Prologue
864 years walking the earth and Emerson couldn’t remember longing for anyone like he did for her. Indulging in his Sunday roast, the warlock of the Western United States coven struggled to focus on anything but his new bride. Even the beef, that had been prepared perfectly, failed to rouse his attention away from her. Instead, it slid tastelessly down his throat.
They talked about trivial matters, though neither was invested in the conversation. Emerson sought only to hear her southern drawl, finding it much more lively than any Californian’s drawn-out pronunciations. He admitted, though having known her for about a year already, the novelty of her charms still held him captive. He found her subtleties entrancing—the way she smelled like a fresh spring day or the crinkle of her almond brown eyes whenever she smiled. Emerson blamed the infatuation on her potent lineage, but he was too old to believe that.
In fact, the warlock had drawn upon his experience with several past dalliances and wives to come to the conclusion true love was a farce of poets’ making. But, he was sure no poet had ever met Ginevra. It was strange with her. Emerson had been in control of every aspect of his life since he could remember, yet their relationship was a wild whirlwind that had stolen the ground out from under him. There was no mistake, she was the master and he the servant.
“Oh,” Ginevra gasped and pressed a hand to her swollen belly.
“Everything alright?” Emerson asked, his thoughts brought back to the present.
“Yeah, just a strong kick. Guess the meal doesn’t agree with her,” Ginevra replied, pushing her porcelain plate forward.
“You should go to a healer.”
Ginevra rolled her eyes at him. “How many children have you had at this point? Hundreds? She’s fine, I’m fine, there’s nothing to fret about. Besides, if I went to the healer I wouldn’t be back for hours. Praise the Mother, that woman can talk.”
He chuckled. “If you insist on my love. Our daughter isn’t even born yet but I think she might be my favorite.”
Ginevra feigned disappointment but erupted in giggles too soon after for him to feel ridiculed.
“You Locke girls will be the death of me,” he sighed.
“Aw, Amilia and I will take it easy on you—sometimes.”
They laughed together, savoring the blissfully easy moments before parenthood. Emerson had seen it all many times before, but Ginevra wasn’t as prepared. She felt too young to bring her own child into the world. Though she knew love wouldn’t be an issue, there was still an insistent pricking of anxiety in the back of her mind.
No matter how carefree she projected herself the grievous nature of her past lurked in her thoughts. Ginevra took care to hide a trembling fist from Emerson, gripping the side of her skirt. Looking at her husband, she tried to feel reassured and it almost worked. Even though he was a warlock, an evil being every witch with a sensible mother had been warned against, Ginevra took comfort in his protection. Silently she reminded herself that even he wouldn’t dare intrude upon another warlock’s territory.
Her relief was cut short by a serious expression contorting its way onto Emerson’s face.
“Someone’s portaled in,” he whispered, jumping up from the table.
Ginevra felt her heart quicken. “He’s found me.”
“Get to the mirror, portal to—,” Emerson whipped his head to the door, “shit, they’re casting.”
Both of them sprung into action casting a circle of protection. Ginevra splattered gravy on the wood floor around them in a rough circle while Emerson clenched his fists and brought them together even with his midriff. He chanted in the forbidden tongue, his voice echoing through the mansion. A dark aura began to surround them from the edges of the room as he summoned Maligess’s power. Ginevra felt faint, she could sense the evil presence that had marked her past.
Suddenly the room was silent. Confused why he stopped chanting, Ginevra dared a glance at Emerson. Her eyes were first met with black blood pooling at his feet. She followed the stream of blood upward to find all his orifices gushing the black liquid as he gargled, struggling to breathe. Ginevra gasped at the sight, knowing that he wouldn’t survive the death curse.
Still, she pressed her hands together flat, brought her thumbs to her lips, and whispered, “mother give him life.” Crossing her thumbs and folding all her fingers but her indexes, she concentrated in vain, her efforts would never be enough to contend with his power.
Emerson collapsed in his own black pool of blood mixed with beef gravy. He let out one last sorrowful crook before going limp.
Though she swelled with the power, Ginevra stared at his corpse in disbelief. He was just with her, laughing and talking, and now there was nothing. She crawled to him, not caring about the warm black liquid covering her hands and legs. Hunched over his body she waited to see some small sign of life that would never come.
