9781618851307WitchsBrewShayNC Read online

Why did that old cab driver have to be the only cabbie at the airport that day?

  Saylym frowned, her brows drawing together as she walked over to her dresser and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Faint color bloomed on her cheekbones, the same shade as the pink cotton shirt she wore. She looked nice and sane. A rueful twist to her full lips suggested barely contained laughter. It was illogical to feel excited about all the unusual things happening to her lately. She rolled her eyes. It was illogical, but she either had to accept the fact she now lived in another world where common household items developed quirky personalities, or she’d have to declare herself mentally unstable. She made a face. Neither thought was acceptable. Heck, she might be going off the deep end, but she might as well enjoy the journey.

  Gathering up her hair, she twisted the ends into a loose knot. Holding a jeweled clip in front of her face, she glared at it. “Please don’t come alive. Don’t bite me or change into anything really hostile or ugly,” she begged, then clipped her hair in place.

  She crossed her fingers and waited. When there were no signs of hostility from the clip, she breathed a sigh of relief. Grabbing a tube of lipstick, she uncapped it and brought it to her puckered lips. Poised in front of the mirror, she hesitated, eyeing the glossy pink color.

  Something was going to happen. It was too darn quiet. Everything in the house seemed to be holding its breath, just waiting for her to make the ultimate mistake of applying it to her lips.

  “Nuh-uh. No way.” She shook her head, mulling over the matter as she recapped the tube and tossed it back on the dresser. The way her day had started, no telling what would happen if she put on lipstick. “Probably sprout warts on my lips.”

  The unexpected jingle of the phone startled her. She jumped, clutching her heart. Ah, the sound of something normal. Nothing odd about a phone ringing…she hoped. Saylym zipped across the room and grabbed it off the nightstand. “Sanctuary’s House of Insanity.”

  “Hi, Angelmine, you sound stressed.”

  Her mum’s voice came through the receiver so clearly, Saylym swore she was right next door, instead of thousands of miles away in England. Angelmine. She blinked back tears. Her mum always called her that.

  “Hi, Mum.”

  “I wanted to check on you, see if you’re ready to give up this nonsense about independence and return home? I miss you.”

  Saylym ignored the question. No way was she admitting she was a failure and stuck in Sanctuary. Neither was she getting into another argument about returning to England. She’d made a decision to leave and she’d stick with it, even if she felt like Dorothy in the Land of Oz.

  “Mum, by chance, is there a family history of witches?”

  For a moment, utter silence filled the phone line, then she heard her mum’s sharp gasp.

  “Uh–not that I can say, dear,” she replied. A choked laugh escaped her. “Of course, your father might have been a waken.”

  Saylym moaned. “Awaken?”

  “Not awaken, but a waken. A male witch.”

  “Mum! I’m serious. Weird things are—”

  “Yes. Yes.” She cut her off. “I only slept with him the one time,” her mum supplied quickly cutting her off. “We weren’t exactly discussing our family history. Well–er.” A short breath. “Gotta dash, darling. Chop-chop and all that. Uh…my date’s here.”

  “Your date? Mum, you don’t date. I need to explain—”

  “Have to go, dear. I’ll call you again, soon. Love you. Bye!”

  “Wait, Mum. I need—” Saylym stared blankly at the receiver in her hand. Talking into a dead phone was useless. She set it back on the cradle. “Bye, Mum. Thanks for sharing more information than I wanted.” She rolled her eyes. “Waken? Right.”

  Clearly, her mum was hiding something, but she doubted it had anything to do with male witches. Shrugging, she glanced at her watch then gave a heavy sigh. As the new owner of a business, she was going to be late opening this morning if she didn’t hurry.

  So what if the shop was a gimmicky magic supply store? A business should be run professionally. That was her personal motto. She still couldn’t believe her luck at actually acquiring the shop. But the owner, Dottie Wesman, had been ready to retire. She’d offered the business to Saylym her second day in Sanctuary at a price too good to refuse.

  Saylym squared her shoulders and stuck out her chin. Her mum would say she had that glint in her eyes again, but no damn wriggling brush was going to defeat her. She drew a sharp, steadying breath. “Courage, my girl, you have to have courage.”

