The Witch's Kiss

by Tricia Schneider

  “I suppose these are not necessary now, are they?”

  Sage shook his head, clenching the fingers of his supposedly wounded hand as if embarrassed he should not have need of them. Foolish, really. Sage wished his hand had been burned. He wished he felt the pain of a wound instead of receiving looks of distrust and accusation.

  “Well,” Lord Valentine said with a deep sigh. “I’d prefer you stay the night, for my own peace of mind, but as we both can see no physical damage has been done, I’ll have the servants bring your carriage round. I would appreciate, however, one day if you are ever able to offer the truth instead of vague fabrications, I would be pleased to hear it.”

  Sage glanced at Marianne in time to witness her shoulders sag with relief. Her thoughts must have journeyed the same witch-hunter path as his, only she was wise enough not to mention it while in the presence of their host. No need for Sage to appear mad by speaking to thin air, as well as enchanted.

  “I do appreciate it, my lord,” Sage said humbly. He did not respond to the promise portion of Lord Valentine’s statement. He could not conceivably foresee a time at any point in the future where he would feel the need to tell this man the truth about his family. In fact, few knew the Merriweather family secret. Most of their neighbors in Meryton were fellow witches able to cast spells and other enchantments. They kept their secrets close.

  Chapter Four

  The inside of the carriage filled with noise of the wheels turning over a dirt-packed road. The sounds of nocturnal creatures echoed in the surrounding pastures and forests as they passed by on the way home from Lord Valentine’s house party.

  Marianne quietly stewed as she watched the trees and brush glide by while Sage handled the reins of the phaeton. It had been a little worrisome when she first boarded his carriage as the horse sensed her presence and did not appreciate a ghost sitting in the vehicle.

  Every so often Marianne glanced in Sage’s direction, trying to decipher his mood or sense his thoughts. He continued to stare straight ahead, his attention never straying from the road. Several times she attempted speech, but words failed her, a new habit she was beginning to loathe.

  What could she say?

  She saw the scene unfold again and again.

  His hand engulfed in bright orange and yellow flames, burning from his wrist to fingertips. And then in Lord Valentine’s private study, the gentle and careful unwrapping to reveal the smooth skin of an unharmed hand.

  Marianne still had difficulty believing her eyes. She wished to touch his hand, to feel the smooth skin with her own fingers, to know for herself that he was truly uninjured.

  It was both a blessing and a curse that she had not the ability to touch him.

  She tilted her head to the side, looking again at his hand while it gripped the reins. Though he now wore gloves, she felt as though she could see through the soft leather to the skin beneath. There were no scars. How could there be no scars? No burnt flesh, no blood oozing from broken or ravaged skin. Not even any redness.

  How?

  “Would you care to see it again?” His deep voice rumbled in the darkness. “It remains unchanged, I assure you.”

  “I… Forgive me. Staring is impossibly rude. How unfair am I to—”

  “Do you fear me?”

  Marianne turned to face him fully, surprised by the scorn she detected.

  “Of course not!”

  “Then…what?”

  “I do not comprehend.” Marianne chose her words carefully. “The absence of any wound warrants an explanation. I fear you will not confide in me.”

  “Why would I refuse?”

  “Because I’m simply Marianne,” she said torn between bitterness and sarcasm. “Julia Grey’s younger sister whom she treats as more of a reckless child than a sibling. How often am I kept in the dark concerning matters of import, even when those matters regard me? You and Basil have your secrets. Julia and Basil keep their own. I have no secrets. Not any longer. Everyone knows what’s wrong with me.”

  “There is nothing wrong with you,” Sage remarked, glancing at her, surprised by her outburst.

  “Oh?” Marianne raised an eyebrow. “Other than having no substance. My spirit won’t stay in my body. I can be seen and heard by only three people in this world, two are unable to help me, the third unwilling. I have a fiancé who I must lie to, and my closest friend in this world is keeping secrets from me. Yes, you are right. Nothing wrong with me at all.”

