Dreams of Darkness

by D L Pitchford et al.

  She grabbed a traveling bag and started throwing clothes in it. Then books--tomes on the foundations of magic, journals of powerful Fae, scrolls with ancients spells--everything went into the bag. When her shelves were empty, she moved over to the Wall of Weapons. Quillan stood on his axe, back to his normal size, head tilted, candlelight reflecting off his beady, black eyes.

  “It’s bigger on the inside, right Quillan?” she asked, starting to feel lighter as she started placing all the weapons from the wall into into the satchel. “It’s your turn.” Quill flew away as she reached for the ax. “Don’t worry, it’s still yours. We just have to pack it for now. I’ll give it back to you as soon as we get there,” she promised.

  As she placed the last bit of herbs and athames from her Corner of Sacred Magic into the bag she stepped back and looked around her empty home. It felt barren, like someone had taken the core out of the bread and left just the crust. The tome and a few ingredients sat lonely on the table. It wasn’t until all of her stuff was gone that she realized she did have some positive impact on this realm, even if it was just in her own home.

  She grabbed a regular satchel and filled it with salted meat, cheese, bread, and apples--provisions for the road, “I don’t know where we’ll end up, but it can’t hurt to be prepared.”

  It had been no more than fifteen minutes since she left the palace and she expected to hear a pounding on her door at any moment. Her saving grace was they had no idea how she’d escaped, and her home was at least three miles from the palace. She grabbed the chalk and headed to the corner where she had already carved a permanent magic circle. Now she had just to fill in the spell. It was amazing how much she could get done with the energy of a thousand furies in her veins. And make no mistake, her temper could go from a rolling boil to overflowing in the fraction of a second.

  The fury had her sitting back for a moment, considering. Was she actually running away? Was she going to let Calahan’s statements stand as truth while she disappeared, leaving her life and reputation in ruins?

  Amara scoffed aloud and shook her head. Reputation? What reputation? She was already shunned throughout the realm. Calahan had just given voice to what everyone already thought. She wasn’t running away from her responsibilities. She was running to a life of possibilities. She’d always wanted freedom, and now finally, she would have it.

  But that didn’t mean he would get away scot free. She had never been one to actively hurt people, but she wasn’t a pushover either. Her head tilted to the side as she considered the runes and ingredients in the spell. If she added some petals of myosotis over here, some crushed rosemary over here, and put his name here…

  A few minutes later, she had completed the runes, mixed the ingredients, and was ready for the last steps of the spell. Very carefully, she brushed pollen from her glove into the bowl in the center of the circle. Then she added a few pieces of sand from a small vial. Finally, she cut off a chunk of her hair and placed it into the bowl.

  Amaryllis stepped out of the circle and picked up her two satchels, making sure to put the tome in the magical one. One rested over her shoulder and the other hung from her left hand. She was still wearing the ridiculous purple gown, her hair was wild, and the ribbon dangled uselessly over her shoulder. She took a deep breath to center herself. This wasn’t a spell she wanted to mess up.

  “It’s time to go, Quillan…” she started, but he was already settling on her shoulder.

  Now that it was time, she felt a little relieved. Where she was going, she might not have access to even the most basic magical powers. This was a one way trip and that was okay. She might be alone, but finally--maybe--she wouldn’t be lonely.

  She was still furious at the circumstances, but that tiny spark of hope that Calahan had doused with his betrayal was now a steady flame as she considered her new future. If everything worked as planned, she would soon building a new life for herself on Earth. One where no one knew her and she could create a new self, a new life, a new adventure.

  Plus, with the adjustments she’d made to the spell, Calahan, the deceitful, power-hungry, lout, would lose any knowledge of her. In every other aspect he’d be fine, but every memory of her would be wiped from his mind, including his knowledge of the vision. She thought the punishment suited the crime. He had abused her trust and shared her private vision with the royal court in attempt to gain power. In a moment, she would be gone. They would question him, needing him to substantiate his claims and try to get more details so they could mitigate that possible future. And he would have nothing.

  No special insight. No significant details. No memory of Amara or her vision. No power at all.

  That was enough for her. That, and knowing that there was no way the vision could become reality anyway. She’d been careful with the spell and she was leaving Faerie entirely. How could she be responsible for its fall if she wasn’t even here?

  Goosebumps appeared on her arms as she stepped back inside the circle. Her hand was steady and her eyes calm as she cut her palm so just a few drops of blood fell into the center bowl. Her skin tingled, the spell building like a static storm inside her tiny cottage.

  “Forbandelse. Calahan,” her voice sank like a stone, power rippling through the circle. “Zjarr.” The hair in the bowl burst into flames. “Rejse” she whispered, and disappeared.

  Chapter Five

  Tiernan watched through the window as Amaryllis filled a satchel with books and weapons. Goddess, she was beautiful when she was riled up. Though this seemed a bit more than riled. He wondered what had happened at the ball.

