Dangerous Magic Read Online Free Page B

suddenly less comfortable with the plan. Gertrude saw the faltering look in her son's eyes and rushed over, taking his hands in hers. She was close. She wasn't about to let him break ranks when the gold, a grandchild and a full-times house servant were all within her grasp.
    "We will not be tainted by this, Lester, if that is what you're worried about. I know I said we'd take Reverend Pratt our suspicions, but not directly. We'll get someone to do it for us."
    "Who?"
    "Millicent Salter." Gertrude smiled triumphantly.
    "The washerwoman's daughter?" Lester looked skeptical. Millicent, while buxom and pretty, was a simpleton. Even he was smarter than she was. The girl came in several times a week to see if there were any scraps that could be cheaply had or begged off the butcher. Gertrude generally refused, but Lester sometimes gave her a bit of something behind his mother's back, if only so he could ogle the girl's tits as they strained against her threadbare bodice.
    "Of course!" Gertrude said. "She fancies you."
    "She does?" This was news to Lester.
    "Yes," his mother said. "But then again she fancies any man who could get her out of that stinking hut she shares with her sick mother."
    Lester considered this. "She is pretty," he mused.
    Another cuff from Gertrude brought him back to his senses. "Yes, but she is not as pretty as Lark Willoughby. And she has no property." She stood. "And she has no gold."
    Lester rubbed the side of his head. The whacks had given him a headache, and he was eager for the conversation to end so before he said anything else out of line. "And how are we supposed to get Millicent Salter's word against Lark?"
    Gertrude stood, turning back to the fire. "You," she said, "just leave that to me."

     

Chapter Three

    Moonlight bathing the frost covered ground would have given the isolated glen the appearance of being a large milk bowl, were it not for the presence of the nine-foot circle marked in stone. In the center stood a beautiful naked woman, also bathed in moonlight. Her skin was so white it seemed to glow, her hair so red and shiny it looked like flames licking down her back.
    As a solitary practitioner, Lark knew the circle need not be nine feet; five would have sufficed. But out of a sense of nostalgia - and perhaps a bit of wishful thinking - she'd established one large enough for a whole coven, just in case like-minded souls should find their way across the sea.
    Four candles were spaced evenly around the circle, marking the north, south, east and west points. Lark had lit them after symbolically marking the parameters of the circle with the ritual knife that had once belonged to her grandmother, calling upon the elemental spirits associated with each direction to protect her during the ritual - Earth Gnomes for north, Fire Salamanders for south, Air Sylphs for east, and Water Undines for west. The spirits, which she'd learned about at her grandmother's knee, were friendly allies in a witch's magical workings; they kept bad things out and positive energy in.
    On the ground before her was a small altar fashioned from a short tree stump, which held a goblet, a bowl of salt, an exaggerated female torso fashioned from clay and the recently consecrated image of the stag carved by Duncan Beck. Earlier, she'd taken a sip of the wine from the goblet and poured the rest out as a libation to the goddess Brighid, whom she'd call upon the heal Clara Beck via a poppet fashioned to represent the child. Now she held up a freshly made talisman, letting the moonlight bathe it as she called upon Athena for protection.
    It was the fall of the year, time more for Gods than for Goddesses. Based on the wheel of the year, the colder months were when the Gods were most powerful, reborn in all their masculine aspects while their female counterparts rested and awaited spring. But Lark had always felt more comfortable with the Goddesses. It wasn't that he did trust the Gods. Cernunnos, particularly, had been kind. But