She beamed at Abigail. Had Mrs. Roberts just repeated word for word what she had been told by Margaret Huntsman?
“But,” Abigail said, “what is she like as a person? Is she kind—to other people, I mean—and is she caring? Does she have a good sense of humor? Does she like children? Does she love Ben…I mean, Master Mason?”
“Dear,” Mrs. Robertson said. “I know you have taken a liking to Master Benjamin and want him to be happy, but you really should put out of your head all thoughts about personal matters between him and Miss Moore. He will be happy or he will not be. One thing he will not be is getting out of this marriage. When Ms. Huntsman has decided on something, it is done. Things will work out, if Master Benjamin goes along with what Ms. Huntsman has already arranged. That is about all we can say on the matter. Now run along and get to work. If Master Benjamin is going to be returning soon, you must make sure everything is in order for him. Go now.” She made a shooing gesture toward Abigail.
Abbie left, but didn’t feel any better about Ben’s engagement. Was he falling for the woman? She pictured that simpering little nit hanging all over Ben and laughing her silly, giggling laugh, smiling and shaping him like putty in her hands. A cracking sound, one of the shafts of a feather breaking, made her look down. She was wringing the feather duster she was holding as if it were the woman’s neck. She relaxed her hands and took a breath. He will be happy or he would not. That had to be the stupidest thing she had ever heard.
One thing the woman had said was correct. Abbie had better prepare for when Ben came back. Their time apart had allowed her to think on some things. The next time he stopped by for a spontaneous talk, she would have some questions ready for him.
“Are we still on schedule?” Margaret Huntsman asked Frank Gibraltar. He wore his typical gray suit and his hair was slicked back. Honestly, he looked like a television mobster. He was competent, though.
“We are.” His gravelly voice grew irritating if she had to listen to it for long. Margaret was glad he was a man of few words.
“Our spies tell us the airs and the earths are suspicious of each other, and of the waters,” Helen added. “The whole area is ready to burst into flames.” She laughed at her own joke. “So to speak.”
“Very funny, Helen,” Margaret said. “But will it happen soon enough? We are on a schedule here. We have more than just this area to be concerned about, you know. This will just be the start.”
“It’ll happen soon,” Frank said. “But we have run into a little snag.”
“A snag,” Margaret said.
“Yeah. We have another water witch getting chummy with some airs. In fact, she’s romantically involved with an air warlock.”
“And that is a problem why?” Margaret demanded. “We’re not in the business of trying to stop people from dating, we’re trying to start a war.”
“Uh,” Helen said, “the air warlock is the son of the Galemistress of the largest air coven in the state.”
“I see. That won’t do at all. Tell me what you will do to unsnag the situation.”
“Well,” Frank started, “that’s why I came to see you. We’ll need a little help with this one if we’re to take care of it soon.”
“I’m listening,” Margaret said as she leaned toward the man, focusing intently on his words.
Chapter 18
“Oh come on, Peg,” Sylvia Moran said.
The two water witches navigated a trail in the cool night air, a trail they had used countless times before.
“Peg Witcher, if you don’t stop dallying, I swear we’re not going to reach the ritual stones until daybreak.”
“Yes, yes,” Peg answered, leaving it at that to spare her breath. She didn’t remember the trail being this strenuous, but she wasn’t getting any younger, either.
Peg looked over at Sylvia. Twenty years younger, more fit, and much more attractive, she was everything a young witch should be. Except patient. Her long blond hair fell in perfect waves to the middle of her back, framing a face like a porcelain doll, pale, smooth, and flawless. Her skin glistened in the moonlight, not from perspiration but just because it always seemed to glow. Her bright blue eyes, button nose, and perfect, full lips caught the eye and wouldn’t let go. She was beautiful, everyone thought so, and it irritated Peg to no end.
She loved the woman like a sister, and sister was what she was. Members of their coven were family. Peg just wished the other witch wasn’t so perfect. Watching her slender but still curvy body move in the moonlight, she sighed and wished she could find flaws in the other woman’s appearance.
She herself was no slouch. People said she was attractive. Men still looked at her, sometimes made comments. Her dark hair shone in the night, in curls and just a little longer than Sylvia’s. Her eyes were a light hazel and she had been told, more than once, how beautiful they were. Her own lips, which she thought to be a bit thin, curved into a smile. Yes, there were enough people who had thought she was attractive over the years. Enough. She guessed that everyone had their own strengths and weaknesses. There was no use comparing.
“Thank you for speaking for me,” Sylvia said. “It’s an honor to be able to take part in the Summer Moon celebration ritual. I know they never would have let me do it without your recommendation.”
Peg eyed the younger woman. She really was a good witch. Guilt stabbed her at her petty thoughts from just a moment before. “You deserve it. You are powerful and meticulous in your movements. You should be helping. As one of the two rituals carried out by representatives in seclusion, it is very important to have the right witch performing the rites.”
Sylvia smiled at Peg, a sincere, great, beaming smile. The older witch smiled back and picked up her steps. They had a ritual to perform, after all.