  Just because she had no idea who her father was didn’t mean she didn’t come from good, hardy, English stock and in the future, she was going to ignore the little oddities plaguing her life, pretend she didn’t see things no sane person should be seeing.

  She paused to straighten a wrinkle off the comforter. She might not be normal, but she was tough. Brave. She could do it.

  But how would she do it?

  Then the answer presented itself. It was easy. Whenever something strange happened, she’d hum. She’d tune it out by humming a ditty or two. Maybe she was hormonal or bi-polar or something equally boring, but she wasn’t about to let these silly hallucinations bother her any more.

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep the snoring down to a muted level tonight.”

  Saylym squeaked and jumped at the sound of the deep, masculine voice. She whirled, her gaze making a quick search of the bedroom. “What? Wh-who said that?”

  There was no one in the room but her. No one she saw, anyway.

  “I did. Here!” A sharp whistle pierced the air.

  Saylym turned toward the bed and widened her eyes. “Oh-my-God!”

  Smack in the center of the massive pinewood headboard, a single red eyeball glared back at her. A set of thick lips lay below a flat ugly nose.

  “Eewww.”

  A snort escaped the thick lips.

  Saylym fell back a step and slapped a hand over eyes. “I don’t see you. I don’t hear you. No-No-No! You’re not there. Hummmmm.”

  “Yes, I am. Uncover your eyes, witch. Stop that awful humming and pay attention.”

  Parting her fingers, Saylym peeped at the eyeball through them. “Go away. You’re not real. Stay out of my imagination. Hummmmm.”

  “I’m real, sister. Now, listen up. It’s hard for a bed to get a decent night of sleep with those disgusting sounds you make. Keep it down.”

  “I do not snore.” Saylym dropped her hand from her eyes and glared at the bed.

  “Well, that’s true,” the bed replied, sounding appalled. “You roar. You start making that noise tonight, and I’m rolling your ass out of bed. Got it?”

  She nodded, grabbed her purse off the over-stuffed chair in the corner, and backed out of the room. Whirling, Saylym ran to the front door as if the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels. She slammed the door behind her and leaned back against it, sucking in deep, calming breaths of fresh air.

  Maybe she’d find a motel room for the night, anything, but that demon bed. “The bed did not accuse me of snoring,” she chanted between ragged breaths, “because I don’t snore. The bed did not call me a witch, because I’m not a witch.” Her hand trembled as she pressed it against her thundering heart. “Breathe in. Breathe out. You’re losing your bloody mind!” In. Out. Breathe. Hummmmm.

  She had to calm down. And she had to get far away from this insane house, before she went completely bonkers. Maybe she’d call her mum tonight and inquire about insanity running in the family. Saylym bit her lip to keep from crying. Her hands shook so badly, she could barely push the key in and lock the door.

  “No one steals in Sanctuary, dearie. The locks are just window dressing. Besides, there’s no way a lock can stop a witch from entering your home. It takes magic or symbolic witch marks carved into the roof timbers to prevent that from happening.”

  The words reached her from the hag next door.

  “Right.” Saylym drew a sharp breath. Magic
or symbolic witch marks? “Jeez, give me a break.” She withdrew the key from the lock, plastered a cheerful smile on her face and turned to wave at her eccentric neighbor. She wasn’t the only one losing her mind here. A month of living beside Eldora Waters and her insanity must be rubbing off. “You never know,” Saylym replied, puffing a lock of tangled hair back from her face. “Stranger things have happened. Here. In Sanctuary.”

  The old lady had to be approaching the century mark but she was on her knees weeding the flower beds. Her face looked like a crinkled road map as she concentrated on pulling a stubborn weed with strong roots. Saylym slid her gaze over Eldora. Today, as always, she wore eye-startling bright colors. A vivid sunset-orange silk gown dusted the ground and today the pointy hat on top of her scraggly hair was sunburst yellow. A silver band with dark blue stars circled the crown of the hat and a black leather belt with a wide silver buckle hugged her skinny waist. Her frizzy, white hair poked up at odd angles above her ears like bits of straw.

  A slight breeze would most likely fell her. The woman stopped pulling weeds and slowly rose to her feet.

  Saylym winced when she heard Eldora’s knees creak.

