Temple of Indra's Witch Page 12

  "For pity's sake, wake her," Cullen cried. "What's wrong with her?"

  "She's about to be hanged," Sandra’s voice cut in as Sophia let out another scream.

  "Costin!"

  "Wake her up, man, quickly," Cullen snapped. His skin was crawling. “Ye’re goin’ to kill her." He clenched his fists as Sophia screamed again.

  "Sophia? Sophia? Can you hear me?" Remus battled to catch her hands and hold them still. "The past is done, Sophia. There is no rope. You are going to sleep, Sophia. Sleep and rest. And when you are rested, you will wake and remember nothing.”

  “Wait a damn minute. Ye promised she would remember everythin’,” Cullen said tersely.

  “Yes, yes.” The Doctor agreed. “Sophia. When you are rested, you will wake gently and you will remember slowly, not all at once, but very slowly. Can you hear me, Sophia? Now, close your eyes and rest…"

  ***

  Sophia did her best to emulate her mother’s courage as they stood beneath the dangling noose. The executioner approached the platform, old and stern-faced, his eyes all but gleaming. She bit the inside of her lip and breathed deeply. At sixteen, her life was over and she wouldn’t even get the chance to say goodbye to her love.

  When the executioner pulled the rope tight, Sophia could no longer stop the tears.

  Her eyes rolled over the crowd; she was praying to see his face just one last time.

  She heard his voice, “Stop. Wait,” before she saw him.

  Costin. He’d made it. He would rescue them.

  He was rushing and thrashing his way through the crowd. There was a fire in those perfect green eyes of his, and they met Sofia’s and held them. Sofia stared back at him, and he didn’t look away, but held her gaze, searching her own. She felt a feeling of warmth and love pass between them.

  Then his gaze broke away as he turned to his grandfather, György Stolcz and said, “Bunic, surely you can’t let this charade go on.”

  “I can and I will.”

  “I will vouch for her. I have grown up with Sofia. A truer and lovelier person I do not know.” And he shook his head sadly. “I mean to marry her.”

  “She is your blood,” The Priest declared.

  “She is not my blood, and you know it.”

  “Costin! Enough!” Alexandra exclaimed.

  “Oh, Mother. Everyone knows that Vilhem is my father in name only.”

  Alexandra went red with anger. She thrust out a gnarled finger, pointing behind her. “Leave now, Costin, before you see us all punished!”

  Sofia’s lip trembled. “I love you, Costin, but you mustn’t surrender your life in vain.”

  He looked at Sophia so intently it was as if he searched her very soul.

  “I love you, too,” he whispered.

  “Do you wish to confess your sins and beg the Lord’s forgiveness?” the Priest asked Elena.

  Sophia saw her mother lift her chin. “You’re the one who ought to beg your God’s forgiveness, sir.”

  The Priest glared at her, and then turned to Sophia. “And you?”

  “I have done nothing wrong,” Sophia said loudly. “My soul is pure especially when compared to the blackness of yours.” Then Sophia looked down at the crowd below. The raven that had been perched on Alexandra’s shoulder in the dungeon looked back at her from the crowd. Round, beady dark eyes. “And far less stained than the souls of those who would watch a man murder!”

  The crowd of spectators roared with outrage, and Sophia saw Costin lunge toward the steps. But the guard at the bottom caught him in his burly arms and flung him to the ground. A crowd closed around him as he tried to get up, and he was blocked from Sophia’s view.

  “Costin, you fool, must you damn yourself too?” Alexandra said, and turned away.

  The hangman came to place a hood over Elena’s head, but she flinched away from it. “Look upon me while you commit your sin.”

  Sneering, the man chucked the hood to the floor and never offered one to Sophia. He took his spot behind them. And Sophia looked below again to see Costin there, struggling while three large men held him fast. Sophia had no idea what he thought he could do to prevent their deaths, but it was obvious he would go down trying.

  “This is wrong! Please stop this, Mother!” he shouted over and over.

  Sophia turned to meet her mother’s teary gaze and then she turned to Costin and mouthed. “I love you.”

