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

by B. J. Smash

  “Oh, she ordered them once, to be more modern. She likes to change up her wallpaper now and then, too—makes her own paste and everything,” Ian said fondly.

  The way he talked about her made her sound like a regular old woman. I couldn’t picture her that way.

  “Miss Seaforth, get the spell book. There is a cleaning spell in there, then you won’t have to use manual labor.”

  I couldn’t tell if he was kidding. Sometimes he enjoyed seeing how gullible I could be.

  “Seriously?”

  He looked to Lucian. “Why does she always ask me that? It’s not like I make things up. And I always tell the truth.” He shook his head, but the edge of his mouth turned up slightly. “Just get the book. I know there is a spell.”

  When he said that, something dawned on me. “Hey! You once told me that there was no such thing as werewolves, but look at you now. You were a werewolf just fifteen minutes ago!”

  “Hold your tongue, Miss Seaforth. I am no werewolf.” He tossed his head at Lucian. “We are not werewolves, Miss Seaforth. We shape-shift to hellhounds—big difference. Now get the bloody spell.”

  “Whatever.” I didn’t see much difference in it.

  Picking up Izadora’s spell book, I rummaged through to find a cleaning spell. Her handwriting was horrible, barely legible, unless she did it on purpose so that no one else would ever be able to read it. When I found it, I read aloud:

  Spell for Housecleaning:

  A white candle – homemade

  Five sprigs of fresh basil

  Cinnamon – use as needed

  Nutmeg – one teaspoon

  One caraway seed

  Four tablespoons of honey

  Fresh flowers – carnations – alstroemeria – lilies – sunflowers

  I paused my reading to say, “I’ll have to go get some fresh flowers,” knowing that I’d have to go to his garden or Izadora’s to find them. Anywhere else in the state of Maine, flowers would be gone by, unless you went to a florist. Somehow, Ian’s garden, just like Izadora’s secret garden, continually grew flowers, never ceasing to grow. He must have the same type of flowers that changed the atmosphere itself, in order to use it for their own advantage.

  “You can skip the flowers. She only uses them to freshen up the place; they are not actually part of the spell. She just likes to look at them after the house is clean.”

  I don’t know how he knew all of this. All I did know is that he had a way of making her sound…normal. Like she was somebody’s grandmother or something. It never occurred to me that Izadora liked to change her wallpaper and get fresh flowers to look at. To me, she was an amazingly powerful witch that could rip a person to pieces with a wave of her staff. To me, she had always seemed demanding and ruthless. Could it be that she had a soft side? Nah.

  “Actually, Lucian, go get what you can find and bring some back,” Ian said.

  “No problem.” Lucian took off out the kitchen door, his big shoulders disappearing down the bridge.

  I took the time to get the other ingredients, knowing that all of her candles were homemade, and proceeded to read: “‘Mix together three tablespoons honey and a teaspoon of cinnamon, a teaspoon of nutmeg. Roll the candle in the mixture. Place the candle on a hard surface. Pour a thin line of honey around the candle and arrange the basil in an outer circle. Light the candle.’

  “I don’t have a match or anything. She always blows on stuff to make things light,” I said.

  Ian crutched over, reached in his robe pocket, and hauled out some fancy silver lighter with his initials engraved upon it; he lit the candle.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  I read aloud: “‘Toss the seed in the flame and recite: “Deillusnu osla dehcuotnu.”’

  What the heck does that mean?” I asked.

  “Unsullied also untouched. Izadora does one of three things with her spells: she either speaks Gaelic or Latin, or she says her words backward. Oh, and sometimes she uses rhymes only because the Fae like rhyming things. But why she says things backward, I couldn’t tell you.”

  I recited the words and dropped the caraway seed into the flame. The seed sizzled and fizzled. The flame grew bigger and then spewed forth a shimmering white fog that swirled up and expanded and zipped through the room. The fog surrounded the broken tree limbs and pushed it off the deck. Back inside, each piece of glass came back together like a puzzle, including the one I had taken from Izadora’s forehead, which now picked itself up from the end table and connected together with the rest. The window sucked back into place with a “fffwamping” sound, all intact and whole.

