Something Wicked This Way Comes by Karen Soutar

We’ve got Karen here today, I really hope you all reread the reblogs I’ve been posting this week. They’ll get you all in the mood and refresh your memory for this new story. I love Karen’s witches and I know you all do to, so I’ll shut up and let her take it from here.
Karen, Thank you so very much for being a part of witch month.

Something Wicked This Way Comes

The Halloween decorations made the houses almost as festive as Christmas, Fenella thought as she walked home. It wasn’t even the day itself, yet porches were already decked out with strings of lights in the form of spiders or ghosts, giant plastic pumpkins lounged in gardens, and windows were draped with fake cobwebs. Fenella liked it. Who cared if Halloween had become fun and ‘Americanised’? It made a welcome change from her own Samhain, which was getting more intense every year.

The cloaked and hooded figure lounging in her doorway added to the spooky nature of the street. Except that Fenella hadn’t placed it there.
‘Well met by moonlight, Sister,’ the figure intoned, and then rather spoiled it by giggling.

Fenella burst out laughing. ‘Well met indeed.’ She pulled her visitor into a hug, and the hood fell back to reveal the mane of auburn hair and freckled features she knew and missed. ‘Hi, Kate.’

‘So what brings you here?’ Fenella sank into an armchair and took a swig of her tea. ‘And why can’t you just phone, like a normal person? Or does that Goddessforsaken town you live in not have phones?’

Kate jiggled her mug from hand to hand, perched on the edge of the comfy Ikea sofa. The room could not be more different from her own living space. Fenella favoured bright, modern fabrics and light wood. Kate’s ancient cottage was welcoming, but in a muted, faded sort of way.

‘We have the internet too, you know,’ Kate said primly. ‘Also, flushing toilets.’ She grimaced at her scalding hot coffee, but drank it anyway. ‘Oh – and vampires, of course.’

‘Yes, they do rather lower the tone of the place.’ They spoke lightly, but Fenella knew her friend was worried. ‘I take it they’re being more of a problem than usual?’

Kate had left the coven many years ago, and taken on the unofficial and unenviable job of keeping an eye on the town over the river. As well as the human population, there was a thriving colony of vampires. Thanks to Kate’s vigilance, they mostly behaved themselves. The ones that got out of line were dealt with, either by Kate herself, or one of the warrior families allied with her.

‘One of them is.’ Kate pulled a face at Fenella. ‘I’m sorry to ask you so close to Samhain – I know you’re all busy – but would the Coven let me see the books? I need a spell stronger than any I’ve got. It’s a long shot, but there might be something in there that would help.’

‘It’s not the Coven, as such, we’ll need to see.’

Kate raised an eyebrow. ‘No?’

‘No. It’s young Evie.’

‘What!’ Kate nearly spilled her coffee. ‘What the hells – she’s about twelve, isn’t she?’

‘She’s sixteen.’ Fenella was already dialling a number on her mobile.

Kate finished her drink and took her mug into the kitchen. She gazed around the modern, tidy little space, thinking of her temperamental Aga and chipped Belfast sink. But then, Fenella didn’t do much magic here. Kate needed a large, practical kitchen. When she returned to the living room, Fenella was already pulling her coat back on.

‘We’re going? Right now?’

‘Yup. Come on, if we hurry, we’ll be in and out before her mum gets in. You know she doesn’t approve of the Coven…’\

Kate snorted, grabbing her cloak. ‘Which is a bit ridiculous, since she comes from a family of witches.’\

‘Yes, but she never had the talent, remember? It skipped a generation and came out in Evie – in a big way.’

The two women hurried along the street. Fenella paid no attention to the Halloween decorations this time. Instead, she worried about the wisdom of introducing Evie to Kate. They were the two most powerful witches she knew, and both inclined to be solitary, in spite of Evie’s belonging to the Coven. A lot of witches found Kate a bit weird. She mentally shook herself. Kate was a law unto herself, but that was all. Maybe she would even be a good example to Evie, who in Fenella’s opinion was a bit too cocky for a sixteen year old.

They arrived at a house which as far as Kate could tell, was a carbon copy of Fenella’s, except bigger. Fenella had scarcely knocked when the door flew open, revealing a teenager in skinny jeans and a band t-shirt, fair hair piled in a messy bun on top of her head.

‘Auntie Fen!’ Evie hugged Fenella, then looked past her. ‘And you must be Kate. I’ve heard all about you.’

‘Ha.’ Kate gave a little bow. ‘I hope I live up to expectations.’

They entered the smart hallway, a polished wooden floor leading to a flight of stairs carpeted in cream. Kate couldn’t help thinking that it wasn’t a practical colour at all.

Evie seemed to read her mind. ‘Mum has the house looking as unwitchy as possible.’ She scowled. ‘Because she can’t do it, it doesn’t exist. Isn’t it awful? At least Auntie Fen’s is colourful, even though it’s modern. This is the blandest house in existence.’

‘That’s enough.’ Fenella poked her niece in the arm. ‘I take it we’re heading up to your room?’

‘Come on!’ Evie bounded up the stairs two at a time.

Fenella and Kate exchanged glances. ‘She is good,’ Fenella murmured.

‘I have no doubt of it.’ Kate had sensed the power in the girl. She was already a force to be reckoned with. Kate had been too, at that age.

They mounted the stairs and followed Evie into her bedroom. In many ways it was a typical teenage cave; clothes strewn about, posters of bands on the wall. The scent of roses filled the small space. Under the window a desk held a pile of assorted books and magazines, and an iPod dock. A miniature cauldron stood next to the desk, simmering away with a mixture the colour of pea soup. Also on the wall was a fire extinguisher. Evie was practical as well as talented.

‘You said vampires, Auntie Fen,’ Evie was sitting at the desk, leafing through an ancient tome, pages crackling. ‘That’s all in this volume, but I didn’t know exactly what sort of spell you wanted..?’

