Coven of the Raven: box set

by Shona Husk

  His flat, cold eyes made her want to curl up. The way he looked at her as if he knew more about her than she did. Which was entirely possible. Nightmares flickered in her mind. In those nightmares she had to do more than serve meals and clean the house. The warmth inside her almost went out. She frantically tried to protect the growing ember of freewill with thoughts of Oskar, blue skies, and the feather. Then Mr. Quigley dismissed her.

  She’d wanted to run down the stairs and outside but she couldn’t, he controlled her too tightly and made her walk calmly. In the kitchen, she re-boiled the kettle for Oskar. The familiar moves should’ve calmed her, but not today. She was…she was excited. Excited because she’d rediscovered herself after forgetting and was glad to be seeing Oskar again, knowing he’d help her remember more. Somehow Mr. Quigley had smothered her emotions, so she couldn’t feel joy or excitement, or desire. The little ember flared as if fanned by a breath she could only imagine.

  She gasped. Did he know? Had he somehow found out about her notes to Oskar? Had Oskar said something? Is that why she’d forgotten and become lost in the fog in her mind? She immediately squished that idea—Oskar had been concerned that she wasn’t able to talk.

  With the tray in her hands, she covered the distance between the house and the shed. He was always in there at morning tea time.

  But not today.

  Her heart stuttered and she glanced around. What should she do? Leave the tray? Had he gotten bored because she’d become lost in herself? No! She closed her eyes and struggled to hold onto the warmth in her belly.

  There was pencil and paper on the workbench. He’d been writing a list of things the garden needed. Fertilizer for fruit trees, aphid killer for the roses out the front—possibly new roses, reticulation parts? Was he not sure what was required?

  She picked up the pencil wanting to write something to say she was okay again. But what? And what if Mr. Quigley found it?

  “You can pick up a pencil again.”

  She spun around. Oskar stood in the doorway, his grey shirt stuck to his body with sweat. He used the lower edge of his shirt to wipe his face, giving her a view of his stomach muscles. Her cheeks heated and the ember swelled and glowed and took hold, becoming a little fire that spread through her blood.

  After all that waiting, all she could manage was a nod.

  He didn’t ask what had happened, he just looked at her, that intense stare that lasted only seconds and that felt like he saw into her for just a moment.

  “You’re okay? Not hurt?”

  She frowned. That was an odd question. Why would she be hurt? But then she had been acting odd in his eyes. She hated having to fight her way back to the surface, knowing she’d have days, maybe a week, before sinking again. She’d written about it more than once in her book. Confused and incoherent thoughts jotted down in the hope that one day she’d be able to unravel them.

  But if she told him, would Mr. Quigley do the same thing to him, or worse? Her gaze flickered to the window where the stone statues stood in the grove of trees. She wanted to shiver but her body didn’t obey. Small things like a smile, or a frown she could control. Doing things was easier simply because that is what Mr. Quigley wanted. He wanted her to be useful. Shivers and facial expressions didn’t help her with her duties.

  She shook her head again. She needed to tell him something, explain the episodes and how she struggled to be herself. The pencil became a weight in her hand.

  He continued to watch her, as if trying to work out what was wrong with her. She wanted to know too. But it was something to do with Mr. Quigley.

  I don’t know what happened. But it will happen again. She paused, glanced at Oskar and then took a chance. My thoughts are clearer around you.

  Her heart beat a little harder as she picked up the paper and handed it to him. For a moment she wanted to take it back. She didn’t want him to know there was something wrong with her. Maybe Mr. Quigley was right and this was her fault, and that if she behaved he wouldn’t have to make sure she did the right thing. She couldn’t look at Oskar as he read the note.

  That she was even here, talking to Oskar, proved what Mr. Quigley said—she wasn’t good at doing her jobs. And yet…yet it went deeper than that, she knew it did. And it wasn’t just her nightmares of statues and blood. The necklace she kept forgetting about and the two decades worth of marks behind her chest of drawers proved that. Something was wrong here. Her hand strayed to her throat before falling away as she forgot what she was doing.

  “Clearer?”

  She startled at the sound of his voice, but the fog eased back as she looked at him. Why him? Had the others had such an effect? She couldn’t remember. Even if they had, Oskar was here now. Maybe this time she could find a way to free herself.

  She nodded, but knew she didn’t have the time to explain how when she had to write everything down, and he probably wouldn’t believe her if she tried. If he saw her book, what would he think? What about her room? She could show him when Mr. Quigley went into town. And if he told on her?

  Mylla lifted her gaze and stared at him, the way he had stared at her, trying to work out how much she could trust him. She needed to trust him. She needed help. Otherwise Oskar would vanish and she’d forget until the next gardener arrived. The idea of repeating each day in a fog of forgetfulness made her want to yell and scream until she was hoarse. But no sound would come out. She’d be screaming silently, unheard and forgotten about.

  No one had ever come for her, and no one had ever helped her. At least not that she could remember.

  She tore her gaze away. Tears of frustration that would never fall burned her eyes.

  “Mylla.” He touched her arm. His fingers slid over the black sleeve, but she felt the warmth as if his hand was on her bare skin. Heat lingered where he’d touched. He was the sun to her foggy mind. “What do you need?”

