The Time Witch - Part 17

Recap: Evangeline says the right phrase and Mabel brings her to a time capsule—a room in the Covington-York mansion that Samuel made for her, and his family has protected for several generations. Plus, he left her a note!

Short on time? Scan the story and just read the Bold parts to get the gist of the story. Then come back later and read the whole thing!

LINKS: The Beginning, Last Part (#16), Time Witch page

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Warning: Part 17 gets a little spicy. About 1/2 to 1 of a pepper on a 5 chili pepper rating.

Samuel’s ghost stood behind Evangeline.

Blinking at the mirror, her heart skipped a beat. She spun around, but nothing was there. Turning back, his corporeal form shimmered from the reflection—there but not there. He glowed like a million bits of diffused light.

You aren’t him, she thought, bracing herself for anger. His expression, however, was painfully neutral.

Samuel attempted a smile. Tentative, at first, as if waiting on her to set the tone, almost as if he was unsure of his reception. 

“You’re here,” Evangeline whispered. She had the distinct impression of someone touching her shoulder. In the mirror, she could see his hand on the spot. Her heartbeat ticked upward.

Evangeline wanted to read Samuel’s mind but didn’t sense she had that skill. Instead, she took in all the visual clues: full lips turned down, shoulders squared back, and standing too close. They were tells—negative ones.

The ghost glanced to the left, seeming to indicate the side of the room. She followed the direction but it led to the comfy chair. Above the chair was a framed embroidery sampler. He isn’t looking at either, surely.

Everything about the ghost felt different to the man, her 1910 Samuel. Where Samuel offered humor and kindness, this one pulsed anger. Its soft thrumming itched along her skin like she’d had too much sun.

Evangeline desperately wanted to coax the reason out of him but resisted. She guessed he’d disappear if she pushed too hard. Appearing to her might be all she’d get.

I can’t go too easy, she decided. He’d already fired shots.

Lifting the letter, she waved it at the mirror.

“You’re not him,” she said, and his eyes flicked from the letter to the looking glass. “You’re not the same Samuel that wrote this letter. Care to explain?”

In answer, the sensation on her shoulder moved to her neck and then downward, along her spine, as if one finger traced a curving path around each vertebra. She closed her eyes, unable and unwilling to make it stop.

It. The nondescript word lingered in her mind. What was he?

The sensation on her back stalled, then dipped below her waistline. She tensed, but a warmth sizzled through her mind, extending to every part of her body. A weakness followed, and she longed for the bed or the chair, but both were too far away. If she moved, the connection could break. She didn’t want that, sensing he didn’t either. Bracing herself against his touch, she didn’t move... an impressive feat since the sensation was more intimate than a human touch. It swirled through her body and mind.

Gasping, Evangeline tried to shut out the thought that she was cheating on Samuel. The ache. The longing. It consumed her mind and enticed her with pleasure. She savored the sensation. The one-way seduction was so primal that walls should have gone up. Instead, they fell, along with any wish to protect her heart.

Sweet One.

She moaned, longing to hold him, touch him, to return the pleasure. Reaching back a hand, she felt a kiss on her palm. Then a lick. Oh! He satisfied on several levels, and she didn’t even want to know how. The fervor intensified when another well-placed pressure made her gulp for air.

Her eyes flew open, and she faced the mirror again, hoping to share her desire—her need—with him. Even if he was only a shadow. Not surprisingly, he was close. Face near her left ear. He whispered something she could not hear.

“Tell me another way,” she begged.

A gentle touch caressed her left breast—also coming from his ghostly position behind her—then slid down her stomach. She made a happy squeal, sucking in a breath that sounded tortured by desire.

Evangeline’s head lolled back, finding support against the shadow. She tried to see their reflection, longing to see his passion. “Samuel?” she whispered, voice husky with longing. She wanted to see his face, but the ghost had turned sideways, nuzzling her hair.

“I want you,” she moaned, barely holding onto her composure. She couldn’t fully submit to the tingles he created along her panty line, though, unless he responded.

The ghost’s light, probing touch was all she got, relentless, making her want more. Just when she thought she couldn’t take it any longer, the image in the mirror looked up—and she caught his face in the reflection. 

Red eyes shone with hatred, and a spinning queasiness shook her, racking her body with a crushing sense of betrayal. The foreign emotions crashed into her mind. They were Samuel’s. Raw and bitter, they flooded her feelings, pushing away the desire. The crushing turmoil rushed into her veins, practically oozing out of her pores.

And he released her.

Evangeline crumbled to the floor, no longer able to stand.

She struggled for a full breath, mind racing, unsure if she should yell, laugh, or feel completely and utterly set up. He’d taken her right to the brink and stopped.

Desire, unfortunately, couldn’t be turned off so fast. The aftereffects made her heart race and eyes blink back tears. Focusing on a full breath, Evangeline pushed the other emotions away. It gave her common sense a chance to take over. The one that saw sex—even with a ghost—for what it was: a fantasy. It wasn’t something she could ever hope to control.

