A Witch's Harem Page 9

  “Nah, it’s for my good looks and charm, cousin,” Patrick said arrogantly and I chuckled.

  “You can ask us anything, Sadie. We’ll tell you anything you want to know,” Seamus said and I gave him an awkward smile. “You don’t have questions?” I shook my head quickly.

  Michael let out a snort. I glanced over to see him reclining in his chair like a king and sipping wine with careless elegance. “You do. We don’t bite, lass. Fire ‘em off, already.”

  “No, I’m good, I promise,” I said, picking up my own wine and gulping it.

  “Instead of that, we could tell her the story of the Farsworthy Selkie and how Michael had gills for a month when he was sixteen,” Patrick said slyly. Seamus hid a grin while Mick laughed.

  “Or we could tell her about the time you had a dragon’s snout for nicking gold from the Great Worm of Inverness,” Michael said, glaring at his cousin.

  Patrick winced. “Oh, low blow. I was coughing up ash for two months.”

  “You could tell me both,” I blurted out and they all looked at me.

  Patrick lit up, but Michael hunched his shoulders. “It wasn’t my best moment.”

  “Oh, come on,” Seamus said. “Sadie should know we’re not perfect, especially you, Michael, you’re intimidating enough.” Michael laughed at that. “We had to learn, train and make mistakes.”

  “Lots of mistakes,” Mick said, reflexively rubbing his jaw. “See this here scar? Nearly clipped off my own head when I tried to summon Claíomh Solais – the sword of Nuada, King of the Gods in Ireland. This was only five years ago and I paid for my arrogance.”

  “You tried to summon the sword of a god?” I asked, staring at him.

  “Seemed like a good way to spend a Saturday,” Mick said with a sheepish shrug.

  “Told you, you shoulda tried to summon Fragarach,” Michael said. “Your primary element is water. I bet the sword of the God of the Seas would’ve worked and not burned down the barn.”

  I laughed and Mick did, too. “Kiefer is still griping about it. I had to rebuild it by hand.”

  “Kiefer is our master at arms,” Patrick explained in a lively tone. “Kept all his tools there. You should’ve seen Mick standing there, eyebrows burnt off, clothes in tatters, chin bleedin’, and nothing but the foundation of that there barn left.”

  “When it comes to battle magic, I like to test my limits sometimes,” Mick retorted. “You all know something about that, especially you, Patrick.”

  “Battle magic,” I repeated. “So, there are different kinds of magic? I never knew that.” I winced and hastily asked, “Didn’t someone say something about the four aspects? And what is a primary element, exactly? Can’t most witches and warlocks only wield one?”

  “Four, yes,” Seamus said. “And it wasn’t us, that was the prophecy.”

  “Oh, right,” I said, wishing I hadn’t brought it up. I didn’t want to cast a big pall on the table.

  To the contrary, the four became eager, telling me how I was an exception – I wouldn’t have a primary element, all four would be equally powerful when I wielded them. How usually, a primary element was just that, the first one learned and thus the most powerful. For Michael, it was fire, Mick was water, Seamus was earth and Patrick was air, although he was also a fair hand with earth.

  “As for the four aspects, that will come in time,” Michael said cryptically, but then he winked. “Don’t want to get too ahead of ourselves.”

  All four elements, wow. Most people are lucky to wield one, I thought, a little dazed.

  Michael poured me another glass of wine as they told me more about themselves and the Ring of Kerry. It was a place of great power, a hideaway of magic that had survived centuries undetected. Netherfolk rubbed elbows with witches and warlocks there, and it had the greatest market for magical goods in all the world.

  “South America has one that’s pretty close, but it’s a lot harder to get to,” Seamus said. “Deep in the Amazon jungle. So many artifacts, though.”

  “And bugs, lots of bugs,” Patrick said with a shudder.

  The tension in my shoulders loosened as the conversation continued from there. I found out the O’Sullivans had done a bit of traveling together, going to the four corners of the globe to hone their gifts. All of them were well-learned, but none more so than Seamus, who had knowledge on everything it seemed. But he was never arrogant about it, only happy to share information.

