Scent of a Witch (12 page)

Bri Clark
is a real example of redemption and renewal.
Growing up penniless in the South, Bri learned street smarts while caring for her brother in a broken home.
She watched her mother work several jobs to care for their small family.
Once her brother could fend for himself, Bri moved on to a series of bad choices including leaving
school and living on her own.

Rebelliousness was a strong understatement to describe those formative years.
As a teenager, her wakeup call came from a fight with brass knuckles and a judge that gave her a choice of shaping up or spending time in jail.
She took that oppo
rtunity and found a way to move up from the streets.

She ended up co-owning an extremely successful construction business.
She lived the high life until the real estate crash when she lost everything.
She moved west and found herself living with her husband and 4 kids in a 900 square foot apa
rtment.
She now fills her time
writing, blogging, leading a group of frugal shoppers
,
and sharing her southern culture.
Her unique background gives her writing a raw sensibility.
She understands what it takes to overcome life’s obstacles.
She often tells friends, “I can do poor.
I’m good at poor. It’s pro
sperity that I’m not used to.”

Bri and her husband Chris live in Boise.
Bri is known as the Belle of Boise for her true southern accent, bold demeanor and hospitable nature.

Bri boasts several positions in the publishing industry. An author, professional reviewer, blogger, and author platform consultant she enjoys all aspects of her career from the creation of story to the branding and marketing needed to make her books successful.

Lucien Lemoine’ couldn’t believe his eyes. The scene before him was so shocking, he wished he could blink and make it go away.

Alistair Cyrille had been Lucien’s loyal second in command in their clan of eternals for two centuries. Unfortunately, the scene before Lucien suggested that he had committed treason. The procreating with other races, specifically mortals, was taboo. “Eternal only mate with eternal” was a law enacted a century ago because the half-breed abominations were unmoral, volatile, and not bound by the same laws and restrictions as a pureblood, thus making them dangerous.

The Mother Goddess created eternals, like all other immortal creatures, in an alternate realm.
Because they
had demonstrated ethical behavior, being allowed to dwell in the mortal realm was their reward. Mortals were one of her adored species. Being weaker than immortal creatures, she would only allow those that were able to exercise obedience and compassion into the mortal realm. The dream realm was a spirit’s prison. There was no taste, no feeling, no joy, no pain, just a realm of pure existence. After coming to the mortal realm, an immortal wanted never to return there. After being without feeling and sense in the dream realm, everything was heightened well beyond a mortal’s capabilities. Taste, touch, smell, strength, speed—all magnified in an immortal af
ter coming to the mortal realm.

A few goddess-favored immortals were gifted with other attributes. Lucien was one. There were only two ways for an immortal to return to the spirit realm. The Mother Goddess sent them back, or the leader of the immortal’s clan could. Going back there was equal to death. Clan leaders reserved this sentence for the most horrendous immortals. It was essentially sending them to purgatory.

Slavatia was the country that made up the mortal realm. A large, centralized forest blanketed by tall, primordial trees surrounded The Triad Mountains—three snowcapped summits—the middle being larger than the two that flanked it. The Triad was untouched by mortals, and most immortals avoided its treacherous peaks and harsh, unpredictable climate. For Lucien, though, it was like coming home. A decade in hiding provided that feeling. There were two roads used for travel. One went through the forest, the other around the outskirts. Travelers used the one that skirted the forest, mainly. A brave few risked going straight through. If they made it, their travel time was cut in half.

Alistair walked among the ranks of the half-mortal half-eternal abominations with the smug superiority of a four star general. Lucien’s heightened senses confirmed his assumption. The men and women were a smell he knew from long ago. The earthy sweet musk of an immortal body combined with the briny smell of flesh and organs. Mortals, as a race, smelled of sweat and tasted salty while their blood smelled like rust, possessing a metallic taste. Their life force permeated the air unlike any other being. While fragile, with no natural defense against the elements, such as fur or claws, or supernatural talents like strength or speed, mortals possess an inner survival that was admirable.