Fenella realised she didn’t know either. She sat on Evie’s bed, moving a plush toy owl out of the way. ‘You said ‘problem’, Kate? What sort of problem?’
Kate sat cross-legged on the floor, as though she were Evie’s age. ‘No, you said ‘problem’. It’s a bit more than that – and it’s two problems. Number one: I need a stronger Sensing Spell. A vampire passed my boundaries – and I didn’t know it.’

Fenella whistled. She knew how strong Kate’s magic was. ‘That must have been a powerful vamp.’

‘She is.’ Kate’s voice indicated she didn’t want to go into that. ‘The other problem…this vamp sucked a friend of mine dry. I healed him with a Blood Spell – with my blood. I don’t know what that makes him, but that can wait. For now, I need to strengthen my ability to see what comes into the town.’

‘Wow.’ Evie was staring at Kate in admiration. ‘There’s a few Sensing and Boundary Spells in here. Do you want to take the book? I don’t need it for – er – anything, just now.’

Kate looked at Fenella. ‘Would that be okay? I don’t want to upset the Coven.’

Fenella shook her head. ‘Evie’s had the books since she turned sixteen. Let’s face it; none of the rest of us are any good with them. If she’s happy for you to take it, that’s fine.’

‘Thank you, Evie.’ Kate nodded at the young witch. Glancing at the cauldron, she asked, ‘What are you working on, anyway? Smells like there’s a Love Potion in there somewhere.’

Evie wriggled. ‘Ah, well, it’s something my apothecary suggested. To improve the – uh – Samhain spell.’

‘Good Goddess, you guys aren’t still trying to conjure him?’ Kate said incredulously. ‘Whatever for? I know you want to relive the Lochie Witches’ glorious past, but honestly..!’

Fenella was wriggling too. ‘Well, we got the Great Black Dog last year,’ she retorted. ‘So we thought we’d try for – you know.’

‘I do know.’ Kate saw the woman in Evie, vying with the girl. The woman and the witch – a dangerous combination. ‘I know what you want him for, young miss. And I’ll tell you this – as your first, he’s a dangerous choice. If he’ll do it.’

‘How dare you!’ Evie sprang to her feet, knocking over her chair. ‘I know what I’m doing – I’m not some kid!’

‘Of course you’re not.’ Fenella glared at Kate, willing her to shut up. ‘It’s just that Kate’s got some…experience…’

‘With him? How can she?’ Evie asked. ‘No-one’s conjured him for centuries!’

‘Your coven hasn’t conjured him, you mean.’ Kate rose from her position on the floor. ‘That doesn’t mean that no-one else has.’

‘Oohh!’ Evie all but stamped her foot. ‘I don’t believe you!’

The argument was interrupted by a sharp ‘Pop!’ from behind them. The three women froze, and turned to the cauldron.

Evie’s concoction, which had been simmering moments ago, was seething and bubbling now like hot lava – if lava was a sickly shade of green. As they watched, the larger bubbles grew into tendrils, reaching up from the cauldron like rotting fingers. The rose petal scent was gone, replaced by a decayed, cloying smell.

‘It’s never done this before,’ Evie said uncertainly. Her anger at Kate was forgotten. She looked at the older witch.

‘Too much power in here…’ Kate mused, approaching the cauldron. ‘Is he part of this spell already?’

‘Yes,’ Evie whispered.

‘Evie!’ Fenella was horrified. ‘You know he’s not to be invoked until Samhain itself!’

‘I just wanted to try something.’ Evie’s voice held a tinge of fear. The fingers were elongating now, reaching out to the three of them, trailing down the sides of the cauldron towards the floor. Evie squeaked and jumped back. The potion was changing from green to black. An air of menace came with the change, as though some conscious entity was behind it.

‘Oh no!’ Evie moaned as the tendrils reached the carpet, causing it to sizzle and burn. ‘Mum’s going to kill me!’

Fenella would have laughed, if the situation hadn’t been so serious. What had Evie done?

Kate, however, appeared unperturbed. She reached out – and poked one of the blackened fingers. To Fenella and Evie’s surprise, it retreated.

‘Get back in that pot, you.’ Kate said conversationally. ‘Stop trying to scare people.’

The fingers stretched and warped and shivered, then shortened until they were sliding back into the cauldron.

‘I know you feed off emotion,’ Kate was lecturing the dark green gunge, which had settled a bit, although it was still bubbling. ‘But feeding off a witch’s anger is dangerous, even for you. Especially three witches – the magic number. Bugger off – and if you’re about at Samhain, watch your step.’

The pea soup mixture blew a raspberry at her, then went back to simmering. Evie and Fenella stared, open-mouthed. Evie recovered first.

‘Who were you talking to?’ she squeaked. ‘Not…not..?’

Kate patted the cauldron. ‘Sorry I lost my temper. That was stupid of me. You’ll be fine, Evie. Just be careful. And remember, he’s a man, once he’s in that skin. Just a man.’

‘That’s like,’ Evie replied slowly, ‘How he’s just a dog, when he’s a dog?’

‘People give him the power.’ Kate gathered up the spellbook from the desk. ‘Because they know what he is. But on Earth, not Below, he’s just whatever form he takes. Oh, he has words, and we all know how powerful words are. But that’s all. No magic, no superpowers, nothing.’

‘What’s he like?’ whispered Evie. ‘Really?’

‘What he was like for me won’t be the same as for you. Or for your Auntie Fen. Or Nana Anne. Or any of the others. Understand?’ She and Evie locked eyes for a moment.

Fenella had had enough. ‘Evie,’ she said firmly, ‘I don’t know if what we’re planning to do at Samhain is a good idea, after all.’

Kate patted her fellow witch’s shoulder. ‘I do. It is. I wish you every success, ladies.’ She tucked the spellbook under her arm. ‘I better get back. I have someone really evil to deal with.’ She met Evie’s eyes again. ‘Evil is all here on Earth. Remember that. Thanks again for the book – I’ll get it back as soon as I can.’

