Fiery Witch: The Cursed Brothers

By TJ Berry

Quincy. Anthony. Ageless brothers born of a transubstantiated daemon and a shaman’s daughter in the mid-1800s. They share a common destiny. One, the younger brother, aided by a young Witch of Light, runs from their fate, under the guise of trying to protect the world. The other stays behind crippled by fear that he may not wish to ever ret

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fox Fire Publications LLC
• Release date: Sep 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9781950745036

TJ Berry

Author and co-founder of Fox Fire Publications, LLC

Book preview

Chapter 1: Burn

Quincy

This house has stood for over 50 years. Still, I can see the wood already starting to weaken under the elements. Apparently, our grandfather built this simple one-bedroom house, our mother grew up in this house and it is in this house that our father found her. He was an Udug daemon. Udug...were once a race of guardians for humankind that degenerated into daemons. Unbeknownst to most of the world, they also tended to develop unnatural attachments to humans. It is probably because that is what they look like, minus the fangs and grayish skin. He changed all of that for our mother though. It is probably why our mother fell in love with him.

Are you ready? Anthony says as he puts the last of the kerosene on the ground between us, the flammable liquid sloshing against its glass container.

Does it matter? I snip, never taking my eyes away from our mother’s childhood home. Its ashen graying boards bow inward or out, giving the tiny house character. The stones that served as stairs are cracked and splintered but remain as sturdy as the day our grandfather placed them there. From what I understand, the windows took the most time. Grandfather couldn’t make the windows as he would carve the stone or chop down lumber to make the boards…no, he had to purchase the glass. It took him nearly two years to purchase all the pieces that he needed. I sigh.

Anthony shakes his head and tosses the torch at the modest dwelling. It strikes the kerosene he poured all over it. Immediately, the fire spreads along the side, devouring the wood like a ravenous beast. The fire consumes the dried, rotting boards quickly…the beast has an insatiable appetite for destruction. My teeth grind together as the first window…purchased with such care…blackens then shatters from the intense heat.

It’s for the best, brother, Anthony tries to convince me, but puts as much feeling behind it as he puts behind anything else he says. Another window explodes on the front of the house and flames reach out for us with the rush of air feeding the beast. We step back in unison and watch the house engulfed in flames, burning from its roof to its foundation.

What of the well? I ask my know-it-all little brother without looking at it.

Anthony examines the object in question. The cylinder of stone stands alone with a single board covering the top. It once had a pulley system placed above it, complete with a bucket on a rope, but they gave out long ago. Leave it, he spits with a flat expression. If someone else decides to come along and settle this land, they’ll be grateful that it is here.

I turn to my little brother. This is our land by right. He is nearly a foot shorter than I am, but as I stand sixteen and him being only fifteen, it is expected.

He turns away. By what right? He extends his arms and growls. The deed to this property was in our mother’s father’s name. His last name did not match hers and she is a woman.

What does that have to do with any of this?

It means that any court in the land would find this house and this land in forfeit, especially in absentia a birth certificate or a will. He faces me and lowers his arms. He collects the kerosene-filled lantern. He tosses it through a broken window. Besides, father left far too many clues to the truth of things in this house.

Of course, he did. The kerosene goes up, causing the fire to billow out again. A part of the roof near the chimney collapses. The lantern must have landed near one of the support beams and finished burning it through. I exhale loudly. This is the first point on the seal.

Tell me something that I don’t know, brother, he groans, letting that oversized ego of his shine.

Yes, yes…six points on the seal, I repeat the lesson that our father taught us six years ago, just before he passed. …each point of the seal representing the culmination of a different human sin…

The six points… He looks down. …we still do not know what the seals represent or what will happen when all of them are released.

Which is why we should not have burned this house until we had found what secrets it held. I point to the house just as the remainder of the roof collapses.

And I told you that father only wrote history on the walls and floors. I transcribed every word…translated it from that dead language and wrote it down.

Well, maybe you missed something. He scowls as if I had called him an idiot to his face.

The curse, the seal…our seals…all of the information on these things is in the books and scrolls that father kept at his estate. I look at my brother, but he looks past me at something in the distance. I turn to Johnathan McCabe, approaching from the neighboring farm.

Anthony…Quincy, he calls out pleasantly, while tipping the brim of his large black hat down. Anthony walks over to stand beside me and we nod with a tip of our hats.

Dirt covers McCabe’s dungarees, as well as his boots, shirt and hands. McCabe is a simple man of about 35 years. He stands a head taller than I am with constantly sullied, dark brown hair like sheep’s wool. His broad shoulders and large arms tell the history of his entire farmer’s ilk. His large brown eyes always focused and determined while maintaining an honesty that I find refreshing.

