Authors: Bri Clark
Scent of a Witch
| Scent of a Witch |
| Bri Clark |
Maeve da Paer has lived her life free from the restrictions of the world of sorcery and the Board of Witchery hidden behind the combined protection of her grandparents powerful clan magic—and a lie. Although her life has not been worry free, it is when all that desperation and grief cause her to cast her most powerful spell ever...a spell that will end the pain before it begins on the powerful All Hallows Eve.
Fionn Hughes, an immortal tracker, former heir to a powerful clan of time warlocks is on a mission to restore his honor—instead he finds Maeve da Paer. Following the scent of Gardenias and Honey Suckle, he discovers the last Scent Witch. It's only after she almost takes off his ear that something more stirs, eventually changing his mission from one of duty to one of need.
What will Fionn do when he finds out Maeve plans to cancel out her own existence? Will he be strong enough to stop her?
b
y Bri Clark
Published by Astraea Press
www.astraeapress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
SCENT OF A WITCH
Copyright © 2011 BRI CLARK
ISBN
978-1-936852-67-3
Cover Art Designed by Elaina Lee
Edited by Kay Springsteen and Judah Raine
Enthusiasm is a feeling that is quick to ignite but takes fuel to burn steady. There are those in my life that are a constant source of energy for my sparks. I thank each of you dearly. My critique partner K. My silent backer CC. And my own granny Cordy. Wilma Gier.
The vice
-like grip
that had seized Maeve’s lungs the last few days slowly released as
she
reached behind the antique traveling desk.
Ding.
T
he bell
on the front door
indicat
ed
someone had walked out of the consignment shop. Light footsteps approa
ched
as
she
pushed the button in. Then a panel revealed what she sought
.
A
velvet
jewelry box, discolored by age, lay
inside.
Once most likely a brilliant red
,
the box had
f
aded
to a soft pink
. With as much speed as she could muster
,
she reached within
the panel
and grabbed the box
.
E
xpensive perfume invaded
Maeve’s nostrils
like a conque
ring army
. Seconds was all the time she had
. Fingers lightly shaking, pulse
thundering in her mind
,
she opened the box.
Air flowed into her lungs like a dam being released.
The white female silhouette
on top of a light blue background
encased in
a gold
frame and
with a
matching gold
chain
looked back at her. Tear
s
prickled in her eyes.
“Finally
,
”
s
he whispered.
“Did
you find what you needed hun?” a
sked the blue
-
haired buxom shop owner in
a
twangy drawl.
“Yes, ma’am. I did. Thank you ever so much
,
” Maeve replied instinctively
,
her manners falling into place.
“Wonderful
,
”
t
he woman saturated in rose perfume squealed.
“I insist I
pay you for all the trouble I caused
,
” Maeve stated
,
reaching toward her shoulder where she always kept cash under her bra strap. All the color blanched from the little old lad
y’s
face as she shook her head and fluttered her hands back and forth.
“I won’t have it. You hear me young lady. That there is yours. It belongs in the family.” She
placed
her hands on
her round hips and narrow
ed
her eyes
. Then
,
seeing a customer at the cash register
,
she turned to leave. Only to stop abruptly, close
her eyes, and hold her breath.
“Child, you need to git…
now. Out that way
there
,
then take a left
,
and you’ll be back on Main Street
,
”
she
insisted
,
shoving Maeve with a force she didn’t look to have. Without
conscious
thought,
Maeve
obeyed
, and her feet carried her through the door
.
In the alley behind the old brick
building,
she stopped and opened the box again. With great care she pulled the necklace out
and
, holding it by the chain in front of her, she turned it around to reveal the back. In an ancient language as easy
on
her lips as English she whispered
:
“
Once hidden
.
Undercover
.
In disguise
.
I ask only
,
you
u
nveil your secrets
f
or but a moment
, t
o my eyes.
”
Solid gold backing distorted in a wispy sort of haze and rev
ealed what
she asked. Her eyes closed and she
fought
the maelstrom of feelings that always seemed to be there
a
waiting release. Remembering the woman’s insistence
,
she put the necklace around her neck then headed down the alley.
M
aeve
walked the sidewalks of downtown Franklin, exploring the little specialty shops, stopping briefly at the
old
café
on the corner, giving the appearance of a normal tourist in the historic Tennessee
town.
However,
Maeve was anything but normal, and the directions in which she chose to walk were no accident. She was on the hunt and could already claim one success.
She stopped to take a deep breath and
inhaled
the scents of coffee, baked bread, gasoline
fumes,
and aut
umn leaves
all
mingled together
.
There,
o
n the tail end of the onslaught of
smells,
was the one that had led her on this journey. Gardenias. A
fragrance
one
simply
would not expect at the end of
October,
nor in the attic of her grandmother’s old home
. And
especially
not
outside the antique shop where she
’d
found the treasure she desperately needed
. But there it was again…another
figurative
bread crumb.
W
ithout
hesitation,
she followe
d the pull of the flowery musk.
The crowds around
her
seemed
to clo
se in on themselves
and kept
her from passing. A street vendor with a cart took up the entire
corner
sidewalk and
,
out of
nowhere,
a line form
ed
suddenly for his treats of hotdogs,
hamburgers,
and
soda
. With
an
urgency
she herself couldn’t even understand
,
Maeve
pushed and shoved through the throng of people to a destination she didn’t know, on a trail she could only smell…and at times
could
merely
feel.
Feel?
She stopped walking. Someone bumped into her from behind. Other pedestrians jostled her as they adjusted the flow of traffic to move
around her suddenly still form.
She closed her eyes… To her dismay
the flowery musk
had
disappeared.
B
ut the
feeling
was there. Eyes
open
,
sh
e looked
left
.
A
small alley
that ran parallel
along two historic
brick buildings
would be
her
route.
Without
giving
it
any further
thought,
she allowed
her feet
to
surge forward
.
A
t the end of the alley she stopped
,
closed her
eyes
and tried to find the tr
ail again
,
or the scent at least. But
nothing came except the burn of her feet and
a pinched
toe.
Her head dropped as she inspected the tan wedge heels she
’d
chose
n
to
wear while she took in the sights
.
H
er granny’s husky laugh echoed in her mind’
s ear. Maeve
smiled,
and then
frowned. It was
G
ranny Cordy’s
death tha
t spawned this crazy
, cursed journey. A tear escaped and she was glad she
still used waterproof mascara.
“Granny
,
why did you have to leave me? I’m all alone
…
everything will
end with me.” Ma
e
ve
spoke to the breeze
as her thumb stroked the blue cameo pendant
. Once again
,
a husky
impatient
sigh invaded her mind…and she couldn’t tell if it was a memory or something more.
Then a painful
nip
came from her foot and it seemed as if every blister she had screamed for relief. The distinct
fragrance
of
healthy water
tickled her senses and she limped toward it. A cold fountain would be perfect to dip her feet into to ease the pain
until she got back to
grandparents’
house.
Her house now that they were gone.
She
’d
just
lived in stiletto boots for a whole season in Paris
…
why were wedges presenting such a pro
blem
?
T
he normal local summer
attire of flip
-
flops so ragged that the padding was black would never be an option
for her
.
So what else was there?
Abruptly,
Maeve stopped
again
as she found herself on
the threshold of a small forest.
It was not an unexpected site in the middle of a metropolitan area
,
at least not in the south. Historic cities like Franklin were always balanced with strong areas of vegetation adding to the reminder of plantation living and pre
-
Civil
W
ar culture.