Spellbound Page 9

  “And the child?” Sarah asked.

  “I took her to a family I knew in England, the Hutchinsons. And, well, you two know the rest.” Morgan’s face transformed from apology to glee almost instantly. “We need more wine.” She clapped her hands.

  Hazel ran her hand across her face. “Wait. Are you telling us that we’re related to you?”

  Morgan laughed. “More or less. There are worse things, you know. Had you been properly trained, you two would be some of the most powerful witches who’ve ever existed. But your talents have been squandered and ignored.” The housekeeper brought out a tray of food, and Morgan popped a cube of cheese into her mouth. “I’ve kept an eye on your family for ages. Hazel, your grandmother was a fantastic witch. But when a rather elaborate spell accidently killed your grandfather, your mother swore off magic. It’s a shame really. You could’ve been so much more.”

  Hazel shook her head. “My grandfather died in a fire at work when my mother was ten.”

  Morgan popped a grape in her mouth and grinned. “You sure about that?”

  Hazel’s face went ghostly white, and Raven fought the urge to put an arm around her. “My mother has been lying to me my whole life?”

  Morgan rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair. “You mortals, so predictable with your selective outrage. Hazel, darling, clearly, your mother was trying to protect you. You all lie. Lying is a social construct you’ve designed to protect yourselves from the harsh reality of this realm. You’re all so fragile, and I think you underestimate how easy it is to kill one of you. Plus, you’re all completely ruled by your emotions, which makes you even easier to manipulate.”

  Hazel snatched the bottle of wine and filled her glass. “I don’t live by lies. Trust is what holds us together.”

  Morgan slithered out of her seat and onto Raven’s lap, but Raven didn’t want this kind of attention from Morgan. She wanted to check on Hazel. Morgan had just dropped a huge bomb on her, and from the look on Hazel’s face, she wasn’t handling it well. Instead, she did nothing. Pushing Morgan away from her now could spur a streak of anger that Raven didn’t want directed toward Hazel. Morgan picked a grape off the plate and slid it into Raven’s mouth. “I’m bored with this conversation now. I’ve told you everything you need to know about how you got here. What you do with it from this point is your decision.”

  * * *

  The evening had been littered with new information and a family history that was almost beyond comprehension. Hazel was so angry from a sense of betrayal she could scream. Her mother never should’ve kept this from her. She had tried calling her mom, but again, it went straight to voice mail.

  However, what kept her moving around the room was the interaction between Raven and Morgan. Morgan had handled Raven like property, touching her without reservation or hesitation. Raven, for her part, seemed to tolerate the contact but made no effort to advance or rebuff the interaction. Hazel had finally reached her limit after watching Morgan nuzzle into Raven’s neck on the couch. She’d said her good nights and retreated into her bedroom, but not before flinging a passive-aggressive remark in Raven’s direction.

  After calming down, she realized she owed Raven an apology for her behavior. She didn’t want things to be awkward or weird between them. She needed to get her mind clear and her emotions back on their usual clear and steady track. Before she could change her mind, she found herself in the hall outside Raven’s room, quietly knocking on the heavy wooden door.

  Raven opened it a second later and motioned for her to come inside. She looked as if she’d been in bed, wearing nothing but black boxer briefs and a black tank top, her short black hair still wet from the shower. She shifted her weight back and forth, looking uncharacteristically nervous. And it was adorable.

  “I’m, um…I’m sorry about Morgan,” Raven said.

  Hazel took a step closer, still not fully understanding why she felt so compelled to be close to this woman. She didn’t understand why she felt so possessive of her. The feeling was both terrifying and wonderful. “You don’t have a reason to be sorry. You’re a single woman. You don’t owe me an explanation.”

  “I may not owe you one, but I feel compelled to give you one.”

  Hazel wanted to touch her, to caress her well-defined shoulders, but she fought the impulse, wanting to give Raven space to say what she wanted.

  “I don’t know why Morgan behaves the way she does. She takes what she wants whenever she wants it. It’s how it’s always been.”

