The Water Witch (20 page)

When I opened the front door, a slip of paper that had been stuck in the doorframe came loose and drifted to the floor. It
was a note from Bill. He’d fixed the missing tiles on the roof and tomorrow was going to start replastering the ceilings that had been damaged by the leaks. He’d noticed that my gutters needed cleaning and had taken care of that. As I looked around the foyer, I saw that he’d picked up the mail and put it neatly on the foyer table. Upstairs, I discovered that he’d swept up the plaster dust that had fallen from the ceilings and mopped the floors in the hall and my bedroom. I turned on the tap for the bathtub and discovered there was plenty of hot water.

While the bath was filling, I sat down at my desk and picked up Wheelock. I looked through the index for door-opening spells, but found only a ward to bar your door from intruders and a whole section on threshold gnomes that was fascinating (apparently their function as guardians went back to a treaty made in Prague in the fourteenth century), but that wasn’t helpful in keeping the door to Faerie open. Most of the spells about doors had to do with keeping people from coming through them, not keeping them open.

While I was flipping through the book I came across a section on correlative spells. There was something I’d been trying to remember about them last night when Duncan was explaining how to shapeshift. I reread the section carefully.

The most powerful—and dangerous—form of correlative magic is when a witch creates a bond between herself and the object or person she wishes to control…
*

The sound of lapping water interrupted my reading. Crap! The bathtub was overflowing. That was all I needed after the water damage the house had already suffered. I rushed into the bathroom, turned off the tap, and unplugged the drain to let out some water. The water felt deliciously hot. I’d finish reading Wheelock later. I undressed and got into the tub, sinking gratefully up to the nape of my neck. I felt all the sore
spots from last night’s run through the woods untensing. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the cool porcelain rim of the tub.

There was something in that passage about correlative spells that could be useful … but I felt myself drifting, my body weightless in the warm water, a warmth that surrounded me like liquid sunshine … or like the fluid Aelvesgold that had wrapped around me when Liam and I had made love in Faerie. Behind my closed eyelids I summoned the image of Liam as he’d appeared to me there, his skin golden and glowing. I pictured him moving above me, the gold light limning his body, but leaving his face in shadow. I couldn’t quite bring his face into focus, but I felt his body stirring the liquid Aelvesgold between us and I remembered how the golden light had entered me before he had. Just as the warm water seemed to be moving over me now, caressing my breasts, stirring between my legs … I spread my legs to let the water inside me. I arched my hips and felt it move against me in a wave. A wave that had fingers and a mouth. I gasped as the water caressed me and the image of Liam, his face still in shadow, pressed his mouth against mine. My mouth was flooded with the hot, syrupy sweetness of his tongue. I drew it into me just as I drew in the wave of warmth between my legs. He rocked into me so hard, filling me so completely, that I sank beneath him. I would have gasped but his mouth was locked on mine, sucking my tongue, my lips, the very breath out of my lungs.

We were both sinking, our legs wrapped around each other, our mouths locked, our bodies rocking to the rhythm of the ocean’s tide. I opened my eyes and saw his hair spread out in a dark corona around his head, his aquamarine eyes staring wide into mine …

Liam didn’t have blue eyes. Who was this man? A fantasy? Or some creature made out of water and Aelvesgold fucking
me into a watery grave? I bit down on his lip and, startled, his head snapped back. Not Liam, but someone else I recognized. Duncan Laird. He smiled at me and opened his mouth … and a small crayfish crawled out.

I tried to scream but only sucked in water. I thrashed against Duncan—or the creature that had taken his face—but he only tightened his hold on me and pushed himself deeper inside me. Deeper than any man could go. The thing that was inside me wasn’t a man. It had a life of its own, snaking deep into my womb, and to my horror and dismay I was still rocking against it. Even as I struggled to get free, even as I knew I was drowning, I was still arching my hips again and again, meeting each thrust with a thrust of my own and finally, with a last push, I felt my limbs—and his—loosening in an orgasm that released shockwaves through the water …

… and brought me up into the air, gasping, clutching the rim of my tub, in my bathroom.

“What the hell?” I cried out in the echoing, tiled room. But I was alone. The floor was soaked with water, and the porcelain inside of the tub, when I ran my hand along it, was coated with gold glitter.

