As Kirk slumped over her, Chyna opened her eyes and lifted her hands looking at the telltale blood beneath her nails. She knew if this continued it wouldn't be long before Kirk's back had more scars than his face.
* * * *
Quinn stood outside Chyna's door, listening to the maddening sounds of passion until he thought he was going to explode. He paced, his fingers splaying, then gripping as they hung at his side. "The damn bed is going to fall down," he muttered, the sound continuing to grate at him. When he had stood it as long as he could, he flung the door open and looked furiously at them both. They lay there naked and sated, looking like two illicit lovers caught in the act. Chyna cringed against Kirk, pulling the cover up over her.
Quinn hated the sight of Chyna in Kirk’s arms. The two clung to each other intimately, and if Quinn hadn’t known they were lovers, he could have guessed. Looking at the mussed bed and its satisfied occupants, his nostrils flared in anger. Just then he saw a piece of ruined white material that had apparently been ripped from Chyna’s body and sauntered over toward it. "What happened here Kirk?" he asked as he lifted it with one finger. “Couldn't you wait for the poor girl to get undressed?”
Pulling on his trousers, Kirk said, "Get out of here, Quinn. We have nothing to be ashamed of. Chyna and I are engaged to be married, and I don't appreciate you barging in this way!"
"Oh? When?"
Kirk looked at him. "What?"
"When's the wedding?"
"We haven't set a date yet, but it's up to Chyna. I'm ready anytime."
Quinn snickered, looking down at the shredded cloth. "Apparently." He looked down at Chyna. "Better make it soon, Chyna, or he'll wear you out before the wedding."
Kirk crossed the room, grabbed Quinn's collar and shouted, "When you come into this room, creep, leave your filthy mouth outside!"
"She's not yours, yet, Frankenstein, and if I have anything to do with it, she never will be!" He took the ravaged piece of lace, deposited it into Kirk’s hand, and said, “Here, add this to your collection. I’m sure by now you must owe the poor girl any number of…what are they called… panties?”
Kirk pushed the panties in Quinn’s face. “Keep your filthy hands off Chyna’s things. They’re nothing to you now, and they never will be.”
Kirk turned quickly away, and Quinn saw his bleeding back. "What the hell is this?” he said, touching a finger to one of the scars. “A scene from one of her novels? The hero tears the lady's clothes off and makes mad, passionate love to her?" He looked down at the blood on his fingers. "Oh this is good," he said to Chyna. "A little blood always makes it more interesting." Looking back at Kirk, his deceitful eyes narrowed, and his poisonous words dug down deep. "What are you doing, Kirk? Trying to impress the lady? Trying to live up to the men in her novels?” Shifting his eyes toward Chyna, he smirked. "Well, how did he do, Chyna? Did he make the grade? Did he take you to the Land of Ooh La La? Did he make your eyeballs sweat?" Suddenly the smirk left Quinn's face and his nostrils flared as he spoke with a voice low and ominous, "Well, you've had your fun, madam. You've played around with the poor pitiful creature in the basement long enough. Now maybe your ready to quit fooling around and take on a real man."
Chyna looked at him with disgust for a moment, then with a wicked gleam in her eyes she pulled herself up on her knees. With the sheet barely covering her curvaceous body she looked at Quinn with a sexy, heated look. She lifted one hand and pushed it into her thick, mussed up hair like an old time femme fatale and gazed at him through heavy-lidded eyes. "Oh, yes, Quinn,” she purred, “I'm ready. I want a real man sooooo bad.” She hesitated for a moment, then looked up at him wide-eyed and innocent. “So tell me…do you know any?"
Kirk let out a loud snicker, and Quinn's eyes blazed. He turned and angrily slammed out of the room. He heard Kirk and Chyna laughing at him all the way down the hall. When he got to his room, he went directly to a drawer in his chest and carefully dug beneath a neat pile of underwear. At last winding his fingers around a smooth object, a delicately carved white-handled knife came into view. He placed it in his palm and stroked it for a moment, handling it very carefully. As he turned it over, it flashed in the light. It felt good in his hand. He turned suddenly and made an expert throw. It landed in a family portrait, rocking gently in the eye of—Kirk!