He removes his hat and moves it from hand to hand. Saw the fire, he begins simply, finally deciding to keep both hands on the hat with it positioned modestly in front of him. Thought maybe you boys might need some help, so I came over.

We’re fine, Anthony states succinctly. McCabe glances at the house…or at least the remains of the house. Anthony glares at him as if he were some insect or vermin needing to be dealt with. This house was the property of our mother and our grandfather before her. We decided to burn it rather than have someone else live in it.

I cut a chiding look at my brother. His lip is a little too loose for a boy of only fifteen and his manner is far too cold and off-putting.

I don’t understand, McCabe says, scratching his head.

No revelation there, Anthony mumbles.

Mr. McCabe, I begin, trying to sound humble as I approach him and hoping he didn’t hear Anthony. We don’t have the deed or nothin’ to this house, I say, letting the rustic vernacular set in. So, instead of lettin’ somebody from the government come and take it away from us, we decided it’d be best to burn it. We figure, grandpa would’ve wanted it that way.

McCabe rubs his rough fingers over his russet forehead. The corners of his full lips turn down at the corners.  Yeah, I reckon I can understand that. That’s what I always liked about you, Quincy; you always talk man-to-man with everyone, even folks like us. I smile warmly. Anthony sighs. I can practically hear him rolling his eyes.  So, I guess I won’t be seein’ you boys ’round here no more.

Probably not, I confirm. He steps forward, extending his hand. We shake.  His grip is strong, especially for a human. Goodbye, Mr. McCabe.

Bye, Quincy. Take care of that lil’ brother of yours.

I will. With that, McCabe turns, replaces his hat and disappears into the night. "I can feel your tension, Anthony. You can calm down. McCabe has proven on more than one occasion that he is harmless."

He’s nosy, intrusive, and he was completely infatuated with our mother. He scowls. It was embarrassing. I don’t know why our father worked so hard at protecting him and his family.

Humans have emotions…just like our father did. Even we half-humans do. Besides, he is happily married and he and his…children, I pause, thinking of Margaret. …are doing well…they’re a powerful family of White Witches. He sucks his teeth and stares off in the distance.

I remove my hat and run my fingers through my hair. It’s reaching my shoulders. I should have cut it again by now.  Father always wore his down past his shoulders and never in a tail as Anthony does. We should leave now.

We have company, Anthony says, focusing on something. Our father always said if we focus on any of our senses that the magic in our veins would make them far exceed human abilities. Strength and speed come as naturally enhanced attributes of being born half-daemons…well, half-fae. Feels like a shadow daemon. He strides away, staring at whatever is approaching us. I will handle this, he complains.

#####

Anthony

Cur, I spit as the daemon comes closer. An Ornias daemon no doubt…Ornias’ are bottom feeders. They pick off stray humans and eat them piece-by-piece. Fortunately, one human will keep an Ornias daemon full for months. From the look in this one’s eyes, he is starving.

Their species look like large dogs or wolves typically, only shaved. They tend to have a small tuft of fur over their hearts, at their elbows and along their forearms…oh, and around their genitals thankfully. This mangy beast has grayish-blue fur and pale blue eyes. He drools uncontrollably and pants heavily. 

He emerges from the darkness, running at full speed. The dust beats forward with every paw that strikes the ground. He runs on all fours…not even trying to hide anymore. I wonder if he’s coming for us…or the human, McCabe. I focus on his every movement. He darts around me and continues past Quincy as well.

He’s going after John, Quincy says, closing his eyes slowly. We always have to protect the humans. They are so ridiculously frail…even mother was relatively frail…especially for a shaman’s daughter.

I turn and bolt past the Ornias…he moves so slowly that he appears to be standing still. I punch him on the tip of his nose. He yelps and falls backward. Ornias’ are especially sensitive there. I did it just to make him angry.

He snarls and barks at me while trying to recover. He grinds his claws into the ground and leaps at me. He snaps at where my face was. I kick him, knocking out two of his fangs. He sails through the air and tumbles through the tall grass before collapsing in a huff. Stupid dog. I walk toward him. We will not allow you or anyone else to consume humans here. He hunches over and then raises up onto his hind legs. I see you like being abused, mongrel. 

