Warrior Witch: Book Two, page 15
Finally, she looked at him.
His smile had vanished. “I see,” he said, brown eyes big and round. “You’re right to be angry with me, then.” His easy grin returned.
Marnie narrowed her gray eyes at him. “You know what I mean. Of course, you’ve done nothing wrong.”
“As have you. Ren has a reputation for being . . . forward . . . and thanks entirely to me you have a reputation for being . . . witchly.” His mouth flattened into a firm line.
“I didn’t want him to kiss me,” Marnie stressed, pacing again. “I would have pushed him away even or slapped him—I should have slapped him. I would have enjoyed that, but I was too shocked! We discussed this. Our time together is a political act and a friendship, nothing more. He knows that. What was he thinking? I just didn’t see it coming. One minute we were arguing and the next—how angry with me are you?” She stopped in front of his knees, hands knotted together.
“I’m not angry with you at all.” He snagged her arm and encouraged her into his lap. She came willingly, but her posture remained stiff with nerves. Bran brushed his lips across hers. “Can’t leave his kiss as the last, though. That wouldn’t be right.”
“How angry with Ren are you? We still need him, Bran.”
A smile had never looked so violent. “I’ve never wanted to murder a man more.”
“I’d rather you were upset with me, I think.” She worried her lip. “It would help me feel less guilty about the whole thing if I suffered some kind of wrath over it, so stop being so agreeable toward me. I don’t feel I deserve it.”
“I’ve never wanted to murder you more?” he said without conviction. Bran played with her hair in a familiar way that usually settled her, but his eyes were distant, clouded by thoughts she sensed she would not like.
“What are you thinking?” Trepidation made her skin prickle. She scratched at her arms.
“He wouldn’t dare kiss you if I wasn’t so flippant about our relationship.”
She patted his chest. “Don’t think about that. It can’t be helped.”
“How can I not?” His expression, usually so light and ready to joke, darkened. “I tire of it, Marnie. How much longer must I be patient?”
She rolled her eyes. “You’ve never been patient about this. Not ever.”
His fingers found the chain around her neck and yanked at it. Freeing the bone ring from under her collar, he held it in his palm. “If he knew, if everyone knew, no one would dare touch you. No one would dare lay a finger on you.” Releasing the necklace, his fingers returned to her hair, winding in the ends with a bit more fervor.
“They wouldn’t dare be blatant about it, of course. They’d have to make it look like an accident.”
“Marnie!” His grip fisted around her curls.
“The Cloth is powerful. Almost as powerful as you—more powerful than you when it comes to certain things, especially magic. And they are ruthless! The bishop all but confirmed their methods today during our walk. Accuse them of a crime or make them disappear. I toe the line so that won’t be me. What you want—what we want—is a declaration of war on their values.”
His shoulders sagged. “Ah. You took another walk with Ren. I can look forward to reading about it in the tabloids.”
“No one’s making you read anything, and I could do without your sarcasm. Especially since partnering with the bishop was your idea.” Leaning into him, she trapped his face between her hands, searching his eyes. “You are angry with me.”
“Not for getting yourself kissed by a loose priest. That wasn’t your fault. I’m angry that you’ve deprived me of my say in his actions by refusing to be mine.”
“I’m completely and utterly yours and no one else’s!”
“In secret! My God, Marnie, let me claim you! Let me declare it to the world, plaster it on every newspaper, every tabloid! Let me set the bishop straight!”
“But your plan—”
“Ren won’t do it!”
Marnie felt the blood drain from her face. It left her cold, empty. “How do you know?”
“We’ve discussed it extensively and from every angle. You’ve done everything he’s asked, and it doesn’t matter. I’ve done everything he’s asked since he took the position, and it’s all for nothing. He can’t do it. Ren made it clear what would happen to a bishop who’s expected to serve his term for life after he does something so incredibly detrimental to the Church of the Cloth’s authority, like giving sentencing of magical crimes back to the crown.”
Marnie gasped. “They’d end his term by taking his life.”
