The Witch's Thief (10 page)

She suppressed another shiver when she recalled how Drake’s eyes lit at the mention of Basil’s name.

****

When Basil woke the next morning, he noticed two things simultaneously. Julia was no longer wrapped around him in a naked embrace, and it was no longer morning.

The tilt of the sunlight shining unimpeded into his room indicated it was after midday. His growling and aching stomach confirmed it. He squinted his eyes against the sunlight. He could thank his Aunt Petunia for ordering the servants into his bedchamber to open the drapes while he slept. It was her way of telling him he had slept long enough, despite the fact of his over-exhausted journey the previous day.

He held no ill will toward her intentions. It was simply her way.

Basil rose and went about his morning ablutions feeling refreshed and energetic. An odd state, especially after one of his sickly episodes. Usually those lasted for more than a day, sometimes up to a week. They had been occurring for longer lengths, so the brevity of this occurrence surprised him.

Not that he complained. It did make him wonder if the sexual activity he performed late last night had anything to do with this miraculous recovery. If so, he had more to thank Julia for than even she realized.

His hands trembled for a moment, and he glanced at them in alarm. Was it the disease?

No.

He grinned.

The mere thought of Julia made his hands tremble and his heart quicken. He should never have allowed their intimacy last night, but he was a man weakened in heart and soul. Her willing touch soothed an ache inside that he had not known was so deep.

He stood at the door of his bedroom, hand on the knob and hesitated.

How would she react on this day? The day after she lost her virginity.

To him.

Would she blush with happy remembrance? Or would she avoid eye contact with him, embarrassed to have fallen victim to a surge of emotions neither one of them had been prepared for?

Basil sighed.

He loved her.

He’d always loved her.

If things had been different, he’d have married her and had half a dozen babies with her by now.

The thought of children weakened his knees. Children with her gorgeous eyes and curly hair. His chest squeezed painfully. Oh, how he yearned for a family with her.

After taking several deep breaths to control his sudden rampaging emotions, he turned the knob and went out in search of Julia.

The servants led him in several directions. Each had seen her in one room and then another that day. Even Aunt Petunia was certain she’d seen her walking into the conservatory at one point. But, in each room Basil searched he saw no sign of her.

At last, while walking by the drawing room, he heard a muffled curse behind the closed door. He paused, leaning close to listen. A few more oaths and rather loud whispering. Julia’s voice to be sure, but with whom was she speaking?

Basil turned the knob without knocking to alert her of his presence. He didn’t know why he would do something so ungentlemanly, but he let his instinct lead him.

It had never failed before.

The door swung open on quiet hinges and revealed a most peculiar scene. Julia, on her hands and knees, peering under Aunt Petunia’s favorite sofa. Basil’s breath hitched in his chest at the sight of his beloved’s derriere posed invitingly in the air. He paused at the doorway, stunned to find Julia in such a position.

Although he was not surprised by his rather masculine appreciation.

“There’s nothing under here,” Julia proclaimed, and wriggled her bottom again as she swept her hand back and forth.

Basil nearly bit his tongue. His breeches began to feel tight.

“Do you think it might be in another room?” Julia asked.

Did she speak to him? Basil narrowed his eyes as he peered more closely into the room. There was no one else in sight. He opened his mouth to respond, but something alerted her to his presence.

“I know we searched here before, but—wait, what did you say? I did not hear—
oh!
” Julia looked out from beneath the sofa. She must have seen his booted feet standing by the door. She bumped her head as she wriggled out from beneath the sofa to quickly stand and brushed the non-existent dirt away from her skirts.

“I-I-I did not hear you come in,” she stammered, a rosy blush blossoming on her cheeks.

“No, I suppose you did not. You were much too busy in conversation with someone who is no longer present.”

Julia’s gaze darted toward the window. His gaze followed, but he saw no one. When he looked back, she was busy wringing her hands together.

