Witches
WITCHES
Book One of the
Cross-Worlds Coven Series
Phil Stern
Witches
Copyright © 2011 by Phil Stern
All Rights Reserved.
Fourth Edition
November 2013
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are entirely the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
WITCHES
AS SHE HAD the preceding two Saturdays, the young witch cantered into the town square, red hair flowing gaily in the soft evening breeze. An athletic horsewoman, she leapt from the steed’s back the moment it pulled up before the tavern, hitching her mare to the provided post with practiced flair.
Standing before the general store next door, young Tommy Hanes stabbed a seven-year-old finger at the interloper. “Mommy! Mommy, look! That bad woman is back! Look, Mommy...”
“Hush! Tommy, no!” Desperately clamping a hand over her precocious son’s mouth, Mrs. Hanes, eight months pregnant with her fourth child, smiled weakly at the witch. “My Lady, I’m so sorry! Please forgive my son. He doesn’t know what he’s saying!”
Hands still on the bridle, the young woman paused, contemplating the boy. “Did your son say that I was a bad woman?”
“No! I mean, yes...but...” Tommy’s mother stammered. “Please, he’s my son!”
In her early 20's, the sorceress was dressed in tight blue jeans and a low-cut white blouse. Around her neck hung a delicate chain attached to a round silver pendant centered by a pulsing green stone. Thoughtfully mounting the long plank porch that stretched the length of several storefronts, the witch now sauntered a few steps closer, sleek black boots echoing lightly on the wood. “Now where would he get that idea?”
Catching her breath, Mrs. Hanes pulled Tommy closer into her wide hoop skirts. “Nowhere, my Lady. Nowhere at all!”
The few other women out shopping late had already scurried off into the nearest doorway. From inside the building itself, the terrified face of the tavern owner took in the situation only long enough to yank down the window shade. Clearly, Mrs. Hanes was on her own.
“Mrs. Melony Hanes,” drawled the witch, her youthful features forming an almost pleasant smile. “I’m asking you a question. Why does your son think me a bad woman?”
“Please, my Lady, I beg of you!” How had this she-devil known her full name? Then again, how did the witches do any of the things they routinely did? Appearing out of thin air at a moment’s notice, they were answerable to no one, wrecking lives and homes for pleasure, taking what or whom they liked. “Don’t hurt my boy!”
“There’s no reason to beg. I would never dream of hurting your child.” Bending down, the sorceress first touched Tommy’s nose, then tousled his hair with a black-gloved hand. Receiving a giggle in reply, the svelte beauty now rose once more, looking Mrs. Hanes in the eye. “And you know I’m no lady. Don’t you?”
“Yes! No! I mean...” Melony trailed off, taking a deep breath. “Well, it’s just...”
“You may call me Keyla.”
“Of course.” Despite her fear, Melony began to find herself captivated by this stunning, sophisticated visitor. A spell, no doubt. “Pleased to meet you, Keyla,” she finally mumbled.
“And you know I have no interest in you. Or your son.” Leaning close to Melony, almost sensually, Keyla whispered in the town woman’s ear. “It’s the men I want. You know that.”
Gasping, Mrs. Hanes drew back. With an absurd backhand wave, she urged a few bold male faces back from the tavern window once more. “My Lady. I mean, Keyla, this is a good town. God-fearing men and women. We mean you no harm...”
“Nor do I, Melony.” Giving Mrs. Hanes a firm nod, the witch applied a final, friendly swipe to Tommy’s head. “But I have business to conduct. Good day.”
Turning on booted-heel, Keyla then sauntered over to the tavern door, pulling it open and slipping inside with a soft jangle of the interior bell. Shaking with relief, Melony collapsed down on her child with a crushing embrace.
Watching from across the street, the tall stranger felt a slow rush of anticipation. On two previous occasions, hurrying into town upon belated word of the witch’s arrival, he’d just missed this Keyla as she rode away. As with all of her kind, the sorceress was a master at foiling pursuit, sending him off on false trails as she merrily disappeared into the night.
Yet now, his quarry’s pattern established, confounding spells carefully studied and overcome, the wizard was ready. Tonight would be a different story.
***
Three hours later the flame-haired girl strolled from the tavern laughing gaily, hand-in-hand with Ben Jacobs, a robust youth of 23 who’d just inherited the family farm. With his newfound wealth and prominence, young Ben was set to marry Henry Perkins’ sweet 16-year-old daughter in just two weeks.
It was considered a good match for Lacy Perkins. Though Ben had a wicked temper and couldn’t handle his liquor very well, the Jacobs farm was one of the most prosperous in the whole county.
And now, thought the watcher from across the street, on the cusp of this blessed union, a debauched enchantress sought to ruin the happy groom? It hardly seemed possible. Yet witches were a power unto themselves, constrained not a whit by their own adulterated morality. They could do whatever they liked. That is, until now.
Leaning in for a kiss, young Ben fell fast asleep the moment his lips touched the sorceress. “That’s better,” sighed Keyla, easily manhandling the strapping youth over the rear of her horse. Whispering an incantation in place of a more mundane rope, the witch then leapt upon her steed, tearing over the town square and into the surrounding countryside, Ben staying impossibly immobile upon the bounding mare.
Grasping his own throbbing talisman, a rock as black as coal hanging from his belt, the wizard magically transported himself to the witch’s side. As if riding an invisible horse of his own, the tall, muscular man easily paced the galloping girl. Impervious to her anti-tracking spells, the man’s presence went undetected. Perhaps if he remained hidden long enough, Keyla might even lead him to the witches mystical homeland.
