9781618851307WitchsBrewShayNC (39 page)

Talon
choked back laughter as he held her close. “Yes, you did.” He pressed several
kisses against her mouth before finally saying, “Can you stand?”

He helped her up, steadying her as she swayed drunkenly
toward him. “Whoa,
La-Scheme
. Give it a minute.”

He supported her, stroking her tangled hair with trembling
fingers, pressing soft kisses against her throat. “My
sowilla
. My sun.”

Saylym raised a shaky hand to her forehead. “My head
hurts.”

“I imagine so, little
sowilla
.” He gently moved her
hand away from the cut. “Do you think you can hold on to me while I climb back
up that wall?”

Saylym gasped, her gaze flying wide as she peeped at
something behind Talon.

“Oh…my—”

Talon
whirled to see what Saylym was staring at with such wide-eyed wonder. “Gods.”
he uttered, awestruck. He held the torch overhead and stared at a gigantic
statue reminiscent of the overwhelming size of the sculptures of the Egyptian
Pharaohs. He’d seen those larger-than-life images in books at the academy. He
stared now, in wonder. “Devil’s toenails!”

“What
is it?” Saylym asked, taking a step closer.

“Perthrone.”
Talon grabbed her arm, halting her. “It’s stone,
perthrone
. A stone
statue. Don’t go near it. There might be enthrallments.”

Saylym
stilled. “Do you know what it is?”

“Who,”
Talon hissed with disbelief.
“Who
it is, is the important question.”

“Who?”
Saylym blinked. “You know her? It is a her?”

“Oh
yeah, it’s a
her
, all right. Your queen.”

Saylym stared at the colossal statue. The woman was
forever frozen in a timeless pose cut in stone. A stone garland of flowers
rested on her head. Her long hair spiraled down across naked, up-tilted
breasts. She sat on a massive throne, her arms rising gracefully to the
heavens.

Dark blue sapphires were inlaid beneath the pure line of
her eyebrows. Her lips curved into a fleeting smile as if she held a secret
known only to her. Sparkling emeralds adorned her fingers and toenails.
Blood-red rubies traced the feminine curve of her ears.

Saylym
gasped. “Are they real?”

“Real enough, I suppose.” Talon arched a brow. “They
probably have a hex on them, so don’t touch them,
La-Scheme.”

It
suddenly hit Saylym what Talon had said. “My queen? I don’t have a queen,
Talon. Unless you refer to the Queen of England, but Mum always said she wasn’t
my true queen because I wasn’t born in England. What are you talking about?”

Talon
gave her a thoughtful look. “Where were you born?
When
were you born?”

Saylym
shrugged. “Is that something we have to dig into right now?”

“You
don’t know, do you?”

“Right,”
Saylym snapped. “I don’t know. Now, can we drop it?”

“And
you don’t know anything about your queen?”

“I
said I didn’t.”

Talon
frowned. “How can you not know where or when you were born? How can you not
know your own witch history?”

“I
keep telling you I’m not a witch so how could I have a witch history?”

Talon
sighed. “Granted, many things were lost over the passing centuries, but most of
that was lost to the
wakens
and warlocks because the witches no longer
shared their history with us. Some of the older witches know the past well and
have passed it to the younger ones, but, sweetheart, you know absolutely
nothing about anything.”

Saylym
snorted. “That should prove to you I’m not a witch.”

“No, it only proves your past has been kept from you. I
saw a picture of your queen once in a history book. I know this is a statue of
Queen Shy-Ryn. Once upon a time, as
illumrof
fairy tales go, she was
Queen of the Witches. What I remember is she wasn’t their first queen. So there
should be a second statue somewhere. Hell, honestly, I don’t know how many
statues of past queens there might be hidden somewhere.” He waved the torch
around. “I don’t see any others.”

“What
happened to her?” Saylym asked, staring at the statue with wonderment.

“I’m not certain, but a lot of witches and
wakens
perished
during the Salem uprising. Perhaps her spirit surrendered to another plane.”

Saylym looked past Talon and gasped. “There are open
doorways behind her. Come on.”