  The protectiveness she felt for Raven always bubbling beneath the surface flared. “No one is entitled to touch you. That’s not how it’s supposed to work.”

  Raven took a small step closer. “I never thought twice about it either way, not until I knew you were watching. I just don’t want you to think something’s going on between Morgan and me.”

  Raven was so close Hazel felt the heat of her breath, smelled the remnants of the shower, a bit of soap with Raven’s natural earthy smell. “Why is that?”

  Raven’s slow smile shot a jolt to Hazel’s stomach. “You know why.”

  That was all the confirmation Hazel needed. Before her normal brand of sensibility could take root in her response, her body reacted. She reached up, draped her arms around Raven’s neck, and pulled her in. She intended the kiss to be delicate at first, but her raw instincts took over. Raven’s lips pushed against hers, the warmth of them igniting a spark deep within Hazel that she’d never felt before. She moved against her, the taste of exquisitely aged wine still lingering on her lips. Raven wrapped her arms around her and tugged her closer. Hazel shuddered as the space between them completely disappeared. She wasn’t sure she was making the right choice, but in that moment, she didn’t care. All she wanted was more of Raven, as much as Raven would give her, as much as she could get.

  When Raven finally broke contact, Hazel went cold at the loss.

  “We should get some rest,” Raven said. “I’m certain Morgan has big plans for everyone tomorrow. She never shows her hand ahead of time.” She kissed Hazel’s forehead.

  Hazel let her face rest on Raven’s lips. She ran her hands down Raven’s bare arms and reveled in the goose bumps her touch left in its wake.

  “Sleep well.” She kissed Raven’s cheek.

  Raven held her there for a second longer and then let her go. She seemed like she wanted to say more, so Hazel lingered, waiting for an invitation to stay the night. She wanted Raven with every cell in her body but knew enough not to push. Hazel wanted this feeling etched in her mind without the persistence of “what-ifs” and “whys” clouding it.

  Hazel went back to her room, her skin still electrified in all the places Raven had just visited. The information she’d received that night would alter her life and what she knew of her history forever, but those weren’t her last thoughts as she let her mind drift toward sleep. The only image that occupied her mind in those passing seconds was the taste of Raven’s lips and the smell of her skin.

  It would be the most peaceful night of sleep Hazel had ever had.

  Chapter Eleven

  As the long day and evening finally drew to a close after midnight, Sarah changed into her nightgown and knelt in prayer beside the bed in one of Morgan’s guestrooms. After the last few days, she felt in need of God’s light more than ever. The overwhelming tumult and confusion from the wizardry of this “modern” world had left her reeling like a tempest-tossed mariner. She asked God for strength and guidance in whatever challenges lay ahead and for safety for Raven and her niece, Hazel, who at times seemed as bewildered as she.

  But were her prayers spoken in vain? After learning of her witch lineage, she couldn’t help pondering if God’s grace had been unattainable to a woman of her bloodline all along. Had He completely forsaken her for escaping her fate in Salem Village and for using mystical arts?

  And then there was Ayotunde. Despite the dire circumstances in which Sarah had landed, her thoughts continually drifted back to Ayotunde
. It had been many a year since she’d seen or spoken to her only to rediscover her in a jail cell in the most wretched of conditions. And through her tribulations, a sparkle yet remained in her gloomy, soulful eyes. Sarah could not banish it from her mind. One thing was certain: No matter her fate, from this point on, Sarah would not let Ayotunde slip away again.

  Instead of climbing into bed after her prayers, she found a candle and walked downstairs to find Morgan. She crept as quietly as she could across the creaking floors and found Morgan sitting pensively before a roaring hearth in her parlor.

  “Madame le Fay,” Sarah said in a whisper. She stood in the arched doorway waiting for Morgan’s invitation.

  “Oh, Sarah. I thought you’d gone to sleep,” Morgan said.

  “I am afraid sleep doth elude me this night, weary as I am.”

  “Come, come.” Morgan waved her to the sofa. “Is your chamber not comfortable?”

  Sarah curtsied before she sat next to her. “Heavens no. Thy accommodations are most pleasing.”