  The bucket was kicked from beneath her feet. She heard Costin’s anguished cry and then came the pain.

  ***

  Faces swam before my gaze. Absently I tried to focus on them, my mind groping with shapeless images as first one pair of eyes and then the other floated toward me, merged, then drifted apart once more. The mouths beneath the eyes were moving. They were speaking, but I couldn't hear them; I couldn't think. All I could feel was the pain in my neck, throat and chest. I breathed in slowly and recognized my husband’s face near mine.

  “Sophia, love, ye all right?” Cullen begged.

  I half rose, grasping at my neck. Frantically I tried to catch my breath, but it was no use. My arms were so heavy.

  “I’m dead. Someone killed me,” I choked out in gasping breaths then I clapped my hand over my mouth, wondering where that had come from.

  “No, Sophia. They hanged Elena Maria Catargiu-Obrenovic and her daughter, not you,” Sandra said and handed me a glass of water.

  Remus Ceaușescu stared intently and I was reminded of the raven who had stared at me. Round, beady brown eyes.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Bittersweet Break-in

  Mysterious Adventures in Ink opens at nine on Tuesdays, but the first hour is typically quiet. It was Leslie’s day off so Alana worked with me. She had been something of a fixture in the summertime. I would miss her when she went back to school. We drank our coffee and ate our bagels in companionable silence.

  I had taken to reading one of the new occult books while Alana was in the back room, reducing the prices on books that weren’t moving well. I looked up to find the last bite of my bagel and noticed Móraí stood outside the shop, watching me. Practically hypnotized, she seemed oblivious to being caught staring. Finally she snapped out of it, and sauntered inside.

  “Good mornin’ Sophia.”

  “Morning, Móraí. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m a lonely auld woman.” She said smarmily. “Am I no longer welcome to visit the last of my family?”

  “Of course you’re welcome.” I replied, mentally preparing myself for the guilt trip I was about to go on. “I’m just not used to seeing you here at the store. You surprised me.”

  “I was out doin’ the messages. John usually has lunch with me after, but he’s too busy with his new wan. Everyone’s always busy.” She turned the knife a little more. “Why, if it wasn’t for Alana, seems I’d spend all my time alone these days.”

  “Móraí,” I started.

  “No, no, dear. Never ye fret. I haven’t come to guilt ye. I understand ye’ve a business to run and all that and, well, Cullen’s never home. I just wanted to check out this new section.”

  “It’s over here,” I said, leading the way.

  “Alana says it’s quite a big section. I was told I should get a copy of A Witch's Book of Shadows.”

  “I don’t mean to sound rude, but when did you become so interested in…” I hesitated, looking for the right word.

  “Magic?” she interjected.

  “I was going to say Wicca.”

  Móraí pressed her lips in a tight line. “Well, I’ve been interested for a long time, but it wasn’t exactly popular enough to mention in polite society, especially since Liam was a priest, ye know. But what with Liam gone...I’d been so lonely…it’s not like I run in the same circles anymore and…then I met this woman…” She allowed her words to just hang in the air for a moment before blurting the rest out, “We became friends and I’ve joined her coven!”

  I was pretty sure my eyebrows flew up in wonder. It’d ne
ver occurred to me that Móraí actually belonged to a coven.

  “A coven?” I questioned. “Where did you meet this woman?”

  “Shona’s.”

  “Where is that?”

  “Shona Walsh, dear…The Cupcake Shoppe...ye know John’s new girlfriend. I stopped by one Saturday morning when I thought Alana was working. The place was packed, and I got to gabbin’ with the woman next to me in line.”

  I nodded and picked up a couple misplaced books, shelving them in their correct locations.

  “She lives across the road from the shop and invited me for tea after, and eventually to one of the coven meetings.”

  “How lovely. Well, I’m glad you made a new friend.”

  Ye know, Alana has expressed an interest in joinin’ me.”

  “Has she, now? You told her no, I hope.”

  “I did no such thing. Clever girl—I thought it was a brilliant idea.”

  “She’s a little young to be dabbling in the occult.” My gaze remained fixed on the floor. “I’d prefer you didn’t teach her anything either.”