“They would. Look at me, Marnie.” She did, slowly, cautioned by the sharp edge in his words. “Do you want to marry me?”
“More than anything,” she choked, heart hammering.
“Then put that fucking ring on your finger, and let’s do it anyway.”
They stared at each other, warming the shared air with their heavy, angry breaths. Her face flushed, and she wondered if he was as anxious about speaking next as she was. There were so many ways she could blunder here. So many ways to say the exact wrong thing with their feelings so raw and exposed. Her frustration heightened.
Hoping the direct contact would soften the blow, she laid her head under his chin, fitting herself to him. “If I can’t yet,” she said cautiously, “what will you do?”
“If you turn me down, it cannot be because you’re afraid and don’t trust that I can protect you. I can’t handle that. Turn me down for any other reason: you’ve realized you don’t love me after all—”
“—but of course I love you—”
“—or you’ve decided to go the way of the witch and you now require numerous lovers, or—”
She snorted. “Now you’re just being ridiculous!”
“—or any other reason! Any reason aside from being terrified of priests and riots. You’ve tied my hands behind my back, and I can’t stand it. I’m forced to watch you flounder. I cannot intervene, because you won’t permit me to love you properly and publicly. I would let it all burn to be with you!”
She sat up, staring at him, mouth agape. “Let what burn?” Worry kicked up her blood pressure.
Bran wound his hand in her hair, pulling her in so close their noses nearly touched. “All of it. The island. The empire. Throw the mountains and plains in there too. I only want you, and not a soul in Loreley had better try to stop me. That includes you, Marnie Becker, and your fears!”
“But I am yours!” she vowed, laying her forehead against his chest.
“Not truly. Not until I can call you wife. Not until the whole world knows it. Ren kissed you, Marnie. He wouldn’t dare if you were really mine. People have hurt you. Insulted you. They protest you. They tried to torture you after you saved lives from a bear demon! They wouldn’t dare if we were married. You’re mistreated on the streets, yes? They wouldn’t dare if you were the Lady of Loreley and you were followed around by a force of armed Blade Guards—or half the military. They wouldn’t so much as look at you.”
She thought of the young watchman who had been startled with a revolver in his hand in Magus District, not so long ago. He had shot Jack in the chest. She remembered the description of Kye’s injuries at the hands of a pastor. Master Young and his brutalized wife and daughter. The hateful newspaper articles. The protestors and the garbage they threw . . . Of all the times she had been reminded of a witch’s place. The band of armed followers Bran envisioned as her protectors could just as easily turn out to be the source of her mistreatment.
“Call me whatever you want, I’m yours!” Her hands knotted into his shirt. “Just don’t be reckless! Give me more time, Bran. I can convince the bishop. I’ll get the crown the authority over magic we need. I’m certain of it.” Marnie’s hands shook, loosening her hold on him.
“How much longer do you need?”
“I’ve made some headway in convincing the bishop there is no such thing as bewitchment. He thought if he could get some priests to reenact a certain study, we could disprove the existence of the bewitchment spell once and for all. Think of how many fears that would dispel.”
“How long?”
“A year, maybe?” That was being generous, but telling him otherwise seemed foolhardy.
He shook his head. “Marry me now, Marnie.” There was a threat in his tone. A promise.
She swallowed. “Or what?”
“Or I visit with your mother, tell her she was right all along, and make this official. Then you’ll see. I’ll show you how it can be.”
“You wouldn’t!” Tremors wracked her body, doubling her in half.
“You’re shaking.” His voice softened.
A lump burned in her throat. “You can’t make me a queen. They’ll hate me. I don’t care what they say about my honor because they think I’m some mistress, just don’t make them want to kill me!” She tipped her head up, fighting back tears.
People do what they want to witches. Marnie pictured the gallows, the riots, the testing for bewitchment, the witches who would get caught in the crossfire. Jack. She wanted to help witches like him, not drop them, vulnerable, into the center of a dangerous power struggle. Marnie touched her throat, fighting to clear it. Heart squeezing, her lungs shuddered.
