Both young men grinned at her while Harry pounded her on the back.
* * * * * *
The night held a soft radiance. Cool air embraced them when all three left Harry’s Pub. Meekal savored the feel of Shayla’s hand. His palm buzzed with a sense of desire fed by their connection and the diamond stars glistening above. Crickets sang amongst the low growing shrubs. They shared easy conversation walking back to Chilkwell Manor under the streetlights.
Shayla’s attention moved up to the curlicue writing on a street sign. She stopped and pointed. “Chilkwell Street?”
“Aye.” Harry shook with laughter. “Kal has a street named after him.”
Meekal rolled his eyes and laughed good humouredly. “No, I’m named after a street.”
Shayla eyed them, obviously trying to decide what to believe. “Really?”
“Nope. Harry’s teasing you. We’ve been around for almost one thousand years. What do you expect?”
Her eyes went back to the green sign embellished with a holy thorn branch and an asp. “So your ancestors Black Bry and Morna came here in one thousand CE?”
“No. Black Bry came in ten sixty-six. Morna was already here.”
“Oh.”
An unpleasant and noxiously pervasive odor moved in the air. A man appeared before them, blending into view as if from the night itself. “And you’re going to lose it all soon, Chilkwell. What a pity,” he said, sneering like a princely sewer rat.
Meekal stepped between Shayla and the interloper. “Ah, a Thyrza. What are you doing here, Dragar?”
Dragar’s black eyes raked over Meekal, and then moved to Shayla, narrowing.
“Kal? A what?” Shayla moved closer to his back, hand brushing his spine.
Meekal held Dragar’s gaze tightly and shrugged. They were old enemies. “Loose translation, love, ‘wand wielders,’” he replied, expressing distain while mentally checking the odds.
Dragar, a scruffy man with dirty blond hair, leered. “Heard you were gay, Chilkwell. Mayhap, we’ll take your love. Show her what a real man can do.”
Shayla chuckled and stepped around to see Meekal’s face. “Gay, baby?”
Meekal eyed the Thyrza, spinning his head, calculating the chances of getting away without injuring Shayla. Six. We should be able to take them out.
“Harry’s bi,” he answered, stalling for time. “I’m straight.”
“Ah, I see.” Humor traced along the edges of her expression.
The energy in his palm heated. The power around him, ley lines and generations of performed magic zipped into his fingertips. He flexed them with intent sending a silent spell.
A sudden snapping noise popped and crackled to their left. A Thyrza jumped and yelled. His wand waved wildly, throwing sparks randomly into the night, giving the atmosphere an eerie ambiance. The man roared in pain, dancing the jig.
The distraction worked, pulling the attention of his cohorts. Two stopped in mid-step and stared at their cohort with morbid fascination.
Meekal then tossed a nettle sting charm at Thyrza number four. His favorite in defensive actions, the stinging nettle gave the receiver tiny pinpricks of pain beneath the skin. Not enough to do serious harm, just enough to divert the mal-intentions of their attackers. In the midst of more yelling, he introduced his fist to Dragar’s scruffy chin.
Dragar’s head snapped back, mouth open, emitting a roar.
Through their new bonding connection, Meekal experienced awareness of Shayla being involved with one of the Thyrzas. However, he went down and swung his leg around, felling yet another.
A fast glance at Harry. “Bloody hell.”
Harry tended to play during duels. Always refusing to use a wand or other instrument for magic transference, Harry utilized the power of ley lines to confuse and defend. Currently, he rode the web of power like a surfer upon a wave. “WhaHoo!” Harry cupped his hand and aimed at one of their attackers as if he would toss a ball.
Water soused the Thyrza. The man sputtered and danced in a circle, trying to escape the wet cascade falling around him. Harry’s opponent continued to struggle ineffectively, having a hell of a time keeping up.
“Bastard,” Dragar said, recovered from his head thumping. He pounced on Meekal. They rolled in contest of who would be victor. “You’re going down, Chilkwell,” he growled through nasty halitosis.
Meekal grunted and hit the ugly, smelly face above him. “Not likely.”
