*A couple of hours later, Fiona awoke trembling from the same terrifying dream of Arianna being tied to a stake. This time her husband, Darius, was being held back by several men and the tortured look her grandparents exchanged was heartbreaking. They loved one another very much.
Fiona took a deep breath, relieved it was just a dream. But was it a premonition?
She reached for her handbag and pulled out the shard of glass from Mystique’s mirror. Mirrors could sometimes be used as gateways to connect to spirits or people in other realms.
Could she contact Arianna? She didn’t want to summon her as a spirit, for she’d never wanted to know how old she’d been when she died. Fiona hoped to talk to her like a long-distance-past-century video chat.
If she concentrated hard enough, it might be possible. Arianna’s reflection had been in the mirror before it shattered, so it could work.
She held the shard in front of her and intoned solemnly. “From across the distance of time, I call the maternal grandmother of mine. At the age when all her children were young, to me let her image come. Arianna Wyndham, speak to me, as I request it, so mote it be.”
The shard began to grow warm, and she nearly dropped it, but soon an image of Arianna holding a hand mirror and brushing her long scarlet hair appeared. Her startling green eyes widened.
“Fiona! Is that really you?” She leaned closer. “How is this possible?”
It worked!
Fiona struggled to keep her voice light. “Arianna. It’s so nice to see you. I don’t know how long I can maintain this magical connection, but I wanted to say hello and see if you’re okay.”
“Aye. I’m well enough and you, Fiona? It’s lovely seein’ you, but you’re lookin’ worried?”
In the background, Fiona saw Darius walk by and she turned away, for he was stark naked.
“Darius, cover yourself will ye? I’m talkin’ to Fiona and though yer a grand-lookin’ man, I’m thinkin’ she’ll not be wantin’ to see her grandfather’s…naughty bits.”
Fiona laughed and put her hand up. “He is a fine-lookin’ man, but you’re right I can do without a visual.”
Darius sat beside Arianna and gazed into the mirror, too.
“Fiona? It’s really you.”
“It is. But it seems I might be interruptin’ something.”
She could now see Arianna was unclothed, too. The transcendent witches and their husbands all had healthy sex lives.
Darius grinned with his notable dimple and Fiona could see why women found him irresistible, too.
“Night has fallen, and Lord knows with our seven young children the only time my wee witch and I have alone is in this bedchamber.” He looked at his wife with unmistakable desire.
Arianna smiled at her husband and kissed him. “Now was there somethin’ important you needed to speak to us about, Fiona?”
“Aye.” Darius nodded. “For you to contact us like this when you never have before, there must be.”
“I had a magical hunch I could reach out to you today. I dreamt about you, which made me miss you. I hoped to make contact, though I’m not certain I can do it again.”
She didn’t know whether to warn them they might be needed for a mission. And truly, she hoped they wouldn’t be. She wouldn’t want to be the reason they both died in Scotland.
The image of Arianna and Darius was already becoming blurry.
“I’m so glad I was able to see and talk to you,” Fiona said.
“And we you,” Arianna agreed.
“Take care of yourself, Fiona,” Darius said.
“Kiss my mama for me,” Fiona replied.
They both nodded and smiled, then were gone.
Fiona sighed. She was relieved her grandparents were safe and hoped to keep them that way.
Maybe she’d tell Dalton and Minerva she wouldn’t go on this mission if it involved her grandparents. But what if they were needed? Would other agents be given the mission and go back in time to get Darius and Arianna? Fiona would want to try to protect them.
She let out a breath and flopped back onto the bed. There were too many worries to think about that, too.
She was grateful for the nap. Her headache was gone. She must’ve fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. She hadn’t even closed the bedroom door.
She noticed she had two blankets now. Lorcan must have come in without waking her. A shiver of alarm ran over her. She was a light sleeper, but she hadn’t heard a thing. It could’ve been anyone.
She heard him downstairs and smelled food cooking. Her mouth watered, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since last night. She’d have a shower and change before dinner.
*
When he got home, Lorcan looked in on Fiona, glad to see she was resting. But he disliked that she’d left the window open when she was alone in the house, asleep and vulnerable.
His security system was the best money could buy. Still, some MBs could get past nearly infallible systems if there was an opening. He’d never forgive himself if Fiona was harmed while in his home.
He wondered if the vampire Xavier could mentally contact members of his new coven and have them do his dirty work even though he was locked up. Some ancient grand elder vamps had that power. He hated that Xavier was on his mind so much.
Lorcan didn’t close the window now that he was back to protect her. He covered Fiona with another blanket. But as he was leaving the room, he spotted the shoebox on the dresser. If her light snore was any indication, Fiona was in a deep sleep. He’d heard that when you loved someone, hearing them breathe beside you at night was a comfort. He’d thought that was bloody daft but he understood it now.
He glanced at the shoebox again. Would she know if he looked? Did she have it booby-trapped like her bedroom door at her apartment? Would he get a nasty shock?
