The Trouble With Spells

by Lacey Weatherford

  “Portia, you do have an unnatural ability to control your powers when you use them, but no one expects you to know what you’re doing or to even feel comfortable with them at this level. My powers manifested at the age of five. I’ve had years to learn to manage and master them effectively. It’ll probably take the same amount of time for you to come into your own as well. Don’t sweat it. Just take your time, play around with your powers, and feel out what you can do. You’ve reacted to situations as a normal human being your whole life. It’s going to take time to change that mentality.”

  “You just make everything look so easy.” I smiled at him. “How are things for you now that you’ve assimilated more powers?” I asked, referring to the powers he had taken from his father during their fight to the death.

  He sighed heavily.

  “That’s the perfect example of what I’m trying to tell you. I have powers that I’m not even aware of. At some point in my life I may discover them and learn how to properly use them to the point that they’ll begin to feel comfortable to me. It really is a trial and error process, and not having any knowledge of the people my dad performed a demon kiss on, I really don’t know what kind of magic is there.” He laughed a little then. “See, we’re kind of in the same boat.”

  “True,” I replied seeing his point. “But you’re already very accomplished in your magic. What if I never reach the level that people expect of me? I don’t want to be a disappointment.”

  He lifted my hands to his lips then and kissed them.

  “You’ll never be a disappointment to anyone, baby,” he said. “Just keep doing what you’re doing and try to figure things out for yourself. If it’ll help you feel any better, maybe we can find some time to work on our magic together,” he suggested.

  “I think I’d like that,” I replied with a smile, and he kissed me lightly on the lips.

  After several long minutes of standing there together, we noticed a black car pull up alongside the restaurant. A young man, who looked to be in his early twenties, stepped out and began to walk over to us.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Mangum?” he asked while he approached.

  “Yes,” Vance replied, turning to stand in front of me.

  “I’m Brian Fitzgerald,” he said, extending his hand politely.

  Vance reached out and shook it.

  “Vance,” he replied with a nod before turning to me. “And this is my wife, Portia.”

  I laughed internally at the notable emphasis he put on the “my wife” part. The Alpha male in him was obviously racing to the surface. He was definitely more determined to put his stamp on me of late.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said with a smile. I reached out and shook his hand also.

  “Likewise,” he replied with a bright smile, his green eyes flashing as his sandy hair ruffled gently in the breeze.

  He was a nice looking man, I thought to myself, only to feel the tiniest surge of jealousy run through Vance’s head as he picked up on that particular thought. I squeezed his hand in reassurance. No one in the world would ever be better looking to me than Vance.

  “I spoke with your father then?” Brian asked, and he looked at me with a congenial expression.

  “Yes.” I nodded.

  “He was inquiring about some information that would lead you to find your family,” he said, turning to Vance. “I’m happy to say that I have that information right here for you.”

  He reached a gloved hand into his pocket, pulled out a slip of paper and handed it to Vance.

  “The Cummings family is much respected around here,” he added. “I’m pleased to meet another relative of theirs. They’re great people.”

  “Really?” Vance replied, quirking an eyebrow up at him.

  I knew he was more than a little confused. We were expecting that his grandparents were possibly holding his mother prisoner and not to be of a good sort of people.

  “Yes. Their humanitarian work is quite well known through out the area,” Brian continued, still smiling. “In fact, I took the liberty of contacting them and letting them know that you were inquiring about them. They were thrilled to hear of your arrival and extended the invitation for me to drive you to their place, if you so desire. They seemed very excited to meet you.”

  Vance turned back to look at me in question, surprise written clearly on his features.

  “What do you think?” he asked me, and I could hear the caution threaded through his voice.

  “I’ll do whatever you think is appropriate,” I replied, not really knowing what I thought about the situation but happy he valued my opinion on the matter enough to consult it.

  Vance turned back to Brian.

  “I’m sorry about the hesitation,” he explained. “This wasn’t exactly the news we were expecting.”

  “No worries,” Brian responded with a grin, in his thick Scottish accent. “I’d be happy to take you there and even wait for you if you’d like.”

  Vance looked at me once more, before making a decision. I could almost see the wheels turning in his head while he tried to quickly weigh out the pros and cons in this turn of events. He finally turned back toward Brian.

  “Very well, we accept your kind offer,” he agreed, and I had to admit I was a little surprised to hear it.

  “Wonderful,” Brian said, gesturing toward his waiting sedan. “Shall we?”

  Vance notified our driver that he could head back to the castle without us, then he took my hand, and we followed Brian over to his vehicle. Both of us climbed into the back seat together, while Brian entered the front.

  “How far away is this place?” Vance asked.

  “Just a few miles over River Lochy and toward Torcastle,” he replied. “We should be there in about thirty minutes. It’s a beautiful drive through the countryside to your grandparents’ estate. I think you’ll really enjoy it.”

  “They live on an estate?” I asked more than a little intrigued to learn about the place we were heading to.

  “Yes. It’s a beautiful old manor house, made from granite. Douglas and Fiona have always taken special care to see that the grounds are kept immaculate, and the out buildings are maintained in perfect condition.”