  She took the paper from him, their fingers connecting for a moment, but it was enough that she wanted more. More what? More of his touch. His hand on her skin, not through her dress. It would help, wouldn’t it? Or would Mr. Quigley somehow know and wrap her mind up tighter for being bad?

  If being bad meant having her own thoughts and doing what she wanted, then she wanted to be bad. She wanted Oskar. The paper crumpled in her hand as she stepped forward so she was toe to toe with Oskar.

  He smelled of soil and plants and sweat. He smelled alive. She drew in a deep breath and let his scent fill her. Her heart was a rapid patter, like rain on the roof. Oskar’s gaze met hers and for a moment neither of them moved, she couldn’t. She had to, if only to prove that she could break free for a moment. He leaned closer, as if to make it easy for her, but without taking that step for her. As though he understood her battle for control.

  She drew in a breath that was almost heady and wild with scents of outside and Oskar. Then she reached up on tippy toe, each movement a victory, and brushed her lips over his. His mouth was warm and his lips were salty. The heat in her blood became a burn and something shifted inside her like the slipping of muscle over bone, a loosening that took her by surprise.

  She stepped back, certain her face was the color of a sunset.

  His fingers brushed her cheek and a shiver of longing ran through her. Her skin prickled and she gasped at the sensation. One she’d imagined but couldn’t remember actually feeling, but it was just as she’d remembered. Her mind gave her what her body wasn’t allowed. Desire and lust tumbled unrestrained after being suppressed for so long. Now she wanted more than a kiss, even though she knew she wasn’t supposed to have done even that. One direct order and she wouldn’t be able to do that again, or anything else.

  She was being a bad servant, and Mr. Quigley would find out and make sure she behaved, which meant she’d forget again. How long had she spent out here?

  Too long. She had to go before Mr. Quigley punished her and stole what she’d struggled to regain. She smoothed out the paper and scribbled a hasty goodbye.

  I can’
t stay this long. Please don’t say anything. He goes into town soon, all day.

  Then she handed Oskar the note and tried to slip past him.

  He caught her arm. “He goes out for a whole day?”

  She nodded. But she could see Oskar thinking. What was he thinking, was he planning something? Escape. Freedom. In her mind she saw the crow taking flight. Yes, she wanted to leave. Even as the thought formed it became smudged and then vanished. Gone into the slippery, dark fog that never let her see much more than her next step and hear her next order. She pressed her lips together and was reminded of Oskar’s lips on hers.

  Oskar’s tongue swept over his lower lip, as if also remembering the kiss, then his gaze dropped for a moment to her lips and lower. “I won’t say anything. I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

  Relief washed through her and she smiled. He almost smiled back, but it never really got past the corners of his lips.

  In her usual sedate walk, she made her way back to the house. Calm on the outside, she was the good servant that needed no extra guidance, but inside she bubbled like a pot of boiling water.

  For a moment Oskar didn’t move. He didn’t turn to watch her leave in case he asked her to stay a while longer. He didn’t know what to do.

  She’d kissed him. The woman who, two days ago, had barely been able to look him in the eye when he’d spoken to her. He’d wanted to shake her and break her out of the spell, but it wasn’t that easy. He’d seen how the cocoon around her had tightened up after Thomas had taken her blood and done whatever he’d done. He’d tried not to think about it, and yet, as he fell asleep each night, the memory was there. An evil reminder and a temptation. He’d seen something he shouldn’t. Seen more of Mylla than he should’ve. Now it was lodged in his head.

  He pressed his lips together; sure he could still feel the cool brush of hers. Stupid really. It hadn’t even been a proper kiss. And yet it roused the longing in his blood. There was no way he was taking advantage of her, that would make him no better than Thomas. But the Morrigu wanted him to. Mylla couldn’t even think for herself most the time. Which was why he had to be careful. He didn’t know how much Thomas was controlling her and how much she was reporting back.

  Innocent victim, yes.

  Trustworthy?

  That was up for debate.

  He uncurled his fingers and looked at her note again. He goes into town soon, all day.

  That was the first good news he’d had since coming here. What he was going to do with that day he didn’t know yet, but with physical security low and low tech—Thomas really was living turn-of-the-century style—having a little look around at the house would be useful, and it would help him place things better on his nightly scans.

  He’d also ring Mason. While the Morrigu gave twisty answers, Mason was straight as a sword. And he missed the coven, all of them, even though he wasn’t really part of it. He was going to prove he was different to Thomas and make good the damage of the last hundred years. Then he’d give the Morrigu what She demanded. He was quite happy to have a son to serve Her, as long as he wasn’t handing his child a thirty-year sentence.

  Oskar took a breath, shoved the note into his pocket for later disposal, and helped himself to the tea. It was warm rather than hot, but he didn’t care. It was nice to be having a break. He sat on the stool by the workbench and stared out the window. The statues and the decrepit pergola filled the view. It could’ve been a pretty outlook if he didn’t know the truth. He should examine the pergola better and see if it could be salvaged and what he’d need to do the repairs. He’d rather be destroying the whole place with Thomas inside.