The pair continued along the well-worn path and soon they could see by the light of the moon the edge of the lake that was their destination. Their steps became lighter as they neared where they would perform the ritual.
“Do you feel that?” Sylvia asked.
“Feel wha—” Peg started to say, but then she understood what the other woman was saying. A feeling of wrongness permeated the area. She had been to this spot many times, sometimes to perform the ritual they were about to complete. Because it was a nexus of power for water witches, it always felt peaceful, like she had come home. Something was spoiling that peace. To do that on the first full moon after the summer solstice, it had to be a great imbalance.
Too late, Peg realized what it was. “Defend yourself,” she yelled before a fist-sized fireball punched through Sylvia’s midsection, almost cutting her in half. She knew her friend was dead before she even hit the ground.
Two more fireballs struck the shield of water she called around herself, fizzling into nothingness but still buffeting her with their impact. Turning, she saw no less than five figures coming at her, some waving their arms to call more fiery projectiles into existence. She redoubled her effort on the shield and started moving.
If I can just make it to the lake, I might have a chance. As soon as she thought it, she ran as fast as she could toward the body of water.
More fireballs struck her shield, too many to count. One of the enemies had thrown up a wall of fire in her path. Her shield couldn’t withstand that and the projectiles being thrown at her at the same time, so she skirted around it, having to take a few extra precious steps. She was tiring quickly.
The water shield was growing warm, boiling away. If she had the strength, Peg would have attacked one or two of the fire witches, but she barely had enough power to keep the shield from collapsing. Only a few more feet and she would be at the water. There, she could draw on the power within the lake. It might just be enough to survive.
Another wall of fire sprang up in front of her. Peg lacked the strength to dodge around it. She took a deep breath, forced every ounce of magical ability from her tired body, and charged through, stumbling and falling at the edge of the lake. Parts of her skin felt scalded.
Drawing on the well of energy in the deep body of water, she strengthened her shield as a dozen or more fireballs slammed into it with jarring impact. She crawled a few feet until she was in deep enough water to swim. Once there, she dove until she was completely submerged. Already, the water’s magic loaned her more power, helping to erase her fatigue.
She floated motionless, suspended in the lifegiving liquid, for a full minute with her eyes closed, concentrating on gathering her power. Then she opened her eyes and looked toward the shore, where the fire witches were still throwing foul magics at her.
Gritting her teeth—they killed Sylvia in ambush—she used the water’s own magical energy to propel her forward. She didn’t need to swim; she and the water were one. She stopped when she was standing in three feet of water. Her shield glowed in the moonlight, impenetrable to everything the fire witches threw at her.
Peg finally took a look at her enemies. She knew they were users of fire magic, but she had been too desperate to survive earlier to see them clearly. There were four fire witches and three fire warlocks. Luckily, none of them seemed to be as strong as she was.
And now she stood in the middle of a powerful source of water magic. They were about to see how big a mistake they had made.
While maintaining the shield, Peg focused her energies and water jets rocketed out toward half of the attackers. Fireballs, walls of fire, and other spells could not withstand the jets. But those were not her primary attack. As she distracted them with her water jets, she made a sweeping gesture with her left hand and hardened water projectiles, half the length of her moving hand and a quarter as thick, shot out toward three of the witches and one of the warlocks. The missiles were not made of ice, but of hardened water, and when they struck, it was like a bullet from a high-powered rifle.
One of the witches was struck in the chest. The water bullet blew a hole half a foot in diameter through her torso. Another witch’s head exploded when struck. The third witch had her right arm torn off, and the fire warlock lost his left leg to two projectiles, causing him to topple to the ground.
Another sweep of her hand and the remaining attackers were incapacitated, two warlocks losing part or all of their heads and the other witch and warlock receiving holes that stretched across most of their abdomens. It would be a matter of a few minutes until they, too, were dead.
Peg looked around for additional enemies. The moans of the dying fire users didn’t bother her. In fact, in the rage she was in, she would have liked to have heard more painful cries from them. Still, she didn’t think she had finished them all. She had an uncomfortable feeling—
A massive concussion slammed her from her rear left side, not making it through the shield, but throwing her ten feet from where she had been standing. She rolled across the ground several times and then stopped. She tried to regain her breath.
She had been knocked out of the water.
“You very nearly survived,” a voice said from behind her. “Nearly, but not quite.”
Peg turned in time to see a dark-haired older woman completing a spell. The fire magic she had loosed sped toward Peg, and the water witch knew her shield would not be able to withstand the attack. She tried desperately to jump to the side, but the streak of red-yellow flame followed her like a guided missile.
The last thing Peg knew was the sizzling, whooshing sound of a bolt of fire tearing into her body.
She knew nothing after that.
Chapter 19
Eight days later, Benjamin Mason returned to the estate. Abigail didn’t see him arrive, but heard about it from the other servants. He was alone when he returned, of course, Penelope going to her own home. At least that much was good. What did she think, that the woman would move in to the estate with him? Abigail almost expected it.
