Timeless Witch Read online

  TIMELESS WITCH

  by

  C.L. Scholey

  TORRID BOOKS

  www.torrid books.com

  Published by

  TORRID BOOKS

  An Imprint of Whiskey Creek Press LLC

  Whiskey Creek Press

  PO Box 51052

  Casper, WY 82605-1052

  www.whiskeycreekpress.com

  Copyright © 2014 by C.L. Scholey

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-1-61160-774-1

  Cover Artist: Gemini Judson

  Editor: Melanie Billings

  Printed in the United States of America

  WHAT THEY ARE SAYING ABOUT

  GAME ON!

  This is one married couple whose appetites for each other grow ever stronger with each passing year. They thoroughly enjoy discovering new ways to keep the spark alive and thriving. Allowing another couple to share in their fun only seems to increase the possibilities. Keeping the love alive is certainly not a problem for Mac and Jenney, which makes their escapades deliciously fun to read. ~ Coffee Time Romance

  ENGULF – NEW WORLD BK 5

  Abri is a strong female heroine. She didn't let deafness define who she is. Raiden is a likeable guy. Why? Even though Abri is deaf, Raiden picked her for his female.

  C.L. Scholey has done a terrific job of creating this futuristic romance series. We have action, romance, adventure & mystery all in 102 pages. ~ Romance Bookaholic Traveler

  THE BRETHREN OF TAVISH – VAMPIRE COVEN BK 1

  The Brethren of Tavish is a wonderfully written book. The characters are well rounded and bring you into the story as if you were really there. The story flows smoothly tying one part to the next. The plot is well thought out, giving you plenty of action... ~ Night Owl Reviews

  Other Books by Author Available at Torrid Books:

  www.torridbooks.com

  Game on!

  Enslaved

  New World Series

  Shield

  Armor

  Impenetrable

  Apparition

  Engulf

  Guardian

  Vampire Coven Series

  The Brethren of Tavish

  A Vampire to Watch Over Me

  A Vampire’s Embrace

  Unearthly World Series

  Bay’s Mercenary

  Zuri’s Zargonnii Warrior

  Elements Series

  Fire’s Flame

  Viking Warriors Series

  w/a Constantine De Bohon

  Valhalla Hott

  Valhalla Wolf

  Valerie Heat

  Norse Valor

  Viking Warriors Mega Book

  Dedication

  For those who love the enchantment of Halloween.

  Chapter 1

  I’ve always hated floating in the dark, in a continual abyss of nothingness. The endless amount of wasted time spent waiting, waiting. Your immature body trying to catch up and coexist with insurmountable thoughts. Bombarded with thousands of years of feelings. Trying to gain control over the slightest tiny contraption, such as opening and closing a meager fist, wiggling a tiny toe. Sightless, except for the memories from within that plague you endlessly. My thoughts consume me.

  Suspended animation was my legacy, it would seem.

  But for now, I was safe. Alistair couldn’t find me here. Alistair; oh, how I hated his loathsome name. It rolled as though off a serpent’s tongue, defiling my mind, polluting my entire being. He waited, I knew, for me to call to my witch birthright. My miniscule powers were of no use to me, really. I would not have the full benefit of my magic until many years hence. There was no need to energize my gift, a beacon that would alert him to my soul’s rebirth.

  No, better to float, to wait, to plan. Better to seek the best way to gain my revenge. Oh, he would pay for my demise and the demise of my loved ones. The only solace, my only true comfort, was in knowing I had caused his destruction. With my last breath, I had taken his earth-bound body, sucked him into the abyss with me. Stupid fool that he was, he thought he could best me when my grief had shattered my soul.

  But, no, my anger made me strong. My fury was blind, dark, unseeing vehemence. He stole from me my precious Randar. My life, my love, my destiny, my soul mate. It is a good thing this body is too young to cry; although, seeing as though I am encased in fluid, I guess metaphorically I am swimming in a sea of tears. I think for now, I will sleep. I will sleep and I will plan and I will sleep...and I will sleep.

  * * * *

  All Hallow’s Eve. A night that was specifically created through time by the gods, deemed as a necessary evil and a much-needed good. A truce of sorts, if you will, a balance between asymmetry and symmetry. It has been ordained to belong to witches, demons, good and evil alike. With good reason.

  There is a predestined energy about this night that the gods themselves created after evil’s first birth. The night when Magic is at its strongest. A special night which belongs to solar, earth and air, fire and water. Most importantly, it belongs to everyone and no one. Any creation may come forth without exclusion. We are all welcome. We were all one, at some point in time, after all.

  And if born on this sacred day, you are blessed with the protection of the Keeper of Halloween, the most impartial being that could ever exist. There are times when he sways a tad closer toward good than evil, but perhaps those are just my thoughts. Nevertheless, regardless of the power in this special night, there are some who rush to be born sooner.

  There was the amusing episode of an evil warlock who miscalculated the exact date on or around the early 1900s. So angry was he that he missed his mark by mere moments, he brought havoc to parts of the world in mischievous ways, hence the beginning of Devil’s night.

