Love Bewitched (Gargoyle Night Guardians Book 3)

by Rosalie Redd

  Zain followed close behind. As they exited the room the gargoyle’s moans chased them down the corridor, raising the hair at his nape along the way.

  CHAPTER 9

  Damian pounded his fist on Wynne’s door. He shifted from one foot to the other and blew out a series of short breaths. “Hurry up, Sasha.”

  The porch light lit up the entryway, bathing the porcupine shoe scraper in its soft glow. The bristles stood on end as if the creature shared his unease.

  Damian had stewed all day in his stone form. Visions of Wynne beaten and tortured by Gwawl, one of his fae, or even a whole contingent of the damned creatures, had traipsed through his mind on an endless loop. He’d shared the news with Drake, but there wasn’t anything his boss could do to help her. No one could get past Gwawl’s protections and into his fortress in the Otherworld.

  Was Wynne all right? What did Gwawl want from her? Would he ever see her again?

  The last thought tightened his throat to the point he couldn’t breathe. No, he’d find Wynne. He had to.

  Footsteps echoed from within the old Victorian. A moment later, the door swung open on a faint whoosh.

  Sasha, wearing a blue blouse and pair of designer jeans, one of the more modest outfits he’d seen her in, gripped the edge of the door, her fingers tight with strain.

  “Damian. Good to see you. Come in.” She stepped aside to allow him passage.

  “Did Neira tell you what happened?” He stalked through the doorway, his attention riveted on her features.

  She nodded, her brows furrowed over her red-rimmed eyes.

  “Did you hear from Wynne?”

  “I stayed here all day in case she…” She glanced at the ground then met his gaze and shook her head. “Let’s talk in the living room.”

  As they passed down the hall, the old grandfather clock chimed. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Each toll was another moment Wynne remained trapped in the Otherworld.

  Damian strode to the fireplace. A picture of Wynne, Sasha, and her two young daughters graced the mantel. Even though no fire burned in the hearth, uncomfortable warmth draped around him, and a bead of sweat trickled down his temple.

  He rolled his shoulders and glanced at Sasha. “Did you contact the council? What can you tell me?”

  “I thought about reaching out to Aveline, but when Mom disappeared, the council didn’t try to help. They said any witch that left or was caught by a fae deserved what they got. I couldn’t bring myself to suffer through that with Wynne.” Sasha blinked several times then wiped her eyes. “Instead, I tried contacting Rhiannon, but she didn’t answer.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.” Damian exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose. With the war raging, the goddess had her hands full. Most of the time, you had to rely on yourself and your teammates. That was something she had instilled in her warriors from the moment they joined her team.

  Sasha sat on the couch. A plate with a half-eaten sandwich and several books rested on the coffee table. Some were open, others were closed, and their titles ranged from Today’s Spells to Spells for Beginners and The Idiot’s Guide to Spells. She picked up the closest and flipped through the pages.

  “To pass the time so I wouldn’t drive myself crazy with worry, I searched through these manuals hoping I’d find something on how to help Wynne.” Tears welled in her eyes. “So far, no luck. Do you have any ideas?”

  “How about I catch a ride on a fae as they return to their scum hole?” He laughed at the absurdity and paced from the antique couch to the window.

  Through the curtains, the streetlight’s glow cast shadows along the parked cars. No other gargoyle he’d ever known had mentioned such a brash and risky endeavor. He’d most likely end up dead on arrival, but if by some chance he survived, he’d find himself in a hornet’s nest of fae and greatly outnumbered. No gargoyle could survive that fight.

  “That’s insane. I can’t see that working out for you.” Sasha’s voice echoed through the room.

  He crossed his arms. “Well, there must be something we can do.”

  The tink, tink, tink of claws on wood echoed down the hallway. A moment later, Neira, sauntered into the room, her tail high in the air. She changed into her human form. Wearing a long, silky throw that left little room for imagination, she glanced at him before rushing to the couch and sitting next to Sasha. She grasped the witch’s arm. “I overheard the two of you talking. I have an idea that might help find Wynne.”

