Scent of a Witch (4 page)

Fionn was dressed in five minutes and heading to the stables by seven. The
power of dark auras w
ere
prevalent in the air. It was All Hallows Eve and a full moon
, t
wo potent ingredients for the good and evil of the Craft. Folklore and rumor speculated that power was lost at midnight
.
In
truth, it was at its epitome then, only to be repressed by dawn’s light.
Maeve was up to something…something big. While he wanted to lock her in the cellar of the powerfully warded home of her grandparents, instinct told him to stick by her. He had sensed strong spells of protection against anything evil approaching the home, and wondered who had taken the care to cast them.

As he approached the stables,
he saw her.
Maeve stood at the threshold. Fionn marveled at how truly lovely she was
,
a vision in the light of the full autumn moon. The ivory expanse of her shoulders seemed to glow beneath the moonbeams. Her hair wasn’t smooth by any means but somewhat tamed into larger curls that were loosely pinned on top of her head. The smell of manure and hay offended Fionn’s nose and he won
dered why they were even there.

“Can you ride, immortal?”
she
asked
,
a
curl bouncing
off of her shoulder as she cocked her head to the side. Another surp
rising grin tugged at his lips.

“Aye, lass.” He eyed the saddled white
mare painted with black spots.

“The stable boy saddled him before he left for the day. The roads are shut down this late for tourists, trick-or-treaters, and to keep the drunks from the main part of town.” Once again, a subtle hint that she was late because of him, yet not once had she thanked him for saving her. He mounted the sturdy horse, enjoying the feel of being back in a saddle. Fionn preferred the older means of transporta
tion to the modern automobiles.

He extended his hand to Maeve an
d she dazzled him with a smile.

“And what is your name, kind sir, before we begin this evening?”
she
asked. Fionn was astounded at the transformation that occurred with a simple smile. No longer appearing tensed and hurried, Maeve more closely resembled one of the Belles of the South she masqueraded as tonight. Much worse, she sounded just the same with the gent
eel
speech of a lady anchored by
her unique Gaelic lilt.

“Fionn. Fionn Hughes, my lady.” It was as if an unseen force struck her. If he hadn’t been holding her, she would have fallen back. The smile faded, replaced by sadness, then fear. She tried to pull away but he was stronger…much stronger. With one tug, he gathered her up, side-saddled skirts, petticoats and all
,
into his embrace, and kicked the horse into a c
anter toward Carton Plantation.

Silence filled the air between them as she sat
stiff and unmoving in his arms.

“Why so upset lass?” Fionn whispered in her ear as the wind blew the smell of Honey
s
uckles in his face.

“Remember your promise…no answers until after midnight.” She reminded him again wi
thout turning her eyes his way.

“If you will permit me the pleasure ma’am, you are the bonniest la
ss I have seen in a long time.”

She jerked around meeting his gaze and what Fionn saw wasn’t anger or fear. It was pain…soul-touching sadness that went straight to his heart. Never had he felt so bad for calling a lass bonnie.

“What did you say?”
s
he asked softly.

“I said you were the bonniest…” Before he could finish delicate fingers pressed his lips into silence. Fionn stifled a moan but his grip on the reins stopped the horse as desire surged starting
from his lips to grip his body.

Unshed tears glistened in her slanted eyes. “No one has said those words to me since my Patty
,
”
s
he explained
,
jerking her fingers back as if sh
e forgot they were still there.

“What happened to your grandparents, lass?” Fionn asked, knowing they’d died in what the mortal world reported as an accident, but rumors of foul pl
ay abounded among the Witchery.

The softness that had leaned into him while she was sad grew strong and taut. Her feline eyes narrowed and the proud features of her face-hardened. “Found by immortal trackers, like you…then murdered.”

Fionn closed his eyes and cursed before kicking the horse’s flank into a gallop until they reached Carton House. The lass was in much more danger than he’d suspected. While he would love to throw her over his shoulder and head home he knew not one question he asked would be answered until 12:01a.m.

As it turned out, their late arrival allowed them the good fortune of not being officially announced, as had been the practice during the era the dance mimicked. The ball was thoroughly underway and the participants had indulged in drink. With Fionn constantly by her side, Maeve didn’t get a chance to try to clear her mind. Oh, how she longed to take a deep breath, but couldn’t because of the cursed und
erwear.

The period band began to play a waltz just as a chilling breeze blew between the flaps of the open doors of the white tent. While the tent itself was far from authentic, the curators of the estate refused to allow the Halloween gala to be held in the house. That alone suggested to Maeve that the owners suspected something more than
just an old-fashioned haunting.

In truth, Carton Plantation was a fertile field of paranormal activity. It wasn’t just the multitude of deaths or the age of the estate. It was the nexus that hid beneath the old home, which only awakened when All Hallows Eve was lit by a full moon. A power Maeve would tap into at midnight in order to go back in time and fix the
mistakes her grandparents made.

Glancing down at the modern day wristwatch she wore, she noted the time to be fifteen minutes until midnight. And while everything seemed to be going well, Maeve knew a lot could happen in fifteen minutes. The aura and power of darkness weighted the air. With each pump of her heart, weariness grew stronger. A heaviness in the air caused her to feel a sensation like being drugged. But it was no drug…it was power. The guiding force at the sm
all of her back grounded Maeve.

