The Sorceress Read online

  THE

  SORCERESS

  A NOVEL

  Dear Reader:

  Allison Hobbs is on fire, on a roll, on top of her game, and everything else in between. I envision Allison writing more than fifty novels before long because she is that talented. Every book is a page turner; a masterpiece; a journey into the erotic and vivid imagination of one of the most prolific writers to ever grace readers with her words. In The Sorceress, she continues on her quest to fan the flames of the freak-iness that exists in all people; even if they are not prepared to embrace it.

  The Sorceress is Allison’s second paranormal novel, a follow-up to the wonderful The Enchantress. Allison uses her vivid gift of storytelling to tell the story of two sisters: Tara, who spends her eternity on “The Goddess Realm” and Eris, who has been banished to “The Dark Realm” where evil, sexuality, and life is full of perversion. Eris is hell bent—literally—on seeking revenge on those who betrayed her. Once she teams up with Xavier, who has taken on the life form of a child, Eris’ reign of sexual terror and dominion is unstoppable unless someone or something equally powerful comes forward to challenge them.

  If you have not read Allison’s other books, you have missed out on a lot. Fans of my work will surely appreciate Allison Hobbs. I often state that she is the only woman on the planet freakier than me, and it’s the truth.

  Her titles include Pure Paradise, One Taste, Disciplined, Pandora’s Box, Insatiable, The Climax, Big Juicy Lips, The Enchantress, One Taste, Disciplined, A Bona Fide Gold Digger, Double Dippin’ and Dangerously in Love.

  Thank you for supporting Ms. Hobbs’ efforts and thank you for supporting one of the dozens of authors published under my imprint, Strebor Books. I try my best to bring you cutting-edge works of literature that will keep your attention and make you think long after you turn the last page.

  Now sit back in your favorite chair or, better yet, chill in the bed, and be prepared to be tantalized by yet another great read.

  Peace and Many Blessings,

  Zane

  Publisher

  Strebor Books International

  www.simonandschuster.com/streborbooks

  ALSO BY ALLISON HOBBS

  Pandora’s Box

  Insatiable

  Dangerously In Love

  Double Dippin’

  The Enchantress

  A Bona Fide Gold Digger

  The Climax

  Big Juicy Lips

  One Taste

  Disciplined

  Pure Paradise

  THE SORCERESS

  A NOVEL

  ALLISON HOBBS

  Strebor Books

  P.O. Box 6505

  Largo, MD 20792

  http://www.streborbooks.com

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are

  products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance

  to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  © 2009 by Allison Hobbs

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by

  any means whatsoever. For information address Strebor Books, P.O. Box 6505,

  Largo, MD 20792.

  ISBN 978-1-59309-175-0

  LCCN 2009927609

  eISBN: 978-1-416-57753-9

  First Strebor Books trade paperback edition November 2009

  Cover design: www.mariondesigns.com

  Cover photograph: © Keith Saunders/Marion Designs

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  For information regarding special discounts for bulk purchases,

  please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949

  or [email protected]

  The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event.

  For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers

  Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.

  FOR KAMERON HOBBS

  I really, really, really love you!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My good friend, Daaimah S. Poole. Our friendship began at the APOOO Book Club Pajama Party back when I was self-published. You were right out of college and already had a book deal. You were so warm and giving and to this day, you have not changed.

  To Charlotte Young Foye, my sister of the lip (inside joke). Your husband told me you dug my books a few years before we met. Who knew we’d hit it off and become such good friends? Thank you for giving me “just the right shoe!”

  Thanks to the book clubs and the reviewers who have supported me over the years: Yasmin Coleman and Jennifer Coissiere of APOOO Book Club, Tee C. Royal, Paula Henderson, Brenda Lisbon of The RAWSISTAZ Reviewers, Jason Frost of Rubicon-Readers, Radiah Hubbert of Urban-Reviewers, my girl, Chelly/aka PrinceLuva79, Locksie and English Ruler of ARC Book Club, Ladibug and The Strebor Books Book Club, and Nardsbaby, just to name a few.

  I want to thank my dear friend, JB Walker, for his numerous critiques and support. He compared my work to Chester Himes. Now that was a first. LOL.

  Aletha Dempsey, a poet and I didn’t know it!

  Zane, words can’t express the depths of my gratitude. I want to extend a personal thank you for painstakingly going through this manuscript.

  I’m giving Charmaine Parker a special thank-you for always having my back.

  As always, my BFF, Karen Dempsey Hammond, who lovingly puts up with me and all my phobias…my neuroses…my endless drama and hysteria! Damn, it can’t be easy having me as a best friend. I love you, Karen.

  PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

  Catherine Provost gathered her household staff in the living room of her home located in Chestnut Hill, an affluent cobble stoned neighborhood in the Northwest section of Philadelphia.

  Inside the stately home, the atmosphere was tense, and Jen could tell that Ms. Provost was exhilarated by the anxious energy that crackled in the air. She noticed that her employer’s eyes had taken on a gleam of sadistic pleasure.

  What a bitch, Jen thought, though she maintained a pleasant expression that implied there was nowhere else in the world she’d rather be. She hated being such a wimp. But Catherine Provost was so intimidating, she scared the crap out of Jen.

