Page 3 of A Circle of Uncommon Witches

THREE

Inside the cyclone, Doreen lost track of time. She could hear her heartbeat and the rushing of her own breath, but she did not know where she began and the vortex ended. A blast of cold rushed through her, followed by a heat so intense she screamed, but no sound escaped. It took all her effort to keep her thoughts in her head. Static roared inside her. She knew her name and lost it, knew her purpose and it disintegrated. Soon she would know nothing.

She feared she could not suffer through another minute of being inside the deathly dervish, and yet Ambrose had spent centuries surviving it. The air smelled of burning sulfur, her mouth tasted of ash, her skin crawling.

Doreen wanted to die.

She thought of her life so far. Of days spent with Margot, hiding in the forest, pilfering Stella’s supplies from the new shipments to the apothecary, working on spells. Of growing up laughing when they managed to pinch some of Stella’s wine or beloved Brie. She thought of the mother she never knew, who left her behind because she wasn’t worth staying for, and the man who she’d wanted to give her heart to but who could never hold it. Each memory cut deep into her bones, and she tried and failed to scream them out.

A bright light flashed inside her mind. The air turned warm, and a lullaby cut through the noise. A melody she knew but had forgotten, like a teddy bear she’d set down one day as a child, before stumbling across it unexpectedly and realizing she’d been missing a best friend.

Suddenly the pain stopped. A gentle hand was wrapped around her arm. It was connected to a muscular forearm. She tracked it to a broad shoulder and wide chest.

Ambrose was breaking into the spell. If he got inside, he’d be trapped just as she was. His face pressed in, those blue-green eyes finding hers. He looked down at her hand and ripped the bandage off. He dug his fingers into the fresh cut, and she screamed. When the blood came, he pressed her hand to his and yanked them both out.

Doreen stumbled, the world spinning around her. Ambrose tucked her against his side, and she sank into him. Forgetting, for a moment, where she was and what was at stake. He was holding her in a way no one ever had before. As though he cared, as though she mattered. She realized she did—she was the only one who could keep him safe.

Stella let out a cry that sliced into Doreen’s soul. “Doreen Antoinette MacKinnon, how could you ?”

She straightened, staggered, and raised her head to meet her aunt’s incredulous gaze.

“How could you ?” Doreen said, her voice as dry as dust, one of her hands still captured in Ambrose’s as she took a single step away from him. “This family is built on secrets and lies. Is a curse worth torturing someone for three hundred years? Is it worth all the pain we cause, all the loss?” She didn’t wait for Stella to reply. “I refuse to die because you’re so invested in this feud that you’ve damned us all.”

“You’ve damned yourself more than anyone could by freeing him,” Stella said, pain and rage merging on her familiar face. A rare glimpse of worry and something else, something calculating, flashed in her aunt’s eyes.

Doreen refused to be another chess piece for her aunt to move around on the board that was her life.

They stood, facing one another, suspense building as Doreen tried to pull herself together.

Stella gave a heavy sigh, and raised her hands, flicking the palms out. “Get out of my way, child, so I can undo the damage you’ve wrought.”

“I don’t think so,” Ambrose said, his voice low and lethal.

Doreen’s hand tingled where Ambrose’s was pressed against hers, and she shivered at the determination in his voice. “The cage is open,” he said, his tone firm. “Now it’s my turn to play.”

He whispered an incantation too low for Doreen to hear, and suddenly the wind was back. It wrapped around them, shifting the landscape as a cyclone opened. Through it, Doreen saw a path leading into a field. Ambrose gave her hand a single squeeze. He raised a brow at Doreen, who looked at Stella.

“There will be no coming back from this,” her aunt said, and now it was grief Doreen saw reflected at her.

Doreen met Stella’s eyes. Swallowed down the regret. She had tried to find happiness, first with Jack, and then with a family of her and Margot. Her aunt had been the cause for both to break.

This was the only way for Doreen to change her fate.

“I know,” she said, before she stepped forward and pulled herself and Ambrose through the open portal, leaving Stella and life as Doreen knew it behind.

Doreen and Ambrose walked onto the path and into a forest the color of emeralds. They were surrounded by hills and tall trees, and she breathed deep, pulling in a heady scent of pine and cedar. A breeze stirred through the air, and she thought she heard music riding the wind before it died down, and with it, her panic rose as the portal closed behind them.

“Shit. Shit shit shit. ” Doreen began to shake all over. She ran her hands through her hair, squeezing her neck at the base. “Stella will disown me for this.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

She spun on her heel to face Ambrose. He towered over her, his eyes hooded as they took her in.

Her stomach tightened and she cleared her throat, refusing to be intimidated.

