by Ann Gimpel
The Girauds’ child.
Luke pressed his lips together. When she’d leaned in the stagecoach door blazing with fervor over what was in the books, it had taken all his will power not to throw a bolt of magic that would stop her heart. What she’d said about her father had been chilling too. Little twit. Dark magick had its claws into her so deep, there wasn’t a way out. Whether the girl had been turned, or whether she was truly possessed by one of the Salem witches mattered little. What did was finding her and annihilating her, preferably with mage fire so she’d stay dead. Once that was done, he could worry about her parents and which side they were on.
Abigail sighed in her sleep and repositioned herself. Her leg fell against his, warm and enticing, and his breath hitched. She was a damned attractive woman. He’d kept pretty much to himself, except for the odd dalliance, mostly with fancy women who wouldn’t want anything from him but coin. Abigail might change all that. He wondered about her. She didn’t wear a ring, but she could still be married, or have a special man tucked away somewhere. There hadn’t been much chance to talk about anything personal, but he’d felt drawn to her from the moment he’d gotten into the stagecoach.
Having her dress turn practically transparent after she soaked her long, red hair in that creek hadn’t helped. Her full, firm breasts, with puckered nipples, had been visible through the linen fabric of her shirtwaist. He’d kept his word and not watched while she slithered out of her corset, but knowing what she was doing had given him a hell of a hard on.
His current line of thought wasn’t helping. He reached down and rearranged his straining cock so it wasn’t bent double against his too-tight breeches. Luke tried to think about other things, but his body wasn’t interested in cooperating. He inhaled Abigail’s earthy scent: jasmine, vanilla, and musk, and wished he could take care of himself unobtrusively, but there was no way. Any motion would make the coach rock on its springs and waken Abigail.
He settled for smoothing a few stray hairs off her cheeks. She had an arresting face with sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw. Even though her eyes were closed just now, they were an intriguing multi-hued hazed, shading from brown to violet to green depending on how the light hit them. Her brows were a deep auburn color and they winged across her forehead, giving her a haughty look. Full lips covered very straight, white teeth. He pegged her for around thirty, but witches didn’t age if they didn’t want to, so she could be much older than that. Not that it made any difference. Magic wielders lived a long time. If she found him as attractive as he found her…
Luke shook his head, disgusted with himself. They had to get out of the mess they were in. First and foremost, that had to be his primary focus, or they likely wouldn’t survive. He told his engorged cock to stand down. There might be an opportunity for its needs later. This time, it wasn’t so difficult to wrench his thoughts away from his body and address the problem at hand.
Where was the damned girl? Why hadn’t they been able to find her? When he fanned magic about, he felt her particular, putrid emanations, but couldn’t pinpoint quite where they were coming from. Luke took a deep breath. He’d played this game before, where you were either hunter or hunted. He was confident if he lay low, the girl would show herself. He shut his eyes for the barest moment to rest them. They felt hot and gravelly, but sleep was out of the question. When Carolyn showed herself again, he’d be ready for her.
Toward that end, he deepened Abigail’s slumber so the coach’s canting wouldn’t waken her, and let himself outside. Once there, he wrapped a protection spell around the sleeping woman and faded into shadows, magic at the ready. It would be easier to deploy a defensive strategy from where he crouched, hidden by sagebrush, than from inside the enclosed coach.
Chapter Three
It wasn’t Luke but a long, drawn-out shriek that brought Abigail thumping back to consciousness, her heart hammering triple time in her chest. Eyes wide and staring against the darkness, she warded herself just in time. Strong magic battered her. She tried to sense Luke, but that was the problem with wards. They protected by forming an impenetrable barrier and corralled her magic inside.
Whatever was pummeling her seemed to have given up. She risked chinking enough of a hole in her warding to send a tendril of magic outward because she needed information. When it came, it terrified her so badly, her heart stuttered. Dark things surrounded them: wraiths, mad wolves—those who’d been turned to serve the other side—and humans who’d sold their immortal souls for forbidden knowledge. Had the girl rallied them? How could she possibly be that powerful? Luke didn’t seem to be anywhere. Abigail hoped he’d concealed himself out of harm’s way, because the two of them couldn’t make the slightest dent in the dark horde outside. The stagecoach rocked and she realized someone was climbing onto the roof. Throat so dry she could barely breathe, she mended her warding.
