The Witch and the Hellhound (The Seaforth Chronicles Book 2)

by B. J. Smash

  The Witch and the Hellhound

  By: B. J. Smash

  © 2013 B.J. Smash

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover Design by Melody Simmons of ebookindiecovers.com

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced intro a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Other Books by B.J. Smash

  The Witches of Merribay

  The Sea Witch and the Mermaid

  The Witch and the Bottle of Djinn

  Dedication

  To Dave, Brent, Chrissi, and to all my fellow fantasy readers.

  Acknowledgments

  I want to take a moment to say thank you to Dr. Dave in Thailand. Thank you for all of the inspirational pictures that you send along; they continue to make my day.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter One

  There he was. Unbelievable.

  Ian hadn’t made it to brunch this morning. Mrs. Pumbleton had said not to worry; occasionally he was late, which was news to me. She hadn’t appeared too convincing and as she wrung her hands, I knew she, herself, was worried.

  Ian had never been late since the day I started working for him.

  I had carried on with the morning as though everything were fine, taking a bite from an apple muffin and grabbing a cucumber for the road. I made my way to the gate, knowing full well that I could open it now. Yes, finally Ian had changed the wards. I could operate the gate!

  So it was, I had went through, walking along the path, enjoying the cool morning and mist-filled air. My bare feet sank into the earth as I walked, and as I approached the great yew, I heard from somewhere low to the ground, “Miss Seaforth. Can you lend me a hand?”

  Scanning the woods, my eyes fell upon Ian lying next to the great yew, his foot in some sort of metal trap. He lay on his side with his head to the ground. And more surprisingly, he wore nothing but his tighty-whities.

  “What are you doing on the ground with your foot in a trap?” I avoided looking at his tighty-whities—it was not a sight I wanted to remember.

  “Looking for raspberries,” he joked. “Just get me some help,” he grumbled. “It doesn’t hurt—I can’t feel a thing. But I don’t fancy laying out here on the forest floor in my drawers. You can see how I might be uncomfortable, can you not? Or would you like to try it as well?”

  As he rambled on, I said, “Where is your wheelchair? Or your crutches?”

  “Vagabonds. They took them.” His elbow sank an inch into the soft earth as he propped his head on his hand.

  “Vagabonds, huh?” I said disbelievingly. Drumm had told me that the so-called vagabonds had been one of Ian’s stories. Occasionally there were wanderers but not very often. “I’ll be back in a moment with Drumm.”

  “Oh that blasted Elf. I know he must have seen me by now. I can’t imagine why he hasn’t offered his assistance.”

  “I’ll be right back,” I called over my shoulder, stifling a laugh. When I thought I was out of earshot, I let it out.

  “I can hear you, Miss Seaforth. I’m glad you find this humorous. It’s making my day, just to know that you are amused.”

  “Ian, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m going to run now—be right back.” I sprinted off, running all the way to Izadora’s, laughter bubbling up in my chest. It was one of those things that you just shouldn’t be laughing at, which made it all the more funny. If he was hurt, of course I wouldn’t be laughing, but he wasn’t hurt; he was just in a foul mood.

  How on earth did he get his foot stuck in a trap? And why the heck was he in his underwear? More importantly, how did he get out here without his wheelchair or crutches?

  I spotted Drumm sitting on Izadora’s steps, carving something out of wood. The white hellhounds lay calmly by his feet. Their red ears perked up when they heard me, and they sat up when they saw me approaching. Both of them lunged at me out of pure joy, I’m sure, knocking me to the ground to lick my face.

  “Milo, Hansgard, behave,” Drumm said as he continued to whittle away at something.

  Both dogs stood by watching me push myself up. Wiping the dirt from my legs, I said, “Drumm, have you seen Ian? He lays in the woods with his foot in a trap, wearing nothing but his underwear.”

  Drumm shrugged. “Yeah, I saw him,” he said plainly, and then I saw his lips twitching.

  That caused me to bust out laughing for a moment before I said, “Well, why didn’t you help him?”

  “I was about to. He’s only been there for few hours or so. He’ll be fine.”

  “But his foot—”

  “He’s fine.”

  “I’m just curious, why haven’t you helped him yet?”

  “I’ve my reasons. He was somewhere he shouldn’t have been. You’ll have to ask him about it. Come on, I’ll set him loose,” he said as he stood. He tucked the piece of wood he’d been carving into his sack of arrows.

  As we walked past Izadora’s tree house, she stood on the balcony. I looked up to see her standing there watching us. “Tell Ian to stop by soon.” Recently, Ian had started coming in the woods and using his crutches for “nature walks,” even though his garden was humongous and never ending.

