Beyond Bewitching (2 page)

“And would you be willing to continue my policy that any woman in need may reside here without requiring her to entertain visitors?”

“Of course. Those of us who see to the men’s needs don’t want to have to do our own cooking and cleaning as well. The others are welcome to stay if they’ll keep up the house.” Penelope tipped up the teacup as Patience had taught her when she’d first arrived, her pinkie finger extended. She’d come a long way since showing up with nothing to her name but the clothes she wore and a nasty blemish on her reputation.

Sipping her own tea, Patience studied Penelope’s eyes for any sign of dishonesty. Reading a person’s soul came easy to an elder of the Black Triad. Wicked intent left black stains, and true evil recognized its comrades. Only one with an essence totally lacking in light could ever became a leader of the Triad.

Satisfied the girl told the truth, she set her cup on the saucer. “I’ll have Mr. Dawson draft the contract. Perhaps we can finalize the transfer of ownership by Monday.”

“Really?” Penelope’s heavily penciled eyebrows rose, her excitement obvious. “Not that everyone won’t miss you—they will. You’ve been a wonderful mentor and protector to us all. Too bad that tornado carried Ilona off with Mr. Gallagher and Mr. Campbell. I think she would’ve been very popular with some of the men. As hard as I tried to entice them, Quayde and Paxton never showed any interest in coming upstairs until Ilona arrived. They would’ve been her best customers.”

Giving a nod, Patience turned her attention to her tea. What the young woman didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. She most likely wouldn’t believe Ilona Macska, Quayde Gallagher, and Paxton Campbell had survived the twister by time traveling a hundred seventy-five years into the future—where the Macska witches came from. The trio had taken the vows of love, life, and loyalty administered by the matriarch a month ago, after Kazmer had failed to kill his target.

His third true attempt to prevent a prophesied joining destined to produce two heirs to the Macska legacy, but not his last.

Prior to Ilona, he’d caused the shipwreck of a pirate vessel carrying Orsolya, the first female offspring of an Elemental warlock in two hundred years, and her mates, a pair of witch Protectors. Kazmer had also caused the framing for a new wing of the Macska mansion to collapse, nearly taking the life of Ilona’s cousin Jolán and the men with whom she’d been fated to join. The other three witches he’d interfered with had been the recipients of only minor meddling.

With the seventh Macska daughter in the cycle, he’d almost succeeded in destroying her clan. Heléna’s insecurities had made her the perfect target for his last chance at destruction for another seven years. Kazmer hadn’t counted on the matriarch’s ability to persuade her great granddaughter that her powers were stronger than she believed. Having had a hand in leading Heléna to the preordained place at the set time, Patience had guided providence without taking sides, as she had with each of the seven witches. No one could guess her motives since she’d neither helped nor hindered Kazmer, the Macskas, or the Elementals.

My secrets are my own.

The clink of Penelope’s teacup against the saucer reminded Patience she wasn’t alone. The sooner she left for New Orleans, the better. She’d learned long ago not to trust anyone or anything. Everyone she’d ever known had their own agenda, and she wouldn’t risk revealing hers.

Setting aside her china cup, she eyed the large trunk at the end of her bed. “Thank you for sharing tea with me, dear. Would you be so kind as to send one of the kitchen girls to fetch Mr. Dawson? I see no reason to delay our transaction.”

Penelope rose from her seat, returning the tea service to the tray. “Yes, ma’am. Shall I send him upstairs when he arrives? Or would you prefer to meet him in your private study?”

“In the study please. One doesn’t conduct business of this nature upstairs.”

“Of course, Miss Wyndham. I’ll let you know when he arrives.” The young woman’s cheeks flushed nearly as red as her hair. Balancing the tray on her arm, she left the room, the door clicking closed behind her.

Was I that naïve at her age?

No, Patience had already been accused, tried, and found guilty of practicing witchcraft at twenty-two years old. That it was the truth was beside the point. She hadn’t used her abilities to harm anyone—not until after she’d managed to escape the fire that burned down her prison the night before she was to hang. The townsfolk had thought she’d died in the blaze, but she’d run away, stealing food and shunning human contact to survive. At twenty-five, she’d spent so long living day to day and developing a deep distrust of humanity that she’d been ripe for Naga and Kazmer’s picking of a new third member to form the Black Triad. She’d had no light left in her soul.

Over three hundred years of wreaking havoc had taught her many lessons, but she’d learned the most important during her witch trial in 1692. She could depend on only herself. Her search for a replacement for Kazmer meant finding another person with the same sense of self-reliance and utter contempt of civilization.

Unfortunately, she’d have to leave the relative peace of 1840 in the newly independent Republic of Texas to do it, and she couldn’t simply shift and transport herself wherever she wished to go. In order to make her departure believable, she’d have to drive a horse-drawn wagon east out of town.

Going to the trunk, she lifted the lid. The gowns would hardly be fashionable where and when she was going, but she’d deal with her wardrobe later. She needed to be sure the hidden compartment in the bottom still held the items required for her task. Rubbing her fingertips along the bottom of the velvet lining, she bumped over what seemed to be a decorative tack holding the fabric in place.

The opening.

A knock at her door interrupted her examination, and Penelope’s voice carried to her ears. “Mr. Dawson is waiting for you in the study, Miss Wyndham.”

“I’ll be down momentarily.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Patience withdrew her hand, unwilling to rush the inventory of her necessities. She’d return to the job after her meeting.

A quick glance in the vanity mirror assured her that she looked presentable for her guest. While her own opinion of herself mattered more than anyone else’s, she preferred to appear as a proficient businesswoman to the men of Encanto, Texas. Respect meant they didn’t bother her and they treated her boarders well when they frequented the brothel.

