Sea Cursed: An Adult Dystopian Paranormal Romance: Sector 13 (The Othala Witch Collection)

by Amy Lee Burgess

  I wanted to deny I was a witch, but I held my tongue. Contradicting the Regent seemed unwise, but I made no sound or gesture of affirmation. I was not a witch.

  “Colonel? How much destruction did this one manage before you persuaded her to come along with you? She looks rather...disheveled. She put up a good fight, did she?” The Lord Regent’s ruddy lips split into a nasty smile. His contempt for the leader of his elite regiment seemed plain for all to see.

  Gold Braid reddened, either with rage or mortification, perhaps a combination. What had this sea-cursed sea witch done before he’d been taken in?

  “My lord,” said Gold Braid, his eyes bulging. “Her ragged appearance is due to the lightning bolt that struck her and the circumstances of her birth.” He shot me a spiteful look.

  He meant my clothes were shabby and old compared to people who lived in Regents Row like him. I had nice clothes in my closet at home. Who wore their best dress to the market? Especially on a rainy day? Sure, my raincoat had seen better days, and maybe my shoes were scuffed, but that didn’t make me any less of a person.

  Just once I wished I possessed the ability to think up a scathing retort in time to actually deliver it when it would still be relevant. Instead, I stood on the wet cobblestones, no doubt sputtering, and wished I could melt into the earth.

  “Ah, the lightning bolt.” The Regent turned to me with an oily smile. “May I see the mark of Othala?” He winked. “I have to make certain for myself the colonel brought in the right witch.”

  Not a witch. Hot tears burned my eyes. Oh, Othala, I would not cry. Oh, no.

  “Show him your arm, witch,” Captain Clark urged. Again, the way he said witch didn’t sting the way it did when others called me that.

  His words gave me the time I needed to sniff back my tears. Shakily, I held out my right hand, averting my gaze so I wouldn’t have to look at the damning mark.

  The Regent made no move to touch me. Perhaps he didn’t want to sully his lordly fingers against my low-class skin. Mortified, I continued to hold out my arm while he inspected the mark, bending his head so that I could see the small bald patch on the top of his head.

  The Regent straightened and winked at me. “I’m satisfied you are this Reutterance’s earth witch. Colonel Murgatroyd has made mistakes before, you see. Although not any of such vast incompetence as bringing in the wrong sea-cursed witch.” He gave me another wink. “Yet, at any rate.”

  Gold Braid’s red cheeks made him look like an incredibly angry apple. He made a sound halfway between a cough and a choleric throat clearing, but said nothing.

  The Regent smirked and wound an overly familiar arm around my shoulders. I winced, hoping no mud sullied his suit. I didn’t much like the way he pulled me close against him as he walked me through the front door leading into Moody Mansion. He made me feel dirty somehow. And extremely uneasy.

  “You are quite a beautiful woman,” he remarked as the guards fell into formation in the courtyard behind us, guarding the mansion.

  I glanced over my shoulder to find Captain Clark. His expression was neutral, but his green eyes twinkled reassuringly at me before he turned to face the main thoroughfare of Regents Row.

  The Regent followed my gaze, but all he could see was the backs of his guards. He couldn’t possibly have known which guard I’d looked at, could he?

  “Beautiful, but tongue-tied perhaps?” The Regent nudged me playfully with his hip, staggering me off balance. If he hadn’t been holding me prisoner against him, I might have knocked one of the priceless blown-glass ornaments off the side table we were passing on our way to a grand, red-carpeted staircase.

  We reached the bottom step of the staircase. Was he going to guide me up to a bedroom and try to take me against me will? He was Lord Regent. He had the authority to do anything. In his eyes I was a lowly witch. I bit my lip, my heart hammering painfully. I would resist and then what? Would I be tossed into prison? Hanged for treason?

  He halted and turned me to face him. His dark gaze bored into mine. Worry pinched his mouth.

  “The fate of Galveteen rests upon your lovely shoulders, my dear. I sincerely hope you are up to the occasion.” He cast me a look that plainly speculated on my ability. I stifled a nervous laugh. I doubted there’d be a dramatic seduction scene. He was more concerned with the Reutterance of course.