Basil’s eyebrow lifted. During their younger days, he always knew how distressed she was by the way she wrestled with her hands while speaking.

He shoved the door open farther then went to her. He took her clenched fingers into his own and lifted them to his lips. While he placed precise kisses on each of her knuckles, her eyelids fluttered closed, and he found her blushing for another reason. The warmth that spread through him had nothing to do with brandy or wine, but was purely his physical response to Julia Grey.

“Julia,” he said, holding her hands between them. “With whom were you speaking?”

She stiffened.

“No one.”

“Then what were you looking for beneath the sofa?”

She bit her lip and hesitated before saying, “Nothing.”

He tilted his head and grinned. “Why do I feel like Cook when we were children and were just caught sneaking into the pantry to steal sweets?”

Instead of the smile he expected, Julia tugged her hand away from his and took a step back, placing space between them. The gap widened in more than simple physical distance.

He frowned.

“I, ah, misplaced my needlework,” she said, still not looking at his face. Her gaze remained locked on some patch of carpeted floor a few paces away. “I thought I might have left it here.”

Unless she had practiced a great deal, he knew Julia had no talent with a needle. She proved that once when she attempted to mend a tear in his favorite shirt. The shirt was irreparable after her good intentioned efforts.

“Julia,” he said. “What are you looking for? Truly.”

Her gaze wandered over by the window. She shook her head and whispered, “No.”

“No? What do you mean? You do not plan to tell me?”

Her head jerked up in surprise, as if she just realized he stood in the room. “No? I mean…I have no idea. Why you would…that is…why would you think I wasn’t looking for my needlework?” As she stumbled through her excuse with him, her bottom lip trembled.

His heart hammered in his chest. His gut told him something was very wrong.

“Oh, do you know?” she said, raising one farcical finger to tap thoughtfully on her chin. “I do believe I left that needlework in my room. Why do I not go check? Silly of me really to assume I left it here. Yes, yes, it must be there.”

As she babbled, she moved to walk around him, but Basil’s hand jerked out and grabbed her arm, stopping her momentum. She halted, and her gaze flew to his.

“Something is wrong, Julia. Why won’t you tell me?”

She shook her head. A tingle began on the back of his skull, and shivers sluiced through his shoulders. With one hand on her arm, he turned around quickly, looking throughout the room for any intruder. He saw no one. But, he felt…something.

“Basil?”

Basil shrugged, wishing he could brush the eerie sensations away.

“I...” He looked around again, certain his eyes deceived him.

There
was
someone in this room. Someone other than Julia and himself.

“Basil?”

“I feel as though someone is watching me.” He felt foolish to admit such a thing. It appeared obvious to them both that there was no one else in this room, and yet, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

Julia leaned on his arm. He looked over to see her releasing her pent up breath in a huge sigh. Then she focused on something in the center of the room and shook her head infinitesimally.

He looked back and forth between the center of the room and Julia, confused by her reaction to vacant space.

“Julia, what is going on?”

This time when she looked into his eyes, he saw a world of expression. A secret, a devastating secret. Something with which she was reluctant to speak. She wanted to tell him, he could see that plainly with her look of desperation, but something held her back.

The brief moment of vulnerability vanished. She straightened and shook her head.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Basil sighed then turned to look back in the room. He scanned over the furnishings and in the corners, but the sun shone brilliantly, the rays reflecting off of the newly fallen snow to brighten the room so no shadows remained. There was no sign of anyone.

And yet…

Basil closed his eyes. He took a deep controlled breath and grew still. He opened his senses to scan the room, searching for any sign of magical means.

There was spellwork in this room. Strange spellwork. Such as he had never sensed in this house. It left a sour taste in his mouth.

His eyes flew open, and he released Julia’s arm as if stung.

“Julia, what did you do?”

“Nothing!” she cried. A small sob escaped her throat. She fought to control her emotions, but Basil was too busy walking through the room to pay her any more attention.