  He’d been surprised when he met her on the path earlier that day. Yes, he’d been looking for her, intent on delivering his warning. He’d seen some papers on Calahan’s desk with her name on them, and immediately knew he needed to squash the relationship--whatever it was--in the bud. What he hadn’t expected was the instant and overwhelming attraction toward her. Once he’d looked into her warm, earthy eyes, he’d barely been able to speak coherently. And when she had shared the bit about seeing darkness, but not being it, he’d felt curious and maybe a little ashamed.

  He wasn’t one to make assumptions and that’s exactly what he’d done. And then he’d confronted her based on gossip and reputation, manhandling her into a tree in an overbearing effort to make his point. That wasn’t how he normally treated a lady, and he left their meeting determined to find out more about Amaryllis, Lady of Shadows and Sorcery, and see if she was actually a danger to his brother.

  He’s spent the next several hours interrogating fellow lords and ladies under the guise of socializing for the celebration. “I’ve been away from the palace and was curious what’s been happening with the different families…” Members of court were happy to share the news and royal gossip, but as each hour passed, one thing became clear. Amaryllis may have had a reputation of darkness and danger, but it was entirely based on assumptions about her power and had nothing to do with anything she had actually done. No dark spells. No evidence of dark deeds. Just a power that, if she desired, would allow her to take over the court, but instead left her alone and friendless.

  Tiernan had felt uncertain. Maybe she was full of darkness. Maybe she was an evil witch, who was only hiding behind good behavior. He still had his suspicions. But she hadn’t yet done anything to Calahan, and trying to protect his brother didn’t give him an excuse to bully the woman. After making an appearance at the ball, and giving his regards to the princes, he had made his way back to the path that led to Amaryllis’s home. He wanted to catch her that evening and apologize before she got home and went to sleep.

  That was a couple hours ago. He had no idea how she’d gotten home, since he hadn’t seen her on the path. But a few minutes ago he’d heard what sounded like an entire cupboard of dishes crashing and breaking, and a scream of rage that stopped his breath for a minute. He had rushed toward her home, hoping to make sure she was okay.

  Now he stood outside the window, the lights inside keeping
her from seeing him in the dark. He couldn’t look away as she stormed through her home, long legs flashing through the slit in her gown. He wondered if she knew how to use all those weapons. He imagined them sparring, their skin flushed and heated, and he reached down to adjust his pants.

  He was about to go knock on the front door when she started drawing the spell. He couldn’t see all the details, but he saw enough to know that it was a forbidden spell. He saw one or two runes that had been banned from use. He wasn’t sure why--his strength wasn’t in academics, but in honor--but he knew they were dangerous. His thoughts sharpened and his jaw clenched, overshadowing the ball of disappointment that grew in his chest.

  He’d been right all along. She was dangerous. She may have claimed otherwise, but here he was, watching her perform a powerful dark spell. Should he interrupt her or report her to the authorities? The decision was made for him when he heard her speak Calahan’s name into the spell. He raced for the front door. No way was this she-witch going to hurt his brother. He ripped the door off its hinges just in time to see her disappear.

  Ah, a traveling spell. That wasn’t so bad. She looked to have completed it correctly. He was more concerned about the curse on his brother. No doubt her intention was to be far away from the evidence of her transgression. Some remote part of Faerie where it would be difficult to find her.

  Well, she wasn’t going to escape that easily. Nobody hurt his brother and got away with it. He’d follow her and bring her back to the authorities. She would pay for her depravity.

  Tiernan strode to the center of the circle, already running a dagger along his palm, and squeezing a few drops of blood into the bowl. “Rejse.” He spoke the word powerfully, as if it would get him to her faster. In a blink, he disappeared.

  In the royal garden, a pink rose turned black, rotting spreading out from its insides.

  THE END

  About the Author

  Eleanor Wyatt writes paranormal romance, urban fantasy, and reverse harem novels. When she’s not penning stories about badass women and hot shifters, she’s either reading on her Kindle, cuddling with a kitty, or both. She lives in Idaho with her husband, three cats, and a wood burning stove.

  Join her Facebook reader group to receive BONUS CONTENT, FREE STORIES, and hear about the crazy goings-on of her life. Join here: https://tinyurl.com/fantasybl

  Emerald Bound

  by Michaela Cane

  Chapter One

  The train passed by at 10:14, and Marina stepped onto the trestle while it still trembled from the heavy motion.

  In the dark, her eyes on her feet to make sure she stepped solidly upon each plank of wood, it was impossible to see whether or not Daelend awaited her on the other side. Sometimes he did, and other times she had to wait for him, but he almost always met her when she showed up—despite the fact that she had no way of telling him her plans or when she’d be there. More often than not over the years, she’d told herself she came here for the peace involved in swinging her feet off the trestle, looking down at the dark water rushing by below. She’d told herself that Daelend, and whether or not he showed himself, mattered less than he certainly thought it did. The lies had even sounded true enough to her own ears. Until tonight.