  I wanted to tell him we were most likely doomed then, because I was not a witch, but the longer I stared into his dark eyes, the more powerless I became. If only he’d look away, or help me out in some way.

  “What about the sea witch? You make it sound like it’s all on me.” Othala! Was that surly tone my voice? Paralyzed silence had been a million times better.

  “The sea witch,” the Regent all but snarled, then recovered his composure. “Yes, he has a role as well. I look forward to the two of you meeting this evening. Dinner is at seven sharp. Matilda!” He addressed a hovering woman in a housekeeper’s uniform. “See that she’s ready.” He cast me a rather disgusted look. “And make sure she’s presentable. Give her one of my wife’s dresses. Othala knows she has more than enough to spare.”

  Matilda gave him an ingratiating smile. “Of course, Lord Regent, you may rely on me.”

  He grunted and walked away down a long hallway without even a nod in my direction. His arrogance was breathtaking. But he was Lord Regent. Perhaps that was simply the way they all behaved from the long-ago first witch regent down to him.

  At least the first witch regent had had the right to be self-important. She’d been one of The Sixteen, a member of a council of the most powerful witches the world had ever known. She’d cast the original spell that moved Galveteen far enough out to sea that the ravagers couldn’t swim the distance. Lord Regent David Trumbull had done nothing extraordinary so far into his rule that I’d ever heard about.

  Odd to think once witches had ruled the island and been the regents. Had they been proud to be magical? They must have been. Non-magical people hadn’t thought witches were only good enough to be menial laborers. Maybe they’d even liked them. Been friends with them. Loved them. Hard to even picture. I shook my head to clear it of such strange thoughts.

  Maybe two hundred years ago being a witch hadn’t been a bad thing, but this was not that time. No one today could ever want to be a witch, especially not a sea-cursed witch.

  The housekeeper, Matilda, was string-bean skinny and had the tiniest feet I’d ever seen on an adult. She took one look at my feet – my shoes to be exact – and ordered me to take them off so I wouldn’t get mud on the antique rugs.

  I had no idea what to do with my muddy shoes once they were off. Matilda stared, askance, at my feet. I waited for her to order me to show her my soles to make sure they weren’t muddy too, but she merely pointed at a floor mat. I deposited my shoes on the mat and meekly followed her up the stairs in my bare feet.

  A large, stained glass window at the top of the staircase depicted a family with open arms as if inviting people in. It utterly failed to make me feel welcome. I wanted to go home in the worst way. A hard lump formed in my throat threatening to block my airway. It wasn’t likely I would ever see home again. The staircase seemed to grow tighter with every step I took.

  Matilda paused on the landing of the second floor and turned to give me a stern look. “Second floor is for family only. You will not poke your nose into any of their bedrooms. Stay on the stairs.”

  Even though I would never dare even dream of doing something invasive like peek into bedrooms that didn’t belong to me, a prickle of guilt still jolted down my spine at her words. As if she’d already caught me doing it.

  She continued on to the third floor and led me to the door farthest down the hallway. She threw open the door with a flourish as if she expected me to fall to my knees in gratitude for being given such a spectacular bedroom.

  The queen bed was covered with a vintage nine-patch quilt that might have been made in the Before Times. The multi-colored Oriental rug definitely had
. Antique chairs flanked the floor-to-ceiling window and a glossy oak dresser with an oval mirror hung above it stood to the side of a door that opened into a blue-and-white tiled bathroom.

  Everything gleamed and the room smelled of citrus. The room was striking, but I was damned if I’d show her any indication it impressed me.

  A tic jumped in the corner of her pursed-up mouth. “I’m sure it is quite a remarkable improvement on the bedroom you must have shared with several of your sisters.” She sniffed. “Possibly brothers.”

  “I’m an only child.” I resisted the urge to grind my bare heel into her teeny toes. I wandered to the window, which showcased a spectacular view of the island and the ocean in the distance. My own house had a better ocean view if it came down to it, even if the neighborhood wasn’t as grand as this one.

  “Really?” Matilda regarded me with a disbelieving smirk. “I thought your sort of people bred like rabbits.”