  There hadn’t been any paint in the cupboard—that he would have noticed—but there might be nails and wood putty to fill any gaps. He wrote paint on the list and then checked out the cupboard, eating the cookie as he went. He rummaged around, looking in various boxes until he found what he wanted.

  The hair on the back of his neck prickled and he knew he was no longer alone in the shed. Thomas might move like a ghost, but Oskar was learning to sense him. Not that he wanted to give that away. Not yet anyway.

  So he faked a little startle as he stood. “Jesus, I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “You were making enough noise to wake the dead.” Thomas’s eye drifted over the workbench, and the note in Oskar’s pocket became a little heavier.

  Oskar rattled the box of nails and held up what he thought was the putty. The nails looked like a recent addition to the cupboard, the box bright and undamaged, even though they had been placed inside a much bigger, older box with other nails. Thomas obviously liked to play games with his future food. “I was seeing what I needed for the pergola.”

  “Ah, and I thought you were hiding in here for a midmorning nap.” He smiled, but it was cold and calculated, as if he knew Oskar was up to something.

  “No, but I sit and I plan the next bit. Write down anything I think I’m going to need.” He popped the lid on the tub of putty. It was dry. It probably hadn’t been touched in a decade, since the last gardener had done all the same jobs he was doing. “More putty required.” He made a point of adding it to the list.

  “You’re very organized, aren’t you?”

  Oskar shrugged. “It’s just easier to write it down when I think of it, then the shopping list is made.” He picked up his cup of tea and considered how far to push his luck. There was only one answer. “Did you want me to run into town and get the things?”

  Thomas watched him for a moment. “No, I’ll be going in on Friday. How much paint will you need?”

  He had no idea. “A Gallon?”

  “When are you planning on starting out the back?”

  “Once I’ve finished the front. I thought I’d take a break from weeding and pruning and do the pergola, then clean up the old orchard.” And the statues. That was the last place he really wanted to work and he knew if he was there, his time was almost up. His plan B if he couldn’t break the curse was to run before Thomas had the chance to turn him to stone. Of course, if he tried to break the curse and screwed up, the odds were he was going to end up in the orchard anyway. Which was why he was avoiding it for as long as possible.

  Thomas remained silent. “I trust Mylla hasn’t been disturbing you?”

  Oskar snorted. “She’s as quiet as a mouse. I must confess to asking her for coffee every day. No luck so far. Is she a little slow?” Maybe he was laying it on too thick, but he figured the average man would assume the worst.

  “Not simple, just well trained. I’m afraid I have no coffee in the house. Tea is more soothing and much more civilized.” As Thomas looked at him, Oskar felt the urge to agree.

  It was time to resist just a little and see what happened. Would his contract come to end fast if he wasn’t easily controlled? “I prefer the kick from coffee…” He paused as if Thomas’s spell was starting to take effect. “I guess tea is good, too. Never been a morning person.”

  He grinned and then drained his cup as casually as he could while Thomas tried to exert his will on him. The bolstering he’d done to his defense seemed to be paying off, however it would need some more work. Even now the compulsion to agree was strong. No doubt this was just the start, and once he was obeying without question, Thomas would march him down to the orchard where he’d willingly give up his life. A little resistance should keep him alive longer. But not so much Thomas started doing some serious spell work.

  Thomas gave him a narrow glare. “Don’t hassle Mylla, she is just a servant. See me if you need something.”

  “At least she’s nice to look at.” Oskar picked up his last cookie. “Makes the tea more palatable.”

  “I’ll make sure you get your coffee.” Thomas turned on his heel and stalked out of the shed.

  He wouldn’t get a second warning to leave Mylla alone, but the simple act of warning him away made him more curious. He slipped his hand into his pocket and touched her note. He only hoped Thomas wouldn’t somehow lock her d
own and prevent her from spending any time with him.

  Chapter 7

  Oskar had almost expected Thomas to drive something vintage. But he didn’t. He had a rather common, older-model white sedan. It was an anomaly. He didn’t like anomalies as they usually meant something. In this case they could unlock a little bit more about his uncle. Under whose name was it registered, since he’d found no vehicles under Thomas’s name during his research? Thomas was obviously passing himself off as an average man in the community, but without magic that would be impossible since he wasn’t aging.

  Since Thomas had no problems interfering with people’s freewill, he was probably tricking them. It was something he should have discovered before he came up here. He didn’t know enough about his uncle’s habits. It was too late now to wish for more information. As soon as the car had disappeared down the street, Oskar stopped working and went over to his van. It all looked okay, but when he reached under the seat and pulled out his cell phone it wasn’t working. No signal, no battery. Dead.

  That summed this place up nicely.

  He put everything back and pretended he wasn’t feeling more desperate to start his car and leave than he had five minutes before. But he knew the car wouldn’t start, he could almost feel the delicate magical tamper. Even if he sat down to unravel it he wouldn’t be done before Thomas came back, and there would probably be a warning trip to alert Thomas to a witch in the area. If he was leaving, he was walking. Was this a test, to see if he would leave? Maybe, but Mylla had confirmed that he did a monthly shop.