  She regretted her outburst as soon as the last syllable spilled from her mouth.

  “Closest friend? Do you mean your sister? Why would she keep secrets from you?” Sage said, narrowing on the one point she wished he had not heard.

  She said nothing at first. Instead, she looked off into the distance, wanting to pretend nothing was spoken. She’d uttered too much already.

  “Julia is your closest friend, yes?”

  “Julia is my sister,” Marianne snapped, again regretting her outburst.

  “Then who is your closest friend? Surely not Basil. Since he left when you were so young, I can’t imagine you remember much of him from your childhood.”

  “Can we not move on in our discussion?” Marianne suggested, growing impatient with his guesses.

  He fell silent. Marianne was pleased he had chosen not to pursue this particular line of questioning.

  “Aunt Petunia?”

  She sighed, dramatically for effect. He was the most annoying and exasperating man. And stubborn. Almost as stubborn as she but perhaps more patient. Her own patience had grown thin.

  “You are, you twit!”

  She resumed her study of geography, wishing they might arrive at Merriweather Manor at any moment. She wanted to go home.

  Being a ghost hadn’t liberated her from movement or travel. She couldn’t flash from one location to another in the blink of an eye as she wished. She’d tried. Instead, she needed corporeal transport or the ability of her own two feet to walk the lane home, a prospect she found both dull and tedious. At least on a carriage, she’d have people to listen to, faces to look at and a way to entertain herself. Walking was a dreary business, one she’d rather not participate in, spirit or not.

  And spells were beyond her powers. Even incantations were ineffective. The talent she had as a witch had vanished, along with all hope of returning to her body. She could still sense magic, but beyond that her skills were useless.

  “Marianne, I—”

  “Please don’t speak,” she said. “Unless you plan to offer some explanation for the series of events this evening, I’d rather simply watch the scenery.”

  “Marianne…”

  She sighed again. Of course he wouldn’t let her sit in peace. He would pursue this until she answered all of his questions while he answered none of hers.

  Thunder boomed and a flash of light appeared on the road directly in front of them, jolting her attention. The horse whinnied in fright, swerving to pull off the road. Sage nearly stood in his seat to regain control, but after a second crash of thunder, this time coming from behind, he loosened the reins, allowing the horse freedom to run.

  If Marianne had any substance, she would have fallen back in the seat at the pace he set.

  “Get down!” Sage yelled, which was a pointless endeavor, but she chose not to remind him.

  “What’s happening?” she shouted, as another boom of thunder broke through the darkness. This time, she recognized the sound for what it was…gunpowder exploding from a pistol or musket.

  “Ambush!” Sage shouted back.

  She gasped, wishing she could cling to the seats. She had difficulty breathing for a moment as he raced the phaeton down the dusty lane that would eventually lead to a coaching inn. Although Sage had told her he hoped to press on until London, he knew the darkening sky would not assist him, despite the full moon illuminating the landscape.

  The full moon apparently assisted their attackers since the accuracy had improved with each shot.

  A
buzzing filled Marianne’s ears. Her shoulder tingled and burned as though someone touched it. It happened again an instant later lower in her chest. It took her a moment to realize those were bullets passing through her spirit form. If her body had sat in its place, she would be dead.

  Sage grunted and flinched, grabbing his arm, then releasing it to grab at the reins again.

  “Damned highwaymen!” He growled as he regained control. The carriage careened to the left. Marianne closed her eyes when the carriage tipped to the side, certain they would topple over. Somehow, the carriage righted itself. Marianne blinked open her eyes.

  “Where are they?” Sage shouted. “Damn, where are they?”

  Marianne looked up to see Sage pulling a pistol from a hidden compartment beneath his seat. He was having difficulty handling the reins and holding the weapon at the same time.

  She opened her mouth to tell him to hand over the pistol. He had taught her to shoot and claimed she was a superb markswoman, but as she lifted her hand to offer help she remembered. How could she forget? She couldn’t help him. Although she sat next to Sage, conversing with him as a normal human would, she was all but dead. A ghost. He was alone, being chased by highwaymen on a dark country road.

