63 Dáinn
DáINN
Tucked safely within the void, Jasper’s kiss still warm on my rendered lips, I boldly enter Ludmilla’s study. When I’m on the haunt, the procedure for my reports is simple: I’m to come to her and ring the servant’s bell. I am never to reveal myself until granted verbal permission.
In our long years together, I’ve come upon her in all manner of conditions—clothed, unclothed, whipping a senator gagged and on his knees, entertaining foreign dignitaries, showing off pieces from her private art collection. In all instances, I ring the bell and wait.
I have to switch into my wraith form. I can’t possibly appear before her as Daniel. But Jasper just kissed me. He kissed me. It wasn’t a fluke or an act. I wasn’t devouring him. And I didn’t initiate. My witch kissed me.
Sweet Circe, it was all I could do not to part my lips wide and drain him right there in the alley.
His soul is so precious to me. So golden and delicious.
But the witch is more than his soul to me now.
He is loyal and good. He’s trying so hard to help his coven. He cares for Birdie . . . and for me.
I really think he cares for me. Perhaps it started as pity. He saw me only as a helpless thing in need of saving. A creature. A beast. So few mortals understand the nature of wraiths. They can never see past what we eat.
Jasper sees me now. He sees me. And now everything feels too short.
Life feels too short. Our time to plan feels too short.
I’ve wasted how many centuries? And now that I finally have a reason for living, this could all end?
Ludmilla could end it. She could take them from me.
Or she could take me from them. It’s unthinkable. Unbearable.
She has to die.
I gaze through the thin veil of the void, watching my captor sit half naked on her sofa, legs spread, head arched back, moaning in pleasure while Mindy licks at her cunt like a kitten in the cream.
I want to reach through the veil of the void and punch this witch in the dripping cunt, right through Mindy’s tiny head.
I want to crack Mindy’s skull like an egg and sink her teeth into Ludmilla’s labia.
But I can’t. Even thinking of hurting Ludmilla when I’m this close to her has the collar at my neck squeezing tighter. Growling low, I reach for the little velvet cord next to the fireplace and give it a tug. The soft sound of a bell fills the air.
Ludmilla moans, dropping a hand to Mindy’s head as she tries to pull away. “Wait—don’t stop.”
Cooing with delight, Mindy redoubles her efforts. “Yes. Oh, baby, please—”
Gods, I can’t do this. I can’t sit here and listen to Ludmilla orgasm while my anger burns a hole in my gut. Reaching out, I do the unthinkable. I ring the bell a second time.
Gasping, her orgasm cut short, Ludmilla pushes Mindy away. “Gods—wraith, what? What is it?”
Slipping my ring from my finger, I tuck it within the front folds of my robes. Then I appear from the void in a swirl of shadows as my wraithly self. “I am here to report on the haunting of the Burr Island Coven.”
This is all part of the plan. I cannot deny my mistress her reports. It would be too suspicious.
She sits up, folding the pieces of her wrap dress over her nakedness. “Fine. Report.”
Floating before her, I keep my head bowed and report. “They live mundane lives, mistress. There are ten in total. A grocer, a farmer, a shopkeeper—”
“I don’t need a listing of their professions,” she snaps. “I have all their names and occupations in my files. They’ve been watched by me from their first breaths. I know who they are. I want to know what they’re doing now that their high priest is dead.”
Staying on the floor, Mindy turns, placing herself between Ludmilla’s spread legs. She dares to pout at me for ruining her playtime.
I look back to my mistress. “They mourn him. There was a funeral. It was well attended.”
“And?” She twirls a finger, clearly expecting more details.
“The old witch who shared his house now lives alone,” I go on. “Last night, she went to the house of a fellow coven member and imbibed what I can only guess was too many margaritas—”
“I don’t need to know about their drinking habits either,” she says over me. “What are they doing, wraith? Do they suspect foul play? Have they asked for an autopsy? Will they seek most holy revenge?”
“Why should they? The high priest’s cause of death was clear: sudden cardiac arrest.”
She sighs with relief, settling back against the cushions. “Good. And have they made any moves up at Homewood?”
“No,” I quickly reply. “I have seen no evidence of a Burr Island witch at Homewood.”
My sweet Birdie is not a witch, I think only to myself.