“Stella’s my family.”

He looked down at the tatters of his clothing before meeting her eyes. “You have a horrible family.”

“Only to you.”

“History would argue the point. You know nothing of your line, and I remember it all. Torturous and villainous. Family is a casualty of living, but yours is particularly heinous. Besides, she threatened you, her own blood.” He looked up at the sky, a shudder rolling through him. “For years she tortured me with a smile on her face.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, knowing the words were inadequate. “I can’t make up for centuries of pain, but to be fair, that’s what your curse inflicted on us. It’s horrible, truly. But you responded in kind. Do you care how many of us died? That I have no mother or father, that those of us lucky enough to have a parent end up with a partial one who lives with a broken heart, unable to give their children what they themselves never had? That we are never whole, never fully loved? That we are just echoes of who we could have been, and we live with that knowledge every day that we face a mirror? Do you even realize what you stole from our lives?”

“You all had a choice, which is more than your family gave me,” he said.

She glared at him, not wanting to weigh if there was any truth to what he said. Doreen was completely on her own. Partnered with the most powerful witch in the world. A man she couldn’t trust and who could turn on her at any moment.

“Though you can’t help who you’re born to,” he added, his voice low, as though he didn’t mean to say that part out loud.

Her jaw clenched. “I saved you.”

“Why do you think I haven’t killed you yet?”

Doreen grunted at him. She needed to find a way to regain the upper hand.

“I need to get out of these clothes, and we need to set our terms,” she told him. He looked as distrusting of her as a speck of lint facing a dryer sheet. The wind rustled the leaves, bringing a new chill to the air. She inhaled deeply, accidentally breathing him in. He smelled of magic, his own blend of it, like fresh earth and summer rain. He was as distracting as he was dangerous. She refused to be preoccupied by anything other than the task at hand. Dry clothes. Answers. Breaking the curse. Simple.

“There’s a town just over that hill,” he said, after a long moment. “Do you have any money on you, or should I summon the clothing and save us the trouble?”

“Summoning makes stealing sound fancy, when really it’s just being an asshole,” she said, forgetting to think before she spoke. It was another of her biggest flaws, according to her aunt Stella.

She’d just insulted the most powerful witch in existence. She lifted a hand, preparing herself to fend off an attack, and the corner of Ambrose’s mouth gave a slow twitch. Doreen blinked. She couldn’t look away. The hint of his smile knocked her knees together. Or maybe that was the adrenaline leaving her, since he didn’t seem insulted or ready to engage.

“I need to sit,” she said, plopping to the ground as the weight of what she’d done rolled through her. “How do you know there’s a town there?”

“I was trapped in my body, but not even your line could trap my spirit.”

“Astral projection?”

“Not quite. More like mental… glimpses.”

“Ahh, that’s why you sound like you’re speaking the King’s English.” She cocked her head. “Your accent is posher than any I’ve ever heard.”

“I’ve witnessed centuries passing. I’ve listened and learned.”

“Sounds lonely.”

“I was alone, but I learned long ago that being alone and being lonely are worlds apart. I saw you, and your strength. I saw you struggle.” He squatted in front of her, holding out his hand. “May I inspect the wound?”

She hesitated, looked at her palm. “It’s fine.”

“If it gets infected, it will hinder your plans immensely.”

“It’s not the seventeenth century anymore. I’m not going to get gangrene, and I’ve had my tetanus shot, thanks.”

“Stubborn.”

“Brilliant,” she said, still not trusting him to inspect anything on her. “And it just needs a salve, which I can make from the herbs beyond that little bush there.” She hesitated. “What did you see when you watched me? Which sounds super creepy, by the way.”

“I saw you not give up, and I saw Stella fight to box you away.” He gave a curt nod, leveled his gaze to hers, and stared so deeply into her eyes her head swam. “You won’t give up, and neither box nor cave could hold you, I do not think. I am glad you broke me free of mine, but I do not trust you, Doreen MacKinnon.”

“That’s funny,” she said, blinking and shaking off the feeling of being seen. It made her shoulders want to sag in relief, but she didn’t know what to do with the feeling from him. “I thought we were about to become besties.”

“But you did save my life.”

“Twice.”

“For your reasons.”

“Yes.”

“I’m a means to your end.”

“You’re a means to an end.” She forced a smile and tried for a bit of false bravado. “And just so you know, if you want to try and end me, I’ll put you down before you can say the words chauvinistic penis .”

His brows quirked. “Charming,” he said.

“Not really. But I’m quite happy with myself.”

