Books by Maggie Shayne (251 page)

“What could he want with them?”

“Nothing good, I’ll warrant.”

“The bastard.”

Samuel’s brows rose in twin arches. “Ah, so your great teacher is a bastard, now, is he?”

Duncan sighed, looking at the ground. “You were right about him all along, Samuel, an’ I should’ve listened to you. Aye, he’s a bastard, an‘ a killer, an“ I told him as much.”

“Indeed,” Samuel said, slapping Duncan’s shoulder. “Half the town knows of it by now.” He tilted his head to one side. “They’re sayin’ she bewitched you, Duncan. Stole your heart right there on the gallows.“

Duncan lifted his head to meet his friend’s eyes. “Perhaps she did,” he whispered.

“Aye, I can see this has shaken you deeply.”

“An’ what’s shakin‘ me more is that I willna know where she rests. Even that small comfort has been stolen from me. ’Twas wrong, what was done to her, Samuel.”

Samuel nodded. “Tis yet another reason I’ve decided to move on. I’m takin‘ Kathleen and leavin“ this place. An’ Duncan, my new bride an’ I would be proud to have you come along with us.“

Duncan searched Samuel’s face. “Where will you go? Back to Scotland?”

“Across the sea, my friend. To the New World. They say ‘tis far different there. Opportunity for every man. The rich an“ the poor livin’ as equals.”

Taking a deep breath, Duncan thought hard about saying yes. He’d heard talk of this New World, this America, where religious persecution, ’twas said, did not exist. Wild and new and exciting. The idea appealed. But he had matters to attend to. Responsibilities to uphold.

“I’d like nothin’ better than to do just that, Samuel. But not now. I must first return to Scotland to face my father with what I’ve done.“

Samuel shook his head. “Angus will be furious, no doubt. He paid Dearborne an‘ the Church a goodly sum to take you in for trainin“.”

“And I’ll repay every bit,” Duncan vowed.

“After you’ve repaid the debt to your father, Duncan… what then?”

Duncan shrugged, looking off into the distance, seeking something he couldn’t name. “I dinna know. In truth, I just dinna know.”

Samuel slapped his shoulder. “If you decide to join us in America, my friend, just come along. We’ll welcome you gladly.”

“Thank you,” Duncan said. “I might just do that.”

“I hope you will.” Then Samuel frowned. “In the meantime, Duncan, I hope you’ll put this day’s doings behind you. You’ve a haunted look about your eyes that worries me.”

“Haunted,” Duncan muttered. “Aye, ”tis just the way I feel. I think that bonny lass will be hauntin“ me for some time to come, Samuel. An‘ I doubt—rather seriously doubt—there’s any way on God’s earth I can put her memory behind me. I’m not even certain I want to.”

Hours passed as I lay weeping atop my mother’s grave. And then the day itself waned as well. ’Twas night again before I could even think of leaving her. Even wonder about what I was to do now. And ”twas then I recalled her words to me the night before. I had promised I would do as she asked. I had promised her. I must keep that promise. But first…

I dried my tears, tried to reach for the calmness necessary to do what must be done. I searched for that serene place inside me. My breathing deepened. My heartbeat slowed. In silence I pointed my forefinger at the ground and drew an invisible circle round my mother’s resting place. And within that circle I sat, closed my eyes, and wished my dear mother goodbye.

For just a moment the wind whispered through the trees overhead in such a way that it seemed my mother’s voice spoke to me.
Be strong, Raven. I am with you… always…

“
‘Mother?”“ Rising, I looked all around me but saw nothing. Only the very thin sliver of the newborn moon appearing in the sky. Like a sign. To start anew. To find a way to go on.

’Twas what my mother would have wanted.

I brushed my fresh tears away and nodded. ’Twas time. But I did not close the circle I’d cast. I left it there, willing it to protect her unmarked grave from harm of any kind. That done, I forced myself to leave her there, so that I could begin doing what she’d asked of me.

I followed her instructions to the letter, sensing she might know, somehow, and be disappointed in me if I did not.

I went to our cabin under cover of darkness, and slipping inside I saw chaos. Our home had been stripped of anything we had of any value. Blankets and clothing, our copper and iron pots. Everything. Even my mother’s precious cauldron, which I’d hoped to take with me that I might be reminded of her each time I brewed a magickal potion or used it in ritual. She’d painted a tiny red rose upon its face. It had been her most cherished possession.