Despite the suddenness of her husband’s demise, Ginevra’s eyes remained dry at the sight. She was torn between cold indifference and tinges of remorse. Emerson was only meant to be a safe harbor for her broken heart, but he snatched her up in a whirlwind of romantic grandiose. The relationship had long outpaced her grasp of control, her pregnancy being a repercussion of spellbound inhibition. She looked into his hazel eyes once more, a bout of grief quickened her heart, leaving her oblivious to the opening door behind his corpse.
A small witch with a wicked smile and glowing blue eyes wandered into the room. “He would have never measured up to your first love. I almost can’t even handle the power he gifted me,” she jested.
“Who are you?” Ginevra asked, tearing her eyes away from the bloody mess to look at the dark-haired girl.
“Lucinda Green, a subservient of your ex. I’m here to take you home, or face the same fate as your beloved.”
Ginevra glared at the betrayer. To turn your back on the mother for unnatural power was detestable. Nothing marred a witch more than greed.
Her breathing was shaky as she froze with indecision. Her gut said to fight, but her swollen belly reminded her of what was more important. Swallowing hard she nodded, “I’ll go willingly.”
The small witch looked slightly disappointed but began summoning a portal. As she cast the large mirror in the dining room buckled till it reflected a plantation in the middle of nowhere Louisiana.
“Are you waiting for an invitation?” the witch sneered.
She stood slowly and took some steps towards the portal. Ginevra gave one last glance to Emerson’s body. She pressed the middle and ring fingers of her left hand to her lips and whispered a prayer for him, “May you find peace.”
“I really have a lot of killing to do if you could hurry it up.”
Ginevra shot the witch a glare, but continued to the portal, she wouldn’t risk the life of her unborn daughter. Through the distorted mirror she could make out the familiar outline of a towering man through. All she feared waited on the other side, lurking like a predator. Taking a deep breath she stepped through.
The humidity hit her first, then the radiating warmth of Southern heat. Her body reeled from the portal and her vision blurred, like getting off a carousel. Ginevra focused her attention on an old oak tree in the distance to keep her dinner from spewing out.
“Did you think he would protect you?” a deep voice with remnants of a British accent asked.
Her vision settled back to normal and she looked at the source of the voice. He was turned away from her, looking at the house. His tall frame cloaked in a white suit. When she failed to answer, he turned around with a malicious smile full of perfectly white teeth. Ginevra was reminded of his eternal beauty, confronted with his sculpted face encased by inky black combed back curls. His hooded amber eyes made her remember his true ugliness though, narrowing in on her like prey.
“Well?”
“Yes,” Ginevra bitterly admitted.
He chuckled, “Ah, you silly girl. I am far older and more powerful than Emerson could have ever been. It was all too easy to slip my subservient in,” he stalked over to her till there was only a foot of space between them, “I was quite hurt when I found out you ran away, after all, you were my betrothed,” his eyes flicked to her belly, “though, things seemed to have worked out in my favor.”
Ginevra clenched her teeth and backed away from him, “Arundel, please.”
His smile widened, and again he moved closer, “After my associate has dispatched with all of Emerson’s offspring, the child you carry will be the most powerful witch ever born. She will be the most formidable combination of warlock and witch. So my darling, don’t worry. I’ll pardon your betrayal because you’ve brought me a better bride.”
“That’s ridiculous, I’ll never let you near her. She hasn’t even taken her first breath. Please, ask anything else, take me instead,” Ginevra pleaded, tears already plunging down her cheeks, “don’t make my daughter pay for my mistakes.”
“Oh come now, I’m not unreasonable; you would still raise her in your mother’s cottage on the condition she never leaves without my permission. I’ll visit frequently to keep a close eye on her progress, and hopefully encourage her feelings towards me. You can still teach her magic, but not everything, nothing that could ever let her elude me. Do you understand?”
“No. You cannot have her,” Ginevra said.
“Fine.” Arundel sighed, “I’m afraid that was the only reconciliation I will accept, otherwise I feel it’s necessary to ensure that no one else possesses your daughter’s power.” He balled his right hand into a tight fist.
Ginevra’s body instantly felt like it was on fire and horrible cramps erupted from her belly, she fell to her knees, hunched over in overwhelming spasms.
“NO stop, I understand!” she shrieked.
Arundel unclenched his hand, “Excellent, your mother is waiting in the house,” he began to walk away but turned back, “I almost forgot to mention, when she is born I’ll place my mark on the back of her neck. This mark will allow me to always be aware of her, including her location. Should I ever feel her leave the coven without my knowledge, I’ll kill your mother and take her instantly,” he continued walking.
Ginevra bent over into the grass and sobbed, “Damnit!”
