“On the subject of waking the fuck up.” Alexander stood at the base of the statue. In his long, long—and really, it warranted a third—long life, he’d come to a couple of realizations. Firstly, people didn’t really change. For the most part, they recycled the same patterns of greed, lust, envy and fear. Those who broke the pattern were few and far between, and generally ended up getting devoured by the masses.
Secondly, life had highs and lows, but most of living took place in the endless plain of nothing in particular running between the troughs and peaks.
And thirdly, the one he was about to shove into motion, was that life presented you with defining moments. The problem being, life didn’t announce them with trumpets and streamers. You had to recognize defining moments to act on them. Generally, they popped into your conscious mind, often as a splendidly bad idea with gruesome and repellant repercussions.
He put his leather satchel down and dropped his head back to stare at the sky. He’d always loved the night sky. Stars littered the darkness like pinpricks of hope in a vast fabric of heinous. Dear Goddess, he was getting maudlin. You would think after all these hundreds of years, he’d have had his fill of living. He didn’t know how normal people did it with their precious few years.
Standing before his defining moment, all he could think was he’d never gotten the girl. He hadn’t, and now wouldn’t get to ride into the sunset with Bronwyn, white hat firmly in place. As a concept, he could live with it, but since meeting Bronwyn—knowing the warmth of her skin, the taste of her kiss—it seemed a damn shame.
The night of the coven massacre, Goddess’s first three had used what residual power they had to cast a spell from the shadow realm, drawing Baile’s wards far enough onto the village green to protect the petrified forms of Roderick and Maeve. Baile shouldn’t be allowing him this side of her wards, but it was another of those mysteries he didn’t have time to unravel. Gritting his teeth against the blood magic backlash, he pulled the athame from the bag. Clyde’s blood was still on it and resonating blood magic. If the poor bastard had still owned a soul, he would have been able to see Alexander use his life force for some good.
The athame was bad enough, but the cloth he’d used to soak up the blood shrieked so loud it wouldn’t surprise him if Rhiannon could hear it. By the time she worked it out, the job would be done, the die cast, and his true allegiance revealed.
He ran the athame’s wickedly sharp blade over his palm. In a sort of hypnotized horror, he watched his blood mix with Clyde’s on the blade. It dripped through his fingers to the pale gray concrete plinth. Rhiannon didn’t know that Baile would let him past her wards. If she had known, without a doubt, she would have used his ability.
“Air,” he whispered.
Wind rose in protest, the element trying to escape his mastery, flattening the grass on the green and shaking through the leaves of the oak trees.
Bronwyn. Tiny and fiery and pure of purpose to her gleaming cré-witch soul. His little witch and his defining moment, his fork in the path, the cattle prod up his pampered arse to get him to act. After tonight, nothing would be the same again. Tonight, he declared a side and drew his line in the sand.
Blood flowed freely down his wrist to his elbow and Alexander wrapped the cloth with the dead man’s blood around it. Blood magic hacked through him like a rusty scythe.
“Water.” The agony of blood magic made his head swim. Rhiannon was so much stronger than he.
Dimly the tide crashed into the rocks on the beach. A water fountain across the green bubbled into life and shot a stream of water into the air.
Alexander brought water into line with air and wound them in a ribbon of power. He took the dark oozing force of blood magic and fed it from the power ribbon.
“Earth.” The ground beneath his feet shuddered. The elements were things of life that recoiled from death magic. His head pounded and his heart raced as he gripped earth and wound it with air and water.
Above him, the dark cloud of blood magic rolled into being, and reached its obliterating tentacles for the strongest source of life magic, the statue.
The three elements struggled against his mastery. Clyde’s corrupted blood stopped his hand from healing, and he bled freely, the entire cloth soaked now and dripping, droplets hissing and smoking as they hit the earth.
Alexander pulled on his remaining strength. “Fire.”
Streetlamps around the green flared and exploded in a shower of sparks.
The four elements wove tighter and tighter into the power thread. His breathing was labored, and he grew lightheaded as he forced the two magics together. Lifting his bleeding hand, he pressed it against the stature. “Wake up, you son of a whore. We’re out of time.”
Magic. It reappeared so suddenly she was not ready for it. It was not magic as she knew it either. This magic grabbed for her with harsh grasping fingers. Tainted fingers that rampaged like fever through her body. The torment hammered her, and she screamed for it to stop, but nobody heard her in the void.
