Steam (Legends Saga Book 3) (17 page)

They galloped, unhindered, across the tilled cornfield that ran alongside the train tracks. Leaning into Regen’s stride, Ireland’s eyes teared, the wind lashing at her face. Their path altered as the band of spirits regrouped in the center of the field, shimmering blue beacons luring them in to an unknown fate. Roughly thirty feet away, Ireland pulled back the reins and let Regen trot to a stop. Kicking her leg over his head, she dismounted.

“From here, I go solo,” she muttered, flipping her axe from its loop into her palm that itched in anticipation.

Regen snorted his disapproval and tossed his head to further the point.

She steadied him with a gentle palm to his neck. “Easy, bud. You wait here. If you see me looking distressed, by which I mean being devoured by angry ghouls, you dial up the scary and come barreling in. Deal?”

Dipping his head, Regen pressed his forehead to hers, his understanding strongly implied.

Scratching his chin with her free hand, she breathed in the strength and security offered by her beloved totem. Drawing from his well of undeniable vigor, she spun on her heel and marched off without looking back.

Dried cornstalks crunched under her boots. The air, touched by the threatening nip of winter, bit at her exposed skin. White puffs of breath haloed her face. Striding forward, she kept her gaze locked on the nearest apparition—a willowy blonde with delicate features and a stare of pure steel.

There was no movement, just a blink, and Ireland found herself surrounded. An icy chill skittered down her spine, setting her blood alive with the need for violence. Glaring out from beneath the shadows of her hood, she freed her sword from its sheath. She crossed her weapons in front of her and turned in a slow, deliberate circle.

Surely you must know those cannot harm us
, four voices, all distinct in rasp and tremor, invaded Ireland’s mind.

An involuntary shudder ripped through her, yet she fought to keep her expression neutral. “No, but I’ve had enough experience with ghouls to know that if you ladies want to tear me apart, you’re going to have to solidify to do it. That’s when I’ll slice your heads from your shoulders.”

You think we mean you harm
? they chorused, drifting in closer.

“It’s been my experience that people only invade personal space like this when they’re looking for love or bloodshed, and none of you look particularly snuggly. Except for maybe her.” Ireland jerked her head in the direction of the frail looking, gray-haired phantom with her eyes stitched shut. “She reminds me of my Nana, and she was a hugger.”

The cool night temperature plummeted to an arctic chill as the spirits closed into a tight huddle around her. Ireland’s head whipped one way then the other, anticipating where the first strike would come from. If she had to guess, she’d put money on the stern-faced brunette. She looked scrappy.

A motion behind her spun Ireland around. Flipping her sword over the back of her hand, she seized it in an overhand grip. Anticipating a ferocious assault, she was dumbstruck to find the exotic-looking specter with a lion’s mane of unruly hair bowing her head and dropping to one knee. One by one the others mirrored the act, humbling themselves before her.

Only you can send us home to the Summerland
, they avowed.

Ireland dropped her weapons to her sides, the art of language escaping her. “Pardon my inability to find a more eloquent way to ask this. But …
huh
?”

We will guide you, use the powers granted to us by Mother Earth to help you
. The unison of their chant echoed off the walls of Ireland’s mind, causing a spastic twitch behind her right eye.
All we ask in return is that when this is all over you will grant us the mercy of death
.

“How do I grant you death when it seems you’ve mastered that particular state of being?”

Our spirits have died, our bodies are being forced to linger. For centuries an abhorrent succubus has kept us alive only for her sustenance.
Their heads tipped up, foggy gray eyes pleading with her.
Come to the island of Roanoke. Rid our bodies of their last shred of life so that we may finally find peace.

Flipping her weapons over her middle fingers, Ireland returned them to their holsters. “Fortunately for you all, I have the reputation for being the harbinger of death. Never before has that been considered a pleasing attribute. That said, Roanoke was on my itinerary, which I’m sure you already knew. When I get there, I will happily go all Daryl Dixon on your flailing corpses … under one condition. What you did to my witch on the train could’ve killed her—”

She is not a witch, she is
—

Cocking her head, Ireland raised one finger. “Lips moving. Still talking.”

Obediently, they lapsed into silence.

She paused a pointed beat before continuing, “If
any
of you harm one of mine—be they living or dead—again, I’ll keep you alive as long as I live
just
to make you regret the day you crossed me.” Cobalt lips curled into a villainous smile. “Is that in any way unclear?”

