Conriocht Series: Spellbound

by S. Hultgreen

  Copyright © 2013

  All rights reserved.

  No parts of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locals is entirely coincidental.

  All typographical and grammar errors have been put in this book deliberately for your enjoyment in finding them.

  Cover design & Interior layout: Indie Designz

  www.indiedesignz.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  A Note from the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  She stood in line at the posh nightclub feeling extremely out of her element. A big overstuffed chair and a good book was more her speed. As the line crept forward at a snail-pace, Gracen watched the beautiful people of the Miami nightlife pompously exiting their expensive cars and strolling through the door no questions asked, while she stood in line with the “regular people.”

  She wished she had their confidence; the confidence to walk to the front and have no doubt the bouncers would let her in. And why shouldn’t I? she asked herself. These women certainly don’t have anything I don’t have?

  She ran her hands nervously down the front of her short black dress and eyed her pony skin, leopard print heels, then glanced up at the new sports car that had just pulled up.

  Or can’t buy. she mused as she watched a buxom, black haired woman saunter to the door followed by a well-dressed man who was just lucky enough or rich enough to score a woman like that.

  Gracen hated that she had to be there; that this was where destiny had placed her; but all of her other options had been exhausted. She was tired of running, tired of hiding and tired of the schmo in front of her eyeing her like a dog eyes a sandwich.

  The man stirred up images of Ichabod Crane, tall and skinny. His hair was slicked back with a thick layer of gel and the rest of him was covered in an even thicker layer of cologne.

  Ichabod had been glancing at her since she got in line, every now and then looking her up and down and clenching his bottom lip between his teeth.

  She knew it was partially her fault. When she had walked up, she had acknowledged him with a polite smile as she fell into line a few feet back. She hadn’t meant anything by it, but it seemed Ichabod was the type to mistake common courtesy for physical attraction.

  He had finally worked up something clever to say to her because a sly grin crept across his face as he turned to speak to her.

  Gracen panicked.

  “Hníga.” she murmured behind the guise of clearing her throat.

  “Your zipper’s down.” she cut him off as he opened his mouth to say whatever he had found so charming.

  Ichabod glanced down at his pants to find that not only was his zipper down but his front shirt tail was sticking out of the opening. Blood rushed his face as he turned and fell back in line ahead of her, too mortified to make eye contact again.

  Unfortunately her little trick caught the attention of the preternatural bouncers who were now whispering to each other and glancing excitingly between themselves and her.

  Before she had left for Miami, her mother had warned her about the possibility that the Conriocht may be able to sense her magic; but seeing as how she had been taught her entire life to stay out of their sights, or senses, she had never had the opportunity to test that theory.

  She tried not to look up at the front of the line but she could feel the bouncer’s eyes boring into her, the intensity becoming so uncomfortable her gaze couldn’t help but drift up to meet theirs. One of the bouncers, the larger of the two, smirked and jerked his head back signaling for her to come to the front of the line.

  Gracen looked around her desperately hoping he was beckoning to someone else.

  “You know who I am talkin’ to.” sounded his booming, baritone voice.

  “Dammit.” She grimaced as she pushed past the remaining hoard of people who had been waiting patiently and were now turning nasty looks on her.

  She had hoped to slip past the wolves, masquerading as just a typical girl out to have a fun night; she cursed her temper. Why couldn’t I have just ignored that guy?

  “Your kind doesn’t come around here too often.” said the bouncer as she approached. “You’re alone?”

  “Yeah, I am. Is that okay?” The words escaped before she could edit herself. Little less attitude.

  He cocked his head and glared down at her at an unpleasant angle.

  “The wolves’ den is no place for such a pretty little lamb.” He said as he unlatched the rope for her to pass.

  “This lamb’s got a bite too.” Gracen countered.

  “I bet you do.” she heard him say followed by the static of his two-way radio and his in-audible mumble.

  It was easier than she had thought it would be after her little display. She was preparing herself to have to do some persuading, cast a few illusions if necessary. She readied herself for the other shoe to drop.

  Chapter Two

  The music was pounding when she made it into the inner sanctum of the nightclub. She paused for a moment, taking in her surroundings and gaining her bearings, then made a bee-line for the bar. It’s a place to start. she thought, but she wasn’t sure if that wasn’t just to ease her nerves.

  “Whiskey and Coke.” she said nervously. The bartender smiled a crooked smile and nodded. “Do you know if the owner is here?” she asked as he poured her drink. “Fenris?”