Chapter 18
After a sleepless night, Chyna walked out of the mansion just before darkness began fading into dawn. She trudged up to Cat's Paw and stood on the edge of the little bluff overlooking the dark ocean waves as they lapped angrily against the old lighthouse. She stood there like a ghostly silhouette against the brightening sky, the wind whipping her hair around wildly. Then looking down at the base of the tower, her curious eyes narrowed on the familiar window and saw cold darkness where a warm candle usually glowed. Her thoughts went back to the night Quinn had met her on this rise—to the day in his study—then the day in her room when he’d attacked her. Like the screaming wind, the words whirled around her head, blowing—coiling—twisting—
See the lighthouse in the distance? That's where the old widow lives. Never go over there, she's a witch—a Witch—a WITCH! Lady, I’ve been controlling you since I first knew you were on the planet—the widow’s a very powerful woman.
Suddenly the dark candle burst into flame, and a face beyond the blaze looked up at her and lingered, the dancing flame casting undulating shadows into the deep hollows of her ragged old face. Chyna blinked against the spewing surf, and all at once the face was gone, retreating into the eerie darkness. She stood there, thinking about the nightmare of the last few days. Since the moment Quinn had found her and Kirk in bed, he had grown steadily worse. Every chance he got, he tried to poison Kirk’s mind against her, but so far Kirk had remained strong. When Kirk wouldn’t listen, he cornered her and ridiculed their relationship, spewing out threats by the dozen.
She knew his habit of going to the widow, and lived in fear that his threats would come to pass. He had done a good job of terrorizing her. She couldn’t eat or drink without being afraid it was laced with something the old widow had given him. She had become suspicious of every plate and teacup that was placed in front of her. She found herself pushing her plate away if after only one bite she tasted something different than what she was used to. The end came one night at dinner.
“What is this?” Chyna asked, looking down at the food in her plate as if it were alive.
“Meat loaf,” Elaine replied, smiling impishly. “I got tired of the same old recipe, so I tried something new. It’s a little different, but I bet you’ll like it. I went crazy with fresh herbs—” Elaine’s eyes widened when she saw Chyna jump up from the table with her hand over her mouth.
Later, with a sick look on her face Chyna apologized to Elaine. The sweet, thoughtful Elaine expressed worry that Chyna’s picky eating habits might be the result of needing more rest and recuperation from her experience in the hurricane. Chyna agreed, but knew that Quinn was her problem, not the hurricane. It was then that she realized she couldn’t go on like this. She had to get help. Not knowing what else to do, she decided to fight fire with fire.
Now, gathering her courage, she turned and ran down the slope and plodded as quickly as she could across the sandy beach, coming closer and closer to the old eyesore that had stood for many years against the pounding surf. The dim morning light cloaked the shabbiness of the sentinel-like structure, making it hard to see the peeling paint and the prominent water line. The air blew cool and moist against Chyna's worried face, and the desolation that stretched out into the morning darkness was filled with the distant lapping of the ocean. It was a cold, lonely sound that echoed, wave upon wave, chilling the very soul. As Chyna neared the tower, she trudged, step by step, up to the door, and with some hesitation, knocked timidly. In only moments the door squeaked open. Chyna saw nothing at first, then slowly the old woman’s wrinkled face peered around it. “Come in, my dear. I’ve been expecting you.”
Chyna’s e
yes widened at her words, and a prickling of fear coursed through her. “M-my na…name is Chyna Marsh, and I’ve come—”
“No formalities are necessary. I know who you are, and why you’re here.”
Chyna’s eyes darted nervously around the room, trying to stifle her fear of the small dark space. “How could you? I don’t even know why I’m here.” She looked back at the widow. “I just…I can’t believe in all this…this—”
“Apparently you do. Otherwise, why would you come?”
“Because it’s the only way to fight…” She stopped abruptly, a sense of defeat lowering her voice. “I have no other choice.”
The widow’s sagacious eyes watched Chyna, then indicated the couch in front of the fire. “Sit down, my dear, and warm yourself.”
