9781618851307WitchsBrewShayNC (9 page)

Oh yes, they were a pair.

Waken
,
indeed.

If
she wasn’t careful, they’d be sharing straightjackets!

Chapter Four

Although Osborne and Good
maintained their innocence, Tituba confessed to seeing the Devil who appeared
to her “sometimes like a hog and sometimes like a great dog.” But worse, Tituba
testified that there was a conspiracy of witches at work in Salem.

 
~Salem Witch Trials

Late-February, 1692

Page Entry…

Five
hundred years had passed since Leyla accepted the throne. They were lonely
years for the queen. She was quickly approaching the age past her child bearing
years. In urgent need to produce an heir, she took a risk the following Beltane
and bonded with the waken known as Zoman.

On All
Hallows’ Eve, Leyla gave birth to her first child, a son, Kran.

To the
witches’ consternation and disbelief, Zoman immediately proclaimed Kran heir to
the witches’ throne.

~Pages of
history from the Winslow witches.

In the
Year of Samhain, 800

Sanctuary

Saylym
finished counting the cash for the day. What a strange day it’d turned out to
be. A tiny frown creased her brows as she stared at a ragged, unfamiliar bill
in her hand. Someone had slipped her a ten dollar bill with the face of an old
crone engraved on it. She shook her head. She would have to pay closer
attention or get one of those counterfeit pens and check each bill.

She assumed she could trust the people in Sanctuary unless…

Her thoughts trailed away as a thought sprang to mind.
Perhaps Sanctuary had its own money and she was making change back to the
customers with the wrong money. Crap! She hadn’t thought of that, but since
everything else was crazy—no, she had to stop thinking like that. Everything
else wasn’t crazy–just her.

The bell over the door chimed its sweet melody. Although
she’d closed the shop fifteen minutes earlier, she’d given Talon a key to the
front door since the only entrance to his apartment was through the shop. She
looked up and smiled. The smiled faded when she took in his rugged appearance.

Good grief! He was covered with a layer of grime,
garage-floor type grime. The black leather pants were replaced by a pair of
ragged, faded jeans. A blue cambric shirt rippled across wide shoulders, ripped
in a few places and missing buttons. The shirt fell apart and revealed a small
patch of dark, curly hair covering a nicely toned body. Darn if he didn’t look
almost normal…for a
waken.

He gave her a bright grin, that tiny dimple flashing at
the corner of his mouth. Shutting the door behind him, he flipped the closed
sign back in place. “I bought a house just outside the border of Sanctuary a
few weeks ago, a fixer-upper, but worth it. I like working with my hands. It
gives me a sense of accomplishment, as if I’m not wasting the life given to me.
Does that make sense?”

Saylym blinked, wondering how his callused hands would
feel on her. Callused? She couldn’t imagine a prince doing manual labor, but
the solid proof stood before her in scruffy work boots. What was it he said to
her, something about making sense? “Uh…yeah. Sure. It makes perfect sense.
That’s why I have my own business.”

He brushed at the sawdust in his hair. “Oops, sorry,” he
apologized, when the shavings of wood drifted onto her clean floor.

Saylym gave a careless wave, indicating it wasn’t a
problem. She couldn’t answer. She wasn’t sure she could keep the lust out of
her voice. Best to concentrate on the money, but she couldn’t resist eyeing his
rear with silent appreciation when he walked past her. Nice bum. Her gaze
followed his butt across the shop to the staircase. Tight buns. Bloody hell,
didn’t the man have any flaws?

Well, of course he did. He thought he was a witch. He was
nuts! How could she forget that itty-bitty defect? She swallowed, forcing
moisture down her dry throat. It seemed to take forever for her tongue to come
unstuck from the roof of her mouth. She licked her lips. “Er—”

“What?” His right boot rested on the bottom stair. He
paused and looked over his shoulder, lifting a silky brow.

Saylym locked the cash register and grabbed her purse.
Sliding the strap onto her shoulder, she edged around the counter. “Uh…there’s
this old lady who lives next door to me…well she’s in front of senile. Delusional.
Very delusional. But harmless, unless you count the bright colors she wears
that practically blind one.”

“Delusional?”

