The Tortuous Spell Ch. 01

"Mr. Jones, I expect you know why we are here?" The minister asked William.

"Not at all, Minister, are we able to offer you and your guests anything to eat or drink? Camilla.." He called, his wife rushed forward, plastering a transparently false smile across her face.

"Please join us, we have stew and plenty of ale for your friends." Camilla gestured for the men to follow her into the kitchen.

"Don't act daft William!" Mr. Bishop yelled towards her brother. "You know why we have come, you saw what that witch did to my daughter!" He pointed straight at Elizabeth and everyone in the house stared at her. Camilla quickly lifted the now-crying baby from her bassinet and ushered the children upstairs.

"Please Mr. Bishop." The minister lifted his hand, indicating with his body language that Mr. Bishop should stay silent and let him continue.

"I'm sure it wasn't Elizabeth that caused the child's fits, she is a God-fearing woman I assure you." William defended her.

"Are you calling me a liar?" Mr. Bishop yelled coming past the minister towards William, who stood his ground and stayed calm. "My daughter was fine until she showed up, we all saw it with our own eyes! We need to hang her! Now, before she puts her hex on any of the other children!" William's expression was unreadable.

"Please, Mr. Bishop," the minister said again, "if you would wait outside, this won't take long and we shall join you again." Mr. Bishop's face was as bright as a flame, he glared at William for a moment longer, then towards Elizabeth before he turned to storm out the still open door.

"Mr. Jones, this is Mr. Gerald Davis and his nephew Mr. Jonathan Davis. Mr. Davis is a renowned witchfinder from England. I assure you that your sister will be given a fair trial and we will expose the truth. We have a warrant from the magistrate." Elizabeth's eyes widened at the minister's words. So that was it? These men would take her away and lock her in a cage, then she would hang while the town of strangers looked on gleefully. Maybe she was a witch, she could see her future so vividly.

"Please, minister," William sounded uncharacteristically emotional for a moment, "I know my sister."

The minister took the few steps separating him and William, he placed his hand on William's shoulder, he was even taller than her brother. "If she is innocent, she will be saved."

Elizabeth hadn't realized a kernel of hope had been so stupid to sprout within her until it was crushed once again by the minister's words. She was new to Salem, but she had a strong intuition that her trial would be somewhat less than fair. The minister nodded his head to the witchfinders in approval and the younger man walked across the room to where Elizabeth stood, his large frame only requiring a few strides to make it to her. Her eyes widened at his quick movement and sudden closeness and in the time it took her to look up from his chest to his glowing green eyes, she felt cold metal encircle her wrist. He had pulled manacles from somewhere and tightly snared her wrist, his warm hand pulled her cold clammy hand from her side to imprison it as well.

She frowned at him accusingly, oddly feeling betrayed by this stranger. With his back to the rest of the room he smirked down at her, the fireflies imprisoned in his irises dancing gleefully.

"Come, witch." he drawled, seemingly privately entertained by the scenario of her damnation. He pulled the short chain that connected the rough iron rings to her wrists, she stumbled forward towards the stranger. And just like that he led her past her silent brother and the other men, outside of his house.

Mr. Bishop lied in wait as soon as she crossed the threshold. "You deserve more than the noose witch! In England you would have burned for putting your hex on my girl." He spat down near her feet. "I would enjoy watching that." he bared his teeth in an evil smile.

The young man pulled Elizabeth closer to his side, away from the angry man. "Please Mr. Bishop, do not allow this witch to antagonize you further. The fewer she is in contact with from this point forward, the better. I, as a professional witchfinder, would advise you to return to your family. It would be better for them to have a strong male presence in the home, after such an ordeal." His words flowed smoothly and confidently and made him seem much older and more imposing than he previously looked.

Mr. Bishop seemed to mull over the younger man's advice and after a few moments consideration, he aquaised. "Yes, you are correct. I should see to my daughter. The sooner we are rid of your kind from Salem," he glared in Elizabeth's direction, "the sooner she will forever be free from your devilish bewitchments". Mr. Bishop moved especially close to shout his final curses at her, and Elizabeth's hands began to shake within their restraints. She was shocked to feel the young witchfinder's thumb graze over the pulse point on her slender wrist in what could be interpreted as a reassuring gesture. It hardly reassured her, what did reassure her was Mr. Bishop finally turning and stomping away down the path towards town. Upon his retreat Elizabeth's accusing eyes shot up towards the young stranger imprisoning her.