A small army had been created by Alistair
. But why…to accomplish what
? Before Lucien could study out the answer further, someone called the traitor away. Lucien cursed under his breath and left his hiding place to follow Alistair and his cohort. Alistair’s escort matched his steps easily, making them both around six feet even. A slim build was revealed through the gray cloak he wore, but nothing else. They disappeared into a small rock building hidden on the outskirts of an abandoned village. A plague had wiped out the villagers and fear of ghosts kept anyone else from settling. Well, anyone mortal that is.

With the stealth his powers gave him, the blanket of night wasn’t a problem. He approached undetected, yet defensive. Alistair was a pureblood eternal. That alone afforded him his own strengths. Nevertheless, the relationship the two men shared in the spoils of victory to the misery of defeats spanned two centuries. They had a strong bond…or so Lucien had thought. As the events that he had just witnessed challenged their relationship like nothing before, the newest event sealed the absolute betrayal.

Alistair picked up an arrow by the shaft, handling it with care as the metallic gleam of the silver top shined in the fire light. Lucien observed through a hole made by the erosion in the mortar between the stones.

“Are you sure it will completely incapacitate him?” Alistair asked.

“How about a demonstration?” the cohort responded. Then he pulled a bow up and placed the arrow in it. On the other side of the room, bound and gagged, was a vampire. Lucien knew by the iridescent skin and smell of copper or old blood. Lucien didn’t have many enemies, but vampires were one of them.

Vampires and eternals had actually been at war for a century before Lucien negotiated a truce between the clan leaders. Alistair had been infuriated. While Lucien didn’t have any empathy for a vampire, kidnapping and torture definitely went against the treaty terms.
Is that what Alistair wants…to begin the war again?
No, not that.
He wondered what Alistair’s intentions were since vampires and eternals shared a common weakness with silver… Perhaps he was coming up with a defense for his people and wouldn’t subject another eternal to the pain.

The vamp puffed his chest out in defiance as the arrow’s tip aimed at his chest. The bow pulled back and released, lodging in the middle of his chest. His roar of pain filled the small room. His body twitched and jerked, trying to dislodge it.

“That’s right, fight and squirm…release the liquid.” The shooter hissed and grinned. Lucien knew the pain silver caused and never reveled in another’s suffering from its effects—even a vampire.

“How did you keep him restrained to begin with? Vampires are very similar to my species with heighted abilities and superior strength and speed,” Alistair asked.

The shooter answered with a sinister smile. “I already gave him an oral dose of the liquid silver—just enough to make him weak.”

Those two words solidified Lucien’s worst fear that his longtime comrade was a complete traitor. The sudden lack of movement in the corner caught his attention. They inspected the vampire as he sat frozen in place—clenched fists, drawn brows, and flaring nostrils. Alistair circled the vamp. “I can’t believe it! You killed him.”

“No. I didn’t kill him. The rule is still in effect…only his clan leader can ensure his demise. He is simply frozen indefinitely.”

Alistair squealed in delight. He continued to examine the vamp, poking and striking him. “How does it work?”

“The arrowhead is made with a hollow center where the liquid silver is hidden within, and then a small plug is fitted as a stopper. Jagged silver shards are added at the base of the points along the shaft so that when the arrow is pulled out, it releases the silver—or as the victim squirms, the liquid is released.”

The vamp sat in place, still unmoving. “How did you make it?”

“Now, now, if I revealed my methods then you would have no
need of me.”

Alistair stood up abruptly, his previous delight replaced with fury. He quickly recovered his smugness. “It’s the perfect prison. Lucien will never know what hit him.” Spasms of pain erupted in Lucien’s shoulder. It was a pain he knew well—silver. Alistair found Lucien’s eyes and they locked for just a few moments. It was long enough for Lucien to determine his confidant had turned into his greatest enemy. Without another thought, he ran as fast as his superna
tural strength could carry him.