Talon
grabbed her hand, pulling her back. “Not now, Saylym. We don’t have enough
equipment or supplies with us to go exploring. We’re both wet and cold. And I
need to check your injuries. You have a fractured wrist. Let’s save exploring
for another day.”

She
nodded, glancing back over her shoulder at the dark openings. “It looks like a
beehive with numerous entrances to ancient catacombs. We have to come back and
investigate. Who knows where they could lead?”

Talon sighed as he looped the rope around his wrist and
took a firm hold of Saylym, preparing to scale the wall. “Yeah, that’s what I
was afraid you were going to say.”

“The
catacombs don’t look that bad.”

“Yes,
they do. They’re ancient, dangerous, and probably hexed. There will be bodies
stored in open container units there awaiting the return of their spirits. We
have enough problems without having this to deal with, too.” Talon thrust the
torch at her. “Can you hold onto this and me at the same time? Ride piggyback?”

Saylym
nodded. “Of course. But what are container units?”

Of course
. Talon smothered a groan as he grabbed
hold of the rope and instructed her to lock her arm around his neck. She would
zero in on the one thing that was too complicated to explain to a non-believer.

“It’s a long story, Saylym, and one I don’t have time to
go into with you right now. I need to get you above and mend your injuries.
Let’s get out of here.” He paused a second. “And promise me you won’t come back
down here without me.”

He saw that stubborn, determined tilt to her chin and knew
he was wasting his breath. Hell, he’d follow her to Hades and back if that was
what she wanted. But he didn’t want her down here by herself.

Talon refused to look back at the stone statue. He had a
bad feeling that things were going to get much worse, before they ever got
better.

Chapter
Twenty-Five

Soon after Bridget Bishop’s
trial, Nathaniel Saltonstall resigned from the court. He was dissatisfied with
its proceedings.

~Salem Witch Trials

Early June, 1692

Sanctuary

Mondays
sucked.

Saylym
rubbed her forehead and stifled a moan. The cut above her right eye throbbed
and she discovered clenching her teeth against the steady pain gave little
relief. There was no use giving in to the dull ache pounding behind her eyes.
She had too much to do.

Talon had taken the time to perform his clever magic and
seal the wound. He’d mended her injured wrist, but apparently he didn’t have
the power to remove all the pain, or else he hadn’t thought to do it.

He’d left in a hurry.

She was stiff and sore and could hardly move. Every bone
and muscle ached. She had bruises on top of bruises and muscles that hurt in
places she didn’t even know she had muscles.

Even her jaws ached.

Whoever heard of someone’s jaws aching?

All of this tended to ruin what had started out to be a
perfect Monday. Monday had gone to Hell and now she was in a really rotten
pain-filled mood.

She was furious with Talon for leaving her with this
bloody, awful mess to clean up. He’d promised to fix everything, but instead,
when they reached the surface, he checked her injuries, mumbled a few words, and
quickly left her to her own devices.
Poof!
He vanished into thin air.

What
had been his hurry?

He
hadn’t told her where he was going or when he’d be back.

“Some
witch he is.” She kicked a soggy box out of her path and felt like screaming.
“I’ll fix everything for you,” she mimicked his words.

So
why hadn’t he?

If
he was such a bloody powerful
waken
, why hadn’t he chanted one of his
magical spells or wiggled his fingers, zapped everything with those damnable
sparks, and fixed it all for her?

She wiped down another shelf and felt herself on the verge
of tears.

Oh, but that was a major no-no.

“Witches don’t cry,” she mocked.

Well, she had news for Mr. Princely
Waken
Talon,
this bloody witch bloody-well cried!

Being cold, wet, and hungry didn’t make her feel any
better, either. She caught a glimpse of her face in a mirror and saw that her
mascara was running down her face. It circled her eyes. She looked like a
bloody raccoon! Her hair fell around her face in a tangled mass of damp curls.
Every time she took a step, her shoes squished. She felt like punching
something, and if Talon was here, she just might be tempted to hit him over the
head.

The bell above the shop door tinkled. Great! She sent a
glower in its direction. Couldn’t the mighty
waken
have locked the
bloody door when he left? The last thing she needed right now was a customer
slipping and falling on the wet floor.

