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

by B. J. Smash

  She waved with her free hand, and I waved back but I didn’t stop; I hurried by like I had to catch a train or something. She creeped me out like nothing else.

  Walking in through the sunroom, I was just in time for brunch. Everyone stopped eating to look at me.

  “Well, if it isn’t Miss Seaforth, my trusted old friend? It’s about time you got here. We were just talking about you. Have a seat,” Ian said.

  I sat down next to Ian. I could tell that he hadn’t slept all night, and, again, he hadn’t shaved. His face was pale like snow, and his eyes had circles beneath them. His brothers looked similar, but they wore wrinkled T-shirts and jeans. They all sat around the long table, eating steaks cooked rare, and their plates were piled high with mashed potatoes. It was breakfast time, but hey, if that’s what they liked for breakfast, then who was I to complain?

  Picking up an apple, I said, “I can’t stay, I’ve got to go to the Renaissance Festival…for Izadora.”

  “Oh! Splendid. You can take Lucian with you,” Ian said.

  I thought he’d say that—and I wasn’t against the idea. I didn’t want to go alone.

  “He can take one of the cars,” Ian said.

  Lucian tried to hold back a smile, but he was unsuccessful; apparently he liked this idea.

  “I’ll just go get the chain mail from the ballroom, and maybe a hat.” Lucian hopped up and left the table, taking two apple danishes with him.

  All the guys were talking to each other, and I leaned over and asked Ian, “Are you feeling okay? You look, um…well, you look pale.” I thought I’d just put it out there, even if it sounded rude.

  He leaned over and in a lowered voice he said, “Yes, Miss Seaforth. I’m fine. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about me. I’m actually having a rather good time this year with the brothers. It’s you that I should be worrying about. When do you leave?”

  I filled him in on everything that Izadora said. By that time, all the guys were listening to me.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll do everything we can to help you,” Alexander said.

  Lucian walked back in, carrying the chain mail and a hat with a feather in it. I don’t think the two things went together, but maybe that’s all he could find.

  “What do you mean? How can you help me? What are you going to do? Fly a jet over the battleground, writing words of encouragement in the sky?”

  They all laughed, and Ian said in a more serious tone, “Just don’t worry about it.”

  And with that, Lucian and I were off.

  He poked in a code to the garage, swiped his finger on a pad, let a camera scan his eyes, and the door flipped up. Inside, the garage was filled with cars. Ian didn’t drive, but that didn’t stop him from collecting cars. We walked by a snappy yellow Lamborghini, a breathtaking Porsche 911, and a fancy Rolls-Royce. In the next row, we saw a Bugatti Veyron and a Corvette ZR1, stopping at a sporty red and black Dodge Viper. There were several more cars, but I didn’t know what they were. Although I did spot an Aston Martin.

  “We’ll take this one. Ian doesn’t let me drive the others,” Lucian said. “I’ve already scratched this one, so it’s basically mine now. And he won’t get it fixed.”

  “When did you have time to scratch it? You haven’t even been here for two days yet.”

  “Oh, last night I had to drive to the store to get my dad something for his stomach. Ginger ale. Alexander went along, and we were in a hurry to get back home by ten. You know the, uh…the fishing show came on, and all. So, I was in a hurry. Scratched the car on the gate. No biggie. Ian’s face didn’t get too red over it.”

  “Your father is still sick?”

  “Yeah, he’ll be fine though. Let’s go.” He tossed the chain mail and hat in the back. “Cool cape.”

  “Thanks. It’s Drumm’s.” I hugged it close to my body. “We have to stop at my house, so I can put on a dress.”

  He pulled into the dooryard, and we both got out and went inside to find Aunt Cora humming a tune, cleaning the already clean kitchen.

  “What are you doing here? Who is at the café?” I asked.

  “Mother went down to fill for me. I just didn’t feel like going in today. I’m about to make a cake.” Aunt Cora never missed work.

  She had on a long, silky red dress. A dress that one might wear out to a fancy dinner. Her hair was done up with fancy barrettes, and she wore red lipstick. To top off her ensemble, she wore three-inch heels. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why she wore them in the kitchen just to make a cake. She continued to hum and sail around the kitchen like a ballerina, grabbing this and that from the cupboards.