“She
thinks she’s a witch.”

“Thinks?”
He arched both brows as he
turned to face her, giving her a glimpse of that cute dimple. A look of
incredulity spread across his face. “Thinks? Huh. Imagine that.”

Saylym shrugged and hurried on with her speech.
“Tomorrow’s her birthday, and there’s a new pastry shop next door, Sugar-N-Spice.
I thought I’d stop there and buy Miss Eldora a cake. Maybe help her celebrate
her birthday tonight because I have to work on my accounts tomorrow night.” She
hesitated, starting again after clearing her throat. “I thought since you’re
new in town and…forget it…it’s a silly idea.”

Talon nodded his head. “You’re inviting me to a party? I’d
love to come with you. I love delusional, senile, old witches, especially ones
who prefer bright colors to drab black.”

“I’m not asking you for a date or…or anything like that,”
Saylym explained.

Bloody hell! She should have just kept her mouth shut. She
didn’t want him getting any wrong ideas or thinking she was hot for him or something.

“Perish the thought,” he replied, his lips twitching.

She blinked. If she didn’t know better, and from the
roguish twinkle in his eyes, she’d think he just read her mind. “I don’t know
if you’d call it a party, exactly. Eldora doesn’t even know I planned this for
her at the last minute, but yes, I’m inviting you.”

“Give me a minute to change clothes.” He whirled, raced up
the stairs, yelling over his shoulder, “Don’t leave without me.” The apartment
door slammed.

He returned almost instantly.

“You take your clothes off quick.” Saylym gasped, aghast
at what she’d blurted. “I-I mean…fast shower…er fast hands…quick change
artist.”
Shut-up, Saylym!

But the silent order didn’t stop the word ‘magic’ from
whispering through her head.

“Er…
waken
.”
A curious expression flitted across his face as he eyed at her. “Remember?”

“Of course,” she replied sweetly. “How remiss of me to
forget.”
There’s no such thing as magic.
She rolled her eyes and hummed
softly beneath her breath. Talon stepped in front of her, leading the way. Not
only did her next door neighbor have delusions of being a witch, but her tenant
believed he was a male witch, a
waken,
as he preferred to call himself.

Were
they both psychotic? Yep. But who was she to judge when she heard a book talk
and saw a brush climb out of her toilet? What did that make her? Ah, well. With
her inherited streak of insanity, she fit right in with him.

Saylym
linked her arm through Talon’s. “So, how many delusional, senile, old witches
have you known?”

“None.”
He grinned. “But I know I’ll love her anyway.”

“You’re
so easy,” she snickered.

He gave her a slow, sideways smile melting her with the
promise of things to come. “Anytime you want to find out just how easy, let me
know,” he said huskily.

Saylym swallowed. The sudden awareness of his body close
to hers left her breathless. She cleared her throat. “Let’s go,” she said
feeling the flush of heat staining her cheeks.

He pushed open the door to the pastry shop. Saylym thought
she heard him say, “All I have to do now is get my
Futhar’s
approval.”

She shook her head. Now she knew she was losing it.
Futhar?
Why would he need an owl’s approval to like her? She’d probably misunderstood.
He must have said father. Yes, that was probably it. The son of a king would
need his father’s approval, but to do
what?

Saylym stifled a moan. Bloody hell! She didn’t have a clue
as to what conclusions her mind was leaping to. Her thoughts jumped to and fro
like a crippled spider racing to its web.

Yup.
She’d inherited a wide streak of insanity but for now, it was going to remain
her little secret.

The
pungent aroma of assorted spices filled the Sugar-N-Spice pastry shop. It was
enough to make one weep. Saylym strolled up and down the aisles savoring the
rich scent of vanilla and chocolate permeating the air. The heady fragrances
mingled with the aromatic smell of cinnamon. Yummy. Her mouth watered.

She held the special candle for the cake in her hand,
searching for just the right treat for Eldora. Finally, Saylym stopped in front
of a shelf burdened with a range of different sized and individually wrapped
cakes.

“Here
it is. Perfect.”

She snatched a vanilla frosted cake with black cats and
bats edging the border of the frosting. “This is perfect since she believes
she’s a witch.”