His lips twitched and she waited for another barb. Instead he brushed his hands down his solid, wide chest. She refused to follow their path on principle. It was unnatural that he should be so fit after being tortured for so many years. She really thought she’d like him better if he looked more like a waif than a six-foot-two lumberjack.

“We’re in agreement, then,” he said, shifting his weight, stretching out one long leg. “Neither of us trust the other, but we will use one another for as long as it’s beneficial.”

“You mean I’ll keep saving your life if you tell me how to reverse this curse? Yes, we’re in agreement.”

He looked down, bent to pick a single leaf, and ran a finger down its side. The leaf curled into a ball and when it unrolled again it was a caterpillar. He set it down in the grass and watched it scoot forward.

“Whoa,” she said. She had never seen anyone perform such an intricate spell so quickly or with such ease.

He stared at the ground for so long, Doreen wondered if he’d forgotten she was there.

“I don’t know how to undo the curse,” Ambrose said.

“Wait. What?” She took her eyes from the caterpillar and stared at him. “You set it; you must know how to undo it.”

“I had no desire to ever break it.” He paused. “I am not sure I do now.”

“Are you kidding ?”

“Love is terrible, Doreen. Losing it is worse than ever having it. You don’t know.”

“I never had a chance to know, because of you. ”

He took a slow breath, scratched at his chin. “The Keeper is the only one who might be able to help.”

“What is a keeper?” she asked as she watched the caterpillar begin to munch on a green leaf. “Is that caterpillar eating himself?”

“It’s a simple energy transfiguration spell, and yes, he is.” Ambrose stood up. “The Keepers are guardians. I’m not surprised you don’t know of them. Don’t know about transfiguration; can’t recharge. You live in the shadows. Knowledge just outside your reach. Your power must have terrified them.” He glanced down at her. “It’s why you can’t hold your magic.”

Doreen stared up at him, both grateful and irritated his giant form blocked the sun from her eyes. “I broke through a centuries -old spell to save you.”

“It depleted you.”

“Forgive me for needing a moment to catch my breath,” she scoffed.

“You don’t need to catch your breath. You’re letting what you cannot do interfere with what you can.”

“And what can’t I do?”

He leaned down, held out a hand. She hesitated once more.

“Stubborn or scared?”

Sighing, she put her hand in his. A current, strong, steady, and bright, flowed from him into her. Every zapped ounce of her energy returned, filling her up until she was so full, she thought she might rocket off the earth.

He’d transferred his energy to her, without even having to snap his fingers.

Ambrose lifted his brows as she gaped at him. Then he released her hand and sat down on the earth, his bare feet pressing into the dirt. He dug his fingers into it and drew in a deep breath. Light, twinkling and bright, floated up from the earth, along with bits of water, sparks, and dirt.

He closed his eyes and leaned back, inhaling deeply through his nose. The light settled into him, the elements resting, smattering across his skin. Every ounce of power he’d given to her, he’d recouped, and more, if the vibrant color of his eyes was any indication. The aqua nearly glowed.

“You deplete yourself when you don’t have to,” he said, his low voice rumbling through the air before it dropped down into her. Its vibrations ran deep into her bones.

Doreen didn’t know what to say. What he’d done was unbearably kind. And worrisome. She’d studied under her aunts, learned from her cousins, read thousands of books, articles, and grimoires, yet he’d shown her in one move she knew next to nothing. “I’ve never been taught to replenish myself like that.”

“They don’t want you to know,” he said. “Your villainous family has you as locked up as they did me. You look a little like your mother did, but you look even more like the one who should have been able to free me.” He looked up at the sky. “Lenora. You are not her.”

“You saw my mother?” Doreen asked, her heart giving a single painful squeeze.

“I did.”

“What happened when you saw her?”

“She died of a broken heart,” he said. “I told you love is a terrible thing.”

“Because of the curse?”

“No, because of pride.”

Doreen’s jaw ground too tight and she forced it to relax. “How?”

“She left you. Frances didn’t trust herself or her magic.” He shrugged. “She did not come here, did not torture me. Once she was gone, I could not see her any longer. That is all I know.”

“You know nothing.”

He did not respond, simply stared out into the distance.

“And Lenora?”

“I loved her.”

“Oh.” She was the one, then, the reason he cast the curse. “I think I may have heard her name before.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw, and he rubbed a hand over his heart before flicking his eyes to her. “They rarely say it. They do not honor the dead.”

Doreen did not disagree. They didn’t say her mother’s name either. It hurt Stella too much, that was what Margot thought. Stella and Kayleen didn’t try to contact their lost loved ones with the Ouija board like Margot and Doreen did or whisper their names when they lay their heads down to sleep in hopes they were listening somehow. The aunts and cousins did not look back, and they didn’t look to the future either. Not like Doreen. “Why would Lenora be able to free you?”