  I also discovered their unique affinities for magic. Seamus mainly focused on abilities of the mind. Mick was a warrior, skilled in techniques from the Japanese Samurai to the Norse Berserkers. Patrick was more of an artist, able to shape almost anything from thin air. And as for Michael, he merely smirked and said, “Everything.”

  By that time, I was four glasses deep in wine and I giggled. “Sure. So how come you don’t want to fight Skinner for me, then? Sounds like you four might be the most powerful Warlocks of our age.” I paused and glanced around the table.

  Seamus had a sheepish grin, while Mick and Patrick looked delighted and Michael haughty.

  “We are,” Michael said. “But that doesn’t count for anything where Skinner is concerned.”

  “Pure heart, right,” I said with a sigh, fiddling with the crystal heart on my chest. “Not sure how that will do me much good, but…”

  “It will make all the difference,” Seamus said quietly and we all fell quiet.

  “Hey, what’s your shop like?” Patrick asked. “Wish I could have seen it.”

  “It’s alright, I mean, I do love it.” When they showed interest, I found myself walking through it, explaining what I sold and what services I offered. “There’s a place for me to read palms, but no one has asked for a reading yet. Sometimes I think my mother is right and a witch shouldn’t be peddling to mortals. Especially if I’m supposed to be a savior.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with the shop-keeping trade,” Michael said, frowning. “Many witches and warlocks, even Netherfolk, find ways to keep magic alive in the world. It balances out the Ordinary. Gives the sinner hope, helps the child dream and inspires the artist to create. It is a lovely profession, one as old as the gifts themselves.”

  I was so floored by that sentiment, all I could do was gape at him.

  “And you shouldn’t listen to your mother, Sadie, truly,” Seamus said quietly.

  “I know, but you,” I looked over at him. “Well, you heard how she was. That wasn't even that bad, usually, she's going on about how a witch is an apex creature in the universe and such...”

  The guys all groaned. “Oh, preserve me, not one of those,” Mick muttered.

  “Wait, you met Delia Matheson?” Michael asked Seamus. “Why didn’t you mention it before?”

  “It wasn’t a pleasant meeting,” Seamus said quietly. “She was a bit rotten, to be honest. A lot of garish beautifying and seduction magic.” He wrinkled his nose. “It was hard to breathe around her. And then, I didn’t care for how she spoke to Sadie.” His eyes flashed and his jaw tightened.

  “Woah, Seamus, what happened?” Patrick asked, leaning over. “You never get upset.”

  “Her words were despicable. Sneering about so-called shoddy spellwork and Sadie’s appearance…” Briefly, Seamus recounted the meeting and the guys grew thunderous. Mick’s shoulders swelled, Michael’s eyes flashed blue fire and Patrick looked horrified.

  “She’s your mother and she said all that?” the blond exclaimed. “Heinous lies.”

  “To be so rude to you – and she didn’t know who Seamus was, he could have been a customer,” Mick pointed out through gritted teeth. “That’s as rotten as troll funk.”

  “Despicable is right,” Michael said flatly, glaring at the ceiling. “I’ll remember this when I meet Delia Matheson and I shall set her straight.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t have to do that.” Michael gave me a look that said, try and stop me. “No, guys, it’s okay,” I said. “My mother has every right to be disappointed in me. I’m not beaut
iful like her, my familiar is a wiener dog, and I’m not living up to the Matheson name.” They still looked mutinous and furious on my behalf. “I’m not her kind of witch and that’s unacceptable to her.”

  “She should accept you for who you are because you’re her daughter, Sadie,” Seamus said, his eyes on mine. “As I said, her jealousy has curdled her and she takes it out on you. You are beautiful, brave and wonderful. She has no right to say otherwise.”

  “Oh, Seamus,” I murmured, wanting to give him a hug.

  “Of course she is!” Patrick snapped and I looked at him. His cheeks were flushed red. “Sadie, don’t let her get to you. You’re a ride, lass. An absolute ride.”

  “He means you’re sexy,” Mick said, leaning over. “And you are. The very definition.”

  “A beautiful witch,” Michael said resolutely. “Inside and out.”

