"I can't believe it. One of the fabled sorcerers of Limont came to you. In the flesh."
"In nothing but his flesh." Charity helped her sister haul the ancient tome down from the second highest shelf. As self-appointed keeper of their family's knowledge, Lenore's dining nook-turned-library was wall-to-wall flea market book cases cramped with books, texts, even scrolls that museum curators would give their eyeteeth for.
Together they carried the heavy tome between them and laid it on the table that took up the center of the room.
"You sure it's in here?" Charity eyed the large book dubiously.
"Oh yeah, I remember reading about it when I first convinced mom to let me look at the book."
"You were ten."
Lenore shrugged with one shoulder. "It was a romantic story. An entire clan, every individual gifted with some form of magic as long as they remained the man…and then all of them vanished. Poof. The village must have fallen to ruin because no one knows where it once was." She opened the little ornately carved box she kept sitting on the table and pulled out the white gloves she kept in there. Lenore was meticulous about not letting the oils in her fingers damage any of the ancient books.
"That's so weird." Charity sat down and leaned over the large velum pages that Lenore turned with delicate reverence. "What does that even mean? Protectors of man?"
"Got me. Something about the innate balance of magic. As long as the Limonts kept the dark side of magic from overtaking the good, the entire land would prosper. Magic would remain abundant and the flip side of magic, like the dark fairies, ghouls and vampires wouldn't get much of a foothold in the world. Here it is." Lenore tapped a page and slipped her black reading glasses on.
Charity scooted her chair closer so that their heads were side by side. Celtic writing wasn't exactly her forte. Their grandmother had insisted that as practicing healers, both girls at least know enough to pick out runes and symbols for spells and incantations in several nearly dead languages. Charity could get by, but her younger sister's huge brain excelled in it.
She scanned down what looked like a listing of names—genealogical records with years and, wow, magical abilities. Her heart jolted when she came to his name. "Toren Limont," she whispered, making her encounter with him seem that much more surreal. "High Sorcerer of Limont, born in Crunfathy." Her breathing stilled, frozen in her chest. An ancient wounded Highlander really had flung himself through time to seek her aid, and then he was gone—to a place she couldn't reach him or help him. The urge to somehow help was damn near overwhelming. After she came to by the tub, she hadn’t been able to sleep all night. Her thoughts replayed everything that had passed between them and the more she thought of him, the more urgent the feeling to help him grew. "Have you ever heard of Crunfathy?"
"No. Never." Lenore's fingers swept over hers. "You okay?"
"Yeah. It's just weird, you know?"
"Do you want to stop?"
"No, I want to know what happened." She needed to know. She didn't understand it, but since she'd healed Toren, saw what he'd gone through, felt his resolve; she desperately needed to know that he was okay. She frowned. Who was she kidding? It was more than that. She knew the man, knew him better than she knew anyone. She had felt his inner essence, everything that made him him. From what irritated him to what he held dear. With the healing, he had somehow gotten deep under her skin as though he were almost a part of her now.
It was weird. This attachment to someone she’d known only moments, yet it felt as though she’d known him forever. So yeah, weird, yet strangely wonderful too.
She was going to find out what happened to him and his story had better end up being a happy one or else…or else what? What could she do about anything? She'd healed him and he'd gone back to where he belonged. That was that. That was all it could ever be. Right?
Right?
Hell no that wasn’t right. He didn’t belong in a dungeon.
She had to know if he escaped, and if not, she had to help him somehow. She couldn't stop thinking about helping him. She had to help him. That was all there was to it.
Which was monumentally stupid to dwell so much on, considering whatever the outcome with the terrible woman who was torturing him, Toren Limont was still centuries long dead.
None of it mattered now. Except it did.
"All right." Lenore was back in research mode—all business with her glasses sliding down her little nose. She'd twisted her Faerie-soft blond hair on top of her head out of the way, slipping a pencil in the knot to hold it in place. "Your Toren was the last known sorcerer before the clan vanished for good. You see these other names below his?"
Charity squinted, her belly taking a tumble at the word vanished.
Lenore traced the names with the tip of a gloved finger.
Toren Limont
Shaw Limont
Edeen Limont
Col Limont
"He had two brothers and a sister. It looks like that together the four siblings kept their people safe and the balance of magic in check. They also…" Lenore's eyes lit up. "They also each had their own unique brand of magic. The sister was an empath."
"She could tap into other people's emotions."
"Yes, but back then when magic was part of everyday existence and so much stronger, an empath would have been able to do way more than feel emotions. We're talking the ability to really get into people's heads, dive into memories they don't even know about if she wanted to."
"Seriously? So if she touched one of us, she'd see everything we know?"
"Yes. Can you imagine our healing potential if we lived back then? Magic was in everything, as simple as plucking it from the air." Lenore's smile was bright, excited.
Charity could very well imagine the potential. She'd experienced the power of Toren's magic firsthand, had tapped into its strength and healed him as easily as a thought. Almost so easily it had gotten out of control and she’d been sucked into his emotions and experiences and now she couldn’t get him out of her head.
Lenore chattered on, the deep-seeded learner in her charging ahead full bore. "So your Toren was the sorcerer, Edeen an empath. The youngest brother, Col, was a shapeshifter, and Shaw—" Lenore's nose wrinkled and her glasses slipped down farther. "Moon sifter."
"Which is?"
"I have no idea." But Lenore's lips puckered outward in that way that meant she was determined to find out. "So now you know. Your visitor really was a Highland sorcerer, last of his line before the entire Clan Limont vanished and magic hasn't been as potent on the earth since. It's all pretty amazing when you think about it."
"Yeah." Charity sighed. "Amazing."
"Hey." Lenore reached over and pushed stray wisps of hair behind Charity's ear. "It is amazing. It's not every day things like this happen."
"I know."
"You did what you could for him. And you got to feel incredible power flow through you, more than either of us could generate in these days. That had to feel awesome, right? I know it's hard when you heal someone. You feel like you're responsible for them, but there's nothing more you can do. It's not like you can travel back through time and check on him."
Charity's gaze snapped up. That's exactly what she wanted to do. "We have time-travel spells. Grandma's done it." Healers couldn’t open time and space rifts like a sorcerer could, but when a healer’s emotions were focused strongly enough on helping someone else, there were spells and formulas that could do the trick for very short stretches across time. Very short. A few hours, possibly a day to help someone avoid an accident or illness that a healer didn’t have the magical strength to heal. The connection between healer and patient had to be very strong, very motivated. The emotions on high-voltage.
Lenore pulled her glasses off. "She went back half a day to stop Uncle Frank from getting in that car accident that took his leg. Even if you could pull it off, what would be the point in going back to last night and your Highlander? You’ve already done what you can for him. It�
�s not like we have the ability or spells to travel across centuries. Not even the sorcerers of today have the juice to do that anymore."
Frowning, Charity glared down at the open pages.
"I'm sorry," Lenore said. "I get it, but it's not possible so there’s no use in worrying about him anymore. Whatever happens—happened—to Toren Limont is out of your hands. You got to just let it go."
"I know, okay." Charity got up and pulled her grandmother's little pink book of spells from one of the lower shelves, the book she knew had the time-travel incantations. "I'm going to take this home, all right?"
"Sure." Lenore's lips puckered out again. "Just don't…you know."
"Like you said, no one has the juice to travel back that far anyway."
Chapter Five
Highland Sorcerer Page 4