Chapter 19

Preen

Preen Lester had kicked the proverbial hornets’ nest and all of Salem was suffering the swarming chaos because of it. Neither men, women, nor child were safe from the malicious fury of Goody Cromwell. Of course none except Preen’s own inner circle knew the reverend’s wife was responsible. Safely hidden in the background, Goody used her influence to whisper in her husband’s ear and the finger of accusation would immediately be pointed at whomever she desired. Not one actual
witch
had died during their trials. It was the blood of innocents that ran through the streets of Salem, their cries of pain ringing out through the square as they were tortured for information they didn’t have.

Just like with Isaiah, Preen knew she was to blame. Goody’s great prize was to consume mother and child’s powers when they were united and both ripe for the plucking. Nathaniel coming early had denied her that succulent meal. The town officials would now need further proof than imagined gossip before they would accuse a brand new mother, and even then the babe would be off limits to their wrath. The only option that was left for Goody was to lurk ever closer, watching and waiting for undeniable evidence to support the claim she ached to make.

John cradled his wriggling son in the security of his arms, adoration beaming from his gaze. “What shall we do today, Nathaniel? Do you think those strapping arms of yours are up to helping your papa chop wood? Or perhaps hold a fishing pole and wrestle that catfish that’s been evading me?”

The baby’s tiny fingers curled around John’s index finger. Kicking his feet, he blew happy spit bubbles in response.

Filling her lungs, Preen took in the sight of the two of them together. At the same time that her heart swelled with an all-consuming love for them both, she also wrestled with an incapacitating fear for Nathaniel’s safety.

“Don’t have him out for too long,” Preen fretted, folding her garments and tucking them into her satchel. “If he gets sleepy, he will call to his favorite blanket. It will be difficult to explain how it spontaneously appeared.”

Gifting his son with a goofy smile, John’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “She says that as if I don’t know my boy or his talents. Yet, I am
quite
familiar. Yes, I am!”

Her hands wringing a nightgown she had yet to pack, Preen chewed at the inside of her cheek. “I know. You’re amazing with him. I merely worry for—“

“The well-being of our child? Yes, I do believe that is a fundamental characteristic accompanying the role of motherhood.” Closing the distance between them, John crouched down until he could catch Preen’s wandering stare and hold it with his. “I will give my life to keep this boy safe. You needn’t doubt that for a moment. Plus, if Tituba is correct and your outing finds success, Nathaniel’s magical gifts will be bound along with your own. No longer will we have to fear that he will cry and cause rain clouds to blow in. Goody will have no justification to touch him.”

Setting her packed bag on the floor, Preen nodded her appreciation for the plan that could grant her an iota more peace. “My sisters should have everything prepared when I arrive. We will begin the ritual straight away and spend the night in the cabin afterwards. I have lined up a wet nurse to tend to Nathaniel’s feedings. Please don’t leave them unsupervised, for safety’s sake. The moment dawn breaks, I will make the trek back to Salem. ”

“I trust you will find success; however, it would be wrong of me not to admit you will be missed. Won’t she, Nathaniel? Will you miss your mama?” John bowed his head, rubbing noses with his happily squirming bundle.

“So eager to have the blight of my presence return, are you?” Preen said, with a humorless huff of laughter.

Glancing up, John’s striking face radiated heart-felt sincerity. “I thank God every day that you and Nathaniel are in my life. The two of you are the ultimate blessing for this humble man. The second you step foot out that door a piece of my heart leaves with you. I request your quick return that I may be complete once more.”

Preen could feel her face blooming with color, yet made no effort to conceal it. Emotion swelling her tongue, her only response came in the form of a shy smile and a meek promise that, for him, she would do just that.

Rounding the tree trunk that bowed like the neck of a swan, Preen strode toward her childhood home. Alexandrian, on her knees in the dirt planting herb seeds, nudged Freeya who was busy turning a row of dirt beside her. Both sisters offered her a smile and wave of greeting. The door of the cottage creaked. The spicy aroma of Tituba’s mouthwatering pumpkin soup wafted out as the High Priestess emerged, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Welcome, sister.” She grinned, her teeth bright stars against a midnight sky. “Everything is almost ready. The spell Margot found is a simple one that requires we honor the Goddess with a feast immediately following it. Preparation for that is all we have left to do.”

“How can I help?” Preen asked. Peering over Tituba’s shoulder she hungrily took in a glimpse of the cabin she had missed so very much.

“It would be lovely if you could aid Eleanora.” Drawn back inside by her soup bubbling over the hearth, Tituba grabbed the wooden spoon off the counter and gave it a stir. “I told her she could lead us in prayer this evening and sent her to meditate on what she would say. The poor dear has been pacing from the creek and back since we took afternoon tea.”

