The Complete Gargoyle and Sorceress Boxset (Books 1-9)

by Lisa Blackwood

  “I’m sorry.” Lillian’s voice broke. She swallowed and tried again. “That was stupid. But it felt natural, so right. Forgive me. I’ll always listen in the future.”

  Gregory snorted with humor. “You’re forgiven. Though I doubt you’ll obey that last oath. You’ve never been very good at listening.”

  She didn’t rise to his baiting. Her thoughts were too guilt-ridden, and he worried for her. If he released the block he’d put on her memories, all the knowledge and skills she’d learned in her past lives would return, and she could wield her magic safely. But the memory of what the Lady of Battles had done would return as well.

  Gregory couldn’t risk it. He wanted his Sorceress restored in a way that ate at his resolve, but it would have to wait for now. The healing of her hamadryad hadn’t confirmed anything.

  While he hadn’t detected any evil tainting her magic, she’d acted dangerously and that was something the Sorceress would never do. Instead, she’d reacted as thoughtlessly as a child with a new toy. Her loss of control could have been an accident due to inexperience. Or it could have been the Battle Goddess’s influence.

  There was only one way to know for sure here in this Realm. Once Lillian trusted him absolutely, he would risk the deep merging that would allow him to learn what had been done to her. By the grace of the Divine Ones, he would be able to reverse the damage, and then they could go home.

  Lillian tugged on his hand. “If we’re done here, I’d like to go help Gran with dinner.”

  “Go. I’ll be along after I’ve had a word with the unicorn. I’m appointing him guardian of the maze. I’ll only be a few moments.”

  “Sure,” Lillian agreed like she barely heeded his words, already retreating into her own thoughts.

  After she had gone, he sat alone, troubled by his own dark worries.

  Chapter 13

  AFTER AN AWKWARD DINNER, where Gregory was the only participant with an appetite, Lillian hung back to question her grandmother.

  “So?” Lillian asked as she deposited another pile of plates on the counter.

  Gran looked up from loading the dishwasher and gave her a questioning look.

  “No one has told me where we’re going tonight. By the way everyone bolted after supper to go get ready, I assume this isn’t the usual trip to the neighbors for coffee and cards.”

  “No, not exactly,” Gran said. A smile crossed her lips and faded a moment later. “The magical community has many different celebrations. While most are private and solitary, once each month we must come together to raise magic, reaffirm the bonds of kinship, and to strike fear into the hearts of our enemies. Tonight is the Wild Hunt. Even the threat of attack will not stop the Hunt, for without the Hunt all magic spells would wither and die.”

  “I’ve heard the legends about the Wild Hunt.” Lillian tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear, then smoothed it in place. It was a telltale nervous gesture she’d been trying to ditch for years. Oh, well. She didn’t care if Gran knew she was edgy tonight. “The Hunt, isn’t it supposed to be dangerous? And by that I mean evil. I thought people were the chosen prey.”

  Gran released a long-drawn-out sigh. “In this age, the Hunt is no more evil than one of those swords hanging over the mantle. It’s a tool. One we use to raise and gather magic so we may survive. A tool can be used for good or evil. That depends on the heart of the wielder.” Gran resumed loading the dishwasher. “And yes, in centuries past, the Hunt was dangerous. It was used to hunt down sacrifices or to kill oath breakers. Some of our rulers had an unnatural streak of cruelty. During those earlier times, most humans with the misfortune to run into the Wild Hunt didn’t survive to report the encounter. Later, when we were ruled by more just rulers, we would take the human’s memories but leave them alive. Upon occasion, a fae would find a mortal interesting and return with the human.”

  “You mean they abducted the poor person, right?”

  Gran cleared her throat. “Yes.”

  “And you want me to go with you on this Wild Hunt?”

  “Lillian, I don’t want to put you in unnecessary danger, but the Hunt is needed for everyone’s survival. I won’t leave you behind after what happened yesterday. Just stay close to me this evening, and all will be well. I’m more concerned about how your gargoyle will react to the rest of the Clan and the Coven. Now, you should go get ready. The dryads have constructed something for you to wear.” Gran patted Lillian’s shoulder and then walked away.

