Coven of the Raven: box set

by Shona Husk

  Mylla clamped her teeth together in frustration. It was about all she could do while under a direct order to show the visitor into the front room. For a moment, when she’d opened the door, she’d wanted to step outside and run and never stop, but her feet wouldn’t move. She knew it wasn’t right. She should be able to control her own body and leave if she wanted.

  But there were many things not right about her life, like the cuts that appeared on her arms once a month—she knew because she’d added those days to her secret markings—but she couldn’t remember what had happened. She turned her head to look at the man. He was the reason she’d had to make up a room in the servants’ quarters, but he shouldn’t be here. Something bad would happen. There’d been others, yet she couldn’t be sure because she couldn’t remember their faces.

  This man was young and vital. His skin was tanned and his dark blond hair was wild and untamed, hanging around his cheek bones and eyes, but his clothes weren’t right. He didn’t belong here. Thomas would destroy him. Bind that energy into something more constrained. Thomas would break him the way he’d broken her.

  She flexed her fingers as if trying to break free of whatever held her, but couldn’t. How could she fight something she couldn’t see or feel? But it was there, sometimes it slid against her consciousness and she knew it was something Thomas was doing.

  The man scanned the walls, the ceiling, and let his gaze drift up the staircase as they walked past.

  “So you’ve lived here long?” His voice bounced off the walls too loudly.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been here, more than possible. Something is wrong here. Run while you can.

  But all she could do was turn to face him and shrug and smile sadly.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Can’t talk?”

  Mylla blinked slowly. She could think of what she wanted to say, and she could speak when Mr. Quigley allowed it. So why couldn’t she just open her mouth and let the words fall out the way this man did?

  The man looked at her, his brown-eyed gaze more intent…more like Mr. Quigley. A spark of fear caught in her chest. She stepped back and turned around. She couldn’t let anyone know she had even a small amount of control. What if that was taken away so she couldn’t even choose where she looked?

  Yet, being near this man, she wanted to try harder to find out was wrong with her and make it right. No one controlled him. She risked a glance at him, but he wasn’t looking at her, he was admiring the house.

  She opened the door to the front room and ushered him in.

  Mr. Quigley looked up from his book and smiled. “Oskar Clark, I’m glad you called. As you can see, my garden is in a terrible state.”

  Oskar. It suited him. It sounded a little dangerous and untamed. He would upset the balance. That was a good thing, wasn’t it? Change? Things had to change? She needed them to change. Nothing ever changed here. Stagnant, that was the word she was looking for. While her face remained frozen, inside she was smiling. Every thought she had was a tiny win.

  “Fetch us some tea, Mylla.” Mr. Quigley glanced at her, his dark gaze holding her for a moment too long, and she forgot what she was thinking.

  Tea. Of course, how could she forget the refreshments? Mylla nodded and slipped out the door, her heart thumping loud. She shouldn’t be leaving Oskar in the room with him. But she didn’t know if she was afraid for Mr. Quigley, Oskar or herself.

  Chapter 3

  Oskar kept his gaze on the man opposite him instead of letting it follow the woman as she obediently left the room. He could almost taste the magic in the air, the way the scent of rancid garbage clung to the throat with every breath. It seemed to settle on his tongue in a thick film, and it was all around him and all over the woman. Was she victim or player?

  He forced a smile and suppressed his gag reflex. He’d get used to the smell. That thought was unsettling on its own.

  “I’ve been looking for a job around the area, my funds are getting low.” He tried to sound casual. “Big garden, bigger than I thought from the ad.”

  Thomas stared at him. The kind of stare that a trained witch could do to get a better look at someone. All kinds of things were given away when truly looking at someone. Most people looked and saw the clothes and face and then moved on. Looking deeper could reveal lies people wanted to hide, strong emotions, and also any magic bound to their soul. With another witch Oskar would usually hold the stare, but he was pretending to be normal so he looked away and shifted his feet as if nervous—that may not have been acting.