The books. That’s what they want… Let them haul the miserable things out of here. She knew she should risk heaven and hell to keep such knowledge out of dark hands, but Abigail didn’t see how throwing her life away would alter the outcome. She heard voices speaking the Satanic tongue, and then dragging sounds as someone transferred the trunk to the ground. Luke shouldn’t have bothered to put it back up top, she thought grimly.
What had the Girauds been doing with such arcane tomes in the first place? She supposed there was the slightest chance they’d been protecting them from falling into the wrong hands. Yes, by all means, let’s give Coven members the benefit of the doubt. Except it was a struggle, and she didn’t know who the hell to trust anymore.
She waited until it was absolutely still outside, and a tentative scan told her the dark host she’d sensed earlier had moved on, before loosing her wards. The minute she did, she felt Luke’s energy. He pulled open one of the coach doors. “I scared up a couple of horses from a nearby farm. We need to go after those books—and the girl.”
She fought down the protest that rose to her lips, but it slid out anyway. “There aren’t enough of us.”
“Fixed that problem too.” He smiled grimly. “I can ward you if you want to stay here, but if you’re coming we need to get moving. Don’t want to let the trail get too cold.” From the smirk in his voice, she knew he was being sarcastic.
She sent her magic spiraling outward and felt the books pulsing with evil. No way that path would ever get cold. “Why couldn’t I feel them this strongly before? I know the trunk had to have been spelled, but still…”
“The trunk was spelled, and by someone with magic to burn. It’s over in those trees. I guess Carolyn’s minions were in a hurry and didn’t have a wagon.”
Abigail felt like a rube. The book trunk had already been packed and sealed when she’d picked Carolyn up in New York. She’d never even thought to examine it. “Did you see Carolyn?”
“Yup.” His upper lip curled into a sneer. “Caught a glimpse of her riding a mad wolf.”
“Do you suppose there’s some way we could separate her from Goody Osborne?” Abigail bit her lip nervously.
Luke shook his head. “Even if we could—and I don’t think it’s possible—there are too many unknowns. Her parents might have been turned. If that happened, the kid could have embraced evil before it entered her body. By the time we sorted all that out, the dark would have had one too many chances to kill us.”
Abigail winced at the unvarnished truth in his words. Any residual doubts she held about the necessity of destroying the girl melted away. “Yes,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’m coming with you.”
Luke boosted her onto one of the horses. She pulled her skirts out of the way. It was a normal saddle and this was scarcely a time for modesty. Luke vaulted onto his horse, kneeing it, and they took off up the Overland Stage Road at close to a full gallop. “We’re making too much noise,” she sent.
“Doesn’t matter. They’ll expect us to come after them.”
She clung to the horse with her legs, enjoying the feel of not having to ride sidesaddle.
Luke’s horse was larger, faster, and soon pulled so far ahead she could barely see him. She kneed her horse, urging it to greater speed, but the animal shied, and then reared. Abigail struggled for balance and called magic to calm the spooked animal. Something sprang at her and knocked her to the ground. She sent killing magic to stop its heart, before realizing what it was. Panting, she crawled out from under a black and gray mad wolf with blood dribbling from its nostrils, and glanced warily about. Were there more of them?
Carolyn stepped from the shadows. It looked as if she was alone, but Abigail suspected otherwise. “What do you want?”
“Simple enough. I plan to use you to get rid of Breana Giraud—and others.” A sneer twisted the girl’s features into something unpleasant. “You think people don’t know you’re part of Coven government?”
Abigail set her mouth in a hard line. “Fine. So the other side knows about me. Question is, who are you really?”
“Don’t you recognize me?” Carolyn stepped closer and turned her face from side to side as if posing for a photographer. “I gave you my name, but I am far more than that.”
