Olivia blinked. “What’s Krav Maga?”
“An Israeli combat style. Unlike karate or aikido, it’s not a sport. It’s designed solely to let you kick the other guy’s ass so hard and fast, you can get away. I kept with it; there’s an ex-Marine I practice with three times a week. It’s great exercise.”
“No wonder you were able to handle those werewolves.”
“Didn’t hurt.” He eyed her. “Speaking of the werewolves, didn’t you say there were spells I could use against them?”
“Yeah, though you have to approach it in a roundabout fashion. You can generate natural forces with magic, and use those in your attacks. Bolts of electricity instead of magical blasts, for example.”
“A bolt of electricity will kill pretty much anything. Care to give me a demonstration?”
“No time like the present.”
They spent the next three hours in the basement while Olivia demonstrated electrical blasts, along with assorted other spells. She spent a full hour teaching him how to search for the weakness in someone else’s spell, then use that knowledge to break it.
Rhys’s mother called soon afterward, and Olivia stepped into the next room to give them a little privacy. He joined her a moment later looking satisfied, if a little concerned. “We have a dinner invitation.”
“What are you going to tell them?”
“The truth. If they have been lying to me, they had a reason. Once they know the situation I’m in, they’ll come clean. If, that is, they know anything.”
“You do realize it’s possible that they haven’t told you the truth because they don’t know what it is. They could be under some sort of geas, too.”
“If they are, I want to know about it. Even if . . .” He broke off.
“If you’re concerned this may change the way they feel about you, don’t be. Even just hearing about them secondhand, it’s obvious they love you.”
Rhys made a dismissive gesture. “Oh, I’m not worried about that.” His expression turned grim. “I’m worried about hurting them.”
They headed for the garage. Olivia was waiting for him to unlock the Porsche when he hesitated, frowning at the car. Then, shaking his head, he walked inside and came back with another key fob. He clicked it, unlocking the BMW.
“So why aren’t we taking the Great White Phallic Symbol?”
He gave her a dry smile as they got in. “Cute. And I don’t know why. I just know we’re going to need the Beamer.”
Shaking her head, Olivia buckled her seatbelt. “Because that’s not ominous at all.”
* * *
Rhys parked the BMW in front of his parent’s two-story bungalow, with its sunny yellow paint job and white trim. Normally he felt a sense of pleasure returning to his childhood home, but tonight his stomach coiled in an anxious knot.
Olivia sat next to him, dressed in casual jeans and a blue sweater that complemented her eyes, glamoured to a more human shade of blue. She was wearing her magical mask again, and she looked like a perfectly ordinary twenty-year-old blonde—a little young for him, maybe. Which was ironic, considering their true age difference.
As if sensing his anxiety, she gave him an encouraging smile, one hand cupping his where it rested on the gearshift. He smiled back, appreciating the support.
Especially since he had no clue how to broach the subject with his parents.
Rhys was just reaching for the doorbell when the door opened and his father smiled out at him. “You know better than that, boy. This is still your house. Get in here. Your mama made her lasagna and I’m starving.”
Tom Kincade stepped back, studying Olivia with approval as they walked in. His was a big man, with big hands scarred from years of driving nails and sawing wood, a perpetual tan from years in the sun, and a head gone mostly bald. But his blue eyes were kind and clever, and he’d taught Rhys everything he knew about being a man.
Rhys made the introductions, and his father gave Olivia a warm handshake and a chivalrous smile. “Glad you could join us.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
Tom blinked at the impact of her smile, even dimmed by her masking glamour. Good to know Rhys wasn’t the only one Olivia knocked off balance.
Tom led the way through the living room with its floral-upholstered furniture and family photos. She gazed around with sincere approval. “Your house is lovely.”
Dad smiled, obviously pleased. “Why, thank you, though that’s more because of my wife than me.”
“Just wait until you taste her lasagna,” Rhys told Olivia.
Inhaling the scent of tomato sauce, garlic, oregano, meat, and cheese, she again flashed those dimples at Dad, who looked properly dazzled. “It smells incredible.”
Mom was just setting down a big square pan full of lasagna on the butcher-block countertop when they walked into the kitchen. June Kincade was a small round woman in her midfifties who still gave the world’s best hugs. She wore her blond hair in a neat bob, and her soft features were expertly made up, especially around her intelligent hazel eyes. Today she wore a pair of dark jeans and a bright blue sweater complimented by a necklace of colorful glass beads. Taking off her oven mitt, she reached to shake Olivia’s hand with obvious delight. “It’s great to meet you, Olivia.” Rhys could almost see visions of grandchildren dancing in her head.
Yeah, he’d been afraid this was going to happen. His mother had schemed to get him hitched for years. She’d never seemed to realize the hazards of the “nice normal girls” she liked to throw at him.
Each time June had tried to set him up, he’d protested, “What the hell am I supposed to do if she freaks out about my magic?”
Her response was always an airy wave. “Oh, you’ll figure something out, dear.”
Yeah, right.
On the other hand, that was hardly a concern with Olivia, was it? A thought that was entirely too tempting. . . .