  If Thomas saw anything suspicious, Oskar would have a fight on his hands, one he couldn’t possibly win. He had no doubts that Thomas’s magic was stronger, the man had spent a century in this house, and it obviously hadn’t been spent on cleaning, gardening or renovations. As much as he missed the comfort of the bone bracelet and the necklace, he was glad he wasn’t wearing them.

  “Too big a job?”

  “Nah. Pruning and pulling weeds. I’ll get through it before summer, then I plan to head into Canada.”

  “Travelling alone?”

  “Yeah.” Oskar shoved his hands into his coat pockets and let his gaze drift over the room before settling back on Thomas. They were about the same height, but Thomas was scrawny. His suit emphasized his thin frame rather than hiding it. If it came to a non-magical fight, Oskar was sure he could win. He just had to stop Thomas from casting any spells because no one punched faster than thought, and Oskar doubted he could pull a circle around himself fast enough to protect himself.

  Mylla came in and placed a tray of tea on the table. She looked at him for half a second then ducked her head at Thomas and left the room.

  “You’ll have to excuse my maid. She is mute but quite bright.”

  Right. Oskar didn’t quite believe that. Any normal person would ask about the clothes so that’s what he did. “What’s with the dress?”

  “I believe technology is damaging to humans’ abilities so there is nothing here later than the nineteen twenties.” Thomas sat and indicated for Oskar to also sit. “I understand most people have cell phones and the like, but while you are here I would ask that you do not use them.”

  “So, kind of Amish?” As opposed to stuck in a personal time warp. He had to keep playing the ignorant backpacker jobbing around the States.

  “Exactly. You have faith?”

  That was rather personal and not allowed in real job interviews. However, Thomas would have seen something when he’d given Oskar the rather long once over, good thing he couldn’t tell which God or Goddess it was for. “Non-practicing Catholic.”

  If the Morrigu hadn’t already claimed his soul he was sure he would’ve been going to hell for that Alaska-sized lie.

  Thomas helped himself to tea and added two sugar cubes. Oskar didn’t really want to eat or drink anything from this place, but he wasn’t going to have a choice if he got the job. He couldn’t see a spell on the tea, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t contaminated with the general foulness that was everywhere. He needed to get back to the safe topic of the garden.

  “So what did you want me to do exactly?” Oskar fidgeted on the sofa. It was firm, as if it wasn’t used to being sat on, that and he didn’t really feel like sitting and getting comfortable. Getting out and running about a hundred miles in the opposite direction would be better.

  “As you said, prune and weed. If there are dead parts, let me know and I’ll order fresh plants. There’s also some maintenance that needs done to the pavilion, and I’m sure the paving and statues will need scrubbing.”

  “You don’t have regular outside staff?”

  “I like my privacy. I find it easier to hire someone for a couple of months every few years. The rest of the time it’s just me and the maid.” Thomas sipped his tea like that was perfectly normal.

  That’s healthy. One hundred years of talking to yourself and working death magic. Oskar didn’t want to look too deeply at Thomas, as some things couldn’t be unseen. He’d never done f
ield work for the coven, this was a bad first case for him to take, but since the Ravens had never trusted him fully it was a trial by fire. At least he had the Goddess of death at his back while Thomas had nothing.

  “So…cash job to keep it simple?”

  Thomas smiled. “Exactly. You get three meals a day, plus lodgings in the servants’ quarters, and I’ll pay you minimum wage.”

  And at the end I’ll kill you and prolong my life for another decade before repeating the process. Oskar could almost hear the unspoken words. The shiver scraped down his spine and he tightened his stomach muscles to suppress it. He couldn’t start acting like he suspected something was up.

  “Sounds good.” He lied so well he almost convinced himself. This was what he’d come here for.

  “I will ask you to park your vehicle around the side and, as discussed, please leave your electronics in there.”

  “And if I need to make a call?”

  “There is a house phone.”