Shayla’s voice came through their battle sounds. “All right there, baby?”
How lyrical. Time to be finished. Quick momentum flipped Dragar over his head, succeeding in knocking the wind out of him when he hit the Chilkwell Street sign. Meekal rose in smooth action, holding Dragar captive against the post with earth energy flowing from his hand.
“Ahhh!”
He spun, a lightning bolt of surprise shooting through him.
Shayla stood facing a Thyrza, holding a sgian dhu, a small black handled Highlander’s knife, braced against the man’s chest. The Thyrza looked terrified, trembling in his boots and pressing against the bricks behind him as though desiring to disappear into them.
“Where’d you get that knife? I know you didn’t bring it on the plane.”
“FedEx.”
Harry’s laughter sang out.
Thump! Crash!
“The Fae wins!” Harry said while he shook his hand to ward off the pain of bruised knuckles.
A relieved laugh escaped Meekal. “That’s my girl.” He grinned, turned back to the leader of the Thyrza and pulled his stringy hair roughly to take his attention away from Shayla. “You heard me, Dragar. Mine. Tell Syther what happened tonight. I’m ready for him. The Well will always stand. Now, get lost.”
Dragar vanished in a wisp of black air. The others followed him silently.
[4] The Gaderian:
Spectrum of Shadows
The warmth of the kitchen at Chilkwell Manor was fragrant with the scents of fresh baked pumpkin pies and apple cider. “Yumm,” Shayla said softly.
Chaeli laughed and began to pour her some cider. She looked up when Meekal and Harry entered the kitchen and stopped in mid-action. “What happened?” The glass and jug landed on the bar. Her brow furrowed, she studied Meekal’s injuries.
He shrugged and opened a cupboard door to help himself to a glass.
“Meekal!”
The sound of cider pouring filled the tension-choked quiet in the kitchen. He finished pouring Shayla some cider, and then handed Harry a glass before burying his face in the fragrant drink. He sighed after drinking, and placed his glass gently on the counter. “I’m okay, Mum. Syther sent some of his thugs around for an acrimonious visit.”
Worry and anger flashed across Chaeli’s face. “Where?”
“Just outside the border. We’ve talked about this already. They won’t succeed.”
“Humph.” Chaeli reached forward and turned his face to the light. “It’s a good thing Bree left us some elixir.” She opened the cupboard to her left and pulled down a small sapphire blue bottle. With a quick twist, the cap came off and she began applying a milky substance to Meekal’s face using a Q-tip.
Shayla, sitting on a high stool across the bar, breathed in sharply and leaned in closer for a better view. An electrical charge went through her. The bruise faded right before her eyes.
“Get Harry next, Mum.”
The Q-tip went into the trash and Chaeli reached for a new one. In short order, she took care of Harry’s split lip, bleeding knuckles and a cut above an already scarred eyebrow.
The instant healing Chaeli performed fascinated Shayla. Wow! That’s so kewl!
Meekal reached forward entwining their fingers, and pulled her attention away. “I’m going to take Shayla to the Noon-at-Night Gaderian. I’ll be back later.”
Chaeli screwed the cap back on the magical substance. “Have a good time, Shayla. Gail’s circle gatherings are always inspirational. Please tell her I’m there in spirit.”
“Thank you. I will.”
Once outside, she stopped on the top step of the portico. “Kal, what exactly is a Gaderian? I know that Noon-at-Night is midnight. Why does Gail call the meeting we’re going to a Gaderian?”
He stepped close, the corners of his mouth lifting, spreading across his face in the silvery moonlight. “Gaderian is Old English for gathering. Gail likes to blend the old and new. By the way, I won’t be staying.” He paused, touching her cheek and hair. “It’s women only. Did you bring something that belonged to an ancestor?” A sudden frown marred his handsome face. “Do you have anything?”
“Yes.” She fished into her blouse, and pulled out a locket. “Mom said the nuns gave her this when she turned eighteen. It’s a locket with two pictures in it. One is of mom with her parents. The other is just mom when she was a baby.” She opened it and turned it so he could see.