He swipes. I leap, but a piece of my shirt tears away. He smells his fingers. His long tongue swipes his teeth and he wrenches his arms. A roar rips free as he throws his arms out to his sides, extending his claws more. I hear something strike the ground to his right. Red covers the tips of his fingers. My stomach…blood soaked through my shirt. I put my hand over the three claw marks. It didn’t even hurt until I realized it was there. I fall to my knees. The pain intensifies. It feels like my body is on fire. With each heartbeat, the incisions scream in the back of my mind.

The beast is on the attack again. He bounds at me, trying to pin me down for the kill. Extermino, Quincy snaps and the dog bursts into flames. He lands in a lump of burning flesh a few feet away.

Quincy walks over. He pulls me up without any effort. I plant my feet but my legs are still unsteady. Daemon magic, I grunt, still clutching my enflamed stomach.

You got careless, Quincy says calmly. Even a weakling Ornias daemon can kill you if you get careless, little brother. Your skin must feel like it’s flaying off by now.

I focus on not doubling over in pain. Not just MY skin. You only burned his fur and skin. He’s still alive.

I didn’t try to kill him, little brother. Every strike doesn’t have to be a killing blow.

Yes…it does. Levitas, I sneer and then snap my fingers. The heavens open wide and reply to my plea quickly as the magic flows from my body. A flash of lightning descends and strikes the smoldering corpse. His flesh explodes and scatters in every direction. The sound of thunder rings out immediately. The smells of pure oxygen, burning hair and then seared flesh fill the air in that order.

You always go too far, brother, Quincy says, releasing my arm. I stumble and focus my magic on healing. I grunt as the Ornias’ poison seeps from the wounds. You didn’t have to destroy him. Quincy lifts his leg and shakes a small piece of flesh from his boot. At least, you didn’t have to make a mess.

Libero, I mutter softly. My skin cools. The blood seals the wounds. I relax and allow my normal recuperative abilities to repair the rest of the damage. I tear the shirt away and toss it on top of the still burning lower portion of the daemon’s body. I button my jacket calmly. Where’s my hat? I ask as the last button clasps. Quincy dusts it off against his leg and then places it on top of my head. I smirk as he pushes it back. Thank you.

He smiles before shaking his head and turning to father’s estate in the distance. So, what’s this surprise you were telling me about? He walks toward the large gray stone building. You made it sound important.

It is. We’re leaving.

I know. That’s why I’m heading back to the manor.

No. I mean, we’re leaving this town. He looks at me. I move past him quickly. You heard me.

He moves with me. Father’s seals won’t allow us to leave. He removes his hat and runs his fingers through his long brown hair. It’s not possible.

First of all, they’re not father’s seals…he only bound us to them, I growl. The seal has seven points…not six…we each have three tattoos representing one of the six original points. The seventh point is in the center of town and neither of us has it. So, when they activate…that’s when we’ll never be able to leave again brother…but until then…

#####

Chapter 2: Home

Quincy

What do you mean? I ask his smug little face.

I have conceit, fury, and avarice. You have lascivious, indolence, and jealousy. The seventh point of the seal is voracity.

I roll my eyes. Why can’t you just call them what they are? I count them off, Pride, wrath, greed, lust, sloth, envy, and gluttony. They’re the seven deadly sins and we half-humans have to bear them all apparently.

Indeed, he says, clasping his hands over his stomach.

How’s your…?

I’m fine, he groans as if on cue.

Yeah, of course, you are. So, how do you know that gluttony is in the center of town…and where is the center of town anyway?

I’m not sure. He tugs at his jacket. He’d never admit it but without his shirt, the fabric irritates his skin.  I only just found out that this house sits on the Avarice Seal. And I call it that because that is what father’s notes call it.

Father’s notes? He nods, adjusting his lapel. Avarice, huh…? That’s one of your seals, right? Is that why you wanted to burn the house down? He vanishes. Brat’s faster than I am. I hate that. I’m a lot stronger than he is at least. Doesn’t really matter, I know where he’s going. I run to the manor as fast as I can.

Pine trees rush by in the backwoods between mother’s childhood home…or, where it once stood and father’s estate. I leap the stone wall easily and make for the front door. I’m glad the wall is so far away from the house. It’d be strange trying to explain things to the locals. The house has twelve bedrooms, a dining room, a den, a massive library, a parlor room and a well-stocked kitchen…even four indoor outhouses. The outhouses were father’s idea…something about the future or something.

I throw open the front doors so hard that the stained-glass rattles. ANTHONY, I yell. He doesn’t answer.  Where are you, little brother?

Here, he calls stepping out of the library. He carries three of father’s books under his left arm and several of the scrolls in his right hand…scrolls that father instructed us never to touch as children. He wears his stern contemplative face. He calculates…schemes behind those dim green eyes. We have to hurry. He paces past me.