  “George,” Catherine said to her driver. “While I’m away campaigning, I won’t need you on a regular basis.” She paused and nodded her head toward Jen. “The nanny will be taking Ethan to his appointments, so I’ll expect you to be on call.”

  George Hernandez blinked a couple of times. “You’re laying me off?”

  “With the economy the way it is, the last thing I need is to be criticized for frivolous spending. I’ll be traveling most of the time and I really don’t need you here on a full-time basis.”

  Jen cut a sympathetic eye at George. He had a wife and three young children; the poor man couldn’t afford part-time wages.

  “If you don’t want the part-time work I’m offering, please let me know so I can hire another driver,” Catherine said, coolly.

  Embarrassed, George looked at the floor. A few seconds later, after seeming to get his bearings, he looked up. “Ms. Provost, I…I can’t afford—”

  “Okay, then,” she cut him off. “Thank you for your service, George. My accountant will put your final paycheck in the mail.”

  “My final paycheck?” George repeated. Offended, he glanced around at the faces of his co-workers, expecting them to be shocked and indignant enough about the injustice to help him plead his case. He didn’t get any support. With their own jobs on the line, Lizzy, Carmen, and Jen all kept their eyes
focused on the boss, refusing to meet George’s gaze.

  As much as she hated working as a nanny for Catherine Provost and her horrible little son, Jen needed the pay and the roof over her head until she could sort out her disordered life. Jen mustered a sad smile for George. It was the best she could do.

  Catherine caught the quick flicker of a smile and apparently didn’t approve of it. “Jen, your presence is not necessary. You can go upstairs and attend to Ethan.”

  Like a scolded schoolgirl, Jen felt her cheeks flush with shame. She made a discreet nod and slinked away. Catherine, so smartly dressed and sophisticated, made Jen feel like a hick. She’d lived in the big city of Philadelphia for three years, but hailing from rural, Centerville, Pennsylvania, Jen couldn’t quite shake her country bumpkin-ness.

  Feeling pathetic, she made her way slowly up the staircase. At least I still have a job, she thought, trying to make herself feel better. But the reminder did not perk her up. Though she would be broke and homeless for a while, getting fired would have forced her to find a better job with normal hours.

  Straining, she tried to eavesdrop, wondering if Lizzy or Carmen was also getting the ax, but Catherine’s voice became a distant low drone and Jen couldn’t make out her words.

  Jen wondered what it must feel like to be able to boss people around. Catherine had run the city of Philadelphia and it was expected that she soon would be the second in command of our nation.

  Catherine Provost, former mayor of Philadelphia, had been one of the most popular mayors in the city’s history. Unfortunately, the governorship she coveted was not available at the conclusion of her mayoral term. Out of the blue, she’d been selected by her party’s presidential candidate to be his running mate.

  According to rumors, no one was more surprised than Catherine’s husband, Senator Daniel Provost from Pennsylvania. The gossip among the staff was that Catherine had stolen the VP nomination right from under her spouse’s nose. The senator had been considered the front runner for the second in command position.

  “Hey, buddy,” she said to Ethan Provost, her five-year-old charge. Ethan was a weird little kid—nonverbal and uncommunicative. Not only that, the kid was creepy. From the second she’d met him, she’d wanted to ask her agency for a transfer, but she was trying to tough it out. If she bailed on a high power couple like the Provosts, she wasn’t likely to get another assignment.

  Oddly, when Catherine introduced Jen to her son, she merely stated that he didn’t talk, as if that was the extent of his problems. But two days ago, the vice presidential candidate made a public announcement that she and Senator Provost’s beloved son, Ethan, had been diagnosed as autistic.

  Catherine never gave Jen a personal update on Ethan’s condition. Like the rest of America, Jen found out the little guy was disabled from a breaking news report on CNN. That report provoked a wave of sympathy and respect for Catherine Provost, the courageous mother of a disabled child. So far, the press was honoring her plea to leave her son out of politics.

  But unlike her fellow citizens, Jen had no pity for Catherine. The woman was cold-blooded and calculating. Catherine didn’t have a clue what was wrong with her son but, being on the national stage, she needed an excuse for his lack of social skills. Someone must have owed her a favor because she obtained a speedy diagnosis of the disorder soon after she discovered she was being vetted.

  It wasn’t that Jen didn’t believe Ethan was autistic. He certainly exhibited some of the symptoms she’d heard about, but she wondered why his mom had waited so long to find out what was wrong with him. Denial? A fear of knowing the truth?

  Jen was not fond of Ethan. She wanted to like him, but his revulsion toward affection and his silent stubbornness made him unappealing. It didn’t help that he had this weird look—a really big, adult-sized head with mean, beady eyes, and a wizened little body that resembled that of an elderly man. Other than his height, there was nothing childlike about Ethan.

  Ethan was much smaller than the average five-year-old. He was frail and sickly looking. His light brown skin had an unhealthy pallor and there were dark circles under his beady eyes. Good thing his mom didn’t send him to kindergarten; he’d definitely be a target for the other kids. Then again…having that creepy, sinister aura around him might work to his advantage and keep bullies at bay.

