Freeing the Witch
Page 9
Porter put his mug to his forehead to focus on the word. “Human puppies. You know. Damn it. What’s the word?”
“Human eggs?” One of the nagas suggested.
“Babies,” Emaula said patiently.
Porter turned at once to agree. “Yeah! Those. That’s—”
Oh, she was here. His world spun a little. He was very drunk. Very, very wonderfully drunk. “Hiya, Emaula. I was just talking about you. Words are so fuckin’ stupid.”
“Ms. Witch, the wolf has many nice things to say about you.”
“Well, he’s a very nice man.” Emaula blushed prettily. “Your servant said you needed more wine? Shall I add it to your tab or—”
The naga pulled out a purse.
Porter twisted in his chair to look at her. He smiled, sloppy and unsteady. “Hi.”
“Hello.” Her eyes narrowed with confusion, and then she smiled. “Oh! You’re drunk, aren’t you?”
“Mmhum.” Porter reached out and stroked the edge of her head-scarf. He could sense the prickle of her angry magic. But he wasn’t afraid of magic. He was close to her breasts. He wondered how easily that silk would slide off her body if he tugged.
She stepped back. “Incredibly drunk.”
The nagas laughed, and Emaula looked deeply unhappy at all of them. “It’s very unkind of you to tease him.”
“You’re very unkind,” the lady naga said. “Give him a kiss in the rain, Ms. Witch, and let the seven gods of the rivers bless your love!”
Emaula sucked in a humiliated breath and turned back inside. The silk fluttered even in this damned damp night.
“Wait, Emaula!” Porter stood, too quickly. The ground shot away and remained under his feet in only the most tenuous way. “I have a thing to say.”
She stood in the door. The warm drunken light of the fire painted her face, making her expression both painfully hopeful and helplessly scared. She was so beautiful. Porter forgot what he’d wanted to say.
Inside, Nav said, “Close the door. It’s cold.”
Outside, the naga said, “Come into the rain and kiss her.”
Damn, what had he meant to say? He’d called to her for a reason. When it rained, you made soup. Emaula smiled at him so kindly, it melted him with joy.
“You know, I do love you,” Porter said.
Her eyes widened with shock, which was silly because she was a beautiful woman and very easy to fall in love with. Her heartbeat quickened, but she leaned on the open door sadly. “I ought to crush that impulse before you say something like that when you’re sober.”
Nav wore his big-brother-is-nervous face and came onto the porch. “What’s wrong?”
“Why?” Porter ignored the tiger. “Oh, is it too soon? I don’t care. I still love you.”
“Son of a bitch.” Nav wedged between him and Emaula, and clapped his hands on Porter’s shoulders. “Ms. Emaula, I’m sorry. He’s very drunk.”
“Yes, I know.” She stared at the floor. “I’ll just go … um, to my room. Good night.”
“Wait.” Porter reached out to her. “We have to make soup!”
“Soup?” Emaula laughed. “My, how strange your mind is.”
“Because it’s raining.” Porter pointed past the porch at the deluge. “You make soup in the rain and also … kiss the gods … kiss for the gods or damn, words are stupid.”
“Port, you’re drunk.” Nav pulled on his arm to keep him from following Emaula. “She’s a witch.”
Porter jerked his arm and parted himself from the tiger. “So what? I don’t care. I’ve known plenty of—”
He gripped his head because … doors. Too much happened suddenly, between the words, and the tiger, and Emaula, and those damned doors trying open. There was something he missed. Some cue he dropped because Nav was upset and Emaula was sad and… “Oh, fuck me. Is there something wrong with soup?”
Emaula smiled in her sad way and headed inside.
Porter jerked away to follow her.
“Porter! Do I have to kick your ass?”
The world tilted again. The witches in his head laughed meanly. No, just one witch … an old crone he didn’t recognize watching with blue eyes from the rafters… Maybe it was the nagas outside his head. Everything was slippery.
“How much have you had to drink, buddy?” Nav held him by the back of his neck. “Let’s go downstairs and sleep this off, okay?”