What did you mean? He moves up the stairs toward the second floor. He approaches the massive windows at the top of the landing and turns at the fork moving to the left.

Just what I said, he replies from the second floor. I follow him to the landing and pause there. He descends the stairs behind me. I turn, and he slips something into his jacket pocket. He also has a fresh shirt draped over his arm.

I walk down and wait for him. Is that why you insisted that we burn mother’s house tonight? Because you’ve hatched another ridiculous plan to get out of this town?

Of course, and this is no ridiculous plan, brother. Father had good reason not to want us reading these scrolls. They contain the truth.

The truth…?

Yes, he hisses with an eager grin. And the truth is we’re leaving, brother. We can have our own lives and not the life that some dead shadow daemon turned fae wanted us to live.

That dead fae was our father, Anthony and you’d do well not to forget it.

I won’t, brother. He skulks over to me and hits me across the arm with the scrolls. See for yourself. 

I take the scrolls and unroll the fragile yellowing pages. I see runes that I don’t understand, but quickly read over the notes father made in Latin. It explains how a powerful white witch with the right ingredients and the right incantation…provided by notes that Anthony made…can temporarily weaken the seal so that my brother and I can pass through the barrier surrounding this town.

Where on earth will you find a white witch in this town, brother? He smiles a smile so sinister that had I not known that he was part fae, I would swear he was shadow. What…?

He claims the scrolls. We’ve already found her, brother. I frown. Think brother. Don’t you feel it, every time you touch her?

You’re talking about Margaret McCabe, aren’t you?

Yes! Yes, and this plan will work. He eyes me cautiously. Why else would I have already dismissed the house staff? I look around the suspiciously quiet manor. I hadn’t noticed. Brother, he continues as if he doesn’t know my name. We can do this. We can have a life outside of the one father carved out for us. My eyes drift to the shadowy floor. I won’t do it without you, brother.

Agreed, I breathe.

He smiles. He passes the books and the scrolls to me. Go to the northern edge of town. I’ll retrieve the girl.

Shouldn’t I be the one to…? He shakes his head slowly. You’re going to explain everything to her, aren’t you? He nods solemnly and then steps away.

#####

Anthony

I tuck my hair back behind my ears and stare at the McCabe home. I stretch my senses as far as I can. Jonathan McCabe ambles about the living room with his wife, Mary Margaret. Tobias McCabe, Margaret’s older brother, is with his parents. Emil, the youngest of the McCabe clan, is in his room asleep. I look at the second story window, Margaret’s bedroom. Lantern light dimly shines through the glass. The faint sound of a page turning; she’s reading. Good. At least, I know that she can read…not many women around here can.

The window opens suddenly, and a tiny brown face surrounded by thick dark red curls stares down. How long are you gonna linger there, Anthony? I clench my jaw. Come up, she whispers and then ducks her head back inside the window. I focus my strength and push upward. I catch her windowsill and haul myself inside.

Simple oak furnishings comprise her bedroom. Her tiny bed sits in the corner next to the window. The lantern sits on the nightstand next to her bed, a small book sits on top, shut with its ruffled pages. I look up at the soft golden glow of her features. Her hair shines, and her light brown eyes sparkle. Her full lips part as if she’s about to speak again, but she closes them without uttering a word. Her cheekbones cast deep shadows across her cheeks. I see why my brother is so smitten with this girl. She is quite lovely.

You know? I pose as she drapes a housecoat over her long white sleeping gown. She pulls her hair out the back and lets it fall around her shoulders. 

I’ve known since the first time I saw the both of you, she whispers with her delicate fingers dancing in front of her lower lip. Didn’t stop me from falling in love with your brother, she explains. I sigh and slip my hands into my jacket pockets. Does it make you unhappy to hear that? she asks moving her hair to one side. Jealous, perhaps…?

I shake my head. You know…that if you and my brother…were to…that would be the end of your line, yes? She frowns. You know, you’re a witch, right? She nods, twisting her hair over and under on itself, braiding it together. We’re half-fae. You can’t be fae and witch at the same time.

She finishes the last twist. I know. My grandmother taught me everything she knew about magic. I know everything.

Does he…? She looks away. I didn’t think so. He’s not very perceptive, my brother. Tears roll down her cheeks. He won’t do it, you know? End your bloodline. My brother is many things but he is not that person.

I know. Just another reason that I love him…, she whispers in a sob. It’s just another reason that my heart has been breaking since I realized that. 