Evie and Fenella looked at each other as Kate turned for the door.

‘Kate!’ Evie called. ‘Thank you – for rescuing my bedroom carpet.’

Kate grinned. ‘Have fun with him – Sisters.’ She used the Coven’s term of address for each other.

‘Tell him Katarina says hi.’

Thanks to William Shakespeare for the title – even if he did take terrible liberties with the story of Macbeth…

Here’s Karen’s links
http://karensoutar.wordpress.com
https://twitter.com/KMSDriving

The Blood and the Cauldron Party 2 by Karen Soutar

I’m bringing this story up to refresh your memeory..

<a href="https://mariwells.wordpress.com/2014/07/26/the-blood-and-the-cauldron-part-2&quot;. The Blood and the Cauldron 2

The Blood and the Cauldron Part 1 by Karen Soutar

Karen wrote The Blood and the Cauldron for our Vampire month. Do you remember Kate, the witch? Turns out our Dear Kate has some connections to our beloved Lochie Witches.

I”m bringing back The Blood and the Cauldron all three parts, and linking up some of Karen’s other Lochie witch stories so you’ll be ready for her newest installment going live here on 10-25-14

The Summoning This is where it all begins. I love this story.
The Potion Mistress I love this too, I love watching Evie grow in her skills.

Here’s the first installment of The Blood and the Cauldron, mostly about vampires, but keep a look out for Kate. The Blood and the Cauldron 1 Tomorrow and the next day will have part 2 and 3.

Karen’s coven isn’t all fiction, the Logie witches were real. You can read about them on Karen’s blog. Or you can read the series she did here on my blog last November here, and here, here, and here.
Make sure you check out her blogtoo

The Blood and the Cauldron Part 3

Karen is back to give you the final installment of The Blood and the Cauldron

The Blood and the Cauldron – Part 3

Mark pounded on the door of the cottage. He hated going behind Ewan’s back, but his friend was in over his head this time. ‘Kate! Open up!’

‘Good Goddess!’ The door flew open, revealing the Witch – as she was known to nearly everyone. Most people didn’t want to know her name, or any more about her than they needed to. At this moment, Mark saw why. Her arms were covered up to the elbows with leaves and sap, and in her left hand she held a bundle of twigs which was crawling with spiders.

‘Kate, I need your help,’ panted Mark. ‘It’s Ewan.’

‘Get in here.’ Kate hurried back inside.

Following her, Mark glimpsed something steaming away in her stillroom, before he was whisked into the kitchen. She threw the twigs out of the window, then scrubbed her arms at the huge Belfast sink.

‘Tell me,’ she commanded, ‘While I get this stuff off.’

Mark decided against asking what the ‘stuff’ was. ‘Ewan’s been seeing a girl,’ he began. ‘Someone new to the town. She went to explore the House, and got taken. Now Ewan’s gone after her – on his own.’

Kate dried her hands, and frowned at Mark. ‘Someone new? Mark, no-one new has moved in for months. You know I keep track, because of our – vampire problem. Where did Ewan meet this girl?’

Mark’s brow furrowed. ‘Just in a bar, I think.’

‘Have you met her? Do you know her name?’

‘No…they’ve only been together a few weeks.’ Mark looked down at his feet. ‘And he was really soppy about her…I kind of didn’t want to be a spare wheel. Oh – she’s called Cara.’ He raised his head sheepishly, to a blazing stare. Alarmed, he asked, ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Cara!’ Kate was throwing off the robe she always wore when conjuring, and marching towards the stillroom. ‘That…oohh, I knew I sensed something, but I couldn’t see it!’

Mark scurried after her as she grabbed a small bag and slung it over her shoulder. ‘You know her?’

‘She’s a vampire.’

Mark recoiled. ‘What?’

‘An old acquaintance.’ Kate was filling a bottle from the cauldron. She stepped into the circle of protection chalked on the stillroom floor, and held out her hand. ‘Come on! And grab one of those.’ She nodded at the long stakes leaning against the wall.

Mark seized one. She pulled him in close, and reached into her bag. Rubbing her fingers together, she scattered a red powder all around them, forming another circle inside the chalk. Mark wrinkled his nose. The powder had a cloying, coppery smell, almost like…

‘You might want to shut your eyes.’

Mark forgot about the powder. ‘Why? What are we doing?’

‘Getting there fast.’

The world tilted and threw Mark across the room – or at least that was how it seemed. When his vision cleared, they were standing at the main door of the House. Kate’s eyes searched his, and he nodded. They darted into the hallway, Mark holding his stake like a quarterstaff. No-one about. Kate pointed at the stairs, and the two of them ran up silently. As they reached the landing, they heard whimpering cries.

‘That’s Ewan!’ Mark made as if to dash forward, but Kate stopped him.
‘You know what we might find?’

Mark’s eyes narrowed. ‘We’ll save him, or avenge him.’

‘Good lad. Come on then!’

They raced through the furthest doorway, Kate calling out words in spell speech. Three vampires jumped to their feet, leaving what resembled a pile of bloody rags on a bed. Cara flew into the air, shrieking with rage as Kate’s magic pinned her to the ceiling. Mark screamed obscenities at the other two as he charged at them.

Ewan’s eyes flew open as the pain and pleasure were torn away. He stared around wildly. Where had Cara gone? A dark figure had the acolytes trapped against the wall with a wooden staff. Ewan glimpsed Mark’s black hair and flashing eyes as the weapon was twisted and used to stake both of the vampires at once. Strong arms were gathering him up. He looked into the face of the Witch as she lifted him, as though he weighed nothing. He tried to speak, but his mouth might as well have been sandpaper. The room swirled around him, and everything went dark.

Mark left the pile of dust that had once been the acolytes, and ran to the bed.