  “What are my sort of people?” I swung around, fists balled at my sides. My father was not poor. Certainly not rich by this neighborhood’s standards, but our house was paid for, and we wanted for nothing.

  “Witches of course,” she pronounced the word as if tasted foul in her mouth.

  My fingers uncurled, and I swallowed the sobs that threatened to burst from me. Othala, how she’d blindsided me.

  “The bathroom is just there.” She pointed. “Soak in warm water for at least thirty minutes. Use plenty of soap. I’ll not have one of Lady Regina’s dresses ruined by your filth. Your kind aren’t good enough to kiss her feet, and now the Lord Regent’s got me lending you one of her dresses. Well, it won’t be one of her best, nor will it be this season’s, you can count on that.”

  “Of course not,” I whispered, but to the door as she’d whirled and slammed out before I could speak.

  I stumbled for the bathroom, blinded by tears I refused to let fall. Take a bath. That was all I would think about – nothing past that.

  The vivid blue tub filled quickly with warm water. I found soap on the counter by the sink and a washcloth and towel on the rack above the toilet. With a troubled sigh, I sank beneath the water’s surface, dunking my head to wet my hair so I could wash it.

  A dreadful burst of superstitious terror gripped me. No escape. No matter I did or where I turned, I was fated to save Galveteen and die in the process. I shivered, despite the warm water.

  I had just finished lathering and rinsing, and was in the process of squeezing excess moisture from my long hair when the hallway door burst open. A tall man with buzz cut brown hair and sizzling blue eyes burst into the bathroom. Dark beard stubble covered his cheeks and chin lending him the look of a pirate of old. All he needed was an eyepatch and breeches, and he’d be perfect.

  I goggled at him, tongue-tied and flabbergasted.

  The intimidatingly good-looking man jerked to a halt when he saw me in the tub, then a wry grin twisted his lips. His eyes lit up to the color of the mid-morning sky.

  “Well, well, what have we here?” He crossed his arms over his chest and smirked down at me.

  Resentment smothered my self-consciousness. An indignant squawk burst from my lips, and absurdly, I attempted to cover my breasts with the small washcloth.

  “Why bother? Breasts like those should never be covered up in my opinion.”

  “Who on Othala asked for your damned opinion?” I yelled. He could at least avert his eyes instead of leer at me like a drunken sailor. “Get out!”

  “That bitch housekeeper told me this was the only bathroom I was supposed to use,” he drawled, making no move to leave me and my shredded dignity.

  “Well, you can use it after I finish my bath!” I crossed my arms over my chest as water dripped from my hair and plopped into the bathwater.

  “You look like an outraged mermaid, you know that?” He continued to ogle me in the most impertinent fashion. “You just need a tail.”

  A tail? Who did he think he was? Just because he was gorgeous, I deserved no respect from him?

  “Get out!” I splashed water onto the bathmat in my agitation. Damn him, if he didn’t throw back his head and laugh. “I mean it!”

  “What will you do if I don’t? Leap out of the tub and make me? That’s incentive for staying if you ask me.”

  “I am...” I spluttered. “...so angry right now! Get out! Out!”

  “All right.” He rolled his eyes and backed for the door. “Watch out or your screeching will draw that emaciated crow in here. That’s all we need is her cawing at us.”

  I couldn’t help snickering at that description of Matilda. With her housekeeper’s uniform and her pursed-up mouth that stuck out like a beak, she did resemble a crow.

  “Anyone ever tell you you’re beautiful when you laugh?” The arrogant bastard asked me, leering again.

  “Get out!” I shouted, pitching the washcloth at his annoyingly gorgeous face. I had the supreme satisfaction of watching it fly through the air and hit his mouth with a moist smack. His eyes filled with astonishment, and maybe a hint of respect before he pawed it off and backed out into the hall. He winked at me before shutting the door. Slowly.

  “Idiot!” I muttered between my teeth.

  “I’m standing right outside the door. I can hear you,” he said, sounding extremely amused.

  “Why? What? Get away from the door. Go someplace else!”

  “I really need to use the facilities. And like I said, I’m not allowed to use any other bathroom but this one. Hurry up and finish your bath.”