She couldn’t breathe. In her mind, watchmen fought Blade Guards to the death, killing the witches trapped in the middle. Just like in her nightmares.
“Marnie!” Bran sat her up. “Slow down and breathe! Just breathe!” He turned her in his lap and pulled her back against his chest, encouraging her head to fall on his shoulder, opening her airway. “Feel me breathing? Deep and slow? Breathe with me.”
She tried to. When his chest expanded against her spine, she took a breath of her own and it faltered. “You c-can’t . . .” she wheezed, feeling faint.
“My God, Marnie, I’m so sorry. Just breathe . . . I didn’t mean it. Of course I wouldn’t force you. I could never, tempting as the thought may be at times.”
She couldn’t get enough air. Marnie clawed at her neck. Her ribcage had shrunk, constricting her lungs. Her heart tried to pound through her chest. Fuzzy lights swam around the edges of her vision, making her woozy.
Bran laid a hand on her stomach, pressing in gently when she breathed out. It helped. “I’m an ass.”
Her heart slowed. “You’re an ass.” The panic loosened its grip slightly and she could inhale again. Exhausted, her head lolled on his shoulder. When a small amount of strength finally returned to her legs, she tried to stand.
He tightened his arms around her. “Please stay. Let me hold you longer.”
“You did it again.”
“Pushed too hard?”
“Much too hard.”
“Don’t go.” He kissed the side of her face, just beside her ear. “Don’t leave angry.”
“I’m always angry,” she reminded him, voice thick with feeling, but then she settled in, accepting his comfort.
***
A week spun by in a whirlwind of experiments and spells, shouting protestors, angry rivaling opinion pieces in the paper, and lots of nightmares. Then one morning, Marnie received a small, handwritten note from the postman, and she was grateful for the distraction it promised.
Come soon. I need magical aid, and there’s an armband in it for you – Your Cousin.
Marnie dressed like a Sophia in a lavender satin frock, and she traveled with Jack to Juliet’s townhouse by motorcar. They could have walked the short distance easily enough, but an enclosed cab was preferable. The “hero witch” had become a polarizing figure, hated and loved in equal measure. No one seemed capable of treating her with indifference anymore.
Everyone had an opinion. A loud opinion.
Juliet lived in a large townhouse, just outside the Becker estate. Marnie couldn’t look at the Becker manor with its dark stone gargoyles and ivory-paneled windows—the home she should have been raised in—without grimacing.
A meaty footman with skin dark as night and a bald head let them inside. He guided them through the entryway, into the opening of a cozy receiving room. Then he stopped them abruptly with raised hands. “Wait here in the hall for the Sophia, please. Do not go in there.”
He left them to fetch Juliet.
The magic radiating out of the room smelled like cherry blossoms. Marnie could see it when she focused, a glittery mist that hovered in the air like millions of fireflies. The faint hum of it reminded her of frog song. Whatever its purpose, the enchantment was powerful. Marnie wondered at the witch who could cast such a thing.
Juliet arrived with her young ward in tow. Allison rushed to hug Jack’s leg, her fragrant smell knocking Marnie back. She could taste the molasses. Dressed in a yellow frock with a matching bow, the color seemed to emanate from her. The child glowed, subtly.
Juliet gestured at the room. “Do you two see the problem?”
Marnie inhaled deeply through her nose. “I can’t tell what it is, but it’s potent for sure.”
“I was visited by a forlorn young wife, a Lady Hobson, about a month ago,” Juliet explained. “She has struggled for years to conceive a child and hoped I could refer her to a physician who might be of help.”
“She’d do better with an alchemist,” Jack said. The witchling put her hand in his, hanging from his arm affectionately.
“I suggested that.” Juliet smiled down at Allison. “The little dove here heard Lady Hobson and was moved by her sadness. She wanted to help.”
“Rabbit wanted to help too,” Allison chimed in.
Marnie took in the receiving room, gray eyes squinted. “It’s a fertility spell?”