‘Here!’ Kate held out her hand, the other arm wrapped round Ewan. She glanced up at the screeching Cara. ‘I can’t hold her there for long…’

Mark took Kate’s hand, and the world dissolved as all three of them were pulled through the air. It was as disorientating as the first time; like being on a scary fairground ride. When his surroundings took shape again, they were back in the stillroom. He felt sick and dizzy; it had all happened so quickly.

‘Take Ewan out of the circle!’

Kate’s voice jolted through him, and he half-carried, half-dragged his friend from the chalked area. Ewan was a mess. His shredded clothes revealed bite marks all over his body, blood trails striping every inch of skin in shades of red.

‘Kate – Ewan, he needs…’

‘I know! I have to do this first.’ Kate stood in the circle, drawing symbols in the air and muttering. The red powder rose from the floor in a cloud and surrounded her – and the figure taking shape beside her.

‘So you stopped me before I could finish off my little lover.’ Cara’s mocking voice came from a distance. ‘I see age hasn’t slowed you down. And you have a new warrior. Such a pity for me he and Ewan are friends – you might not have made your rescue in time, otherwise.’

Mark gulped as he realized who Cara meant by warrior. He had known his family’s association with the Witch Clans was dangerous, but…

‘You were very sneaky, getting into town without me seeing you.’ Kate’s voice was calm, but Mark knew she was furious at having missed a vampire entering the boundaries. ‘Care to tell me how you did it?’

‘Not really.’ Cara sounded nearer this time.

Mark could hardly see Kate now for the red mist rising from the floor. On the contrary, Cara was becoming more visible by the second. He clutched Ewan closer.

‘Didn’t think so.’ Kate reached into the bag strapped across her body. ‘So you’re just going to follow me in here and finish what you started?’

‘Of course. Your pathetic circle of salt can’t stop me.’

‘It’s not supposed to. You’re not the only one who can work tricks unseen.’ As Cara materialised, Kate held up the stake.

Cara laughed. ‘You know that won’t stop me either.’

‘Depends whose blood is on it.’

Mark had never seen a vampire grow pale before, but he swore that Cara did. The red mist rushed towards the weapon as it was plunged into Cara’s chest.

The vampire’s scream was so piercing, Mark let go of Ewan and clutched his head, sure this time he really was going to be sick. He clamped his mouth shut and breathed through his nose, and the dreadful sound died away. Kate appeared beside him, her hands stained red. She laid them on Ewan’s abdomen, murmuring unintelligible words.

Ewan’s wounds began to close, and his skin took on a healthier pallor. As her hands moved over his friend’s body, the red on Kate’s skin faded.

She caught Mark’s questioning eye. ‘A spell,’ she stated. ‘The powder contains my blood. Stronger than a vampire’s – although not much stronger than hers. But enough to put her out of action for a while, and heal him.’

‘She’s not dead?’

‘No. She’s too powerful.’ Kate stroked Ewan’s matted hair away from his face. ‘Come on; let’s get this young man to a comfier place.’

‘Is he going to be okay?’

‘Well, that depends what you mean by okay.’ Kate scooped Ewan up, and Mark scrambled to his feet and followed her to the living room couch. ‘For one, in spite of our rescue, he’s not going to be happy that you came to me. You know how his family feels about witches.’

‘Stupid,’ muttered Mark, gazing at his friend with affection. ‘Narrow-minded, idiotic…’ He looked away as Kate peeled off Ewan’s ruined clothes.

‘Also,’ she continued, ‘there are consequences to healing him with my blood. His own removed by a vampire, then replaced with mine? Do you know what that makes him?’

‘No.’

‘Neither do I.’

Oohh. Well, that’s where we leave the story – for now. What will happen to Ewan? Don’t worry, there will be more in the future, just wait and see…

I know. I know. I can’t believe she did this to us! At least there’ll be more and as soon as I find out where you can go to read the rest, I’ll be letting you all know.

Thank you, Karen for entertaining us with this wonderful tale.

The Blood and the Cauldron – Part 2

Everyone who knows Karen’s writing knows it gets HOT and steamy. She’s about to make it hot and steamy up on this blog. You know if you’ve got Little “eyes” all around you or not. If you do, I recommend you come back once those little “eyes” take their naps. 😀