  Sasha tossed the book on the table, pulled on a thin chain around her throat, and withdrew a crystal that was hidden beneath her blouse. She wrapped her fingers around the gem. “What do you mean?”

  “The spell you need to transport past Gwawl’s protections and into the Otherworld isn’t in a book.” Neira bunched her brows together, and she nervously toyed with one of her sleeves, jerking the material up then letting it fall against her arm.

  Sasha sat on the edge of the couch. “There’s a spell that will work? Where is it?”

  “My memory isn’t as good as it used to be.” Neira pursed her lips. “I remember your great-great-grandmother, Mabel, worked on a spell that could transport her between dimensions. I don’t know if she ever completed it.”

  Sasha’s shoulders sagged. “So, we don’t know if it works either.”

  “Did she write it down?” Damian strode to the couch and knelt on the rug, putting him at eye-level with the Becknell’s familiar.

  A flash of unease flitted through Neira’s eyes, turning them golden brown. “Maybe.”

  Damian rubbed his forehead. Dragging information out of this female seemed harder than killing a fae. “Elaborate.”

  “Let me show you something.” Neira stood, snatched the sandwich from the plate, broke off a chunk of cheese, and hurried into the hallway. “C’mon.”

  A sense of hope fluttered in Damian’s gut, but he didn’t want to feed it. You never knew with Neira. Sometimes her harebrained ideas were a gift from the gods. Other times, they flopped like a dying fish. Damian rose to his feet. Sasha followed close behind.

  Neira stopped in front of the grandfather clock. She unclasped the glass-paned door. In the ensuing silence, their breaths and the tick of the gears were the only sounds.

  “There’s something in the clock?” Sasha whispered.

  “Shhh…” Neira placed her finger to her lips. “We don’t want to scare her away.”

  Damian raised an eyebrow. “Her?”

  Neira set the cheese in her outstretched palm.

  Damian exhaled. “Don’t tell me there’s a mouse in the clock.”

  Neira’s lips pressed together. Her nose twitched.

  “Quiet,” she hissed.

  “Of all the absurd ideas…” he muttered.

  The urge to walk out the door, find a fae, and force the creature to take him to the Otherworld suddenly sounded like a great idea. He turned away from the clock to head to the door—

  “Don’t be afraid, little one,” Neira cooed.

  Damian glanced over his shoulder.

  A tiny female sprite, no more than two inches tall, stepped from a shadowed ledge onto Neira’s palm. She wore a short blue dress that sparkled in the light. A pair of wings fluttered on her back, thin silver veins visible under the transparent skin.

  Damian’s breath stalled. He’d never seen such a wonder.

  The sprite grabbed the cheese and bit off a chunk. Her wings fluttered. Bits of dust drifted onto the rug, catching the light in a rainbow of colors.

  “How beautiful,” Sasha exclaimed. “I never knew we had sprites in the house. I thought they stayed to themselves and lived in the forests.”

  Neira shrugged. “Mabel found this one with a broken wing. Fixed her up, but Trixie never left. She’s lived here for decades and is an old friend of mine.”

  Sasha blinked. “How did I not know?”

  “To her, you’re a giant. Giants often miss the little things, but I discovered her while in my cat form.” Neira fo
cused on the sprite. “Trixie, I’m sure you’ve seen her many times around the house, but this is Sasha. That beast over there is Damian. He’s a gargoyle, but don’t worry. He won’t hurt you.”

  Beast? Damian seethed. One day, Neira would get her due.

  “Hi Trixie, nice to meet you.” Sasha waved.

  A high-pitched flutter erupted from the sprite, the frequency too high for Damian to catch the words.

  Neira smiled, her eyes brightening. “Yes, Sasha needs help. She wants to find a spell to deliver Damian to the Otherworld. I remember Mabel worked on one a while back, but I don’t know if she wrote it down. Can you help them?”

  Trixie dropped the cheese and brought her hands to her mouth. More high-pitched words burst from her lips.

  “What did she say?” Sasha whispered.

  “That she’ll look. Mabel liked to hide spells throughout the house. Could take her a while, though.” Neira moved her outstretched palm into the grandfather clock.