Curiosity got the better of him. He was part demon after all.
There were mostly photos. He recognized some of Cal as a boy. His grandparents had raised him in the future, so they’d been able to take photos. A few were of Cal and a middle-aged couple, obviously Fiona’s parents. He could see she looked like her mum and a little like Arianna.
There were some of Angelique with a woman who must be her mother, Fiona’s friend Genny. Some of Angelique and Newt, her long-time friend and Timothy’s first husband.
There was one of Lorcan and Amarra as teens. Where would Fiona have gotten that one? Had his father given it to her?
In another photo, a woman was holding a baby. Lorcan didn’t recognize the woman but believed she might have Fae magic.
There were ticket stubs from Red Sox games and a section of a blond braid he instinctively knew belonged to Rohese.
At the bottom was an old Polaroid photo of Fiona and Teige, Amarra’s father. It must be from the sixties judging by the hairstyles and clothing. They looked like typical hippies.
Teige had a beard and long hair. Fiona’s pretty hair was to her waist. Jesus, they looked like kids. She was a stunning young woman. That didn’t surprise him—she was beautiful now, too. In the photo she was smiling at Teige.
Yet the sadness in Fiona’s eyes startled Lorcan. He’d thought that sorrow was mostly from the pain she’d experienced with believing Amarra had died and then losing her best friend. Not to mention all that happened after his father kidnapped her and what occurred during the Battle of Magic. Then being held in that cabin, too.
This photo was years before all that, but he guessed it would’ve been not long after she’d left Cal with her parents to protect him from his abusive demon father. She hadn’t seen her son again for twenty-five years.
She’d had a difficult life.
Lorcan heard her stir. He’d held his breath, quickly set the photos back, put the lid on and tiptoed out of the room. He was damn glad she hadn’t caught him snooping. She would’ve been pissed.
He mixed up some dough, set it aside to rise, then browned the chicken breasts, trying to keep his mind on work and not Fiona.
The cream sauce was simmering and he was chopping carrots when he heard the shower start. He’d hoped she’d take advantage of the new bath. Maybe she didn’t feel comfortable using his bathtub. A shower was less intimate, although he’d been intimate with plenty of women in showers.
He could not think about that while Fiona was showering.
He imagined what it would be like if things were different. He’d go up, take off his clothes and join her. He shook himself from that impossible yet damn arousing daydream. Fuck! He’d nearly sliced his damn finger!
Just bloody concentrate on work.
Dewey had been eager for Lorcan to try out the new device. He didn’t require any convincing to borrow it. When he’d explained it was to help Fiona and told him what had been done at the shop and to her cat, Dewey had looked uncommonly angry.
He’d told Lorcan to bring it in first thing tomorrow. He’d analyze the DNA to see if it matched anything in their system.
Lorcan patted the dough into dumplings and placed them on top of the chicken and cream sauce, still fighting to keep his mind off Fiona naked upstairs, willing his own body not to react. He might as well try not to breathe.
Dalton had informed Lorcan that Rohese was away training. Said he expected him back soon and would tell him Fiona needed to speak with him.
Lorcan popped the casserole in the oven and took a drink of scotch, savoring the rich flavor. He was ready for that. Maybe it would tame his raging libido.
“Somethin’ smells good.”
Fiona’s voice made Lorcan jump.
“Chicken casserole with dumplings and honey-glazed carrots. Would you like a drink?”
Why the hell was he so nervous?
It wasn’t like he was trying to impress her. He just wanted to make her feel better, like any friend would.
Even if his previous thoughts wouldn’t be considered exactly friendly.
Unless it was friends with benefits.
For fuck’s sake. He had to get a damn grip on this attraction.
He cleared his throat. “There’s plenty to choose from.” He gestured to the bar in his lounge. “And Pinot in the fridge.”
“I shouldn’t drink…tonight. Feelin’ as I do, I’m liable to get fallin’-down drunk. Wouldn’t want you to have to carry me upstairs like on the last assignment.”
He should make a smart-arse comment or things would become awkward between them…more awkward. But, in light of her just losing her miog, he didn’t know whether to joke or be serious.
He glanced at her. He’d never seen her hair when it was wet. It was curlier. He’d liked her natural brown hair, but the auburn color suited her, too. He thought of how long it had been in the Polaroid.
“I forgot to tell you there’s a hair dryer in the vanity in your bathroom…in the bathroom where you’re staying,” he corrected.
What the hell? He was never nervous with women. Whether they were young, old, or in between. Even as a lad he hadn’t been. This was Fiona—his friend. His partner. They had a good rapport—far better than he’d expected. She was Amarra’s mother, for God’s sake.
“There’s non-alcoholic beverages in the fridge. Help yourself.”
“Thank you.”
She found a glass and poured some lemon water.
