Coffin Girls (Elegantly Undead: Book 1 of the Coffin Girls Witch Vampire Series) (15 page)

The myriad of questions she was about to bombard them with
was effectively dismissed when her sisters entered the room. Faces anxious,
they cautiously approach the bed, Miss Suzette carrying a groaning tray laden
with both nasty-smelling remedies and irresistible, her version of curative
Cajun food. 

Anais lay on her back with closed eyes and tried to focus on
the spell being cast by Conall’s sisters. They’d said it so often, it was
starting to become like one of those catchy songs you disliked but that got
stuck in your head the more you heard it.

We
call on the gate of the East,

With
your Air comes release

We
call on the gate of the West,

With
your Fire burn what is bound with zest

We
call on the gate of the South,

Let
Water wash away what is loath

We
call on the gate of the North,

With
Earth bury the bindings so she may go forth

Goddess
we ask of thee,

Help
us set her magick free,

What
was sealed is now released

What
was bound now is freed

As
we will, so mote it be

“Enough!” Anais dragged in long breaths of air, daring her
heart to stop pounding. She felt as though she’d literally been put through the
wringer – it was becoming an unwelcome theme in her life lately. She took in
her sweat-drenched loose summer dress. For once, the Louisiana heat wasn’t
responsible for the perspiration, hours of working at unbinding her magick
were. She’d been at it nearly non-stop for the past two days and even her
vampire stamina was being tested by the endurance the witch magick required.
Drat Conall for being right when he warned her!

As soon as the three sisters had arrived, they’d begun
working at unbinding the magick. After today, she was beginning to doubt that
there was any magick to unlock, except that the three sisters had confirmed
what Conall had said and then there was the lack of explanation as to why she
did not follow the usual vampire’s nocturnal pattern of living and instead
followed that of a human, etc. etc., she thought churlishly.

Eyes challenging, she looked at her three tormentors when
she came around the screen into the main part of the small room. “I need a
break, a human one. I need to catch my breath, freshen up, have a glass of iced
tea and sleep!” She realised that she was shouting and lowered her voice,
willing herself to ignore the knowing smirk coming from Cruella, the name she’d
secretly given to Conall’s one sister. She was a beautiful red-haired witch
with blue eyes like her brothers and strong, bold features that told of past
times as a warrior. The witch was also a slave-driver.

It dawned on Anais that it made their practice ground all
the more appropriate. They were in one of the slave quarters that had not yet
been converted into accommodation. The dwelling had been ear-marked for the
second phase of the restoration of the slave homes and dwellings that littered
the far right side of the plantation estate. As the wedding and event business
grew, they were steadily converting building on the plantation to accommodation
to serve the needs of their growing customer base. The dwelling was a relic
from Anais’ early days in New Orleans when she had arrived as an anxious bride
all the way from Rouen in France. Anais shrugged away the memories of her shock
at how her late husband had abused the slaves – especially the women and young
girls.

The slave quarters, a rickety wooden structure on stilts
with a simple, small porch, had instead been transformed into a witches lair.
Or her torture chamber, reflected Anais. It was now a warm room, filled with
magickal energy, furnished with a magickal relics and tomes brought over from
Ireland by the witch sisters. Miss Suzette had insisted on cleansing the
dwelling alongside the sisters before Anais could set a foot inside it. The result
was that voodoo gris-gris merrily mingled with witch tools of the trade in
fascinating harmony. 

Enormous wax candles, conjured by magic, flickered pure and
bright in between the sisters, illuminating their surreal beauty in the bayou
night. They were beautiful, Anais acknowledged and they had admirable hearts -
they had come from their home, half way across the globe so that they could
assist her. 

“Ah, so I’m not Cruella so much then.” Fianna looked
squarely at Anais her blue eyes, a replica of her brothers, sparkling like
moonlight on the Mediterranean at night, her rosy lips pulled tight as she
fought the laughter knocking at her it.

Sheepishly, Anais guiltily inclined her head in apology at
the red-headed witch. “I’m sorry. I know you’re only helping me but it is
frustrating to not have achieved anything yet” Drat! She’d forgotten that these
were powerful witches who could read minds and were probably reading her mind
now too!

