by Ann Gimpel
“Whenever you are.” Luke boosted her up. His hand rested on her rump a shade too long; she leaned into it. Throwing him a wide grin, she urged her mount after the other enforcers.
Coven and dark power too… If I get really lucky, I can harness the best of both worlds. Maybe.
From somewhere deep inside, raucous laughter clawed at her innards. Her earlier misgivings rose to mock her and clouded her mind, but Abigail pushed them aside and rode hard. If she gave in to her fears about what the Salem witch could do, she’d sink into madness. The only way to deal with Goody was with stealth, since the witch could read her thoughts. She’d sort out exactly how to wend her way through the minefield her body had become as things played out. For now, it might be best not to think about anything. The better Goody got to know her, the harder it would be to fool the Salem witch.
And if I can’t trick her somehow, I’ll never get out of this alive.
Chapter Four
Luke vaulted onto his horse and galloped down the road. His hand still tingled from the jolt of sexual energy he’d sensed helping Abigail mount up. She certainly hadn’t seemed like a loose woman before. Had getting out from under babysitting her charge freed up a different side of her? He peered through darkness and sent magic ahead to make certain he was following the others. Not as much as a hoof beat broke the silence surrounding him. He didn’t see how Abigail could have gotten so far ahead, particularly since his horse was faster than hers, but he was sure he’d catch up soon.
His body was on fire. Heat licked at his loins and his cock ached where it pressed against his tight, leather breeches. What was the matter with him? He hadn’t had such a visceral response to a woman—ever. What he felt was ten times as intense as his sexual arousal when she’d drowsed across from him in the stagecoach.
Partially because of the need to maintain a low profile, and partly because he detested group gatherings, he’d avoided Coven get-togethers. He’d heard reports about raucous group sex from some of the other enforcers, though. They were forever nagging him to come along and try out some of the randier witches. Before he knew what he was doing, his fingers tugged the lacings of his pants open. Chill air blowing against his suddenly exposed cock brought him to his senses.
“What the hell?” he muttered, and stuffed his erection back under cover. “Was I just going to jack off out here in the open?” Because he couldn’t put his pants back together one-handed, he looped the reins around the saddle horn and quickly set himself to rights. His imagination needed a bucket of cold water, and he could use a shot of whiskey. Maybe if they got those books burning, he’d forget about his cock. Fey magic was afoot; he felt it all around him and it iced the marrow in his bones.
Luke forced his mind away from sex. Discipline, the product of long years of imposed structure resurrected itself, but it didn’t happen as smoothly as he might have liked. Perhaps dinner with Abigail wasn’t such a good idea after all. Maybe the woman had…done something. Cast some sort of spell to snare him. She hadn’t seemed the type, but he had to admit he barely knew her, and things had been tense almost from the time he’d gotten onto the stagecoach because of the girl. Or maybe it wasn’t Abigail at all, but those damned books. He hoped so.
He kneed his gelding to greater speed, thinking he should have at least caught up to her by now, let alone the rest of the group. The servants of the dark had left on foot, for chrissakes, unless someone had met them and spirited them—and the books—to another location. He pounded a fist into his thigh and willed the horse to run faster. Those books needed to be wiped off the face of the Earth. There was more than enough wickedness in the world; knowledge in the books would swell the ranks of those he’d sworn to destroy.
Finally, he caught the sound of hooves ahead. He opened his mouth to call Abigail’s name, but stopped himself. His head had cleared and the almost sick sexual tension drained away. If touching her had that kind of impact, he’d do well to steer clear…
“There you are,” Abigail cried as he rode alongside. “I waited and waited, but you never did—”
“Seen any sign of the others?” he broke in and reined his horse so it trotted next to hers. His voice sounded gruff, but he wasn’t in the mood to modulate it.
“I haven’t passed them, but you’d know that since you came the same way.”
Luke winced. He’d asked a stupid question, and she’d just rubbed his nose in it. “Humph. You given any thought to the girl’s things?”
She turned her head to glance his way. “My, you’re not sounding very friendly.” Her tone was mild, but a chiding note grated against him.