  Móraí’s head came slowly up and she glared. “She is my great- granddaughter. Ye would deny an auld lady passin’ along her wisdom?”

  I stood rigid and immovable. “Of course not, you can teach her anything that doesn’t involve witchcraft. Teach her how to bake a cake. Teach her to garden. Take her to a knitting class.”

  Móraí’s voice flared. “Ye know, ye’re bein’ very prejudice. Wicca is a religion. Witches are very highly respected these days.” She shook her head in disbelief.

  “So, are nuns and I don’t want her running off to join them either. She’s at impressionable age right now, and the idea of casting spells is a romantic notion to her...and that is dangerous.”

  “Ye don’t even know what it’s about.”

  I turned away and stared blankly at the Wiccan book on the table. “You’re right. I’ll read up on it today, but I do have my reasons and I expect you to honor my wishes. She may be your great-granddaughter, but she’s still my daughter.”

  Móraí spat. “Ye haven’t taught her to protect herself.”

  What an odd thing to say.

  “Protect herself? What is that supposed to mean? That makes no sense. She’s perfectly safe.”

  Móraí stepped forward and rested her hand on my shoulder. “Is she now?”

  My stomach burned with anger. What had Cullen told her? Did Móraí know about Madam Brun’s warning? If she did, why would she think Alana was the one in danger? If anything, we were the ones in danger.

  I jerked away as if Móraí’s touch had suddenly burned me. “Tell me right now what this is about. Are you the one who told Alana she came from a long line of witches?”

  Móraí said nothing, her jaw clenching and unclenching as if she might chew through my resistance.

  “Damnit! What is it you think you know?”

  Móraí’s gentleness vanished, replaced by disbelief and anger. “I know a thirst for knowledge grows inside that girl. A need to strengthen and test her power and if ye don’t allow me to teach her, then she’ll learn from others or on her own and mark my words, ye’ll regret it.”

  “No!” I shouted. The sound of our raised voices drew Alana from the back of the store.

  “What’s going on, Ma?” Alana said, coming into view. “Móraí! Did you see the new pendants?”

  Móraí backed away. “I did, Alana, dear. They’re brilliant. I’ll have to buy a few the next time I’m in. pick them out for me. I’m just off to run the messages. I’ll be back.” Her smoldering gaze met mine. “Please, Sophia. Don’t make me go behind yer back.”

  Not daring to linger another moment, she scampered out the door.

  “What was that about?” Alana asked.

  “Your great-grandmother thinks she’s a witch and I’m inclined to believe her.” I felt like I’d been run over by a freight train as opposed to a frail old woman. I took a deep breath to steady myself. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I’m tired and grumpy—and I can’t wait to get home.”

  Leslie always came over for tacos on Tuesdays and then we settled in to our favorite show with a glass of wine. Tonight was special because it was her birthday.

  “I’m sorry, honey. I’m just overwhelmed and I’m still not sure what I’m making all of us for Leslie’s birthday dinner.”

  “No problem. Ye can figure it out now,” Alana said. She came over and draped my jacket over my shoulders. I turned and grabbed onto her lean, willowy frame, enfolding her in a hug.

  “Are ye sure ye’re okay, Mum?”

  “Yes. I’m fine. I just don’t know if I should leave you.”

  “It’s no big deal,” Alana said, pulling away. “I’ve handled the floor alone before. I can handle the mad Tuesday rush.”

  She was joking. There wasn’t a soul in the store but us.

  I glanced at the grandfather clock; the day was getting away from me and the cupboards at home were running low.

  “I guess that could work.” The market was just down the street. “Promise me you’ll call, though, if you get a rush.”

  “I’ll be fine,” said Alana, unconsciously mimicking the motherly tone I used on her.

  I took a moment to fix myself up in the mirror; applied some lipstick, combed my hair and put it up in a top bun; then put on my leopard print infinity scarf and headed out the door. A stroll in the fresh air and sunshine—that was just what I needed to forget about the incident with Móraí. I walked past a historic hotel, a brewpub, and several cafés. Absorbed in my thoughts, I turned the corner and with a start, realized I was only half a block down from Sandra’s building and there was the raven. I still couldn’t place a finger on what was bothering me about Sandra and her husband but there was definitely something. I thought about turning around but I needed groceries. The raven was circling something or someone. Then I realized who and almost tripped. What were they doing together? Had the universe brought me here for a reason, or was it simple coincidence?

