Eternity: Immortal Witches Book 1 (The Immortal Witches) Read online

  But there was more to try to understand. More, so much that my mind could barely comprehend the enormity of it.

  “Immortal,” I whispered. And I knew, I already knew, ‘twas the truth.

  Chapter 3

  The sack over my shoulder, my face concealed within the hood of the dark cloak my mother had hidden away for me, I left the only home I’d ever known for the very last time. There was but a sliver of moonlight to guide me as the moon moved from its darkest void toward its first quarter. The thin slice of its gleaming white crescent was barely enough to light my way. I saw no one as I started down the worn dirt path on foot, more alone than I had ever been. But I should have sensed the presence. I was too wrapped up in sorrow and overwhelmed by grief to use my senses. Even as a mortal, I would have felt the danger, I thought later, for a witch is more attuned to her senses than most. And since I’d quickened from a state of death, my senses were even sharper than before. They seemed to grow stronger and more acute with each passing hour. But for some reason that night, I shut them out and focused only on my loss. My sadness. The feeling that I’d lost the only person left with whom I’d had a special bond, a connection.

  There was, I realized, one other, now. Another to whom I felt a powerful bond. An inexplicable link. A man whose touch made my heart flutter like the madly beating wings of a captive butterfly. A man...I must never, ever see again.

  Those thoughts, those feelings, clouded my mind, dulled my senses, or at least made me ignore them. And then the cloaked figure stepped from a small copse of trees, into the path in front of me, and a harsh voice whispered, “I knew you’d come back here.”

  I came to a halt, narrowing my eyes to see his face, but ‘twas hidden just as mine was, by the folds of a dark hood. My dagger was still secured inside the book, tucked deep in the bag that hung on my shoulder. I thought of it now, and wished I’d been wiser in heeding my mother’s warnings. And yet part of me still believed this stranger to be no more than a simple mortal. He couldn’t know who I was, much less what I was. Everyone here believed me to be dead.

  “Who are you?” I asked him. “What do you want of me?”

  And in a flash a dagger appeared in his pale, gnarled hand—a dagger so like my own that the sight of it took my breath away. “Not so much,” he rasped. “Only your heart.”

  It could not be! But ‘twas true, I realized as he lifted the blade and came closer and I backed away. Another immortal, one who wished to kill me. The horror of it was suddenly real, far more real to me than it had been as I’d read and scarcely believed the words of my mother’s letter. I glanced around me desperately, but the snowy, twisting road and a few lightless, silent cottages were all I saw. No one would come to my aid. A breeze blew snow into my eyes and pushed at my hood, driving it down and away from my face, revealing me to him. Though I realized now he’d already known who I was. He had the advantage, then, for I had no clue as to his identity.

  I walked backward, my eyes unalterably fixed to the blade, the way it gleamed when it caught a thin beam of moonlight. “I’ve no quarrel with you,” I whispered, fear making my voice taut and low. “Leave me alone, I beg of you!”

  His laughter came then, low and frightening. Harsh and raspy, that sound that made gooseflesh rise on my nape. “That is not the way this works, young one. A shame you will not live long enough to learn the rules of this particular game.”

  Suddenly he lunged forward, swinging the blade in a deadly arc. I jumped back, gasping as I felt its razor-sharp tip brush past my midsection. I slipped, damp slippers and numbly cold feet unwieldy on the snow-covered road. I nearly fell, but caught myself. And he lunged again. I sidestepped this time, yanking the sack from my shoulder and swinging it at him with all my might. It caught him from behind and sent him stumbling forward. He went to his knees, and I turned to run for my very life. But within seconds I knew he was after me. I heard his steps keeping pace, gaining on me. Heard his breaths rasping in and out of his lungs as we ran. It seemed his lungs would burst if he pushed himself any harder. He seemed weak–it must have been desperation, then, that drove him on. My own heart pounded in my ears, and my breaths escaped in great puffs of silvery steam.