He leaned in, took the heart shaped locket gently in his fingers and studied the small photos. “Aye, that’ll do.” He pressed forward for a quick kiss.
The taste of his mouth brought warm tickles to her stomach, brushing her insides with promises. He took her hand, and they continued through the garden to the Vesica Piscis Pool.
Once there safely, Meekal gave her another kiss and then left wearing a soft look of contentment on his face.
She watched him slip into the shadows, and then she caught sight of the tip of a black tail cruising around the holy thorn above the flowing cascade of water into the pool’s concentric circles.
Gail’s voice was calm and melodious. “All right ladies, gather around.”
Excitement charged the air, sweeping around Shayla, intense yet soft as a night breeze. An owl hooted from somewhere off in the distance.
Gail motioned. “Ladies, form a circle, please.”
Shayla watched as another woman began to walk the perimeter, lighting nine torches. The flames danced, shining with brilliant blue and orange fingers, reaching into the night, swathing the garden with their glow. When the torches blazed, the electric garden lights went off.
She breathed slowly, caught up by the beauty of their surroundings. Shadows moved, bringing everything in the garden to life. The mingled scents of autumn leaves, burning herbs and earthy essences filled her senses. The crescent moon glazed with the extra blessing of its silvery light. She felt a smile grow to match its brilliance as comfort, laced with newfound inner peace embraced her.
Gail began with a prayer, giving thanks for the year’s blessings. She then spoke about each woman present.
“Blessed Mother, please take note of Peggy. She has battled breast cancer this year and is winning. Please watch over her.”
“Ayes,” spoken with softness, went around the circle.
“Blessed Mother, Annie’s about to give birth for the first time. Please watch over her during those precious moments.”
Gail asked for blessings five more times before she came to Shayla.
“Blessed Mother, Shayla is new amongst us. Please guide her in her rightful destiny. Blessed Be. Amen.”
Nine women, said in unison, “Blessed be.”
With slow deliberate movements, everyone began dancing around the circle.
Shayla was filled with elation and a feeling of warmth as she joined in and their pace picked up. Some of the women began clapping.
The soft tha-thum of a drum vibrated through the garden. After several minutes, everyone shouted in ecstasy and sat in a circle, breathing rapidly from the excitement.
“Ladies.”
They silenced. The sound of falling water and flickering flames blanketed them.
Gail passed a glance around the circle. “As you all know, October is the time when the veils between the two worlds are at their thinnest. Each of you has brought something that is of familial importance. We come here tonight because the Wells have long been associated with bringing women together with their ancestors. When we honor them, we become much closer to who they were.”
Everyone pulled her artifact out.
Shayla fingered her locket, the gold filigree in her fingers invoked sudden uncharacteristic shyness. She tried to swallow the sensation and focused on the stone pathway beneath her. She had this small token, but she knew nothing of her family. Her mother’s face flashed through her mind. “This is all we have,” her mom said. She shivered at the boundless mystery of her past.
“Shayla, would you like to begin?”
The heat of a blush rose from her neck. The taste of her lip, memory of Meekal’s kiss upon it, calmed her slightly. She pulled the chain over her head. “I’ve been told this belonged to my grandmother. My grandparents died in an automobile accident when my mom was five. She grew up in a convent. This is the only thing I have of them.” Much to Shayla’s surprise, previously unshed tears fell.
Gail took the locket in her fingers. She studied it, and then whispered, “This is very beautiful. You are lucky to have such a treasure. There’s something else though, isn’t there, Shayla?”
A flash of energy went through her, rocketed forth by denial. “No!”
Gail’s eyes glistened, golden in the torch light. “Your boot, Shayla.”
She jumped, feeling the painful wideness of her eyes. While looking at Gail, she reached into her boot and pulled the black adamant handled sgian dhu out for all to see. “I bought this last month at a Celtic store in Cleveland. It has nothing to do with family or ancestors.” The small knife rested comfortably in her palm, filling her with a sense of comfort, the same as when she found it.
“Fascinating,” Gail said, yet not taking the small knife. “It’s an antique. Didn’t the shopkeeper tell you that?”