Over the nearly four weeks he’d been gone, Abigail did her job, carried out her tasks in exactly the way she always had. She still hadn’t found any solid information about Margaret Huntsman and the things she was doing, but that was not what was on her mind. Ben was.
She had expected him to find her the first day, just show up in front of her as he always had, “coincidentally.” He did not. In fact, the few times she saw him, it was from a distance and he was busy or seemingly on the way somewhere. She actually thought of searching him out, tracking him down, but she wouldn’t do that. She would wait for him.
But she started to wonder. Had he lost interest? Had he ever been interested at all? Did his trip make him fall in love with Penelope? If so, that was fine. He deserved to be in love. But with her? She didn’t deserve him. And who did—herself? She needed a break, a place to go and think. She decided to take a little drive on the weekend and clear her head. She knew exactly where to go.
The thin young man smiled widely at Abigail as she pulled up and parked on the circular driveway in front of the large building. As she stepped out of the car, he enfolded her in a crushing hug.
“Hi, Abbie,” he said, his voice muffled in her shoulder.
“Hey, Jack,” she said. “How’s school? How is everything here since I’ve been gone?”
He released her and backed up a step, his grin so huge she had to increase her own smile until it hurt her face.
“Everything is just like it always is, just lonelier without you here.”
“Yeah, right,” Abbie chuckled. “Lonely. With only thirty-odd people here. Aqua Terra is many things, but I don’t think ‘lonely’ was ever one of them.”
She turned him toward the front door, slipping her arm through his. Jack was only sixteen, thin as a willow switch and as awkward as could be. His mop of dark hair accentuated his eyes, a darker blue than any Abbie had ever seen, like the sky just before dawn’s lightening. If he wasn’t her favorite cousin, he was in the top three. She loved his youthful exuberance and innocence. She couldn’t have chosen a better person to be the first she saw when she returned home.
“Is my father around?” she asked him as they passed through the front door. It was elaborately carved mahogany, identical to its twin right beside it, both with beautiful etched glass windows set in the upper half. Abigail sighed. She had passed through those doors thousands of times. She had only been gone a few months, but it felt good to be back home. She had missed this place.
“I think he may be in his study,” Jack said. “Are you going to stick around for a while?”
She smiled at him again. “Yes. I plan on being here all weekend.”
“Good. Maybe we can catch up after you talk with your dad. I want to show you some of the stuff I’ve been learning. Not schoolwork. You know.”
“Yes, I do.” She hugged him again, and he bounded off. She wished she had his teenage energy level. Not schoolwork. He was talking about water magic. He was a gifted water warlock, as most males in her family were. All the females were powerful, too. There hadn’t been a skip in the Henderson females in four generations.
She turned to the left and went down the hallway, trailing her finger along the ornate frames holding the paintings mounted on the walls. She took a deep breath. Even the air tasted sweeter here.
Her knock sounded loud in the quiet hallway. She wondered why there weren’t more people moving around. It was just after ten o’clock in the morning. There should have been more activity.
“Come in,” an older, yet still strong and deep, voice said from within. Abigail pushed the door open and went through.
“Abbie!” her father said as he rose and crossed the room, almost in a run. His arms surrounded her, and the comfort of his hug made her sigh again.
Landon Henderson was as solid a presence as Abigail had ever met, and not just because he was her father. Everyone thought the same thing. He was tall—six feet three inches—and not at all gangly. He was thick, fit and muscular, even at sixty y
ears old.
It wasn’t just his physical attributes, though, that made him so remarkable. He had a charisma, an air of command, a calmness that affected everyone around him. His cool blue eyes seemed to radiate peace like gently rolling waves in the ocean.
With his sandy blond hair and strong jaw, he looked like a leader, though his wife’s death had largely sapped his vitality. He had lost some of his spark when she was killed. Still, it was comforting to see him again, to be held in his arms. She felt the tension leave her body.
“How is my little girl?” He gently grabbed her shoulders and put her at arm’s length so he could look into her eyes.
“I’m doing okay,” she said, not elaborating further.
“Just okay, huh?” He looked more deeply into her eyes as if he was reading her mind. “We’ll talk about that later. To what do we owe the honor of your visit?”
Abigail sighed. “I just needed a little break. And I wanted to report how things are going so far with the mission. Are the others available?” She didn’t have to say “the other members of the Guiding Council.” He knew what she meant.
“Most of them. The Hills are at their own home, but coincidentally, the others have come to meet here. There has been…a development.”
“A development?” Abigail raised her eyebrow at her father’s wording.
“Yes. Maybe it’s better if you hear it from them, and then you can give your report at the same time. I’ll call everyone together. Is an hour from now a good time? You probably want to rest after your long drive.”
Abigail smiled at him. “Yes, that’s fine. I just need to wash up. I can rest after meeting with the Council. Thank you, Papa.” She rose onto her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll see you in an hour in the meeting chamber.”
Water & Flame (Witches of the Elements Series Book 1) Page 11