Moving at sedate, ladylike pace, she descended the stairs to the main parlor, nodding a greeting at the patrons as she passed through the adjoining dining room. The men tipped their hats in response. They knew she didn’t tolerate raucous or impudent behavior in her establishment. Only after a thorough interview process did she even allow prospective clients onto the premises for meals and entertainment. If the males visiting Wyndham House wanted good food and satisfying sex, they had to follow her rules.

She continued along the hall to her private study.

Mr. Dawson stood as she entered, removing his hat as he greeted her. “Afternoon, Miss Patience. You wanted to see me?”

Settling on the settee, she waited for him to sit. “I wish to have a legal contract drawn up between myself and one of my boarders for the purchase of the business and the property. I’ll gladly pay your usual fee in exchange for your expertise.”

His bushy eyebrows drew together above his hawkish nose. “You’re selling out to one of your girls?”

“Yes. I’ve decided to do a bit of traveling. How soon do think you can have the contract ready?” She resisted giving him a mental nudge toward the answer she wanted.

“I’ll need to make some notes on the selling price, the parties involved, and the particulars. I can have it ready by Saturday morning, but we’ll have to wait ’til Monday to handle the bank transaction. Is that soon enough for you, ma’am?”

“Perfect, Mr. Dawson.” She gestured to the writing desk in the corner. “Please help yourself to paper and ink.”

Within ten minutes, he’d jotted down all the information he required to assemble the document, once again assuring her he’d have it ready to sign on the fourth of January. While she saw no reason to rush the process with her ability to travel through time, the sooner she implemented the final steps of her plan, the better.

He gave a polite nod as he left the study, and she smiled in return. More than two years of preparations and encouraging destiny in the right direction would lead her to the ultimate objective very soon.

And this time, the end will justify the means.

All the women of Wyndham House gathered at the front gate in their wool capes to see Patience off on her trip to New Orleans. A gusty breeze blew at their long cloaks, allowing brief glimpses of clothing—or lack of it—beneath. A few of the younger girls who worked in the kitchen dabbed at the tears streaking down their cheeks as they huddled together in the blustery chill.

Patience swallowed past the lump in her throat, careful not to show the bittersweet emotion of leaving the houseful she’d mothered.

They’ll be fine. I’ve taught them the value of independence and self-respect.

The other residents of Encanto had come to say their farewells as well, a few of the men offering to escort her partway to Houston. She’d declined, patting the rifle beside her on the seat and the pistol in her lap—not that either would be necessary. A single unspoken whisper into the most malicious criminal mind would keep her safe. The pure of heart were much more difficult to influence.

With a snap of the reins, the wagon lurched forward, her trunk bumping against the wooden side in the plank bed. A chorus of hollers accompanied waving hands, and she gave a curt nod. Saying good-bye would only serve to remind her that where she was going, most of the people she’d known in this place would be dead. Death seemed to follow in her wake, but such was the near-immortal life of a Triad elder.

She kept her gaze trained forward as she rolled east past the bank, the general store, and the saloon. Soon, an endless sea of dull green grasses and stunted trees filled the horizon, the monotony split down the center by a pair of faint wagon tracks. The steady muffled
clop clop
of the bay’s hooves on the hard ground blended with the creaks of the wagon and shoosh of the wind across the open terrain.

Cresting the gradual rise that led away from town, she scanned the eastern side of the slope. Her position provided a clear view to the next rolling hill and beyond. No one on horseback or in a wagon traversed the parallel grooves leading her toward Houston, but she couldn’t risk sending herself to her destination so close to Encanto. A local would find her abandoned means of transportation and conduct a search to make sure she was all right. Half a day’s ride might be far enough.

She’d chosen the name “Patience” for a very good reason.

* * * *

The sun warmed her back as Patience adjusted the reins in her chilled fingers. She hadn’t seen another soul in six hours of following the worn east-west road toward Gonzales, and that suited her fine. No one would have any expectations of her arriving at a particular destination by a certain time. No travelers could report having seen her if they stopped in Encanto. She could disappear without a trace or chance of discovery.

Scanning the south side of the trail, she let half a smile slide across her face when she spied a squatty live oak, its spreading lower branches hanging parallel to the ground. Several other gnarled trees reached straight out with their arms as well, looking as if they held up the darkening sky. The grove would likely hide the abandoned wagon for weeks before anyone spotted it. She’d be long gone by then.

She guided the horse to the right, letting him make his leisurely way off the path and to the copse. The dry grasses hid the wheel marks well since the gusty wind had already flattened them to the ground. The coming rainstorm would cover even the slightest hint of her passing to all but the best-trained eyes.

Steering the gelding around the farthest oak, they skirted the far-reaching branches, bumping over the exposed roots of the two largest trees. The jarring impacts sent the trunk thudding up and down in the back of the wagon and Patience bouncing in her seat. She held tight to the bench and ignored the jolts of pain in her hips. Bumps in this path beat the kind that could derail her plans.

She’d pay with her life if she failed—not that her own life was valuable to anyone but Naga. She had nothing to lose and everything to gain by succeeding. Endurance was the key. Impatience ensured failure of the plot she’d undertaken when the first of seven Macska witches had begun her fertility cycle. Each tiny step had brought her along the journey that would end with the full moon’s setting on the twenty-fourth day of January—less than three weeks away.

The wagon lurched to a stop, hidden behind thick foliage and wide boles on both sides. Climbing from the buckboard, she tended to the horse first, removing the leather traces that secured him to the shafts. Once free, he followed as she led him forward a few steps to take off the rest of the harness. With each piece in the wagon beside the trunk, she finally spent several minutes rubbing down the gelding. As hard as he’d worked, he deserved a bit of thanks for his aid in her plan.

Giving him a last stroke from forehead to muzzle, she slipped into his mind.

Your days of servitude are over. Run free.