by Ann Gimpel
“Mmph. One of us will be on that stagecoach with you, to make certain the Girauds get their girl’s things back. I volunteered, but if you’d rather one of the others, just say the word.”
She blinked away more tears. Damn, but Luke was a decent man. If Goody hadn’t forced her way inside her body, Abigail would have liked to get to know him better. She fired a mage light so he could see her clearly and raised her gaze to his. “I’d be most grateful if you joined me. It’s going to be hard telling the Girauds what happened. Carolyn was their only child.”
Abigail considered saying something about her concerns about the Girauds, but bit her tongue since she didn’t want to tip her hand any more than she had to. Goody might have some way to reach out telepathically and warn them. Maybe she’ll do that anyway to try to worm out from under any responsibility for their daughter’s death.
Luke’s voice cut into her thoughts. “I thought as much.” He hesitated. “I had a sister once. Looked a lot like Carolyn. Wraiths got her. Made what happened back there all that much harder.”
“Thank you for telling me.”
“I’d like to hear more about you.” His voice softened a little. “We’ll have a couple of days on the stagecoach.”
“My life hasn’t been all that interesting, I’m afraid.”
Luke turned and took her horse’s reins from one of the other enforcers. Instead of addressing her last comment, he asked, “Do you need help?”
She shook her head, angled a stirrup, and mounted. If he was ever going to trust her, she’d have to proceed really, really slowly. She hoped to hell Goody wouldn’t get impatient and blow the lid off things. Abigail waited for Luke to say his goodbyes to the other enforcers. They galloped off down the road in the opposite direction from the stage station, all except one who stayed to tend the last of the fire. Luke walked his mount to her side. “No big rush,” he said. “Maybe if we hit the station around dawn, the stationmaster might have breakfast, or at least something we could cook.”
Abigail just nodded and let her horse amble next to his. An idea was forming in her mind. Goody obviously read English and demonspeak, the Satanic tongue. Maybe she didn’t know any other languages. Schooling had been a hit-or-miss affair in the seventeenth century, particularly for girls. If she could write something in French or Spanish or Latin, and give it to Luke, maybe he could bend his magic to helping her find a way out of her dilemma, assuming he knew any of those languages himself. Maybe there’d be an indirect way to sound him out on that. Of course, there was also the chance he’d kill her on the spot if he knew her secret, but she’d just have to risk it. She’d die soon enough anyway if she couldn’t get out from under Goody’s presence inside her.
One thing at a time. For now, it was enough that some of the books were destroyed, and Luke hadn’t totally blocked her out.
Chapter Five
Luke glanced at the angle of the sun through the Overland Stage Station windows. It was getting on toward midafternoon. Abigail drowsed in a chair, her head cradled in her arms. She looked exhausted, with dark smudges beneath her eyes. The stationmaster hadn’t been there when they’d returned, but the station was open, so they’d let themselves in to wait after dragging Carolyn’s trunks to a spot where they wouldn’t be pilfered in case any riders happened past on the road.
He’d hunted down a couple of rabbits and gutted them, and she’d made a stew out of greens that grew next to a nearby creek and the fresh meat. Once they’d eaten, she’d fallen into a restless sleep. It was getting late enough a new driver and fresh horses probably wouldn’t show up until the following day. He wasn’t sure quite why, but the specter of spending another night with Abigail bothered him. Since she seemed pretty out of it, he carefully draped a net fashioned from magic around her. Maybe he’d be able to sense something, and if he was subtle about it she’d never find out.
The first step was deepening her slumber so he could take a good, hard look into her mind. She’d behaved impeccably since her last seduction charade in the middle of the darkened road last night, but he didn’t trust her as far as he could see her, which didn’t bode well. He had to sleep sometime. He could swathe himself in wards, but it almost defeated the purpose of rest, since any protections worth their salt required huge infusions of energy.
