An Embittered Witch, page 1
An Embittered Witch
Witch Kin Chronicles, Book Six
E M Graham
OneEar Press
An Embittered Witch
Copyright © 2023 by E M Graham
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 978-1-990667-22-0
Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Also By Liz Graham
Acknowledgments
About the Author
One
Jet-lagged from the overnight to Edinburgh via London, I was crooked and cranky, the carry-on dragging behind me like a stone. I was ready to scream at the doddering pace of the passengers sleepwalking their way up the ramp while my stomach growled an order for coffee and food. The welcome scent of coffee brewing and the sugary hint of flaky pastry lured me to dodge and weave my way forward. When I finally saw the small coffee bar outside the Arrivals gate, my stomach churned, but not in a good way.
Margaret was perched at a small table in the Starbucks.
I awkwardly rolled my carry-on over to her table and paused, waiting. She didn’t look at me, just sniffed as she stuck that patrician nose in the air as if waiting for an apology. Anyone watching us would have no problem seeing who had been responsible for the breakdown in the relationship between Margaret and myself.
As it turned out, someone was watching. With the Kin, of course, someone was always spying.
‘There you are, finally,’ she said, as if I was late for a pre-arranged meeting.
‘Margaret.’
She sat there with her latte on the laminate table top before her, looking out of place in the modern plastic surroundings. A flick of her gloved hand indicated I should take a seat across from her. Her mid-calf tweed skirt and jacket flawlessly matched her tall brown equestrian boots and the draped shawl edged with fur. She tossed her long red hair back over her shoulder. She was nailing the ‘forties vamp look that day.
A picture of the cartoon figure Jessica Rabbit came to mind, and I giggled, I couldn’t help it. Lack of sleep does that, takes out all the filters in my head.
She drew herself up, offended, and spit the words out. ‘This is your last chance. You need to come away, walk away from the Kin. Today.’
‘Really, Margaret? I thought you’d already given me my last chance. Six months ago, wasn’t it?’
Seeing her in an airport of all places, it was disconcerting. Margaret Forsythe had no need of clumsy mechanical transport, for she could transport herself across the globe with little more effort than a flick of an eye. She still hadn’t shared how that was possible, and I’d long since given up hope that she would ever show me. After all, I’d chosen to remain with the Kin, to build my life here and follow my ambitions on the narrow Kin path instead of becoming a drifter, outside the law. Like her. I hadn’t thought she would ever forgive me for that decision. Yet oddly enough, here she was.
I slumped into the seat across from her.
Rather than answer my question, she stared across at me, sipping from the frothy drink. The deep red of her lipstick didn’t stain the rim of her paper cup.
I waited.
‘You’re your own worst enemy,’ she finally declared.
Again I waited, merely raising my eyebrows while wishing I’d had the presence of mind to get my own coffee before confronting her. She would have waited, for the script was already written in her head. Cue entrance of Dara, and action.
But I refused to say my lines and play in her drama. Yes, I knew how to push her buttons.
‘It’s all going to go to hell.’ She glared at me as if it was my fault. ‘If you don’t act.’
‘What? What’s the matter now?’ I placed my elbows on the table and rubbed at my temples.
She held on to the table edge with both hands as she leaned forward.
‘The situation has changed. Drastically.’
‘Margaret, whatever bee is presently buzzing round inside your bonnet, it’ll have to wait. I’m on my way to the Outer Hebrides to celebrate Hogmanay with Hugh and his family. Can we revisit this, whatever it is, in the New Year?’
She ignored my plea. ‘As you well know, Cate’s been delving into music.’
I shook my head. My mind must really have been fuzzy because her words weren’t making sense. ‘Yeah, she’s been off on some course somewhere for the past few months. Music, was it? That’s good. Peaceful. She hasn’t been bothering me.’
The little black stud Cate had placed in my ear hadn’t itched at all in the past few months. Hope had sprouted a hesitant tendril in me - hope that my father’s ex-wife had forgotten about her cat-and-mouse games with me.
Margaret leaned forward to hiss her next words at me. ‘With her new powers that she stole from the ley lines? You really believe anything about that witch is harmless? Peaceful, even?’
‘What’s the big deal? How does this impact me? Or more to the point, I should ask how it affects you, because I don’t think you give two damns about me.’
‘It affects me, because she will use you to get at me,’ she said. ‘Don’t you see that?’
‘Cate doesn’t care about you, Margaret!’ I pushed myself away from the table as I stood up, not an easy or graceful feat as the seat was fused to the table and it involved a bit of a squirm. ‘She has everything she wants, and now she’s finding other ways to amuse herself. Let’s not draw attention to ourselves.’
I’d learned early on to fly under the radar of Cate’s wrathful glare.
Margaret shook her head resolutely. I stared at her through my puffy, sleep deprived eyes. All I wanted was a nice quiet life, working my way up through the Kin on my own merits in order to achieve the lifestyle and recognition I’d always craved. Although Cate had already interfered with that.