They stood chatting while his father uncorked a bottle of Chardonnay from a local winery. He poured each of them a glass and they all trooped into the dining room. The table lay draped in a cloth sprigged with spring flowers and set with his mother’s best china.
She must be getting a little desperate.
Rhys made himself a private bet that she’d bought the fresh flowers for the centerpiece after she got his text message about Olivia.
And God, he wasn’t looking forward to this. He and Olivia had agreed to save the uncomfortable questions for after dinner. In retrospect, Rhys wished they’d just gotten it over with. His mother’s lasagna was always delicious, yet it tasted like sawdust tonight. He cut bites and pushed them around on his plate as his parents talked about their day.
“So,” June began, turning to Olivia. “How did you two meet?”
Rhys stiffened a little. He should have seen this coming.
Olivia flicked him a look. They’d agreed ahead of time not to lie to his parents, reasoning that it was counterproductive.
He nodded slightly, giving her permission.
“Actually, he found me freezing to death on a park bench in the middle of town. I might’ve died if he hadn’t come along, because I couldn’t move at all.”
His mother’s eyes widened at that. She darted him a look he had no trouble translating. You’re picking up homeless women now?
Rhys pushed aside his plate as his stomach knotted. God, this was going to be a hellacious conversation. But there was no help for it. “That’s what Olivia and I came to talk to you about. I seem to be in some trouble.”
Chapter Eight
Tom straightened, alarmed. “Trouble? Not with the law?”
“Nothing like that.” Seeing the direction of his mother’s gaze, Rhys realized he’d laid one hand on Olivia’s wrist. He refused to move it. “Olivia’s like me. She can use magic.”
Rhys sensed the electric sizzle of magic in the air
as Olivia let her glamour drop. His mother drew in a breath, a sharp little gasp of shock.
“The reason I couldn’t move is because I was under a spell,” Olivia said steadily. “I’m a member of a race called the Sidhe.”
His parents exchanged a flashing look born of thirty-four years of marriage. “Sidhe? As in . . . Fairies?” June asked.
“Basically, yes. But there’s a lot your legends about us have wrong.” She extended her right hand, and an image of the earth appeared, rotating over her palm. When she lifted her left hand, a second earth revolved above it, though the continents were shaped differently.
“That’s incredible,” June said, awed. Tom muttered something, either a curse or a prayer.
“This is the earth I’m from,” Olivia said, nodding at it. “It exists in a kind of alternate universe . . .” She launched into the same lecture on Mageverse physics she’d given Rhys earlier. “The result is that magic doesn’t work here.”
His mother stared at the twin planets in fascination, leaning over the table to look at them more closely. Her dark eyes flicked up to meet Olivia’s. “Then how are you able to do that?”
“By drawing on the magical forces of my own universe.”
His mother had never been slow. “So you’re saying Rhys does that, too?”
“Basically. The reason that you can’t use magic is because you didn’t evolve to. My people did, so I can.”
Judging by her frown, June didn’t like where this was going. “Then how does Rhys do it?”
“I shouldn’t be able to, Mom,” Rhys told her gently. “That’s what we came here to ask you about.”
His father stared at him. “But you’ve been doing weird crap since you were ten.”
Rhys took a deep breath. This was harder than he’d expected—and he’d expected it to suck. “Olivia believes that I’m not from here, Dad. Am I adopted?”
They stared at him, their jaws dropping simultaneously. He wasn’t sure whether to curse or be pleased. They hadn’t been lying to him all these years.
Neither of them had known.
“You are definitely not adopted,” June said tartly. “I was there. They told us that you were dead, that you were going to be stillborn. Nobody was more astonished than the doctor when he delivered you and you screamed your little lungs out, healthy as a horse.”
It was a story he’d heard for years. He’d been thinking about the implications for hours now. “Mom,” Rhys said softly. “What if your baby did die?”
Tom rose slowly to his feet to turn a chill glance on Olivia. “Ma’am, would you mind giving us a little privacy?”
She didn’t even look offended, just inclined her head in a faint bow and rose to her feet. “I’ll step outside. Come get me when you’re ready.”
His parents watched with cold anger as she left the room. The front door opened and closed with a soft click. Rhys braced himself.
“Are you seriously taking the word of some little witch over us?” Dad exploded. “Has she put you under some kind of spell?”
“There’s definitely a spell at work here,” Rhys said grimly, his instincts telling him it was true. “But Olivia’s not the one who cast it.”
He poured himself another glass of wine and downed it in one swallow, dreading what he was going to have to do next.
June clenched her plump fists in agitation. “The ob-gyn told your father to wait in the waiting room while they did the C-section, but I was awake. They didn’t have time to put me out. I saw the doctor lift you out of me. I heard you crying.” Tears glistened in her eyes as she burst out, “I’m not lying to you!”
“I didn’t say you were.” Rhys looked at her, reached for his magical senses—and cursed.
Sparks of green light orbited his mother in an agitated cloud. The only blessing was there was no sign of it around his father.
“Rhys!” His mother snapped. “You don’t use language like that in this house!”
