around her as she opened it.

  The book was leather bound with a complicated Celtic knot and the four elements, represented like a compass, embossed on the front. Claire opened it, and the scent of lilacs filled the room. Scrawled on the inside flap in flowing cursive was a note.

  If you are reading this, welcome blood of mine. I don't know if you are my children or grandchildren, maybe even later generations. If the sealed door revealed itself to you, you are welcome in my sanctuary.

  "Sanctuary?" Moira said. "Come on, read more."

  "I'm getting to it, if you'd stop interrupting," Claire said.

  First, don't let anyone know of this place, as they will want to use the items and information I've gathered for their own gain. Replace the wards with your own spell and keep it hidden.

  Moira looked around. "Where's Aunt Justine?"

  "You saw her leave an hour ago," Claire said. "Now hush."

  Moira grumbled something Tierra didn't catch, and if Claire did, she chose to ignore it.

  This room and its contents have been my life's work, preparation for the coming Apocalypse. I pray that has been thwarted before now. If it hasn't, and my daughters are reading this, I'm sorry to leave you such a weighty birthright. That was not my intent. My utmost desire is for my four elemental daughters to live healthy, happy, and prosperous lives.

  "Is this . . . our mother's journal?" Tierra asked. "It's her sanctuary?"

  "Let me get to it," Claire said.

  I knew you would be tested, and for that I apologize. I hope that I am with you to help guide you along your way. If I'm not—as I fear will be the case—the following is an account of how you came to be, and from whom. Your grand legacy.

  Forever my love,

  Mirelle de Moray

  Silence followed, and they all held their breath.

  Moira was the first to speak. "No, I don't want to read it. Put it away."

  "We have to, Moira," Claire said.

  "I've had enough of dead relatives and tragic tales."

  "Moira, you can't be serious?" Tierra asked.

  "You bet your pregnant patootie, I am. It's bad enough knowin' our mother died birthin' us." Moira backed up and pointed to the book Claire held. "Now I gotta be told that our daddy's dead, too."

  "You don't know that," Claire said.

  "Yes, she does," Tierra said. "We all do."

  "It's like we're living in one of them Disney movies," Moira continued when Tierra and Claire looked at her funny. "You know, when the kid is orphaned at birth and then has to go on some sort of epic quest and finds their true love, and all that sappy happy crap. Well, last time I checked, none of those singin' orphans was 'sposed to cause the end of the world. There ain't no happy endin' for us."

  "We don't know that," Tierra said.

  "Are you forgetting the prophesy? Four elemental witches from one woman, or line, however you want to interpret it. It's a crap shoot that I never signed up for."

  "Moira," Tierra began, moving toward her.

  She backed up farther. "Don't you pull that motherin' thing on me. I hate this. All of it. Why can't we just be normal?"

  "All right, that's enough," Claire said. "I'm not going to coddle you like this one." She pointed to Tierra. "Buck up, Moira. It’s the hand we were dealt whether we like it or not. Avoiding what our mother has to tell us won't change that. Knowledge is power and we need all the fucking power we can get right now. So shelve those insecurities. We don't have time for that bullshit."

  "Claire," Tierra chastised, "she's hurting."

  "We're all hurting, and the hurt won't stop until we start acting like warriors instead of little girls. I thought they grew women stronger down in the south. There's got to be more to you than cooking up a mean fried chicken."

  Moira straightened her shoulders. "There's a hell of a lot more to me that that, and right now all of it is about sick and tired of piecin' together my past from attic trunks and magic books."

  "Shouldn't we wait for Aerin?" Tierra asked, hoping that would give Moira a little time to come to terms with the situation. Not to mention, she wouldn't mind a little time herself.

  "Probably, but we aren't going to. She should be here and she isn't. When I called her earlier, she said she was busy and hung up on me. I'm not waiting on her a minute more. I need to know what shit we were born into and why." Claire looked at Moira. "Are you going to stash the tears and grow a pair or what?"

  "Bitch," Moira said without heat.

  "Damn, right. And you'll thank me for it someday," Claire said.

  "Well, that's not today."

  "Are you in or out?"

  "In," Moira mumbled, shifting her flip-flops in the dust on the floor.

  "Say it like you mean it, or there's the door."

  "Fine. Yes, I'm in." Moira's color was back and with it her resolve. "Goddess damnit, but you're a tough witch."

  "Fucking A." Claire moved to the stained-glass window. A padded seat was built-in and covered in a swirling floral pattern of turquoise and red. "I suggest we get comfortable."

  "Could we dust first?" Tierra asked, wanting a little time to fortify herself for what would be unveiled within the pages of their mother's journal.

  "A little dust never hurt anybody." Claire sat and dust poofed around her. The following sneeze belied her words.

  "Bless you," Tierra and Moira said together.

  "Come on," Claire said. "There's enough room for the two of you on this seat."

  With no other way to stall, they walked over and sat.

  Claire turned the page and started to read. And what she read had them rethinking everything they believed or could possibly have dreamt.

  Chapter Three

  Jinx raced into the room, letting out a screeching yowl. Doctor Lector wasn't far behind with his high-pitched, ear-piercing cry. He flew around the room, dive-bombing the three of them who sat on the window seat, dealing with the info
rmation they'd just read in their mother's journal.

  "What the fuck is wrong with them?" Claire asked, ducking to avoid Doctor Lector's latest swoop.

  "Someone's trying to break through the wards." Tierra scooped up an agitated Jinx who clawed higher and perched like a gargoyle on her shoulder.

  "Can't we get some friggin' peace?" Moira slid her feet into her flip-flops. "I've a mind to scalp whoever's out there."

  "Moira, stay here and guard the room." Claire went into fighting mode. "And keep that crazy bat in here." She swatted at and missed Doctor Lector as he came for her again.

  "Just because I'm a sappy wreck doesn't mean I'm staying in the house. The sister with the bun in the oven should be the one to stay."

  "Hey!" Tierra objected. "If anyone is staying behind it should be Claire. Both Moira and I have our wands. You stay."

  Moira gave Claire a satisfied smirk. "And find a spell to hide the room while you're at it, sis."

  "Fine." Claire smoldered.

  "Kai will fetch you if you're needed," Tierra added, trying to simmer Claire down.

  Jinx continued her grating meow while keeping her balance on Tierra's shoulder, as she and Moira flew down the many flights of stairs. Cheeto and Kai were outside on the front porch, waiting impatiently. Kai's tail was a bottle brush in blazing colors, and Cheeto snorted smoke from his nostrils, his little hoofs prancing in place. His compact, pink body trembled as though any minute he'd belch a fire ball.

  None of the familiars knew the intruder. So it wasn't the Horsemen. Since she and her sisters had made their temporary truce with the guys, the wards had been lowered for the Horsemen.

  So this threat was something new.

  Moira was right. Couldn't they get a moment of peace?

  An incredibly tall man with a mean whipcord leanness stood at the gate, feet spread far apart, ready for any threat. He wore a long duster jacket, heavy boots laced to his knees over buckskin leather pants, and an old top hat wrapped in tapestry with clockwork gears pinned to the brim along with a blue-black raven's feather. He could have stepped out of cosplay meet-up or maybe ComicCon. He looked like the perfect geek with his steampunk getup. He had a salt and pepper handle bar mustache over a grim set mouth, and his eyes were covered with blue, rounded shades even though the sun was hidden behind boiling purple clouds.