Moonlit Magic

by T. M. Cromer

  Chapter 18

  “Look here!”

  Everyone faced Spring. Her bright jade eyes were lit with excitement. “There was once a witch by the name of Isolde de Thorne.”

  “Oh-kaay. What does this mean to us, and why do we care?” Although her words contained a heavy dose of sarcasm, Autumn shoved a piece of paper between the pages of the tome she’d been studying and turned all her attention on her youngest sister.

  “You don’t understand, Tums. I’ve never read that name before. Ever.”

  Rafe searched the faces around him. They all seemed to be shocked. “I don’t understand.”

  Autumn was the first to respond. “What Witch-ipedia is trying to say, is that she has our family grimoire memorized. Everyone born to our line from the beginning of time is documented. If this Isolde de Thorne doesn’t show up on its pages, she shouldn’t exist.”

  “And yet, she does. Or did,” Spring added excitedly. “Look here…” She pointed to an entry beside the name. “It has a notation in the margin. ‘Enchantress.’ That’s it. One word.”

  Knox crowded in beside her and read the entry. “I’ve never heard the term used in my lifetime. What does it mean?”

  “The term enchantress is used in relation to witches practicing outside the normal boundaries of magic. They pull from any source available to amass power. Think the equivalent of a female demon, or better yet, a succubus.”

  “Do they actually exist?” Liz asked.

  “In theory. Though I’ve never actually read any accounts of one in my studies.” Spring shrugged. “Anyway, an enchantress was known to be seductive and would use her wiles to lure in other witches and warlocks.”

  Rafe scratched the stubble forming on his jaw. “Then they created evil covens?”

  “No. Not necessarily,” Spring said. “Enchantresses were notorious for surrounding themselves with those willing to serve her—minions, if you will. These people would do anything for their queen, even at the cost of their own magic and, in some cases, lives.”

  “Christ!”

  When Spring patted Knox’s arm as if to console him, Rafe glanced at Liz. A troubled expression settled upon her features. “Qalbi?”

  She shook her head and focused on Spring. “Do they have the same life span as, say, one of us?”

  “No! That’s the cool thing about it. They lived hundreds and hundreds of years, never aging.” Spring ran a finger along the entry and tapped it. “There’s no death recorded for her.”

  “What was her date of birth?” Rafe asked, his own unease spiking.

  “April fourth, fourteen-fifty-four.”

  “If she was still alive, she’d be five-hundred and sixty-six years old!” Summer looked from one of her siblings to another. “If an enchantress can live hundreds of years, what happened to Isolde? Is it possible she’s still alive?”

  “No.”

  Their group turned to gape at the newcomer in the entryway. Damian Dethridge had returned, and he didn’t look happy.

  Rafe rose because remaining seated around the Aether while the other man was standing made him uncomfortable as hell. “What do you know, Damian?”

  “Isolde was my mother,” he said flatly.

  Mainly due to the fact that his legs didn’t want to support him anymore, Rafe sat. He noticed Liz’s wince at the thud his body made when it impacted the parson chair. Not an easy thing to do, considering the chair was padded.

  Only Spring retained her bright-eyed curiosity. “She was a female Aether?”

  “Yes. But it should be noted, not all enchantresses are Aethers. They are simply witches who crave more power than they possess. But my mother was the last enchantress of record. If another existed, she remained under the Council’s radar.”

  Spring’s jade eyes rounded in awe. “Wait! That makes you a Thorne by blood. Our cousin, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Damian nodded. “Technically, but many, many times removed.”

  “How old are you? I assumed you were around Alastair’s age or a little younger.”

  Hearing the tremble in Liz’s voice, Rafe reached for her hand and squeezed. It was disconcerting to realize they truly knew nothing about the man who’d been helping them. Did Alastair know?

  The Aether turned his black-eyed stare on him. “Yes.”

  The fact Damian had seemingly read Rafe’s mind with little effort was creepy as hell.