  The bartender’s crooked smile turned to more of a scowl. “Why?”

  “I need to speak with him.”

  “Does he know you?” He slid the whiskey and Coke in front of her.

  “No, not exactly.” She dropped her gaze to the drink then looked back up at him. “He knew my aunt, Lifa.” She knew dropping that name would be enough to get Fenris’s attention if the message were relayed to him.

  The bartender still stared at her through a furrowed brow. “I’m not sure if he’s here tonight, I haven’t seen him.” Without offering any solution he turned and walked to the other side of the bar to help another patron.

  “Helpful, thanks.” she mumbled sarcastically.

  Sipping her now even more needed drink, her eyes drifted over the sea of people. She didn’t even know what he looked like, only what had been passed down over centuries of storytelling; and in a city like Miami, that could be almost anyone. Her gaze drifted from one man to the next. If she couldn’t find him, maybe she could find a manager who may be of more use than the bartender.

  “You’re looking for Fenris?” said a voice out of her line of sight. She wheeled around, “Yes. Is he here?”

  “What’s your name?” asked the well-dressed gentleman standing to her side, a manager by her guess. His voice retained a hint of an Irish brogue. He was brawny by all accounts, his face said late thirties, but his eyes said something else completely.She squinted in the relative darkness then focused all of her senses. Beta.

  “My name is Gracen.” She paused searching for the right words. “I’m Lifa’s niece. It is important that I speak with him.” If the Beta was surprised he didn’t show it, he merely watched her with understandable doubt as he stared down at her through narrowed eyes. She wondered if he could hear her heartbeat over the sound of the music or read the sincerity in her presence.

  “Come with me.” he said finally. She wasn�
��t sure if he believed her or if he was simply separating her from witnesses, but she had come this far, there was no stopping now.

  She followed the Beta through the crowd of dancing people, a path breaking before him.

  He led her up a flight of travertine stairs and down a secured corridor to a second floor room that looked out over the dance floor and bar through a floor-to-ceiling plate glass window.

  The room was expensive looking although sparsely furnished. A massive glass chandelier emerged from the center of the ceiling like white flames undulating and twisting downward, casting a dim glow across smoky gray walls. To one side sat a large ebony desk with two burnished leather chairs in front of it.

  A picture frame hung on the wall behind the desk, a quote scrolled across the center. She knew it by heart, a quote from Prose Edda. As a child she was forced to learn the old stories. Stories that had through history passed into myth. While other children read Dr. Seuss, she read of the giant wolf who devoured gods. It was, she supposed, more useful in her often bizarre life than ‘one fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish.’

  “Have a seat.” the Beta said cooly, pointing to a black suede sofa and a couple of club chairs that formed a comfortable seating area in front of the large picture window. “He will be here in a minute.”

  Gracen sat perched on the edge of the sofa and nervously looked around the room. Too tense to relax, she sat rigidly, her knuckles turning white from the death grip she had on her tiny black clutch.

  The Beta hadn’t left; she could feel him standing by the door watching her intently as he spoke briefly on his cell phone in a language she didn’t understand. It certainly wasn’t Fenris’s first language. She knew his first language, it was one of the many things she was required to learn about the Kyn, and although she never really thought that she would need any of it, as she waited patiently in his domain, she was suddenly glad that she did.

  The room was exceptionally quiet despite the booming music in the rest of the building. The peace only made the silence of the man standing behind her (who had now finished his phone call) more unnerving. As she searched for something to say, she was saved by the metal rattle of the door knob as the door swung open.

  Gracen jumped to her feet, much to the amusement of the Beta, and gasped as the man she had been waiting for entered the room. He was as impressive as the old stories had told. Tall even for a man of the modern age, his build left no doubt in her mind as to why he had been so feared in the days of the Ulfhednar Vikings. But despite his size and somewhat terrifying presence, there were no other qualities left from his days of pillaging and mayhem.

  His sandy brown hair was cut short, as was his beard that was now nothing more than a five o’clock shadow. The tunic and wolf pelt that she had envisioned him wearing a millennia ago, was replaced by a dark gray suit and white shirt, the first button casually undone.

  “You had better not be lying. That could only end tragically for you.” Fenris said as he entered the room pulling the door closed behind him. His voice was almost a growl; his face expressionless. She knew he was in no way exaggerating.

  “I am telling the truth. What would I have to gain from such a lie?”

  He sat down in the chair across from where she had been sitting and motioned for her to sit. “What do you have to gain by coming here in the first place?”