  “Well, I’ll leave you to it then, Aunt Cora. Have fun.”

  “Oh, I intend to.” She giggled. “Nice to meet you…”

  “Lucian. Ian’s nephew,” I said, as I had forgotten to introduce them.

  “Oh, yes—Ian’s nephew from yesterday.” She smiled with a spacy look on her face. Her actions may have something to do with the red-knotted love rope, but I didn’t have time to think about it right now.

  We left her in the kitchen, and while I was in the bathroom putting on a long white sundress—the only medieval-looking thing I could find—Lucian sat on my bed, trying to talk to me through the door.

  “Your aunt likes to dress up, huh?”

  “Not really. And she never ever misses a day of work. Even when she’s hungover,” I said. Perhaps I had just volunteered too much information, but it was true.

  Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I ran my fingers through my long, golden hair. Messy as usual, I gave up on it. I didn’t have any pockets and I placed the woven thyme and valerian sprigs over my right ear, just as Izadora had said to, and covered it with my hair. Donning Drumm’s cape back over my shoulders, I opened the bathroom door.

  When I walked out, Lucian said, “You’re beautiful. You should wear dresses more often.”

  Instantly my face flushed, and I said, “Come on, let’s go.” Remembering Izadora’s instructions, I added, “We have to stop at the café first.”

  As we were leaving, Aunt Cora stood in the kitchen, stirring batter. She had poured herself a glass of red wine and paused to take a long sip. “Have fun, kids,” she called after us.

  ***

  The café wasn’t too packed, and several tables were available. I sat with my father, by the window, and Lucian sat beside me. My father gazed out at the bay, and it took him some time to realize we were there.

  “Tide is high,” he said, gazing back out the window. “She must be back in business.”

  “Who?” I asked. He didn’t have time to answer. Gran came bustling out of the kitchen with three bowls of clam chowder on a platter and some fresh corn bread.

  “I thought you might like to try the house special today. I’ve got plenty in the kitchen. It’s been slower than usual. I heard there is a storm coming, and everyone must be at the grocery store,” Gran said, grabbing a chair from the adjacent table. Scooting my chair over, she sat between Lucian and me.

  “There is a storm brewing,” Father said.

  I looked around to see who was there; I had a feeling they were holding on to every word my father muttered. Old man Proctor and his wife sat at a table by the counter. Vince Warren and his girlfriend sat by a table alongside the wall, and old lady Morrison, the woman my father almost ran down the other day (according to Aunt Cora), sat at the table next to them. Great. I hung my head low.

  “The sky looks like a sunny day in Greece, but they say a storm’s a comin’,” Gran said.

  “It does look pretty nice out,” I said. “We’re about to head to the Renaissance Festival.”

  “That sounds fun.” She eyeballed Lucian. “But the first sign of rain clouds, you two head home. Ya hear me?”

  “Definitely.” Lucian smiled then scooped up some clam chowder on his spoon, leaned over his bowl, and ate it. The boy could eat—there was no doubt about it.

  I definitely wasn’t hungry. I ate anywa
y to make my grandmother happy. My father stirred his soup around and set the spoon down.

  “You eat up, John Basil, or you’re going to fade away to nothing,” Gran said quietly, to avoid drawing attention to us.

  “I’ll eat when I get hungry,” he countered.

  Loud voices could be heard outside, and two men burst into the café, carrying the smell of the ocean with them. Both were older men, and one wore a cap and a white fisherman sweater; the other wore a flannel shirt which had a pack of cigarettes in the pocket.

  “John Basil,” the oldest man said, shocked to see my father.

  “It’s good to see ya, John,” the other man said. Both of them walked around to see Father better.

  My father looked at them for some time before he said, “Hank? That you?”

  Recalling what Izadora said, I was to look for a man named Hank. We had arrived just in time.