The Blood and the Cauldron – Part 2

‘No,’ he whispered. ‘It’s not true. It can’t be. I’ve seen you in daylight. You can’t…you can’t…’
The corners of Cara’s mouth turned up. ‘Never full daylight, Ewan. At dawn and dusk. If I’ve consumed enough human blood I can withstand the light. It lulls people into a false sense of security.’
He scrambled towards the door, but the acolytes caught him. His body betrayed him, refusing to fight as lust surged at their touch. Forcing his mind to overcome his treacherous limbs, he struggled in their grasp. He might as well have fought against steel. They held him easily as Cara approached.
‘Ewan.’ Her voice slid over him like silk. ‘Don’t fight. It’s a long time since I’ve met anyone like you. So passionate, so determined. I want you. I want you to want me.’
‘I did want you. I thought we – we…’
‘We were. We are. Give yourself to me. I’m still the same woman you wanted. Be mine.’
‘I’ll die.’ His voice was flat. He couldn’t escape. The acolytes would kill him, if Cara didn’t.
‘That’s up to you.’
‘I can’t become one of you. Not after…’ He refused to think of his sister. He had sworn revenge for her death. Now the other woman he loved was one of the enemy. He was drowning in horror and lust. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t move.
His vision swam as he gazed into her eyes. Please, he begged silently. He was no longer asking for release. Instead, he was pleading for it not to hurt, for her somehow to take away the pain at discovering her true self. She understood.
She wrapped her arms round him, and her lips met his in a gentle kiss. He was falling, falling into oblivion. She tasted of cinnamon and chocolate. The sensible part of his mind screamed for him to reach for his stake and destroy her, to at least die fighting. He dismissed that voice, giving into desire. Base instincts took over as he pressed against her and writhed in her arms.
‘Give yourself to me,’ Cara murmured again. Ewan closed his eyes and moaned, at war with himself. The other two vampires had let go of his arms, and were running their hands down his back, his thighs, reaching between his legs and stroking his most sensitive flesh. His mind became a blur of hot wet longing. He kissed Cara back fiercely, and sensed her exultation as his last defences dropped. She licked the roof of his mouth and bit his tongue, drawing blood and already feasting on him. He was lifted, carried, floating as light as a feather while they caressed him. Pleasure coursed at every touch, every stroke, every kiss. Now they were laying him on something soft…he opened his eyes and saw the canopy of the four poster above.
The vampires spread him out on the bed. His body revelled in their sensual touch even as his mind screamed at him to resist, to fight, to run… His pinioned wrists were kissed and caressed by soft lips and tongues. Cara sat astride his legs, and ran her nails down his chest and abdomen. He groaned at the sensation and closed his eyes. Fight! The tiny voice that was his mind shouted. Throw her off! His body dismissed that voice, writhing in ecstasy as the two holding his wrists suckled his fingers and licked the soft skin on the insides of his arms.
Ewan’s back arched as Cara continued to caress his chest, running her fingernails over his nipples. Pain suddenly shot through him as the others sank their teeth into each wrist. His eyes flew open as the voice in his head broke through the pleasure for a second, and he tried to pull away from their grasp. Cara ran her hands down his body and placed them on his groin, stroking him through his jeans and banishing all thoughts of escape. The pain receded to a dull ache as the young vampires drank slowly, softly, saving the best for their mistress. He pressed his erection against Cara’s hands, desperate for more. With a wicked smile, she unbuttoned his fly and freed him. She lowered her head and brushed the tip of his cock with her lips. He moaned and tried to raise his hips from the bed, aching for a firmer touch.
Cara slid him further into her mouth. His world dissolved until all sensation was centred on that one part of him. The other vampires were forgotten. The voice of reason inside his head receded to a distant murmur. His body was a thing apart, trembling with desire and lust. It no longer mattered that the acolytes were slowly but surely draining his blood. All that mattered was Cara, sucking him harder and harder. Her nails raked the tender skin of his belly, slicing his flesh so that the blood flowed freely. Dimly, he was aware that she was licking that blood from his cock as she fellated him.
He was growing dizzy. His vision danced and he closed his eyes once more as his orgasm approached. The tiny voice of reason inside broke through for one last time, but he was too weak to fight even if he had wanted to. Yet he knew what would happen the moment he came. Cara would sink her fangs into his flesh and suck him dry in more ways than one. On the other side of this pleasure and pain lay only death.

To be continued in Part 3…

The Blood and the Cauldron – Part 1

Karen Soutar, is an awesome writer. Her vampires are smexy to the extreme. This installment is tame, but just keep coming back. Tomorrow’s installment is as hot as an Arizona summer.

The Blood and the Cauldron – Part 1

The heavy door swung inwards without a sound. That was good; he had half-expected it to creak. He stepped inside, hugging the wall and scanning the hallway for any movement. There was none. He left the door open, hoping that a little light would follow him. It was risky being here this late. The sun was almost down. Then they would rise, and he had no way of knowing how many there were. He had only ever seen the two, but he couldn’t save Cara if there were many more. He would be too outnumbered.

He had asked Mark to go with him, but his friend had refused.
‘It’s a trap,’ Mark had stated, ‘And we’re not going. They’ve been after you since they got your sister. Now you’ve given them bait.’
‘I can’t just leave Cara!’ Ewan had protested.
‘You know why we don’t get involved in relationships. Innocent people get hurt.’ At the expression on his friend’s face, Mark softened a little. ‘Look…why don’t you ask the Witch to help you?’
‘And be beholden to her? No thanks.’