‘What’s that in your ear?’ Her sharp eyes missed nothing, even the tiny black adamantite earring. It wasn’t like it was flashy or shiny in the light. No, the matte ebony of it sucked in light like a black hole.
I’d tried to remove it, but the front and back were fused together. The only way to rid myself of it would be to rip my ear off and that wasn’t going to happen.
She stood up and rounded the table in a flash, brushing my hair aside so she could examine it. I shook her off.
‘It’s too late.’ Her whispered rush of words and the furrow between her fine brow was the closest I’d ever seen to panic in Margaret. ‘Come with me. Now. I can remove it for you.’
‘Leave me alone.’ I turned away from her, feeling the heat of shame coloring my face. It was my own fault, I’d allowed Cate to manipulate me into this. At her beck and call, a hostage to her, really. Yes, I knew things about her she didn’t want known, but whose version would the Kin believe? Dara Martin de Teilhard, the renegade half-witch, or Cate, the Huxor, the matriarch of one of the wealthiest Kin families in the New World?
‘It’s no use,’ I said to Margaret wearily.
Her large green eyes stared at me for a moment longer, then with a huff she suddenly spun on her heel, heading toward the nearest door. It happened to lead to the Gents. Again, Margaret was running away from me again, but this time without even a ‘so long’ or a nasty word.
From the corner of my eye, I could see many heads turned to watch her exit. Mostly men, openly gawking in admiration at the loveliness that was Margaret Forsythe in her long boots of the supplest leather and her polished face. But there was one man, I noted, one man whose eyes narrowed in recognition. He started as if to run after her.
Kin. Of course they were watching.
‘Wait, Margaret!’ Was I asking her to wait, to take me with her, or perhaps to wait, to more fully explain what the hell she’d been on about. No matter. By the time I’d pushed the swinging door open to the men’s toilet, she was gone. Literally disappeared.
The Kin spy arrived at the door right after me. He was a youngish man, a Scots Kin I guessed, unmistakably aristocratic with his sweep of blond hair and freckles splattered across that long nose. He had a familiar look about him, though I couldn’t say if I’d ever seen him before. But then again, the aristocratic Kin families were so inbred after countless generations of intermarrying that they all looked alike. He pushed past me into the Gents.
Pushing each cubicle door open so h ard they banged against the stalls, he searched the washroom. The clanging echoed off the cold white tiled walls.
‘Fuck.’ The look he shot me was pure venom. ‘She’s gone.’
‘What did you expect?’ I leaned against the nearest sink and crossed my arms. Damned Kin spy.
‘Not for her to disappear into thin air.’ His eyes burned bright blue, startling in their vividness. ‘What did you say to her to make her leave?’
That was rich, coming from a Kin spook. ‘What makes you think it was me? Maybe she saw you and didn’t like the look of you.’ Him with his haughty nose and public school accent overlaid with a bit of Scots burr and chock full of privilege. The same stock Margaret came from, but she had forsworn all of it. Except for the trust fund, of course.
‘Where did she go?’
‘If I knew,’ I sneered. ‘I certainly wouldn’t tell you.’ On that note, I pushed myself away from the sink and left the room.
Margaret was gone, and there was nothing more I could do about it. I had no way to contact her. I could continue on my journey in peace, finally get that coffee and look for my flight to Stornoway. I took my time, fully aware that the Kin witch was trailing close behind me. He wasn’t very good at his spy job.
I dawdled as I passed along the small shops within the airport, and for spite, spent an inordinate amount of time inside the lingerie store. I pretended to examine the fine silks (I balked at the prices for such tiny bits of froth and lace) but all the while I kept my eyes on him as he lingered against a half wall divider.
Who had directed him to follow me? Cate? The Covenanters, who still would not accept my meteoric rise through the Kin ranks?
My so-called overnight success with the Kin. The achievement of all my dreams. Hollow and false, leaving me with a bitter taste in my mouth, for it none of it was from my efforts. I hadn’t earned a bit of it.
It didn’t matter, whoever he was or whoever had sent him. I wouldn’t have trusted me either.
I waited as the airline personnel examined my passport and boarding card, and without realizing, heaved a sigh. The gate loomed ahead, the gate to whisk me away to the luxury of Hugh and his family’s estate.
My run-in with Margaret had left me disgruntled, unsettled, reminding me of the fraying edges in the fabric of my perfect life.
Two
Hugh’s family estate was an actual castle, with a turret and all. The window seat of the round tower looked out upon the lands which would be mine at some point, after our marriage. The moors and fields with the gray ocean beyond, and the wind. Oh my Christ, the constant wind at the tip of this island at the edge of the world. It never let up.
The Duchess was preparing for the New Year’s party in this freezing pile of stones. The only warmth to be found was if you practically stood inside the gigantic fireplace with the burning Yule log.
