Shadow Lover (Siren Publishing Allure) (28 page)

“It’s taken so much to get Kirk where he is now,” she explained. “I can’t let Quinn destroy that, even if I never have Kirk, I want him to have a life.” She began sobbing into her hands. “I can’t fight Quinn. If he was normal…sane…” Her pleading eyes looked up at the widow. “He doesn’t fight fair. Quinn is the kind of man…well, he’s ruthless. He doesn’t care who he destroys to get what he wants.”

“I know what Quinn is.”

“He’s tried everything to tear Kirk and me apart, the latest being Venita.”

The widow’s head jerked up, her eyes sparkling with venom. “What about Venita?”

Chyna shrugged. “Well…they’re having an affair. He doesn’t care about the girl, he’s just using her. Like he uses everybody. He started using her to try and make me jealous. He found—”

“What?” the widow hissed. “He’s doing
what
?”

“He and Venita are sleeping together.” She hesitated, looking at the widow, then her eyes widened. “My God, you didn’t know?”

“Of course I didn’t know.”

“You mean with all of your mumbo jumbo, spells, and potions, you don’t even know what’s going on right under your nose?”

“A witch cannot hex themselves,” the old woman explained, struggling to absorb what Chyna had just told her. “When…whenever I need something for myself I…I have to seek out another witch.”

“Surely there must be something in here,” Chyna said, her attention being drawn to a black book engraved with silver letters lying on the shabby coffee table. She reached for it.

The widow quickly caught her hand and held it firmly. “The Book of Shadows,” she whispered, “is not for untrained eyes. It’s nothing more than a book of rules, ethics, beliefs, rituals, chants, but it’s dangerous for anyone who’s not a witch. I would advise you not to even touch it.”

A prickling of fear brought Chyna’s hand back. “Sorry,” she muttered.

The old widow rose from her lumpy chair, deep in thought.

“I shouldn’t have told you.”

The widow’s head whirled around. “Oh, yes,” she whispered. “You did the right thing.” She sat again, looking hard at Chyna. “How did you find out about Quinn and Venita?”

“I talked to Venita once. He offered her money. My room is right next to Quinn’s. I can hear them. I’ve seen Venita come and go, night after night. She leaves practically naked, disheveled.”

Fury rose within the widow. “She was a virgin. Barely eighteen.”

“Oh, God,” Chyna moaned, then looked at the widow. “Would it…I mean…well…she seems to like him.”

The widow cast a deadly look at Chyna. Her hissing words filled up the darkness, and her eyes glittered in the firelight. “It doesn’t matter. I warned him. I warned him she wasn’t to be touched. Quinn Grayson is doomed.”

Chyna wrung her hands, then looked at the widow. “You have to know how sorry I am. I didn’t come here for this. I couldn’t care less what Quinn Grayson does with any woman.” Her teeth clenched in hate, and her eyes shot fire. “I only want that bastard to get what’s coming to him. He did a horrible thing to your daughter, and he had no right to take my life and manipulate it to his advantage. I want it back. I want to take back control of my life.”

The widow hesitated, her eyes narrowing as she looked into Chyna’s heart. There she saw truth and love. She quickly dug something out of her pocket and threw it on the flames. A flash of sparks sizzled then died. She slid her heavy-lidded eyes back to Chyna. “Control is now in your hands, and there it will remain. I make that promise to you.”

Chyna was amazed. “Just like that? How did you—”

The old woman quickly took Chyna’s hands, and held them tightly as her gaze anchored deeply into hers. “Listen to me lass,” she hissed. “The road will not be easy. There are dark days ahead, hurdles and obstacles you will have to overcome, but remember. His evil will not touch you.” She pulled her decaying body up from the chair, hovered over Chyna, and raised her hands in a dramatic gesture. Her hiss was sharp and guttural when she said, “The evil that he points toward you will…
backfire!
”

To seal the spell, she waved her hands quickly over Chyna and the flames in the fireplace crackled and sparked loudly before they slowly died.