Saylym flung down the sopping towel she was using to mop
water off the shelves. “I’m closed!”

Forcing a smile on her face she stepped around the shelf.
As soon as she saw the customer, she felt her smile freeze in place. She didn’t
think she’d ever seen a more beautiful woman than the one who had just
sauntered into the shop.

And saunter was the only word she could think of to
describe the way the older woman walked. She had a lazy-boned way of moving
that exerted little energy. She reminded Saylym of someone. Who?

She
shook her head. Heavens. She’d met so many new people lately; no telling who it
was the woman reminded her of.

Though it looked wildly tousled, every hair on the woman’s
head was in place. It was obviously supposed to look as if a man had just run
his fingers through it.

And here
she
looked like a drowned rat. She knew
her lips were bare of lipstick, and worse, she looked like a corpse with black
rings beneath her eyes.

Dressed
in a burgundy medieval gown bearing a metallic cowl and belt, the woman looked
as regal as a queen.

And
about as haughty.

Saylym
barely kept herself from giving a curtsy.

Uncomfortable with the way the woman looked over the shop
and sneered, Saylym clamped down the nervous urge to fiddle with her wet hair
and slowly lowered her hand. She didn’t owe this woman a thing, and she didn’t
like the way she made her feel, as if
she
was something nasty and smelly.

Impure?

The
word suddenly wrenched at her soul. Maybe everyone here in Sanctuary detested
Impures
.
She’d never seen such revulsion on anyone’s face as the woman suddenly stared
at her with a contemptuous look.

“You’re
an
Impure
,” she said, “how utterly unfortunate for you. No
waken
will ever desire to bond with you. I suppose a warlock may wish to mate with
you but even as evil as they are, I imagine that is doubtful as well.” She
glanced around the shop. “Why, my dear, whatever happened to your quaint little
shop? Leaky faucet?”

Saylym’s hackles rose at the woman’s condescending
bitchiness. It was patently clear that she didn’t give a shit what had happened
and had no intention of purchasing a single item. “Can I help you?” she asked
coolly.

She
really, really disliked this woman.

The
woman smiled, but the ebony eyes lacked warmth.

Saylym
lifted her chin. “I’m afraid I’m not open at the moment. I’ve had an accident
with the sprinklers. Perhaps you could return another day, when things aren’t
so messy?”

The woman shrugged. “I doubt it. I really don’t wish to be
seen anywhere near an
Impure.
The smell, you know. It clings to the skin
if one gets too close.”

“Then,
please, allow me to show you the way out.”

The woman arched a silken brow. “Not quite yet, my dear.
You look like a wet ragamuffin. Pitiful.” She clicked her tongue. “I’m MeLora
Haven. I presume you’re Saylym Winslow?”

“You may presume whatever the hell you like. Do I know
you?”

“Hardly. Why haven’t you used your magic to fix this
mess?”

Saylym
glanced down at her clenched fists and relaxed her hands. It’d be rude to punch
this woman in the nose. She lifted her chin in a stubborn gesture her mum would
have recognized. “I don’t know how. And before you say it…I’m not a witch.”

A
low laugh. “Of course you’re a witch. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be in Sanctuary.”

Saylym
released a long sigh and gave up. “Okay, I’m a witch. But as I’ve been told,
I’m not a very good one.”

“That’s
rather obvious.”

Don’t
punch her. Just calm down, take a deep breath, and whatever you do, don’t punch
her. Bad for business to hit a customer.

“So
do you know how to clean up this mess?”

“Of course, I do.” MeLora laughed, turned and opened the
door. Pausing in the doorway, she gave her a cool smile. “But it is
your
mess, darling. Clean it yourself.”

Saylym swore at the sound of shattering glass.

What had she thrown at the annoying woman?

Oh, no! She’d hurled the expensive crystal ball she’d set
on the counter only a few days ago. Damn it! Couldn’t she have grabbed
something inexpensive to throw at the woman’s head? Like a knife? Scissors?

“Bitch.”

What
in the world had the hateful woman wanted?