  “’Tis me. You won’t believe what the hell happened to me and Isaiah out on the water, just yesterday morning.” Then he looked to Gran and said, “Eilish, my friend, can I get a bowl of that there soup. I ain’t barely ate nothin’ since yesterday.” He scratched his head, and I thought I heard his stomach growl.

  “Me too, dear,” the other man said, but with his accent it sounded more like “de-ah.”

  “No problem—two hot bowls coming up. You want some corn bread?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” they both said.

  Gran scurried off, and by this time the whole restaurant was listening.

  “What happened yesterday?” Lucian asked. By the way his leg was bouncing up and down under the table, he couldn’t wait to hear either.

  “Oh God.” Hank ran his hands over his head. “That old witch. She stole my boat. And there ain’t nothin’ we can do ’bout it.”

  “Nope. We ain’t messin’ around with that old witch. Boat’s gone for good,” said the man called Isaiah.

  Gran returned from the kitchen with huge bowls of clam chowder and half the pan of corn bread. “Was it…?”

  Everyone knew who Gran meant, and you could hear nothing but pure silence for a good thirty seconds before anyone dared to speak again.

  “It was,” Hank said. A shiver ran through his body, causing him to visibly shake.

  “Oh my,” Gran said as she set the plates down at the adjacent table.

  “You don’t mean—” old man Proctor’s wife, Darcelle, started to say, but old man Proctor spoke up immediately.

  “Hush, woman. You don’t want to bring the bad luck upon us. Why, we have cows and everything. Just be quiet.”

  “She’s some relation to you, isn’t she, John Basil?” old lady Morrison asked, suspicion in her eyes.

  Aunt Clover stepped out of the kitchen. “No. She’s not,” Aunt Clover lied. For I knew who they were talking about. Wretched, old Magella.

  “Now sit down and eat your soup, Mrs. Morrison, or leave,” Aunt Clover demanded.

  Old lady Morrison sat back down and drank some water.

  “Well, if there’s a storm coming, we better get a move on. Don’t want to be caught here with them.” Vince Warren laid some cash down on the table, grabbed his girlfriend’s hand, and sped toward the door, eyeballing Father the whole time. Before he left, he looked me in the eyes. His nasty expression softened to one of raw fear, as my anger could have burnt a hole in his head.

  “Sorry, John. I hope you feel better soon,” he said, patting my father’s shoulder before he finished hauling his girlfriend out of the café.

  Hank had finished his soup and stood up, leaning down so only our table could hear. “She was there, John. Scary as hell itself. I thought—I thought we were goners. She bit off a lobster’s head, John.”

  “She sure did,” Isaiah piped in. “He was a big ‘un, too.”

  “She was floatin’, John! Floatin’ above the ground.”

  Father shook his head up and down. A lucid expression dawned on his face. “You two go home to your wives. She is not after you. She only wanted your boat. Go on home. You’ll be fine. We will take it from here.” And then his gaze was back out at the bay.

  It was the most my father had said to anyone the whole time he’d been back from fairyland.

  “Thanks, John. C’mon Isaiah. Let’s hit the road,” Hank said. Both men scurried out of the café. Hank turned and walked back in. “John?”

  “Yes?” my father said.

  “One more thing. She gave me a message for ya. She says Zany, or I can’t remember your girl’s name, but—”

  “Zinnia,” Gran said.

  “Yes, that’s it—Zinnia. She said to tell you she’s coming for Zinnia.”

  I knew for a fact that Magella would still be mad at my sister for stealing Aggie’s book of spells from her and turning to the Unseelie. She would have her head for it.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Renaissance Festival was packed. Evidently either people hadn’t heard of the upcoming storm or they didn’t care at the moment, as the sun was out. Set in the woods, the festival was always a grand affair, with many, many stalls. Food and wares were for sale every fifteen feet or so.

  We paid for our tickets and walked through one of the entrances to find many handsomely dressed people. Several of the finely detailed costumes must have cost thousands of dollars. Some wore beautiful medieval dresses with laced-up fronts. Others wore long wigs and gold necklaces. The men were just as fancy, with old-fashioned brocade coats and velvety breeches.

  The smell of turkey washed through the air. “Let’s get a turkey leg,” Lucian said.