  Trixie jumped onto the shelf and disappeared.

  Damian gripped the clock’s outer panel. “How will we know when she finds something?”

  “If she finds anything,” Neira pursed her lips, “she’ll tell me.”

  Damian’s fingers twitched. He couldn’t stay here all day on the off chance the sprite found something. “I’m heading out on patrol. Send me a message if you hear anything, Sasha.”

  “I will.” She nodded and clasped her crystal. “Trixie will come through. I believe that.”

  I’m glad someone does. The odds of a two-inch sprite saving Wynne were almost non-existent. He wouldn’t share his misgivings, though, and squash Sasha’s hope. Instead, he strode out the front door and dematerialized into the night in search of fae. Maybe, if he was lucky, he’d catch a ride on one to the Otherworld.

  CHAPTER 10

  “M om, you awake?” Wynne gripped the cell bars, the metal cool against her heated palms. She sucked in a ragged breath and held it. The stinging warmth of tears blurred her vision.

  After the ordeal in the Misery Room, Mom had fallen asleep almost as soon as Zain returned them to their cells. Wynne had wanted to stay with her mother, but Zain refused her request. Yet another reason to hate the fae.

  “Mom?”

  The rhythmic drip of water was the only reply.

  “You must be asleep,” Wynne whispered.

  She wrapped her arms around herself and paced to the lone cot in the room. She settled onto the single thin blanket that covered the lumpy mattress. What prisoners had stayed here before? Better yet, what happened to them?

  Wynne rubbed her arms and vowed not to dwell on those questions. She needed to focus on the book of spells and learn their secrets. Her attention slid to the dark tome, nestled on the edge of her bed.

  With its worn leather, clawed and scratched from use, the cover stretched tight over the binding, as if guarding its treasure, and it reminded her of an ugly beast. A shudder wracked Wynne’s shoulders and prickled the skin along her arms.

  “The manual is neither good nor evil. Magic is magic, Wynne, and dark or light is all in the intent of the user.” Mom’s words swept through Wynne’s mind.

  “You’re right, Mom. It’s just a book.” Wynne squared her shoulders, shook off the sense of unease, and slid her hand along the rough, leather-like surface. Somewhere in here resided spells strong enough to power a crystal to imprison gargoyles, but it also contained magical healing incantations, something she desperately needed to find.

  Determination flared like a fireball in her soul, and she dragged the giant tome onto her lap. The heavy weight settled across her legs, but she wouldn’t let fear chase away her hope. She lifted the cover and scanned her finger down the table of contents—water charms, crystal spells, transportation magic, rune theory, plus many additional subjects. Finally, near the bottom of the list, she found healing potions and spells. Page 917.

  Desperate to find anything to help her mother, Wynne flipped to the location. If the manual covered crystals and mentioned the risk of overexposure, maybe she’d find a spell to counteract the effects. She refused to believe her mother’s death loomed near. “I’ll find a way to cure you, Mom, and take you home, back where you belong.”

  “Wynne? Is that you?” Victoria’s raspy voice cracked on the last word.

  Wynne set the text aside and rushed to the bars. Through the dim light, movement in the adjacent cell caught her attention. “Mom? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, honey bear. Sleep helped.” Victoria’s bed creaked. She emerged from the shadows and shuffled to the cell’s bars. The gray in her hair seemed more pronounced along with the lines in her cheeks. She’d aged from her encounter with the crystal.

  Wynne’s heart seemed to shrink. She hated to see her mother like this. “Mom, why are we the only ones in the cells?”

  “The other cells have remained empty for as long as I can remember. From what I’ve heard, the cells were for fae who disobeyed Gwawl.” She shrugged, a sadness drawing on her features. “After a time, Gwawl just killed anyone who violated his rules or sent them to the Isle of Tech Duinn to rot.”

  Wynne wiped her warm, sweaty palm on her pants. From everything she’d heard about the nasty god and after witnessing him torture the gargoyle, she didn’t doubt his evil nature. He was the god of fire and pain for a reason, after all. “So, how did you end up down here? You said you did this for me. What did you mean?”