“I’m a guest at the mansion…” Chyna stopped, looked at the widow, and cast her an uncertain smile. “I guess I can’t tell you anything you don’t already know.”
“It’s all right, dear, please go on.”
Chyna’s eyes traveled upward, feeling a chill at the large, grotesque shadows the leaping flames painted along the walls. “It took me a long time to work up the courage to visit you.” Chyna’s nervous fingers began pulling at the threads of the thick sweater she wore. “I’ve looked over from the windows of the mansion time and again…wondering.” She hesitated, a turmoil building inside her. Suddenly a deluge of tears streamed down her cheeks. “I’m scared,” she whispered. “I love Kirk, and I’m afraid…” She sniffed, blotting her face with the sleeves of her sweater that almost hid her hands. “I’m afraid…”
The old widow laid her scrawny hands over Chyna’s nervous ones. “You’re afraid he’ll be taken from you.”
“It’s taken so much to get Kirk where he is now,” she explained. “I can’t let Quinn destroy that, even if I never have Kirk, I want him to have a life.” She began sobbing into her hands. “I can’t fight Quinn. If he was normal…sane…” Her pleading eyes looked up at the widow. “He doesn’t fight fair. Quinn is the kind of man…well, he’s ruthless. He doesn’t care who he destroys to get what he wants.”
“I know what Quinn is.”
“He’s tried everything to tear Kirk and me apart, the latest being Venita.”
The widow’s head jerked up, her eyes sparkling with venom. “What about Venita?”
Chyna shrugged. “Well…they’re having an affair. He doesn’t care about the girl, he’s just using her. Like he uses everybody. He started using her to try and make me jealous. He found—”
“What?” the widow hissed. “He’s doing what?”
“He and Venita are sleeping together.” She hesitated, looking at the widow, then her eyes widened. “My God, you didn’t know?”
“Of course I didn’t know.”
“You mean with all of your mumbo jumbo, spells, and potions, you don’t even know what’s going on right under your nose?”
“A witch cannot hex themselves,” the old woman explained, struggling to absorb what Chyna had just told her. “When…whenever I need something for myself I…I have to seek out another witch.”
“Surely there must be something in here,” Chyna said, her attention being drawn to a black book engraved with silver letters lying on the shabby coffee table. She reached for it.
The widow quickly caught her hand and held it firmly. “The Book of Shadows,” she whispered, “is not for untrained eyes. It’s nothing more than a book of rules, ethics, beliefs, rituals, chants, but it’s dangerous for anyone who’s not a witch. I would advise you not to even touch it.”
A prickling of fear brought Chyna’s hand back. “Sorry,” she muttered.
The old widow rose from her lumpy chair, deep in thought.
“I shouldn’t have told you.”
The widow’s head whirled around. “Oh, yes,” she whispered. “You did the right thing.” She sat again, looking hard at Chyna. “How did you find out about Quinn and Venita?”
“I talked to Venita once. He offered her money. My room is right next to Quinn’s. I can hear them. I’ve seen Venita come and go, night after night. She leaves practically naked, disheveled.”
Fury rose within the widow. “She was a virgin. Barely eighteen.”
“Oh, God,” Chyna moaned, then looked at the widow. “Would it…I mean…well…she seems to like him.”
The widow cast a deadly look at Chyna. Her hissing words filled up the darkness, and her eyes glittered in the firelight. “It doesn’t matter. I warned him. I warned him she wasn’t to be touched. Quinn Grayson is doomed.”
Chyna wrung her hands, then looked at the widow. “You have to know how sorry I am. I didn’t come here for this. I couldn’t care less what Quinn Grayson does with any woman.” Her teeth clenched in hate, and her eyes shot fire. “I only want that bastard to get what’s coming to him. He did a horrible thing to your daughter, and he had no right to take my life and manipulate it to his advantage. I want it back. I want to take back control of my life.”
The widow hesitated, her eyes narrowing as she looked into Chyna’s heart. There she saw truth and love. She quickly dug something out of her pocket and threw it on the flames. A flash of sparks sizzled then died. She slid her heavy-lidded eyes back to Chyna. “Control is now in your hands, and there it will remain. I make that promise to you.”