  Whooshing around the room, the shimmering white fog put everything neatly back into its place, including the spell book, which now made its way to a shelf, forcing itself to fit between two other books.

  The white fog dusted its way through the house, even fixing Ian’s hair into place. It flew around the cake Aunt Cora had made but jumped back as though it were toxic, and then back to the candle flame it went.

  “Imagine that,” I said.

  “Yes. I wish Mrs. Pumbleton knew magic. Anyway, let’s get rid of this cake, shall we? Bury it in the earth.”

  “All right,” I said and leaned down to blow the candle out.

  Ian caught my arm. “No, no, no, no. I’ll do it.” He wet his fingers and snuffed out the candle. “Don’t blow on it.”

  “Why not?”

  But he crutched away to the front door, just as Lucian walked in with a bouquet of pink lilies and white carnations. “Respect,” he called over his shoulder.

  “Got these from your garden, Ian,” Lucian said. His shirt was all sweaty from running, and his hair was tousled.

  “Thanks, Lucian,” I said, and I found an old piece of pottery that was shaped like a vase, put some water in, and filled it with the flowers.

  Ian saw the leftover pixie dust and asked if he could have it. Who was I to say no? He put it in a small paper bag and stuffed it into his robe pocket. He never asked about Pladia, and I didn’t volunteer that I’d offered to take her to the coral pond.

  “Well, I suppose it’s time for me to head back and take a shower. I think I recall rolling around in fox urine earlier today,” Ian said.

  “I’ll stay. I didn’t roll around in anything’s urine or feces.” Lucian smirked.

  Ian did smell rather raunchy. I had refrained from plugging my nose earlier, as I didn’t want to be rude. Another question dawned on me, and I had to ask before he left.

  “Wait a minute. I know this is obvious, but you have no problem running around as a hellhound, although you cannot walk—”

  “It’s part of the curse. If a curse states you’ll be a hellhound, bound to roam the woods, chasing deer and the occasional criminal, then that even goes for those in a wheelchair.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Come around later, and we will discuss our problems further,” Ian said.

  Talking about problems should have been his main priority. Before he shifted, I quickly said, “Aunt Cora has left. Stole a horse from farmer James. Don’t know where she’s headed.”

  His back was to me. He lowered his head and let out a long, extended sigh.

  “Miss Seaforth.” He turned to face me, adjusting his crutches. “How many times have I told you that if something happens that seems like it just might be important, to tell me right away?”

  I started to speak, “I don’t recall, but—”

  “How many times, Miss Seaforth?” He scowled.

  “Umm—”

  “About a zillion…is the correct answer,” he said. “This now changes everything. Come to the house at once. Bury the cake first.”

  He turned back around and let his crutches fall from his armpits, and right before my eyes he distorted, blurred, screamed a little, and then he was a hellhound. He walked a few steps out onto the boards. I could see that his ankles shifted as he walked, and his legs were a tad stiff. But it sure as heck didn’t stop him running fast. He sped up, not bothering with the stair
s; he jumped up and over the railing, landing on the ground right on his feet.

  “Wicked cool,” I said below my breath.

  Lucian, who had been mostly quiet in Ian’s presence, said, “Ah, that’s nothing. Try jumping from a cliff into the water. That can be a daunting experience.”

  We buried the cake in a ditch on one of the trails. I called for Pladia, but she never answered. Maybe she had gone to the coral pond without my help? Lucian and I left for Ian’s.

  Chapter Eighteen

  One time Izadora had told me, “You must expect the best in life—and you will receive the best in life.” I remember how serious she was when she said it. “You can never doubt yourself, in anything. You are just as good as the next person, and they are just as good as you.”

  That was the day she had been making my GG Edmund a fig pie. A “figgy pie,” she had called it. She had been standing at the kitchen counter making a pie crust, her white hair flying out in every direction. I remember the lines on her weathered face were quite prominent that day, and I recall thinking that she was the wisest person that I had ever met. Even if she was mean.

