Bright Young Witches & the Restless Dead

by Beth Byers

  She very much wanted him to be a man mucking out the stables without a shirt or some other sweaty activity. Given the cut of his jacket and the fine material, she doubted he engaged in manual labor, but one could dream. At least until he opened his mouth and she discovered if he was tolerable.

  Chapter 10

  MAY 1922. LONDON, ENGLAND

  ARIADNE EUDORA WISTERIA WODE

  “Hullo,” he said, with an emphasis that added, I know what you are.

  “Hello,” she replied, holding out her hand and lifting a brow. She knew what he was as well despite being overcome by those shoulders. It was all padding, she told herself, but she knew it wasn’t.

  She was a witch. He was a witch. He was English. Probably snobbish. She was American and certainly spoiled. That flexing magic was enough to make her want to flex her own abilities, but her gaze flicked to his shoulders once more, and she told herself she should reach out and take control of her wayward mind.

  “Did you say Wode?” His gaze flicked from her pentacle necklace back to Mrs. Langford. “I know some Wodes.”

  “I did,” Mrs. Langford almost cooed. She was excited by the interest they were evidencing. If only she knew it was because they recognized each other’s otherness. “How fun! What if Lucian’s friends are the kin you were looking for, Ariadne? How lovely would that be?”

  Mr. Blacke seemed to know enough of the Wode situation to be curious. “They’ll be interested at your presence.”

  “And perhaps startled,” she said, giving him the information he sought. Sooner or later it would out that she was the new eldest of the eldest.

  “You’re the eldest sister?”

  “Eldest of the eldest,” she replied, accepting a cocktail from Mrs. Langford with relief. She’d have done much to have another aspirin to knock back with the cocktail.

  “Ah,” he replied with a very weighted sound. He winced enough to let her know that even though the Wodes he knew hadn’t been able to trigger the house opening they still hoped it was possible. It was a fruitless dream, but an understandable one.

  “Yes,” she said. “A rather shocking day when we visited the family manor today.”

  “Indeed?” he asked, those brilliant blue orbs settling on her face. “Did you not know the main family line had died out?”

  “We were entirely unaware. Hoping merely to see the house and visit the graveyards of our kin. Having an adventure before we returned home.”

  His brow was the lifted one now as she processed her coded message. Yes, she was the eldest of the eldest of the Wodes, but her appearance hadn’t been because of the inheritance. They’d come to visit their kin.

  Would he share her message with the Wodes who were left? Would those Wodes hate her and her sisters for inheriting or would they be relieved that the house accepted someone—anyone? She wanted to find the family here. To know them and perhaps, be one of them.

  “You’re so funny,” Mrs. Langford told Ariadne, giggling. “Obsessing with visiting the graves of her kin as though they could tell her stories of the past.”

  “Wouldn’t that be interesting if they could?” Ariadne asked. “What stories would they tell?”

  “They were primarily buried at their country house, I believe,” Mr. Blacke told her. “My kin also hail from that part of the country. The Wode and the Blacke have been circling each other for ages.”

  Ariadne nodded. Shared covens? How interesting and oddly fortuitous if not for the spell she’d laid on herself and her sisters. She glanced beyond Mrs. Langford to Circe and Echo. Echo was laughing at something the younger Mr. Langford was saying to her. He had eyes only for her, but Ariadne doubted that Echo truly returned his feelings.

  Circe, on the other hand, flirted with every man that moved. Ariadne sighed just enough to have Blacke’s gaze turned to her sisters. “Your kin?”

  “My sisters,” Ariadne replied. She turned back to him and said, “I’d be interested in meeting the Wodes.”

  “I believe they’d also like to meet you,” he told her. “They were under the impression that the American line had died out.”

  Ariadne wasn’t surprised. “It has been some time since the break between the lines, and there was quite the divide between Frederick and his English kin, but no—he had many children and lived a rather long life. There are quite a few Wodes in the United States.”

  “Indeed. They must have stayed very true to the…traditions…of your kin.” For you to inherit.