Then the familiar muscled arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her much too close for propriety.
“All right, lass. I know we said midnight but you and I both know that something stirs in the air. A great many somethings, and they all seem to be gathering around this celebration. How
about you tell me why that is?”

He spoke into the hollow of her ear with their faces cheek to cheek
,
guiding her around the floor in an easy progressive waltz. The heat this immortal awakened in her
was
a distraction she couldn’t afford. For now, the best thing to do was lead him along where she needed to be because
,
after midnight
,
he couldn’t follow.

“The strongest one approac
hes…better tell me now, sweet.”

“Guide us as close to the band as you can
,
where
there is a small opening behind the right back corner of the stage. From there, follow me and I’ll explain everything when we are hidden.” The smell of rotten apples and burned flesh permeated the air. Maeve
almost fainted in Fionn’s hold.

“He’s here
,
”
she
whispered just as they ducked out of the tent. As soon as cool
,
clear air hit Maeve, she gathered her skirts and took off for the main house at a sprint. Running at an impossible speed, Fionn caught Maeve up and kept going. The wind whipped at her face as they traveled. M
aeve had ridden in slower cars.

“The cellar…”
s
he said. The wind created by his inhuman velocity thrust the words back down her throat but she managed to point to a set of wooden doors along the east side of the main house. He wasn’t even winded when he set her down, but she had no time to spare him a glance. Instead, she pulled a bobby pin out of her hair and set about picking the padlock. At the sound Fionn made low in his throat, Maeve finally looked up. He only glared at her with a thick arched brow raised
,
then ripped th
e lock and hinge from the wood.

“Well
,
we can’t all have eternal strength can we?”
she
clipped, stepping into the dark stairwell and snapping her fingers where a
light appeared above her palm.

“You could have a great deal from me, lass,” he r
esponded bringing her up short.

Turning around, Maeve studied the immortal tracker, Fionn Hughes. Here stood the same type of tracker that had killed her beloved family, the same clan that
might have
betrayed her grandparents. Could it be he was flirting with her? The darkened brown of his eyes showed desire, the shortness of his breath hinted lust, but without the smell she could never know for sure. That was the defense the trackers had against a Scent Witch. Every magical/unnatural being had a distinct smell. Except a tracker, which made them the perfect magical assassins. She recovered the few steps that separated them, staring up into his eyes as the reaction of his w
ords exploded out of her mouth.

“All I ever wanted was to stay hidden in my dearly loved history books, traveling the world, exploring the ruins of long ago, correcting the mistakes of mankind’s recorded history. Then to be able to come home here to my beloved South…to ride bareback and run barefoot across the fields with my Patty. To bake bread and sew with my
g
ranny. That was what I had and all I ever wanted and now it’s gone. Because of trackers like you.” S
he stopped abruptly with a sob.

Angry with herself for letting him goad her into almost revealing her plans, Maeve tried to calm herself. Unable to breathe deep she opted for small even breaths. But seeing the dark brown of desire change to a warmer caramel almost made her feel guilty. Without another word, she turned and easily maneuvered the steep cellar step
s. Fionn followed close behind.

Dead set on what had to be done Maeve was unashamed revealing the arsenal of weapons that hid beneath her skirts. She may be dressed for a time where it was deemed acceptable to bare cleavage and the tops of shoulders but scandalous to show an ankle or foot but that wasn’t her. Strapped to one leg was a holster
, and
in it a dagger and two silver knives. On the other, a small brown sack hung. Unable to hold her skirts and bend forward enough to reach her supplies Maeve sil
ently looked to Fionn for help.

A satisfied smirk settled in place as he kneeled before her. It was a bit disconcerting that Maeve had anticipated everything and it would have been the restriction of underwear that ruined it all, that
is if Fionn hadn’t been there.

His fingertips brushed along her inner thigh as he untied the small bag, and Maeve’s breath caught. It shouldn’t have been possible for her skin to heat beneath his touch, not through the material of the pantaloons. And it didn’t seem fair that every graze of his fingers made her heart beat faster. Unable to hold her breath any longer, she released it slowly through pursed lips. Finally, the ties came free. Did she imagine it, or had his hand lingered against her knee just a tad longer than necessary?

“And here I was fixing to call you a clever lass…” he teased
,
standing up
and offering her the small bag.

When she reached for it, he jerked the bag back and grabbed her wrist instead,
and held her snug against him.

“It’s 11:58
,
sweet. Are you ready?”

His breath blew across her face as he spoke and Maeve shivered. Nevertheless, there was no time for thought. Turning her wrist down, she broke his hold and grabbed the bag with the other hand. Then
,
before the darkness that followed her could come, she slammed the bag to the ground with a tinkle of glass breaking. The smell of long extinct herbs mingled together in the air as balls of light began t
o build up from the dirt floor.

Still standing directly in front of Fionn, Maeve recited the secret spell for a time shift in the Gaelic tongue her family preferred.
“
Born of two, but to this world still new, I seek a slide back to the
side, which
is truly mine.”

When Maeve finished, she noticed the contorted features on Fionn’s face and how he still held tight to her hand. She brus
hed a light kiss over his lips.

“Forgive me Fionn
,
for after midnight I will be where you cannot follow. Thank you for saving me so that I may finish my last task.” She embraced him quickly and attempted to disengage her hand to pull away. Still he wouldn’t let go. Light enveloped the cellar and a gush of wind whooshed, signali
ng the completion of the spell.