So he found himself alone, back at the house where Cara had been dragged away. The memory of her cries made him shiver. She had wanted him to explore with her, saying it would be an adventure. In vain he had tried to tell her what lived there. She hadn’t believed him. Not being brought up in the town, she scoffed at the idea that there were any such things as – vampires.
There was an ornate staircase at the far end of the wide hallway, rising to the upper floor. The doors on either side opened onto reception rooms, except for one which led to the basement stairway. This much he knew from the plans. Would they be in the basement? Heavy drapes covered all the windows, so not necessarily. The undead would be safe from the light in any part of the house, except where he now stood in the fading dusk.
He had to start somewhere. He edged towards the basement door, leaving his refuge of light. He tested the doorknob. It wouldn’t budge. Crouching, he peered at the slim gap between the door and the frame. Locked! He could see right through the keyhole. He straightened, groping in his pocket for his lock pick.
A crawling sensation down his spine made him turn, and his worse imaginings were confirmed. Two vampires, the females who had dragged Cara off. They descended the stairs, arms outstretched to clasp him in a deathly embrace. He backed away, reaching inside his jacket for the holy water. If he distracted them with that, he might be able to stake both before they knew what was happening. No, wait – they would know where Cara was. If he killed one and captured the other… They were closer now, gliding down the last few steps. Their movements were noiseless, which was unsettling. God, but they were beautiful. He tried to watch them without meeting their eyes. He removed the stopper from the bottle with trembling hands.
‘Ewan,’ they whispered, reaching out to him with slender white arms. ‘Eeewannn…’ Distracted, he met the gaze of the nearest – and was hit with a wave of desire so strong he cried out. A rush of heat throbbed in his groin. He ached to step into that welcoming embrace. He slammed his hand against the wall, scraping his palm down the peeling paintwork. The pain broke the spell. He scrambled back towards the main door, realising too late that the sun had sunk below the horizon. There was no refuge that way.
‘Where’s Cara?’ He kept his voice steady. If he found her, there would be two of them against the vampires. Cara was feisty; she would fight alongside him. He refused to consider that she might already be dead, or so drained that she would be too weak to move.
Sibilant laughter was his answer.
They had come from the upper floor. He let his body sag as if in defeat, then, when they were mere inches away, he threw the holy water. He darted past the writhing, screaming vampires and mounted the stairs two at a time. Damn, which room to try first? Then he spotted the door ajar at the end of the landing. He raced towards it, knowing the two downstairs wouldn’t be distracted for long.
He took in his surroundings: a faded but ornate bedroom, with a canopied bed against the right hand wall. The drapes at the window would once have been the colour of fine wine, but were now like watery blood. They still blocked out the light; a single candle burning on the dresser threw a faint, eerie glow across the room.
There was a figure in the bed, covered by a gossamer sheet that accentuated womanly curves. He rushed over and threw the cover back – to reveal Cara, deathly white and asleep – or unconscious.
She wore a gown of some floaty fabric, not the jeans and shirt she had on earlier. He feared that they had fed on her – she was so pale – but there were no marks on her neck, or anywhere else, as far as he could see. He shook her shoulder, trying to be gentle so that if she were injured, he wouldn’t make things worse. No response. He knew she wasn’t dead, as her chest rose and fell. Maybe she was so drained, she wouldn’t wake? Could he carry her out of there – and deal with the vamps? A hiss from the doorway told him he was about to find out. Glancing from under his lashes so as not to meet their eyes, he saw the two females in the doorway.
They weren’t looking at him, but past him.
There was a gossamer movement of air behind him. Icy fingers brushed his neck, and he jumped from the bed. Cara sat up; baring her teeth in what was once a beautiful smile – except now her elongated canines were clearly visible. Ewan choked back a sob.
He didn’t care that the other two had moved to stand beside him – until they curtsied low to the figure on the bed.
‘Mistress.’ They spoke in unison.
Cara inclined her head, as though granting a boon.
All the air left Ewan’s body, as though he’d been punched in the stomach. The acolytes acknowledging Cara that way – that could only mean – how – how?
She was vampire. Not turned by them – she was their creator. She had been vampire all along. How had she fooled him?
‘Ewan.’
Her voice was honey. How could she sound so sweet when she was a monster? Revulsion warred with desire in his gut. He had been deceived – lured here – trapped.
‘Ewan, look at me.’
He was lost, anyway. Three of them, against him.
He gritted his teeth, and raised his head to meet her gaze.

To be continued…

Vampires Vampires Vampires

As the sun sets tonight, I’ve crawled from my coffin. Um, I mean, I’m sitting here after a long day of writing and researching….

We’re starting a little late, but I have some vampire fun for you this month. I’ve got a crypt full of writers chatting, goblets of Sangria in hand. Dylan J. Morgan is here talking about “Blood War”, he’s agreed to a giveaway! Nina Mason, is here to talk about “The Queen of Swords”. Brian Moreland is here to talk about “Dead of Winter” not vampires. . . cannibals!! He has a giveaway too. Caris Roane, is here to talk about “Embrace The Passion” the newest book in “The Blood Rose Series” she’s also got a giveaway for you. Jeanie Grey will be here with the last book in “The Lilly Frank Series” “Awakening 3” I’m so sad to see Lilly go, but I’m so excited for her. We also have Daven Anderson and his second book “Vampire Conspiracy”. I’ve also got Karen Soutar, I couldn’t do anything vampire (or witch for that matter) without her. Peter Davis-Parker is here, with an awesome poem!

I’ve asked some other authors, but these ladies and gents are being fashionably late.

So grab your crystal goblet and some red or O+ for those of you so inclined. Sit back and enjoy Vampire month.

***UPDATE*** Juliette Kings, aka Vampire Marman is here, she was lurking in the shadows. I think she was enjoying the calm atmosphere. She has teenage vampires at home, they can get noisy, believe me I know. I’ve sent my fledglings away for the month.

Salud

The last of Karen’s Scottish Witches…. time to cry.

My last witch post (boo hoo!): Robert Burns and Tam O’ Shanter.

I can’t believe we’ve come to the end of this series of guest posts already. I couldn’t go without mentioning that famous son of Scotland, Robert Burns, and his epic poem, ‘Tam o’ Shanter’, written in 1791.

‘Tam o’ Shanter’ is set in Ayrshire, the area of Scotland where Burns was born and brought up. Tam is a hapless (okay, drunk) young man who comes across a coven of witches in Auld Kirk Alloway (an old kirk – surely not?), while riding home from Ayr one night. These witches are having a ceilidh, which basically means a party with music, dancing, and usually, fighting. One of them in particular catches Tam’s eye, being young and pretty – and because she’s dancing in her ‘cutty sark’, ie: short petticoat. Tam shouts words of encouragement at her from his spying place at the kirk’s window. He then gets his just desserts for this foolishness, and is chased by the witches to the bridge over the river Doon (Brig o’ Doon). As witches cannot cross running water, he escapes, but ‘Cutty Sark’ manages to pull the tail off his horse Maggie, just as she leaps across the bridge!

Moral of this tale: don’t get drunk and get distracted by ladies in short skirts. You may get more than you bargained for.

The poem is written in Scots, so can be a little hard to read for those not familiar with that language. It’s well worth a go, though. In it, Burns describes some extra-grisly trappings of a Black Mass: coffins standing open showing the dead within, and gruesome artefacts on the altar: murder weapons, and bodies of unchristened children. The Devil is also described as being present in the shape of a large black dog (he must like appearing in this form). Although at this gathering, ‘Auld Nick’ is providing the music by playing the bagpipes – a very talented dog indeed!

If you want to have a go at reading the poem, it can be found here: http://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poetry/poems/tam-o-shanter-tale  It might be handy to have a Scots dictionary open as well!