Magic ripped at her belly, and she tried to make it stop, but it kept coming in relentless waves. Not content with her belly, the magic fastened around her heart as well, then her throat, and climbed to her forehead and tightened in an excruciating band.
Magic bored into her mind and tore open her memories. She had a name, and her name was Maeve.
Deeper dove the magic and yanked more memories to the surface.
There had been danger, so much danger they had feared for their survival. The end of the cré-witches had come. The final thirteen had stained Goddess with their blood magic and sent her into stasis.
They gathered around her, the dead thirteen, their souls now wraiths hanging between life and death for all eternity. Forever silenced, forever cut off from Goddess, never to reincarnate again.
Gray and disembodied, they stared at her through hollow gray eye sockets. They had stood guard for her all through her long sleep.
How long?
Colleen had been there, and Lavina, with poor damaged Hester. They had given their souls to protect her.
Years sped past her in a confusing blur of images, sounds, and smells.
Rhiannon had ripped through the wards and brought death and destruction to Baile. For the sake of their future, Maeve had been chosen to do this.
She reached for Baile, for some sense of the castle, but there was nothing there. Panic increased her heartbeat. She was alone in this endless nothing with a strange, foul magic pulling at her.
Blood magic. The same thing that had put her here, but subtly different. Her element of fire rose like a shining red rope and wound about her.
Gritting her teeth against the pain, Maeve quested toward fire. Fire would never hurt her. Fire demanded she wake. Fire had been alone for too long, dormant, misunderstood and abandoned. It reached ravenously for the power in her and lit her from within.
Maeve touched on the blossoming magic. Lily and orange pierced the abyss. The other magic was still there, still pulling, but lily and orange dominated it now, shoving it away from her.
She didn’t know what awaited her at the end of the dark tunnel she traversed. Ahead, fire pulled her and lily and orange rose to assist her. Her magic, the touch of it infinitely sweet and dearly missed.
Would Rhiannon be waiting for her at the end of this tunnel? Could Roderick protect her? Her heart beat faster at the idea of Roderick.
Roderick, her coimhdeacht, whom she had only begun to appreciate. Her last memory was of Roderick, looking into her eyes, his strong arms holding her, as he threw himself into the void with her. Please, Goddess, grant that he had survived the void. She pushed lily and orange into the bond.
Silence. Dead echoing silence.
And then…there. So indistinct she might have missed it. She sensed him. A new sensation took hold of her and shook her. Laughter. Of course, Roderick was there. Roderick was far too stubborn to leave her, and she could not imagine an existence without him.
A sound thumped in her ear. It itched. Then it came again, vibrating through her head, and she did not care for it. The sound grew stronger, more insistent and settled into a steady rhythm.
Da da dum.
It was her heartbeat, growing stronger with every moment. Air rushed into her chest and forced her to take the first real breath in she knew not how long.
Maeve opened her eyes. She drew night air into her lungs and registered unfamiliar smells. The grass beneath her hands was familiar, and she dug her fingers into it. Something was smothering her, and she pushed to get free.
A groan sounded in her ear.
“Roderick?” Her voice rasped, unused and strange to her newly awakened ears.
“Steady,” a man spoke. The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place it. “You’re on the village green.”
Roderick’s chest rose and fell against her back as he drew in a gigantic breath. “Blessed.”
“Coimhdeacht.” Her guardian protector, the man who had linked his life with hers for as long as she lived. “Roderick.”
Above them the moon hovered in a cloud-strained sky. She blinked at the brightness of it, so beautiful she wished she could touch it.
“Maeve?” Roderick’s muscles twitched and rippled against her. “You are well?”
“I believe so.” She touched her face and found reassurance in the familiar tilt to her nose tip, the curve of her lips, the line of her brows and the cut of her jawbone. Whatever else she found, she was still Maeve. And she was awake again.
No sense of the foul miasma of Rhiannon’s magic lingered about her, but someone had woken her. She could sense the source of the strange magic standing to the left of her, and Maeve turned her head.
A man with dark hair crouched beside them. He looked pained, his dark eyes blazing at her. She knew this man. Her gut twisted. She feared this man.
Roderick sensed her fear, she felt him grow alert through the bond. He pushed her behind him and lunged forward. Muscles unused sent him crashing to his knees in front of Alexander.