“Sorry. It’s been a rough night. Carolyn’s trunks?” he prodded.
“I haven’t thought much about them. Why?”
Surprise speared him; it seemed odd she’d have to ask. “Her kinfolk will want them back, since it’s all that’s left of their child.”
After a hesitation that felt a shade too long, she said, “You’re right, of course. Uh, guess I’ll have to go back to the Overland Stage Station and give the stationmaster instructions—and figure out when the stage leaves.”
Luke had been listening carefully. Her last words sounded different, more like the woman he’d spent hours searching for Carolyn with. He shook his head. Maybe he was imagining things. He sent out a telepathic call to the other enforcers. One thing at a time. If they didn’t run those books down now, they wouldn’t get a second opportunity. He could figure out what was going on with Abigail later.
“Say,” Abigail’s voice tone changed again, “since you brought it up, I could return the books to the Girauds. After all, they apparently kept them safe for years.”
“Bad idea. Besides, we have no idea how long they had those books. One thing’s certain, if they’d done that good a job, we wouldn’t be out here in the middle of the night tracking them. Nope. We get hold of the damned things, they’re heading for mage fire. It’s the only way. Moreover,” he darted a glance her way, “neither of us are exactly sure which side they’re on. We could be delivering coal to Newcastle, or even worse, weaponry.”
A hissing intake of breath startled him. Luke twisted in the saddle to look at her, but she sat the horse straight as an arrow. If the noise hadn’t come from her, then where? “Pull up,” he snapped.
Abigail tugged on the reins. “Why?”
“Something’s not right.”
“Where the fuck are you, brother?” rang through his telepathic connection to the other enforcers. The bond was blood driven and stronger than most magics.
“Where are you?” Luke shot back.
“You oughta know. You galloped past us about five minutes ago.”
“I’m turning around. Next time you see me, if I keep going, come after me.”
“What—?”
“Don’t know if I can explain it, since I don’t fully understand myself. Just do it.” Luke closed off the mental channel linking him to the other enforcers. His horse had already slowed to a walk, and he drew on the reins to turn his mount around.
“What’s going on?” Abigail walked her horse next to him. “We just came from that way.” She reached across the space between the horses and wrapped her hand around his arm. “I heard you talking to someone just now. Couldn’t quite make the words out, but—”
Liquid heat rolled from his arm to his belly. His erection from earlier returned with a vengeance. He turned to face Abigail. Her mouth was half open, her eyes heavy-lidded. Sexual energy emanated from her in dusky, provocative waves. He had just enough presence of mind left to jerk his arm free and back his horse a few paces away. “We rode right past the group. I’m going back. If you still want to help, come along. Otherwise, I’m guessing you can find your way back to the Overland Station.”
“I thought you liked me, Luke.” The way she said his name was entreaty and censure rolled into one.
“I thought I did too, but you’ve got to stop trying to force things with magic.” He clenched his hands around the rei
ns. There. He’d said it. Maybe it wasn’t the most romantic thing. Other men wouldn’t give a crap, as long as the woman was willing, whether she spelled them to fuck her or not, but he did.
She encouraged her horse to walk close again. He didn’t want to hear whatever she had to say. The texture of her magic hung heavy in the air. It felt different somehow. Wrong. Kneeing his horse, he took off down the road. Usually, he enjoyed working alone. Tonight, having the group of enforcers for backup suddenly felt critical. If he didn’t watch it, he’d slip into something he might not be able to extricate himself from.
•●•
“Nice work,” Abigail snarled at Goody.
“What do you mean?” the Salem witch inquired archly. “We almost had him.”
“I don’t know whose body you shared before you picked on that twelve-year-old child, but we never even got close to having him.” Abigail blew out a breath and kicked her horse into a gallop after Luke. “Men like to do the courting. You scared the living shit out of him.”
“He was hot. I smelled it,” Goody insisted. “More important. You can’t let them burn those books.”
“What the hell am I supposed to do to stop them?”
“We could kill all of them.”