“Sit outside if you like.” He tipped his head toward the patio. “Dinner will be ready soon, madam.”
“Let me help, Lorcan. I need to take my mind off…everythin’.”
“Wanna make a salad?”
She nodded, looking relieved.
*
They conversed companionably over dinner. She complimented him on the meal and was pleased about the sticky toffee dessert he’d bought at the Irish bakery.
Thank God it seemed less awkward. He had a couple of scotches, but drank them slowly.
“Do you want to…bury your miog this evening or wait till morning?” he asked, finally.
He loathed having to mention that.
“Where is he?” she asked, sad again.
“In the basement. I have a good-sized wooden box we can use. He was bloody huge.”
“He was.” The corners of her mouth tipped slightly. “We should do it as soon as our food settles. But…would you complete the test with Dewey’s device?”
“Of course.”
He’d walk on hot coals if it took any sorrow from her eyes.
*
She started the dishwasher and washed the pots and pans, but Lorcan still hadn’t returned. She stood at the top of the basement stairs.
“Lorcan?” she called. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I’ll be right up.”
Judging by his tone everything was not okay.
She was startled when he came up carrying the box. It was a lovely wooden chest. The lid was carved with elaborate Celtic designs.
“Lorcan isn’t that…special?”
He shook his head. “It’s something I made. Can’t let your familiar be placed in something ordinary.”
That brought tears to her eyes again. He really could be thoughtful.
She presumed he’d used the gadget, but wouldn’t ask till later. He started toward the door, and she hurried to open it for him.
He walked across the yard, over the little bridge to a stately sycamore. She was surprised there was a hole dug beneath the tree.
She met his eyes. “When did you do this?”
“When you were asleep. It took no time at all.”
It would’ve taken her hours unless she used magic.
“Thank you,” she replied grateful for all he’d done.
“Did you want to say something before…” He glanced at the shovel leaning against the tree.
She placed one hand on her heart, the other on the box and took a deep breath.
“May your spirit run wild and free back to the elven lands, my beautiful boy.”
She envisioned him doing just that and smiled even as she wept.
“If you choose to come to me as a spirit sometimes, I’d be honored.”
Lorcan looked at her questioningly and she nodded. He knelt on the ground and set the box in.
Remembering how it was done from her childhood in Ireland, she took a handful of soil and tossed it upon the box. Lorcan did the same then filled the grave.
When she put her hand in her pocket, she was startled to find another sprig of heather. However, this one was fresh. Not wilted as the one she’d found in her hand earlier would be.
She shook her head at the peculiarity but placed the purple flower on Charcoal’s grave.
Lorcan cleared his throat, uncomfortable. “If you like I’ll make a cross and put his name on it. You could come here when you like…if that’s your thing.”
“My thing?” She wiped her eyes.
“Some people return to the resting place to visit those they’ve lost. Some think once they’re gone, their soul’s in heaven or some other magnificent fairy-tale place. Others don’t believe there’s anything after death.”
“But we know different,” Fiona said. “We’ve seen spirits and angels. We also know many creatures that defy death.”
She thought of vampires, zombies, wraiths and ghouls.
She shuddered. Nothingness would be far better than that. Vampires were her least favorite MB.
“Anyway, the offer stands—stop by whenever you like. There’s even a bench.” He tipped his head toward it.
Then, over the evening air drifted the faint sound of bagpipes.
“Do you hear that?” she said, shivering.
Lorcan was already searching the yard. Was Angus back? Or the others who’d claimed she was their woman?
Lorcan returned with a concerned expression and began steering her toward the house.
“No spirits, but we should go inside.”
The music grew louder, and she looked around them, but there was nothing to be seen. “Where is Angus’s plaid?”
“In my truck. I didn’t want it near you but didn’t want to keep it at LAMB’s headquarters either.”
She nodded. “You haven’t told me what you learned from Dewey’s device. Did you discover if whoever hurt Charcoal was human?”
“They weren’t,” Lorcan replied. “I don’t know precisely how to read the data, but I believe the MBs were demon.”
He sounded even more distressed, presumably ashamed of his species.
“Full demon?” Fiona asked.
He nodded.
“Doesn’t the especially dark type of demon have different-colored blood?”
“It looks different under an ultraviolet light. It glows green.”
“Demonology 101?” She forced a smile.
“Distinguishing Demons for Dummies,” he replied.
The haunting sound of the piper continued.
She shivered. “We’ll have to go to LAMB first thing tomorrow to see if anyone knows anythin’ more or if any other odd occurrences have happened.”
“Agreed,” Lorcan said. “Now, I need another damn drink.”
She trembled not from the chill in the air but because of the eerie music. Although bagpipes were associated with Scotland, the Irish played them, too. She remembered her father referring to them as piob mhor, great Irish warpipes.
As Lorcan escorted her inside, she glanced around again, searching for a ghostly figure, guessing that this mournful sound was connected with Angus MacIntire.