  And then she said one final thing to me. “That pertains to life itself—to our general existence. But in magic…well, now, that’s a different story. You can always excel. You can always be better. And you can strive to be the best of the best.” She had paused to look me in the eyes. Even though she was old, her sapphire eyes sparkled with youth, and yet I could see something in them, something never-ending. Almost as if I could see right into her soul through them. Something ancient. She finished her statement. “I see in you a great flame. One day, you’ll see what I’m talking about.”

  I pondered this memory while I walked to Ian’s. There was nothing special about me that I could see. How could I think otherwise? I’d messed things up royally. My Aunt Cora would never have acted the way she did today, if I hadn’t planted the red-knotted love rope in her pillowcase. She had refused the damn thing, and I had to play God. If that’s not enough, I went and delivered the enchanted cake right into Izadora’s hands, never even telling Izadora that it was from my aunt. She may have had a fighting chance if I had just told her. Instead, I had to argue with her and run off like a baby.

  Another thing: my Aunt Clover may never talk to me again. Why would I wear the purple scarf in her presence? I knew it would stir up old memories. I guess, in my own defense, I didn’t know those memories would entail bitter feelings over something. I had no idea that Aunt Clover had had a lover until that second vision.

  Then there was Zinnia to contend with. Without Izadora. And Drumm—I missed him so much already. What if something happened to him? I’d never be the same.

  I knew one thing: sulking wasn’t an option. Feeling sorry for myself was NOT an option. I had to pull it together. “Keep it together,” I said aloud. I had to fix this, and I had to get back Aggie’s book of spells.

  “Huh?” Lucian questioned.

  “Oh nothing. I’m just talking to myself,” I said.

  He gave me a funny look, and he probably thought I might be losing my mind, but he said, “I do that sometimes.”

  He had to be one of the sweetest boys I’d ever met, but I think that he tried to appear to be the bad-boy type; nonetheless, he was considerate. Then again, some people are really super nice, only to find out later that they are so nice for the fact that they are covering up their craziness.

  “Ha! That’s funny,” I said aloud, picturing Lucian as a maniac.

  “Talking to yourself again? Or me?” he asked.

  I probably was acting like a fool talking aloud to myself, merely because I was nervous. Talking aloud always made me feel better, but I’d never actually spoken audibly to myself while another person was present. Soooo, maybe I was the crazy one.

  “I just thought of something funny, that’s all.”

  “Oh,” he said, and gave me a sheepish look. “You okay today? I know a lot has happened but, you know, stuff happens. We’ll get through this like a couple of badasses. You wait and see.” He grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze, then let it go. “And stop beating yourself up for things. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  He spoke candidly, making me wonder if he could read minds. He seemed to be quite an intuitive fellow.

  We’d arrived at the gate and walked out to cherry tree lane. I’d named it that for the long line of cherry trees that lined the path. The long slender branches covered in pinkish white flowers revived me with their beauty. A few magnolia trees dabbled here and there. Here in the garden, the trees always blossomed. Strangely, even though the little flowers drifted and floated through the air, the trees were never bare.

  Goosebumps began to form on my arms, and I knew what that meant. Up ahead sat Silvie by the same fountain I’d seen her at the other day. She chatted with the air next to her, no words coming out.

  I had to wonder if that is what I looked like a few minutes ago while I was talking to myself. Shaking those thoughts from mind, I focused on the path ahead, trying to avoid Silvie.

  “Hey, Silvie!” Lucian called out. I wanted to smack his arm.

  She giggled and waved. After that she laid her head to the side, on someone’s invisible shoulder. I’d seen her do this before, and it never failed to creep me out. She then stood and was scooped up in the air by unseen arms, and “they” walked right by us. She floated in the air and lay to the side as if still on “his” shoulder.

  “God Almighty,” I whispered, as though God Himself would send down a barrier between me and Silvie to protect me.