  Chapter 14

  WITH HER WET HAIR WRAPPED in a towel, Lillian sat on the bed and fiddled with the belt of her terry robe, which covered the new forest-green bra and panties. One eyebrow had wedged itself in her hairline a while ago. There wasn’t much else she could say or do except wait for the other two women to finish with the gown.

  She had never before seen a garment made from moss, fluffy Maidenhair ferns, and the broad sweeping fans of Bracken ferns. The gown’s individual parts were held together by a fine webbing of magic. There was a first time for everything. Of late, she was witnessing new “firsts” every other hour.

  The headboard creaked as the bed shifted under her. Her brows scrunched together. Unless there had been a minor earthquake, the room held one occupant too many.

  “Out,” Lillian ordered.

  The two dryads paused in their work and looked up at her like she’d sprouted horns. Well, horns were part of the problem. Twisting to look behind her, she scanned the empty bed and frowned. “Nice try, but I’m not indulging you in a free peepshow. Out now, or I’ll braid some pretty flowers into your mane.”

  A snort and more shaking of the bed marked Gregory’s position. Unfortunately, it came too late. A warm, damp tongue washed across her face. A moment later, the invisible gargoyle jumped down, landing with a thump. He materialized next to where the dryads worked. Butting his nose into the pile of greenery, he pushed their hands away from their work and sniffed every petal and leaf. Presumably happy with his findings, he padded from the room, the tip of his tail flicking gently.

  The dryads watched him go.

  Lillian was still wiping gargoyle kisses off her cheek when the others brought the dress over to her. The skirt—woven of moss so soft and refined it looked like lace—fell to the floor in graceful folds. Over the green lace was a second sheer skirt of interwoven ferns. When they gestured for her to try it on, she eyed it with suspicion. Magic gave the greenery a lushness the natural plants lacked, and the entire gown gleamed with a faint shimmer as if silver dusted the woven-plant fabric. With a sigh, Lillian shimmied into the hip-hugging skirt but soon marveled at the silky comfort. Slits ran up both sides for ease of movement.

  A form-fitting green top made from the tiny leaves of meadow rue and the flowing Bracken fern blended with the moss lace, creating the prettiest gown she’d ever seen. It might be beautiful, but it didn’t seem practical.

  “If I remember correctly, this didn’t work out so well for Cinderella.”

  The dryads blinked at her.

  Lillian sighed again. “Magic made this. If I’m left with only my undies at midnight, I’m not going to be happy.”

  “But Gregory might,” Sable said with a smirk.

  Lillian flashed the other woman a twist of her lips, more fang than smile. But she let the dryads fix her hair with cream ribbons and white flowers. Around Lillian’s neck, Sable fastened a necklace of silver and what looked like tiny drops of dew. Matching earrings completed the look.

  “You are a striking creature,” Sable said, circling Lillian to better view her work. “No wonder the gargoyle hovers near you like a hopeful suitor.”

  Lillian decided to let the silence speak for her. It was better than trying to come up with a reply to that loaded comment.

  Sable smoothed her fingers along Lillian’s hair and tucked the last stubborn strands in place. “Thank you for allowing us to attire you in our way. There are so few of us left, we must preserve as many rituals as we can.”

  “Sure,” Lillian mu
mbled, her thoughts elsewhere. At first, the gargoyle hadn’t done anything to make her think his emotions went beyond the relationship of long-standing ward and protector. She silently laughed at her own reasoning—a day and a half was hardly long enough to become acquainted with another person’s dreams and longings.

  But what would she do if there was truth to Sable’s comment and Gregory did see her as more than his ward?

  After a moment’s thought, she decided that was a problem for another time.

  First, she had to survive this Wild Hunt and try not to make of fool of herself or expose the depth of her ignorance to the rest of the Clan and the Coven.