“And now I can’t get rid of it.” Juliet flicked her wrist at it like she was shooing a bee. “Everyone who has been in that room, including Lady Hobson, my unwed maid, and my 62 year-old neighbor are now with child. And when I go in there . . .” Juliet flushed. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m unattached at the moment. It has a strong impact on my . . .” She toyed with the collar of her blouse, face flushed. “Interests,” she finished, glancing briskly at Jack whose grin turned to sunshine.
“I see.” Marnie sniffed, trying to get the molasses smell out of her nose. The combination with the cherry blossoms made her eyes water. “It certainly doesn’t appear to be going anywhere or waning anytime soon. Jack, spells are your specialty, and this one is powerful. I’m not going to be able to waft it away on the breeze. What do you suggest?”
Jack reached a hand into the room so that the glittery magics briefly coated his fingers. He rubbed his hands together. “A Diridge syphoning spell is probably safest. We could try to ward a box or something else with a lid, draw it out of the room that way.”
The magic that favored Marnie began dancing through the air. It flexed and brightened, winding briefly around Jack, then it flittered away from them into the room.
“No, no,” she said too late. Her magics grew in size, absorbing the glittery spell before flying into her stomach. The scent of cherry blossoms enveloped her.
Marnie gasped, a hand on her heart, gripping the ink star for solace.
“What’s the matter?” Juliet’s eyes bounced nervously from Marnie to Jack.
Allison covered her mouth and giggled. “Clever, Rabbit. She says the ‘hero witch’ will do better than a box.”
“Marnie’s magic misbehaved,” Jack explained with a sidelong glance at Allison. “With Rabbit’s encouragement.” He put a hand on Marnie’s arm. “Are you all right? How do you feel?”
Marnie gasped. Her eyes squeezed shut, stomach fluttering. “I think . . . I think I’m all right.”
“Problem solved?” Humor swam in his blue eyes.
She felt the ache, first in her heart, then in her womb which remained woefully empty. Marnie pulled her gilded pen, the palace summons, out of her skirt pockets.
“Marnie,” Jack said warily. “Don’t visit him right now. You’re better off taking a swim in the cold ocean. Or an icy bath. Or a brisk run . . .”
She wobbled. “Cold swim . . . icy bath, right . . . that would be best . . .” Marnie focused on her magic which danced enthusiastically around her person, still glittering as though taunting her. At her wishes, it coiled around her. She thought about the ocean, pushing thoughts of Bran from her mind—thoughts of his voice in her ear, the feel of his dark stubble under her hand, the taste of his hot mouth moving against hers.
“Marnie?” Captain Raif said in his unsmiling way but with warmth and welcome in his pale blue eyes.
“Raif?” Marnie looked around the palace library, shocked it wasn’t the coast.
Bran sat on the red velvet settee, surrounded by dusty bookshelves and velvet furniture, his long legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. Biting her lip, she admired those long legs . . . He smirked at her, pushing black hair out of his eyes, and her mind stuttered, taking in the curves of his mouth.
The ache in her womb doubled. “Get out, Raif,” she rasped.
Bran lifted one eyebrow. “Everything all right, Marnie? You don’t seem yourself.”
She dashed to him. Alarmed by whatever he saw in her face, he climbed swiftly to his feet. Marnie threw her arms around his neck and kissed him possessively.
“I’ll let myself out, then,” Raif said, rushing for the exit. The door clicked shut behind him.
“Damn,” she said against his lips. “I meant to ride magic to the coast, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You should keep your distance from me.” Despite her words, she clung to him, entangling herself with him. “I accidentally absorbed a powerful fertility spell.”
“I see,” said Bran with a wistful smile. “Well, that’s nothing I can’t handle. You’ve never been casual about your needs.”
She maneuvered in, pressing her body flush with his. Her lips found his throat, tracking a short trail down to his collar. “Never casual, but this feels different . . . urgent and demanding, like I might rupture if I don’t . . . have you.” She jumped back, hands in fists, eyes squeezed shut. “What I need is a cold bath. You should fetch a bucket of icy water and throw it on me, now, before I magic away all of our clothes.”
