Shadows in Ravenwood (Daughters of the Circle)

by Lenore Wolfe

  THIRTY

  TARA

  Claire sat, once again, at the breakfast nook early the next morning, eating her oatmeal and waiting for everyone to wake up and come down to eat. She had a pad and paper sitting beside her, and in-between bites, she went over in her head what they’d need to put the manor back to its former glory.

  She’d been up all night, even after she’d said goodnight to Tara. She’d finally decided to focus on the manor—instead of magick, hoping that the break would clear her mind—that maybe then spirit could help bring something through more clearly to her.

  But the truth of it was—that she—still felt to the core—her reaction to the Gargoyle the other night. After Sophia left her with him, the other evening—out in the yard….

  She closed her eyes, remembering how he’d taken one look at her—hauled her into his arms—and kissed her.

  She’d melted. Like an idiot—gone up in flames and became putty in his hands. Then, before she could gather her senses—he transformed and flew out the window where she watched him turn back into the statue.

  Claire covered her face with her hands. She hadn’t even had a chance to process it—with all that had gone on with her aunt. She still couldn’t believe it had happened. She couldn’t seem to assimilate all these changes with the Fae, in her brain, even knowing all she knew about magick.

  But that kiss—that kiss had been her undoing.

  The sun spilled through the windows as she wrote, fingers of rays reaching out to where she sat, warming her. She set her spoon down, turning her head to welcome the healing. She couldn’t believe how peaceful it felt to be home.

  It seemed like she’d been running forever, doing whatever she had to do, searching for Morgan—then living her life. Now, it had all paid off. Morgan had returned to Ravenwood. She’d come home. They were with their friends.

  She’d missed them. She couldn’t believe how much she’d missed them. She gazed up at the walls and ceilings of the manor. She couldn’t believe how much she’d missed this place.

  She glanced over and smiled as her sister and Alex came into the kitchen. “Good morning,” she said.

  “Good morning,” Morgan said.

  Alex murmured something, and Claire grinned.

  “Did we get the missing herbs for the spells?” Morgan asked.

  “Yep,” Claire said.

  “Is Tara’s grandmother coming to help you two with this spell?” Alex asked.

  Claire nodded. “And so is Shantra,” she said.

  “Shantra?” Morgan said. “But she’s not a witch….”

  Claire chuckled. “Nope, but she does have other powers—and we’re going to need to learn how to work with the Fae. We will need their help,” she said, “don’t you think?”

  Morgan swallowed. “This is getting too real,” she said.

  Claire nodded. “He’s powerful,” she said.

  Morgan’s shoulders dropped. “No doubt about that,” she said. Their aunt Jacelyn stepped over and rubbed her back with some affection.

  Claire eyed Alex, but he watched Morgan.

  “Are you two ready for him?” he asked.

  Claire shrugged. “Well—we have Tara and Sophia, her mother and Tara’s Grams. I don’t know, but—we don’t have a choice,” she said. She sat there for a long moment. “Tara and I were talking last night.”

  Morgan looked at her, waiting.

  For the next several minutes, Claire went over all the angles they had discussed earlier. By that time, Sophia had come down with Kira, and they filled her in.

  When they had caught each other up on their impressions, Claire glanced at Sophia. “What do you think?”

  Sophia shrugged. “I know many of the Fae who have worked with your family over the years. If they had any clue, it would seem they would have figured it out by now.”

  Claire felt her shoulders deflate, along with her new-found hope.

  Sophia gazed at her and smiled. “Hey, let’s try anyway. We won’t know unless we try, right?” She set Kira at the breakfast table, as Morgan brought her a bowl of oatmeal. “There might be something they overlooked.”

  Claire didn’t feel as hopeful as she had before—but she nodded. Something was better than nothing. And, right now, they had precisely nothing. She knew they were right. Last night, they had figured out the truth. Their old stuff wouldn’t work on this particular warlock. If it would have worked—it would have worked a long time ago. And if they didn’t come up with something else—they were as good as dead.

  They had to start somewhere. They may as well start with Sophia’s people.