Porter mumbled and let Nav lead him because Nav was safe, and those women in his head were not. He had to shut them away.
Nav said, “So sorry, Ms. Emaula. I will talk to him tomorrow, and I’m sure he’ll apologize.”
The Munawn said, “Stupid little puppy. So quick to fall in love with women who think of you as a simple, pretty toy.”
For a moment, Porter was in his real place. The place with the thunder of laughter and the howling rain, and the cold was gone and—
The key in his hand pointed at the door. He was about to open The Munwan’s door. About to let her back in. Even though she’d cast him out. Even though she only wanted him because another witch wanted him.
“No!” Porter threw himself away from the door. “Get out of my head, you damned witch! I don’t want you!”
Then he fell in real life. In the dining hall. The ground came at him slowly like it wasn’t real. Nav grabbed him around his middle and caught him.
The world breathed, silent except for the patter of rain, the crackle of the fire, and the hush of twenty-odd people.
Emaula stood on the stairs. Devastated. Her eyes shone in the firelight, like water.
“I am exceedingly sorry, Ms. Emaula.” Nav shifted so that Porter slumped behind him. Nav protected him. From what? The witches were in his head. Nav couldn’t protect him from them. “He’s exceptionally drunk. I’m sure he meant no offense.”
“I wasn’t talking to her.” Porter’s mouth wasn’t cooperating. Too inarticulate. Too quiet. “Not her. I mean the others… She’s special.”
“He’ll apologize in the morning, Ms. Emaula,” Nav promised.
Emaula held onto the stairway rail and put her hand on the loose end of her headscarf. “There’s no need to be so alarmed, sir. I only…”
She looked around the room, with a nervous twitch of her mouth. “I take no offense. There’s no need to be alarmed.”
“See?” The Munawn whispered through the door inside his head. “You mean so little to her, she can’t even take you as a threat.”
“So sorry for causing a scene.” Emaula headed up the stairs.
Nav gripped his neck and shook him a little and hauled him toward the kitchen. “The hell are you thinking, Porter? Pawing at a cursed woman one minute, baring your teeth at her the next? You got more sense than that.”
Porter tried to answer, but The Munawn was talking, so his words were gone.
“Of course, you don’t have more sense than that. Why else would you think a woman of that power would love you?”
Porter whimpered.
“You mean no more to her than a new shawl. Stupid dog.”
“Porter?” Nav shook him a little again. Somehow, they’d come into the kitchen. The cellar, cool and quiet, stretched out below him. “You okay, buddy?”
Porter leaned forward to float down the stairs. Nav clutched him tighter, stopping him from falling headfirst down the stairs.
“Something ain’t right, Nav.” Half-Ear was there, too. “He used to get like this in prison. All woozy and far-eyed, but … I ain’t seen it in a long time.”
“I’m fine.” Porter reached out for the darkness and the sweet smell of the earth. He wanted to sleep. To sleep in his cellar. “Just … too much to drink. Don’t worry. The doors are all closed. I didn’t open them. I promise.”
Half-Ear went down the stairs first, walking backward, with his hands on the rails. To catch Porter if he slipped.
“You guys are the best,” Porter said.
“Yeah, you’re never drinking with nagas again,” Half-Ear said.
Porter smiled and nodded. Over Half-Ear’s shoulder, The Munawn waited in the shadows. He startled, and Nav held him tighter.
“Watch your step, Port.”
Half-Ear looked over his shoulder. “What do you see, buddy?”
Porter wasn’t certain. Because it wasn’t The Munawn. Her eyes weren’t right… She smiled. A mean smile, but The Munawn never smiled.
The witch sitting on the barrel, trying to look like The Munawn, vanished like smoke.
“Nothing…” Porter answered. “She went away.”
It was unlike The Munawn to pop in and out like that. She wasn’t the kind to put effort into torture. She was more the break your leg and leave you alone in a room kind of witch. And why would she show up now? Why would she smile so much?