  “A turkey leg? You just ate clam chowder.”

  “Can’t help it. I’ve been quite hungry lately. It’ll only take a minute.”

  The roasted turkey stall was right beside us, and I let him get in line. I opened the pamphlet the lady at the counter had handed me, to see where I might find Egbert Winemaker. There had to be a hundred stalls here, but the festival was one big loop. We would have to walk the whole thing until we found him.

  I folded the pamphlet up and browsed a glassblowing shop while I waited for Lucian. Dainty dragons and fairies, and witches and warlocks with exquisite details hung from the wooden beam that framed the entryway. Inside were glass display cases filled with delicate glass fantasy figures of every color.

  A crowd had gathered around the man creating the glass figures. The well-bosomed, pleasantly plump cashier stood alone behind the counter. She wore a maiden’s gown that really boosted her up in all the right places. Stepping up, I asked her, “Excuse me, do you happen to know of an Egbert Winemaker, and where I might find him?”

  Her mouth fell open, showing her surprise that I would even be asking. “Ol’ Egbert? He’s around here somewhere. He never sets his wares up in the same place. ’Tis different every day.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Good luck.” Her forehead creased with concern.

  I stepped out of the shop and at that time, Lucian caught up to me, gnawing away at his turkey leg. His big brown eyes lifted in a smile when he saw my look of dismay.

  “Want a bite?” He held it out.

  “No thanks.”

  We walked on through the crowds of people, past a broom-making shop, a spear and knife shop, an old medieval dress shop, and a coffee station. I had to pause when I noticed a group of absolutely gorgeous people giggling and covering their mouths, enjoying the crowd’s garments a bit too much.

  “Look at her fancy wear,” a beautiful brunette woman said. “She actually thinks she’s a fairy.”

  “Ba-ha-ha!” a very handsome, well-dressed man laughed.

  They were pointing at a woman wearing a bit too much makeup, glitter on the arms, a pink costume, and pink handmade wings. I thought she looked cute.

  “Look at that one—his pants are a bit too snug, don’t ya think?” A very pretty red-haired girl pointed at a man in a jester’s costume.

  “Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” a few of them belted out laughing. There was something terribly familiar abou
t these people. Something too darn familiar.

  “What is wrong with those people?” I asked Lucian.

  “Who? Those old people? They are just watching the show.” He pointed at a stage where a mime was performing.

  When I realized something, I said, “Izadora.” I mumbled grumpily under my breath. I reached behind my ear and pulled out the thyme and valerian sprigs. When I did so, immediately, the beautiful people turned into old people, dressed as though they were from King Henry VIII’s court itself. Some appeared to be watching the show and others were talking low amongst themselves, pointing here and there. No one really even noticed them.

  I placed the thyme back into place behind my right ear, and instantly, there the young, beautiful people were again. Right before my eyes, the switch was incredible.

  “Ha! Look at this girl! She has fake Elven ears, and her boyfriend looks like he’s in love with his turkey drumstick.” A handsome blond man with a burgundy coat and matching breeches pointed at me. And then his smile faded when he realized that I could see and hear him.

  “She can hear you, Ellis. And she can see us,” a sexy blonde in a sweet blue maiden dress said as she covered her mouth with a fan.

  I glared at them, knowing full well who they were. And they were probably Unseelie and not Seelie.

  “Why are you staring at those old people? You’re going to make them nervous,” Lucian said.

  “They aren’t old. And they aren’t nervous, trust me,” I said, grabbing his hand and walking off toward the bagpipe music.

  “Well, they look pretty old to me.”

  I looked over my shoulder, noticing they had grown silent. Their stares were deep and penetrating. I had to wonder if they could read my mind. The thought of that made my throat tighten up.

  “Put this over your ear. Then tell me what you think.” I removed my thyme sprigs and placed them over his right ear, long enough for him to gasp. Then I replaced it over my own ear.

  “What the…?”

  “Never mind. Let them poke their fun, at least no one can see them. We have to find Egbert. The sky looks cloudy over there. I don’t think we have much time.”