“Whoreson.” Roderick rasped painfully. He reached for his sword but overbalanced and crashed into the ground.
The foul magic vanished, and Alexander laughed. “It’s been a while since someone called me that. I rather think I’ve missed it.”
“I’ll kill you.” Roderick growled and struggled to all fours. He stayed there panting. Through the bond, his pain lashed at Maeve, more than she believed any being could bear.
“I’m sure you will.” Alexander handed them a strange transparent vessel filled with clear liquid. “Water. You’ll need it.”
Roderick recoiled from it. “You think I would drink anything you offered.”
“Right.” Alexander shook his head. He tipped the vessel to his lips and drank. “See? And really, as much as I’ve missed our spats, you’re going to have to get yourself and your witch behind Baile’s walls.”
“Baile.” Roderick quested for the castle. He frowned. “Where is she?”
“She’s there.” Alexander handed them the water again. “But she needs you about as much as you need her right now.”
Swaying and lurching, Roderick managed to rise into a crouch. He reached an arm behind and kept her against his back. “I don’t need steel to kill you.”
“That’s debatable.” Alexander raised his brow.
It was unfair that such a beautiful face concealed a soul so evil.
Alexander glanced behind him. “As much as I’m loving this reunion, we really need to hurry things along.” He shoved the water at her. “Drink the water, Maeve, and get that tunnel open.”
Roderick grabbed the water vessel and sniffed it. He raised it carefully to his mouth. “It smells odd.”
“That’s plastic you’re smelling.” Alexander smirked. “Getting up to speed with this century is going to be a mind fuck I wish I could witness.”
Roderick glowered at Alexander but spoke to her. “If it’s poisoned get yourself to the tunnel.”
“But—”
“No argument, Maeve. Not this time.” Roderick sipped the water.
Maeve held her breath.
He took another sip. Then he gave a grating laugh. “It’s water.”
Handing it to her, he scowled at Alexander. “You woke us?”
“You left me no choice.” Alexander shrugged. “Baile needs you. The witches need you, warrior. Your work has only just begun.”
“My work ends with you dead,” Roderick said.
Alexander nodded and stood. He held out his hand to Roderick. “Fair enough, but why don’t we start with something less ambitious. Standing, perhaps?”
Maeve sipped carefully. Cool and wet, water slid down her throat and brought tears to her eyes.
Alexander put his shoulder beneath Roderick’s and raised him to standing. Then he reached for her.
“Don’t touch her.” Roderick lunged between them and would have fallen if Alexander hadn’t caught him.
“You help her then, but get her up, and do it now.” Alexander glanced behind them again. “The amount of magic this is putting out will have her on her way.”
Rhiannon. The name resounded in Maeve’s mind, and she shivered. Taking Roderick’s outstretched hand, she got to her feet. The pain in her unused muscles made her eyes water and she could barely support her body. She clung to Roderick for balance.
“A few steps and you’ll be able to sense Baile.” Alexander had his arm around Roderick’s waist as he dragged them both forward.
The wards prickled over her skin, but they hit Roderick like an anvil. Through the bond, she felt the influx of sensation rush through his bone, muscle and sinew.
Roderick threw his head back and roared his agony to the skies.
Covering her ears, Maeve tried to absorb what she could through the bond. With the pain came strength as well. Already Baile healed and revived her beloved and favorite son.
Roderick’s vitality bloomed rapidly, reached for Baile. They snapped into a tight loop, Roderick and Baile, feeding and regenerating each other.
Stretching his muscles, Roderick finally stood straight and tall, the unassailable coimhdeacht sent to protect her. He turned to her and cupped her face. “Take from me, Maeve.”
He controlled the rush of power through their bond, feeding it to her in a slower and kinder stream. She grew thirstier and sipped the water and offered the vessel to Roderick.
He took a tiny sip and gave it back to her.
“More.” She nudged him with the vessel. It crackled and buckled in her grip but didn’t break. She had no idea what manner of stuff this plastic was, but it was strong and malleable.
On the far side of the wards, Alexander watched them with a strange whimsical expression. He caught her eye and his normal inscrutable mask slid into place. “Hello, spirit walker. It’s been a long time.”
“How long?” Roderick glared at him.
Alexander raised a brow. “Unfortunately for me, not a conversation I’m going to have with you. Get back to Baile. Now.”
He turned and jogged away.