  “My grandfather was quite careful and obsessive, really. We heard many stories and learned much of our family.” Their spells, their ways.

  “It would seem so.” For you to inherit.

  Ariadne nodded and then turned to Mrs. Langford. “This is quite delicious.” Ariadne lifted her glass and then glanced at Mr. Blacke and smiled. “So nice to meet you. I’ll just check on Echo and Circe.”

  Ariadne slipped away and found her way to Echo. It didn’t matter that her younger sister was barely eighteen years old while Circe was twenty-two. Echo was Ariadne’s confidant.

  “There’s a witch here,” Ariadne said low to Echo.

  She glanced up and nodded, smiling prettily. “The fellow from the ship. He’s lovely with those dimples of his. Despite having started going to fat.”

  “No, someone else,” Ari said. “This one knows other Wodes.”

  Circe laughed and then slipped back into the dancing.

  Echo winced. “If Circe is jealous—”

  “Exactly,” Ariadne said. “What an absolutely fabulous day.” And what an utter lie. Ariadne’s headache had returned in full vengeance. “Take care of Circe and make my excuses. I need some air.”

  Ariadne fled the party, not noticing how much warmer it was the moment she stepped onto the sidewalk. Rather than returning to the hotel, she made her way to the Wode house.

  There was something about being alone that let what had happened ricochet through her mind. Ariadne needed that. She needed a few moments to think on what was in front of her. Did she really want to be the eldest of the eldest of the entirety of the Wode? It made her the equivalent of the head of the family. It loaded even more responsibility on her and Ariadne felt like she was drowning already.

  In the darkness, the Wode house seemed a beacon to her. Her mind was skittering around the edges of the house. It took her quite a long time to walk through the gate and up the path, and it seemed that the house, Nara, had realized Ariadne was overwhelmed.

  As she dared to open the house, gently led by the house, she found the pain in her head faded. Up the steps, down the hall, the first set of double doors. Ariadne opened them slowly.

  The parlor and the library opposite both had the bay windows that she’d noted the first time she’d seen the house. Each of the bay windows had built-in window seats with padding. Ariadne had little doubt that her kin had spent many a morning reading a book and watching the rain.

  The library seemed to flutter in greeting and Ariadne walked in, finding chalk on the floor as if left out for her. She drew a pentacle, took the lotus position, and listened. Her magic and her mind traveled the edges of the wards and spells and she felt them out. The house needed her. More than Circe. More than the Wode house in Nighton. More than Echo or Cassiopeia or Medea.

  More, however, the house wanted Ariadne, which was more than she could say of anyone other than her littlest sisters. She hadn’t realized how lonely she’d been until she felt the house reach out and try to meet her where she stood. It accepted Ariadne. Appreciated her. It conveyed how it wanted to protect and love her and those she loved. Who had done that for her since her mother had died?

  No one. She was tired. The clarity of her exhaustion was obvious—like the sun at noon—when she realized that Nara wanted her. Slowly Ariadne rose and wandered the house, entranced by the feeling of being both wanted and needed. She wasn’t so much seeing the dark floors or the painted and papered walls as the spells and the history. She noted the sky painted overhead in the maste
r bedroom and the constellations that whispered magic to her. She noticed the craftsmanship of the building, but it was the aura, magic and personality that spoke to her more than the luxury.

  This house, this Nara, had protected generations of Wodes. It wanted to protect generations more. It had loved generations of Wodes. Male, female. Powerful, weak. It hadn’t cared as long as the Wode was one of the line. It was as though the house were haunted. She was catching edges of things that had gone before.

  A woman had died a slow death in that room, but she’d been at peace with her passing. A baby had been born in that room and grown in the halls of the house. A couple had spent decades fighting in this hall and slamming these doors. The house led her to the back garden and Ariadne stopped dead. She stared in awe, feeling truly at home for the first time in her life.

  The path that led out of Nara was lined with ancient chestnut trees. Large, knotted, and aware. They whispered Wode, Wode, Wode with their leaves. In the following moments, it shifted to Ariadne, Ariadne, Ariadne.