  Chapter 15

  THE ROAD DIVIDED TWO worlds. On one side of the winding gravel road, a deep, wooded ravine waited, calm and mysterious, and on the other, the metal ribs of a derelict sawmill jutted up into the star-speckled night sky. The moon illuminated the land around the mill. The area had gone wild again, forest creeping back in, ready to reclaim the land. The contrast was eerie, like the surreal footage of a post-apocalyptic world. She shivered, cold down to her core. Instinctively, Lillian looked in the rear-view mirror, hoping to catch a glimpse of the gargoyle riding in the truck bed.

  Her eyes found no sign of him, but she could feel him in her mind, his legs braced to hold him in place, and his wings cupped to catch the wind. He loved the speed and the cold air. Lillian’s lips turned up at the gargoyle’s joy.

  Lillian heard the heavy pulse of drumming before Gran turned into an overgrown driveway. The chain-link gate was thrown wide, tilting off to one side, partially unhinged where rust had eaten its way through the metal. Other cars were already parked, and more arrived from different directions as she took in the scene.

  “All this is ours.” Gran swept her arms up and out, the gesture encompassing the mill and the surrounding forest. “The Coven and the Clan pooled resources and bought it from a logging company back in the seventies. It was one of our first joint acquisitions. It didn’t look like much then, but it came cheaply. As far as anyone knows, we’re an environmentally minded company specializing in rehabilitation, restoration, and sustainable forestry.” She smiled. “While it’s not the whole truth, it isn’t a lie, either.”

  Lillian grunted. That sounded like her life. There certainly hadn’t been a lot of truth-telling there, either. If anything, the gargoyle was the most honest with his long silences.

  Smoothing her skirt over her legs, she wiggled as she tried to get out of the truck without flashing everyone. Lillian silently damned all trucks to hell, and double-damned skirts with slits up the sides. And then triple-damned clothing made from ferns, moss, and ivy. At least by the look of things, they were meeting in the old sawmill, so she hoped that meant she wasn’t going to be tromping around in the forest at night in a damned dress.

  Before Lillian could blink, Gregory was next to her, shapeshifted to look human once again. He gripped her around the waist and lifted. With a squeak, she slapped her hands down on his shoulders for balance. Even after he’d set her on her feet, his hands lingered a moment. She stood there staring, unable to think of something to say even when he captured one of her hands and ran his thumb over the back.

  “Come,” Gran said. “The others are waiting.”

  Lillian returned to herself with a blush. A large group of newly arrived strangers had gathered to watch. The gargoyle’s invisibility magic was an interesting power and one she would have put to use about now.

  She ducked her head, and when Gregory trailed after Gran, Lillian followed. She didn’t have much choice. Gregory hadn’t released her hand. She was so focused on not stepping in puddles or doing something else to embarrass herself, she missed when the crowd of strangers broke up into smaller groups. They all headed toward the vast crouched shadow of the abandoned sawmill.

  “Is it safe?” Lillian asked. That wasn’t the real question she wanted to ask, but she didn’t know how to put into words the sensation of cold fear hovering just below her heart.

  “The mill? Yes, of course.” Gran gestured at the building. “We’ve done some work to the inside, but nothing that would show on the outside. We don’t want questions.”

  Lillian nodded absently. The drumming she’d heard as they neared was stronger now. Heavy and primal, it called to her. Gregory released her hand and fell a step behind.

  Doors on giant tracks slid open at their approach. Two men waited on either side of the entrance. Calling them doormen seemed wrong. Each had the intensity of a bouncer mixed with the lean muscle of a ballet dancer or a martial artist. Whatever they were, they gave off a sense of strength, training, and menace.

  Lillian glanced behind to ask Gregory if he felt whatever hovered in the air around the two men, but her gargoyle had vanished. She turned her mind inward. Magic answered her summons, vibrating in her lungs and the pit of her stomach. She tried not to think about how quickly she was coming to accept powers she didn’t know existed two days ago.

  A moment later, she found Gregory. He’d not gone far. When he finished circling the two men, he returned to her side, still invisible.

  Gran took the lead, her long robes trailing behind her, quarterstaff held vertical like a walking stick instead of a weapon. Lillian still found the image of her grandmother carrying a quarterstaff a strange one. She’d dreamed last night, weird dreams about shadows lurching among moonlit trees, her grandmother swinging the quarterstaff, battling something in the shadows. Looking back at the previous two days, it was no wonder she dreamed of strange, frightening things.