  “Twenty thousand,” the old lady cackled.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’m approaching twenty thousand.”

  She sounded so damn gleeful about it Saylym thought Eldora just might kick her heels up in the air.

  “Tomorrow’s my birthday,” she announced. “I broke tradition and changed it from All Hallows’ Eve. Any witch can have a birthday on that day, but there isn’t a single other witch whose birthday is May second.”

  “Congratulations and–uh-hap-happy birthday. And I’ll be twenty thousand tomorrow too,” Saylym mumbled beneath her breath.

  “Oh, no, dear, you’ll be three-hundred-fifteen come All Hallows’ Eve. You’ll reach your majority. Twenty-one years of age in illumrof years.”

  Three-hundred-fifteen? What the hell were illumrof years? And why was she even worried about what a crazy old lady said?

  “I like twenty-one better,” Saylym said. “Three-hundred-fifteen tends to scare away my dates. How do you know when my birthday is, anyway?”

  “Don’t you know? I’m a witch,” she hooted. “All witches are born on All Hallows’ Eve, except me, and I changed my birthday.”

  “Yes, I know.” Damn it, she knew she shouldn’t have encouraged the old lady. Eldora was as dotty as the grizzled cab driver. Now that she thought about it, the hag’s eyes were the same brilliant blue. Maybe they were somehow related.

  Saylym shook her head. Man, she was getting bad, imagining her poor neighbor resembled the cab driver she’d had the misfortune to meet. Nothing could hide the mischievous sparkle in the old woman’s bright blue eyes. Still, there was something fragile about her. Something faded, something rather endearing, when she wasn’t rambling about witches and illumrofs. Whatever the hell that strange sounding word meant.

  “Another glorious day,” the crone screeched, glancing up at the clear green/yellow, and orange sky. “Not a red cloud in sight. A lovely such as you should have a handsome waken wooing her.”

  Saylym smiled. “Well, Miss Eldora, I haven’t seen any handsome er–wakens–that annoying word again, since coming to Sanctuary. And since arriving in Sanctuary, all she’d heard was waken this and waken that.” She rubbed her jaw as it suddenly dawned on her she hadn’t met any males, waken or otherwise since moving to Sanctuary. She’d been so busy setting up the shop and settling into the cottage, she hadn’t really paid attention to the lack of men.

  The shop carried mostly gimmicks and souvenirs, but amazingly, the lines had been long to get inside since the day she opened–lines of females. No males. Strange.

  Eldora nodded, placed a finger alongside her bulbous nose and cackled again. “Come Beltane, that’s beginning today, dearie, the streets will be crawling with handsome young males by the witching hour. That’s midnight tonight, dearie. They come here from Droth–that’s on the other side of Annu Mountain, you know.” She bobbed her head as though agreeing with Saylym, though she’d made no reply to the old woman’s ramblings. “Sanctuary belongs to the Wiccans, you know. But at Beltane–” Eldora gave a long sigh. “The wiser waken comes to Sanctuary early in the morning. He won’t wait until all the beautiful witches have been selected by others. Oh, no.” She snickered. “You’ll be claimed immediately, my dear. No worries, there.”

  “Claimed?” Saylym’s jaw dropped. “It sounds positively medieval.”

  “Quite, I’m sure.” Eldora rolled her eyes. “But the wakens, they’re so horny when they arrive, all they’re thinking about is getting between a pretty witch’s thighs.”

  Saylym barely stifled a gasp at the old woman’s lewd remark. She didn’t want to be claimed, certainly not by a horny madman who believed he was a male witch and wanted to quench his hunger between her thighs.

  “Oh, yes. Some handsome waken will want you the moment he sees you. You can just bet he’ll mark you.”

  Oh joy. That was definitely reassuring. A bubble of laughter escaped Saylym before she could prevent it. She couldn’t help but be amused at the way the aged woman rambled on, explaining things to her, as though she was senile. Beltane? Claimed? Marked? Ridiculous. It sounded as if the crone believed they lived in Pagan Druid times or something.

  She made a mental note to stay inside the shop that day, even if it meant returning to her home and facing the demon bed after she closed. No waken was sneaking into Sanctuary this morning and claiming her. She smothered a laugh. Jeez, she was buying into Eldora’s tale of witches and wakens.