He probed ever so gently at the edges of her consciousness. Abigail’s energy thrummed beneath his touch, fragrant and sweet. Honey and summer wildflowers. It didn’t feel anything like the murky power she’d sent spiraling into him. Christ! That energy had practically torn his cock from its moorings with wanting her.
Luke checked to make certain she was still deeply asleep. He anchored that segment of his casting to keep her that way and dug down another layer, but very delicately. If she housed the evil he suspected, his sleep now spell could shatter in a flash. Something skirted just at the edges of his questing magic. More than skirted. It leapt forward, toyed with him, and retreated. Dark and hot, it tightened his muscles and made him ache with wanting a woman’s heat around him.
As quietly as he’d entered her mind, he withdrew, keeping his movements small, silent. Abigail writhed in her sleep. Color bloomed on her pale cheeks; her breath hitched and she jammed a hand between her legs.
Knowledge slammed into him with all the subtlety of an out-of-control steam engine. He and the other enforcers may have killed the Giraud child, but the Salem witch had jumped ship before losing her essence to their mage fire. Remorse smote him. He’d shot Carolyn through the chest, so she’d been dead before they’d consigned her body to the flames, but still… He’d have to tell the Girauds the truth, and they’d have every right to be furious with him for not trying harder to save their child, particularly since Goody Osborne, or whoever the fuck she really was, was still at large. At the very least, they’d have expected him to figure out that their daughter no longer hosted evil, didn’t require burning, and could have been returned to them to mourn and bury—if they hadn’t been turned by evil themselves. He pressed his tongue against his teeth. If the Girauds had joined the dark side, who knew how they’d feel about their daughter’s death? That she’d met her end in the purification of mage fire would probably incense them beyond measure.
He tried not to look at Abigail writhing against the fingers playing beneath her skirts. Had she invited Goody Osborne into her body? He resurrected the sequence of events and considered his question. He’d been ahead of Abigail, realized she was missing, and retraced his steps to investigate. He’d found her and the child facing off against one another, hung back in the shadows long enough to determine what was going on, and shot the child. Somewhere along the way, Goody had inveigled her way inside Abigail.
He pulled magic from his sleep now spell; maybe if Abigail rose nearer consciousness, she’d realize what she was doing… He cast a practiced gaze her way. If she hadn’t already come, she had to be damned close. Her nipples were visible through her top, she was panting, and though he couldn’t see through her skirts, it seemed she was moving her hand faster and faster. If she woke now, she’d be unutterably embarrassed. Luke got to his feet, making as little noise as possible, and slipped outside the stage station. At least that way, she’d be spared the humiliation of having frigged herself in front of him. He kicked a rock; it flew a few feet and thunked against a corral stave.
Fragments of what must have happened clunked into place, but the result was so disconcerting it stole his breath. Regardless of how Goody managed it, she’d possessed Abigail. Luke kicked another rock, grunting when pain shot through his booted foot. He couldn’t let her know he was onto her, because it would spell her death. Goody jettisoned the child when she wasn’t of any further use. Abigail’s only hedge was she was highly placed in Coven government. The Salem witch could use that to get close to people like the Girauds. Even so, once Coven members started dying under mysterious circumstances, Abigail wouldn’t be useful for very long because the other witches would figure out she was responsible. If he couldn’t
come up with some way of luring the Salem witch out of Abigail’s body, her days would definitely be numbered.
Too restless to stand still, he paced to the end of the corral and hunkered next to a creek that ran fast and clear. He threaded the icy water through his hands and tried to think. For whatever reason, Goody had backed off. Abigail must have come up with a rational argument to squelch her, but he’d seen enough of the Salem witch in Carolyn to understand any détente had to be fragile. Goody was half-crazed with wanting power; standing by while some of her books burned must have damn near killed her.