  There is something exciting and thrilling about the birth of one on All Hallows’ Eve. No matter to which era I would return in the future, I would always have the power of Halloween. For like time, this was a night when all kinds come forth endlessly.

  All types of dimensions coexist. Witches walk with mortals and demons as one. Behind the façade of a mask, who can tell who is who? Behind the masquerade of a human face, is he real, or is he the Grim Reaper out for a stroll in the earthly moonlight? In the camouflage of darkness, is it really someone of this world, or this dimension? Who knew? That was part of the magic, the mystery.

  It was on this night that it would appear my wait was to be over. At long last, it was happening: My rebirth. I had waited so long. I could feel the tightening of my quarters, feel the pressure as my host tried to expel my body like waste. I was being evicted, and really there is no other way to describe it. Oh, you hear words like ‘the miracle of birth,’ but in actuality you are being defecated into society; that is why they are called ‘humble beginnings.’

  I waited though, with equal amounts of anticipation and dread. Would I have been thrust forward in time, or back? Let me tell you, for one of my kind, it is a death sentence to be reborn in medieval times, or anywhere near Salem. To this day I s
hudder when a fire is lit, or if I am submersed in water; that was rather a hard lesson to learn.

  I enjoyed 30,000 BC, for the most part, it being a free era, literally, but when one can ride a mammoth, it is worth the hassle of no public facilities, although fur and leather does chafe in an awkward area after a while.

  And AD 5,000? Well, don’t get me started. The choice was, however, never mine. I would go to where the gods deemed my existence the most important. With a cruel twist of fate, it could be Alistair I have been reborn to. The solar gods may accidentally group us together with the foul manipulation of Alistair’s gods. They could unite us in life as we had been united in death.

  He would have me, or at least this frail human body. He would again be uncaring as to the sacredness of the day; he would risk the Keeper’s wrath. All paid the price in some way or another when they broke the law of Halloween. I wondered if he would be forced to forfeit something, as he had been forced to forfeit something he cherished before.

  Would he take the chance? Yes, for he was evil to the core. He could choke the life out of me. And my powers would be too small to do anything except to murmur an incantation, releasing my soul to fly to another host, if I were to have the time. Where again I would flounder in darkness, float in my abyss of despair, thinking only of my greatest foe, Alistair, and my greatest love, Randar.

  The light is blinding, as it always is. The doctor smacks me sharply on my bare behind and I gasp in a great amount of air, and then howl my heated protest. My only comfort is exercising my first minuscule act of retribution. From now on any coffee this barbarian drinks will taste like piss, and I can smile with the thought.

  “It’s a girl!” I hear cried out, as if there were ever any doubt. But, just to be safe, I twist just a tad and check for myself. Yes, all is fine down there, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I gaze around at my surroundings as some nurse swaddles me too tightly and I groan. She hands me to my ‘mother,’ but my real mother has been gone from this planet for at least ten thousand years. She left me to my own devices when my soul mate was created.

  “Babies love to be swaddled,” the nurse croons.

  Ha.

  My new mother looks adoringly into my face and I grimace; she looks like a horse. Ye gods. Thank the heavens no matter who sires me I will have ethereal beauty. Even so, I can’t help but be moved by her loving eyes swiftly filling with tears of joy. It is more than apparent she wants me.

  A tall man moves closer, hovering, and I hold still, waiting to see if he will smash me to the tiles, spilling my brains upon the floor. But the gangly man now holding me, somewhat awkwardly, looks just as pleased as his mate. He plants a sloppy kiss on my forehead and cuddles me tightly to his chest. Good, I was a planned birth; it will make my rule of the roost that much easier.

  It is tiresome to come forth into life, and I feel my heavy lids droop. I am held safely as the man finds his niche and begins to sway gently, while cradling me within his arms. I do not like being swaddled, but for now I will bide my time. I am better when my hands are free of obstruction. I close my eyes and sleep.

  * * * *

  Being an infant must be the most boring thing in the world. I lay with a saggy diaper. Apparently my new parents are either environmentalists or disposable diapers have not yet been invented.

  It is a midsummer evening and my room is stifling with the unbearable heat. I lay there becoming increasingly uncomfortable. I give in and utter a small mewl of protest. Rarely do I cry, unless I must. This usually brings ‘ole gangly,’ as I have now dubbed my new father, running with a stupid rattle he shakes in my face.

  I must watch my temper. The last time he did this I was unable to...oh, all right, I was un-wanting to control the impulse to crack it against his long hook nose. I hadn’t meant to draw blood; that was purely an accident. Poor man. Even still, I was grateful for the occurrence. My powers had increased. I was dangerous. The feeling is delicious, even though wasted upon a mere helpless mortal.

  “Oh wookit, my wittle baby is waking, waking. What’s wittle baby Sophia doing? Ums should be seepin. Does um have a dirty bum bum?”