The worst thing, I decided after rubbing my skin raw with towels and drinking three cups of hot tea to get warm, was that it had been Duncan’s face in my drowning-by-sex dream. Because clearly there were only two possible reasons: either I was sexually attracted to him or he was trying to hurt me. I wasn’t sure which suspicion was more disturbing. I knew I should have been more disturbed by the thought that I’d imagined my tutor trying to drown me, but it actually bothered me more to think that I was attracted to him. Sure, he was handsome, but I’d just made love to Liam three days ago. How could I be attracted
to someone else so soon? Even if I didn’t love Liam, he’d saved my life twice in Faerie. It seemed fickle—if not downright slutty—to be having dreams about Duncan after knowing him for less than twenty-four hours. Besides, I wasn’t sure I
was
attracted to him. I’d flinched when he’d touched me last night.

By the time Duncan knocked at my door, I was hopped up on caffeine and my skin was pink from the two extra showers I’d taken (I wouldn’t be taking any baths for a while). I was wearing jeans, a black turtleneck and a sweater, and I still felt cold. When I opened the door, though, and saw him—dressed in a body hugging black T-shirt and black jeans, the last evening light glancing off his high cheekbones and turning his blue eyes to aquamarine—I felt a surge of electrical sizzle inside. It must be attraction, I realized with dismay. Seeing someone who had tried to drown me wouldn’t make me go all warm and fuzzy.

My face mustn’t have looked so good to him.

“What happened?” he asked, his eyes locked on mine (
the way his mouth had locked on mine …
). He grasped my arm and pulled me closer. His touch, even through my sweater and turtleneck, stirred that fizzy current inside me. “You look …”

“Awful?” I asked weakly.

“No, actually you look amazing, like you’re lit up from inside. But you’re dressed for subarctic temperatures in June and you’re still shivering.”

“I am?” I held out my hand and saw that it was indeed trembling. But I didn’t feel cold anymore. I felt warm and tingly. I peeled off the sweater and stepped back to let him in. “This old house,” I said. “The temperature’s always fluctuating. You wouldn’t believe my heating bills last winter. Do you
want some tea? Or a glass of wine? Or Scotch? I think there’s still some scotch from when Liam lived here …”

I kept up a steady babble as I led him into the library to the cabinet where Liam had kept his scotch. There was an open bottle on the shelf. Duncan touched my hand as I reached for it and I flinched so hard I knocked over the bottle. He caught it before a drop could spill.

“Sit down,” he barked.

Startled by the force of his command, I sank down on the couch.

“Before you hurt yourself,” he added more gently. He brought the bottle and two glasses to the couch, placed them on the coffee table, and sat next to me. He poured an inch of the amber liquid into each glass. I watched, mesmerized by the way the liquid caught the light. No wonder Liam had always drunk scotch—it looked like liquid Aelvesgold.

“What’s wrong with me?” I asked as Duncan handed me the glass. My hand was shaking so badly I could hardly hold it. He wrapped his hand around mine and guided it to my mouth. I took a long sip. When I lowered the glass, my hand was steadier.

“Sometimes Aelvesgold has this effect on new witches. Tell me what happened.”

I told him about the dream, looking down into my glass the whole time, nervously swirling the scotch around the bottom. I told him I couldn’t see the man’s face.

“But you thought this man was your incubus … Liam?” he asked when I was done.

I gave the scotch a clockwise swirl. “Um, yes, at first … but then when I saw his face, it wasn’t him.” I took a sip in mid-swirl and got a mouthful.

“Did you recognize who it was?”

I swooshed the scotch counterclockwise and looked up. Into the same aquamarine eyes I’d seen in my dream. I felt myself gravitating toward those eyes. “It was you,” I said.

“Oh,” he said. “Oh. That’s …”

“Embarrassing?” I suggested, shaking my glass at him. “Mortifying?”

“I was going to say
flattering
, but I guess that’s from my perspective. You do know why you saw my face, don’t you?”

I raised my glass for another gulp of scotch, but he touched my hand and made me lower the glass. He covered my hand with his, steadying it. A warm tingling current flowed through my hand, up my arm, and into my chest. I tried to remember if this was how I’d felt when Liam had touched me for the first time.