Cool bamboo pattered under his feet. Nav wrangled him out of the tunic then tipped him down. Porter crumbled into the soothing darkness and the earthy smell. It made the ache in his head dull. Made the other voices fade.
“I’ll sit with him a while, Nav.” Half-Ear plucked the blanket off the flour barrel. The Munawn wasn’t here after all. No, why would she be? It wasn’t her way. “I’ll make sure he stays and sleeps.”
“Such the best.” Porter curled into his blanket when Half-Ear put it over his shoulders. “I’m gonna make you a cake tomorrow, Half-Ear.”
“Yup, you do that, Port.” Half-Ear reached under the blanket and tugged at the hem of Porter’s trousers. Stripping him of clothes and his human shape, just like Ramsay’s guards had in the prison. Only Half-Ear was much more gentle than anyone had ever been in prison.
“And coffee, too,” Porter muttered.
“Better be good coffee, too, Porter.” Half-Ear pulled away the blanket.
Porter’s head cleared a little when he shifted. Sock had a theory that the transformation burned off alcohol, but Porter knew he was too dumb to understand magic theories. Half-Ear rubbed Porter’s ear affectionately before he perched on the barrel.
“Go somewhere happy, buddy.”
That was a good kind of order to obey.
Chapter Three
When the sun rose, a soft misting rain covered the jungle. Emaula watched the light break over the vibrantly green world with a strange calm.
Sleep had been difficult, and she’d dreamed of him last night.
In another life, when he smiled sloppily at her and confessed his love, she’d answered by grabbing his shoulders and kissing him. In her mind, she pulled him into the rain and danced like the nagas wanted, her hands full of his broad chest and brown skin, her lips wet from the rain and his kisses. Then he’d sweep her upstairs, and strip them out of their wet clothes, and make love to her in real life.
No reason for that viciousness from him.
“Damned witch.” He’d screamed it with such misery. “I don’t want you!”
It didn’t seem real in the misty morning. Like some bad dream that would burn away with the fog. He’d been unfocused and so drunk … so full of anger. He hadn’t been himself.
It filled her with grief and self-hatred. She glanced at the traveling bag she’d packed. Unless Jasprite insisted she stay to work off her debt, Emaula would leave with Nav’s group, head down to the ship and travel … who the hell knew where. Elsewhere.
Her magic whispered to her, something sinister and strange. Out of habit, Emaula ignored it, but the magic insisted. It suggested there had been someone else. Another witch tormenting Porter. It only knew one other witch, and so it whispered Mother over and over again.
No, Emaula couldn’t delude herself. Just because her magic wanted him, didn’t mean she could take him. Just because he was handsome and kind, didn’t mean he wanted her. Just because he had trouble speaking, didn’t mean he couldn’t mask fear and hatred behind an easy smile.
If she’d any sense of self-preservation, she would cut him out of her thoughts now. Wield the knife before the charming oaf managed to disarm her. If she did it right, she could stay here. She could go downstairs, look him coldly in the eye and very magnanimously forgive his misconduct the night before. Scold him that he ought never repeat the event. Reject him soundly, coldly, and leave no room for doubt. She ought to—
There he was in the yard below, carrying two traveling chests from a guestroom. He’d changed his vest for a black cotton tunic, but she could still appreciate the way his broad shoulders and narrow hips made her belly flutter and her knees buckle.
“Damned beast,” Emaula muttered.
She turned away from the window.
The only responsible choice was to leave. Finish the last breakfast today, thank Jasprite for her hospitality and then … leave.
Before her magic had the chance to hurt Porter again.
****
The wolf, of course, was unavoidable.
As soon as she entered the kitchen, he came in from the smokehouse. He carried about a hundred tiny links of sausage in his arms and smiled at her.
“Good morning, Ms. Emaula.”
“Mr. Porter.” Her heart fluttered. She could not put from her mind how he’d smiled and said he loved her last night. Then, in the next moment, he’d howled his rage. Her heart cringed. Now, he’d apologize, of course. Perhaps he would have a smooth explanation for his outburst. She would deny it, and she would leave.