  A tree’s limb loomed before me, and I saw it only an instant before I would have run into it. I had to duck low, and as I did, I gripped the branch, pulling it forward with me, and letting it go when it would give no more. It snapped back, slicing the air with a high keen, and spewing snow, and I heard him grunt as it hit him. I thought he went to the ground again, but I could not be sure.

  The woods along the roadside were my only hope. I could not fight him, whoever he was, no matter how weak he might be. I stood no chance of winning, for I knew nothing of battle. And he’d wielded his blade with the skill of long practice. Ah, but the woods—they had been my haven all my life. I knew them as well as I knew the cottage where I’d lived. And I took to their protection now, running as fast as I could, never tripping or falling once. I’d bragged to my mother that I could traverse these woods blindfolded. Now I was forced to live up to the claim. I stepped into the deeper snow, shivering as its chill embraced my ankles, soaking through my stockings, and wetting the hem of my skirt. I knew my way, and chose a meandering deer path that bisected the woods at their deepest. And soon I was surrounded by the heady scent of pine and the whispers of those needled boughs brushing one and another with every breath of night wind.

  I heard him enter the forest, crashing about like a lame bear. I heard his foul cursing as he hunted for me, and his labored breathing as he grew ever more frustrated. But he would not hear me. My soft slippers and light steps, though my feet were nearly frozen now, were all but silent. And yet I almost believed the monster could hear the thundering of my pulse and the roar of blood through my veins.

  I kept moving, and soon I did not hear him anymore. Breathless, I made my way to the far side of the small wood, emerging on the road that led to the harbor where the tall ships would be docked. I looked behind me often, but I saw nothing of my attacker. I had eluded him.

  This time.

  I realized now how very dangerous it was for me to remain in England. Word of my execution would spread quickly, and the tales of my body disappearing would make for wonderful gossip. If there truly were evil immortals out there who sought to take the hearts of their own kind—and I knew beyond doubt now that there were—they would find me all too easily here. I had to leave. Tonight.

  So I continued on the road, eight miles to the harbor.

  And there, tired from my long walk and shivering with cold, I paused, taken aback by the graceful beauty of those tall ships rocking gently upon the water. Naked masts rose high. The sheen of lamplight from the buildings nearby, reflected back a hundred times from the surface of the briny deep and spilled generously upon the painted hulls. In fact, I thought, I’d never in my life seen anything quite so lovely as those majestic ships floating gracefully upon the water, like powerful creatures at rest. And it might have been that I could see so much more than I ever had before. Yes, my night vision was growing sharper, but I could also see farther and pick out more details. Like the mermaid with the flowing golden hair, carved into the bow of one ship, and the words Sea Witch painted in elegant gold script along either side of her. Lovely.

  I was jostled by several people as they passed, and I jumped, startled. There were people here. Many people, and Mother had warned me often that ‘twas not safe for a young girl to come to the docks alone. Even more true now, I thought. If I were recognized....

  Yet I had little choice. I had to leave England, and this was the place from which to do so. I simply pulled my hood closer, better to hide my race, and moved on. There were taverns where the seamen ate and drank, fought and swore. And women of the most disreputable sort, lounging with heavy lidded eyes and painted faces in doorways, calling out to every drunken man who staggered past. The stench of fish, and of liquor, hung heavy here. So much so that the salty fresh smell of sea air was nearl
y obliterated by it. I heard bawdy songs, off-key and slurred, coming from one establishment, and I dared not go inside. But ‘twas not the drunken seamen I feared as much as recognition. Who knew which of these men had been in the crowd who’d watched as I was hanged only the day before?

  Tugging at my hood again, I gathered my courage, and approached a woman in a ragged, revealing dress and smudged race paint. She stood near the entrance to a tavern, leaning tiredly against the building as if she’d been standing for too long. But she straightened at my approach.

  “Can you direct me, mistress?’’ I asked her.

  She perused me, top to bottom, and I kept my race lowered, one hand holding the hood in place. She smoothed her coppery curls with one hand. “You in hidin’, are you?”

  “Of course not.” It startled me, how obvious I must be. Would she know? Would she guess? Would she alert someone in authority?