Marie Kincaid
Vermont, NH police station

As I sat among the group of obnoxious youth, I considered my options. I was far away from home, arrested, and without hope of release. This was my third arrest and it was serious. I had stolen a diplomat’s car. My family wouldn’t come to my aide. They hadn’t a clue where I was. Therefore, I would either
be locked up or I could escape.

As the overwhelming force of being cornered enveloped me, that all too familiar cold crept inside and the chilling fear dissipated. All I knew was survival. A pulsing, hidden strength coursed through me, and just before I thought I would come undone, an officer came, wrapped his sausage-like fingers under my arm and pulled me up. He led me down a secluded hallway. At the end to the right was a door. Within it was a man I could only describe as a living serpent…and I loathed snakes.

“Thank you, officer. That’ll be all,” the serpent said as he slyly passed a bill. I stood in the middle of the room motionless, yet I was still unafraid as the snake inspected me. I reciprocated.

He was short with a stocky build. Dark hair with the tiniest hint of salt framed a too-round head.
A long, pointed nose sat high above tight, thin lips. Swampy, green eyes roamed up and down my frame as he continued his inspection, circling me. The chill that had filled me earlier was violently replaced by ice. It moved like a fine mist through me and then solidified into hard shards within my skin. It wasn’t a feeling of pain but of protection. He rounded back to the front of me. Even though I was a girl of sixteen and five foot e
ight inches, he had to look up.

“Yes, yes!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands. His high-pitched voice added to my edginess and I shuffled my feet. “Marie, you’re definite
ly what I’ve been waiting for.”

When I met his eyes, he jerked away and smiled a wicked grin, his beady eyes squinting into thin lines. He sat down behind a desk, crossing his stubby legs and indicated with a finger stump toward a dilapidated folding chair that I sit opposite him. I continued to stand, raising my chin a notch. An intake of breath, the continued smile, and the slight shake of his head communicated his irritated amusement.

His demeanor seemed to change as he looked through the file on his desk. “It seems you’re in a bit of trouble,” he commented as he picked up a paper, read it, and then chuckled. As he cast it aside, I saw my name in bold red ink. “The Ambassador of Egypt’s personal car. That’s no easy feat,” he said. Then the smile vanished and his eyebrow quirked. His fingers threaded together under his chin, conveying pure arrogance. “This is exactly what got my attention. I have a propo
sition for you, Ms. Gallagher.”

The enunciation of the s in Ms. reminded me again of how much I hated snakes. His posture and use of my last name was most likely meant to comfort me but also assert his dominance. I arched an eyebrow in response.

“My name is Abram. I’m a man of many talents and unlimited means.” His fingers came down on the desk in front of him he sat straight up and continued. “One such talent is that I’m never refused. Keep that in
mind as you consider my offer.”

I considered his name instead, after only hearing it once before by my grandfather, the story of a righteous man from the Bible. As I compared the two Abrams I knew this man wasn’t worthy of his namesake.

“You can either do a lengthy jail sentence in an adult prison, which I can assure you the ambassador will pursue, or you can come work for me. You have no family, no money, or friends. Your little cohorts out there ar
e cutting pleas as we speak.”

Cornered again, my relief didn’t come from ice or cold but from the deep growl of a furious Irishman.

“
Marie Aislin Gallagher, where are you?”
Patty, my angry Irish grandfather bellowed. He had learned to yell over the noise of a crowd while in command of the Irish Republican Army. Abram looked toward the door. I bent down low over the desk and forced Abram to meet my eyes. I don’t know what he saw, but he started to sweat, didn’t blink or look away. As I opened my lips, the voice that spoke wasn’t my own but something far beyond me.

“Then let me be the first to oblige you, Abram.” My lips spread into an involuntary smile as deep satisfaction filled m
e. “I refuse.” I said and left.

Walking down the hall toward the sound of my furious Patty’s voice, I knew two things. One, I would never forget the man who called himself Abram because I had never reacted that way with anyone before. And two, facing my Patty was a whole lot better than whatever Abram had planned for me.