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

by Kerrigan Byrne

  Claire released a slow breath, trying to keep her stomach under control. If she tossed her cookies in front of the Devil, she’d never live it down.

  She’d once feared this woman, had also once thought of her as a friend until she’d learned better. It wasn’t that she didn’t have a healthy respect for Satan, but Claire had found her own set of powers. Maybe she hadn’t yet honed them like Lucy had hers, but they weren’t laughable, and she and her sisters had grown stronger every day. “If you’ve come to kill me, get in line. There’s a bunch of crazed motherfuckers congregating outside that get a go at me first.”

  “I admire you, Claire.” Her smile grew wider. “Your courage and grace. You and I have a lot in common.”

  “Like what? Our beauty?” Claire said with a gasp as her control slipped.

  Lucy snorted. “I wouldn’t go quite that far.”

  And that was the end of Claire’s patience. “Look, say or do what you need to, and get the hell out. I need to formulate some sort of retaliation before I let these idiots take my life.” If it wouldn’t leave her sisters at a greater risk, she might go along with the show just to end the torture for everyone. But they needed her, and she needed them.

  Lucy waved away Claire’s worries with a flick of her wrist. “Don’t worry about them. They believe you’re the earth witch, and they intend to burn you at the stake.”

  A sarcastic laugh escaped Claire’s lips. Wouldn’t they be surprised when they tried to burn her? If she could escape the influence of whatever damned thing they’d placed about her neck, this might actually work in her favor. It gave her a fighting chance to say the least. If they put her anywhere near flames and she found a way to access her powers, they’d all be toast.

  Like literally toast. Black, burned, disgusting toast.

  Lucy inched closer, studying Claire and then her bonds. “Oh, how they love those amulets. I know that neither of us cares much for the blithering idiots, but you have to give them credit for figuring out that much. When they first came to Port Townsend, I labeled them all Neanderthals. They’ve come up a bit in my estimation.”

  “If they’re such Neanderthals, then you shouldn’t have a problem removing whatever they’ve tied around my neck.” Maybe if she played on Lucy’s ego, she’d help her.

  Lucy scrunched up her features. “Eww…no one wants to touch that.”

  “Are you serious?” Claire ground out the words.

  “Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “I may be inclined to help, but you must hear me out first.”

  Well, she’d be damned. Lucy asking instead of demanding. “Speak it.”

  Lucy released a dramatic sigh. “I know we’ve had our differences, Claire.”

  She snorted. “You’ve tried and failed to kill my family.”

  Satan tucked a bedraggled curl behind her ear. “If you could listen for a moment and try to see things from my point of view. Honestly, I have nothing against you and your sisters personally. Well, except that bitch Aerin. But the rest of you are just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s what you represent that behooves me to take the action I must in order to save the world.”

  “I thought you wanted to end the world.” Wasn’t that why she’d tried to take over Aerin’s body? Well, that and to sleep with Julian?

  Lucy scoffed. “Why would I want that? I like things the way they are. People worship me. If you ladies succeed and bring about the Apocalypse, what will become of me?”

  The pounding in Claire’s head grew stronger as she tried to make sense of Lucy’s motivations. “Stop. Just stop. You’re talking in circles, and I can’t make sense of it. There’s a reason you’re here. Say it.”

  Lucy blinked several times as though taken aback, her fake lashes fluttering against her cheekbones. Then the dumb blonde routine fizzled, and Claire was left with the ruthless demon spirit she recognized beneath Lucy’s once-beautiful exterior.

  “You prefer that I speak to you woman-to-woman? Fine. Here are the facts. Infantile idiots that you are, you’ve managed to break six of the seven Seals. That leaves one, only one, between what we have now and complete, utter devastation. Are you all prepared to undertake that ominous, colossal event?” If her words didn’t cut to the heart, her furious gaze did.

  “No.” Claire swallowed and wished she could stand to face her foe. “That’s not our intention at all.”

  “Then what the hell having you been doing? You four are imbeciles who need to be stopped before this goes any further. You say you love your family, love the Antichrist that Tierra carries, which, I’ll have you know, is not my spawn. The next person who speaks those words will know my fury.” She cleared her throat as though to reset the conversation. “Claire, I would like you to consider ending your life before you all end the rest of us. I know it’s a great sacrifice on your part, but you mustn’t be selfish. Not in these dark times.”

  Claire opened her mouth but couldn’t speak. She’d had similar thoughts in the past, but…selfish?

  “Don’t answer me now. Take some time to think about it.” Lucy glanced over her shoulder as male voices grew nearer, and she thrust a folded piece of paper into Claire’s bound hands. “Take this. I call it my cyanide spell. It’s come in handy a time or two.”

  “Obviously you didn’t use it on yourself,” Claire pointed out.

  “As if.” She snorted. “I’m not the one causing problems.” She looked again in the direction of the voices. “Think about my suggestion for a day or two, and then we’ll talk.”

  Lucy took two steps away and then hurried back to Claire. She pulled a bejeweled dagger from between her breasts and slit the leather cord, allowing the stone to fall into a cloth pouch she carried. She replaced the cursed talisman with a similar looking stone. “There.”