But it was not to be. Sensing something amiss, the witch pulled up in a clearing. “Who’s there!” Keyla shouted, leaping to the ground, tearing her sword from a saddle scabbard. “Show yourself!” And so saying the sorceress unleashed a location spell, which began instantly tugging away the wizard’s invisibility cloak.
No matter. Stepping into plain view, the moonlight playing lightly on his grim features, the magician also drew a sword. “I’ve come for you, witch.”
Snapping her fingers, the clearing was instantly as bright as day. “So you are real!” Keyla exclaimed, looking her tall opponent up and down. “A man with power, such as us. A man who thinks he can hunt women with impunity!”
“Surrender, witch,” snarled the sorcerer. “Give me your earth stone and it will go easier on you.”
“My earth stone? I think not.” Unconsciously, she touched the pulsating green talisman. “What have you done with my sisters?”
“They are safe.” The wizard allowed himself a small smile. “For now.”
Furious, Keyla expertly twirled the heavy sword from one hand to the other, sparks of earth fire dancing off into the night. “Tell me where they are and I will grant you a clean death.”
“You impertinent girl!” barked the sorcerer, his face now contorting in rage. “You will serve me as they do!”
“Serve you?” Keyla laughed. “I serve no man.” And so saying, Keyla swung the blade with all her might.
But it was soon over. Within moments the young witch was lying on her back, nearly unconscious, a gaping gash above one ear. Blood flowed freely into the hard soil. Split asunder, her broken sword lay nearby.
Breathing hard, the warrior took a moment to savor his victory, silently thanking the dark god from which his own power sprung. Then leaning down, he viciously tugged the earth stone from her neck, the chain parting with a resounding snap. Upon separation from the stone Keyla gasped for air, her life clearly seeping away.
“I should let you die, witch!” the sorcerer snarled. “But I have use for you yet.” Applying a finger to Keyla’s head wound, he cast a rough spell forcing her blood to staunch, immune to his victim’s sharp cries of pain. Irritated at her weakness, he gave the witch a rough slap across the face, the young woman dropping into an unnatural sleep.
Releasing Ben Jacobs, the wizard dropped the besotted young man on the ground to find his wits the following day. Then, after casting an obedience spell on the unwilling horse, he threw the witch across the mare’s rump in much the same manner as the Jacobs boy. Before setting off for his castle, the wizard dropped a carefully prepared letter on the ground.
It was easier every time. With this third victory the witches would know they had met their match. Soon, they would have no choice but to accept his dominance, curbing their wanton ways in his exclusive service.
***
With a final shudder, the old Saturn’s engine ground to a halt. Patting the dashboard in silent appreciation, Tiffany Smith leapt from the car, striding quickly into the two-story building.
It was near ten o’clock at night, prime-time for the Rockland County Women’s Shelter. The flash point of any suburban marriage was the weekday evening, when tired husbands returning from long, pointless days in New York City came into contact with their equally frustrated, disillusioned wives. As a RCWS crisis counselor, Tiffany had long since become inured to the dark underbelly of suburban life. However, she was still amazed how many people blithely assumed living in an expensive house, within a “good” school district was, in and of itself, a surefire recipe for happiness.
Dark hair pulled back in a careless ponytail, the 25-year-old brunette walked through the shelter lobby. As expected, Leanna Colby sat off in a corner, an ugly bruise already forming on her cheek. Bree, her 12-year-old daughter, perched miserably nearby.
“Leanna.” Sitting before the petite blonde mother on a folding chair, Tiffany took her hand. “Tell me what happened.”
“I overdid the steak.” Sighing, Leanna looked away. “Mike hates it when I overdo his steak.”
“Mom,” protested Bree. “Stop it! It’s not your fault!”
“But Mike’s right. He likes his steak medium rare. He can’t eat it medium well...”
“Leanna, look at me.” Tiffany waited until the battered woman turned a tear-stained face to her. “Enough. This isn’t going to get any better.”
“But Mike feels...”
“What Mike feels isn’t important,” the younger woman continued. “We need to get you away. For your sake, and Bree’s sake.”
A long pause ensued, Leanna once more staring off into space. “He wasn’t like this when we were dating. We met when he was in law school, you know. Mike was so handsome and kind...”
“Leanna, please.” Abused women, Tiffany well knew, felt a need to justify their original choice of partner, to try to make sense of the drastic change married life had wrought in their husband. “We’re past that now. Remember that place I told you about? That safe place? I can still take you there. Mike will never be able to hurt you again.”
“Mike’s a lawyer, Tiffany,” Leanna sniffed. “He’s a powerful man. We can’t get away from him.”
“He seems powerful to you because you’re in his power,” Tiffany gently insisted, squeezing her hand reassuringly. “We can change that, together.”
For nearly five minutes Leanna Colby sat quietly, patting her daughter’s knee. “And you’re sure it’s safe there?” she finally asked.
“Absolutely.”
“And we won’t be any bother?”
“None at all.”
“But what of Bree? Will there be other children for her to play with? Girls her own age?”
Tiffany couldn’t help smiling. “Leanna, your daughter will be among her peers. That I assure you. She will be loved and cared for completely.”
“All right, then.” Another deep sigh, followed by a convinced nod. “When can we go?”
“Tomorrow.” Standing, Tiffany motioned toward the hallway leading back into the shelter. “Tonight, you can both stay here. You’ll be safe.”
Clearly still in shock, Leanna stood. “Let me freshen up first,” she mumbled, shuffling off toward the lobby bathroom.
Relieved, Tiffany turned to the young girl. “Well, Bree, how do you see all this?”
With blonde hair the same shade as her mother’s, Bree looked at Tiffany with an unusually thoughtful expression for one so young. “I think this is a good thing.”
“Yes, it is.”
The matter apparently having been settled, Bree smiled. “You’re so pretty. I like your boots.”
“Thank you.”