Better to end it quickly then. She sighs again. We’re leaving. She tries to fight away more tears that fall anyway. But we need your help. More tears squeeze out of her amber-kissed eyes. I’m sorry that it has to end this way…and that we have to ask you for help…but there’s no one else.

What would you need from me?

My brother and I are bound to this town thanks to a spell that our father cast. Her eyes dart to the left as she scowls. It’s a powerful spell and since we are the targets of the spell… Her eyes dart back to me. …we can’t be the ones to break it.

I step closer, and she moves away, heading toward the small table at her bedside. I understand if you don’t want to do this, I say. Believe me if there were anyone else whom we could ask, I would.

I’ll do it, she says confidently, lifting the lantern’s glass. She looks at me, the tiny fire creating a golden glow in her eyes. Help me arrange my bedding so that it looks as if I’m in bed, asleep. She blows out her torch.

#####

Chapter 3: Exit

Quincy

I place the books on the ground with the scrolls wedged between, pressing them nearly flat. I let my father’s magic spread to my eyes, and the air burns with a red light. I examine the crimson-streaked barrier that reacts with the seals on my forearms and chest. I step forward and I can already feel heat resonating from father’s marks. One more step and they become painful. Guardians of the mind, I moan what our father said to us repeatedly. The body can be resurrected... I press my palm against the red barrier. …the powers can be returned...but the mind…it all falls apart without the mind. I push harder, and my flesh sizzles.

I step back, groan, and rub my arm. I exhale loudly.

You’ll only hurt yourself doing that, Anthony says. I turn to find him and…

Margaret, I breathe, all other breath lost with the sight of her. A part of me hoped he wouldn’t be able to convince her. She shivers and wraps her housecoat around herself. She knows. She knows what I’ve been denying since the moment I met her. That she is a witch and I am a daemon turned fae…our love…would be the end of her bloodline. No one could be a white witch and fae. Margaret, you don’t have to…

I do. Her voice is as cold as the winter winds. You two SHOULD be allowed to leave…if you want. None of the chill is lost. I step forward. She extends her hand and steps back. Let’s just get this done.

Anthony moves over to the collection of books and scrolls. He kneels beside them and unroll them one by one. I move over to Margaret. Maggie, I whisper. She shivers and leans away. Maggie, please let me explain.

Don’t, Margaret says. I put my hand on her arm. She closes her eyes. This is difficult enough without you adding to it. We knew this was coming…whether we admitted it or not. Tears well in her eyes.

Maggie… She steps away. I take both of her shoulders and turn her to face me. Maggie, I…

Don’t, she snaps. I open my mouth, despite her warning. Suffoco, she sighs, and it feels as if two hands clamp down on my throat. I clutch at the invisible appendages, strangling me. I don’t want to hear it.

I look to Anthony, who has paused looking over his scrolls and books. I motion to him to continue what he’s doing. He nods and does just that.

If we admit that to each other, she says. If we continue the way we’re going, it’ll be the end of my bloodline. I know you, Quincy. You are an honorable man. You won’t allow that. You won’t…and I can’t.

The air in my lungs lessens. I never lose eye contact with her. We spent so much time together over the past few months…courting…talking about the future…the things that we want for ourselves…the things that we want for our children…we hinted at living a life together, but it was all a lie. I gag. Our bloodlines bind us to destinies that take us in two different directions and it’s just too much to bear. She stares at me, at my strained expression, the lack of oxygen screaming from my eyes.

This is less cruel. It’s less cruel than living the next few decades without her. It’s less cruel than wanting something…than screaming for an impossible dream that will never come true. The world teeters. Tears stream down her face. She shakes her head slowly. I nod in response. This is the far less painful exit for us, Margaret. I would die happily, staring into your beautiful eyes, my dearest Margaret.

Contego, she shrieks. She clutches at her heart. Contego. Contego. Contego. I inhale deeply. I stumble and fall. She rushes to my side, kneels, and collects my left hand in hers.  She presses the back of my hand against her heart. Quincy, she sobs. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…I…

Gave in to despair… I stroke the side of her face. She nods as more tears fall. Over before we began, I whisper. Her brow comes together. She weeps. I’m sorry. It’s just…

…not meant to be. My grandmother once told me, Margaret begins, as her soft fingers move along the inside of my hand. …that McCabe witches are blessed and cursed. Our magic blesses us with the power to shape the world in any way we see fit. She draws her lips into her mouth.  But we’re cursed because we’re never meant to find true happiness in it. I frown. We’ll always love one…and marry another… Her resolve crumbles. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her closer.

I promise, I whisper, holding my forehead