She’s arrogant. Perhaps I can use that in some way. Abigail spread her hands in a placating gesture. “Because I’m used to seeing you as Carolyn Giraud, I’m not certain who you are.” She paused for emphasis. “I’d like you to tell me.”
“Certainly.” A feral grin made the child look like something out of a nightmare. “It is always better to know who your adversary is.” Her voice became soft and silky. “I have access to magic you would kill for. You may not know it, but you’d like to work for us.” She laughed, but it sounded more like broken glass shattering against itself, than a twelve-year-old girl’s mirth. “We have real power, not that paltry tripe the Coven settles for.”
Abigail waited. When Carolyn didn’t say anything else, she said, “I’m listening…and considering your offer. Life is always better than the alternative.”
“Ha! They said you couldn’t be turned, but I told them they were wrong. I am The Promised, resurrected out of legend. Goody Osborne was but a start, and this little girl is merely a convenience.” Something like an outraged squawk followed the words, but Goody silenced Carolyn almost immediately. “What I really want is you, Abigail Ruskin.”
Shit! She couldn’t be The Promised… “You mean the Dark Messiah?” Abigail scrunched up her face and held her breath, hoping against hope she’d gotten it wrong.
“The same.” A supercilious expression etched into the girl’s features. “At least the other side has heard of me. Warms my black, black heart.”
“The books—?” Abigail hunted for a connection while she rode herd on terror that threatened to immobilize her, and clouded her judgment. If ever she needed a clear head, it was now, but her mind raced feverishly.
“They weren’t doing the girl’s parents any good moldering away in that underground chamber. I’d actually been searching for them for years.” She flashed a sly smile. “They used to be mine.”
Understanding flooded Abigail like a sour tide. “You led Carolyn to the books, corrupted her, figured out how to defeat the Girauds’ warding, and—”
“Not exactly, but then you don’t need to know everything.”
“No, I don’t suppose I do.” Abigail ground her teeth together so hard she was surprised they didn’t splinter.
She was trying to come up with another question to stave off what was feeling inevitable when the thing in Carolyn’s body cut her off coldly. “Will you switch allegiance?” A knife materialized in her hand. “I would bind you with your blood.”
“Why me?”
“Once I absorb more Coven knowledge, I shall be the most powerful sorcerer the world has ever known, strong enough to kick the gates of Hell open. Using your body, I will be able to get close enough to Coven members to kill them. Once they’re dead, I can suck up their magic.”
Abigail clenched her jaws to keep from screaming. “If I say no?” Once she gave her blood and her word, she’d be stuck. She sent magic spinning out to see what lay hidden by darkness and found mad wolves and wraiths.
“They’ll kill you, after I’ve emptied your magic.” The girl laughed shrilly. “I can make use of you, no matter what you decide. I could simply force my way inside you, but you’d fight me tooth and claw and I’d have to keep my guard up every single moment.” She shrugged. “It’s scarcely worth the trouble.”
Desperate for time to think, Abigail tried for a deferential tone. “May I have a moment or two to consider?” Once Goody abandoned Carolyn’s body, the child—who was really nothing more than a victim—would be helpless.
“Not more than that.”
“What happens to the girl?”
A nasty smile crossed the thing’s face. “I’m surprised you even have to ask.” Another squawk was cut off midstream.
Abigail turned in a slow circle, assessing just how many she faced. She thought about Luke, but couldn’t risk calling him because Goody would pick up her mind voice.
“Choose now, witch. Power or death.”
Abigail sucked in an uneven breath and blew it out, her eyes on Goody. She felt the sizzle of magic build in the air and recognized her own death, hovering, just waiting for an order to release it. She threw wards up, but didn’t think they’d hold against the enormity of the power thrumming about her. In spite of herself, awe filled her. What would it be like to command that much magic? Maybe she should sign on with the dark—just until she learned their secrets. Surely there’d be a way to break free after that.