  With a heavy sigh, the Aether stepped farther into the room and looked upward. All eyes followed Damian’s gaze to the couple in the loft. “I suppose you should join this little party now, Al.”

  “You’re doing so well with your explanations, Dethridge.”

  A half-smile curled Damian’s lips. “Nevertheless, I need a drink from your private selection.”

  “Your wish is my command, my friend.”

  Looking like he’d rather be anywhere but where he was, Damian approached their table and took a seat at the far end, closest to the wall. “I suppose a lengthy explanation is in order.” He held out his hand for the book in Spring’s grasp. When he had it in his possession, he casually flipped back a page and read the entries there. “Hmm. Interesting stuff.”

  “Why isn’t your name listed under Isolde’s as her offspring?” Spring asked.

  “I don’t know. That’s a question for Alastair. He’s the record keeper, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Uncle?”

  Alastair placed a tumbler of Glenfiddich in front of Damian. “It’s been in an effort to protect you. It will magically appear once you’re deceased.”

  “Protect him?” Rafe snorted his disbelief. “Why would he need protecting, and what can be gained from the knowledge he’s your cousin?”

  “I believe you just answered your own question, Xuereb.” Damian’s brows lifted, and he silently waited for Rafe to figure it out.

  “For the blood, babe,” Liz inserted softly. She patted his arm then turned her attention to the two warlocks at the end of the table. “Am I mistaken?”

  “No. Not at all. If it were known I was a Thorne, all of you would be in more danger than you already are at present. If enemies weren’t trying to use you as bargaining chips, then they might try to empty your veins for blood magic against me.”

  Autumn, who had remained unnaturally silent until that moment, spoke. “Why are you telling us now? Aren’t you worried about loose lips sinking ships?”

  “Perhaps a little. But you all have more to lose than I do. I’m the Aether. It will take a lot to defeat me.” He shrugged.

  The words might’ve sounded arrogant coming from anyone else, but Rafe understood Damian wasn’t bragging. He was simply stating a fact.

  “Your gestures should’ve tipped me off,” Liz said with a soft snort.

  “How so?”

  “You and Alastair tilt your heads the same way. Also, you both straighten your cuffs when you’re trying to be nonchalant.” She grinned. “It’s your coloring that threw me off, but side by side as you are right now, the resemblance is there.”

  Alastair laughed and clapped Damian on the shoulder. “She’s too clever by far.”

  “You never answered me in regards to your age. How old was Isolde when you were born? Can an Aether live hundreds of years like the Enchantress did?”

  Damian’s mouth twisted in a sign of distaste. “Age is just a mindset for our kind, child.”

  “Are you sensitive about it?”

  He gave Liz a look of disgust. “You’re going to badger me until I tell you, aren’t you?”

  “Pretty much,” Rafe muttered. It earned him a poke in the side.

  “I was born in eighteen-twenty. I’ll let you do the math.”

  Shocked silence met Damian’s statement. Only Alastair didn’t look surprised.

  “That’s fantastic!” Spring broke the spell holding them still when she clapped her hands.

  “I’m glad you approve.” Damian gave her an indulgent smile. “So how about we work on a foolproof plan to restore your ma
gic?”

  * * *

  During their brainstorming session, Liz kept sneaking glances at Damian. Finally, she spoke. “This is a shot in the dark, but do you think Franco somehow guessed who you are? Like maybe he targeted us to get to you?”

  “I don’t see how, but anything is possible.”

  Rafe gave her a considering look. “What would be his ultimate goal?”

  “Remember what Petey said? He told us Franco wanted to drain us to fuel another source.”

  “That’s right!”

  “What if he meant another witch? Or perhaps an enchantress? Could another Aether exist?”

  “One could exist—Sabrina is a prime example of two Aethers living at once. However, only one can be all-powerful as decreed by the Goddess, and they are almost always from the same bloodline,” Alastair explained. “Isolde was a Thorne through her father’s line, but a Dethridge through her mother’s side.”