  There was no one to help him.

  Tears blurred her vision as she looked back to find two riders on horseback emerge from the darkness at the side of the road. When it became clear Sage did not plan to stop the carriage despite their deadly warning, they pushed into pursuit.

  “What can I do?” Marianne whispered to herself.

  The highwaymen continued firing. Marianne didn’t bother cowering with fright since the bullets that struck her did no injury. She could stand on the back of this phaeton, it would make no difference. She was useless and would remain so until she had her body back. She couldn’t even reveal herself in an effort to scare them.

  “That’s it!” Marianne shouted. She knew how to help.

  “What?”

  With no time to respond, she closed her eyes to concentrate on something tugging her downward, an energy source that pulled her through the seat of the carriage and onto the road.

  “Marianne!”

  She heard his startled cry but refused to answer. She hit the ground and stood to face the oncoming riders. Holding her arms out in front of her, she waited for the horses, welcoming them as they neared. Just as she suspected, both horses reared when they drew close, fighting against their masters as they refused to go near her. The horses sensed and feared her.

  Foul language spilled from the rider’s mouths as they fought to regain control of the animals. The horses refused until one managed to step around her. She tried to intercept it, but he was too quick. Again, he continued the chase.

  Marianne watched him go, disappointed she hadn’t held him at a bay longer, but satisfied she gave Sage a chance to widen the gap between him and his pursuers.

  The second horse and its rider stepped around her while she was distracted.

  Sage’s phaeton grew smaller in the distance. Marianne hoped he might outrun them. The only course left to her now was to walk.

  Just as she resigned herself to a night of haunting a long stretch of English countryside road, she heard a groaning creak ahead. The phaeton tilted. It smashed onto its side, flipping into the ditch at the side of the road.

  Chapter Five

  “Marianne!” Sage searched frantically, finding nothing save empty space beside him. His heart pounded so loudly he no longer heard the gunfire.

  She had vanished. Slipped through the cushions on the seat and vanished. He hadn’t even known she was capable of such a thing. Where had she gone? There weren’t many places she could hide in his phaeton. He prayed wherever she went was safe. And when he saw her again, he would give her the longest and most fierce lecture of his career.

  The fright the woman gave him!

  He fought to control the horse. His shirt was soaked with blood. He’d been shot in the arm during the gunfire, but didn’t have time to examine the severity of the wound. Instead, he focused on outrunning the highwaymen who suddenly seemed to have fallen behind. The horse’s hooves grew distant.

  He was about to offer a prayer of thanks to the gods when he slammed backward, falling into his seat. Pain scorched his shoulder. Gunfire echoed. Ahead, a lone rider, stood with a pistol pointed in his direction.

  How had the highwayman gotten in front of him?

  “Damn,” Sage muttered, grasping his shoulder.

  He’d been shot.

  Again.

  Another groan, this time coming from the carriage. The creaking of the wheels sent panic through him. The wheel was cracking. The phaeton jerked, bounced. Sage pulled on the reins in an attempt to slow the horse before the wheel snapped. With a broken wheel, the phaeton could crash and do the horse injury. Not to mention himself. But the panicked horse refused to slow. If anything, he picked up speed.

  “No, no, no,” Sage muttered. His carriage drew closer to the rider who hadn’t budged from his spot on the road ahead.

  He heard the loud smash as the wheel snapped, then the carriage tipped. This was it. He was going to crash. With only a moment to think of what must be done, Sage leapt from his seat, falling into the foliage. His feet hit the ground first, then his legs crumpled. The force of momentum rolled him down a ditch. His knee hit a rock, and blinding pain ran along his leg.

  Yet another injury to add to the rest.

  When he came to a stop at the bottom of the ditch, he lifted his head. The carriage had fallen to its side. The wheel shattered into pieces. The horse was down and scrambling viciously to get free, the sounds of its panic clawing at his heart. He needed to free the horse. If the horse wasn’t already injured, he surely would be while he fought for freedom.