She scrambled after him, following as he circled the room. “What are you doing?”

He ignored her frantic question. Instead, he blocked out the sound of her voice and raised his arms into the air at his sides, his fingers splayed out as he extended his senses to scan the area. His power eased out, like extensions of his fingertips, stretching into the corners of the room, seeking, searching for the source of the magic he sensed.

It was here. Somewhere.

He had sensed it earlier on his arrival, but being that his aunt and siblings practiced magic on a regular basis he’d never given it a second thought.

This room, however, stank with it. He smelled the odor, something strangely like sulfur…

“A spell has been cast in this room,” he muttered. A strange spell. Odd. A spell he’d never sensed before, something new. It felt
off
in some way he couldn’t explain. Who would be working new magic of this kind in his home? And, in this room in particular. Aunt Petunia worked her spells in the privacy of her rooms upstairs, or sometimes in the gardens, but never in this room. And his siblings each, practiced in their own private settings, places where they could concentrate without the threat of being disturbed. A fairly difficult task with the number of people normally in residence at Merriweather Manor.

He took a step closer to the center of the room where he sensed a surge of power. He shivered as coldness seeped into his skin. It wrapped around his arm, sinking into his flesh, right down to the bone.

This was not right. The magic in his house was always full of warmth and gentleness. Goodness and love.

This magic chilled him to the bone. His heart skipped a beat. There was fear, terror, pain.

This spell was full of darkness.

He stopped walking.

“Julia,” he whispered in horror. “You’re using black magic?”

Chapter Six

“No!” Julia said, aghast that he would think such a thing. “I never use black magic. Never!”

And it was true. In truth, she wasn’t very magical at all. She didn’t possess very strong talent. Though she practiced every day, as did they all since childhood, Julia had never succeeded with advanced spells. Her power remained with parlor tricks and simple kitchen spells.

It had never bothered her. She got along quite happily with her small amount of power. It pleased her to help Mrs. Prescott with her garden magic, assisting with the growing of plants and herbs that she used for her kitchen spells.

Power was never what Julia desired.

Until Drake arrived.

Then she desired the necessary power to protect her family.

“Tell him, Julia!” Marianne screamed from the center of the room.

“I cannot!” Julia yelled back to her sister. She clenched her fists as Marianne waved her hands at Basil, desperately seeking his attention, his awareness. Somehow he had sensed her, sensed the power of the magic done to her, of Drake’s curse, but Basil did not know Marianne stood in front of him.

He did not see her.

“I should hope you cannot,” Basil said, taken aback by Julia’s sudden outburst. “Black magic is not to be trifled with. It’s dangerous. It will mark your soul in a manner that cannot be undone.”

Julia whimpered with frustration. When she spoke to her sister, Basil thought she answered him. She should be accustomed to hearing her sister make remarks and not being able to answer back for fear everyone think her crazy or ask too many questions. Her sister had been cursed for over six months now. And no one in this house knew of their dilemma. She kept it secret for all this time.

All she needed was that spellbook! All of her problems could be fixed with one of the Merriweather grimoires.
Which one?
All Drake wanted was one blasted spell. If she could find the book that contained the necessary spell, he would set her sister free, and all would be well.

“We need help!” Marianne pleaded, tears coursing down her cheeks. “He can help us! Basil can save us!”

Julia silently shook her head in response. She dared not speak to her sister again. Not while Basil stood in the room watching.

Marianne let out a howl of protest and slapped at Basil’s arm. He shivered in response and glanced around, searching for the source of the cold air that just assaulted him.

And he would find none.

No one could see Marianne.

No one but Julia…and Drake.

“Julia!
Julia!
Please! I beg you!” Marianne continued to sob, and Julia’s heart wrenched to see her sister struck so low. Julia’s fingers quaked. She clenched and unclenched her fists. She clenched her fingers, grasping and twisting them with each hand.