“I’m sorry.” He rose from the table and moved to where she sat at one end. She rose to face him, the wariness in her eyes making his chest hurt.
His dad rose from the head of the table and stalked toward him, big shoulders set. He looked as if he was seriously tempted to swing at Rhys. “Your mother has never lied to you a day in her life. You’re our child. If you weren’t our child, we would’ve told you so.”
“Dad, Mom’s under a spell. I can see sparks of green magic floating around her. It’s the same color that surrounded Olivia when she couldn’t get off that bench. Whoever targeted Olivia, targeted Mom.”
“You think your mother has been under a spell for thirty-three years?” Tom snapped. “But I haven’t been?”
“They didn’t have to put a spell on you. You weren’t in the room. If the doctor and Mom told you I was yours, you had no reason to doubt them.”
Dad got right up in his face until they were nose to nose. “This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of. What has this Olivia done to you? Because if one of us is under a spell, it’s not your mother.”
Pain stabbed through Rhys’s chest, but he knew what he had to do. Turning to his mother, he called his magic, cupped her cheek, and met her bewildered gaze.
His father stiffened. “What are you . . .”
Rhys didn’t answer, concentrating on the swirl of the spell’s energies in the technique Olivia had taught him that afternoon. He sent his own magic pouring into June, probing the magic that held her. It must have been very strong originally; thirty-three years was a long time for a spell to remain active. He went to work searching for weaknesses he could use to pick it apart.
June’s dark eyes widened and she swayed.
Tom’s hand clamped down on Rhys’s shoulder, but he ignored his father for one of the few times in his life.
Mom went deathly pale.
“June!” Grabbing her elbow to steady her, Tom shot Rhys a hot look. “Get your hands off her!” He drew back a big fist, only to hesitate. He’d never hit Rhys in his life.
There. A weakness in the spell, a place where it had gone thin. Rhys sent a bolt of power shooting into it. “Remember,” he murmured as it broke. “Remember it all.”
His mother stared at him, her lips parting. To his horror, tears welled in her eyes and she began to shake. “Tom!” It was a heartbroken wail.
With a soft gasp of pain, Dad gathered her into his arms. “June! June, baby, what’s wrong?”
“I’ll get you something to drink.” Ignoring his dad’s hot gaze, Rhys stepped back and moved into the kitchen, where he filled a glass of ice water from the refrigerator.
When he got back, his mother was sobbing in the circle of his father’s arms. “He died,” she gasped. “Rhys is right—our baby died.”
Still holding the water, Rhys froze, closed his eyes against the pain, and listened to his mother cry. “I’m sorry.” His voice sounded ragged.
His father looked up at him, a kind of dazed betrayal in his eyes. “Why did you do that?”
“Dad, somebody has manipulated Mom and used her own mind to lie to her—and to you. I couldn’t let them go on doing it. Even if I’m not your son, I love you.” His voice cracked.
“Not our son?” June looked up at that, blinking away the tears. “Of course, you’re our son! Spell or no spell, I changed your diapers, I taught you to read . . .”
Tom straightened his beefy shoulders and took a deep breath before meeting his gaze. “Your mother’s right. If June says somebody cast a spell on her, okay. Maybe I find that tough to believe, but she doesn’t lie. And neither do you.” His gaze grew fierce. “But that doesn’t change the fact that we raised you. We love you, boy. That counts a hell of a lot more than blood.”
Rhys felt a tear roll down his cheek and swiped it away.
His mother looked up at him. “Unless you’re saying we’re not you
r parents?” The vulnerability and pain in her face tightened the agony in his chest another burning notch.
“Of course you’re my parents. I love you. Nothing can ever change that.” He leaned down and wrapped his arms around her, holding on to her plump body as she shook.
* * *
Olivia stood outside on the front porch, watching the moon rise over the trees. She’d thought she heard raised voices a moment before, but it had gone quiet again.
Rhys must’ve broken the spell by now. And there was a spell. Olivia had seen it emerge when he’d started asking about his birth. Which was more than likely the reason he never noticed it before now.
It had probably been most active when he was a small boy, but as the years went by, the false memories had become so ingrained it hadn’t even needed to activate anymore. It was only when Rhys had deliberately probed that it again rose to the surface.
The spell was also the exact same shade of green as the geas on her. Evidently the compulsion and the false memory had been laid by the same individual. Or at least by people of the same race.
What the hell was going on? It was obvious that all of this somehow fit together, but she still had no idea how. She . . .
The front door opened and Rhys leaned out. His face was expressionless, but there was a hint of red around his eyes. Had he been crying? The thought sent a bolt of pain through her.
“I think they’re ready to talk to us about what happened.”
“All right.” As he stepped back to let her enter, she laid a hand on his chest over his heart. “I’m sorry. That must have been difficult.”
“You have no idea.” His face twisted before settling into impassivity again. “I made my mother cry. Hell, I made my father cry.”
Olivia could only shake her head in sympathy. They entered to find his parents sitting in the living room. Eyeing them, she realized there was a resemblance between them and their son. June’s hair color was the same, and so was the shape of Tom’s jaw. She wondered if whoever did this chose them for that reason.
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