  Oskar could almost hear the music of impending doom echoing through the house. In horror films this never ended well. He swallowed and tried to be cool with leaving his technology in the van, but he didn’t like it. He had no doubt there would be a mysterious break in and his things would go missing, then the house phone would cease working, leaving him stranded. No wonder people had just vanished, but it must have been a whole lot simpler before cell phones became commonplace.

  “If you find it too strange, I understand, and good luck finding another job.” Thomas fixed him with a look.

  The compulsion to nod his head and say everything was fine slithered over his skin and tightened.

  Shit. It took a breath and a gathering of his freewill to not slip under and obey. Thomas tilted his head a fraction as if sensing the delay in response. When Oskar did nod it was of his own volition, and yet he had to act like the spell had worked so he did as it had demanded, the way any non-witch would. “I’ll take the job.”

  And he’d be spending tonight strengthening his defenses against Thomas’s spell work. A trickle of sweat ran down his back and tension knotted between his shoulders. That had been too close. Again he missed the bird bones around his wrist.

  “Fantastic.” Thomas rang a bell. “Why don’t you spend what’s left of today looking around and getting a feel for the gardens, then start tomorrow. There’s a shed down the back full of tools. I trust you know how to sharpen blades?”

  Oskar nodded. He knew weapons, and as long as there was a whetstone and oil he’d be fine. He doubted Thomas would actually use the blades on him. No, when the attack came, it would be magical and crippling, which meant he had to get in first. He had to find the weak spot and make the first move. If he tried to attack now, Thomas would simply crack him with magic and take away his freewill. Thomas was obviously quite comfortable with pressing his own will on others, as he’d just demonstrated.

  He was also quite comfortable with killing. But Oskar had time. He had a whole garden to work on before Thomas would work his ritual and steal a life that didn’t belong to him, which would give his mind plenty of time to try and come up with a solution.

  The Morrigu’s words swelled in his mind. It is not death you fear but life. Conquer that fear and Thomas will be yours. Now that he was here, he still didn’t get what she meant.

  Mylla entered the room and waited for instruction. Her face was blank—there’d been something there when she’d first shown him in—and now she was perfectly still. He had to remind himself not to stare, even as a warning tingle raked over his flesh like icy fingernails. The hair along his arms spiked, but he ignored the warning and the thickening scent of decay as Thomas worked magic, not on him but Mylla.

  Maybe coming here was a really dumb idea. He could have spent his last few months living up in Vegas, binging on sex, drugs and alcohol, and then hating himself for it in his final hour. How had his father spent his remaining days? But he already knew, with his mother and him, apparently.

  “Take Mr. Clark to his room and give him the key to the shed. He’s going to be working in the gardens.”

  She nodded and turned away, not waiting for him to follow.

  “Thank you, Mr. Quigley,” Oskar said, then he followed after the woman who obeyed Thomas without question, even though she must know what Thomas planned.

  Mylla walked through the house, aware that Oskar was following. Here to look after the gardens. She tried to hold onto the thought. She needed to hold onto whatever she could, as when she stopped they slid away and she was left holding nothing. When she looked at Mr. Quigley, her thoughts fragmented. Or more correctly, when he looked at her.

  At the back of the house near the kitchen were the servants’ quarters. There was a cluster of rooms and an outside bathroom. She’d never slept down here. Mr. Quigley liked her close so her room was upstairs, near his. But she preferred it down here. It was less oppressive than the rest of the house. When she was down here her mind wandered, but she’d learned to write her thoughts down because they fluttered away like dead butterflies on a breeze when she went upstairs.

  From the hooks in the kitchen, she pulled off a key. She turned and offered it to Oskar.

  He looked at her and then the key. “For the shed?”

  She nodded.

  Then he looked at her again as if he were searching for something. His brown eyes held her gaze for a moment too long. Instead of looking away, she returned his stare. She’d been wrong. His eyes weren’t like Mr. Quigley’s. It didn’t feel like something cold and dead being laid against her skin.