  “Just keep walking,” Lucian saw my body go rigid. “They are just having fun.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I had to glance over my shoulder to make sure they weren’t coming for me. I knew she wouldn’t be, but I couldn’t help it. She noticed and laughed loudly like a lunatic, her head tossed back, her brown, curly hair falling. She had to know the effect she had on me.

  Picking up speed, I asked Lucian, “What do you know about the invisible ghost guy?”

  He did something I didn’t expect. He sighed deeply, making me think that what he was about to say was some big secret. “Promise you won’t tell Ian I told you?”

  My interest piqued to the max, I said, “Sure.”

  “That’s Ainsley.”

  Grabbing his arm, I stopped him. “Did I just hear you right? Say it again.”

  “That’s Ainsley. The one your Aunt Clover used to have a thing for.” He narrowed his eyes, gauging my expression.

  A gust of wind whipped through my hair. “Ainsley,” I repeated, as if I were daft. My already goose-bumped skin became pricklier, the hairs standing up on end. “I don’t get it.”

  He scratched his head nervously. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”

  We walked on, with me in a daze.

  “I can’t explain it now because we’re almost to the house. If you ask me later, I’ll tell you what I know.”

  “Okay. Thank you,” I whispered.

  What could this mean? What the heck could this mean? Silvie was the “other” woman in Aunt Clover’s note? What had happened to my Aunt Clover and Ainsley? Things just kept getting more confusing, and I didn’t know what to think of it all. Even if Lucian explained it to me, would I be able to handle the truth?

  ***

  “We leave at sunrise tomorrow morning,” Ian said as he wrote large numbers in his ledger. “We cannot afford to wait any longer.”

  I still had a valid point to bring to the table. “But Drumm is coming back for me soon. I was warned to wait. Izadora said so.”

  “Too bad. She’s out of the game now. We have to do what we have to do,” Ian said. “Besides, I’ve already sent a pigeon with a message to forfeit the previous plan. He won’t be coming for you.” He was in a mood, for sure. Suddenly he looked at me, and his expression softened. “Everything is going to be all right. Lucian is to go with you on Solstice. My brothers and myself will be taking the helicopter.”


  “So, you’re really coming along?” This brightened my outlook on things.

  “Duh, Miss Seaforth. Do you think the McCallisters would stand back at a time such as this? Get up to speed, will you?”

  Lucian held back a laugh, but I popped him in the arm anyway. “Ow. You hit hard for a girl.” He rubbed his arm.

  Ian continued to balance his accounts. “Besides, McCallisters and Seaforths always stick together.” He mumbled under his breath, but I think I heard him say, “Even through the thin.”

  I couldn’t help feeling relieved. Having Izadora out of the “game” had been gnawing at me, causing me to feel sick to my stomach with anxiety. She had been—well, I couldn’t believe I was admitting this to myself—but she had been like my backbone. Well, not really my backbone, but something like that. I always stood behind her, knowing she could help me and protect me. She’d be the one to make everything okay. Drumm, too. But even they are not immortal. Even they can die.

  Trying to occupy my mind, I continued to watch him write in his ledger. “Why don’t you have someone else do that for you? Or if you have to do it, why don’t you use a computer?”

  Ian raised his eyebrows, surprised that I didn’t know the answer, pointed to his head, and said, “This IS a computer. Besides, it’s a hobby of mine—balancing the books. I love numbers.” He scrunched back over, his arms on the table, and went back to it. “You like math, I hope.”

  “It’s okay. Why?”

  “When this is all over, you know I’ll be your tutor, and we start with two math classes and history. Your father can tutor you in English,” he said.

  “If we live through all of this,” I said, thinking of the battle that lay ahead of us.

  “Oh we shall, Miss Seaforth. We shall,” Ian insisted.

  I had forgotten all about that. Ian was to be my tutor this fall. I only had hope that my dad would be able to teach me my English lessons. He had just started to teach as a professor last year at the university. If he was able to ever get back to it, it would be a miracle. Honestly, learning my subjects was the very last thing on my mind right now. So much lay ahead of us. My heart ached to know that Drumm could be in danger at this very moment. What if the Elven were so outnumbered that they were slaughtered?