Page 4 of The Wand of Lore

“I’m Nayla, and this is my sister, Gwenneth. Come in.” Nayla opened the door wider and stepped aside.

“Nayla,” Gwenneth warned, but it was too late. Vaylor stepped inside the strange little cottage.

“What do you want? We are two honest women who keep an honest living.”

“If your living was truly honest, you wouldn’t mind answering some questions about it. Because I hear something quite different.” Vaylor leaned close so that his face was inches from Gwenneth’s and spoke in a whisper. “I hear you summon demons.”

The women both straightened their backs and stood rigid. He had their attention.

“Leave our home.”

He laughed, trying to imitate his father’s imperious boom, but instead, a sound much thinner escaped.

Gwenneth stepped closer to him so he had nowhere to look but into the purple pools of her eyes. “Leave,” she commanded. “While you still have a choice.”

She was inches from his body now, so close he could feel the warmth radiating from her breasts. He could smell her, an intoxicating mix of autumn leaves and warm spices. The curve of her neck was exquisite, like a drop of rain skating down a smooth rock. How easy it would be to reach out a hand and feel her supple skin. He refrained.

Chapter Five: Gwenneth

He was so near to her Gwenneth could almost taste the scent of the woods and campfire on his skin. His arms looked even larger up close. For a second, she considered using one of the spells the young maidens in the village were always pleading to buy. She could do it, and nobody would know. Her wand was just around her waist, where she always kept it at hand. A flick of her wrist, and she would be encircled in his arms as his hands hungrily ripped open her top.

But no. She had to stay focused. This man was dangerous. She did draw her wand then, but for a different purpose. She pushed the exhaustion to the back of her mind, puffed out her chest, and pointed her wand at Marvin. He didn’t need to know how drained she was from the day’s casting, and how unlikely she was to even attempt another spell, much less survive it. She aimed the wand at his chest but stopped when the wand amplified a sound only she could hear coming from inside the stranger’s heart. The low moan of a trapped spirit called to her through her wand, wishing to escape. Curious, she held her wand upright and tapped it on his chest.

“Stay back, witch!” the man shouted, alarmed. He grabbed her wrist.

“No!” Nayla protested and stepped forward, her own wand at the ready.

Gwenneth held her free hand out in front of Nayla to stop her, then froze, and stared up at Marvin. His grip was strong, and at that moment, she was powerless. She waited, not daring to breathe; couldn’t have, even if she’d wanted to. Goddesses, apparently all it took for her to fall apart was one handsome stranger gripping her wrist! Then she remembered herself. “Unhand me.”

“I won’t. You are under arrest for consorting with the Devil and unleashing the Devil’s own plague upon the village of Loews Hollow. Drop your wand and come with me at once, and perhaps the village will be lenient with you for your transgressions.”

Gwenneth reached for the magic of the goddesses and pooled it in her hands, just in case. She was no expert in fighting magic; hers was the magic of healing and growing, but Marvin seemed unlikely to know or care about such distinctions. Besides, she did have a couple of defensive spells at the ready for moments like this. Paralysis or a forgetting spell would do nicely, if only she had the energy. If she drew too much from magic stores that hadn’t been replenished, she risked catatonia or death. Nayla needed her; best not to attempt a big spell. Perhaps tomorrow, after a good rest, and if there were no other spells to cast for the day. In the meantime, a protection spell would cost less energy. She could cast it on the cottage, and he would be unable to harm, or even think about harming, any inhabitants.

“Leave us, Nayla,” she ordered, without taking her eyes off the stranger.

Protection was important, but as she was in such an exhausted state, the spell could easily backfire. Nayla started to protest but stopped when Gwenneth interrupted her.

“Go. Now.”

The girl ran out the door, and the witch and the stranger locked eyes as magic hummed around them. Gwenneth stared into his dark eyes and began murmuring her spell.

“Stop, witch,” said the stranger, and he reached for her wand. But it was too late.

Immediately, Gwenneth knew she had asked too much of the goddesses. She had saved two lives in one day and had no energy left to sacrifice. Her chest thrummed with the anger of the goddesses, and an explosion burst from her wand. The room flashed with a bright light, her wand sparked and crackled, and the smell of fire hit her nose.

She slumped to the ground, fighting the urge to slip into unconsciousness. Not safe yet, she reminded herself as she searched for a last shred of strength. The stranger fell too, his shirt melted to his skin. It was goddess fire, deadly if left on his skin too long. She either had to help him or let him die.

Let him die, she thought. Of course she hadn’t meant for the spell to explode like that, but he was dangerous, and she had to protect her sister. Anyway, he could remove the shirt himself, as soon as he regained consciousness. Which would surely happen any time now.

She sighed. It would not happen. Was she prepared to be responsible for somebody else’s death? She had thought she was. She had been mentally preparing for this moment since she swore to her mother fourteen years ago that she would take care of Nayla no matter what. When her mother hadn’t come home that night, she’d known she would have to kill one day to protect her sister.

As Gwenneth pondered her decision, she noticed a soft glow emanating from the walls of the cottage. The goddesses must have taken pity on her; despite the spell backfiring and overloading the room with magic, it had worked. The cottageand all its inhabitants could not be harmed by another. Perhaps they were all also safe from goddess fire and Marvin would awaken unscathed. Perhaps not. If she removed the goddess fire from his skin and awakened him, she would be safe from his malintent. He couldn’t hurt her or her sister as long as they were in the cottage. It would be impossible to even contemplate harming them.

She was so tired that she struggled to see straight. She certainly couldn’t perform any magic. She crawled over to him and lifted his head. It was damp with sweat and warm to the touch. That smell of campfire and pine filled her nose, possibly enhanced by the goddess fire, and for a quick moment, she took a deep inhalation of his hair. She looked around, embarrassed, but of course nobody could see her. Gwenneth swallowed and slowly peeled off his shirt, using her wand to assist where the fabric stuck to his skin, then cradled his body against her own.

His chest was beautiful. She couldn’t remember the last time she had touched a man’s bare chest, but there he was, lying in her arms, chiseled like a carving on a piece of wood. She ran her hand across his sternum, feeling for the heat that would signal the fire had already embedded itself internally and it was too late. His chestwaswarm, but it didn’t burn. Good. He would recover just fine. She continued to move her hand across him, inspecting for injuries. She moved fast; without the goddess fire on him, he should awaken soon. And more, her vision was fading. She was too tired.

“Witch!” he sputtered, as if on cue.

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