No! She shook her head hard to clear it. Goody must be using compulsion on her, but it was so subtle and sneaky it almost slipped past her guard. Abigail had just opened her mouth to ask for a little more time when a blast nearly deafened her and a shriek tore out of Goody. Hands raised to call power fell to her sides, and blood sprayed from the hole ripping its way through her midsection.
What the hell? Abigail scanned the darkness for Luke, but didn’t see him. Loosing her wards, she pulled earth magic. It rampaged through her as she sent death spiraling in all directions. An odd sensation filled her boosting her power tenfold, and her myriad injuries healed immediately. When she realized what had happened, a corner of her mouth twitched downward in horror.
“Get out,” Abigail shrieked, feeling violated—and helpless. She started to claw at her midsection, but stopped, knowing it wouldn’t change a thing.
“Make me,” Goody smirked from a place deep inside her.
Luke and six men who looked a lot like him—tall and powerfully built, with cold eyes—closed behind her and jumped from their horses. Coven enforcers. She recognized most of them. The night came alive with light as power blazed from their hands—and guns. After putting up slightly more than token resistance the dark creatures scattered, apparently not willing to sacrifice themselves without someone driving them.
“Stupid little girl.” One of the enforcers walked to Carolyn’s corpse, muttered a spell, and the body caught fire. His leathers creaked when he moved and he’d braided his dark hair, probably to keep it out of the way.
Another man, who could have been twin to the first, snorted. “Yeah, from what Luke said, we need to make certain that one stays dead.”
“Plan to. I’ll remain until I’m certain. Then I’ll catch up.”
Abigail watched the flames, feeling she’d failed in some elemental way. If she’d been sharper on the uptake, maybe she’d have come up with a way to salvage the child, never mind circumventing the pickle she was in. She pressed her lips together into a thin, worried line. The Girauds would be devastated, but once they’d heard the story, Abigail was nearly certain they’d understand. Or maybe not. Depends whose side they’re actually on. Goody had said she wanted Breana’s blood, but not Don’s. Abigail tried to puzzle out what that meant, but her brain wouldn’t cooperate.
The other enforcers mounted up and were gone in a clatter of hooves and dust. The noise cut into Abigail’s bleak thoughts. So did Luk
e when he placed an arm around her. He smelled of sweat and magic, a welcome change from the stench of burning flesh. “We still have to round up those books.”
Abigail turned and looked right into his eyes, while Goody’s power swelled inside her in dark, alluring waves. The Salem witch clearly liked men. Abigail waded through revulsion and sick knowledge that Goody had cut through her defenses as if they were nothing but air, and managed to toss a weak smile Luke’s way. “I’m coming,” she muttered.
“Of course you are,” Goody nattered from her ringside seat. “You’re going to save those books.” Abigail cringed and struggled to maintain a neutral expression.
Luke must not have noticed because he nodded. “Thought you’d see it that way. Besides, once we’ve got that little problem cleaned up, I’d like to find a decent hotel and buy you a meal.”
She swallowed a desire to shriek as Goody urged her to accept and cocked her head to one side. “I’d like that. Can’t remember when I last had a gentleman caller.”
“He’s no gentleman.” The enforcer who’d torched Goody chortled.
Abigail made a huge effort to forget about Goody, which wasn’t easy because the Salem witch had opinions about everything, and forced her weak smile into a grin. She continued to focus on Luke’s amazing green eyes and let him fill her thoughts. Gentlemen were a dull breed. It was a little too soon to tell, but despite her earlier concerns, she thought she wanted someone just like Luke, or she would want someone like him if she could jettison the Salem witch. Danger and power lurked beneath his sanguine surface; the combination heated her blood. Unfortunately, Goody wanted him too, which posed huge problems. Abigail drew her horse back with a thread of magic. It whinnied as it trotted over.
She snapped up the trailing reins and did her damnedest to appear normal. When she’d turned her attention away from the abomination inside her, she’d actually been able to think clearly. Maybe, just maybe, she could control a two hundred year old spirit and bend it to her will. She glanced at Luke, infusing just a hint of promise into her gaze. “Ready?”