But it was gone now.

Something glittered up at me from the floor, and I bent to scoop up a tiny bit of amethyst the looters had somehow missed. Caressing it as if ’twere a diamond, I placed the stone in my pocket.

Our dried herbs had been torn from the walls and trampled beneath booted feet. Not a stick of furniture nor even the braided rugs that had covered the floors remained, and I knew without checking the shed that the horse had been taken as well. They’d left nothing untouched.

I went to the hearth though, tugging at the smooth round stones until I found the very large one that came free at my touch. And then I set it aside and reached into the hole it left. There was a cloth bag there, stuffed full. Frowning, I pulled the bag out and sat down on the floor, untying its drawstring and looking inside. There was a smaller pouch within its folds, a pouch I found to be heavy with coin. And a dark, hooded cloak, lined with fur, all rolled up tight to make it fit in the bag. And there was a book. A beautiful leather-bound grimoire, filled with page upon page of my mother’s delicate script.

I opened the cover and saw a necklace, a golden pentacle, with a cradle moon adorning one curve of its circle and the beautiful image of a goddess reclining in the moon’s embrace. I lifted the pendant and beneath it, on the page, saw a note just for me.

My dearest Raven
,

If you are reading this, you are on your own now. Do not mourn me, child. If my lifetime ended, ’twas only because it had served its purpose, and now I will go on to another. But for you, child, it is only the beginning.

Wear the pentacle, for it holds all the magick I ever possessed. My strength and my wisdom are within it, and they are yours to call upon so long as you wear it. But keep it near your heart, and not out for the world to see. ’Twas never mine to wear. I only held it in trust for you. It marks you as who and what you are.

In this book are all the secrets I’ve learned. But the one I will tell you now is the most important of all of them. My daughter, my beloved Raven, you are not like me. And the path before you will not be an easy one.

Raven St. James, you are an immortal Witch, a High Witch, though you’ve never known such beings existed
.

When you suffer and die for the first time, you will know that what I say is true, for within a short while your body will revive itself. And from that moment on you will be stronger than before, and will never grow older.

I know this must shock you. But you are not the only one. There are others like you, though their numbers are few. And not all of them are good and pure of heart, as I know you to be.

The stories of them have been handed down through the generations of my family, and I will tell you all I know, and hope you put the knowledge to good use, to keep you safe. But I fear there is much I do not know, Raven. Things you will have to learn on your own.

There are two kinds of immortal Witches. The dark, and the light. The evil, and the good.

In some previous lifetime, my daughter, you died while attempting to save the life of another Witch. Because of this, you were born into this lifetime with the gift of immortality. But this is only one of two ways that gift can be passed on.

The other way is far more sinister. By taking the life of an immortal Witch, one also takes that Witch’s immortality, indeed, all of her power. I can imagine you crooking your delicate brow as you read this, wondering how one can kill someone who is immortal. There is but a single way, child. And that is to take the Witch’s heart from her very breast, and to lock it up in a small box where it will go on beating forever. Whoever retains the box, retains the power. Witches created in this way are dangerous to you, Raven, for they are never content with the power they have acquired. They cannot be, for eventually, the captive heart will weaken, its life force drained by the dark one who took it. The Dark Witch begins to weaken, to grow pale and sickly just as any mortal suffering from the ravages of old age might do. And so the Witch must kill again and again, in order to survive.

Always beware of others like you, Raven. For you’ll have no way of knowing whether they be dark or light. You will recognize them as Immortals, however. By the necklace many of them wear, one such as the one I give you now, and by the first touch of their hand. I do not know how or why that is, but I know “tis true. Be careful, my love. Let no Dark Witch take your heart.

Hidden in the center of this book is a dagger that has been handed down through the generations of my family from time immemorial, just as this pendant was, to be held for the day when a special one was born to us. “Tis as if they knew, somehow. It is yours, Raven, meant for you all along, I am certain. Keep it with you always and learn to wield it with skill. You will need to defend yourself from attack by those others. Above all, child, trust no one.

No one
.

And know that wherever you are and for as long as forever, my love remains with you. Always with you.

