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SPELL OF THE CHAMELEON
An Ellora’s Cave Publication, March 2004
Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.
PO Box 787
Hudson, OH 44236-0787
ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-840-5
Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):
Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML
SPELL OF THE CHAMELEON © 2004 TITANIA LADLEY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without
permission.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places,
events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination
and used fictitiously.
Edited by Briana St. James
Cover art by Syneca.
 
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SPELL OF THE CHAMELEON
Titania Ladley
 
Chapter 1
It was time to reverse the spell.
Though she wasn’t sure why her past condemner’s existence had suddenly become
a priority, Mia Foxe shifted and kicked her Harley into gear. The hum of the motor
soothed her, while a chilly October breeze plastered her black leather jacket and pants to
her lithe body. The Massachusetts countryside was alive with flavor. As she sped along,
she lifted her chin and inhaled the mixed aroma of burning leaves, apple cider, freshly
cut wood… and him.
Yes. The scent of him was growing stronger. And the site of Perish, a town that had
thrived back in the early 1690s, was just around the next bend.
As was the man whom she’d sentenced to live out eternity alone in the now desolate
ghost town.
Downshifting, she found the entrance to the lane where its overgrown foliage
presented a wall of bright fall colors. She braked with ease, swinging the bike across the
blacktop and moved toward the overgrown trail hidden within the dense brush. Peering
through the clear shield of her helmet, Mia studied the many worn signs that had been
placed on either side of the old country lane hundreds of years ago by spooked
residents who’d abandoned Perish.
Warning! Do not enter! one read.
Another tipped precariously, its wood all but rotten, read, Witch’s territory. If you
enter, you die!
The next elicited a throaty laugh from her. Evil spirits reside here.
Oh, yes. Abraham Warwick, the town cleric, had definitely been evil. But she’d
shown him who could be the craftier one.
Without flinching, she revved the motor and shot through the branches that
impeded outsiders from entering the area encompassed by the spell’s curse. The lane
dwindled into a narrow path of weeds surrounded by thick forest. Undaunted, she
urged the Harley through the towering pines and oaks, until shadows gave way to the
 
blinding light of the afternoon sun.
The village, tucked against a soaring cliff, was just as she’d left it over three hundred
years ago—a general store, an inn and restaurant, stables, a blacksmith and carpenter,
tiny Cape Cod homes with clapboard roofs, English wigwams… and his church. It was
exactly the same, except for the absence of people. They’d been affected by her curse.
Subtle nuances had been imbedded in their minds to urge them to flee, to leave and
never return.
And they had all abandoned the settlement—except Abraham. He’d been
imprisoned in Perish to… well, she thought wickedly, to perish in his own solitary,
eternal insanity.
“Well, well, well.” The voice was none other than his, of course. There was no
mistaking that deep timbre, a voice which still held remnants of an English accent. “The
witch has, at last, returned to stir her boiling cauldron once more. To what do I owe this
grand visit?”
Mia swung her gaze to the left, and the sight that met her eyes was one of pure
heaven. He was naked! Never in the last several centuries had she ever pondered what
this man would have looked like beneath his preacher’s robe. In fact, she’d not thought
of him again until the recent urge to return to Perish had suddenly gripped her. Now
she knew why. Her gaze blazed a trail from the long sandy hair, down over the wide
shoulders and solid chest. He was taller than she remembered. And longer, too, she
thought, as she moved her stare down the rippling abdomen to the length of his flaccid
penis. Oh, she’d never actually seen it before for comparison, she silently conceded, but
wouldn’t her Chameleon senses have known there was a usable tool of perfection
attached to the hateful man?
“Shame on you,” he snarled.
Mia experienced a rush of blue fire from the depth of her eyes, down to her very
toenails. A sweet ache flooded her feminine lips where they sat nestled within the
leather of her garment. She watched, awed, as his sex thickened and began to rise.
“No. Shame on you ,” she threw back. “You’re the one who’s nude—and sporting a
growing cock. And here I’d gone all these centuries and thought you to be a eunuch.”
He moved one threatening step closer. His fists clenched, as did his pearly white
 
teeth. She could all but see the steam shooting from his nostrils. His magnificent body
flexed with each animalistic motion of his limbs, each breath he took. And she thought of
a mighty dragon breathing his fire and wrath for all to see.
“Woman… ” he began with a warning tone. Clearly restraining himself from
attacking her, he stopped in his tracks. Through clamped teeth, he said, “State your
reason for returning to taunt me, or else I cannot be held accountable for my actions.”
Mia inhaled the rugged scent of him, the caged beast stalking his prey, expression
contorted with pure hatred. He was a giant to be feared, to heed. Fearless, she crossed
her arms and looked up into the deep chocolate brown of his eyes.
She shrugged. “I don’t know why I’ve come.”
His sandy brows arched mockingly. “You don’t know why you’ve come?” he
echoed.
“No,” she replied, cutting the Harley engine. She swung a leg over the bike and
removed her helmet. With a shake of her head, she released her hair, its thick mass
tumbling to her shoulders. Purposefully, she stood before him and sat the helmet upon
the cushioned seat. “I haven’t a clue.”
She thought she heard him growl before he replied, “You condemned me to live in a
solitary hell with naught but myself for company for well over three centuries, and you
haven’t a clue why you’ve suddenly come to remind me of what a witch you truly are?”
“Witch, Abraham? Or bitch?”
His eyes, dark as sin, twinkled for the briefest moment. “Must I choose?”
Age-old simmering anger bubbled from deep within her soul. She stepped so close
to him that her leather-clad breasts brushed against his upper abdomen. Ignoring the
traitorous tingle of her suddenly taut nipples, she tipped her head back and looked up
into the mocking sneer of his beautiful face.
“You chose once, dear Abe.” She narrowed her eyes and ducked her head to nip one
of his nipples between her teeth. He flinched, but did not move away from her. “You
called me witch. You swore to burn my wicked soul at the stake. You sought to banish
me to hell, to murder me, though I caused no mischief in your precious village of Perish.
”
“And a witch, you were, as evidenced by your cruel spell.” His arms went around
 

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