  They’d all eaten their breakfast, and Claire asked Alex to find the Twins, and take them to town for some supplies, while the women headed for the attic. Claire pulled Sophia aside before they went out the door and asked her to ask Thorick if he’d accompany them that afternoon—and if he could get the others to stick around for a while.

  Sophia nodded, saying she’d join them in the attic in a bit, and she headed out the front door towards the wrought-iron gate.

  Claire and Morgan settled on either end of the couch with one Book of Shadows—and Tara sat at the table with the other. They sat reading, for more than an hour—looking for anything that could help them, but none of them could find anything new.

  At some point, Claire stretched, trying to get the kinks out of her back from leaning over one side of the Book of Shadows. She mumbled something about studying some of the other old books on one of the large shelves, lining the walls, further down one end of the attic.

  She scanned the spines of the books, with no clue where to start. She glanced at the sheer number of books, blowing a small puff of air out one side of her mouth. This could be a lot like that old saying, trying to find a needle in a haystack.

  She nearly laughed, glancing down the way, gazing at the hundreds of books that lined the shelves. She figured it would be easier to find that needle in that stack. She couldn’t decide where to begin, so she decided to go with her instinct, and let herself be guided to the book that attracted her attention. Seeing one with the red with gold trim, she frowned at the title and read out loud, “The Shamanic Witch.”

  “Hmmm,” she said to herself. Since there were many types of witches, this didn’t surprise her, but Claire had never heard of a Shamanic Witch. Still going with her gut, she pulled the medium sized book off the shelf, taking it back to one of the over-stuffed chairs sitting in a circle, around the couch. Both Morgan and Tara glanced up at her, but they seemed engrossed in what they were reading.

  Getting comfortable, Claire opened the book and started flipping through the pages, still going with whatever snagged her attention, until she came to a page where her attention caught on a sentence that said something about journeying to the underworld.

  Claire read on for more than another hour when her stomach growled. She glanced at her watch. They were going to have to wrap this up if they were going to meet Thorick so he could escort them to the Land of the Fae.

  Claire closed the book she’d been reading, staring at the cover. She hoped they’d find the answers they were seeking when they went to speak to the Fae tribes. Claire picked up the book. If they didn’t—she needed to find someone who could help her to do the stuff written here.

  Thinking on this her head jerked when a blood-curdling scream tore through the air, and a whole lot of crashing came from below. Claire dumped the book from her lap and tore off out of the attic, the others right behind her. Reaching the bottom of the attic stairs, she nearly got flattened by the Gargoyle, as he flew down the hall in pursuit of something she couldn’t see—but knew full well had been there.

  A spine-chilling sense of evil climbed her spine. Their enemy had made it into their house—again.

  She tore after Thorick, as Morgan and Alex came out of their room and into the hall. Sophia appeared at her door, from the other side of the hallway.

  Claire heard the screaming down the hallway, ahead of her. She’
d seen Morgan and Sophia. That left Tara and her aunt. Somehow, Claire knew Tara wouldn’t be screaming.

  That left her aunt.

  Thorick went out the front door and into the night, in search of whatever took her aunt, Claire right behind him. Even so, they disappeared right before her eyes.

  She bent, screaming as Morgan caught up with her. Anger filled her blood as rage tore from her throat. She’d never felt so frustrated.

  “I don’t know where they went—they disappeared right before my eyes!” she screamed.

  Sophia grabbed her, wrapping her arms around her. “It’s up to Thorick now,” she said to her. “There’s nothing you can do.” They held each other like that, shaking, neither knowing what to say—what to do.

  Claire pulled back, staring at her. “I couldn’t see him.” She craned her head, staring off toward the woods. She couldn’t believe this was happening. She turned to Sophia. “How can we fight someone we can’t see? We were foolish beyond reason to think we stood a chance! We couldn’t even keep him from taking my aunt!”

  Alex wrapped a strong arm around her, and Morgan wrapped her arm around her from the other side, as they walked her back toward the house. Claire could see Morgan was crying, but she couldn’t seem to register anything.

  Something washed over her. She stood stunned—and numb.

  Dante had taken their aunt—and not one of them had been able to do a single thing to stop him.