  “I just got in!” I huffed out my breath in exasperation.

  “Well, get out,” he said. “Although half of me wants to see the crow’s face if I piss all over the antique rug out here.”

  “You are disgusting,” I muttered. I rubbed the bar of soap beneath my armpits, mindful of Matilda’s order not to get my filth on the Lady Regent’s dress. Humiliation surged over me. If only I weren’t so muddy.

  The bathwater turned murky, and when that man pounded an impatient fist on the door, the bar of soap squirted through my fingers and flew across the room into a tiled corner.

  “Othala curse it!” I yelled.

  “I’m begging now. Hurry up!” he urged. “I knew I shouldn’t have drunk all that water at lunch, but the Lord Regent is very stingy with his wine, and I was thirsty.

  “Do you actually think you are talking to someone who cares?” I scrambled soggily out of the tub and reached for the towel, hoping I was clean enough.

  In answer, he pounded on the door again.

  “In two seconds I’m coming in regardless,” he warned.

  “Don’t you dare!” I shouted, flinging the towel around myself.

  “I always take dares,” he said, and threw open the door.

  I let out a scream and made a dash for the door that led into my bedroom. I slammed it against his mocking laughter.

  I shook my fist at the closed door and pulled up the towel before it fell to the floor. My dress and raincoat were still in the bathroom leaving me nothing to wear. I had no comb for my hair, nothing.

  Outside, rain fell in sullen sheets, striking the windowpanes making a lonely sound. Was Mother standing by the kitchen window watching it as she often did? My mouth twisted. More likely she was crying on her bed while my father raged around the house kicking things.

  Why hadn’t I listened to her and stayed home today? Maybe then someone else would have been struck by lightning and given the mark of Othala. Only it didn’t work that way. All my life I’d been taught that the sea-cursed witches were destined for the mark no matter where they went or how well they tried to hide. I’d been born to be marked when it came time for the Reutterance because it was part of the spell the previous sea cursed witches had cast.

  “Seeking spell cast across the waves even as Galveteen is saved. For fifty years we all must wait. Sea-cursed witches can’t escape fate.” I whispered beneath my breath. I’d used to jump rope to that old children’s rhyme when I’d been young enoug
h for such things, little knowing this day would come for me.

  I crawled beneath the quilt and huddled beneath the sheets for warmth and comfort. I found none, but I did somehow manage to drop off into an uneasy sleep.

  Chapter 4

  The bedroom door banged open, and I jerked awake.

  “Just like a witch – lying abed all day.” Matilda carried a dress over her arm protectively as she eyed me with such contempt guilt immediately swamped me.

  I didn’t bother to attempt to explain. I clutched the quilt to my neck as she approached the bed.

  “At least put on a robe.” She pointed at an armoire in a corner of the room. I hadn’t seen it before. Too busy feeling sorry for myself. Like a scared, stray cat, I crept to the armoire and pulled open the door. Several robes from light summer floral prints to heavy winter fabrics hung inside. I hastily pulled on a bright coral one and belted it.

  “I’ll send the Lady Regent’s maid to do your hair and makeup. I’m not positive anything can be done to tame your wild, witchy appearance, but if anyone can do it, she can.” Matilda bustled for the door. For such a tiny, skinny woman, she took up a lot of space. “For now put on that dress. Don’t try to fasten it in the back, you’ll rip it like as not. Wait for the maid.”

  In the time it had taken me to choose the most colorful robe in the armoire, Matilda had made the bed and laid out my dinner dress.

  I stared at the dress, horror clawing at my throat. No. I was not wearing that dress.

  “I don’t wear black.” The determined fury in my voice must have astonished Matilda for she halted in the doorway and slowly turned around.

  “Since when do you have a say in anything that goes on under the Lord Regent’s roof?”

  “I don’t care. I won’t wear it. Take it away!” Memory transported me back to Amanda’s house and Amanda and Kelly staring at me in horror. No one had mentioned the word “witch”, but I’d been judged guilty of witchcraft just the same. Amanda had muttered, “Should have known the way you wear black all the time.” I’d taken all my black clothes to the beach and burned them in a bonfire vowing never, ever to wear black again. I was not a witch!