  Tonight, she didn’t bother lying to herself.

  At the end of the trestle, far closer to the opposite riverbank than she generally ventured, she rested for a moment in a kneeling position, considering proximity, and balancing her fear against his promises and potential reward. Then, deciding that there was nothing to be gained if she didn’t risk getting this close to him, she set her ass on the wood planks and swung her legs over the side of the rails so that her feet dangled over the edge. Her left boot just brushed the edge of the bank sinking down into the darkness below her as she let her limbs drift back and forth in the wind. She was close enough tonight that he’d be able to touch her, should he try. It’d been years since he’d reached for her—years since she’d dared get this close to the temptation of it, in fact.

  The iron of the train rail was cold beneath her hands, near freezing, but the tremble from the train’s passage had long since disappeared. She forced herself to loosen her grip on the iron and let her eyes rest on the water below, waiting. Daelend never appeared if she was watching the woods, like a pot refusing to boil until you gave up and looked away. He’d only appear if she rested her eyes elsewhere.

  For almost seventeen years now, she’d been coming here, wandering through the ironworks to meet her strange, would-be friend who refused to step foot onto this trestle. She’d been six when they’d met, and back then, she’d just called him her stranger. In the years since—and especially once she’d realized he wasn’t aging like she did—she’d found different labels for him. By turns, she’d called him her guardian angel, her fairy godfather, and her mysterious soldier. Really, he was none of those things. Daelend was simply her dark stranger, and her most carefully held secret.

  He was the reason she knew the train schedule by heart and when the trestle would be empty, and the reason she’d never gone away to school or gotten serious about a boyfriend. The reason she sometimes woke up in a cold sweat, wishing for the feel of his skin on hers.

  The toe of her boot pressing into the bank, biding the time, she knocked loose some gravel and dirt. She watched it fall until it disappeared, straining to hear the freed pebbles hit the water. It was running too fast tonight, though, with the extra rain they’d had. It would have taken the fall of something like a boulder to make a splash loud enough that she’d hear it.

  Or a body, it occurred to her. Maybe that was the answer if Daelend couldn’t help her. She could just drop down into the dark and see how long it took her to fall. Wonder if I’ll hear the splash then, if it’s me making it.

  A giggle almost seeped from her lips at the absurdity of that, at the absurdity of all of this, but she bit it back just in time. If she started laughing, she’d end up crying and hysterical, and how would Daelend react to that, should he appear?

  The brush nearby shuddered, but she kept her eyes down. She wouldn’t look up too soon and scare him away or put off his arrival. This meeting night was too important. Only when one of his black boots speared down into the darkness to rest against the bank near her own boots did she finally look up to find him sitting diagonal to her, right there on the riverbank.

  Tonight, she was close enough to see his black-looking eyes and the light laugh lines on his face that she’d all but forgotten. He looked only to be in his early thirties, but he’d looked just the same seventeen years before when she’d been six instead of twenty-three. More than anything, that was what gave her hope now.

  “Marina, you look cold.”

  “Huh? Oh…” She’d forgotten her coat. Of course, she had. “I’m fine, Daelend,” she told him, reminding herself that she’d been planning all day, determining exactly what to say to him tonight. Where had the words gone?

  But he was so close, his black hair falling in his face and one of his long legs dangling near hers, his jeans near the same color as hers and his other leg propped up at an angle so that an arm rested on his knee, allowing his hand to jut out into the darkness ahead of her. If she reached for that hand, would she touch him, or fall? Somehow, all of the intensity of the day had left her feeling drugged now, so that his presence felt like the only thing that mattered. More real than what she’d left on the other side of town. She had to get past that.

  “You said you liked this shirt,” she finally commented, tugging at the billowing blue cotton around her wrist, remembering her opening at last.

  When he didn’t respond, she looked back from his hand to his face, and felt her breath freeze with the way he was observing her. Like he already knew he had her at a disadvantage tonight. Maybe sitting so close had showed her hand.

  In the dark, his teeth near glowed when he offered a smile and a nod. In another moment, he’d reached his closer hand toward the trestle, palm down, and she reached her own o
ut to his before she could second-guess herself. Because, after all, she believed he was probably dangerous. The fact that she also believed she probably loved him was far less important now, even if she had to remind herself of that far too often.

  His fingertips brushed the lace inlaid into the cotton along her wrist, offering just the barest change of pressure against her skin.

  “I forgot how warm your touch is.” The words had come out in a whisper as his fingers traced the side of her wrist, but they were true. She’d been sixteen the last time she’d gotten close enough that he could touch her. He’d touched her ankle then, moving his warm fingers along the skin above her sandal, teasing her with his touch until she’d finally recognized how badly she wanted to leave the trestle for his side of the river. Seeing that desire in herself, she’d run, and stayed away for a good month, which was about as long as she could ever stay away from Daelend.