Moonlit Magic

by T. M. Cromer

  “Thank you, Sabrina.”

  The girl nodded once more and shut her eyes.

  “I think she’s keeping his body in stasis,” Marguerite said in a hushed voice.

  “I’ll be damned. I think you’re right.”

  “Handy kid to have around.”

  “You have no idea.”

  Rafe moved away to sit against the inside of the exterior wall in order to keep watch over their small group. Resting his head back against the rock, he thought about his mother and all the pain she’d wrought. A better son might grieve for her, but he wasn’t. Never was it more obvious than when he’d stayed away for the last thirty years. His father would need to be informed when this was all said and done. Perhaps he’d want some type of ceremony honoring her life. Rafe felt bad for his dad because, once upon a time, he’d been in love with Josephine.

  The sight of Sabrina clinging to her father tugged at Rafe’s heartstrings. Theirs was a parent/child love as it should be. Not how his dysfunctional relationship with his mother had been. He swiped at his eyes, finding it odd they came away wet. He frowned at the dampness on his fingers, unable to comprehend the tears. For sure, his mother didn’t deserve a single one. But maybe the little boy inside him still needed to grieve. Not for the woman, but for what the woman should’ve represented.

  He made a silent vow to his unborn children. Never would he abuse their trust. Never would he not show them, every single minute of every day, they were wanted and loved. Turning his gaze to Liz, he smiled. She was fierce when it came to the protection of Sabrina. Sometime in the near future, he hoped she’d be his wife and that they could create a small family of their own to care for and spoil.

  Rafe closed his eyes to visualize their perfect family, keeping an ear tuned to any potential threat.

  Chapter 26

  Alastair sorted through the papers in the study at Rēafere’s Fortress, searching for anything resembling the note he’d seen in the vision. Nothing. Wanting to swear up a plague of locusts, he nevertheless refrained.

  “Well, Nathanial, you could certainly stand to help a descendant out, old boy,” he said aloud.

  As soon as the words left his mouth, a light appeared on the far side of the study and floated around a small antique chest on the top shelf of the ornate thirteen-feet-tall bookcases.

  “If that’s a sign, I’ll take it with a hearty thank you from me to you.”

  Alastair crossed to the shelves and, with a flick of his wrist, brought the library ladder sweeping to his side of the room. Once he reached the top shelf, he scooped up the small chest and climbed down. It was only when he’d set it on the four-foot, circular table in the center of the study, that he realized he didn’t have a way to open the lock, because in all of his searching, he hadn’t seen a key. Of course, Nathanial wouldn’t make it easy to delve into his belongings. Alastair’s brother, Preston, would’ve tried his lock-picking skills at this point.

  Looking skyward, he called out half-jokingly, “Isis, I don’t suppose you want to send my brother to me for this one, hmm?” He hadn’t expected an answer, but in the span of an eyeblink, Preston was standing before him.

  “You rang?” Preston’s droll tone was music to Alastair’s old ears, and he found himself choking on a mix of happiness laced with sadness.

  “Brother,” he said gruffly. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too, Al.”

  They embraced for a long minute, neither wanting to lose the contact.

  Finally, Preston patted him on the back. “Well, this is getting awkward.”

  He startled a laugh from Alastair, who released him with a hard squeeze. “Of course. My apologies for crying on your pretty gray suit.” With a gesture to the small, jewel-encrusted chest, he asked, “Any idea how to open this thing? I think it contains a spell I need.”

  “Think? You don’t know?”

  He grimaced. “Our great-grandfather liked his secrets.”

  After lifting the box, Preston turned it this way and that, looking for what Alastair assumed was a false bottom. His brother’s dark auburn brows collided as he studied it.

  Alastair found himself grinning. Preston was always in his element when he discovered something old with a bit of mystery attached. “Why did she send you?”

  “She seems to be over her pique regarding the Book of Thoth spell to raise Rorie.” Preston shot him a mocking smile. “Or maybe she felt sorry for you fumbling around without the brains of the family to help you.”