  She only shrugged. “Yes, you are,” she said, “but ‘tis nothin’ to me one way or the other. What are you doin’ here, missy? Lookin’ to find yourself a seaman to warm yer bed?”

  I felt my face heat, glad she couldn’t see. “I only wish to know if there’s a ship sailing for the New World tonight,” I told her. “I need to book passage.”

  “Anh, a runaway then? Is it yer man you be escapin’?”

  “Is there a ship or not?”

  Her drawn-on brows arched high. But she concealed her surprise quickly, giving me a crooked smile. “Yer a spunky one, you are. You sure you want to leave? I could put you to work right here, if you like.”

  “I have to go to the New World,” I whispered. “Tonight.” Several men passed and I fell silent, sensing their gazes on me. They didn’t move on right away, and I was careful to keep my back to them. “Please,” I said. “If you know of a ship....”

  “Let’s have a look at ye.” She yanked my hood down suddenly, and I heard a soft gasp from the onlookers even before I jerked it up again. The woman was shaking her head. “Shame yer leavin’,” she said. “Yer a pretty one, fetch a goodly price.”

  I lowered my head and turned to leave her. She wouldn’t help me if I stood here begging her all the night through. I had no time to waste this way.

  But then she surprised me. “Hold on, pretty one. There be a ship leavin’ at dawn. The Sea Witch.”

  I stopped, and slowly turned to face her again. “Not until dawn?” My disappointment must have been clear in my voice.

  “Dawn is only a few hours off, girl.”

  “Is it?” I hadn’t noticed. Nervously I glanced behind me, in search of the fiend who’d attacked me earlier. And then toward the group of young men who’d seemed so interested in watching us. They still huddled in the shadows not far away. And I still felt eyes on me. When I looked to the woman again, she was frowning, staring at me as if she’d seen something she hadn’t before. Perhaps ‘twas my fear that finally touched her.

  “I can fetch the captain, bring him to you,” she said. And there was a softness to her voice that hadn’t been there at first. Speaking still lower, she added, “Come with me, girl. I can hide you just fine while you talk with Cap’n Murphy.”

  I jerked my head up suddenly. “And what makes you think I need to hide?”

  She only smiled. “I been there, darlin’. I know the look. Come on, now.” She took my arm and guided me around to the rear of the tavern, over the cobblestones that were blissfully free of snow, and through a door into a dark and musty room with several blankets strewn haphazardly upon a sleeping pallet, and little else. She lit a lamp and left me there, and ‘twas only a short while later she returned with a finely dressed man who reminded me vaguely of my father, rest his soul.

  He looked me over, sent an uneasy gaze to the woman, and then said to me in a gruff voice that seemed far too loud in the small chamber, “I understand you wish to book passage to the New World?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “‘Tis not cheap.”

  I fished several coins from my bag. “I can pay.”

  Again he nodded. “I'll need a name. To put in the books.”

  I knew the woman must have told him I was hiding, or running away. And I had no idea why he would help me on her say-so alone. But the looks they exchanged were familiar ones, and perhaps he trusted her judgment, as unlikely as that seemed. A man like him, a woman like her. Still, he made it clear he was asking for any name I cared to give him, and I gave him the first one that came to mind. “My name is Smith,” I said in a soft voice, one quite unused to lying.

  “Smith,” he said.

  I thought he battled a slight smile. He lowered his head, but crinkly lines appeared at the corners of his eyes. My father had lines like those when he smiled.

  “It will not do. You’ll need to be a bit more creative in the future, dear lady.” He looked up again and winked. “‘Tis more convincing that way. For now your name is Mistress Hunsinger. Rebecca Hunsinger, and you are traveling to visit your....” He rubbed his bearded chin.

  “My aunt,” I told him, relieved that at least that much was true.

  “Of course.” He took the coins I offered, examined them in his broad palm, then eyed the small bag from which I’d taken them. “Is this all the luggage you’ll be bringing along?”

  I lowered my head.” ‘Tis all I have.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “Well now, look here. You’ve given me more coin than is needed. Perhaps you’ll allow me to use the excess on your behalf.”