  “Can I have the knife?” Claire asked, now able to inhale a complete breath again.

  Lucy hesitated for a moment. “No,” she said with a decidedly flippant tone. Before Claire could beg, Lucy slipped quietly into the darkness a few seconds before the group of witch hunters appeared.

  Eight men dressed in Puritan-period clothing circled the edges of the room, leaving her in the middle. The white collars of the ominous apparitions glowed against their black coats, reminding Claire of the distinction between heaven and hell, good and evil. The men all carried similar battery-powered lanterns and glared at her as though she were Satan.

  The world had gone completely mad. Was that also part of the end of days? Maybe mankind had gone too far in destroying the world and each other, and it was time to be done with it.

  The asshole who addressed her earlier stepped closer. “Tierra de Moray, you are hereby charged with practicing witchcraft and sorcery. The fathers would ask what you have to say in your defense.”

  Claire paused to glance at each one of them, memorizing their features, promising with a look that they’d all die that night. She returned her glare to the first asshole. “Excuse you, sir, but fuck you.”

  Gasps from several of the men echoed through the room, but asshole’s smile grew bigger. “If convicted, you will be punished by death.”

  “Well, in that case…fuck you.”

  Another man with a long gray beard moved forward. “Is that your final answer?”

  She paused for a long, breathless moment. “Fuck…you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Claire stumbled through the maze of cement tunnels and rooms as the leader of the witch hunters jerked hard on the long chain attached to her shackled wrists. The rest of the men followed behind her, their excitement echoing off the walls.

  They had captured a witch, and they intended to watch her burn.

  Claire played along, acting feeble and tossing hateful barbs like they were grenades. They only laughed harder.

  The moment she stepped from the cement battery into the crisp Port Townsend night, her power growled restlessly as fear slithered over her. More than a hundred had gathered to watch her execution, many more than she originally expec
ted. The second one of them lit a match, she would gain control, but her hands still remained shackled, and anyone could throw a knife in her direction and take her out before she could retaliate.

  She narrowed her gaze and stared at them as they hurled insults at her.

  “Evil witch.”

  “Satan”

  “Burn for what you’ve done.”

  Such idiots. She’d done nothing but love and protect her family. Exactly the same as they would have done for theirs. Just because she was different didn’t make her bad.

  Something hard hit her in the neck, and she swung around as a small rock tumbled to the ground. She turned an angry gaze toward the crowd, and they stepped back as though fearful she would reach them.

  Asshole jerked her to the center of their gathering area and into the circular cement pit they used for fires the previous nights. Ashes scattered about her feet, cold and void of life, leaving her with an ominous chill. He attached the chain to another stake that had been bolted into the ground and moved away.

  Voices from the crowd grew to a whispered frenzy as the witch hunters approached her, each with an armful of lumber. They dumped their loads unceremoniously at her feet, some of the pieces striking her legs.

  A shiver of fear over what was to come rippled through her. She worshipped fire. Trusted it immensely. She used it as a tool or weapon more times than she could count. But she’d never actually stepped into a raging bonfire, and that’s exactly what they intended to make.

  When the logs were piled as high as her knees, a hush fell over the crowd as a few of the men tucked dried leaves and twigs between the pieces of wood.

  “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.” Asshole’s voice rang through the quiet night.

  A moment later, the hoard of people began to chant the same words over and over. “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.”

  Waves of hatred from the crowd washed over her, and she wondered how they could despise her so much when they didn’t know her.

  A short, stocky witch hunter with raven black hair approached the leader and opened a box. Asshole removed a long match and held it up for everyone to see. Cheers and encouragement echoed through the crowd.

  “Stop!” Claire shrieked before he could strike the match.

  A malevolent smile twisted his lips. “Do you wish to beg for mercy?”

  Goddess, she hated him. “I wish to give you one last chance,” she said loud enough for everyone to hear. “If you value your life and what’s good and right with this world, you’ll stop this madness. Leave. Go home to your families.”

  “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to life. Thou shalt…” Their chanting began again, growing louder and louder with each round.

  Dammit.

  Though the sounds of the mass had reached a zealous pitch, she swore she could hear the scraping of the match against cement. A second later, the sweet scent of sulfur filled her nostrils. Jolts of electricity sparked inside her as the leader touched the long match to the kindling. Voices dropped to whispers as leaves and then twigs caught the flame and crackled.

  “Your sisters won’t be long behind you.” Asshole stepped back as flames licked greedily at the dried wood.

  She froze for a long, fearful moment, and then loving acceptance and exhilarating power leapt from the flames to encircle her. Her legs threatened to buckle, but she gratefully accepted the gift. Tendrils of smoke curled into the air, and she filled her lungs.

  She had nothing to fear. Fire would not harm her. She and the flames were one elemental force bonded forever.

  Claire smiled at the group of witch hunters who observed her with smug expressions. At first, they continued to watch, unaffected by her grin, but then one by one, they slowly lost their confidence. She held her shackled hands to the flames until the heat softened the metal about her wrists and she was able to slip free of the restraints.

  With a burst of energy, she stood. Flames flew outward from the tips of her fingers, encompassing her with a mighty roar. Her whole body burned with staggering, powerful fire, and she fought to control the angry beast.