Roderick flexed his arm muscles and arched his back. He winced, and Maeve felt the pulse of lingering discomfort.
The green was surrounded by so many buildings, many of them ugly and crude, but the church was still there, and she motioned toward it. “Should we?”
Roderick raised his brow at her in an expression she hadn’t even realized she’d missed. “I think we must.”
Bronwyn woke as her forehead hit the table. “Ow.”
It took her a moment to orient herself. She was in the Baile library. After Alexander had dropped her off, she’d come with Mags and Niamh to find out more about Rhiannon.
Bronwyn had no idea how long she’d been asleep. In the predawn gloom casting shadows over the stone walls and floor, her knowing prickled beneath her skin, and she looked about for what had triggered it.
With three floors of shelving on either side of a bank of windows facing the sea, the library presented a daunting number of books, but no other people. Opposite the great floor-to-ceiling windows gaped a walk-in-size hearth.
Click, who-ha-hoo, click, vrrrt.
Wearing a tatty Tasmanian Devil sleep shirt, a woman perched on the back of a three-seater leather sofa to the left of her. The woman’s long gray hair was a tangled mess that hung past her waist. Her big green eyes were fixed on Bronwyn. She made another clicking sound and turned her head to the side and kept going, way past the point a normal head should turn.
Bronwyn was warming up for a good scream when the door opened and Niamh stamped in. “You’re awake. Alannah was getting the kettle on.”
“Er…yes.” Bronwyn didn’t know how the strange woman was perching on her haunches like that.
“Roz!” Niamh addressed the woman. “I told you I would introduce you to Bronwyn.”
Roz hopped off the sofa, stuck her arms out behind her like she was flying and ran from the room.
“Well.” Niamh gave her a bright smile. “I see you’ve met Roz.”
“I—”
The floor shook and Bronwyn grabbed her pen before it rolled off the table.
“Sodding hell!” Niamh stuck her arms out to keep her balance as the floor rumbled and shook around them.
As suddenly as it had started, it stopped.
“Was that an earthquake?” Bronwyn hadn’t heard of England having earthquakes.
“I don’t know what that was.” Niamh held on to the back of a chair and peered into the gloom, as if waiting for the quake to come back.
A door banged, and they both jumped. Then another door and another, until the entire castle was echoing with door bangs.
“Is this normal?” After that awful scene with Alexander yesterday, Bronwyn was all done with bad surprises.
Niamh shook her head, eyes huge in her pale face. “I have no idea what’s happening.”
A subterranean groan rumbled through Baile.
“It’s Baile!” Sinead burst into the library with Alannah on her heels. “She’s…alive.”
“Alive?” Bronwyn said at the same time Niamh yelped, “She?”
This had all the makings of a horror movie.
“Definitely a she,” Alannah said and beamed as if she’d won the lottery. She motioned Sinead. “We can feel her.”
Not sure what to make of any of it, Bronwyn clung to the table edge. “I’m confused.”
“You’re confused?” Sinead rolled her eyes. “I was born in this castle, have spent my whole life here, and I’ve never known she had an awareness.”
Niamh chewed her bottom lip. “You’re sure this is the castle you’re sensing? There was that time with the mushrooms—”
“Oh, yes.” Alannah nodded and grinned. “She feels…old.”
“And solid,” Sinead said. “Also I get the sense she’s happy.”
This was starting to feel a whole lot too much like a Halloween haunted house. Only real. And a castle. “What the hell does a castle have to be happy about?”
“She was missing something. Longing for it.” Alannah frowned and got a far off look in her eyes.
Niamh leaned forward and peered into her face. “Are you talking to Baile now?”
“It’s a someone.” Mags flit through the door already dressed in a maxi skirt and peasant blouse. Her hair was brushed and shining, and she looked wide awake. “It’s a someone Baile has been missing.”
“You can talk to her too?” Niamh frowned. “Why can’t Bronwyn and I?”
Bronwyn was not at all sure she wanted to speak to Baile.
“No.” Mags scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I saw him earlier tonight.” She fluttered a hand around her head. “I had a vision whatsit.”
“This someone is a him?” Bronwyn seemed to be the only one keeping track of the facts here.
Mags nodded. “Oh yes, definit—” She cocked her head. “Wonderful! Our visitors are almost here.” She turned and looked over her shoulder. “We should probably gather in the kitchen.”