  “How did you come to use the name Dethridge?” Liz asked Damian, curious about the family dynamic. “Shouldn’t you go by Thorne?”

  “Mother was married to her second cousin, Damaris Dethridge.”

  “Remember, child, in those days, love matches weren’t all the rage like today.” Alastair smiled down at her. “The Dethridge family was extremely rich and influential at the time. As one of the founding families…” He trailed off and turned to stare at Damian. “‘A new threat rises from the old.’ Could it be…?”

  Leaving mid-thought, Alastair went back to the table and began thumbing through the books until it appeared he found what he was searching for.

  “Spring is right. There’s no death date for Isolde. I don’t know how I never noticed before.” His cold-eyed stare focused on Damian. “Care to explain?”

  The air in the room took on a distinct chill when Damian rose to his feet. “Leave it alone, Alastair.”

  “I don’t think so, Damian. I was a kid, but I still remember the horror stories about your mother’s reign as Aether.”

  “The problem was contained.”

  There was an edgy, dangerous quality to Damian. A single glance around the others at the table let Liz know this showdown was making everyone nervous.

  “Contained?” Dread entered Alastair’s sapphire eyes. “Dead and contained have vastly different definitions, my friend.”

  It was Damian who conceded the field first. “Isolde was entombed when I was a few years older than Sabrina. It required Isis along with the strongest members from all the original families combined—from both sides of the veil. Isolde was nearly unstoppable.”

  “What was she like?” Spring, always curious, asked.

  “Magnificent. A more beautiful woman, I’ve yet to see. She was seductive to both men and women. A terrible mother, though.” Sadness flashed in his eyes just before he closed them. “I’ve tried to remember if there was ever more than an ounce of kindness in her heart for me. Or really for anyone. There wasn’t, not that I can recall.” He cleared his throat and straightened his cuffs.

  “I’m sorry.” Summer looked as if her heart were breaking for him. And perhaps it was. She was kindness personified. Maybe it was because she was a veterinarian and it came naturally to her, or perhaps she happened to have a heart as wide as the Atlantic Ocean, but Summer had a soft spot for wounded beings.

  “It was a long time ago, dear.” Damian smiled, soft and sweet, in her direction, and every woman at their table sighed. It wasn’t only his mother who had the ability to seduce.

  Liz idly wondered what it was like to be the recipient of his love. The intensity of his attention would probably be overwhelming. Had Vivian felt that? Was that part of the reason she’d taken off?

  Across the distance of the wooden table, Damian met her thoughtful gaze with one of his own. “If you have questions, just ask, Liz.”

  “They are of a personal nature and have nothing to do with this discussion.”

  Her response had Rafe whipping his head in her direction.

  She denied the unspoken question. “Not like that!”

  “Where is Isolde contained, Damian?” Knox asked, helping to divert everyone’s attention from Liz’s burning face.

  “I won’t reveal the location. It’s too dangerous. If someone takes it into their head to resurrect her, it might mean death to us all. Sabrina and myself included. That’s a risk I won’t take.”

  Liz leaned forward and captured Damian’s eye. “I asked you earlier about the darkness we encountered at Ravenswood. Could it have to do with Isolde?”

  “Saying no is foolish. Like I stated earlier, anything is possible. But I can’t see how. We’re talking close to two hundred years. If she isn’t deceased—as I sincerely hope, then she’s definitely too weak for astral projection.”

  “And yet, something keeps trying to penetrate the wards surrounding Sabrina,” Liz said softly. Poking and prodding to get answers wasn’t normally her way, but she was tired of people holding back vital information to their current circumstances. If it required angering Damian, she would, though she doubted he was the type to do more than shoot a cutting remark her way to discourage more questions.

  “What would be the purpose, cousin?” Autumn asked her. “If someone knows Isolde was entombed, they would also know why. By bringing an enchantress back to life, or from the brink of death, they would risk their own lives. She’d need an immediate power infusion.”

  “Exactly, and having seen my mother in action, she would spare no one.” Damian shook his head. “I don’t know why anyone would do it.”