He put the sausages on the counter and didn’t look her in the eye. “So, the boys tell me I got very drunk last night.”
Emaula shrugged. “Oh, yes. You were quite angry.”
Porter nodded. “Called you a damned witch, Nav said. But I … I need you to know I wasn’t talking to you when I said that bit.”
Emaula scoffed. “Oh, you meant another witch? Maybe that poor old crone Yenna or—”
“Did you see her, too?” Porter didn’t read her sarcasm and jolted forward. “The Munawn in the shadows and in the rain? You saw her? I thought it was her, but I’m not sure.”
“What?” Emaula narrowed her eyes. “There was another witch here? Your witch?”
Porter made a face because it was too hard to explain. “Not in her body, but in my mind. She almost made me open a door. It doesn’t matter. She’s gone now, and she’s the one I meant. She’s the damned witch I don’t want.”
Emaula found that explanation too distressing to dismiss. “You ought to be careful, Mr. Porter. See Yenna, wear ironweed, if your old witch is coming for you.”
“Oh, she doesn’t want me. She just came to … to remind me of my place.” Porter waved his hand to cast away the lingering shadow of his creator’s presence. Then seemed at a loss for words. “So, I am sorry you thought I was yelling at you.”
“There’s no harm in it.” Maybe she could stay. She didn’t actually believe his story about this other witch, but knowing he was lying—honestly, to know he was so good at lying to try to keep her placated—made Emaula colder.
“Before that though,” Porter lifted his gaze to her face. “I said I loved you.”
Emaula felt her mouth go dry, and her heart pounded like a caged bird in her chest. “Well, I’m sure … there’s no harm in that either. People say strange things when they drink.”
“Yeah, but I meant it,” Porter said.
Goddess save her.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” Porter paused. His brows knit together as he struggled to find the right words. He tugged at the hem of his tunic as if he were uncomfortable with so much cloth on his body. “But you are very special, and … damn, that is not what I—”
Porter shook his head and shut his mouth. When he spoke again, Emaula could hear Nav behind his words. “Sorry, uh, I will behave better in the future, Ms. Emaula. I hope I do not make you unhappy, eh, uncomfortable.”
He broke her heart without trying, and Emaula knew she ought to accept it, coldly. Nod with dignity and say something cruel. Like, “of course, you animals are so affectionate” or “I don’t sleep with the help”.
But she didn’t have the heart to break his.
She reached for him as he left, and her fingers brushed his naked wrist. When he jolted from the pain, she flinched and clasped her hands together. “Sorry! I—”
His expression of pain turned into a sudden bright smile, and he turned again to fully face her, his shoulders back and his face open. Because she’d reached for him because she wanted him.
Emaula bit her lip and looked at the ground. “It’s most challenging, Porter. I don’t really know how to show—since, you know, the curse. I’ve tried to fight it. But … you’re, well, you’re a rather attractive man and…”
Porter smiled without pleasure.
“But I’m sure women have told you as much before.” Emaula felt a hot flush in her face and hugged her arms across her chest. “Women who can touch you, and kiss you, and … well, I’m sure you know what I mean.”
Porter nodded.
“And since, well, I can’t do such things, we’ll remain friends. We’ll forgive this little awkwardness between us and, um, not talk about … what can’t really happen.”
He seemed confused but nodded again.
“Good. That’s settled, then.” Emaula patted the counter and looked away toward the dining hall. “We shall be friends, and that’s all. Now, there’s a big breakfast to make. What with all the soldiers here. Only people with appetite bigger than wolves are—”
“Emaula,” Porter said, very seriously.
She looked back to him and saw something in his hand.
“I don’t understand this … friend thing. So, I have to think about that a little more. But … either way. That isn’t all.”
Emaula wasn’t certain how he could possibly be confused. Until he placed a long, slightly shimmering root on the counter. Moonwort. A nice healthy one. Fresh. The glow would die in a few hours when the moon finished setting and the magic slept again.