  First, Sage needed to get out of the ditch. In his condition, it didn’t seem a likely prospect. His shoulder and side burned like fire. He hadn’t even looked at his knee.

  Horse’s hooves thundered on the dirt from both directions of the road.

  Add to that, he had highwaymen to consider.

  Sage’s hand went to grip the pistol and found nothing but air. It must have dropped during his fall.

  With the darkening twilight, bright moonlight lit the ground. He searched the ground nearby for his weapon. If he couldn’t find it, he’d be forced to resort to spells and lately his spells were more apt to go awry.

  Ever since the demon…

  Not now.

  Find the pistol. Contend with these highwaymen. And discover where in bloody hell Marianne had gotten.

  The rider who appeared in front reached his horse and the remainder of his carriage. He jumped down and started unhitching the horse. When it was no longer leashed to the broken skeleton of his carriage, the horse leapt and galloped off down the road, vanishing into the dark.

  At least the horse wasn’t injured.

  Sage grimaced. He still must deal with the highwaymen. He gave up his search for the pistol. It was nowhere in sight. He focused on the approaching men, one on foot, the other two on horseback.

  The man on foot sauntered over and leaned over the ditch. He wore a long leather jacket. When he stopped above him, Sage noticed mud covering his boots.

  “Looks like ye’re in a pickle,” Muddy Boots said. “How’s about we get ye outta there and up ta the road where we can talk a piece. Real pleasant like?”

  The other men drew the horses to the side of the road.

  “Is he dead?” This man’s voice sounded refined, educated compared to Muddy Boots. A gentleman’s voice.

  “Nah, he ain’t dead. Yet.”

  “No killing. You were told no killing.”

  “I ain’t killed him yet, have I?” Muddy Boots retorted, with a disdainful glare at the Gentleman.

  “You shot him,” the Gentleman observed. “There’s blood on his shirt.”

  “Dirt there, too. Did I scruff him up some? No, I haven’t. He lost control of the horse, tipped ’er over
and there he lay. What have I to do with it?”

  “You shot at him!”

  “You was shooting, too.”

  “Into the air, to frighten him into stopping. I should have known he wouldn’t scare easily. The fool.”

  “Then ye should have known I was gonna shoot him,” Muddy Boots haughtily declared with a grin on his weather-beaten face.

  Muddy Boots and the silent one hadn’t bothered to hide their faces. That did not bode well for Sage. But the Gentlemen had a piece of cloth wrapped around his nose and mouth, cloaking his features so only his eyes were visible.

  “Get him up here so we might question him.” The Gentleman waved his pistol in Sage’s direction.

  Muddy Boots and his friend scrambled down into the ditch where they found him ready. As soon as Muddy Boots came within reach, Sage drew back and struck with all his might. His fist connected with the outlaw’s cheek. Muddy Boots fell back, landing loudly on his back.

  The Silent One backed away, cautious after seeing what was done to his partner. Sage hoped the man was impetuous. He prepared to fight, despite the wounds. His shoulder and leg continued to throb.

  The Gentleman came to the side of the ditch. “Why cause yourself more injury? Let my men help you to the road where we can talk.”

  Something about the voice teased his memory. He knew this man. He didn’t recognize the other two, but the Gentleman kept hidden making Sage suspect he knew his identity.

  “What do you want?” He’d had a long, tiring night. He wanted to go home, take a bath and go to bed, without a woman for once since all he could think of at the moment was sleep. He was tired, drained, in pain and confused. If these men wished to kill him, he suspected they would have done so already.

  “To talk, nothing more,” the Gentleman said.

  Muddy Boots scrambled to his feet, swaying for a moment as he clasped his jaw.

  The Silent One, grabbed Sage’s right arm and hauled him up, dragging him. Sage attempted to assist only to gasp when his knee gave out beneath him. Eventually, the men pulled him out and he lay on the road, gasping for breath. He felt like he’d been beaten already.