  “And tell him that he’d better steer clear of my chickens,” she added.

  Chickens were Izadora’s new thing. She had several in a pen farther down in the woods, running around making all kinds of noise. She’d walk the planks to toss the grain down to them, and Drumm would collect any eggs.

  “Why would he be bothering your chickens?” I asked.

  “At this time of year…let’s just say he likes the taste of chicken,” Drumm said.

  “Bring the trap back when you come,” Izadora piped in. “And, Ivy, you come straight back. We have things to do.”

 
“You set the trap?” I was nothing short of confused at this point.

  “I did,” Drumm said as he took off running along the green fern path that led to the giant yew.

  ***

  Two days prior to the incident where I found Ian with his foot set in a trap, lying on the forest floor in his underwear, I had seen him in the McCallister house’s grand sunroom. His face had been pale, and the black sweater he wore made him look like a vampire. He had bags under his eyes, and he hadn’t shaved that morning. Ian always shaved.

  He had plenty to say about his brothers’ upcoming visit.

  “My brothers will be arriving in a few days, as they always do at this time of year. They will be here for the entire season, the brutes. How fortunate I am,” he said sarcastically, “to have them visit me every single year.”

  He slouched down, propped his elbow on the arm of his wheelchair, and leaned the side of his face into his hand.

  “Aren’t you glad they are coming?” I asked.

  “Are you glad when you stub your toe? Or cut yourself with a knife? Are you glad when you hit your head on the cupboard door? Ask a sensible question, Miss Seaforth, and maybe you shall get a sensible answer.” He slouched further into his seat. Ian never slouched.

  “Oh.”

  He continued to rant. “When they are here, anything goes. I have to hire a maid for every floor just to keep up with the messes they make. I have to lock my good whisky in the cupboards and hide my best cigars.”

  “Why don’t you share?” I mean, he had plenty of money.

  “Share? Share with them? They don’t know the difference between aged whisky and jug wine. They don’t know a good cigar from a piece of rolled-up cardboard. What’s the point to share?”

  I had a feeling he was exaggerating terribly, but hey, if it made him feel better.

  “Also, you will find that I am the smart one of the family. Oh, Hugh and Adam are not too bad—they can be quite sharp. But the other two, the youngest ones, just about drive me nuts.” He hit the arm of his chair with the palm of his hand.

  “It’s okay, Miss Seaforth. I’ll survive, as I always do. I will survive. I just have to prepare myself mentally. That’s all.”

  I sucked in a deep breath and let it out. “That’s good.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out. “Now, how about a game of chess?”

  “Chess?” Immediately, I felt a headache coming on. I didn’t like playing chess; it was such a drag.

  “Yes, chess. You know, the game that makes one think, expands one’s mind? That one.”

  “Can’t we just get Mrs. Pumbleton and play spades?”

  “No. No spades. Chess. You must learn strategy.”

  “But why?”

  “It may help you one day—you must never underestimate your opponent.”

  And so it was, we played chess for the next hour and a half.

  ***

  I had left him that day in a better mood than I had found him in, but it hadn’t been that much of an improvement, and as we approached him lying at the base of the great yew, I quietly asked Drumm, “Did you take his crutches?”

  “His crutches? No, I didn’t take his crutches.”

  “He doesn’t have any.”

  “He didn’t need them at the time,” Drumm stated flatly.

  “Miss Seaforth, go and get me some bloody crutches, will you? What’s the holdup?”

  I let out a long sigh and turned to run back to the mansion. His cantankerousness was starting to get on my nerves. Working for Ian had its ups and downs. The pay was excellent. But be that as it may, lately, he could be a pain in the backside.

  “And a robe!” Ian called after me.

  I fetched a red robe and a set of crutches from Mrs. Pumbleton, all the while she wouldn’t look me in the eye. She indeed was holding back from me. There was something going on, but I didn’t have time to convince her to talk.

  When I returned, Ian was sitting against the yew, twiddling his thumbs. Drumm was back to carving something, and I handed Ian the robe and set the crutches next to the tree. Moments later, Drumm extended his hand out to Ian and he was up on the crutches, heading back to his mansion without a single glance back.

  When Ian was out of earshot, I said, “That was bizarre.”

  “Don’t ask. You’ll have to talk to Ian,” Drumm said. “And if he doesn’t tell you, it will be then that I tell you.” Sometimes Drumm’s accent was quite prominent. It was different than any I’d ever heard, and I loved it.

  “Fine,” I said. I would ask Ian just as soon as I was done at Izadora’s. But I knew one thing: whatever took place this morning was far from what I had ever expected of Ian. Wandering in the woods without crutches, nearly naked? Oh no, that was not like Ian.