Before she could voice her dissatisfaction at his improper casualty in touching her, he spoke instead. "You are the infamous Virginian witch, Elizabeth Simons? I imagined someone much more intimidating." Now that they were alone he didn't hide his wolfish smile. His firm hold on the chain imprisoning her forced a proximity that was much too close for propriety. She felt slightly dizzy and off guard from his nearness, or possibly from all the recent animosity aimed at her.

"I'm sorry to disappoint." She retorted snidely. He laughed at her.

"You are forgiven, witch." He was teasing her. He thought it was funny that she was being falsely accused of cohorting with the devil and placing curses on children.

"Do not call me that!"

"What shall I call you then?" He continued to smile at her, much too close, much too intimate.

"Do not call me anything!" She felt her pale, bloodless, face flush at the stranger's audacity to act so informally with her. "I do not know you!" She pulled at her restraints slightly to try and increase their distance as much as possible, to no avail, if anything he seemed to move closer once he was aware it was bothering her.

"Ah, well my name is Jonathan Davis. I was introduced inside, but clearly you were not listening. You may call me John."

"I will do nothing of the sort!"

"As you please, witch." He shrugged with his characteristic smirk still firmly placed on his infuritatley handsome face. The pair was silent for a moment, but she couldn't help herself.

"Why did you say those things to that man?" She asked him.

"Who? Earl Bishop?"

"Yes. I did not curse his daughter. I am not a witch."

He nodded. "I told him what he wanted to hear so he would leave."

She was confused by this enigma of a man. "So you believe me?" she asked.

"Sure, I believe you." he drawled in that smooth compilation of accents that she couldn't place.

"Then please, let me go!" She asked, pulling on her hands, still tightly enclosed.

He grinned down at her condescendingly. "It doesn't matter what I think, witch. But," he paused and looked down over her body with unhidden male appreciation, "perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement." The minister and Jonathan's uncle chose that moment to exit her brother's home, closing the door behind them.

"Let us be on our way." The minister walked past Jonathan and his prisoner without looking at them to lead the way down the path towards town.

"John, you walk with the girl." His uncle commanded, needlessly, as his hand had never left her manacles since applying them to her wrists.

"Yes, sir." Jonathan answered, his carefree tone veiled once again now that they were in the presence of others.

He began walking behind the pair of older men, dragging her with him. She yelped with surprise and trotted beside him to keep pace, nearly tripping multiple times in the skirts of her dress. Jonathan's odd familiarity with her had distracted her from the reality of what was happening to her, but as they began to walk down the path towards the town, the fear in the pit of her stomach began to build once again.

"Stay with me, witch." Jonathan whispered in her ear, causing her to jump with surprise. "I would hate to have to carry you."

"I'm sure it would be a great imposition to you." She sneered sarcastically underneath her breath.

He smirked. "I may have misjudged you, such powers of temptation must belong to a powerful witch indeed." He spoke slowly, nearly directly in her ear, sending a shudder down her body to her traitorous core. Elizabeth jerked her head away from his direction as far as was possible and he chuckled lowly. "Easy, witch."

"What's going to happen when we get wherever it is we are going?" Elizabeth swallowed, she needed to keep her head. She was shocked at the mixture of irritation and attraction she was feeling for this stranger in what was easily the most stressful situation she had experienced hitherto. She had the vague impression that Jonathan was trying to distract her to calm her nerves. She chastised herself for the naive notion. This man had done nothing to indicate that he was trustworthy, quite the opposite in fact.

"You will find out soon enough." He sighed with what sounded like resignation.

"Will you be the one," she swallowed the excess saliva that seemed to be building that often was the precursor to retching, "the one interrogating me?"

"Is that what you want, my witch?"