Your loving mother,

Lily St. James

Blinking in shock at all I had read, I let the book fall open to its center and saw a jewel-encrusted dagger, tucked inside its sheath and hidden by the clever way my mother had cut away the centers of some of the pages. I took the weapon in my hands, turned it slowly, felt its weight, and tried to imagine myself using such a tool to do harm to another living being. The thought made me shiver. I did not believe I could ever do it.

But there was more to try to understand. More, so much that my mind could barely comprehend the enormity of it.

“Immortal,” I whispered. And I knew, I already knew, ’twas the truth.

The sack over my shoulder, my face concealed within the hood of the dark cloak my mother had left for me, I left the only home I’d ever known for the very last time. There was but a sliver of moonlight to guide me as the moon moved from its darkest void toward its first quarter. The thin slice of its gleaming white crescent was barely enough to light my way. I saw no one as I started down the worn dirt path on foot, more alone than I had ever been. But I should have sensed the presence. I was too wrapped up in sorrow and overwhelmed by grief to use my senses. Even as a mortal, I would have felt the danger, I thought later, for a Witch is more attuned to her senses than most. And since I’d quickened from a state of death, my senses were even sharper than before. They seemed to grow stronger and more acute with each passing hour. But for some reason that night, I tuned them out and focused only on my loss. My sadness. The fact that I’d lost the only person left with whom I’d had a special bond, a connection.

There was, I realized, one other, now. Another to whom I felt a powerful bond. An inexplicable link. A man whose touch made my heart flutter like the madly beating wings of a captive butterfly. A man… I must never, ever see again.

Those thoughts, those feelings, clouded my mind, dulled my senses, or at least made me ignore them. And then the cloaked figure stepped from a small copse of trees, into the path in front of me, and a harsh voice whispered, “I knew you’d come back here.”

I came to a halt, narrowing my eyes to see his face, but it was hidden just as mine was, by the folds of a dark hood. My dagger was still secured inside the book, tucked deep in the bag that hung on my shoulder. I thought of it now, and wished I’d been wiser in heeding my mother’s warnings. And yet part of me still believed this stranger to be no more than a simple mortal. He couldn’t know who I was, much less
what
I was. Everyone here believed me to be dead.

“Who are you?” I asked him. “What do you want of me?”

And in a flash a dagger appeared in his pale, gnarled hand—a dagger so like my own that the sight of it took my breath away. “Not so much,” he rasped. “Only your heart.”

It couldn’t be! But ’twas true, I realized as he lifted the blade and came closer and I backed away. Another immortal, one who wished to
kill
me. The horror of it was suddenly real, far more real to me than it had been as I’d read and scarcely believed the words of my mother’s letter. I glanced around me desperately, but the snowy, twisting road and a few lightless, silent cottages were all I saw. No one would come to my aid. A breeze blew snow into my eyes and pushed at my hood, driving it down and away from my face, revealing me to him. Though I realized now he’d already known who I was. He had the advantage, then, for I had no clue as to his identity.

I walked backward, my eyes unalterably fixed to the blade, the way it gleamed when it caught a thin beam of moonlight. “I’ve no quarrel with you,” I whispered, fear making my voice taut and low. “Leave me alone, I beg of you!“

His laughter came then, low and frightening. Harsh and raspy, that sound that made gooseflesh rise on my nape. “That’s not the way this works, young one. A shame you won’t live long enough to learn the rules of this particular game.”

Suddenly he lunged forward, swinging the blade in a deadly arc. I jumped back, gasping as I felt its razor-sharp tip brush past my midsection. I slipped, damp slippers and numbly cold feet unwieldy on the snow-covered road. I nearly fell but caught myself. And he lunged again. I sidestepped this time, yanking the sack from my shoulder and swinging it at him with all my might. It caught him from behind and sent him stumbling forward. He went to his knees, and I turned to run for my very life. But within seconds I knew he was after me. I heard his steps keeping pace, gaining on me. Heard his breaths rasping in and out of his lungs as we ran. It seemed his lungs would burst if he pushed himself any harder. He seemed weak… it must have been desperation, then, that drove him on. My own heart pounded in my ears, and my breaths escaped in great puffs of silvery steam.

A tree’s limb loomed before me, and I saw it only an instant before I would have run into it. I had to duck low, and as I did, I gripped the branch, pulling it forward with me, and letting it go when it would give no more. It snapped back, slicing the air with a high keen, and spewing snow, and I heard him grunt as it hit him. I thought he went to the ground again, but I could not be sure.