  Chapter Two

  Upon returning to Izadora’s, a few Elven people were strolling around, getting ready for their daily training and sparring. They had appeared in the field by the white bridge on the night I had last seen my sister and nemesis, Zinnia.

  There were twelve Elven that were here now. Apparently, they had been scanning the outskirts, of the land of the Elven beyond the gate, when they spotted an enormous group of the Fae, of the Unseelie sort, setting up camp at the entryway. This entryway to the land of the Elven was the only gateway to get in and out.

  A spell had been cast over the gate’s entrance by the group of Fae, using a certain book they’d obtained from a certain sister of mine, Zinnia. She had stolen my great-great-grandmother’s book, Aggie’s book of spells, from Magella the sea witch, who in fact had the book wrongfully in her possession to begin with.

  All was not well with the Elven tribe, as they had no way to break the spell. Drumm’s uncles, Niall and Conri, and the other Elven people barely escaped the wrath of the Unseelie by running away at such speeds, they couldn’t be caught. The Unseelie stood no chance at catching them, as the Elven could run short distances at the speed of a cheetah.

  They had traveled by foot in the beginning, and had to catch wild Elven horses for the remainder of the journey. Apparently, one needed horses to finish the journey to Merribay if coming from the land of the Elven. I hadn’t yet figured out why, but that is what I had been told.

  Unfortunately, the rest of the Elven people were trapped beyond the gate, helpless to the great spell that had been put on the entryway. It would be us who would somehow reopen the gate. But Drumm’s uncles said we had to be patient. Timing was crucial.

  They would remain here in Izadora’s territory until further notice. All were tall beings, the shortest probably just over six feet, the tallest a good seven feet. They all had similar hair color of blond shades, and some wore their hair tied back with green rope. A few wore it shoulder length, and one of them was Drumm’s uncle, Niall.

  He was a pleasant Elven man, with strong features and a generous mouth. From what I had gathered, he was a spiritual man, always talking about trees and nature and their place in our lives.

  Conri, Drumm’s other uncle, was a strong-willed man, I could see he was stubborn in his ways. He made sure their training was never cut short and sometimes even carried on after everyone else ceased. But he was strong—fiercely strong. I bet he could lift a car if he had to. He too was a handsome man, and he wore his hair tied with green rope.

  The other Elven men I had met, but embarrassingly, I couldn’t remember all of their names. I will be bold and say that they all looked like what I envisioned angels would look like.

  I said hello to the uncles, and Niall, who had to be six foot six, said, “Sit with us. We will meditate with the trees.”

  I cleared my throat and said, “Trees? Um…I better get inside. Izadora wanted to speak with me about something.”

  “It will only take a moment,” Niall said.

  Conri had already planted himself by a big oak tree off in the distance, closed his eyes, and became trance-like.

  “Okay,” I said, as I didn’t want to appear rude. I wished that Izadora would pop her he
ad out and tell me to get inside, but it didn’t happen. I liked trees, but meditating with one? C’mon.

  “Find a tree,” he said as he strode off to a nearby birch tree. Sweat stained the back of his white T-shirt, as he had already been working out this morning. When he planted himself next to the tree, I looked around for one.

  My eyes caught the oversized tree by Izadora’s. The tree’s bark was dark and looked burnt. Niall saw me glance at it and said, “That wouldn’t be the best tree to sit at. Izaill resides in that one.”

  “I know,” I said, recalling that night not long ago when Aggie had bound Izadora’s brother Izaill as punishment, to live inside the tree for the next ten years. We hadn’t heard a peep from him, as she had silenced him, too.

  Izadora had added to the curse by adding fire ants to live around and inside the tree. I could imagine how that would turn out for Izaill and just how ticked he probably was at the moment.

  Turning, I spotted Drumm at a tree, and he motioned for me to come over to him.

  As I drew closer, he patted the ground beside him for me to sit.

  “Align your spine with the tree trunk,” Niall said.

  I sat down straight like he told me to, aligning my spine to the tree. “Why does he want me to meditate by this tree?” I whispered into Drumm’s ear.

  Niall overheard me and answered before Drumm could. “Meditating upon the tree you sit at is a form of respect for the tree. You can do many things with the energy of a tree. For instance, you can heal a wound, be it physical or emotional. Another thing you can do is become one with the tree, seeing the many memories it holds from the past. Alas, that isn’t very common. Just try it for a moment.”

  He sat opposite us, by a birch tree, his eyes closed.

  “All right.” Hey, I’d try it, but I didn’t expect anything too exciting to happen.