  Lillian followed in Gran’s shadow as she entered the old mill. A short trip through a narrow hallway led to another set of doors. These opened onto a landing that overlooked the old mill’s main work floor. Gran marched down the stairs leading away from the landing. Lillian lengthened her strides to match the swift pace.

  They were crossing through the sawmill’s old offices when she ‘felt’ the gargoyle drift away from her side a second time. Scouting, no doubt. He didn’t go far; she could still feel him with the strange sense that hummed in her mind. They’d come to the end of the row of offices and faced a wall of windows, the glass spotted with dirt and clouded with age. The pulsing was louder here, pressing against her eardrums. She closed her eyes, feeling the rhythm with her breastbone and in the soles of her feet.

  She broke away from her grandmother and the rest of the group and paced over to the nearest windowsill. Her heart hammered in time to the pulse of the drums. Like the slow disbelief of watching a car wreck, curiosity drew her forward. Condensation fogged the glass. She wiped it away. The glass was cold against her fingertips. She glimpsed white crystals and bright flecks of blue as they drifted by the window before it fogged over again.

  Snow? Inside a building?

  Using the corner of her shawl, she cleared the window of fog and dirt. Then blinked. No. Not snow. Tiny flecks of light swirled through the air, drifting up from a whirlpool of magic below her. Dancers were moving amid the magic—and they were not human.

  Down at ground level, massive wolves, white-furred elk, small black ponies, and hounds with brown hides and tawny-colored ears shared the space with hundreds of people. They moved in time to the beat, driven in frantic circles by the pulse of the drums. A whirlpool created of living bodies. They spun and whirled, caught in the tidal pull of the circle dance.

  Like the spokes of a galaxy, columns of dancers bunched closer together at the core before drifting farther apart at the edges. Those lithe figures at the center were so tightly packed together, Lillian couldn’t see their features, only the pale glow of magic that surrounded them. Their swift movements sheared the magic from their bodies, freeing it to drift up like wind-blown snow.

  The wild power touched Lillian on a level she didn’t understand, frightening her with its seductive call.

  Follow, instinct demanded.

  Surrender.

  Become part of the dance.

  Running her hands along the wall, her fingers
sought a way through.

  “You might try the door,” Gran said, an amused expression on her face as she pointed to a doorway a few feet ahead.

  Lillian lurched into motion, intoxicated by the power. She grabbed the doorframe while she surveyed the metal stairway leading down. She hugged the railing, hoping to steady herself long enough to get control of the rioting emotions swirling through her mind.

  The gargoyle came to Lillian, pressing his body against her back. Peace, love, protection, serenity—his calming and soothing emotions swamped her, flooding into her mind from where they touched.

  ‘I will keep you safe,’ he said in his silent way.

  She loved him for it at that moment.

  No fear. No questions. Just unequivocal acceptance.

  Her boot heels clicked against the metal stairs—she’d possessed enough common sense to leave the matching slippers the dryads had made at home, instead choosing a tall, sturdy pair of boots that would protect her lower legs from the abuses of the forest. She concentrated on the sound of her boots’ heavy tread. It helped to ground her scattered thoughts.

  Caught up in the power of the dance, individuals swept past her and Gregory without noticing the newcomers. A strange force tried to pull Lillian toward the center of the vast room. When it couldn’t physically drag her closer, it seeped into her body. The hair on her arms rose. She shivered at the invasion. The foreign magic flowed through her blood, and then it receded. As it fled, it took some of her magic with it. She resisted. It tugged harder at her soul. Panicking, she summoned power of her own. With claws of magic, she struck out at the threat and shredded the filaments trying to steal her magic.

  The vortex at room’s center shuddered. The tide of power shifted, snapping from the center of the room toward where she stood. Dancers lost their rhythm. Drums faltered. The room erupted into chaos. Cries of alarm and growls of challenge resounded through the air as more people stilled in their dance. Weapons appeared in hands as the crowd gathered itself, and as one being, it turned to look at her. Some gazes were fearful, others hostile, and a few curious.