At that thought, Fianna burst out laughing, unable to
contain it a moment longer. “I push hard. I know this, so don’t be worrying
about taking it out on me. I want you to.” At Anais’ bewildered look, Fianna
continued, “Any witch facing the unbinding of her magick needs courage and you
have a more binding spell than any we’ve ever seen. You will need that fire
that you throw at me but you need to throw it at the binding, not me.”

“Thanks,” Anais responded sarcastically.

“I can see why my brother’s carrying a torch for you,”
laughed Ida, flipping her golden locks over her shoulder so they cascaded down
her flowing yellow and gold dress, melting into it. Their laughter rolled out
at Anais’ blush.

“And there’s our answer. Our newest member has feelings for
our Conall too.” Ida observed.

“Aye, that she does. And I think she’d be feeling tired
too!” Brigid cut her a break. She tipped her head in Anais’ direction, her riot
of glossy brown curls swaying in sync to the movement of her head, an
enchanting contrast to the cerulean blue dress that she wore. “She’s had all
that she can take today. And so have we. We should go rest and start afresh at
dawn.”

“I agree,” quipped Ida. “We all need to rest. Not just
Anais. I feel like we’re going around in circles here. I will seek guidance in
sleep. Perhaps a visit to the Goddess will shed some light.”

“You visited the Goddess in your dreams last night, Ida and
she was as cryptic as ever.” Fianna reminded her sister gently. “Do you think
she’ll be more forthcoming tonight?”

“Maybe,” shrugged Ida in response, “maybe not… but a try is
worth it.” 

Anais observed the triplets. They were a strange unit of
differing looks and personalities that melded together naturally; like her and
her vampire sisters. Anais knew that vampire magick enhanced their human born
looks and rendered them beautiful. Witch magick must have the same effect
because the sisters were breath-taking. Fianna was all fire and courage, a
woman as bold and fiery as the deep, red of her hair. Conall had told her that
Fianna had the power to influence all living and dead creatures, though not
undead. She had a warrior’s strength and vigor, a testament to her lineage.
Brigid was warm, compassionate and invitingly maternal. She could control all
four of the elements strongly and equally well. This in itself, she’d learnt,
was a rarity and a gift Brigid had inherited from the line of royal witch
sisters that had been part of the triplets they descended from. In contrast
(and much like her Sophie, Anais mused) Ida embodied etherealness. She
possessed the ability to travel in other planes, other supernatural worlds and
could perform a long list of mind-witch magick that made Anais gape in awe.

Their conversation about contacting the Goddess was drawing
to a close. Anais inwardly breathed a sigh of relief, happily anticipating the
crisp, cool sheets that lined her bed. “
Merci
, see you at dawn.”

“Not so fast, Anais,” Brigid halted her before she could
step out of the circle. “We need to open the circle.”

“Sorry, forgot.” Anais slumped back down in the middle of
the circle. God, will this day ever end? She was so tired that she’d completely
forgotten about the knife, or athame, as they referred to the blunt, antique
knife with its black handle carved with ancient Celtic writings. Though she
tried to, she could barely concentrate as the sisters, in chorus, thanked the
God and Goddess and elements and used the athame to cut the circle open. As
soon as it was done, she mumbled her thanks and she hurried out the door before
they changed their mind.

Conall was sitting on the steps of the slave cabin, waiting
for her as he’d been the previous night. He said that he was lingering nearby
just in case he was needed to help his sisters. Anais did not believe his white
lie. She smelled the desire coming off him in waves whenever she neared him,
felt his blood quicken and with vampire senses could feel the blood rush to
concentrate in the vicinity of his crotch. The mental images that bit of
knowledge conjured were tantalizing.

Ida traipsed past her while she stood on the porch, looking
down at Conall. The impish witch leaned over and not bothering to whisper,
teased Anais, “Crotch is called gobhal in Gaelic. And many a women have swooned
over his at home too. You might want to give it a try.”