The places described in the poem are real. I’ve visited all of them. Auld Kirk Alloway is a little bit spooky. My husband has seen me cross Brig o’ Doon, so he thinks I’m not a witch (ha!) But unlike the stories in my previous posts, I can’t find any evidence that a coven did meet at this kirk, or chase any drunken young men to the bridge. It seems Burns did that writerly thing of taking facts from other places, and weaving them into a fantastic story set in his home. I’m glad he did, as it’s one of my favourite poems.

In my last post, I mentioned the fact that most of the ‘witches’ executed in Scotland in the 16th and 17th centuries were probably not performing black masses and summoning the devil at all. Many of them would be what are now generally referred to as ‘Pagans’ – worshippers of the old, pre-Christian gods. I’m not going to go into Paganism and its many branches here – that would be a whole other series of posts! Suffice it to say that many of these women and men would know how to heal wounds and treat the sick using natural remedies, and possibly a chant or two – all things the authorities were very suspicious of. Others may have been gifted with ‘second sight’ – a talent particularly prevalent in the Highlands of Scotland.

Seers had to be careful in the 15 and 1600s, as their gift could be denounced by the church as being from the devil, although Highlanders generally believed second sight to be unconnected with witchcraft. This belief, however, did not help the most famous of all, the Brahan Seer. He naively told the Countess of Seaforth what her husband was really doing on a trip to Paris, ie: entertaining other ladies. If you don’t like the message, shoot the messenger. Although not tried and executed as a warlock, this did not stop the poor man being thrown into a barrel of burning tar. As his fiery end approached he accurately prophesied the fall of the house of Seaforth, and told the Countess that he would go to heaven, but she never would. So the Brahan Seer had the last word, although I don’t imagine this was much comfort as he went up in flames. Don’t tell people the truth; tell them what they want to hear – a trick most seaside clairvoyants have cottoned onto today!

I’ve really enjoyed doing this series of posts for the Witching Hour. Most of the stories have been from Central and Lowland Scotland. Talking about the Brahan Seer has made me realise how many tales of the supernatural there are from the North. So I may be back one day, with more spooky stuff from the Highlands and Islands of Scotland…

Depiction of the chase from the Burns Museum Alloway

**I’ve enjoyed having Karen here telling us about Scotland’s Witches. I’m not beyond following my pal Sheila Hall’s example and searching out Karen and tackling her (with hugs) in hopes of her coming back again. Or begging! Please come back again Karen and share your Scottish witch knowledge with us. The door is always open. 😀 **

The Logie Witches

I’m so honored to have Karen Soutar here again. This post is amazing, and I can’t thank her enough for sharing her homeland’s witches with us.

I so want to go and hangout at Carly Crag. One day I will, and Karen and I will cause chaos and mass hysteria with out love of witches on their own ceremonial land. 

The Logie Witches

A few miles from my home stand the ruins of Logie Old Kirk (Kirk being the old Scots word for church). Situated just outside Stirling, a church was first dedicated in this ancient parish around 1173. The ruins date back to around 1592.

In 1720, the Old Kirk was said to be used by ‘The Witches of Logie’ for their rituals. It was probably already falling into disrepair at this time. The use of churches by those practising the ‘Black Mass’ is well documented. Old, often abandoned kirks frequently appear as the meeting place for covens in Scottish folklore.

Behind the Old Kirk is the hill known as ‘Carly Crag’ or ‘Witches Craig’. Carly, or carlin, is the old Scots word for witch, or old woman (from the Gaelic cailleach). It was on Carly Crag that the Logie Witches were supposed to meet with the devil himself, who took the form of a black dog with burning eyes. He would cavort among the witches with a blue torch attached to his hind quarters. Quite why he needed a blue torch there remains unclear! Also, the Evil One was running the risk of a singed bottom, as torches and lamps burned oil at that time. Maybe, being the devil, he was impervious to flame!
There are several documents pertaining to this local legend:

In David Morris’s (1935) essay on the local township, he told the common story that “an elder in (the new) Logie Kirk was of the opinion that the Carla’ Craig…was haunted.” At the end of the 19th century, Morris remembered a local lady known as ‘Ailie’, who was said by many old folk to be the traditional ‘witch of Logie’:

“Sickly children were brought to her for her blessing. Occasionally people came from as far as Stirling on this errand. Her method of giving the blessing was to blow her breath on the child, and this was supposed to ward off evil. It was also said that anyone buried in Logie Kirkyard on the first day of May, Halloween, or other days of that kind, without her blessing, would not rest in his grave…”

Another legend told to Morris stated that:

“Around 1720 witches were believed to rendezvous with the Evil One who would appear in the form of a large black dog.” This is clearly the most well-known tale relating to Logie Old Kirk and Carly Crag. Again, the devil appearing in the form of a dog crops up more than once in the folklore of Scotland.
Another account of the belief in witchcraft and animistic pre-Christian rites on the crag came from Charles Rogers (1853):

“About the second decade of last century, there lived in the parish of Logie several ill-favoured old women, to whom the reputation of witchcraft was confidently attached. They were believed to hold nocturnal dialogues and midnight revels with the Evil One, and Carlie Crag was regarded as one of their places of rendezvous. Satan, though he was believed to appear to them in various forms, was understood, in his interviews with the dreaded sisterhood, to appear most frequently in the aspect of a large shaggy dog, in which form it was alleged he had repeatedly been seen by the minister.”

I first heard the story of The Logie Witches when visiting the Witches Craig Caravan Park, where I was testing a new tent, believe it or not! I wondered how the park had got its name, and this led me to the local legend, and my explorations of Logie Old Kirk and the Carly Crag. Do the kirk, and the crag, feel spooky? A bit. Do they feel evil? No. The Old Kirk is now overlooked by several modern dwellings, though they do not detract much from its isolated location. There are several interesting gravestones in the Kirkyard, featuring masonic symbols and the macabre skull carvings which are common on grave markers of this era. There is now a new Logie Kirk, built in the early 1800s and still in use, closer to the nearby caravan park and visible from the modern road. The Old Kirk is further up into the hills, shrouded by trees, so it can’t be seen from the roadside.