  “The young males come for the Maypole Festival, you know,” Eldora picked up where she’d left off. “There will be bonfires on the mountain tonight. Then the wakens will come down and start selecting mates.” She popped her knuckles and laughed. “That is, if they can charm a pretty witch into it. Nothing like Beltane to get the juices flowing, you know. Hot, handsome wakens in search of hotter nookie.”

  Saylym choked. Good grief, a knuckle-popping granny thinking about male witches looking for sex. She had to get away from here, now, before she exploded with hysterical laughter.

  Eldora cackled sharply, nodding. “Your Prince Charming is coming for you soon.”

  “Uh-huh.” Saylym rolled her eyes. “Well, have a nice day, Miss Eldora. I’m off to the shop. Let’s hope I have lots of customers today.”

  “Not today, dear. Today is for other happenings.”

  Pausing to study the woman, Saylym pursed her lips. One of them was for sure senile, because for just a moment, the old woman sounded exactly like her mum. Yep, she was losing it. First, she thought the crone resembled the cab driver, now she thought she sounded like her mum.

  She was in trouble here. She needed something normal, something to cling to. Was there any hope for a failing mind? She winced. Probably, not.

  Saylym took off down the street, determined to escape Eldora and her wild ramblings. Pausing now and then, she took in her surroundings. Sanctuary was a quaint, historical town, populated with females who seemed wary of newcomers. Still, they’d been kind to her, and they seemed to like her shop.

  It might be early spring, but fat tubs of Lenten roses perched on the boardwalk, their pale green, lavender, burgundy, and creamy white blossoms complimented their leathery, evergreen foliage. Spaced at intervals, the cheerful blooms provided vibrant color to the town square.

  Enough antique stores filled the town to satisfy the most avid collector. Before she could think more on the oddity of how small the homes were surrounding the village, a pillory, two stocks, and a whipping post in the town square drew her attention. The whole effect was nostalgic, but at the same time, it always sent shivers of apprehension skittering down her spine. At one time, people had suffered from the use of those wicked instruments. If it was up to her, she’d have them torn down and burned.

  Who wanted a reminder of pain?

  Saylym passed on quickly. Exc
itement zipped through her blood. There was something about this town, its quaintness and peacefulness with a slight tingle of electric energy, made her want to stay. Made her feel she belonged.

  Why Sanctuary drew her and kept her imprisoned, she didn’t know or understand, but she’d never felt so alive, content, or so safe, except when she was feeling insane, of course. “I bet Mum would like it here. Maybe I can convince her to visit. I could use the company.”

  Sighing, she shook off the gloominess her mum’s call had left her feeling. Perhaps Eldora was right, and someday she’d meet her Prince Charming. Maybe she’d fall in love and marry. Have children. A family. She’d grown up a lonely child. She wanted babies, lots of babies to dote on one day.

  Pausing in front of her shop, she laughed softly. Arching her neck, she raised her arms in an elegant arc toward the sky. A gentle breeze rushed past her fluttering the soft folds of her black cotton skirt. It swirled lightly around her knees as she twirled around. “Oh, Prince, my handsome Prince,” she chanted. “Come claim me. My thighs are warm and welcoming.”

  Saylym smothered a laugh at her whimsical silliness and stuck the key into the lock of the shop door, pushed it open, and stepped inside. Smiling, she closed the door behind her and flipped the ‘OPEN’ sign around to face the street.

  “Come and claim me.” She snorted. “Right. And I’m the good witch, Glinda.”

  Chapter Two

  Prayer services and community fasting were conducted by Reverend Samuel Parris in hopes of relieving the evil forces that plagued them. In an effort to expose the “witches”, John Indian baked a witch cake made with rye meal and the afflicted girls’ urine. This counter-magick was meant to reveal the identities of the “witches” to the afflicted girls so they could make public the names while being examined.

  ~Salem Witch Trials

  Late-February, 1692

  Page Entry…

  Before the days witches dwelled in the mortal realm, times were troubled in the land of Ru-Noc. King Osh, along with the elders that made up the Waken Guild, ruled the land with a firm and cruel hand. In their quest for thrills, pleasure, and power, wakens first sampled the splendid energy derived from witches’ souls.