Embarrassed, a turkey-red Anais a retort slipped out, “Stop
reading my mind.” She then blushed harder when she realised that she’d said it
out loud and in front of Conall.

Ida laughed, enjoying Anais’s tell-tale signs of interest in
her brother. “I didn’t have to read your mind, Anais. You’re broadcasting your
lust as surely as he is. My brother is being uncharacteristically slow about
this, so you should do something about it.” At her brother’s scowl, Ida quickly
retreated before he could retaliate and joined her other two sisters on their
way to the big house. They would hit the kitchen as soon as they could; magick
seemed to make them ravenous.

 “Sisters! They are wonderful at times but mostly serve
to irritate me. Just ignore her, Anais. She’s teasing us.” Conall came up to
the top step and pulled Anais down next to him.

Still tired from the magickal torture she’d just been
through and embarrassed by Ida’s teasing, she caved and sat beside him. It was
as comforting as it had been the previous evening when he’d sat and listened to
her rag on about the unbinding spells, potions and the other magickal
activities his sisters had thrown her way.

He whisked out a bottle of bourbon and poured her a glass.
“I figured you’d be having a need for this.”

“
Merci
, it’s very thoughtful of you. I appreciate
what they’re doing, but your sisters are hard task-masters.”  Anais tipped
her head, raking her gaze over him.  He was sending off masculinity in
waves. Swallowing a mouthful of the bourbon, she watched him sip at the
whiskey, or Irish as he called it. He was fond enough of the drink that his
sisters had brought him a few bottles from his homeland.

“They are,” he acknowledged, “I should know, I trained with
them as a child. But despite their ‘tough-love’ approach, they really do care.
More than most.”

As do you, Anais noted. He had gone from cautious enemy to
trusted friend in a few short days. He didn’t spin words to gain her trust, he
showed her through his actions. Like sitting with her on a summer’s night, the
sounds of the bayou around them, listening to her complain about her current
situation like an ungrateful brat.

Maybe she was just tired and needing the comfort of physical
touch or maybe she was sick of battling the urge to jump his bones every time
she saw him lately or maybe it was the kindness and friendship he had started
offering her despite his evident desire to take things further that tugged at
her. The tugging finally gave way to courage and Anais felt that it was time to
unbind their sexually stuck situation.

She moved slowly, without standing, sliding over the steps
and turned until she was facing him, her body barely an inch from his. His
desire flared just as hers did.  Breathing in the musky scent, she looked
at him; not bothering to hide the lust, reflecting red in her eyes – he had
said that red was becoming his favorite color, she recollected.

Conall gulped down the whiskey, feeling the fire burn a path
down his throat and another burn a path to his groin. This was an invitation
that was long overdue and he wasn’t about to turn it down.  He’d been
panting after her like a dog in heat since that kiss by the river. Despite the
air of fragility she carried with her lately, she was as desirable as she’d
been when he’d first laid eyes on her. Even more so, he thought, as she showed
immense strength in her efforts to undo the magickal binding that plagued her.
He’d seen a few witches go through it in his time and all of them had been more
irritable, more grumpy and a hell of a lot harder to be around. He’d expected
her to snap hours ago but she’d remained steadfast. It only made him want her
more.

Anais leaned into Conall and gently brushed her lips over
his. The sensation of first contact let out an involuntary groan. Taking full
advantage, Conall pulled her closer, devouring her mouth as though it was his
last meal. He relished every taste, lick and sensation as the scent of her
desire rose and assaulted him. It smelled like jasmine and sex.

Her breasts were crushed against his chest, the thin cotton
of her dress inadequate to prevent the heat of those luscious curves from
burning into his chest. Hungrily, Anais sat on his lap and to his delight,
returned his passion, their tongues dancing an age-old battle of want as they
fell into the embrace. Arms held, hands felt. Soft and hard. Hair, skin, the
feel of his cleanly shaved jaw, the smoothness of her cheek, contrasted, was
felt and nibbled.  The evidence of his desire grew as Anais straddled him
and they began to grind going deeper into the kiss.