  Ethan had serious emotional issues. He couldn’t tolerate interacting with kids. The cacophony of a schoolyard would make him nuts. He required a quiet and calm setting.

  She set out his clothes and personal items and he dressed himself most of the time. She ran his bath water, but she dared not attempt to scrub him down. He didn’t like being touched.

  Getting him to the toilet was a freakin’ nightmare. If Jen didn’t grab him and physically carry him to the bathroom, he’d pee in his pants, or so his mother claimed. So far, he hadn’t had a toileting accident and Jen prayed he never would. Not on her watch. And if a miracle came her way, her watch would not be much longer.

  “Your mom’s been selected to run for vice president. How ya feel about that?” Jen asked, knowing he wouldn’t respond. “I think it’s cool,” she answered herself. “If she wins, she’ll be the first female vice president.” Jen took a deep breath and added enthusiastically, “And she’s the first African-American to run for that office.” Shame the first African American female vice presidential candidate is such a snooty bitch!”

  Unsuitable for the campaign trail, Ethan was being hidden from public view and sequestered at home.

  Ethan sat behind a tiny desk, staring intently at his computer monitor, little fingers rapidly clicking the mouse, bringing up multiple images of bridges onto the screen: Covered bridges, wooden foot bridges, enormous concrete and steel bridges—every kind of bridge imaginable were the only things that seemed to matter to the child. He was obviously intelligent. She’d heard from other staff members that he’d taught himself how to operate the computer and navigate the internet back when he was only three years old.

  Jen checked the time. “Ten more minutes, buddy, and then it’s time to go to the potty.” She sure hoped the kid didn’t stiffen his body in defiance and go rigid on her like he was prone to do when he was pulled away from his computer. The going-rigid routine was appalling enough, but sometimes his eyes rolled into the back of his head, making the experience totally unnerving.

  Without uttering one word, the scrawny kid could cause Jen to work up a hell of a sweat. When he wasn’t ready to move, he’d swing his head around wildly, using it like a medieval weapon. Jen knew firsthand that when his big head connected, it was as hard and as painful as getting hit with a spiked ball. All the ducking and dodging Jen had to do to get Ethan to the bathroom was exhausting.

  Catherine suddenly appeared in the doorway. Jen made a startled sound. Amused by Jen’s reaction, Catherine smiled smugly. “Your agency sent a courier over with a ton of paperwork. You’ll need to sign an addendum to your confidentiality agreement; a new work agreement now that you’ll be pretty much unsupervised. You’ll also need to complete some forms that allow you to act on my behalf, in the event of an emergency.”

  Catherine stared at Jen, holding her in a cold, penetrating gaze.

  Uncomfortable, Jen looked away. She hadn’t noticed before that Catherine and her son had the same beady eyes.

  “Okay,” Jen mumbled, fidgeting with her fingers. She bit the inside of her bottom lip to keep it from quivering. The woman emanated power and authority. Being in her presence made Jen nervous as hell.

  “I’ll be in my office,” Catherine said. She looked down at her watch and then glared at Jen, obviously waiting for a response.

  “Okay,” Jen said for the second time.

  “Is your vocabulary as challenged as it seems?” Catherine gave Jen a contemptuous look.

  “Uh…no.” Jen laughed and began to fidget awkwardly. She felt so belittled. But being as on edge as she was, she couldn’t manage a complete sentence.

  Catherine ran impatient
fingers through her thick, well-behaved hair, and then left Ethan’s bedroom. Not once did she even look in her son’s direction. He didn’t turn around and look at her, either. What a weird relationship between mother and son.

  Jen stood next to Ethan and peered at the monitor. “What’s with the bridges?” she asked as she slipped her hands beneath his skinny arms and lifted him up.

  Refusing to be bothered with walking, Ethan kept his knees bent and his torso erect, as if he were still sitting in the chair. Holding him in that bizarre position, Jen transported Ethan to the bathroom. Luckily, the kid didn’t try to beat her up with his head.

  Jen tapped on the polished oak door.

  “Come in,” Catherine said sharply.

  Entering Catherine’s office, Jen wiped clammy palms over her hips. It reminded her of being called to the principal’s office. No; worse. She was experiencing the same trepidation she’d felt when she was summoned to her college counselor’s office, knowing she was about to be booted off campus. The lecture she’d been given on the university’s low tolerance for cheating was lengthy and humiliating. It concluded that she’d forfeited her scholarship and was expected to hand over her student ID, pack her bags, and get off campus.

  Instead of telling her parents she’d been kicked out of school, Jen pretended that she had to hang in Philly for summer classes. But here she was, a live-in nanny, winging it, without any future plans.

  Without giving Jen so much as a glance, Catherine kept her head bent, her eyes fixed on the heap of papers on her desk, perusing page after page, and shaking her head in annoyance. She pursed her lips and frowned at the paperwork, making it clear that she felt overburdened by the heap of tedious forms.

  Catherine didn’t bother to offer Jen a seat. Scowling, she continued rustling through papers, letting Jen stand there shifting from foot to foot, and running jittery fingers through her frizzy red hair.