  My eyes darted around, looking for somewhere to hide. There was a car parked at the curb but it wasn’t large enough to conceal me completely so I turned my back to them, facing the glass of a long and narrow shop and pretended to window shop. I could see them in the reflection, distorted but deep in conversation. I had never introduced the two of them so how did they know each other?

  A twenty-something woman appeared at the glass—petite with a black wavy lob haircut and a tattooed right sleeve. She waved me in and I realized I was basically peeping while a man with a beard that hung from his chin in a braid got his left butt cheek tattooed. I blushed and turned away but it was too late, the woman had stepped outside.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, raising her chin at me.

  I smiled. “No, that’s all right. I apologize for staring.”

  “You don’t have to be nervous. Come inside and look at some of our drawings. You after a tattoo or a piercing?”

  “I was just looking for…cupcakes.” I mumbled realizing where I was.

  “It’s next door.” She said and pointed.

  I looked back across the street and the woman frowned at me. I must have looked like I was on the run. I thanked her and ducked inside the delicious-smelling storefront. The chimes over the door announced my presence to Hannah Walsh’s mother, Shona, who was frosting cupcakes.

  "Mmm. Smells like a campfire in here. Are you roasting marshmallows?" I asked with a smile. I had hoped to bake Leslie a luxurious dessert—what, I hadn’t decided—but these cupcakes were hard to beat.

  The woman turned her friendly smile toward me. Her daughter had never been one of my favorite people, but she was good to Alana and it was wise to be friendly to the woman who made the best treats in town and just might possibly be your mother-in-law one day.

  "Sophia, nice to see ye, dear. I'm tryin’ out a new recipe for the Irish Cream Cupcakes. The Plastic Paddy’s love ‘em but sure japers if I don’t get sick of makin’ ‘em.”


  "Well, Cullen is no tourist, and he loves them, too," I said and moved closer to the counter.

  "I added a marshmallow frosting with melted chocolate and pistachios. Have one? I iced them too early but they should be cooled now," she offered.

  “Thank you, that’s sweet, but I couldn’t.”

  “Go way outta that. You only like the lemon and raspberry, huh? Take one home for yer man then, and tell him Shona said to enjoy."

  I felt a whispered tingle of premonition. Sure enough, when I looked back across the street, Móraí was still there speaking to Madam Brun. I turned back to Shona behind the counter. She was already boxing the cupcake up.

  "Thank you. He’ll love it. It’s Leslie’s birthday, too, so I’ll need half a dozen of her favorite.”

  “Favorite? That slip of a girl is in here at least three times a week. I don’t know how she stays so thin.”

  “I know. She’s some sort of magical unicorn. I think the banana cupcake with salted caramel peanut butter frosting is her sweet of choice this week.”

  I perused the chalk board on the wall to see what else was new. “Give me two of the maple-bacon buttercreams as well. They remind me of my grandmother.”

  “Ah, isn’t that sweet. I was having one of those moments this morning baking up the Maimeó Mac Cookies & Cream. I named it for my own sweet mother.” She took a deep breath. “Jaysus, that woman loved cookies… speak of the devil, isn’t that John’s mum beyont? Ye can give her one of her treats now.” She pointed out the window where Móraí was now getting into a taxi. Sandra was no longer in sight.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat.

  “That’s Cullen’s grandmother, alright. I was thinking of my own grandmother.”

  “Ah, to be sure. Don’t mind me, dear, I’m knackered, been up since 4am bakin’. Ye’re a Canadian, right, like Leslie? Hence the love for maple-bacon,” she said with a smile.

  I nodded and took the packaged-up cupcakes, digging in the front pocket of my faded denim jeans for cash.

  "Be sure to tell yer man that the marshmallow was an experiment. I haven't had a lick of ‘em yet so I expect feedback."