"I want to go home." she replied seriously. He nodded and looked ahead as he continued to lead her down the path. The sun had fully set as the group made it to the town court with the nearby jail. Elizabeth's hands began to shake again.

"Easy, Elizabeth." Jonathan whispered into her ear, he stood behind her now and pushed her forward with his hand covering her shoulder. Hearing her given name from his lips surprised her enough to steady her shaking hands. They entered the dark and silent jail and walked down a long narrow hallway with a heavy iron door at the end. They walked past several guards who did not speak to them. The minister opened the door and lit candles to illuminate the interrogation cell. There was a wooden table in the center of the room with several chairs around it and chains hanging from the ceiling on the far wall. One of the chains on the ceiling ended in a large hook, before she had time to contemplate the reason for that Jonathan walked her over and raised her arms above her head to connect the chain between her manacles to the hook. She had to stand on her toes to prevent her shoulders from being painfully strained above her head. Her mind raced at the possibilities of what could happen to her body in the helpless position.

"How do you wish to proceed Mr. Davis?" the minister asked Jonathan's uncle.

He cleared his throat and answered. "As evening is fully upon us, I suggest we begin on the morrow. We shall give Mrs. Simons some time to reflect. My nephew will stay to make sure she stays awake, I find that strategy is especially conducive to confessions from witches." Gerald Davis spoke very matter-of-fact, as if interrogating women was like any mundane task, and this was simply the first step.

The minister nodded. "Very well. I will be available tomorrow, if either of you require my services further." He unceremoniously turned and left the jail, leaving Elizabeth with the two strangers.

Gerald spoke to Jonathan when the minister left. "You have the first shift. I will be here at dawn to relieve you." With that he left her alone with Jonathan, closing the heavy iron door behind him as he vacated.

Jonathan pulled one of the chairs from the table and sat facing her, she had no choice but to look at him from her position dangling from the ceiling. He leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees. Her arms began to ache almost instantly, she hoped he wasn't expecting her to stay like this all night. However, she also hoped he would just leave her alone and ignore her. She felt very uneasy being alone with him, she was afraid of what he would do, and also what she would.

"So what brings you to Salem, witch?" He spoke after a length of time spent staring at her.

"Stop calling me that, I am not a witch." She glared at him, though it did nothing to alter his infuriating smirk from being able to rile her once again. She vowed to stop herself from reacting to his antagonism in the future. He didn't say anything, just waited for her to answer his question. Eventually the discomfort of his glowing stare caused her to answer. "I came to live with my brother and his family when my husband died."

"How did he die?" His characteristic smirk had faded slightly and she saw an underlying intelligence that was usually hidden by his chronic teasing.

"Are you asking me if I killed my husband, Mr. Davis?"

He smiled widely, showing a straight row of white teeth. "I'm asking how he died, Mrs. Simons."

"He had a tooth infection."

"How long were you married?"

"Two years."

"How old are you?" He shot questions at her as quickly as she answered them.

"Why? How old are you?" She frowned at the personal nature of his questions.

"Twenty-six." He answered, surprising her yet again. He cocked his head, indicating she should answer his question as well.

"I'm twenty-two."

"And how old was Mr. Simons?"

"How is that relevant?" Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably, her shoulders aching from holding most of her body weight.

"Relevant to what?" He asked.

She frowned at him. "Relevant to your interrogation, isn't that what you are doing right now, interrogating me?"

He laughed. "No my distrustful witch, I'm getting to know you." He stood and took the few steps across the room to where she stood. Even on the tips of her toes her head only came to the level of his chin. His large hands moved up around her narrow waist. "My interrogation methods are a bit more," his hands moved upwards over her sensitive ribs then forward over her breasts and back down to her waist again, "hands on." He smiled the wolfish grin she'd come to associate with him. She tried to move away to no avail. His green eyes had a hypnotic effect on her when he was this close. She knew she should be more outraged at his inappropriate touching, but she felt as if he had put her in a trance. "So how old was he?"

"What?" She frowned in confusion, her mind felt fuzzy. All of her concentration seemed to be dedicated to being completely attuned to where his hands connected to her midsection over the thick wool of her dress. His expression had not changed to indicate he was being affected by her at all. His eyes deceived him, however, the dark centers that were surrounded by the bright green glow of his irises expanded in reaction to her nearness. He was not as impervious as his aloof demeanor would have her believe.