The woods along the roadside were my only hope. I could not fight him, whoever he was, no matter how old or weak he might be. I stood no chance of winning, for I knew nothing of battle. And he’d wielded his blade with the skill of long practice. Ahh, but the woods—they had been my haven all my life. I knew them as well as I knew the cottage where I’d lived. And I took to their protection now, running as fast as I could, never tripping or falling once. I’d bragged to my mother that I could traverse these woods blindfolded. Now I was forced to live up to the claim. I stepped into the deeper snow, shivering as its chill embraced my ankles, soaking through my stockings, and wetting the hem of my skirt. I knew my way, and chose a meandering deer path that bisected the woods at their deepest. And soon I was surrounded by the heady scent of pine and the whispers of those needled boughs brushing one and another with every breath of night wind.

I heard him enter the forest, crashing about like a lame bear. I heard his foul cursing as he hunted for me, and his labored breathing as he grew ever more frustrated. But
he
would not hear
me.
My soft slippers and light steps, though my feet were nearly frozen now, were all but silent. And yet I almost believed the monster could hear the thundering of my pulse and the roar of blood through my veins.

I kept moving, and soon I didn’t hear him anymore. Breathless, I made my way to the far side of the small wood, emerging on the road that led to the harbor where the tall ships would be docked. I looked behind me often, but I saw nothing of my attacker. I had eluded him.

This time.

I realized now how very dangerous it was for me to remain in England. Word of my execution would spread quickly, and the tales of my body disappearing would make for wonderful gossip. If there truly were evil immortals out there who sought to take the hearts of their own kind—and I knew beyond doubt now that there were—they would find me all too easily here. I had to leave. Tonight.

So I continued on the road, eight miles to the harbor.

And there, tired from my long walk and shivering with cold, I paused, taken aback by the graceful beauty of those tall ships rocking gently upon the water. Naked masts rose high. The sliver of moonlight reflected back a hundred times from the surface of the briny deep and spilled generously upon the painted hulls. In fact, I thought, I’d never in my life seen anything quite so lovely as those majestic ships floating gracefully upon the water. Like powerful creatures at rest. And it might have been that I could see so much more than I ever had before. Yes, my night vision was getting sharper, but I could also see farther and pick out more details. Like the mermaid with the flowing golden hair, carved into the bow of one ship, and the words
Sea Witch
painted in elegant gold script along either side of her. Lovely.

I was jostled by several people as they passed, and I jumped, startled. There were people here. Many people, and Mother had warned me often that ’twas not safe for a young girl to come to the docks alone. Even more true now, I thought. If I were recognized…

Yet I had little choice. I had to leave England, and this was the place from which to do so. I simply pulled my hood closer, better to hide my face, and moved on. There were taverns where the seamen ate and drank, fought and swore. And women of the most disreputable sort, lounging with heavy lidded eyes and painted faces in doorways, calling out to every drunken man who staggered past. The stench of fish, and of liquor, hung heavy here. So much so that the salty fresh smell of sea air was nearly obliterated by it. I heard bawdy songs, off-key and slurred, coming from one establishment, and I dared not go inside. But ’twas not the drunken seamen I feared as much as recognition. Who knew which of these men had been in the crowd who’d watched as I was hanged only the day before?

Tugging at my hood again, I gathered my courage, and approached a woman in a ragged, revealing dress and smudged face paint. She stood near the entrance to a tavern, leaning tiredly against the building as if she’d been standing far too long. But she straightened at my approach.

“Can you direct me, mistress?” I asked her.

She perused me, top to bottom, and I kept my face lowered, one hand holding the hood in place. She smoothed her coppery curls with one hand. “You in hidin’, are you?“

“Of course not.” It startled me, how obvious I must be. Would she know? Would she guess? Would she alert someone in authority?

She only shrugged. “Yes, you are,” she said, “but ”tis nothin‘ to me one way or the other. What are you doing here, missy? Lookin“ to find yourself a seaman to warm yer bed?”

I felt my face heat, glad she couldn’t see. “I only wish to know if there’s a ship sailing for the New World tonight,” I told her. “I need to book passage.”

“Ahh, a runaway then? Is it yer man you be escaping?”

“Is there a ship or not?”