  Generations of nature witches had planted this garden, had woven spells into it, had grown and crafted the plants that were thriving there. Baby’s breath, wolfsbane, bluebells, apple trees, pineapple plants. Plants that belonged and those that should have died. The back garden should have only been a mere whisper of the size it actually was.

  How the ancient Wodes had hidden so much land here and then cultivated it as they had, Ariadne didn’t know. But every inch of acre upon acre was planted and cultivated with plants that shouldn’t have been possible.

  The magic, the fading magic of the last of the Wodes, hadn’t been put into protecting the house until the next ‘eldest’ came along. Delilah Wode had given the last of what she had for this garden, and Ariadne would have done the same. Ariadne’s fingers greeted an orchid that belonged in the tropics and she knelt down to dig her fingers into the dirt. She knew she’d come home. She wasn’t sure what else she would do, but this was hers now, and she had her calling. Eldest of the Wode? Perhaps. Steward of this garden? Certainly.

  Chapter 11

  MAY 1922. LONDON, ENGLAND

  ECHO BEATRIX AZALEA WODE

  Echo watched Ariadne leave with worry in her eyes. She glanced back at Circe and then at Mrs. Langford. The kind woman had been their saving grace. Little asides on the ship to Circe had her sister shutting her mouth and trying to give Ariadne a little more space. Why Circe couldn’t see how hard it was to be the eldest was beyond Echo.

  Ariadne was mother to Medea and Cassiopeia in all but name and all on her own. Ariadne was the head of the American branch of the family and a larger pack of squabbling, powerful whiners Echo had never seen. The only adult in their life they could count on was Aunt Beatrix, and it had to be done with the understanding that Beatrix’s children always came first.

  And now Circe was jealous again? Why? Why didn’t Circe just recognize she was powerful and beautiful and had the freedom to do as she wished? She could go back to Lindsey Noel and no one would stop her—Ariadne included. The reason Circe didn’t go was because she wasn’t as stupid as she was acting and her mind had accepted that pretty Lindsey was a snake.

  If only Circe’s heart—and more importantly, mouth—would catch up.

  Echo grinned at George Langford as he approached and let him swing her into a dance. Put it all aside, she told herself, and let the music take you.

  The evening passed quickly until Echo felt something creep up her back. There was a chill in the air that shouldn’t be there.

  Echo slowly turned around the room and noticed Mr. Blacke was looking about as assiduously as Echo. Echo looked for Circe and saw her giggling into a dimpled chubby man’s shoulder before he swung her into another red-faced dance. Both Langford girls were whispering in the corner while the older Langford son was watching Circe with a lascivious gaze.

  Lucian Blacke met Echo’s gaze and crossed to her to ask her low, “Where is your sister, Ariadne?”

  “She left,” Echo replied, flinching when she realized the chill was a ghost.

  “Is the other one of any use?”

  “Only rarely and never for the dead,” Echo muttered and then she grabbed Blacke’s wrist. “Did you see that?”

  He shook his head. “I’m no necromancer.”

  “I am. Take care of the rest. I’ll send Circe for Ariadne.” She didn’t hesitate to command the older man.

  “Is she a necromancer?”

  Echo shook her head and then added with precision, “She’s just ruthless.” While he was giving messages to the other Wodes, he could add that one.

  With a shiver, Echo realized she didn’t have her athamé. Why was she so stupid? Ariadne told them never to leave it. What were the chances? Echo crossed to Circe and pulled her from the dance to both of the participants’ shock and Circe’s fury

  “Do you have your athamé?” Echo whispered.

  Circe grinned at the chubby man and fluttered her lashes. “Yes. But not now! I’m dancing.”

  “Now!” Echo hissed. “Are you dim? There are ghosts about, and they aren’t the guarding spirits of the kindred dead.”

  “Where’s yours?” Circe demanded, twisting to wave her fingers at her partner.

  “I’m stupid! Where’s yours?”