  Liz’s hands tightened into fists. She had a strong sense nothing in the fiasco was as it seemed. “Franco might know.”

  “Indeed, he might.” He nodded. “He could also lead us to whomever is in cahoots with him.”

  “Actually, I’m pretty positive it’s the Champeaus.” Alastair shrugged nonchalantly when everyone turned their attention from Damian to him. He held up a finger for each point he made. “One, there is no love lost between our two families. So it would stand to reason they might want us taken down a notch or two. Two, it’s no secret their primary goal in life is to amass power, and they don’t care what it costs the witch community. Three, they—”

  “They are the only ones insane enough to believe they can resurrect an enchantress to destroy their greatest enemy and think they can get away unscathed,” Rafe finished for him. “If they used their collective power and, with the help of Franco, targeted the Thornes through Liz, they could pull enough magic to feed Isolde what she needs to revive her.”

  Alastair nodded, giving Rafe an approving look. “Exactly so.”

  Liz’s stomach dropped somewhere around her big toe. She hated the idea that Franco had used her to hurt her family. If only they were able to return to normal, then she would honor a promise to herself to never be as trusting with strangers again. She shot a searching look Rafe’s way. Her gaze was met with his direct, dark-eyed stare. Was he hiding anything else, and should she take his explanation of the Champeau connection at face value? When would she stop making decisions from her heart and start protecting the family from her poor choices? She dropped her gaze and left the room.

  Chapter 19

  Twenty minutes later, Liz opened the door to Rafe and found a solemn, regretful man.

  “Liz.” His raspy tone said it all, but the worry written on his face spoke volumes. Standing back, she allowed him entry.

  “Are we okay?” The hoarseness in his voice gave her heart a pang.

  “I just need a little while to come to grips with all of this, babe.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “I don’t know that you can.” Upon seeing his deepening frown, she said, “The second I said yes to dinner the other night was the moment my family’s collective magic disappeared. Then I find out your mother is, if not an enemy of the Thornes, certainly not a bosom buddy.” She threw up her hands, unable to voice her true worry: that she was being played by Rafe. “I make poor choices. I don’t
know if I’m making another one.”

  “I see.” The tone of his voice sounded as crushed as the expression he wore.

  “I don’t know if you do. I love you, Rafe. Wholeheartedly. And though I want to love you without reservations, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have any. Wouldn’t I be a fool not to?” She took his hands and felt his inner turmoil. Had Sabrina’s gift of insight actually been a curse? Because while she could experience his discontent, she had no way of knowing what caused it. Finally, she said, “It’s in your nature to be reticent and hide information. You’ve done it your entire life, and I get that. But I’m worried. I need this ceremony of Damian’s to work, and I need to know my family is safe before you and I pick up where we left off.”

  The weight of his searching gaze was heavy.

  “I’m not rejecting you,” she said softly. “I’m just putting on the brakes on our romance until this is resolved.”

  Still, he remained silent, and she had a very real fear that he’d wash his hands of this mess and leave them to sort it all on their own. Yet she had to believe slowing down was for the best at the moment. Distractions while the future well-being of her family was at stake could have deadly consequences.

  “Don’t hate me for being wishy-washy.”

  “Qalbi.” He shook his head. “I could never hate you for any reason. You hold my heart in your delicate hands. It’s yours to do with what you will, but I’m trying to find a way to convince you not to send me away.”

  “I don’t want you to go, but I keep asking myself, how does this not put you in direct conflict with your mother’s family?”

  “It absolutely does. However, if they are part of a scheme to hurt you, then I’m not interested in being related to the Champeaus anymore. I believed we settled this in the library earlier. What I said was what I meant.” He gave her fingers a light squeeze. “The theory about Isolde’s resurrection is all conjuncture at this point. One thing we know for certain, Franco is responsible for the stealing of your power. I intend to rectify that.”

  Unease rippled along her nerve endings. “Not alone, you aren’t. If he’s to be stopped, we do this together.”