“But they do not approve of the project and speak of it poorly,” I add, throwing Ludmilla a gristly bone on which to chew.
She sits up straighter, eyes narrowing. “Why?”
“They think the historical society director has harmful intentions.”
“Harmful intentions?” she echoes. From the floor, Mindy scoffs.
“They think he seeks to aggrandize himself at the expense of the island,” I explain. “Also, they think him pushy and rude.”
Crossing her arms, she glances down at Mindy. “He called here earlier, you know. Not even an hour ago. Pushy is right. After all my help covering his many expenses, he dares to ask for more of my help.”
“What does he need now?” Mindy asks with a roll of her eyes.
I find I’m exceptionally curious as well.
Ludmilla sighs, her manner expressing her bored indifference. It is a ruse. She cares very much about what happens at Homewood. Too much. It’s why I’m compelled to stop her.
It’s curious though . . . worth reporting to Jasper. She hasn’t trusted her own coven with the details of her plans for Burr Island. Do they know what she’s looking for up at Homewood? Do they know she’ll risk all their lives to get it?
She waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, the silly man just needs my help securing some piece of surveying equipment. It’s all very tedious.”
Mindy leans back, stroking our mistress’s legs. “Are you going to help him?”
I hold still, waiting for her answer.
“I haven’t decided,” Ludmilla announces to us both.
“If the witches are already feeling restless about him, we have to be careful not to sway his intentions towards harm. Howe may be a bore, but he’s a useful bore.
” She looks to me. “If Howe were to see progress with his dig, do you think the witches would have a mind to interfere? Would they trace him back to me?”
“They know nothing of your involvement,” I’m quick to assure her. “And I doubt they would ever use magic on one of their own, no matter how irksome they find him or his project. They cherish human life too much. They protect it.”
Mindy scoffs again. “Bunch of goody two-shoes if you ask me.”
“They’re simple,” Ludmilla replies, brushing a hand over Mindy’s short hair.
“They’ve lived for centuries ensconced on their little island, cut off from the rest of the magical world.
They’re like children in a way.” Leaning over she smiles at Mindy, tipping up her chin.
“And when children are naughty, they must be punished.”
Mindy smiles, the harpy in her drawn to violence. “What will you do to them, Mil?”
“Oh, they’ve been naughty for a very long time,” Ludmilla coos, stroking her hand down to cup Mindy’s breast. Mindy arches into the press of her hand, dropping her own hand between her legs to tease her clit.
“They’re keeping me from what I want,” Ludmilla goes on.
“And I will punish them all most severely.” Leaning over, she kisses Mindy’s brow.
“The island will be drenched in their blood.”
“Yes,” Mindy whimpers, writhing on her hand.
A cold chill seeps through me at the thought of these witches delighting in causing Jasper and his coven so much pain. And for what? Because they want to protect their island, their magic, and their ancestors?
Turning her attention from Mindy, Ludmilla looks back to me. “Have they chosen Prescott’s successor?”
“Not yet.”
Her brows arch in surprise. “What are they waiting for?”
“Not all members were on island when the death occurred,” I explain, giving her the excuse I prepared with Jasper. “They’ve had to wait until those members travel back.”
Mindy perks up at this. “Maybe we could snare one before they reach the island. That would give us some leverage—”
“No,” I’m quick to say. Adjusting the front of my robes, I bow my cowled head. “All members of the coven are now back on the island, mistress.”
Mindy pouts, crossing her arms.
Behind her, Ludmilla sighs, leaning back against the plush sofa. “Fine. Anything else to offer in this titillating report?”
“Nothing that would interest you, mistress. As I’ve reported before, they are uninteresting witches living small lives of no consequence.”
“Regardless, I want you to keep your eyes on them,” she calls. “And I want another report soon. I want the name of Prescott’s successor. Do not fail me in this, wraith.”
“Yes, mistress.” I begin to drift into the void.
“Oh, and Dáinn?”
I stiffen. It’s so rare that she uses my name outside of invoking the magic of our forced bond. My shadows curl about me, aching for the safety of the void. “Yes, mistress?”
“Interrupt me with a second bell ring while I’m mid-coitus again, and I’ll see to it that all the books are swept from your cage.”
I bow one final time. “Yes, mistress.”