Chyna felt a mysterious power in the air, and couldn’t deny that something had happened. She might not understand it, but she knew it was real. Tears again filled her eyes. “Thank you,” she said then began digging in her pocket.

The old widow’s hands once again closed over hers. “No,” she said. “Keep your money, my dear, and be happy.”

Chyna left, a stream of tears wetting her face. Her sobs were deep and cleansing, and when she ran along the beach facing the wind from the ocean, she wasn’t frowning, she was smiling—with hope. It had been so long since she’d felt it.

* * * *

Several days had past, and Quinn knew something was wrong. He had bought spell after spell from the widow, and nothing had worked. Everything around him seemed to be falling apart. The venom that spewed from his mouth seemed to have no effect. Chyna was no longer afraid of him, and she and Kirk seemed to be happier than ever. Anger boiled within him. He knew where the problem lay, and he decided to take care of it now. He walked briskly over to the lighthouse.

“Open up in there!” he bellowed.

“When no one came he pounded harder until the frowning old woman peeked through a narrow crack.

"I'm closed, go away."

Quinn angrily pushed his way past her, into the living room. "I want to know why your damned spells aren’t working."

The crone didn't say anything at first. She just turned, walked slowly to the fireplace and stoked it. "Oh, is that all?"

"Is that all?" he growled, then angrily strode over to the fireplace and jerked her around to face him. "Listen you old witch, I paid good money for those spells, and since they aren’t working I want to know why."

"Did you do what I told you?"

"Of course."

"Everything? You didn't leave anything out?"

"No, I didn't. You said to…"

"I know what I said, but I don't know if you did it."

"I said I did!”

“Well…I only know of one other reason the spells didn’t work.”

“What? Tell me?”

“Love,” she said simply.

Quinn frowned. “Love? What do you mean?”

“Love is the only thing stronger than witchcraft. Are they in love?”

Quinn looked at her, trying to make sense of what she was saying. “In love?” Suddenly it all made sense. “Love!” he shouted. “My God they’re in love!” He turned to the widow. “They’re getting married, did you know that? Married! You’ve got to give me something powerful. Something that’ll work quick before this thing gets out of hand.”

“Why don’t you leave them alone?” the old widow spat impatiently. “Let them be happy.”

Quinn’s face took on a menacing look. “No way. I brought her here for me, and now she’s in his arms. I’ve invested money and time into your powers, and I want results.”

The old woman said nothing, only looked at him with her witch’s eyes. They dove deep into his heart and even she became chilled at what she saw.

Quinn noticed her silence. “What’s wrong? Are your powers gone?"

She frowned up at him as if insulted. "My powers are fine. But I can’t fight against love.”

“They’re not in love, do you hear? They’re not in love!”

“Well, then, if what you say is true there is only one reason the spells didn’t work. You didn’t follow my instructions. You have to follow them to the letter, you know. No substitutions, the exact moment in time the spell is at its most potent. All these things have to be observed, or the magic isn’t there.”

“How many times do I have to say it? I did everything you told me to. It’s your mumbo jumbo that isn’t working.”

“No matter. It's too late now anyway. You need another spell."

"Like hell! You're just trying to get more money out of me, you wrinkled up old hag!"

The old woman looked at him through eyes that sparkled with a cold, icy brightness. "I wouldn’t be too quick to refuse if I were you. I have something new. Something that’ll make her—” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “—eyeballs sweat, eh?" The old witch stretched her lips back in a snaggle-toothed smile, then began laughing wickedly.

Quinn's eyes widened when he heard the familiar expression then grabbed her arm, soft with flabby skin. "If you give me one more spell that doesn't work, you sorry old witch, I'll make you pay. Do you hear? I'll make you pay, and I mean it."