It was so different here from the Winter Solstice and the quiet Christmas with Mom and Edna and Mark, and of course Jon, my father. That had been cozy with my loved ones all around, the smell of Mom’s gingerbread baking, the fresh cut tree all hung with decorations I’d cherished all my life. The finishing touch was the velvet patchwork stockings hanging on the mantle for everyone.
But now, my presence had been requested to celebrate New Year’s at Hugh’s family estate. I still couldn’t pronounce the name of it, let alone spell it. In Scotland, Hogmanay was the big seasonal celebration, and it was an honor for me to attend. Hugh had explained the history behind it, the Covenanters’ influence and their dour refusal to embrace generosity of spirit or anything that smacked of happiness. At least that was my take on it, but then again, I had reason to bear a grudge against that crowd of joyless bastards.
Speaking of which, I hadn’t spotted the tail assigned to me on the flight to Stornoway.
I made myself ready for that evening’s party. The noisy thrum of private helicopters had vibrated through the panes of glass in the windows all afternoon, delivering guests from the neighboring islands for the celebration. Despite the chill from the stone walls, Hugh’s mother had made the castle welcoming, and the Victorian wing of the medieval castle was all decked out for the big Hogmanay ball. Huge logs burned in the oversized fireplaces in the public rooms, while pine boughs imported from Norway decorated every door jamb. There was even a Christmas tree tucked away in a small corner. When I first saw it, my thought was that they’d placed it there in my honor so that I wouldn’t feel homesick.
I lingered by that small pine tree, the perfectly shaped triangle from a commercial farm somewhere in England no doubt. I brushed the long soft needles with my fingers. The only decorations were a series of opalescent crystal balls ranging in size from as small as my thumb to larger than a teacup. Each one was so delicate it floated in the merest draft. My slight movement set them all vibrating against the needles, and I listened closely to hear their music, barely discernable in the growing hum from the merrymaking in the next room.
Each perfect ball rang with its own pure tone, faint as it was. I lightly touched each one in turn, listening carefully. All were like crystal notes to my ear, but one stood out. Yes, that small one near the top, it hummed with a note that reached into my heart, resounding like a memory forgotten. What were these tiny creations? Who had crafted such perfection?
‘Do you like the tree? I thought a little bit of home would be a nice touch for you.’
The tiny black stud in my ear tingled. I recognized her signature scent of lilies and spice wafting in the air. My hand dropped from the crystal spheres and I slowly turned to face my father’s ex-wife, the witch who was sponsoring and aiding my ambitious climb within the Kin.
‘Cate!’ I shrank back a little.
‘So pale, Dara, are you not feeling well?’
The blood gone from my face now pounded through my head as my vision narrowed to her face. The one good thing about leaving home was leaving her behind for good. Or so I had thought.
‘What are you doing here?’ I hissed under the sound of sound of the violins and laughter. Cate’s presence on this remote island could not be a good omen.
Arching an eyebrow as if surprised at my uncivilized tone, she replied, ‘Celebrating Hogmanay, of course. Like yourself. I had to be in Edinburgh anyway, so I thought, why not nip out to the Sabarin estate to join you for the party?’ Her lips curled up in a smile as she added, ‘It’s a small, small world, isn’t it?
Cate extended one bloodred nail to touch the sphere I’d just handled. A whisper of its pure tone sounded again, but differently under her caress, as if it had dropped a half-note, tainted and wrong somehow. ‘Aren’t these so precious? I had them crafted in a tiny shop in Venice. Each ornament is calibrated to sound to a member of the household. The perfect gift for the magical family who has everything. I see you found yours.’ She laughed, that cut-glass tinkle that scraped up my spine.
‘How is that even possible?’
‘Come, let us sit and catch up,’ she directed me, ignoring my question. She led us to an oak pew set into the shadow of the grand stairway. ‘I hear good things about your progress.’
Resistance was futile. There was no need to tell her anything, as she already knew everything I’d been doing during the past months. I sat in the corner of the ancient bench and stiffly sipped from my champagne flute. The pew had been removed from a Catholic church four hundred or more years ago during the scourge. The tall back and sides boxed us in, and the heavy carvings cut into my flesh. This pew had never been intended for comfort or ease.
Cate carried on as if we were having a conversation. ‘I have been traveling a lot.’ Her raven hair glowed in the candlelight that reached us. ‘Indulging myself, I must admit, in my studies.’
I tore my gaze away from the crystal spheres on the pine tree and turned my head to her.
‘Music,’ she declared. ‘The power of music and magic. Ever given any thought to that?’
I shook my head mutely. Margaret had been worried because Cate was studying music. But it hadn’t been piano lessons in her grand living room. Cate had been studying the magical properties of music. A cold chill crept up my spine which had nothing to do with the drafts in this ancient hall.
‘Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast,’ she quoted. ‘And more, I am discovering.’