Abigail battled an impotent rage. After her initial disgust when she’d sensed the Salem witch’s power, she’d racked her brain trying to figure out how she could have barred the wicked presence from her body—and hadn’t come up with a thing. The way events were shaping up, death would have been a better choice. She took a steadying breath. “Enforcers are all mind-linked. I don’t fully understand the way of the spell, but they can communicate over distance. There’s no way we could kill this set of enforcers before one of them sent out a distress call. They know me.” Sour smelling sweat ran down her sides. “Before the night is out, every Coven member and enforcer would be out for our blood. Whatever you hoped to gain by using my body to get close to Breana Giraud, or anyone else, will have vanished.”
Goody laughed long and loud. Just when Abigail was afraid her slender hold on sanity would shatter, the witch said, “How quaint. You believed me.”
“Believed you about what?” Abigail asked, but Goody didn’t answer. Abigail shifted the reins to her left hand and rubbed her temples with her right. Her head throbbed and she felt as if she’d gotten sucked into an insane asylum where nothing anyone said made sense.
The horse’s pounding hooves were a welcome distraction. She waited for whatever argument Goody might launch, after her reminder about evil and truth not being good bedfellows, but it never materialized. The logical next step would be for Goody to simply dump her body and move on to someone more malleable, but the Salem witch didn’t propose any such thing. Damn! So long as Goody didn’t kill her leaving, it would be such an easy solution—for everyone. Abigail considered suggesting it, but bit her tongue. For one thing, she didn’t like the idea of foisting Goody off onto anyone else. Look how she’d corrupted Carolyn, an innocent child. Abigail ground her teeth together. Maybe there’d be a way to capture the vile creature within her and figure out some trick to declaw her forever.
Goody maintained an edgy silence. Abigail sensed her restless energy, but no more words came. Feeling like she might have gained a bit of a toehold, she added. “If you want Luke in our bed, you have to lay low. He suspects something and he’d too old and too canny not to guard himself. It was pretty stupid of you to spell him so he passed his cronies without noticing them. Besides,” she added slyly, “that’s where your precious books are.”
“For all the good they’ll do me.” Goody sounded bitter. “You’ll smell the smoke in a minute. They’re already burning.”
A low, keening moan rose in her mind. Abigail almost pointed out if Goody hadn’t played that stunt on Luke, she’d have arrived before the books went up in flames, but it probably wasn’t wise to bait her. Abigail sniffed the air. Smoke mingled with a putrid, spoiled miasma, as if the books were more than leather and parchment. So that’s what evil smells like when it dies…
“You win for now,” Goody growled. “Get the man in our bed. Do it soon or I’ll dump you for worthless, just like I dumped the Giraud brat.”
A grim smile split her face. “I’ll do the best I can. If things aren’t happening fast enough for you, think twice before you empty buckets of magic around him. No matter how hot he is, I suspect he’ll bolt the second he senses he’s being forced.”
Magic that had pulsed around them fell away. The night felt cleaner somehow; the stars shone brighter. Abigail gazed through darkness, following the smoke smell, and saw an enormous pyre. Against her better judgment, she was intimidated by the amount of raw power Goody commanded. To be able to hide something so vast defied reason.
Luke veered hard right onto a track leading a short way into the forest and pulled up at the outer edge of the circle of enforcers. She followed him, but not too close because she didn’t want to spook him again. Luke didn’t trust her for the best of reasons. It would take a great deal of finesse to move past Goody’s damage, and it probably wouldn’t happen in the space of an evening. Best she could hope for might be a dinner—or breakfast at this point—where they might begin to patch things up.
She slid to the ground and gave her horse freedom to go where it wanted. Like all horses, it didn’t care much for smoke and trotted off into the darkness, presumably to join the other mounts. One of the enforcers stood next to a stack of books. He and another man took turns feeding the flames.
“This all of them?” Luke asked
Another man shook his head and spat into the dirt. “Nah. Maybe a quarter. Rest of them got away.”
Deep inside Abigail, Goody hooted, hollered, and yipped with delight. “Let’s see if I can save the rest of them,” she screeched.