I used the tale of The Logie Witches as inspiration for a short story, featuring a modern day version of the coven. I played around with the locations of the various landmarks a little (artistic licence!), as I thought it would be funny if my witches had to contend with the road and the caravan park. There will be more stories from my 21st century witches soon!

If you haven’t read this story yet…… what on Earth are you waiting for? The Zombie Apocalypse? Go read it…. here’s the pretty little link to take you there … I love this story. Abosolutely LOVE it…

The crag is a fine site for ritual magic, and its associated devil-lore may simply derive from Pictish shamanistic practices, remains of which have been found across the Scottish hills. These rites survived longer in the remote areas of Scotland than in other parts of Britain. On the other hand, maybe witches did indeed meet with the devil there. Maybe they still do..?

Next week: The witches who plotted to kill King James VI…

(References: Morris, David, B., “Causewayhead a Hundred Years Ago”, in Transactions of the Stirling Natural History and Archaeological Society, 1935. Roger, Charles,” A Week at Bridge of Allan”, Adam & Charles Black: Edinburgh 1853.)

 

Thank you again, Karen, for coming by. I can’t wait to read next week’s guest post.

Scottish Witches with Karen Soutar

I’m so happy, no….. elated to have Karen Soutar here to talk about her native witches with us. Karen and I have been planning this for some time now and the anticipation was becoming unbearable.

If you haven’t already you NEED to read her story about her local witches

So without me rambling on further…Because I will do it…. I’ll hand it over to Karen and her first post …. yes, I did forget to mention that didn’t I? Karen’s agreed to doing a series for us. A whole month of Scottish Witches!!! YES!!! Four posts about Scottish Witches….. Oh be still my content heart…

Here’s Karen…..

How I discovered the wonderful, wicked world of witches

What do you think of when you hear the words ‘Scottish witches’? The three from Shakespeare’s ‘Macbeth’, hunched round their cauldron? The ones who chase Tam O’ Shanter in Robert Burns’s poem? Scotland is a country rich with tales of witches. Some are legends that have grown with the telling, some are completely made up, and some of them actually happened.

Why do witches fascinate me? They always have, ever since I was a little girl. I don’t remember exactly, but I think I read my first ‘scary’ witch story when I was about seven. I never bought into the good witch, bad witch thing. ‘The Wizard of Oz’ wasn’t a favourite of mine. (I much prefer ‘Wicked’). Even when I was young, I understood that ‘good’ and ‘evil’ are often subjective. When I read books and watched films, I always thought the wicked witch character was a lot more interesting than the simpering heroine. I still do. Witches appeal to my dark side. There are as many aspects to witchcraft as there are to life: witches are people and the same ones can be good or bad depending on what they’re doing and who’s describing them. I love that.

In my home of Scotland I have spent a lot of time visiting spooky sites and absorbing local stories, many of which go back before written records. We have a great ‘oral tradition’ of folk tales. A few forward-thinking writers captured some of them on paper before they were lost forever. Witches, fairies (NOT the fluttery pretty kind), ghosts…they are everywhere. Dark, forbidding mountains and crags, wild weather, dense forest – even the landscape conspires with the legends.

One of my earliest memories of a ‘real’ witch (or in this case, warlock) story comes from a school trip to Edinburgh, again when I was about seven or eight. On this trip to Scotland’s capital city, we went to the waxworks museum. When we got to the inevitable ‘chamber of horrors’ you could choose whether to go through or not. Guess which I did? I thought it was BRILLIANT. I bought the guidebook and devoured it when I got home. One of the characters I was particularly taken with was Major Weir.

Major Thomas Weir was born in 1599 and lived in the street called the West Bow, between Edinburgh Castle and the Grassmarket. He attended his local Protestant prayer meetings and was a respected pillar of the community. Then the Major fell sick, and decided, in his feverish state of mind, to divulge his secret life to his fellow worshippers.

He admitted ‘crimes against man and God’, including necromancy and other supernatural activities that resulted from witchcraft. He was taken into custody, along with his sister Jean, who was his partner in these arts. Both were tried on April 9, 1670 and sentenced to death. While Jean was hanged in the Grassmarket, Major Weir was burned alive somewhere between Edinburgh and Leith. He fervently refused to repent his sins. There is a popular legend that his staff was cast into the flames after him, where it twisted and writhed due to ‘whatever incantation was in it’.

The house where Weir and his sister lived and practiced their witchcraft stands to this day, and neighbours have confirmed sightings of his ghost and strange lights from within; also the sounds of laughter and revelry – a macabre sign that ‘The Wizard of West Bow’ and his cohorts still enjoy their distractions!

With this story I was hooked. I moved to Edinburgh when I was seventeen and found out more about the history of the city. During the reign of King James VI, more ‘witches’ were put to death on Castlehill than anywhere else in Scotland. From 1590 onwards, hundreds of women were executed. Of course, it is doubtful that most of these were witches at all, and even those that were, mostly used their arts to cure illness, heal wounds, and provide the occasional love potion.

The idea of ‘black’ and ‘white’ witches can be traced back to Roman times and beyond. But James VI considered himself an expert on witchcraft, and adopted the theory that all witches had made a deliberate pact with the devil, leading to a wholesale persecution of witches. They were often accused of plotting treason and trying to bring about the King’s downfall by using black arts. I’ll tell the story of one such coven in a future post.

So far it doesn’t sound as though witches had a very happy time in Scotland! But there were plenty of places where they could practise their arts undisturbed. Abandoned ‘Kirks’ (churches) were a favoured spot. One of these is a few miles from my home. Logie Old Kirk, just outside the town of Stirling, was the meeting place for a coven in the 1700s – more on them next time…