Another, even more disturbing, thought formed. The last wraith attack couldn’t have been accidental. As long as Abigail played host to Goody, they were likely to have run-ins with all manner of dark creatures. The water was cold enough to make his hands ache, but he kept them submerged to clear his mind. When he’d chatted with the enforcers over the burning books, they’d discussed having two of them accompany Abigail, but it had seemed like overkill. Not anymore. He flirted with calling one of his associates through their mind link, but discarded the idea because it would look suspicious. Bad enough he’d tipped his hand a bit by delving into Abigail’s mind. He wasn’t certain if Goody actually caught him. If not, it had been perilously close.
Luke straightened, shook water off his hands, and flexed his fingers to get some feeling back into them. He hoped Goody had been asleep, right along with Abigail, and the energy he’d felt trifling with his own was an automatic response to anything male in Goody’s immediate vicinity. He snorted derisively. The Salem witch must have been hell on wheels before they’d hanged her at the witch trials. He wondered how many men she’d mowed her way through as a young woman.
“Do you think the new driver will show up today?”
Luke started at the sound of Abigail’s voice. “Not sure.” He turned slowly and glanced at where she stood framed in the stationhouse doorway. The dark rings beneath her eyes had morphed into purplish smudges, and her hair tangled in ropes around her. Though she clasped her hands together, they still shook a little. Counter to his better judgment, his heart softened. It was all he could do not to rush to her side, gather her into his arms, and tell her everything would be all right. She looked so vulnerable, and yet so resolute, he vowed to help her any way he could.
The chill voice of reason intruded. I’m going to have to destroy her if I can’t figure anything else out. His gaze scuttled sideways. Although he’d just now allowed the thought to surface, he’d understood his duty the minute he discovered Abigail’s dual nature. If another enforcer were here, he’d probably insist they strike immediately and remind him the battle against evil always left a string of collateral damage. It was too bad about Abigail, but fighting wickedness was a thankless business, not for the squeamish or weak-minded…
“What? Did I do something wrong?” Abigail’s voice dragged him out of the morass his thoughts had become. She plucked at her skirt with restless fingers.
He sent a weak smile her way. “Not you. This time it’s me.” He inhaled deeply. “Tell me about yourself. Looks like we’ve got the time.”
She looked longingly at the creek. “Do you mind if I take a bath first? There’s a pool I can see from here where it would be easy to warm the water, and if I don’t bathe before the sun goes down, I might not get a chance tomorrow if the driver shows up early.”
His heart hammered and his throat grew thick. She hadn’t invited him to share the water with her, but… Luke brought himself up short. He was starting to recognize the feel of Goody’s castings and waved a dismissive hand. “Go ahead. I’ll get some more wood inside. If we’re here for the night, and it’s certainly starting to look that way, we can fire the stove. I used up everything inside the station when you made our breakfast.”
He didn’t wait for her to say anything else, just strode away from the water and left her to her bath. It was difficult, but he didn’t peek back over his shoulder when he stopped for a small axe leaned up against the station. While he chopped and ferried wood inside, images of Abigail’s body bombarded him. Even though he couldn’t see her, his imagination was ripe with possibilities. Lush breasts, a round bottom, and the dark, private place between her legs tormented him. The wood box was nearly full, but he made one last trip into the nearby woods. Mouth dry, cock desperate for relief, he lost himself in a dense grove of trees and wound magic thickly around both the trees and himself before he unlaced his breeches.
His cock practically jumped into his hand. What he was doing felt wrong, yet if he didn’t, he wasn’t at all certain he’d be able to resist Goody if she used Abigail to try to seduce him again. He closed his hand over his shaft, shut his eyes, and drove all thoughts of Abigail from his mind. She was beautiful, but until she was herself again—if that ever happened—he’d be better off with cascading images of bouncing breasts and damp pussies that belonged to anonymous women, a collage of ones he’d known over the years. It only took a few strokes before his penis jerked in his hand, spewing semen onto the ground. Once his breathing steadied, he sent tendrils of mage fire to obliterate his seed. If the other side got hold of his essence, they could use it to bind him.