  This was much more magic than she’d ever experienced. Far too much. She wasn’t ready.

  “Fear not, fire witch. The flames you see are you.” The face of a beautiful woman flickered in the flames.

  Claire blinked furiously, wondering if she had actually died in the fire. “Who are you?”

  A calm smile crossed her lips. “My kin on this earth called me Kenna. I was sister to Malcolm de Moray. You and I are of one, and my blood flows through you now. Do you sense it?”

  Fiery energy pushed Claire’s boundaries, making her feel as though she might split in two. “I sense it, but it’s too much, too hard to handle.” She forced her breaths to slow, hoping the lessening of oxygen might lower the energy.

  “It’s not too much. You are strong. You and your sisters. Use your powers wisely and never fear to do what’s right. Always trust yourselves, and you will forever have what you need.” With those words, the wavering vision dissipated like wind chasing away smoke.

  Claire wanted to cry out for her to return, but somehow, she knew her attempts would be pointless.

  This fire was hers. She owned it, and she must embrace that.

  With a prayer on her lips, she filled her lungs until she feared they might burst and let her energy explode outward from her like a detonating bomb.

  ****

  The tires on Dru’s Hummer squealed through the night as he raced toward Fort Worden, uncertain what Claire’s incredibly powerful energy signature meant. Their bond might not be what it once was, but one spell could not break what had been forged between them.

  Formidable flames shot from the tops of the trees near the shoreline. At that point, Dru abandoned the trivial roads and drove his SUV in a direct route over the large expanse of grass that encompassed much of Fort Worden until he came upon a crazed mass of people running in his direction. Hatred for Claire vibrated around them like a black aura.

  Witch hunters.

  If they hurt her…

  He jumped from his vehicle, pulled his sword from its magical sheath, and raced toward them with a war cry bellowing from his lungs. The witch hunters wanted Claire dead, so he couldn’t allow the sadistic bastards to continue living.

  People halted in their tracks, expanding fear rampant on their faces as others behind them crashed into those ahead of the pack, toppling over them like a mass of ants trying to flee an enemy.

  Many scrambled to their feet and retreated toward the flames. Others cowered and screamed for mercy. He saw them as nothing but a threat to the one he loved as he carved a bloody path toward the massive flames.

  When Claire came into view, he nearly fell over himself.

  She stood serene as otherworldly flames swirled around her body. Her hair danced about her shoulders, tendrils of fire playing in the night. Atop her head sat a ruby-encrusted crown that glinted in the firelight, and she held a wand in her hand.

  “Son of a bitch.” Fire had finally bestowed upon her the gifts of her ancestors, and he had a feeling she’d be fearsome to behold when she reached her potential.

  Though she faced in his direction, he was certain she didn’t see him, didn’t see any of the commotion that exploded around them.

  He raced toward her until he reached the perimeter of the fireball that surrounded her. She was close, but not close enough, and he yearned to pull her into his arms and know that she was safe.

  Flames licked at him, teasing him with their touch, but not burning. He watched with fascination as curls of fire coiled about his boots and then crept up his calves. His sense of self-preservation screamed for him to take a step back, but he couldn’t get over the fact that his boots didn’t burn.

  When he glanced back to Claire’s face, he was shocked to find her staring at him intensely. Slowly, she lifted a hand and held it out to him.

 
He paused for a long moment, unsure if he could embrace complete trust. Besides his brothers, he’d never trusted another soul who’d inhabited this earth during the endless years he’d roamed the valleys and mountains. The burning ache to take her hand urged him forward.

  Ah, fuck. He’d never been a coward before, and he refused to be one now.

  He gripped her hand and stepped into the most exquisite fire he’d ever encountered.

  Chapter Twelve

  The second Dru wrapped his fingers around Claire, she tugged him toward her. “You’re here,” Claire said, grateful that he could share this moment with her. A massive wall of flames swirled up around them, encompassing them in a fiery cocoon, just the two of them. Horseman and witch.

  Her Horseman responded by wrapping his strong arms around her and crushing her to his chest. “Dammit, Claire. I needed to know you’re safe. It wounds me deeply every time something like this happens.”

  She pulled back to view his face. Tenderness in the warrior’s eyes nearly undid her. “How did you know what happened? Where I was? I blocked our connection.”

  “I should throttle you for that. And I plan to later. When are you going to get it through your thick head that we’re bound to each other?”

  “I cast a spell, and I know it worked.” She glanced at the wild fire dancing around them and then touched her fingertips to his cheek. “Are you really even here?”

  He placed his hand over hers. “One spell can’t break what we have, Claire. You only closed your side of the door. You made it more difficult to find you whenever I wanted, but you didn’t completely severe the connection.”

  “I don’t know if I should be angry that it didn’t work or grateful.” She would have a word with Grim.

  He cupped her chin. “Grateful. Even if you won’t admit it, you need me. You want me.”

  She inhaled sharply, her attraction to him cutting her to the bone. He spoke the truth, and she could no longer deny it.

  He grinned.

  “What?” She narrowed her gaze in uncertainty.