Her drawn-on brows arched high. But she concealed her surprise quickly, giving me a crooked smile. “Yer a spunky one, you are. You sure you want to leave? I could put you to work right here, if you like.”

“I
have
to go to the New World,” I whispered.
“Tonight. ”
Several men passed and I fell silent, sensing their gazes on me. They didn’t move on right away, and I was careful to keep my back to them. “Please,” I said. “If you know of a ship…”

“Let’s have a look at ye.” She yanked my hood down suddenly, and I heard a soft gasp from the onlookers even before I jerked it up again. The woman was shaking her head. “Shame yer leavin’,“ she said. ”Yer a pretty one, fetch a goodly price.“

I lowered my head and turned to leave her. She wouldn’t help me if I stood here begging her all the night through. I had no time to waste this way.

But then she surprised me. “Hold on, pretty one. There be a ship leavin’ at dawn. The
Sea Witch.“

I stopped, and slowly turned to face her again. “Not until dawn?” My disappointment must have been clear in my voice.

“Dawn is only a few hours off, girl.”

“Is it?” I hadn’t noticed. Nervously I glanced behind me, in search of the fiend who’d attacked me earlier. And then toward the group of young men who’d seemed so interested in watching us. They still huddled in the shadows not far away. And I still felt eyes on me. When I looked to the woman again, she was frowning, staring at me as if she’d seen something she hadn’t before. Perhaps ’twas my fear that finally touched her.

“I can fetch the captain, bring him to you,” she said. And there was a softness to her voice that hadn’t been there at first. Speaking still lower, she added, “Come with me, girl. I can hide you just fine while you talk with Cap’n Murphy.”

I jerked my head up suddenly. “And what makes you think I need to hide?”“

She only smiled. “I been there, darlin’. I know the look. Come on, now.“ She took my arm and guided me around to the rear of the tavern, over the cobblestones that were blissfully free of snow, and through a door into a dark and musty room with several blankets strewn haphazardly upon a sleeping pallet, and little else. She lit a lamp and left me there, and ‘twas only a short while later she returned with a finely dressed man who reminded me vaguely of my father, rest his soul.

He looked me over, sent an uneasy gaze to the woman, and then said to me in a gruff voice that seemed far too loud in the small chamber, “I understand you wish to book passage to the New World?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Tis not cheap.“

I fished several coins from my bag. “I can pay.”

Again he nodded. “I’ll need… a name. To put in the books.”

I knew the woman must have told him I was hiding, or running away. And I had no idea why he would help me on her say-so alone. But the looks they exchanged were familiar ones, and perhaps he trusted her judgment, as unlikely as that seemed. A man like him, a woman like her. Still, he made it clear he was asking for any name I cared to give him, and I gave him the first one that came to mind. “My name is Smith,” I said in a soft voice, one quite unused to lying.

“Smith,” he said.

I thought he battled a slight smile. He lowered his head, but crinkly lines appeared at the comers of his eyes. My father had lines like those when he smiled.

“It will not do. You’ll need to be a bit more creative in the future, dear lady.” He looked up again and winked. “Tis more convincing that way. For now your name is Mistress Hunsinger. Rebecca Hunsinger, and you are traveling to visit your…“ He rubbed his bearded chin.

“My aunt,” I told him, relieved that at least that much was true.

“Of course.” He took the coins I offered, examined them in his broad palm, then eyed the small bag from which I’d taken them. “Is this all the luggage you’ll be bringing along?”

I lowered my head. “Tis all I have.“

He nodded thoughtfully. “Well now, look here. You’ve given me more coin than is needed. Perhaps you’ll allow me to use the excess on your behalf.”

I tilted my head to one side. “I don’t under—”

“Certainly there’s enough here for a simple dress or two, wouldn’t you say, Mary?”

The woman nodded. “I know just where to find what she needs.“

The captain pressed one of my coins into her hand. “Good. You’ll send them along with one of the men, then. Meanwhile, Mistress Hunsinger, I have a feeling you’ll feel better aboard the
Sea Witch,
behind the locked door of your cabin, will you not?”

I blinked in shock at these two strangers and their unexpected kindness. “Why are you helping me?”

The captain shrugged. “I’m known to be a good judge of character, mistress. But Mary here is even better. Perhaps one day, ”twill be me in need of help from a stranger.“