  A bark of laughter escaped him. Damn, it really was great to have his brother here, if only for a brief time. “I’ll have to thank her profusely for your services when next I see her.”

  “She’d like that.” He set the box down. “There’s no key for this lock.”

  “Yes, I know. I’ve been all through this place.”

  “No. I mean, there is literally no key that exists to open it. See the runes here?” Preston pointed to the small marks encircling the lock. “These hold the directions to open it.”

  Alastair lifted the box to study the marks. “They’re different than anything I’ve seen before. I don’t know how to read them.”

  “Damian’s daughter will know.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “I’d almost forgotten the urgency as I basked in how good it felt to see you again, little brother. I should get going.”

  “It’s all right, Al. This won’t be the last time. Do what you must to bring the Aether out of stasis. Isis is on your side.”

  “Thanks, Pres. And thank our beloved goddess when you return, won’t you?”

  “Of course.” They shared a long, solemn look. “I wish things were different, brother. I wish I was at your side, fighting the good fight. More than you can possibly know. Thank you for taking care of my girls and seeing to their happiness.”

  Tears burned behind Alastair’s lids, and all he could do was nod. Damn, he was feeling the maudlin old fool, lately. All he wanted was his family around him for whatever remaining years he had left.

  Preston embraced him one last time. “Don’t forget to take a pin or lancet with you. I believe that lock calls for a drop of Aether blood, but I can’t be sure.”

  Before his brother could teleport back to the Otherworld, Alastair clasped his forearm. “Pres? Are you… happy?”

  “I’m not unhappy, with the exception of how much I miss all of you. Isis’s consort is not a bad job.” Preston’s bittersweet smile turned mischievous. “Oh, and I’ve met someone. She refuses to give me the time of day, but I think I’m wearing her down.”

  Alastair chuckled. “I have no doubt she’ll throw herself in your arms—sooner rather than later.”

  “We are of the same mind, brother.”

  And then he was gone. The smile slowly fell from Alastair’s face as he looked at the empty spot where Preston stood seconds ago. “I love you, Pres.”

  Liz eyed Rafe where he sat against the wall. His eyes were closed, and deep emotion tightened the lines around his mouth, and it didn’t take a genius to guess the reason for his turmoil.

  Sidling up to Marguerite, she touched the other woman’s shoulder. In a voice pitched for her ears alone, Liz asked, “What happened with Rafe’s mother? I’m assuming she was the one behind this.”

  “She was.” Marguerite looked over her shoulder at Rafe. “The betrayal on his face was difficult to witness.”

  “And Josephine?”

  “I shot her through the heart.”

  Marguerite had said it with such dispassion, Liz found it difficult to wrap her brain around her lack of reaction. She must’ve picked up on Liz’s disbelief because she said, “My aunt was like a rabid dog in recent years. As time went on, she snapped and snarled at anyone who tried to get close. I began to watch her in earnest about a month ago when I caught her conversing with herself.”

  “Yet you never told Rafe?”

  “He hadn’t been back in almost three decades, Ms. Thorne. How was I to know if he even
cared?”

  “If you knew him at all, it would be obvious he does,” Liz snapped.

  Marguerite studied her through narrowed eyes. Finally, she nodded. “Perhaps. But our family was never like yours. There are at least ten Champeaus who live on the estate. Nine of which don’t care about anything or anyone other than the next society function. And while it’s a simple matter to conjure basic needs, it’s a little harder to maintain the finances for such a large estate. Especially when the property is listed in government records, and taxes need to be paid, or when the staff needs to collect their paychecks.”

  Some of the anger Liz was experiencing left. Rafe’s cousin wasn’t to blame for Josephine’s unstable mind or her inability to love her son as a mother should. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “You did, but I accept your apology. Your deeper feelings are based on your love of Rafe, and I’m glad. He’s been lonely a long time.”

  Her attention drifted back to him, only to find Rafe staring back at the two of them. His expression was stark, and Liz wanted nothing more than to run to him and wrap him in her arms. One hand dangled over his raised knee, and dejection hung over him like a black cloud. He probably saw himself that way.