  “Thanks,” I said, thrown by these compliments and their protectiveness. But also, secretly enjoying it. “I’m sorry, I won’t bring it up again…”

  They were quick to tell me not to worry about that, that I could bring up anything. They were there for me, they reminded me. And by now my heart was glowing so brightly in my chest I was surprised I hadn’t morphed into a spotlight.

  Or that might have been the wine.

  After another glass, I was starting to realize I was completely overwhelmed by all the action of the past two days. My eyes were drifting closed and my back ached. Sagging in the chair, I found it harder and harder to keep up with the conversation.

  Seamus noticed first. “You need sleep, Sadie. Bed for you, lass.”

  “Tomorrow we will delve into the prophecy and work with you to bolster your magic,” Michael said, helping me to my feet. “Tonight, rest easy.”

  “Good night, Sadie,” Patrick called as Michael led me from the room.

  “Night,” echoed Mick and Seamus.

  I thought Michael would leave me once we got to the stairs, but he kept his arm looped through mine all the way to the second floor. The manor was a bit spooky at night, the lights on the walls flickering as we passed and the shadows were filled with velvet edges that looked alive. Invisible fingers tapped on the window panes, sending a shiver down my spine and I was glad for the tall, warm presence at my side. At the doors of my room, Michael opened them with a flick of his fingers and the lights turned on. Inside, he let me go and I smiled at him.

  “Thanks,” I said. “And good night, sleep well.”

  He said nothing, suddenly scowling as his eyes flicked downwards. Unsure of what to do, I turned to step into my room when Michael yanked me close and kissed me.

  It was another searing, bone-melting kiss and I let out a small shuddering sigh when he let me go. His fingers forced my chin up and I met his blazing blue eyes.

  “Do not listen to that crazy mother of yours,” Michael said harshly. “I have never seen a more beautiful witch than you.” With that, he stalked out and the doors banged shut behind him.

  All aflutter, I floated into my room and pressed my fingers to my burning lips.

  Yet, as I stood there, I suddenly wondered if I was going to have my heart broken by just one of these men or by all of them.

  Chapter 11

  I’d been in bed for almost an hour and had yet to fall asleep. Several times, I’d spooked, jumping out of my skin and hastily grabbing for the lamp’s cord on the side of my bed, only to see nothing was there. But this manor had creaks and pots in the walls and floors that sound like invisible people were traipsing around. Or creatures with too many legs. Or ghosts.

  Ugh, I hate undead things, I thought with a shiver.

  Slipping lower under the covers, I wondered how sad it would be if I slept with the light on. Something scraped against the window and I bolted upright, only to see a tree branch waving at me. With a sigh, I mentally cursed this creepy old house and the boys for choosing it.

  Pulling the covers over my head, I shut my eyes and firmly told myself to sleep. It seemed like I’d just fallen asleep when a screech right outside the window had me sitting bolt upright in fear and confusion. Turning, I a glimpse of ethereal, yellow eyes through the glass and a rush of wings.

  “Damned owl,” I murmured to myself, pushing back my hair and trying to calm my racing heart. All this talk of purges and warlocks had me a nervous wreck.

  Just a bird, I told myself again, trying to find the lamp switch with shaking fingers. Rain was rushing against the window, hammering on the roof and my skin crawled with unease. It sounded like something was trying to get in and I had the uncomfortable sensation of being watched.

  Something moved out of the corner of my eye and I whipped my head around to see someone hunched in the corner of the room. A scream burst from my lips.

  “Sadie.”

  A deep, comforting voice was calling for me.

  Mick.

  I heard the doors open and close, then the lights by my bed flicked on. “Sadie, what’s wrong? Why did you scream?”

  “I-I…” I couldn’t look up, I had my face in my hands. “A ghost or something. In the corner.”

  “A ghost? In the manor?” he asked gently. “It’s not haunted, I checked. Seamus is allergic.”

  Lowering my hands, I looked up at Mick, whose smile and green eyes seemed to scatter all the shadows. Never mind how adorably handsome he was in a loose black tank top and boxers. Shivering, I glanced to where I thought I’d seen it and realized it was a coatrack.

  Mick followed my gaze and one of his rough hands brushed back my hair. “See? No ghosts.” He flexed a bicep. “I mean, I could take care of that coatrack for you if you need me to, though.”

