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.

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 shudder 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.