  Oh God, it’s Mother. Hell’s bells, the woman could drive a saint to drink with all that stupid baby talk. Would that I could will the woman to slip some whiskey into my formula, which by the way is foul tasting even when warm. Did you know babies spit up to cause displeasure to those who feed them this vile crap? What I wouldn’t give for some teeth and a medium-rare steak and baked potato. It would help with a solid bowel movement; liquid diapers are highly overrated, and so, by the way, is diaper rash.

  She picks me up and plops me onto the change table, where she fastidiously cleans my behind and lobs on a gob of uncomfortable goo. How embarrassing. I couldn’t wait until these pudgy little legs of mine could walk. If I could just tell her to put me on the toilet it would be so much easier. Even ole gangly understands me better. While feeding me prunes I called him an asshole. Well, it sounded more like ‘ashoe,’ without the aid of teeth, but he got the message.

  His eyes had widened and he declared to his wife I swore at him, and perhaps I didn’t like prunes. She just shook her head in disbelief and stated a baby of eight months wouldn’t possibly understand the concept of the word, or how to use it in context.

  I had to give it to ole gangly though. He wasn’t so bad; stupid perhaps, but not a bad person. I really rather enjoy prunes, so that wasn’t it. I had only been angry with him because he had forced me to use my powers. Fool that he was, he stepped in a puddle in his garage, then dropped a live wire.

  I hadn’t wanted to see him fry, and I was sitting close by in my playpen while he worked. I think he liked it when I watched him work. It took only a breath of my charm to diffuse the electricity; primitive device really, child’s play or, in this case, baby’s play.

  But I needed to be careful. I could feel Alistair out there, as he could feel me, but neither knew the extent of the other’s power as yet. We were both left in the dark, wondering if we were the same age, or who had been born first. I snickered, pondering if somewhere out there some woman had lobbed goo on his naked behind and was speaking god-awful baby talk to him. What a blow to his over-inflated ego that would be. Especially to a fifteen-thousand-year-old man. I hope he falls off his tricycle too.

  “Beddy-bye time, my wittle baby. Kootchy coo. Oh, me wuv ums me do, yes me do, me diddly do do.”

  Oh God, kill me now. Damn that Alistair.

  * * * *

  I sat at the table reading the newspaper in my booster seat. My mind worked furiously. Time was dragging on. I was three earth years old. Ole gangly was watching me, while pretending not to, periodically casting me a sideways glance. I knew he was aware I was different, but each time he broached the subject about me with my mother, she just laughed him off.

  “Want some coffee?” he asked me. Surreptitiously, he moved the steaming mug just within my reach, really a foolish thing to do. I could burn myself. I did mention he was a bit stupid, didn’t I?

  I chortled gleefully, and yes, I’m rolling my eyes as I say this, and scrunched the paper while noting the date. My heart was racing. I had gone back to before Alistair had murdered me; reborn before my beloved Randar was killed.

  I could make it right. I could win this time. I could save my beloved Randar from death. Dreamily, I gazed back through my mind. This time I wouldn’t fail my love. We would be together, I vowed. It was a faint hope of mine Alistair would not strike again and risk another battle on All Hallows’ Eve.

  I hoped he had learned his lesson. But in my heart I knew he would come for me; he would force a battle to the death. What was I to do? I couldn’t anger the Keeper. I had no wish to fight on such a blessed eve. Maybe we could strike a deal. Perhaps the Keeper could be given a gift of atonement; perhaps I might be able to...

  “Want a smoke?” ole gangly asked as he attempted to pry the paper from my pudgy baby fingers.

  Damn the man. He was always interfering in my though
ts. I leveled an intense look at him and as plain as day said, “Fuf off.”

  His eyes widened in surprise, though I don’t know why; I was always swearing at him. In my defense, he made it so easy.

  “Alice. Alice. Sophia just told me to fuck off.” He raced wildly from the room.

  I chuckled. “What on earth would you do if you heard me recite the alphabet backwards?” I was glad my teeth had come in, making it easier to speak properly, although it was done in private.

  I once more scanned the paper. The only thing of interest was the date. I was three...that gave me twenty years before I needed to play my hand. I settled back and with both hands, took a careful hold of the steaming mug from the seat over to my left. I took a large swig of ole gangly’s coffee and a puff of his cigarette. There was plenty of time. Soon I would need to begin to exercise my ever-increasing powers.

  * * * *

  “Sophia, this is your kindergarten teacher.”

  Ole gangly was squatted in front of me. I eyed the big, fat woman closely. Gangly leaned in close and whispered, “Please, sweetheart, don’t turn her into a turd.”

  I couldn’t help myself; I laughed openly. The poor man was sincere. He had reason to be. Though I had never again drawn his blood, I had allowed him to see a cruel man run over with his fertilizer cart.

  It was the man’s own fault; he had been rude to my ‘father’—ole gangly was mine to torment. It didn’t mean I didn’t care for the pathetic creature. No other was allowed to harass him. I watched out for both him and my ‘mother.’ I needed the protection of these human parents. Who knew where I would end up if something ever happened to them before I became of age? No one had bothered him since.