As the leaping flames glowed in a macabre way on her wrinkled old face, the widow’s evil eyes still showed no fear. By this time the fire was blazing, and provided a hot, smoking light in the small dark room. As they both sat down on the threadbare sofa, their shadows loomed large and grotesque against the ugly, stained walls. The old woman lowered her deceitful eyes and pulled something out of her pocket. She held it up in front of his face and said in a ragged whisper, "This potion was created by an Egyptian Pharaoh’s Soothsayer to be used for the hot beds of Egypt."

Quinn frowned at the small bottle. "It looks like nothing but water."

She witch's eyes danced as she laid the little vial in her palm and extended it outward. "It was taken from the River Nile, and no water in existence ever held such power." She lifted the bony fingers of her other hand and began a circling motion over the tiny bottle. After three times around, she spoke low and ominous…

Give it to her under a full moon

when the wind is whistling a

forlorn tune.

Look up into the midnight sky and

see a white cloud…turn black!

She took his hand, laid it in his palm and closed his fingers around it. "At the witching hour put it in a cup of tea. She'll never know, and by the next full moon, she'll be yours. Give her half, and you take the rest yourself, because she'll only fall in love with the one who drinks the other half."

"Old woman, if this doesn't work, you're dead. Do you hear? You're dead."

The palm of the witch's bony old hand extended forward for payment, but Quinn looked at her with contempt. "Not this time, you ugly old hag. When it works, that's when you'll get paid."

He jumped up with the little vial in his hand and slammed out the door. Watching him go, the old witch chuckled. Only she knew that the little vial didn't contain a love potion. It was an elixir that, in time, would give Quinn everything he deserved, but nothing he wanted. It would act on Chyna only as pure water. She turned back to the fireplace and began thinking of her beloved Venita. He had ruined her. That rotten, low-down bastard had ruined her sweet, innocent daughter, and for that he would pay.

And the little vial with the deadly elixir was exactly what it would take!

While humming a haunting tune, she leaned over the table and looked into her crystal ball. She squinted her old eyes as she looked down into the mysterious maze, then lifted her gnarled hands and stroked the ball tenderly. Suddenly a rainbow of leaping flames appeared, making it seem as if she were gazing into an abyss. The reflected fire danced, then subsided just enough to reveal a lone figure walking along the beach. The silhouette of Quinn Grayson resembled a lost soul walking through the hottest part of hell, and the old witch knew that even though he wasn't there yet—he soon would be!

* * * *

The next day while Kirk was packing his hospital bag, Chyna watched him from the doorway. "Need any help?"

Kirk turned and smiled thinly. "No thanks.”

“Are you sure? I could—”

All at once he stopped what he was doing and looked up at her, embarrassed. “Would you believe it? I'm nervous."

Concern etched her face, knowing he was having a hard time with this. She slowly walked over, took the garment he fidgeted with out of his hands and threw it on the bed. "Kirk,” she said, sliding into his arms, “if you’re having second thoughts, don’t do this because you think I want you to. You must know by now that the scars don’t matter to me. Besides, you have the synthetics. They do such a good job no one would ever know there’s anything wrong with your face.”

“I wish it were that simple, Chyna.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, when you look at me…at the scars…what do you see?”

Chyna considered his question thoughtfully. “Actually, I think I’m blind to them. I only see the man I love.” She shrugged. “Maybe the scars are part of that picture.”

A look of pain clouded his eyes. He moved from her arms, went to a window and looked out. His voice, low and ominous, revealed his pain. “I see rain-slicked streets, flying glass, and the death of my parents. I see ten long years of living in a rat-infested basement. Wasted years, Chyna. Years that I was alone with nothing in front of me but more wasted years. It means a lot that you love me in spite of the scars, but I just can’t go through the rest of my life staring into a face that reminds me of all that. It would drive me crazy.” He hesitated, lowering his gaze, and silence filled the room. Finally, he looked over at her. “Chyna, please understand what I’m about to say.”