  I tilted my head to one side. “I do not under—”

  “Certainly there’s enough here for a simple dress or two, wouldn’t you say, Mary?”

  The woman nodded. “I know just where to find what she needs.”

  The captain pressed one of my coins into her hand. “Good. You’ll send them along with one of the men, then. Meanwhile, Mistress Hunsinger, I have a feeling you’ll feel better aboard the Sea Witch, behind the locked door of your cabin, will you not?”

  I blinked in shock at these two strangers and their unexpected kindness. “Why are you helping me?”

  The captain shrugged. “I’m known to be a good judge of character, mistress. But Mary here is even better. Perhaps one day, ‘twill be me in need of help from a stranger.”

  “I am grateful,” I told them both. “You’ve no idea how much.”

  “Course we do, lass,” Mary said. “Go along with Cap’n Murphy now. He’ll see you safely to where yer goin’.”

  The man offered his arm, and I took it gladly, eager to put England far, far behind me.

  * * *

  He’d seen her! The woman...the girl...the witch!

  But that was impossible. He’d watched her die, held her lifeless body in his arms, cried for her, even.

  And yet, for just an instant he could have sworn....

  Duncan had come with Samuel and Kathleen MacPhearson to the harbor, for they were two of the finest friends he’d ever known, and he’d be no kind of friend to either of them if he did not see them off and wish them well. He’d long since exchanged his dark robes for plain breeches and a white shirt, and he’d joined them here.

  With Kathleen settled in their cabin aboard the Sea Witch—Duncan had writhed in bitter irony at the name of the craft—he and Samuel had gone back to the docks for a pint of ale and a long goodbye. They’d been talking with some other men of their acquaintance outside one of the taverns, when he’d glimpsed the small form of the woman. And though she’d been concealed beneath a dark cloak and hood, something about her had caught his attention and refused to let it go.

  As Duncan looked on, the whore to whom she spoke reached out and yanked the girl’s hood down. And Duncan gasped aloud as he glimpsed her face. Her beautiful, haunting face. Huge dark eyes, and curling ebony tresses of hair. A face that had burned itself a place in his mind. He would not mistake that face.

  She’d tugged the hood up again, almost desperately. He’d only glimpsed her for a moment. And he knew what he thought he’d seen was impossible. And yet
‘twas not possible he’d been mistaken.

  He couldn’t shake the feeling that overwhelmed him. The feeling that this was the same woman he had seen die on the gallows. Though she couldn’t be. She couldn’t be.

  He battled a burning need to see her more closely. To make sure. To know.

  A spell. She must surely have been a witch after all, and he was under her spell. Imagining her face on strange young women. Thinking of her eyes each time he closed his own. Catching the scent of her hair on every stray breeze. ‘Twas unnatural!

  And he was sounding like the fearful townsfolk who clamored to see witches burned or hanged or pitched into the sea. What he felt may be magnified, exaggerated. But ‘twas certainly natural. All too much so.

  “Easy, my friend,” Samuel said in a low voice, one hand on Duncan’s shoulder. “She only looks like the dead girl. ‘Tis not her.”

  “You saw?” Duncan asked.

  “A brief glimpse of ebony locks is all I saw, an’ all you saw, Duncan. Get hold of yourself.”

  “Nay, I saw more.” He strained his ears to listen as the girl spoke to the whore, and he heard her saying she must go to the New World, heard the whore mention the Sea Witch.

  “‘Tis only the ale playin’ tricks on your mind, Duncan,” Samuel said softly.

  Closing his eyes, Duncan whispered, “Aye. I suppose you’re right.”

  But he didn’t believe the words he spoke. And the girl...she would be aboard that ship. That same ship, with Samuel and Kathleen. And if she were a witch, they could be in danger. And if she was not, then she should be dead. Hell, either way, she should be dead. But he was compelled, obsessed perhaps. Whatever drove him...he had to be sure. He had to.

  Lowering his head, rubbing his temples, willing his lips not to utter the words hovering on his tongue, he said them anyway. “Samuel, I’ve changed my mind. I’m comin’ with you.”