•●•
Abigail had wakened to a powerful orgasm pounding through her. When the last vestiges of sleep fell away and she’d found her hand beneath her skirts, she’d been mortified, until she discovered she was alone. Thank the goddess. Maybe her wantonness had gone unobserved. “What the hell are you doing?” she asked Goody.
“We needed that. Want to do it again?” the witch smirked.
“No. I’m just damned glad we didn’t get caught.”
“Oh, but we did.”
“We didn’t,” Abigail insisted. “He’s not here.”
“He was, but he left.”
Thinking she could capitalize on that, Abigail muttered, “See. He’s a gentleman. Watching me touch myself made him uncomfortable…”
“He’s a damned coward. Most men know what to do when their cocks get hard.”
“I told you,” Abigail spaced her words out, “he suspects something’s not right. If you push him, he may just kill me.”
“Pfft. He wouldn’t. You’re on the same side.”
“Why do you think the Coven employs enforcers?”
“I have no idea. Witches didn’t need them in my day. We handled our own dirty work.” Goody sounded insufferably smug.
“They do quite a few things, but one of their main functions is to keep rogue witches in line.”
“Fascinating.”
“Isn’t it?” Abigail mimicked Goody’s tone. “It’s why I asked for access to my magic last time you called the wraiths. If I hadn’t fought back in some sort of credible fashion, the enforcers would have put one of their silver bullets through my heart—which would have killed you too—and made sure our remains joined your books in mage fire.”
“Oh.”
“That’s all? Oh?” Abigail waited. When Goody didn’t answer, she forced a courage she was far from feeling and said, “I’m going to go outside and find Luke. You’re going to behave. I want to get through tonight without incident.”
Satisfied she’d done all she could, Abigail moved outside. While a bath had been her idea, Goody added her own touches to things. When Luke stalked off to get wood, Abigail breathed a huge sigh of relief. For whatever reason, he was one man who didn’t let his cock rule him and she respected him for that.
A little scouting turned up bear onion, otherwise known as soap root. She found a pool, warmed the water with magic, and soaped her body and her hair. Most of the way through drying herself, also with magic, Goody burst into satisfied laughter. “What?” Abigail asked.
“The man. He’s not so pure as all that. He’s out there frigging himself. Damn if he didn’t shroud himself in magic. I’d love to get a good look at his cock.”
“Stand the hell down.” Abigail shinnied into her pantalets, chemise, and petticoats, tugged her dress over her head, and fastene
d its buttons. ”He’s a decent man. You leave him alone.”
“Decent, eh?” Goody cackled. “You just said he wouldn’t hesitate to kill us.”
“Yes, I did say that. Last time I checked, you were our enemy. He likes me, but he wouldn’t let that stop him from doing his duty to keep wickedness at bay.”
Sudden pain flashed through her. Her heart stuttered; breathing became a struggle and her vision faded at the edges. She shouldn’t have said what she did, but there was no taking it back now. Would Goody kill her where she stood? “Where will you go if my body dies?” Even her mind speech sounded choked and breathy.
The pressure inside her chest let up. Abigail sucked air, filling her lungs. After a time, the tingling in her extremities lessened. Desolation racked her, followed by anger. She’d gotten herself into this mess by being sloppy way back in New York when she hadn’t checked the third trunk. By God, she’d get herself out. Waiting for either Luke or Goody to kill her wasn’t her style.
“Everything all right?” Luke’s voice drifted from the other side of the stationhouse.
“Fine. I’ll be there soon. Want me to gather some more greens?”
“Sure. We’ll be needing something for supper.”
Abigail finger combed her long hair. She could finish drying it inside. Fury at the Salem witch curdled her stomach, but she pushed it aside. She’d told her the truth, and look where it had gotten her.
Yeah, almost killed. If I hadn’t reminded her she had nowhere to go, I’d be face down in the creek.
“Don’t tempt me,” Goody snarled. “You’re starting to feel like more trouble than you’re worth. It doesn’t have to be that way.” The witch’s interior voice took on a wheedling quality and Abigail recognized compulsion.