  Morgan glanced at the candle Sarah was holding. “You do realize you don’t need to walk around with one of those, not since old Tommy Edison gave us the light bulb.” She waved her fingers, and the lamp beside the sofa clicked on.

  Sarah flinched at the sudden brightness. “Merciful heavens,” she said, patting her chest. “Methinks I shall never grow accustomed to such marvels.”

  “Wait till you give a tampon a try.”

  “Pray pardon?”

  “Never mind. I’ll let that experience speak for itself. Now, tell me what’s troubling you at this ungodly hour?”

  “All things be ungodly these days, it would seem. I know not where to turn.”

  Morgan nodded as if commiserating. “Look. Try not to stress about it. You’re in good hands with Raven. I only contract the best.”

  “It is not Goody Raven who causes me anguish. ’Tis my Ayotunde. She doth sit imprisoned, accused of bewitching children. I know it to be a false charge, and I fear for her.”

  “All the charges were false,” Morgan said. “If any witchery was going on in Salem back then, it was of the white kind, to help the Puritans forge the new world. And it was working, too, until Lucifer wanted in on it and beckoned his dark brood. I mean, how easy must it have been to manipulate the burgeoning colonies into the realm of evil thanks to man’s innate greed and lust for power? What a shit show it turned out to be,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s why over three hundred years later, tourists are still making pilgrimages there every Halloween. Mortals do love a good shit show, bless their ghastly hearts.”

  Sarah took a deep breath before suggesting what had been gnawing inside her for hours. “Madame le Fay…be it in your power to shed light on the misguided of Salem Village and help free the innocent?”

  Morgan sat up and stared at her. “Do you know what you’re asking?”

  “Aye,” Sarah said, summoning bravery. “To save my friends from their unjust peril.”

  Morgan leapt up. “You’re asking me to rewrite American history, to send the course that destiny had previously charted into a tailspin that humanity would likely never recover from.”

  Sarah gulped at the thought of such impending doom.

  “I adore that idea.” Morgan fairly squealed with delight. “I only wish it was within my scope of power.” She walked to the credenza and poured two fingers of bourbon over a glass of ice. “I gotta tell you, over the last several hundred years, you humans have worked my last nerve. No matter how many opportunities we give you to help you evolve to a higher level of consciousness, you never fail to fuck it up.”

  “Pray, I know not what it mean to fuck it up. ”

  Morgan rolled her eyes. “It’s like…like saying a fart on all our efforts to help humanity.”

  “Aye. ’Tis true that mankind is flawed.” Sarah sank into the sofa cushions. “No matter how pure our intentions, we do fail our God often.”

  From the bar Morgan raised her drink to Sarah’s observation and continued eyeing her over the glass as she took a sip.

  Sarah rose and approached apprehensively. “Ayotunde. Wouldst thou make it so that she may come hither with us?” She took a deep breath to temper the emotion threatening to break free. “I fear I shall never see her again if she remain in that jail.”

  “I knew that was coming next,” Morgan said, then sighed. “I like your style, Sarah. You’re clearly a woman ahead of her time and way too smart to thrive in that dreary culture of Puritan oppression, but I can’t help you with that either.”

  Sarah’s lips quivered as she blinked away tears.

  “C’mon, don’t cry,” Morgan said. “I don’t know how you managed to open that wormhole and sneak into the twenty-first century, but it never should’ve happened. I understand your desire to escape death, but actions have consequences, as you well know. There’s no way I can open yet another portal so even more of Lucifer’s dim-witted spawn can rush the gates and run amok here. Raven’s hands are already full with the three that followed you.”

  “Aye.” Sarah lowered her head.

  “On the bright side, you’ll have to go back eventually. You can look forward to a nice chaste reunion with your lady love in a barn or a covered wagon or something.”

  “If she be alive upon my return.” Sarah sighed in resignation. What was the point of being a witch if she couldn’t use her powers to save the person she loved the most?

  Morgan frowned but offered nothing more.