Evangeline licked her lips. Love had never done her wrong, but sex had. If the ghost had meant to hurt her or make a point, she didn’t know. I wanted him to open up, she thought, feeling he’d revealed a core wound.

“That was fun,” she told the room, still too weak to get up.

She lay flat on the floor, concentrating on her lungs. The in and out of air came in ragged bits. After a few minutes, she felt better, at least where her breathing was concerned. Her body still thrilled from his touch, betraying how much it meant. She didn’t want him to know. Heck, she didn’t want to know, blaming her body.

“Of all the ways… to reach me… I hope that was good for you, too.”

A soft chuckle echoed in her head. Good Samuel would disapprove. The inner thought came from the ghost.

Evangeline twisted her head to see the mirror above her. It was an odd angle, but the reflection made her flinch. He was right up against the glass, looking down at her. Watching.

She pushed up to lean back on her hands and stare at him. The ghostly image didn’t retreat. His expression remained neutral, just watching. She sat up and got to her feet. She felt shaky, but he didn’t need to know. Heck, he probably knows. He’s in my head. She pasted on a smile, as calm as possible, and faced the mirror again. He moved to the same spot just over her left shoulder.

She gave their mirror image a little curtsey. “Thanks, I needed that.” She brushed off the seat of her jeans, faking a yawn. “Little one-sided, but that was your choice.”

His brow wrinkled.

“What? Wasn’t that foreplay?” Evangeline asked.

The corner of his mouth twitched.

She felt relieved that he laughed it off, even at her expense, instead of doubling down on his anger. Well, some of it still lingered. A dark shadow of hurt hung in the mirror’s background. Yet, he had to feel something good about her. His touch had been so gentle. Tender. Who could hate and touch like that? Maybe he’d just been disappointed in her, which seemed worse, somehow.

“Let’s do it again sometime,” she said.

He smirked as his image melted away.

“Wait!” Evangeline demanded. “Don’t go!”

Yet, he did not reappear.

She looked down at the letter on the floor. It had fallen out of her hand, forgotten during their interlude.

“Okay, let’s read the letter,” Evangeline said to the room.

Going over to the chair, she snuggled into its depths and carefully slid a finger under the envelope’s flap. A soft ripping sound released a faint scent of vanilla, wilted flowers, and almonds. She knew it was a chemical thing caused by the paper breaking down over the years.

This letter is from the Samuel I know, she told herself, not the ghost.

Evangeline shook her head to clear it, deciding she had to focus. Whatever had happened to Samuel, and whatever they’d be in the future or the past, witches and time stood in their way. What had happened would remain a complete mystery if she didn’t discover more about what had gone wrong.

“Maybe in Samuel’s letter,” she whispered the wish before opening the single sheet.

Sweet One,

Dare I hope for a different future? If it were one with us together, I should allow myself to imagine the best no matter the date. However, the danger is too high, and those against us determined. Yet, I cannot let us part forever without making it clear that life, for me, is nothing without you. The time we’ve had could never be enough. I continue to pray it shall not come to pass that the future holds the answer and that fate shall not keep us apart. Perhaps only you could do that, Sweet One.

With my feelings laid bare, I yet implore caution. Come back to me if the path is safe. I shall take every step possible to encourage that action, even if my love can only be proven through the slow passage of time and the commitment of a beloved family.

I have made a home here for you, as well as there, across time itself. Sit in the chair where I have sat and thought only of us. Drink from the tea set that I have drunk. Lay in the bed where I have lain and dreamt of our days together. I pray time allows us an option to the path ahead. The Earth should surely crumble under my feet and swallow me whole should we never be reunited.

We’ve been given a unique and wondrous gift… Sweet One, cherish it well and return to my arms if you can. Break any rule if you must! Have we not shown the Forces against us that we stand as strongly parted as together? Who are they to question our union? However, if the day has come when our worse fears are realized, I shall accept it, just as long as I know you have withstood the storm. I implore you… if one of us must leave this world, it must be me, not you, my love. If you can, make it clear that our feelings are in concert.

Yours, S.

The flowing letter S stood for Samuel, but her finger traced the word before it—Yours. Was he mine? Evangeline wondered. While she felt a connection, Samuel’s letter was filled with undying devotion. She found that hard to reconcile with the ghost who’d ravaged her.

Evangeline set the letter on the desk, tears in her eyes. “What happened?” she asked the room. “When was this? How many times did I crossover? This tells me nothing… except that you love me.” She picked the pages up again, no date on them. Heart pounding, eyes damp, Evangeline didn’t believe such emotion could have been sparked by a couple of trips back in time. “How could you write this and then tease me with angry lust?” She paused, waiting—hoping—for an answer. None came. 

Emptiness wrapped around her heart. Were our worst fears realized? Evangeline wondered. More had to be at play. “I’m missing something,” she whispered, but louder ordered, “You need to tell me!”

Silence. Somewhere in the distance, a lawn mower buzzed, but there was nothing from the ghost.

Any chance of an answer was interrupted by a distant chime. The tone conjured the image of a little brass bell in Mabel’s hand.

“Hear that, ghost? I’m being summoned. If you won’t tell me anything,” Evangeline vowed, “she will.”