“Yes, I think you do,” he murmured, his eyes narrowing slightly. He moved away from the table and gathered a few items from the shelf. “That is the real reason I brought you here. I am hoping that I can draw out the magic within you. Or at least, discover the source of it.”
She eyed the ingredients he started to gather somewhat warily. “How might you do that?”
“By giving you a mild hallucinogenic,” he explained. “It will open your mind and allow Hector to believe that you are susceptible to his persuasion, but in reality, you will be fully under my control.”
Marlene wasn’t sure she was comfortable with either scenario. “Will the effects last long?”
He shook his head as he began to grind the ingredients together. “Only as long as I permit them to. The object here is not to keep you sedated, but to learn your worth to Hector.”
She nodded her head. “Very well. Let’s begin.”
Alaric stopped what he was doing and looked at her. “I am honored that you are placing such faith in me. I will ensure that it is not misplaced.”
As she sat in one of the chairs, he was temporarily distracted from the task at hand. She looked so innocent and, dared he say, trusting, that he was humbled. Not only that, but the dress she wore complemented her dark hair and eyes. He didn’t think that she had done so on purpose to please him, but rather to dissuade his attentions, but it was having the opposite effect. The darker green shade highlighted her creamy skin and enhanced the valley between her breasts…
He forced himself to turn his focus back to his herbs and spices. He had to set aside this dangerous fascination with her, but with the memory of their passionate kiss still burning brightly in his mind, he found it rather difficult to do so.
During the rare occasions in this life when he allowed himself to release his lust in another, he had done so with the full knowledge that it was temporary, that nothing could ever last, even if he might wish for the opposite. Until now, he’d never been tempted to linger longer than a brief liaison. But in the short time he’d known Miss St. Clair—Marlene—he could easily imagine giving up everything to be with her.
And yet, it was impossible to ignore his bloodline.
It was the one thing that would be with him always—the gift he’d been granted decades ago, regardless of whether it had been done by his choice. He might not have ever wanted to be a witch, but there was no way to turn back the hands of time and ensure that his grandfather never met Roxane. If he were able to find a way for that to occur, then Alaric wouldn’t exist. It would be a fruitless endeavor in the end, to have never been born.
Of course, he believed in spirits and the mysteries of the universe, so who was to say he still wouldn’t end up as a witch anyway? A different flick of the wand and he might be subjected to the same fate. The only difference was that he might suffer being hanged, instead of living in this age, when the insatiable search for those who worshipped the dark forces were hunted down like helpless foxes had finally ceased their demand.
The only thing that had kept his ancestors alive through that time was the cunning they had possessed. His father used to regale him with stories of the dark days his grandfather had endured. They had lived in constant fear then, wondering if someone would point their finger and declare that they were cursed. Those were perilous times for his kind, because although they didn’t offer anything to Lucifer and his band of demons, they were still considered as the same kind of threat. There was no such thing as a “good” witch, or so the majority of people claimed. They didn’t dare believe in the presence of “good” magic.
Alaric intended to prove them all wrong. He was already working on a treatise intended to show others that witches had more to recommend them than toads and grand rites.
Once everything was ground to his preference, Alaric walked over and added some water to a kettle from a nearby pitcher. He removed the pot hanging in the grate and set the kettle in its place. By the time he’d cleaned up the table, it had already started to boil. Allowing the herbs to steep for a time, he withdrew a cup and saucer from the cabinet beneath the center table, and after checking it a few times, he decided that the color of the tea suited his tastes.
He removed the kettle and poured some of the steaming liquid into the cup. He took it to Miss St. Clair. “It might be slightly bitter.”
Her mouth crooked upward into a half-smile. “Am I not allowed any sugar?”
“I’m afraid not,” he said regrettably. “It would dilute the potency.” He took a seat in the chair next to hers.
She gently blew on the liquid. He watched her carefully, and when she felt it was safe enough to take a sip, she did so. Immediately, her nose scrunched with distaste. “Oh, my. Must I drink it all?”
“Yes.”
She sighed, but continued until it was gone. Only a few dregs remained that had slipped past the strainer. She handed him the cup.
“Good girl,” he praised.
She sat back against the cushions and clasped her hands together in front of her. “How long must I wait for it to take effect?”
“Not long.”
He tried to keep the grim note out of his voice, but he was quite sure he’d failed. If he had told her exactly what would happen, he doubted that she would have agreed so readily to his suggestion.
All he could do now—was wait.
Chapter 9
Marlene wondered if she should try to make some sort of light conversation, or if she ought to just remain still. She glanced at Sir Gothry, and he said nothing, just watched her, presumably for some sort of change.
She shifted her gaze away and prayed that it wouldn’t take long to start to feel something, because she had never been a fan of awkward silences.