  Crestfallen, Sarah returned to her chamber but found she was too anxious for sleep. She changed into her day clothing and stepped like a mouse down the stairs and out into the balmy night. It was nearing one a.m. as she strolled down Rue Bourbon. Music pouring out from bars grew louder with each step as it guided her toward the bustling center.

  Through the garish lights of the city and a cacophony of musical instruments, she marveled at the young people laughing as they undulated together in an obscene fashion inside the establishments and spilled out into the street delirious with intoxication. What must God think looking down on these heathens who seemed to care not of the severe consequences of their behavior in the afterlife?

  Once past the chaotic debauchery of the carefree revelers, she stopped and leaned against a darkened storefront to collect herself. A light toward the back of the shop went on. Sarah looked up at the name of the business: Salon Laveau . As she peered in the window, past the line of swivel chairs and dryers backlit by the glow from the back room, a figure moved about the rear of the salon. The front door then opened on its own.

  “ Entrez , mademoiselle,” the feminine voice said.

  When Sarah did as instructed, a woman stepped from the shadows clad in a long frock, colorful head wrap, and a tapestry shawl draped over her shoulders.

  “ Vous avez un probleme, no?”

  “Pray pardon?”

  “Pardon me. English it is,” said the woman as she extended her hand. “Marie Laveau, Voudon Queen. How do you do?”

  Sarah curtsied. “I am bewildered. But it be a sentiment I’m wont to feel of late.”

  “What I said before was, you’re here because you have a problem, no?”

  “Aye. What I mean to say is that I come to find myself in a most desperate circumstance. My friends and I have been summoned by Madame le Fay to—” She stopped her explanation, wondering if Madame Laveau could or should be trusted.

  Marie seemed to notice her apprehension. “Please, sit.” She offered a spot next to her on the loveseat in the waiting area. “If you’ve been summoned by Morgan, we must have some demons in our midst. That’s her territory. What is it you want of me?”

  “My quandary, Madame Laveau, be not about demons,” Sarah said. “My dearest friend Ayotunde sits in a jail falsely charged with witchcraft. The magistrates mean to hang her. She helped me escape my charges, but I know not how to save her.”

  “Let me guess…you’re from Salem, Massachusetts?”

  Sarah nodded.


  “Puritans,” Marie said, shaking her head with a look of disdain. “If only they knew half of what they thought they knew. Ayotunde isn’t a witch. She’s a voudon or voodoo priestess and a magnifique one at that, although she doesn’t realize this until later in her life.”

  “Later? You mean she will not hang?”

  “Apparently not, since she’s going to become a notorious voodoo queen—almost as good as yours truly. I’m fairly confident in assuming she’ll be fine because ain’t no voodoo queen sits in jail for long.”

  Sarah clapped her hands together and looked to the ceiling in relief. “Merciful heavens. God is good. Thank you, God. Thank you.”

  “Here’s the part you might not like,” Marie said gravely. “You’re probably never going to see her again.”

  Sarah’s heart plummeted as fast as it had risen. “How could that be?”

  “She’s going to escape her imprisonment and likely flee Salem, tout de suite . When you go back—and you’ll obviously want to go back once the hysteria is over, and they’ve stopped the hangings—Ayotunde will be long gone.”

  Sarah collapsed into a chair and buried her face in her hands. Through her sobs, she heard Marie offering gentle apologies and felt a comforting hand on her shoulder. She composed herself and looked up. “Can you bring Ayotunde here?”

  “Say what? Moi? Oh, cherie , once again, that’s Morgan le Fay’s department, not mine.”

  “Madame Laveau, pray, please help me. I cannot bear to go on if I’ll not see Ayotunde more. Conjure her forth, and she shall help my friends and me do Morgan le Fay’s bidding.”

  “Hmm. It would be nice to pay homage to my mentor in person,” Marie said pensively. “Have you run this by Morgan? She tends to get a little testy when anyone tries to usurp her domain.”

  “She hath refused me. She fears it may create a portal for other demons.”

  “Valid,” Marie said, scratching at her cheek in thought. “However, we practitioners of voudon are a little more efficient at conjuring than the witches. Of course, they’ll never admit it.”