Talon
blinked at her as if she’d lost her mind.

She
ignored him and lifted one edge of the covering to push the single candle
through the sticky frosting.

“How old is your old lady?” he asked.

“She tells me twenty thousand,” she deadpanned. “I say
she’s not a day over fifteen, give or take a few thousand years.”

“Ah,
one candle makes perfect sense.”

“Yeah.” Saylym snickered. “I wouldn’t want her exhausting
herself trying to blow out all those flames.” She handed her selection to the
young woman patiently waiting behind the register. “Hi. I’m Saylym Winslow from
the shop next door.”

The
young clerk smiled and pushed back a heavy mass of thick, dark hair. “Hannah
Miller. I’m filling in for my partner today. Kirrah’s my best friend.” Her
smile wavered. “You sort of resemble her. There’s something about your bone
structure and lips, only Kirrah has red hair and green eyes.”

“Oh?
Maybe I’ll stop by sometime when she’s here and say hello.”

“She’d
like that. She and I moved here about three months ago. She’ll be sorry she
missed you. She hasn’t had time to make new friends.” Hannah rang up the sell.
“Six dollars, please.”

Saylym handed the clerk the money. She bit her tongue to
keep from asking if a little old man in a taxi provided them with rings to
Sanctuary. Nope, she wasn’t going there. She wasn’t about to spread the news
she was crazy. She’d ask something that made more sense. “Did you and your
friend drive here?”

“Yes,
we did,” Hannah replied. “A lovely drive.”

Saylym
shivered. Well, that proved it! She
was
nuts. She must have imagined the
old cab driver, the ring, the whole bit. She’d chosen Sanctuary and here she
was. No matter how she got here, it was home.

For a long moment, she chewed on her bottom lip. “And
where did you say your friend is now?”

“Kirrah?
Oh, she’s having trouble with her take-offs and landings.”

Saylym
felt her smile fade. “Oh?”

“I think she’s somewhere teaching her besom the proper
technique of flying.”

“Besom?”

“Witch’s
broom,” Talon supplied, giving her one of those strange looks he had the habit
of flashing her at times.

Saylym
nodded her head at Talon. “Uh…right.” Her breath caught in her lungs. “Proper
technique for a…er…besom?” She could have bitten off her tongue.
Curiosity
killed the cat!
Why couldn’t she just leave it alone and ignore the things
said to her?

Hannah lowered her voice, nodding. “Too many
loop-de-loops. Makes her sick to her stomach.”

“Ah.” Saylym gave a nervous laugh. It must be a
conspiracy. Everyone was into the witch thing these days. “I’m sorry I missed
her. Tell her to come over to my shop and get acquainted sometime.”
Or not.
Please, not.

The
last thing she needed in her life was another ditzy person believing in
witches.
Besoms,
for pity’s sake.
Flying brooms. Yes, sir, they perched right up there with a hairbrush crawling out
of the commode.

Hannah’s deep blue eyes lit up. “I will. And tell your
friend, happy birthday.” She slid the cake into a pink box, then turned her
gaze on Talon.

“This
is Prince Talon, my tenant,” Saylym said by way of introduction.

A faint blush stained Hannah’s cheeks. “Prince? A real
prince?”

Saylym grinned, knowing exactly how she felt. A woman was
simply no match for a man claiming to be a prince, especially one who oozed raw
sex appeal from every pore in his muscular body and had killer dimples too. “So
he says. But just between you and me, he also claims
he’s
a witch.” Saylym tapped her forehead with a finger, lowering
her voice in much the same way Hannah had. “I think it’s in the water.”

“Lord,
let’s hope so,” Hannah replied, snickering.

“Nice to meet you,” Talon said, raising Hannah’s hand to
his mouth and pressing a light kiss to the top of it. His smile vanished and in
its place, a dark scowl lined his face. His lips curled with revulsion and his
eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.

Saylym felt blindsided. The man who claimed to be a male
witch suddenly looked as if he’d tasted a slug.
Now what?

*
* * *

Illumrof!

Talon recoiled, his insides curdling with distaste. The
female was one hundred percent
illumrof
. He dropped Hannah’s hand and instinctively
backed away a step.