The adamant handle, looking brand new, hummed through her skin. “No.”
She experienced a slight sense of discomfort and protectiveness when Gail leaned forward and studied it closely without taking it.
“I don’t touch it, Shayla, because it’s your sacred artifact. In fact, if I recall its symbolic carvings correctly, it’s of the House of Asp. Its presence blesses and will guard you always.” Gail handed her locket back and turned to the next woman.
The rest of the Gaderian went by in a haze, Shayla’s mind preoccupied with the idea of buying a knife in Cleveland, Ohio that would bring her here tonight. Just another hint from the White Lady? Thoughts spun on a spiral of mystery as her fingers moved over the cool handle in her palm, pulling her mind back to the sleepy little shop, Circle’s Threshold into Ancient Journeys.
The glass case shimmered before her vision. There it was, lying on blood-red velvet. The sensual idea of having such a treasure pulled her like a persistent beacon toward home. “How much?” she asked, passing a hand over the glass case with longing. Connell, the man behind the counter, winked and passed the knife’s alluring power to her.
Everything after that blurred into memory’s oblivion.
* * * * * *
The cool stone wall of the Tor Sunset cooled Shayla when she leaned against it. She looked into Meekal’s eyes, feeling his soul reaching out to her. “Kal,” she whispered breathlessly. “Do you really have to leave?”
He moaned and leaned in, pressing her against the wall of the Tor Sunset Inn.
She reciprocated with her own sounds of pleasure, and tilted her head into his caress. She bit her lower lip, her breathing rushed in passion’s determination. “Stay.”
He nibbled her lower lip for her, and then pulled away. “Don’t you want to have some time alone to think about what’s happened? I mean, White Lady, stray cats and Thyrzas. That’s a lot for one day and everything was strange for you.”
His breath on her face teased with an utmost yearning. With fierceness, she pulled him to her mouth, kissing him hungrily. Tremors of anticipation raced through her. She wanted to change his mind. Her leg joined in, moving up the outside of his, on its way to express desire. His racing heart beneath her fingers signaled the possibility of acquiescence. “I can think about it later, Kal. Stay.” She blew warm breath against
the sensitive spot over his racing pulse.
He hissed like a cat and delved into her mouth, exploring and stroking.
She absorbed the pleasing sounds, feeling their combined breaths, and fondled him, thrusting her hips forward at the same time.
“Room number?”
“Nine.”
On a spiral of air, they arrived in her room. Their hands flashed in eagerness, clothing started flying, landing all around the room. Laughter, and then she pulled her blouse over her head.
Meekal drew back, eyes wide, and gasped.
Shayla leaned forward, letting his fingers explore her tattoo. On her left bicep, a snake wrapped a Celtic Triskel dagger. The esoteric symbolism represented an image of absolute protection. The snake’s body curled around to her back and over her shoulder. The head looked straight at Meekal with brilliant emerald eyes.
His fingers feathered over her, sending delightful little sparks in their wake. “When did you get this?”
She moved into his caress, absorbing him through her skin. “Twenty-first birthday. Mom had fits. Said I was trying to be…”
“Be what?”
“Well…” She sucked her lip in, eyeing him closely, feeling a bit tentative. “You know.” She sighed. “It’s because she never approved of me using magic. She said it was because of cultural influences; the kind that came across the Pond and engulfed everyone’s life regardless of age. Just because an author becomes famous with an interpretation of magic that sweeps the nation with surprising influence doesn’t necessarily mean that’s where a tattoo comes from.”
She looked at her arm and ran a finger over the dagger’s blade, mesmerized even now by its presence. “Mom just didn’t get it,” she murmured softly. “It goes deeper than that or some cultural phenomenon. It’s a deeper part of me.” She raised her eyes to his, seeking understanding.
A grin spread across his face. In one swift movement, he pulled his tee shirt off, exposing his tattoo. An asp slithered through the concentric circles of the Vesica Pisces Pool resting to the left over his heart—protecting both. “The House of Asp. That was our clan.” Meekal’s voice was soft as he traced fingers over her shoulder, and then down to her breast.
Concentric Circles Page 5