  Circe reached into a hidden pocket and through it to the sheath on her thigh. “Where’s Ariadne? Why aren’t you bothering her?”

  “She left. I need her. I need you to get her.”

  “What?” Circe blinked, finally realizing that Echo was worried. “What are you talking about?”

  “The dead,” Echo hissed. “What else? Get Ariadne. I need her!”

  “I’m dancing. This is a party! Not time for witchcraft.” Circe’s gaze narrowed on Echo. “You’re as bad as Ariadne for ruining fun.”

  “The dead!” Echo hissed to Circe. “Now! Wake up and get Ari! It isn’t always about you and fun, Circe!”

  Circe gasped and her eyes filled with tears to Echo’s immediate frustration. Of course she was crying about it. Echo took the athamé, hiding it in her hand, and hissed to Circe, “Grow up!”

  Echo fled before she was tempted to use Circe’s athamé for more than magic. Following the chill, Echo found Mr. Blacke in the back garden.

  “Necromancer?” He studied her. “Truly? The Wode are nature witches.”

  Echo nodded, not seeing any reason to elaborate.

  “Are you well-trained?”

  She shrugged. Perhaps? She would do what she could. Echo followed Blacke as they approached the back of the garden. What was happening? Why did she feel the chill of the dead? Could it be that someone dark had come through the thinning and was feeding on the Langfords? That would drive them mad and Echo wouldn’t stand for it after all the good Mrs. Langford had done for her sisters. It would turn them dark and hateful. It would ruin the kind Mrs. Langford’s life if such a thing happened to her children.

  Echo dropped to her knees and carved the pentacle in the ground with her athamé and magic. It was a fluid motion that had Blacke lifting his brows. Echo carved a rune at each point of the athamé and then opened her eyes to the thinning. There wasn’t a breach of the thinning here. How were the dead hitting her senses?

  “Is there a graveyard nearby?” she asked Blacke, who shook his head. Slowly Echo stood and turned in the pentacle.

  “Why did your sister leave?”

  Echo answered almost absently. “Wode House’s call was too loud. Ari is struggling with the aftermath.”

  “Wode House has been quiet for decades.”

  Echo didn’t bother to answer. It wasn’t quiet anymore, but that was Ariadne’s concern. Echo sighed. The chill of the dead, the feel of their presence was gone. She would think she’d imagined it if not for the presence of Mr. Blacke.

  “So, Miss Wode is not a necromancer as well?”

  Echo shook her head. “Our Father belonged to a line of necromancers. I’m the only afflicted so far. Ari is much like Mama and other Wodes.”


  Lucian Blacke’s presence was interesting, Echo thought. Ariadne had opened the house and triggered the primogeniture spells. And here was a witch who knew the Wode. Here was a person who was asking too many questions and too many of them had to do with Ariadne.

  She glanced at Lucian Blacke, noticed the weight of his magic, and then said to him calmly. “What an odd evening.”

  She waved her hand to remove the pentacle and went back inside and found Mrs. Langford only a few steps in. “What a lovely garden you have.”

  “I thought it was Ariadne who was the plant woman.”

  “I supposed she’s rubbed off on me a bit,” Echo said. “Tell me, do you have much family nearby? Perhaps your kindred dead are buried nearby. I’m the one obsessed with our kin’s graves.”

  “I don’t,” Mrs. Langford said with a bit of a laugh. “I’m a bit scattered about the past. I’d have to think for some time if I were going to even name my great-grandparents. My children are more interested, I suppose. They like the old stories from their aunts and uncle. But of course, they have family through their father nearby. No graveyard of course. Of course not.”

  Echo had yet to meet Mr. Langford, who apparently traveled quite a lot for his work along with his eldest son. She had only met the younger Langford sons who were just finished with university and the two Langford daughters and none of them seemed to be witches.

  CIRCE EUTERPE MAGNOLIA WODE

  Circe watched Echo leave. She sighed and then glanced over at George. She did like his dimples despite his chubbiness.