Chyna was amazed. “Just like that? How did you—”
The old woman quickly took Chyna’s hands, and held them tightly as her gaze anchored deeply into hers. “Listen to me lass,” she hissed. “The road will not be easy. There are dark days ahead, hurdles and obstacles you will have to overcome, but remember. His evil will not touch you.” She pulled her decaying body up from the chair, hovered over Chyna, and raised her hands in a dramatic gesture. Her hiss was sharp and guttural when she said, “The evil that he points toward you will…backfire!”
To seal the spell, she waved her hands quickly over Chyna and the flames in the fireplace crackled and sparked loudly before they slowly died.
Chyna felt a mysterious power in the air, and couldn’t deny that something had happened. She might not understand it, but she knew it was real. Tears again filled her eyes. “Thank you,” she said then began digging in her pocket.
The old widow’s hands once again closed over hers. “No,” she said. “Keep your money, my dear, and be happy.”
Chyna left, a stream of tears wetting her face. Her sobs were deep and cleansing, and when she ran along the beach facing the wind from the ocean, she wasn’t frowning, she was smiling—with hope. It had been so long since she’d felt it.
* * * *
Several days had past, and Quinn knew something was wrong. He had bought spell after spell from the widow, and nothing had worked. Everything around him seemed to be falling apart. The venom that spewed from his mouth seemed to have no effect. Chyna was no longer afraid of him, and she and Kirk seemed to be happier than ever. Anger boiled within him. He knew where the problem lay, and he decided to take care of it now. He walked briskly over to the lighthouse.
“Open up in there!” he bellowed.
“When no one came he pounded harder until the frowning old woman peeked through a narrow crack.
"I'm closed, go away."
Quinn angrily pushed his way past her, into the living room. "I want to know why your damned spells aren’t working."
The crone didn't say anything at first. She just turned, walked slowly to the fireplace and stoked it. "Oh, is that all?"
"Is that all?" he growled, then angrily strode over to the fireplace and jerked her around to face him. "Listen you old witch, I paid good money for those spells, and since they aren’t working I want to know why."
"Did you do what I told you?"
"Of course."
"Everything? You didn't leave anything out?"
"No, I didn't. You said to…"
"I know what I said, but I don't know if you did it."
"I said I did!”
“Well…I only know of one
other reason the spells didn’t work.”
“What? Tell me?”
“Love,” she said simply.
Quinn frowned. “Love? What do you mean?”
“Love is the only thing stronger than witchcraft. Are they in love?”
Quinn looked at her, trying to make sense of what she was saying. “In love?” Suddenly it all made sense. “Love!” he shouted. “My God they’re in love!” He turned to the widow. “They’re getting married, did you know that? Married! You’ve got to give me something powerful. Something that’ll work quick before this thing gets out of hand.”
“Why don’t you leave them alone?” the old widow spat impatiently. “Let them be happy.”
Quinn’s face took on a menacing look. “No way. I brought her here for me, and now she’s in his arms. I’ve invested money and time into your powers, and I want results.”
The old woman said nothing, only looked at him with her witch’s eyes. They dove deep into his heart and even she became chilled at what she saw.
Quinn noticed her silence. “What’s wrong? Are your powers gone?"
She frowned up at him as if insulted. "My powers are fine. But I can’t fight against love.”
“They’re not in love, do you hear? They’re not in love!”
“Well, then, if what you say is true there is only one reason the spells didn’t work. You didn’t follow my instructions. You have to follow them to the letter, you know. No substitutions, the exact moment in time the spell is at its most potent. All these things have to be observed, or the magic isn’t there.”
“How many times do I have to say it? I did everything you told me to. It’s your mumbo jumbo that isn’t working.”
“No matter. It's too late now anyway. You need another spell."
"Like hell! You're just trying to get more money out of me, you wrinkled up old hag!"
The old woman looked at him through eyes that sparkled with a cold, icy brightness. "I wouldn’t be too quick to refuse if I were you. I have something new. Something that’ll make her—” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “—eyeballs sweat, eh?" The old witch stretched her lips back in a snaggle-toothed smile, then began laughing wickedly.
Shadow Lover (Siren Publishing Allure) Page 20