  Victoria’s fingers opened and closed around the bars. Several pieces of matted hair hung in front of her face, obscuring one eye.

  “You were a special child, born with the crescent moon and sun birthmark.” She wiped the stray hairs from her face, and her deep blue eyes shimmered with warmth.

  Wynne traced her finger along the blemish on her upper arm. The birthmark was as smooth as the rest of her skin, but she had memorized every curve. You’re a once-in-ten-generations witch. The words so many had said to her echoed in her mind.

  “I don’t understand. How am I special? How does the birthmark impact my life and my ‘so-called’ purpose? That day I started my period, I searched for you in the house, seeking advice, but you’d…left.” Wynne’s lip trembled. She clamped her mouth shut, stopping the tears before they started.

  A shadow crossed Victoria’s features, and her shoulders slumped. “I’m so sorry. I did what I thought was right. A fae came for you that night, but I volunteered to go in your place. I told him I was stronger. He took me to Gwawl who presented me with a choice. Stay here and control the crystal so he could imprison gargoyles or…”

  “He’d come for me.” The words tumbled from Wynne’s mouth.

  “At your tender age of thirteen, I couldn’t allow him to take you. I’d hoped to hold him off until we were both old and frail, but the crystal had its way with me.” Victoria wiped her thumb across her bottom lip. “As I grew sicker, I suspected he’d capture you, and I’ve dreaded this meeting as much as I’ve looked forward to seeing you again. Please, forgive me.”

  Wynne reached through the bars. “I missed you, so much.”

  “I missed you, too, honey bear.” Victoria stretched her frail arm until her shoulder pressed against the bars. The distance, only a few feet, seemed like another continent.

  Victoria placed her arm behind the bars once again. She raised her chin and met Wynne’s gaze. “No one knows how you are special. The fae that came for you had visited me once before, about thirteen years and nine months earlier. We’d met in a bar. I’d recently broken up with my boyfriend and was vulnerable to his charm. Perhaps that is the reason.”

  Wynne’s breath lodged in her throat. Her mind whirred.

  She withdrew from the bars. Her world spun as her mind fought to put together the pieces even as her heart refused to believe what she’d heard.

  “Are you telling me my father was a fae?”

  Victoria nodded, once.

  Wynne’s world tumbled around her, the building blocks of her life crumbling like scatter
ed stones.

  She rubbed her hands over her face then pierced her mother with a long stare. “How is that possible? Gargoyles can’t have children. How can fae?”

  “With their questionable souls, Rhiannon didn’t want her gargoyles distracted or have hopes of a family, so she made them sterile. At least until they’d been retested, passed their test, and returned to a human life. Gwawl has no such qualms. He could care less if fae impregnate women.”

  Wynne had always longed for a father to hold her, teach her, love her, but a fae? Even as her lungs expanded with hope, her gut twisted as if someone had stabbed her with a knife.

  “Is he still alive?” she rasped.

  Victoria nodded once more. “But he didn’t recognize or remember me, and he doesn’t know about you.”

  Wynne returned to the bars and pressed her face against the cool steel. “Who is he?”

  The clip of booted feet echoed from the far end of the corridor.

  She tightened her grip on the bars. “Mom, tell me.”

  “You’re better off not knowing but heed my warning about fae. Watch out for Zain. He can turn up the charm at a moment’s notice just like any other of his kind. Don’t let him get too close. Now I’m tired and cold. Time to lie down.” Victoria rubbed her arms and retreated into the gloom.

  “Mom!” Wynne whispered.

  When no response came, Wynne pushed against the bars, paced to her bed, and plopped on the thin mattress.

  A vicious swell of emotions—fear, frustration, hatred, and hope—roiled together in Wynne’s gut. Her arms and legs shook so hard, her teeth chattered. Life had changed so drastically in the past day, not only her present, but her past as well. What did her future entail?

  “Tell me you’ve made some progress.” Zain leaned against the bars, his feet crossed at the ankles.

  Wynne gripped the thin sheet in her hand. “Progress?”

  “With the spells.” He nodded toward the book.

  She peered at the dark, roughened cover. Preoccupied by her discussion with her mother, she’d forgotten about the text.