The Jezebel (Taskill Witches 3)

Master Cyrus did not respond to that.

“And the remedy they recommend?” He seemed determined that she finish reading the king’s Daemonologie that very night.

She read aloud again, unable to analyze the words on her own. “‘What form of punishment think ye merits these magicians and witches? They ought to be put to death according to the law of God, the civil and imperial law, and municipal law of all Christian nations.’” Her voice faltered as she remembered, the tears welling. “But...but what kind of death...I pray you?”

She heard the jeers, the accusations, the thud of stones that made her mother drop and bleed. Margaret did not need to read on, for she knew what the answer was. Fire.

“Burn her to death,” they had shouted. “Rid our village of their evil.”

Tears spilled down Margaret’s cheeks as the wounds reopened and she relived the pain, remembering it all.

“Hush now.” Master Cyrus rested back in his chair. “You are safe, and you always will be, with me.”

Crying and gulping in distress, she found her vision misting.

“I do not want to remind you of your mother’s fate,” he said, after some time had passed. “You know that. But it is important that you understand why it happened.”

She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. “Why do they think these things about us?”

“It is ignorance and jealousy that lead people to do such things to a gifted, special one such as you.” His eyes flickered thoughtfully. “Fear of the power that you might have over them.” His brows lifted.

Maisie stared at him. He seemed pleased with her. Was it because she had been brave enough to read it all?

His eyes gleamed as he contemplated her. “I do not have your powers, my precious, but I respect them in you. You will not be harmed, not while I watch over you. That much I promise you.”

And she believed him.

“In time these laws will be revoked,” he added. “I have heard it spoken about amongst the important people, and there has been much written about the injustices that have taken place.” Cyrus’s mouth twitched into a smile. “And many people do not even believe witchcraft exists,” he added, “which suits us rather well, don’t you think?”

Margaret nodded, although deep down she wanted to disagree and state that she’d rather her kind were acknowledged. But she trusted Master Cyrus to guide and protect her. “I hope that you are right, that these laws will be altered.” She pushed the book away, resisting the urge to set it alight with a choice Pictish enchantment.

The lessons were hard, but she learned.

Acceptance, knowledge, caution and experience wove together in the fabric of her soul. She had been born into a line of folk who were different than most, and who must hide their skills. She accepted that. The more she read under Master Cyrus’s guidance, the more she understood, and the more wary and sheltered she became. So it was that Maisie Taskill grew into Margaret Lafayette, elegant, beautiful, educated and wary beyond her tender years, a girl who had earned her guardian’s approval.

When she was considered old enough, and Master Cyrus and Mama Beth introduced her to society, she found herself much admired. It was her thoughtful expression and her resigned gaze that she heard whispered about when she sharpened her hearing by magic. Some remarked she was gifted, that her intellect was said to be as sharp as a man’s, if not more so. The influence of her clever guardian, no doubt, they would surmise.

Her clever guardian watched on.

It was when she blossomed into young womanhood that Master Cyrus brought out his most precious tome on witchcraft—the book that told of the powers that could be sourced from the physical and emotional union of lovers.

As was their usual practice, they sat side by side at the heavy mahogany desk in his private library. The candlelight flickered as Master Cyrus set down the book he intended to study with her that night.

She looked at it curiously, for it was not leather bound, nor did it have a title page. Instead, the loose parchment pages were stitched together in a makeshift binding. The parchment was rough and heavy, and when Master Cyrus carefully turned the pages to the first words written, she saw they were hastily scribbled with an erratic hand.

The content startled her. It was about carnality.

She glanced at him in surprise.

“My feeling is that you are grown-up enough to study the most important subject of all, the gateway to your most powerful magic.”

She felt heat rise in her face, and could not force herself to meet his gaze again. Instead, she stared down at the document before her. She felt embarrassed because he meant for them to look at this together, and yet by some deep instinct she also knew what it contained and how significant it was. Memories whispered through her mind, memories of her mother’s words, and more.

“Why did you bring us here to the Lowlands?” her brother had asked their mother, when they were scorned for her pagan ways.

“Because we must find your father, for without him I am not complete,” she had replied.

“He’s not worth it, not if he abandoned us the way you said he did.” Lennox stomped off angrily, as he often did, frustrated that he carried the burden of an errant father. It was then that their mother had turned to Maisie and her twin, and confided to them a witch’s deepest secret.