  “She cursed you both with blood magic, you know.”

  Liz whipped her head back around and gaped at Marguerite.

  “I’ll let Rafe explain, but you’ll need to make sure you find a way to kill the spell, so it doesn’t affect you both moving forward.”

  “Thank y-you.” Suddenly cold, Liz hugged herself and rubbed her arms. “Is the temperature dropping in here?”

  Alarm lit Marguerite’s classically beautiful face. Her air of detachment disappeared as she puffed out a breath. “I’m about to make the understatement of the year and say that can’t be good.”

  In preparation to conjure a coat for Sabrina, Liz held out her hands.

  “Don’t!” Rafe barked and surged to his feet. “Something dark is here. I can feel it pulsing and moving underground.”

  “The Enchantress?” she whispered, as if by saying it softly, she wouldn’t be overheard by anyone other than them.

  “It’s coming for Papa.”

  “What is? What’s coming for him?” Fear curled in Liz’s belly and made her queasy as hell. What the hell could want Damian’s body so badly?

  “It’s a death dragon.” Sabrina’s small voice shook, and she clutched her father tighter. “It wants to eat Papa’s soul.”

  “That’s all we need right now.” Rafe swore under his breath. “We have to go, Liz.”

  Marguerite nodded in agreement, shifting back and rubbing her hands together. “I’ve never heard of a death dragon, but it seems pretty serious.”

  “Sabrina? Can we fight it off?”

  “They don’t like fire.”

  “It’s convenient I’m a fire elemental, then, isn’t it?” She tried to act cheerful, but the other three looked through her pretense.

  “Actually, I’m a fire elemental, too,” Marguerite added. “You, me, and Rafe will form a triangle around them.”

  “Should we create a circle of protection? Do you think it will help?” Liz asked, taking up a position at Damian’s head.

  Rafe gave her a shrug. “Couldn’t hurt.”

  “It won’t help, Miss Liz.” Sabrina sat up and looked around the chamber as if seeing it for the first time. “It comes up through the ground. We have to lift Papa.”

  “Levitation is my party trick. I’ve got this.” Liz, in no way, had this. Her poker face needed work if the roll of Marguerite’s eyes was any indication. Poor woman probably saw her brain with that one. “What? You never played Light as a Feather as a kid?”

  A distinctive, animalistic growl echoed around the room, and the dirt floor beneath them shifted and bucked like a wave from the sea. The continuous motion sent Liz crashing to her knee. The sound unnerved her, and she wasted no time as she shoved her hands under Damian’s stiff body. “Sabrina, support your papa’s head, sweetie.”

  Rafe mimicked her action, and Marguerite latched onto Damian’s ankles.

  “Dear Goddess, hear our plea,

  assist us in our time of need.

  His body make as light as air,

  keep him from the death dragon snare.”

  Sabrina actually giggled at the ridiculousness of Liz’s impromptu spell, triggering a snort from Rafe and another “are you for real” reaction from Marguerite. But luckily for Liz, the spell worked, and Damian’s body lifted from the ground to float waist-level.

  “What do we do with him now?” Marguerite asked. “We can’t hold him suspended like this forever. There’s no way to even know if what’s after him is a death dragon. Why are we taking direction from a young child?”

  Frankly, Liz didn’t care for Marguerite’s superior attitude. “She’s a baby Aether. She knows things. If she said a horde of earthworms was heading for us, I’d listen and take precautions.”

  “A group of earthworms is called a clew, not a horde.”

  “This is why you don’t have any friends,” Liz retorted.

  The other woman stiffened and looked down her perfect, aristocratic nose at Liz. “I have friends.” But she didn’t look convincing.

  The air around them grew heavy and sizzled just as Alastair stepped through a rift. His brows flew skyward as he took in the scene. “Dare I ask?”

  “Death dragons,” Rafe supplied helpfully with a dry look at Liz.

  “Look, if the kid said they exist, I believe her,” she growled.

  Alastair nodded and moved forward to join them. “They absolutely exist.” He lifted a small jeweled chest. “Back to why I was gone, I believe I found what we’re looking for.”