“It is what she said, your ancestor who set the original spell.”

“Ah.”

She stared at his hand, how it pressed into the ribs that protected his heart, and he looked down. He dropped his hand. “I do not know how to help you.”

“What about the Keeper?”

“They may help. They may not. Regardless, they are the only one with the power to do so.”

Doreen stretched her arms to the sky. Every fiber of her being felt like it was floating out from her body. Recharged. What a divine sensation to be so full of life, of power. She did not trust Ambrose any more than he trusted her, and yet he had shown her something no one else had.

He didn’t know she was a mimic, that she could duplicate any spell she read or saw. Now that she’d seen how Ambrose could refill his power, she could do it too. She now had the power to refill herself, and he might think he knew what she was capable of, but Doreen was beginning to think even she didn’t know what she might be able to do.

“Okay.” She nodded as she tugged her lower lip between her teeth. “You say you can’t break the curse, but you know someone who can help me. Will you take me to them?”

He furrowed his brow for a moment, staring at her mouth before answering. “They keep a record of time, spells, and magic. They are… not always wise to trust.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You sure you can’t just tell me what to do?”

“I do not know how.”

“Or want to.”

“That is irrelevant, as you said. I owe you.”

“Worried about a life bond, are you?” All witches knew that to save another was to bond to them, to owe a debt. The way Ambrose mostly avoided getting close to her made it clear he’d rather turn himself into a caterpillar than be tied to Doreen—though it might not be for very long if she didn’t break the curse and save her own life.

She looked beyond Ambrose to the pristine blue sky, and found her gaze inevitably drawn back to him. “After we see this Keeper and get what I need?”

He glanced at her face, studying her. His pupils expanded as his gaze dropped to her mouth again. Doreen narrowed her eyes at him. Had she managed to glamour him? Could Ambrose even be enthralled?

“I leave, and you will let me.”

Clearly not. She swallowed, finding the idea of his going peculiarly disappointing. But this is what she wanted. To be free, to find true love. To live. Not to be saddled with a potentially sociopathic ancient witch.

She held out her hand. “You have yourself a bargain, Ambrose MacDonald.”

“And you have yourself a bridge of hope,” he said, referencing her earlier words to what she believed love was. “Let’s hope it doesn’t crumble beneath you when you attempt to cross.”

Ambrose didn’t want to keep looking at the witch. She was stubborn, foolhardy, and, gods help him, more beautiful than the night sky during the winter solstice. She didn’t look as much like Lenora as he’d first thought. Her hair was brighter, her voice raspier, and she moved like she was always ready for battle, whereas Lenora moved like she was ready to be attended to.

He’d really enjoyed attending to her.

Doreen MacKinnon also smelled of the magic of a full moon. Not the burnt charcoal of the moon itself, but the light scent of rose and bergamot. Ambrose was trying to ignore his physical reaction to her, because what he really needed was to get away from her. As fast as possible. He did not trust this witch, but he could help her if it meant achieving what he’d dreamed of for three hundred years.

Kill her family. Slowly. Painfully. And with pleasure.

He could never tell her the truth, that he knew how to break the spell. He would never consent to what it required, the cost of breaking it. He didn’t want her to die—he didn’t really want anyone to die—but he had no choice. She didn’t know the price of love. How it could and would destroy you.

Ambrose dropped her hand after they shook on the deal and turned to the town beyond them. The Isle of Skye had not changed much over the centuries, and yet it had completely transformed. That was the funny thing about time. The landscape might shift, but the heart of a place, when firmly planted, beat steady. He could leave now. Leave her . But he wasn’t ready, and if he stayed with her… He could take every last MacKinnon down, using her as his bait.

“There’s a knitwear in Portree,” he said. “It’s a bit of a walk over the hill and along the cliffs, but you should be recharged well enough to make it now.”

“Portree?”

“Yes.”

“As in…”

“Isle of Skye.”

“Scotland.”

“Of course.”

Doreen blinked at him. “I didn’t bring my passport.”

Ambrose let out a laugh, his first true one in centuries, and watched Doreen’s eyes light up. He wondered what would make that look of wonder deepen across her face and tried to banish the thought. It lingered like a kiss. He told himself it was chemical; she did look a bit like Lenora, after all.

“I’ve not got any coin, but the Keeper may. We’ll get fresh clothes and, if we’re lucky, your answers.”

He went to step forward but stopped when she spoke. “I always get lucky,” she told him, with her head held high, before stubbornly marching past him.

Ambrose MacDonald sighed, and found that once again, when it came to a MacKinnon witch, he could only follow.