"How old was your husband, witch?" He smiled knowingly, very self-assured in his ability to affect her.

"He was thirty-seven." She responded flatly. "Remove your hands, sir."

"Quite a bit older than you?" He arched a brow, making the statement a question and ignoring her request.

"My marriage is none of your concern. Are you who you say you are?" His hands stayed loosely around her waist. Infuriatingly she found herself leaning against him from the cramps in her calves caused by being forced to hold her weight on the tips of her toes.

"Yes, my name is Jonathan Davis."

"No, are you a witchfinder?" She asked suspiciously.

"I seem to have found a witch, so I believe so."

"You are being intentionally elusive!"

He had the nerve to laugh at her. "I have answered all of your questions, witch. Perhaps you might extend me the same courtesy?"

"I have answered your questions!" Her annoyance furthered, especially at the mercy of his over-confident smirk. He didn't expand upon a question that she had refused to answer so Elizabeth had to backtrack to where the tangent in the conversation had occurred. "My husband was older than me? Is that what you asked?" She rolled her eyes when he simply looked at her quietly and waited for an answer. "Indeed, thirty-seven is a larger figure than twenty-two, I'm glad to know I am speaking to an educated man."

He laughed at her loss of her temper, startling her with his unexpected reaction. She had the suspicion that goading him would lead her in a direction that she was not prepared to go. He seemed to have the ability to pull the sarcastic and cynical thoughts from her head that she usually kept locked away, only for her own amusement. Not for the first time in the night, she implored herself to stay on her guard.

"Such a sharp-witted witch, with an even sharper tongue." He moved impossibly close, his face now a breath from her own. In her restrained position she had no way to move away from him, she found that she was not dissatisfied with the choice being taken from her. Elizabeth did not trust that she would have retreated from him if she had been able. His large hands moved up to frame her jaw, tilting her neck up to look at him. She found her eyes locked in on his lips, his smirk had been replaced by an intense expression of what had to be lust that made her body quake. His mouth descended to catch her bottom lip between his teeth, he bit down gradually increasing his force. Her eyes instinctively fluttered closed as all of her focus moved to the sensations being experienced by her mouth.

His teeth opened to release their captive only to have his lips insist on prying her own apart. His tongue demanded entry to her mouth before she had any idea what was happening. She had never been kissed in such a manner, she hadn't been aware that such things were even done. Their lips melded together and her own tongue was coaxed into his mouth. Her eyes opened wide with shock, she tried to pull away. She was able to create enough room between them that she was given the chance to bite his bottom lip, she was not nearly as gentle as he had been.

He pulled back quickly with a hiss as his hand came up to the drop of blood that seeped from his slightly swollen lip. "Very sharp indeed." he laughed.

Her eyes were wide and her breathing was heavy. Henry had never done such a thing with her. Of course she had performed her wifely duties occasionally, but kissing had never been involved, especially kissing like that. Her lips felt swollen and stimulated.

"You look surprised, witch." He smiled, his white teeth glowing in the ambient light from the candles. "Has no one kissed you before?" She didn't answer him. He still stood with his arms around her waist, she tried to lean backwards, out of his reach. The movement made her slip off of her numb toes and dangle by the throbbing joints of her shoulders for a moment. She cried out briefly in pain, and moved her feet underneath her body once again to relieve some of her own body weight from her restrained arms.

"Would you like me to take you down?" His question was loaded with an implied price to be paid for the kind gesture. But the pain in her shoulders and legs demanded she at least try to get some relief.

"Yes." She answered through her teeth reluctantly.

"Of course," he wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her off the floor, but just short of her being able to unhook the restraints from the chain in the ceiling. "All you have to do is kiss me again, no biting this time." He held her so their mouths were at the same level, but didn't move forward to kiss her again. His contact with her body was confusing her. She found herself oddly delighted by his effortless ability to suspend her in mid air for such a prolonged period of time, and the muscles in her calves were thrilled.