  His gaze dropped and his eyes narrowed. “That’s a pretty necklace, Mylla.”

  Necklace? She lifted her hand, her fingers touched metal and then the thought was gone. What was she doing? Showing Oskar to his room.

  She turned away and led him down a corridor, the nagging thought trailing her. He’d told her something important. What was it?

  His footsteps followed. She wanted to ask, but the words became lost. The only time she ever spoke was when Mr. Quigley demanded it. She bit her lip. Oskar spoke freely. Why couldn’t she? Was she really mute and only able to speak because Mr. Quigley gave her that gift the way he said?

  She opened the bedroom door. It looked fresh and clean, she must have made the bed and aired the room, and yet she couldn’t be sure she had. Light crept through the only window but the overgrown bushes cast thick shadows. It would be nice to see the garden and house tidied up. Panic caught her unaware and gripped her heart hard. Clean was bad. A tidy garden was bad.

  Oskar brushed past her and into the room. “Small but nice.” He smiled at her and opened the wardrobe and then the drawers, as if looking for something. “You do all the housework?”

  She nodded.

  “Big job.”

  There was nothing else for her to do. What did she do when she wasn’t working? Her book, she wrote in the book to remember.

  “Did you know you’d have to dress like a turn-of-the-century maid when you took the job?”

  Mylla frowned. Why was he talking to her? And what was he talking about? He took her hand until she stood in front of the small mirror on the dressing table. His hand was warm against her skin. Her lips moved as she let herself enjoy the contact for a moment. She’d forgotten what it was like to touch another person.

  Flashes of memories cut through her mind. Mr. Quigley undoing her dress. Crying. Scratches. She jerked her hand free. What was Oskar doing to her?

  He stepped back. “Sorry. This is all a bit weird to me. Not that I meant any offense.”

  She shook her head, but her gaze lingered on the woman in the mirror. She saw herself every day, yet it was as though she’d never really looked. She didn’t look right. What was missing? She tried to smile, but it looked forced, as though she was grimacing. And Oskar was watching her every move.

  It was time to leave. It wouldn’t do for Mr. Quigley to find her standing in Oskar’s room when there was work to be done. There was the tea to collect, and di
nner to make, and her head filled with a list of jobs that needed done. Without looking back, she turned away.

  As she passed the key hooks she paused.

  That’s a pretty necklace, Mylla. Oskar’s voice was deep and firm in her mind. He’d said her name. She let it echo and fill her with warmth. She almost turned around and went back to his room just to hear him speak to her. No one spoke to her. Anyone who came here ignored her. She was sure of that. When Oskar spoke it wasn’t to give her orders, he spoke to her as if he expected an answer. She wanted to be able to answer his questions, even if she wasn’t sure what to say. Yet her feet wouldn’t move.

  Later, when her jobs were done and the orders in her head were silent, she would see him. She’d try to warn him that not everything was as it seemed here, that something was wrong. Before she went to bed, she’d read the notes she’d made in secret to remind herself of all the things she shouldn’t forget.

  She’d add Oskar’s words to the list because there was a small voice at the edge of her mind that told her not to forget them. If she managed to remember them, maybe she’d be able to work out why they mattered.

  When Mylla left, Oskar let himself drop onto the bed, relief spreading through his muscles, if not relaxation. Would he ever feel at ease again? The answer was rather morbid: when he was dead. He let out a slow breath and raked his fingers through his hair.

  At least down here every breath didn’t make him want to gag, and when he was outside he’d be farther away. But he had the feeling that as long as he was on the property Thomas would be able to reach him. He’d gotten the job. Step one done. Next was work out if he could trust Mylla.

  He wanted to believe she was an innocent victim.

  But she could be in league with Thomas, and there to test him, to see if he was a witch. He’d have to be cautious. Trust no one. Had he already given himself away by mentioning the necklace?