  “Douglas and Fiona?” I asked in confusion at the unfamiliar names he mentioned.

  “Oh! I’m sorry,” he apologized, looking back at us through the rearview mirror as he drove. “I assumed that you might know their names. Douglas and Fiona Cummings are your grandparents,” he said looking specifically at Vance. “They’re truly wonderful people.”

  I looked over at Vance who had turned my direction and was now arching an eyebrow at me. I could see that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with this situation as doubt filled his gaze.

  “How do you know them? If you don’t mind my asking,” he said, determined to probe a little deeper.

  Brian laughed lightly.

  “My mother heads up one of the local charities in the area. Fiona has donated her time to the cause on many occasions. I met them mostly through the several charity functions we’ve attended together.”

  “I see,” Vance said, sitting silent for a moment. “So they knew about me when you contacted them?”

  “Yes. They said something about you having disappeared as a child before they ever had the opportunity to meet you. They said you’ve changed your last name, though. I spoke directly to your grandmother. She was quite overcome with emotion at the thought of finally getting to meet you. Apparently she and your grandfather had some type of falling out with your father in the past and he refused to introduce you to them,” he explained.

  Vance leaned back into the seat then, taking in everything Brian had just revealed to us.

  “He seems legit,” I said into his head.

  “He definitely knows what he’s talking about,” he agreed mentally. “This sudden turn of events has thrown me off my game,” he added. “I don’t know what to think.”

  I reached over and squeezed his hand.

&
nbsp; “Are you nervous?” I asked, and he stared into my eyes.

  I saw a lot of conflicting emotions there.

  I knew having a real family had always been a dream of his. It was something he had always longed for. He had wanted to someday reunite with his mother and have some type of family life together. As it was, he had believed that he was the one who had killed his mother, only to find out it was possibly an imposter he had destroyed instead. Of course, there was no question that he had been the one who killed his father. Now he was getting ready to walk right into the unknown, meeting relatives he had previously known nothing about.

  “I have no idea what I’m feeling,” he replied honestly, giving my hand a gentle squeeze.

  I linked my arm through his and leaned my head over onto his shoulder, snuggling up against him.

  He placed a gentle kiss against my hair.

  “How long have the two of you been married?” Brian asked, watching us through the rearview mirror.

  “Four days,” Vance answered with a smile and looked down at me. I was amazed at the fascinating way his face suddenly transformed from worry to a look of complete rapture.

  “Wow! Newlyweds! That must be exciting. So are you here on your honeymoon?” Brian continued.

  “Yes, we are,” Vance replied without taking his gaze away from me. “We figured we could come enjoy the beauty of Scotland and see if we could look up some of my family while we were here. I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting things to be this easy, though.”

  “Well, I’m glad I could help out,” Brian said with a grin.

  We drove on for several more miles before we finally turned off the main road to drive down a well-maintained private driveway.

  The narrow, tree-lined road continued probably another quarter of a mile into the property before it widened out into a circle drive that ended up in front of a very large manor house.

  I stared out the window, up at the beautiful architecture. It was two stories tall with many high-pitched peaks in the roof. Small wrought iron crosses decorated the tips of each point in the structure.

  There were leaded glass panes in all of the windows, and several wide stone steps led up from the driveway to the massive wooden doors that graced the entrance.

  Vance opened the car door, lifting his head up to eye the imposing dwelling with a curious look before stepping out, then turning to offer me a hand out of the vehicle.

  Brian joined us, leading the way up the steps to the door, knocking boldly with a metal knocker that hung from the heavy wood.

  We waited for a few moments before the door swung slowly open to reveal a somber looking man in uniform.

  The gentleman was quite tall and thin, with dark hair that was slicked backward. He had a narrow gaunt face, with a slightly hooked patrician nose. He looked down that nose at us slightly as if we were less than equal to him.

  “May I help you?” he asked in a quiet, yet no-nonsense, baritone voice which clearly signified he wasn’t to be trifled with.

  “Good morning,” Brian said with a smile as if nothing here seemed amiss to him. “This is Mr. and Mrs. Mangum, here to meet with Mr. and Mrs. Cummings this morning. I believe they’re expecting them.”

  The man, whom I aptly assumed was the butler, looked us over carefully before giving a nod of his head and stepping to the side to allow us to enter into the small vestibule just inside.

  “Welcome to Bell Tower. May I take your coats?” he offered in a measured voice, and we shrugged out of them and draped them over his arm. “Wait here, please,” he added and disappeared into the house.

  Vance held my hand tightly, and I could tell he was a bit nervous about this by the firm set of his mouth.

  We waited together in silence for the butler to announce us. He returned a short time later.

  “Madame requested to greet you in the Grand Salon,” he said looking mainly at Vance. “This way, please.”

  We followed him out of the entrance and into a large foyer complete with a sweeping marble staircase that led up to the second floor. A large crystal chandelier dangled above, filling the cavernous space overhead.

  We turned into a large hallway with beautifully sculpted ceilings. My eyes drifted curiously over the amazing artwork on the walls, along with mirrors and moldings that perfectly framed the accent furniture that lined the walls.