Rotten meat smell, mixed with shit, hit Abigail full on. “Wraiths,” she shrieked and spun, hands raised to call magic. The Coven enforcers cursed roundly. One of the men chucked the remaining half dozen books into the fire and pulled a six-shooter. Luke jumped down from his mount and joined the other enforcers. Wraiths poured out of the woods, red-rimmed eyes brilliant with hunger for warm, living flesh.
Power flared from the enforcers, cutting a swath through the disgusting undead creatures. Abigail tried to summon power, but Goody blocked her. “You have to let me fight.” She panted. “The men will know something is wrong if I don’t help.”
“They’re my creatures,” Goody said sulkily. “They obey me.”
“Well then, figure out a way to separate your magic from mine. And do it damned quick.” Abigail swallowed down bile. Goody had summoned the wraiths to salvage her precious books, but how the hell had they gotten here so fast? Abigail swallowed again, wincing against the burning sensation at the back of her throat. The longer she shared her body with the Salem witch, the sorrier she was, and the more frantic to do something, anything, to get away from her.
She pulled power again. This time, feeble light formed around her fingertips. “You’re on the right track,” she gritted out, “but I need more. Lots more. And it has to feel like me, not like you.”
Heat tracked down her back. She twirled and came face to face with an enormous wraith. Biggest one she’d ever seen, it had to be over seven feet. The thing drew back its lips into a hideous snarl, exposing black teeth. She reached deep, gave it everything she had, and was gratified when jolts of power flew from her fingers. Thank the goddess. The wraith stumbled and reached for her. She sidestepped it, knowing it might kill her yet, but at least she wouldn’t die tonight at the hands of the enforcers. They maintained order and weren’t averse to killing witches who went rogue. They’d chuck her into mage fire in a heartbeat if they suspected what was really going on.
Abigail hurled more power at the wraith. It howled with pain. A gunshot nearly deafened her, but a hole opened in the wraith’s chest and it folded in on itself and faded away. She didn’t have to look to know Luke had shot it. She felt his energy pulse be
hind her. He had to be able to feel hers too. It was how he’d known she wasn’t what she seemed, that something had changed.
As quickly as they’d arrived, the wraiths retreated. Abigail waited for the next rush of mad wolves, or humans who served the dark, but it never came. The fire, while still burning, had shrunk as it consumed its fuel. She sent magic spiraling outward to sense if anything lurked beyond the borders of her vision. Nothing. The only bad thing left was inside her.
Luke strode to the other enforcers. They formed a circle, obviously talking, but she couldn’t hear what they said. Didn’t want to. Abigail stood quietly in the dark, waiting and watching the malevolent books erode to cinders. She was ecstatic they’d destroyed even a fraction of the miserable things, but she took care to keep her mind neutral. Taunting Goody, who raved disconsolately inside her, was a terrible idea. Abigail had the upper hand—for now. She had to make certain it stayed that way.
The enforcers broke from their tight formation. One clucked for the horses, and another stirred the still smoking bed of coals. Luke strode to her side, a harsh, unpleasant expression on his face. “We talked about things,” he said without preamble and without making excuses for not including her. “What we came up with is this. We think you should ride the stage, with the Giraud child’s things, to Salt Lake as planned, meet the Girauds, and explain what happened to their little girl.” He pressed his mouth together into a thin, flat line. “If you’re not wanting, or able,” he skewered her with his green gaze, “to do that. I will.”
“Of course I’ll do that.” Abigail squared her shoulders. “I owe allegiance to them. It’s the least I can do.”
Luke drew his thick, black brows together. “Not quite the tune you were dancing to earlier.”
Abigail shook her head. Now was the time to do whatever she could to convince him she’d come to her senses. On the one hand, she wanted to shriek at him to run as far and fast from her as he could, but if she did that she’d be all alone—with Goody. And the enforcers would kill her. She dredged up a chagrined look. “I, um, I’m sorry about what happened back there. I have no idea what got into me. I wasn’t very respectful—to either of us, but especially not to you.” A tear slid down one cheek. She didn’t have to try very hard; tears were near the surface from stress and fear.