“It’s because I’m your guide. Aelvesgold can grant visions, but often those visions are confusing. That’s why it’s important to have a mentor. Your subconscious superimposed my face on your dream lover to remind you that you weren’t alone in this. You have someone to guide you.” He squeezed my hand and the warmth in my chest expanded throughout my body.

“But what was the vision trying to show me?” I asked. “I mean, it seemed to be trying to
drown
me.”

“You mean
I
was trying to drown you, don’t you?”

I nodded, my throat thickening at the memory.

“That’s because I am taking you to places with the Aelvesgold that you’re afraid to go. Part of you senses that you’ll have to face who you really are, witch or fey. You’ve got both in you, but which is stronger? Which side will you pledge allegiance to?”

“Do I have to choose?” I asked. “I thought Fairwick was the place where witch and fey lived together in peace.”

He laughed. “More like an uneasy alliance. And that alliance
will be cracked in two if the Grove closes the door. I think your dream was partly a result of that anxiety.”

“I guess I can see that,” I admitted. “I have been feeling edgy lately, torn between my promises to my grandmother and the Grove and my loyalties to my friends at Fairwick. But why would the vision try to drown me?”

“Oh, that’s because you’ve got a water witch in your house.”

“A …?”

“Look down.”

I looked down into my glass. Although I’d stopped swirling the scotch a minute ago and Duncan was holding my hand steady, the liquid was still moving in circles.

“Something’s controlling the water in your home. And I’m pretty sure we know who that is.”

“Lorelei.”

“Yes. Now drink up. Once she’s strong enough, she’ll come for you. You’d better have all
your
strength by then.”

“Are you telling me that Lorelei sent me that dream?” I asked Duncan a half hour later as we walked into the woods. “Because … 
ew
!”

“Not the content of the dream,” he assured me, flashing me a grin. In his dark clothes, all I could see of him were his teeth and eyes, which caught the reflection of the moon. “
That
was the Aelvesgold, I’m fairly sure. But I believe the drowning part was the water witch. The water took on the shape of your dream and tried to drown you.”

“I thought a water witch was a forked stick dowsers used to find water.”

“Wheelock lists three definitions of ‘water witch’ in his glossary. One is indeed what you describe, but there’s an
older kind of water witch, a creature who can control the flow of water, who can summon rain from the sky, make rivers flow backward, or turn the ocean tides.” His pale hands moved like moths in the darkness as he waved them in the air between us. “A water witch can move any kind of water—from a glassful to an ocean. Lorelei can’t get into your house because it’s warded …”

“I haven’t placed any wards on it!”

“Someone has—probably your handyman Brock. Unfortunately, with him unconscious, the wards aren’t as strong. Lorelei is looking for ways in, and the most direct route for her is water. She’s reaching into your home—and into your mind—through her most familiar element.”

“No wonder everything’s been leaking,” I said angrily, batting a branch out of the way. “The bitch. When I think of the plumbing bill … We have to find her. Liz and Soheila thought she might be hiding out at Lura’s house.” While I explained that Lura was Lorelei’s daughter, Duncan listened, but his voice sounded impatient when he replied.

“Even if Lorelei’s hiding there during the day, she won’t be there tonight. She’ll be hunting. We have to find her before she finds her prey.”

I was surprised by the anger in his voice. “And if we do find her,” I asked, “what will we do with her?”

Duncan stopped and turned to me. We’d come to a clearing where the moonlight wasn’t blocked by the trees.

He tilted his head and stared at me. I was distracted by the way the moonlight sculpted Duncan’s cheekbones. He
was
a handsome man. It would be natural for me to feel attracted to him, but I still wasn’t sure that’s what I felt. Right now I felt chilled.

“I think you know what we must do,” he said.

“We can’t kill her!” I hissed. “She’s—well, she’s a nasty
piece of work, but she’s only doing what comes naturally to her.”

Duncan nodded. “Your compassion is admirable, but misplaced. What do you plan to do—ask her politely to please return to Faerie?” he asked, but then lifted a peremptory hand to silence me. “Listen,” he said.

At first I heard only the breeze rustling the leaves in the trees, but then I made out a low throaty trill riding the night air.