“I’ll go find her before she wears a hole in the earth and is lost to us forever.” Depositing her satchel inside the door, Preen set off in search of her distraught sister.

As she strolled, she noticed the carpet of long dead leaves beneath her feet. Its thick blanket had been parted by persistent patches of lush green grass eager to mark spring’s awakening. Its color so perfectly matched the hue of John and Nathaniel’s eyes, it brought an appreciative smile to Preen’s lips.

Her momentary distraction came to a chilling end as a hand darted out and seized her forearm. Another clapped over her mouth, allowing only a muffled scream to escape. Seemingly unaffected by Preen’s resistance, her captor dragged her into a den of towering evergreens that blocked out the rest of the world with their mass.

There, she was released. Eyes wide with shock, Preen spun to find Eleanora shushing her with a finger to her own lips.

“Eleanora! In the name of the Goddess!” Preen erupted, blatantly ignoring her sister’s gesture. “You nearly stopped my heart!
What has gotten into you
?”

Eleanora opened her mouth, only to immediately snap it shut again. Her brow pinched tight by whatever plagued her.

Preen’s head fell to the side, compassion softening her tone and expression. “I, of all people, have no right to judge
anyone
. Whatever troubles you, sister, speak it.”

“To find a rhyme, I never fare well …” Eleanora hesitantly began.

“Never you mind that, I can help you—”

Eleanora caught her hand and squeezed it tight, cutting Preen off mid-sentence with her crushing urgency, “
That
is why I cast the spell.

To make the words come with ease,

prayers to my Goddess I could then appease.

Now I
cannot
make it halt,

My every thought a whimsical assault!”

Preen’s tongue dragged over her bottom lip, her mind ticking to process what was happening. “Please … tell me this is some sort of jest.”

“I wish it t’were but a joke,” she moaned with a plaintive whimper, “lest I be relieved of this troublesome yolk.”

Tendrils of dread squirmed and wriggled through Preen’s veins.
This
they couldn’t hide.
This
would be the just cause Goody so anxiously awaited.
This
could let fly the sword that had dangled over Preen’s head for so very long now.

“Oh, Eleanora,” she gasped, her hands fluttering over her mouth, “
what have you done?
”

“Freeya, there’s another spell book on the shelf by the hearth. It’s labeled Recipes. Fetch it, please!” Tituba’s words were clipped with urgency, her fingers flicking over the worn parchment pages of her Book of Shadows which was filled with every tried and true spell she had ever utilized. Grunting her frustration, she slammed the leather bound cover shut. “
Nothing
in here can help us!”

Acting quickly to meet her demand, Freeya swapped the requested book for the one cast aside. “Try this one, High Priestess,” she suggested in a soft whisper. Moving on tiptoe—to avoid ruffling the High Priestess further—Freeya returned the treasured book to its hiding place behind the bookshelf. Like much of the coven, she was deeply troubled by Tituba’s panicked reaction to Eleanora’s blunder.

Pacing the floor and gnashing her teeth, Margot proved to be the exception. “There is time to worry of Eleanora
later
! If we cannot find a remedy we can send her away! Our priority now must be binding the powers of Preen and her babe! It must be now!
Now
!”

“Margot!” Tituba slapped her palm down against the table, the loud crack echoing through the cramped space. “I would say a succubus that would see us all hanged is of more dire importance that incapacitating one of our own. Wouldn’t you? If confronted, Eleanora
cannot
hide what she has done. We
will
remedy that matter before returning to the other.”

Preen wrapped a comforting arm around Eleanora, who sagged with shame.

“
No
!” Margot argued, her crumpled face stained purple with rage. “We musn’t—”

Catching the frantic seer by her spindly upper-arms, Alexandrian ushered her to the other side of the room and away from the daggers in Tituba’s stare.

“She was correct about one thing,” exhaling a quaking breath, Tituba offered Eleanora a tight-lipped grimace of compassion, “if we cannot figure this out, we have other options. I still need you to deliver that medallion to Tarrytown. If need be, you can find refuge there until we find a solution.”

Gulping down her rising trepidation, Eleanora managed a meek nod.

“
We shall pray for death
!” Margot caterwauled, Alexandrian hissing for her to hush.

A harsh knock rattling the door interrupted their heated debate. A leaden silence fell. Fear anchored them all where they stood. Nervous gazes flicked around the room, each searching for reassurance none of them could offer. A loud bang, seemingly a firm boot kick, and the door burst open. The silhouette of Goody Cromwell filled the frame, flanked by a half dozen soldiers.