  We turned left and were led through a door into an equally impressive room, with meticulously maintained antique furniture grouped around a large stone fireplace that was crackling brightly.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Vance Mangum,” the butler said from the entrance as he ushered us farther into the room.

  A tall distinguished looking man with silver hair stood and offered his hand to a petite woman whose dark hair had many gray streaks running through it. Both of their faces had a hard-looking edge to them, as if life might have been harsh for them to endure somehow.

  They were dressed in light morning attire, the man in a cream-colored suit, and the woman in a smartly tailored dress of the same shade.

  I suddenly felt completely underdressed for such an occasion as Vance and I had dressed for the cold, both of us wearing jeans and t-shirts covered by pullover sweaters, and sneakers.

  The couple paused for a second, taking us in.

  “Vance?” the woman, Fiona, spoke in a whisper, as her hand slid up over her chest resting against her heart.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered politely as he watched her, his face completely devoid of any emotion.

  She opened her arms then and hurried over to him, grabbing him with both arms around the shoulders, hugging him down to her small frame.

  “We’re so glad to meet you,” she said with a smile, before reaching up to place a kiss on either side of his face.

  “Welcome to our home, son,” the man, Douglas, spoke as he joined us, standing near Vance’s side.

  I could feel the heady yearning that rushed through Vance in that moment … hope. It sprung up in his chest though he tried immediately to tamp it back down.

  “Thank you, sir,” he replied offering a hand in greeting, and a very small hint of a smile appeared on his face.

  Douglas shook his hand warmly, covering Vance’s hand affectionately with both of his.

  “This is my wife, Portia,” Vance said and slipped one of his arms around my waist, pulling me up next to him.

  “Welcome, dear,” Douglas added looking at me.

  “Thank you for having us,” I replied, not really knowing what the proper etiquette was for meeting a spouse’s long-lost family.

  “Where are our manners?” Fiona said as she reached up to pat her perfectly coiffed hairdo. “Do come in and sit down.”

  We followed them over to the sofa in front of the roaring fire and sat down across from them.

  “I couldn’t believe it when Brian called and said you were looking for us,” Fiona said, and she reached over to pat Brian affectionately on the knee. “We were so happy to hear that you were here.”

  “Well, we were coming here for our honeymoon and thought maybe we could try to look up some relatives while we were here,” Vance said, offering a partially truthful explanation, though leaving some of the most pertinent information conveniently out of the conversation, such as why we chose to come to Scotland in the first place.

  “We’re so glad you did. We haven’t known where you were since you were born,” Fiona replied, with a sad shake of her head. “I’m afraid that we had a bad falling out with your father. He was doing some things that we didn’t approve of. As punishment for our disapproval he took you and your mom away. We never heard from him again.”

  “I’m sorry for that,” Vance said, as he squeezed my hand slightly, working his thumb in circles over my skin.

  “Are you still in touch with him?” Douglas asked, clearly searching out some news of his wayward son.

  Vance nodded his head.

  “I have seen him … recently,” he added, and I could tell he was loathe to volunt
eer more information than he felt he needed to.

  “How’s he doing?” Fiona asked, leaning forward, pressing the issue directly to the place Vance had been trying to avoid.

  “Not well, I’m afraid,” Vance hedged before continuing. “He, uh … passed away about a week ago.”

  “What? No!” Fiona raised her hands to cover her mouth in horror, and her husband wrapped his arms around her.

  I could feel the turmoil in Vance as he wrestled with the direction the conversation had taken.

  “What happened?” Douglas asked with a stricken look upon his face as he tried to comfort a clearly distraught Fiona.

  Vance sighed heavily as he reached up to rub at his temple with one hand, closing his eyes for a moment.

  When he opened them again he looked straight at them, and I knew he had chosen to take the direct route.

  “You should know that Damien was a very bad man,” he began as he looked back and forth between the two of them. “My mother ran away from him and took me with her. I hadn’t seen him for years, being on the run, trying to stay away from him. As it happened, he found us and kidnapped Portia, threatening to kill her if I didn’t do what he wanted. I found Portia and tried to help her escape, but we didn’t get away in time. My dad and I fought each other and,” he paused before plunging ahead, “I killed him in the heat of that argument.”

  He sat back then, waiting for them to absorb the things he had told them, watching them carefully.

  They sat for several shocked seconds just looking at him, perhaps with both a little fear and awe mixed on their faces as Fiona slowly lifted her hand to cover her gaping mouth.

  I thought I could see tears glistening in their eyes as they stared at Vance.

  “He did it to save me,” I popped up trying to ease the situation, not wanting him to lose the love of his newly found family so quickly.

  Their eyes turned to me, and Douglas released his breath.

  “No doubt,” Douglas replied then, waving his hand in dismissal. “Forgive us please for our rudeness, but he was our son, and we’d hoped he had changed.”

  “No,” Vance said quietly. “It’s me who should be asking for your forgiveness. It’s a horrible thing to drop on you unexpectedly.”