  “Thank the Goddess,” Liz murmured under her breath. She met Sabrina’s serious, dark gaze. “What’s next?”

  “We have to put Papa in the circle to give him his magic back.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

  Chapter 27

  Transferring Damian to the magical circle Franco had initially created within the confines of the pillars was a simple matter after the four of them coordinated their movements together. Walking should’ve been a simple matter of one foot in front of the other, and although Damian’s body was lighter thanks to Liz’s spell, it was still like moving a bulky piece of furniture.

  Rafe nearly tripped over Franco’s corpse, but Alastair stepped in to save the day and rolled the body out of the way. One would think the sight of so refined a man squatting to shift a body would be odd, and they would be right, but still, Alastair did nothing more than dust his hands off and straighten his cuffs as if disposing of dead people was an everyday occurrence.

  Once they stepped into the circle, the pillars lit a second time, and the ground outside the circle rippled in a constant wave around the perimeter.

  “It wants Papa,” Sabrina told them.

  Rafe heard the fear in her voice and wished he knew what to say to comfort her. “Can we set him down now, or can it cross the line?”

  “We can put him down,” she confirmed.

  Alastair tugged his slacks up and squatted down next to her. “I need to prick your finger, Sabrina. I believe it’s the only way to open this box. Will you do that for me?”

  The girl took the small chest from him and turned it this way and that in her curiosity. When she was satisfied, she returned it to him.

  Alastair removed a small pin from his suit jacket and held it up. “Would you like to do the honors, or shall I?”

  “You do it.”

  Grasping her tiny hand in his, he shifted her fingers to access her thumb. Alastair caught her eye and made a funny face in what Rafe assumed was a distraction. She smiled, and Alastair pressed the sharp tip into her flesh. A small bead of blood appeared, and he guided her thumb to the lock. When she placed the pad of her thumb against the mechanism, the runes on the box began to glow a soft gold, and the small click sounded loudly in the cavernous chamber.


  Alastair removed the scroll, untied the ribbon, and unrolled the paper to read. With a grin for Sabrina, he said, “Clever girl. I think this will work to bring your papa back to us.”

  The beatific smile Sabrina gave him was a sight to behold. Never had Rafe seen such adoration for another person. It was as if she viewed Alastair as a god among men for his pronouncement. “Thank you, sir.”

  “You can thank me when this is over by not letting your papa murder us for bringing you here in the first place.” He pulled a comical face to soften his words, but the rest of them understood the seriousness of what he was saying.

  Rafe prayed Damian didn’t wake killing-mad. They’d all seen the result on Franco’s face.

  “Okay, it says here we need to take a small bit of the Aether’s blood and apply it to the largest rune symbol on each of these stone.”

  “That doesn’t sound wise.” Marguerite had broken her silence and looked around skeptically. “It’s never good to use blood magic if it can be avoided. Who wrote the spell?”

  Dread began to build inside Rafe. Where had Alastair gotten a spell to revive the Aether? “No idea.”

  “The Enchantress wrote it before she was entombed. As if she had a vision of what was going to happen. But what if she’s trying to pull a fast one?” Liz bit her lip. “Like now that her temple has drained his magic, his blood will be the final step to wake her. I really don’t care for this plan.”

  Sabrina began to cry, loud gut-wrenching sobs. Before any of them could react, Alastair scooped her up and kissed the crown of her head. “Shush, little one. We’re going to help your papa.” He tilted her chin up with one finger and met her troubled gaze. “If you tell me this is a good plan, then we’ll do it.”

  She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and buried her face against his throat. For a long moment, the two of them stood locked together, with Alastair rubbing small circles on her back and crooning to her in words so low, none of them could hear.

  Rafe had never witnessed this softer side of Alastair. In fact, he’d have said it didn’t exist. All he’d ever known was the hard-edged warlock who frightened everyone who came in contact with him. But apparently this was the Alastair that the Thorne family saw in rare moments. The man who would smite the most deadly of their kind to protect what was his.