  I let out a weak chuckle and said in a low voice, “Thank you. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

  “Don’t be. You’re looking a bit peaky, love,” Mick said, his voice a little rough, and squeezed my upper arm. “Are you sleeping alright?”

  “No,” I confessed, shivering a little. “This house is so big and there are so many noises. But I’m sure I’ll sleep better now – I didn’t realize you were so close.”

  Nodding, Mick lifted his hand again, then seemed to think better of it. “Sure you’re alright?”

  “Yes, thank you, Mick,” I said, impulsively reaching out and patting his strong forearm.

  “You’re welcome,” he said with a small smile, turning to leave, then he stopped and squared his shoulders. “Do you want me to stay?” he asked bluntly. “I’ll sit on the chair and keep guard. Make sure no ghosts do show up or anything. Chase ‘em off if they do.”

  Guilt gnawed through my stomach as I looked up at Mick. His green eyes were serious and fierce. If I was being honest, I wanted to accept his offer.

  I wanted to do more than accept his offer, who was I kidding?

  “Um,” I dithered. “Alright,” I murmured meekly. “But as soon as you see I’m asleep, you can leave. I don’t want you to spend all night on the chair, that’s too uncomfortable. You’ll get all stiff.”

  “Always worried about everyone else,” Mick chuckled. “Alright, then.” He moved to the armchair between the bed and the window, then clicked his fingers for the light. “Night, Sadie.”

  “Night,” I whispered, turning on my side so I faced Mick.

  I tried not to shuffle around, but I couldn't sleep. Even with Mick here, the house and space around it seemed to press on me. The rain was growing worse and I couldn't get comfortable. Or warm. I turned over, then back over again.

  Only the brightest heart can burn out the endless night.

  I shook my head, trying to ignore those fiery words in my brain. But now I couldn’t stop thinking about the prophecy. The Purging. Skinner’s wicked promise.

  With each minute, I was more and more awake. Ugly thoughts threaded through my soul, the combination of exhaustion and everything that had happened. Dread pressed down on me, an accusing finger asking how I could ever think I was the savior.

  Good Witch of Salem. Don’t make me laugh.

 
I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Mick?” I whispered.

  “Mm?” he answered. “Still not asleep?”

  “No, um.” I swallowed and rushed to say, “Maybe it would – would it be okay if you laid on the bed?” I heard him move off the chair. “Could you hold me?” I sat up, teeth chattering and heart racing. “I’m sorry. I’ve never felt like this, so afraid and so alone. What if I can’t do this? What if everyone dies because of me?” I closed my eyes and bent my head, the images from the Purging flashing behind my eyes. The anguished faces and corpses. “What if I fail?”

  “Sadie, you’re never alone,” Mick said and the bed shifted as he climbed in. “And to be honest, I thought you’d never ask. All that tossing and turning was breaking my heart. Knew the night had gotten to you. Nothing quite like waking up and everything’s pushing down on you all at once.” He paused as I nodded. That was exactly it. “Come here.”

  Two strong arms came around me and my head pillowed on Mick’s hard chest, tucked under his chin. His hands rubbed up and down my back, soothing me. Tension eased out of my body and I sighed, snuggling closer. Mick smelled so nice and clean, so yummy, and he was so warm.

  My fingers were still cold and without thinking, I slid them under his shirt. He let out a muffled sound and I went to pull back, but Mick growled in my ear.

  “Don’t you dare,” he whispered. “You’re as cold as Valkyrie’s heart.”

  I was suddenly very aware I was clad in nothing but a skimpy shift I’d found in the dresser. One of Mick’s hands had slipped lower, ghosting over the curve of my ass and rubbing along my bare thigh. It sent sparks spiraling up through me and I shivered for a very different reason.

  “Still cold?” he asked.

  “Mhm,” I fibbed.

  I wasn’t sure if it was magic or my imagination, but Mick’s body suddenly seemed warmer. His hands were causing heat to rush to every spot they touched and I was biting my lip, trying not to squirm. But with each passing moment, I was more and more consumed with need for this man.

  It was a fiery ache, one that emboldened my hands to explore upwards, tracing past Mick’s six-pack and up to his broad, sturdy chest. A soft groan escaped him and his hands stilled.