These three lads have taken what’smine.
At the age of thirty, repay them inkind.
Pilfer, purloin, and pinch what it is they lovebest.
And then and only then will I find my eternalrest.”
King didn’t know what happened next. Later he would chalk it up to a particularly close strike of lightning, but when he dreamed of the experience—and he would have nightmares for years to come—he experienced it as a push of air so strong that it sent the three boys reeling. He landed hard on his bottom, his head hitting the hard ground and rendering him momentarily stunned.
He lay in the mud, staring up at that strange greenish sky. From far away, he thought he heard the sister speaking and the witch arguing. Thunder boomed again, and he closed his eyes. The sound hurt his head. When he opened his eyes again, the rain had ceased and the night was quiet. He rose on his elbowsand peered about the yard. The remains of the broken cask were there, as well as the fallen clothesline. The tree limb still lay smoking a few feet away. Near him, Rory and Henry were stirring, pushing up from the ground.
“What happened?” Rory asked.
“Lightning strike,” Henry said matter-of-factly.
“Where did they go?” King asked, staring at the empty yard and the dark witch’s hovel just beyond.
“Who cares?” Rory said, climbing to his knees. “Crazy old bat.”
“Did you see her?” Henry said with a smirk on his face. “She was waving her hands in the air and muttering curses. She really does think she’s a witch.” He laughed. Then Rory laughed too.
King didn’t think it was such a good idea to laugh. He glanced at the dark building in front of him and just wanted to get away. Rory offered him a hand, and King took it, allowing the other boy to pull him to his feet. “We’d better get back,” he said.
“Too bad you dropped the whiskey.” Henry gave Rory a pointed look.
“Idropped the whiskey?Youdropped it!”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You both dropped it,” King said. “Too scared of the witch to hold on.”
“I wasn’t scared,” Henry said. “I slipped in the mud.”
“I’m not scared of that mad old crone,” Rory said. He struck a pose, arms lifted in the air, face screwed up in rage. It was a poor imitation of the witch, but it was still funny. King laughed, and so did Henry. And then Rory doubled over laughing too. The three of them clapped each other on the shoulders and pushed and shoved all the way back to the school, one of them pausing every few feet to imitate the witch with her hands in the sky or muttering curses.
King laughed until his sides hurt, and he only looked back over his shoulder once. What he saw made him catch his breath. The witch stood in the middle of the road, watching them.
He stumbled then ran to catch up with his friends. Henry elbowed him, and King joined their laughter.
King and the others crept into the dormitory without being detected, and he was relieved when he finally lay under his bedclothes, dry and safe. And yet he couldn’t seem to fall asleep, couldn’t shake the idea that his actions tonight would have dire consequences. King wasn’t afraid of a thrashing or even expulsion. So what was keeping him awake? Why was he trembling with fear like some sort of stupid baby?
Witches aren’t real,he told himself, pinching his arm to drive the point home.Curses aren’t real. Another pinch. He looked over at Henry and Rory, both still and obviously sleeping. They were unharmed. The three of them hadn’t managed to bring the whiskey back, but they’d had one hell of an adventure.
And now he was safe. They’d gotten away with the prank.
And for many years, he actually believed that.
Chapter Two
London, 1814
King was drunk.This was nothing new. He was often drunk and stumbling up the walk to the Town house he’d leased for the Season. He was alone, having lost his compatriots somewhere between Covent Garden and Mayfair. He vaguely remembered someone throwing a jug at them as they stood in the middle of the road singing at the top of their lungs. So what if it was four in the morning? A man could sing if he had a notion to.
He made it to his stoop and sat down for a moment, willing the world to stop spinning so quickly. His ears rang. Had he been hit with the jug? Perhaps not, but he had been hit in the jaw. He touched the sore spot gingerly.
Behind him the door opened, and his valet stepped out. “My lord, will you come inside?”
“I will, Danby,” King said. “I most certainly will. Just waiting for this ringing in my ears to cease.” A moment later, he was vaguely aware of Danby bending over him.