  Gracen stared at him not sure how to proceed. She paused for a long moment, and then: “I need your help.” she had decided to go with the direct approach.

  Fenris sat back in the chair. “Why do I want to get involved in a witch’s problems?”

  “Because this witch’s problems,” she began, opening her clutch and pulling out a small silver brooch, “are also your problems.”

  Chapter Three

  Gracen leaned forward and placed the brooch on the coffee table in front of him. Fenris eyed the brooch; then glanced at the Beta, who turned and left the room. His eyes returned to Gracen. “Where did you get that?”

  “It’s been passed down through my family since you left.” Gracen replied cautiously, unable to decipher his tone.

  “It belonged to my wife.” Fenris said, his voice becoming tense.

  “I know. I was told that when you left to effectively destroy the world, you left everything behind.”

  He looked up at her from the brooch, his steel blue eyes cut through her.

  Gracen knew she had touched a nerve but continued, trying to act unfazed by his stare. “Lifa’s sister Kindra, found that along with a few other things in the remains of your home. It is said that this was one of Lifa’s prized possessions.”

  He leaned forward and picked up the silver trinket. “I gave this to her on our wedding day.” His voice had dropped to almost a whisper. “She rarely ever wore it because she didn’t want to lose it, but yes, it was her most prized possession.”

  Fenris rose to his feet and walked to a wet bar in the corner of the office that Gracen hadn’t noticed before. He poured caramel colored liqueur into two tumblers.

  “What else do you know?” he asked as he handed her a glass and sat down beside her.

  “I know everything, Fenris.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, not sure how he was going to respond. When he didn’t, she continued. “We have made it our job to know everything. My family, that is. We are essentially responsible for you and for your Conriocht progeny.”

  His brow furrowed as he readied himself to argue, but she cut him off.

  “Lifa and her mother made you what you are. They didn’t mean to, but they did. When Lifa died and you went on your rampage, the guilt that her mother felt was beyond comprehension. She felt that the blood of the people that you killed was on her hands, not yours.” Gracen paused thoughtfully. “As a result, she set out to make sure that you could be stopped. She developed a spell that could stop you; it can stop all of you.”

  “Stop me?”

  “Kill you. But she couldn’t do it. Despite everything, she loved you too much to do it.”

  “Þakka fyrir, Anselma.” Fenris said looking up and raising his glass, saluting his former mother-in-law in Old Norse.

  Gracen nodded. “Yes. But that’s kind of why I need your help. You see, Kindra was just a child when all of this went down.”

  “I remember.”

  “Yeah I guess you would. Well, as she got older it became very apparent that she had a remarkable aptitude for the magic; more so even then her mother...and Lifa.

  Her mother taught her everything she could. Kindra became probably the most powerful seið-worker to this day, and her abilities have been passed down to one child every couple of generations, along with the spell.”

  “And I am guessing you are that child.” A flash of amusement crossed his face as he gestured at her with his tumbler.

  Her brow furrowed at his tone but she ignored his implication and simply nodded.

  “So you have the power to end it all?”

  She nodded again.

  “That’s troubling.” He took a rather large sip of his bourbon as she continued on.

  “There are some, as I am sure you know, who would rid the world of all of you; the Guardians.”

  It was Fenris’s turn to nod in agreement.

  “They have recently found out that I have the power to do so, and they have been trying to persuade me to join them in their efforts ever since.

  When I told them there was no way, their persuasion turned ugly, everything from threats to attempted abduction.” She glanced out of the window overlooking the crowd below, hoping he wouldn’t ask her to relive those memories.

  “How exactly did they find out?”

  Her gaze was drawn back to Fenris, grateful to move on. “When Christianity became all the rage people started writing things down, my ancestors were no different. Our history, your history; it was all written in a book along with some spells and the like. Long story short, they stole the book.”

  “They have the spell?” he began, his voic
e beginning to reflect the anger that had flashed in his eyes.

  “No! That has never been written. And it never will be. Actually, I don’t think it can be; I think that was part of the magic that was woven in. The book just mentions that there is such a spell.

  When it was discovered that I was the new ‘chosen-one,’” she said with air quotes, “my mother and grandmother began my training. The first thing that I had to do was commit that book to memory, the history, the magic, everything; along with magics picked up over other times and places. We are not your typical seið-workers anymore.” she added as a side note.

  “The final part of my training, when I was old enough to understand the ramifications of it, was to learn that spell. We all learn it so that it isn’t lost, but not all of us actually have the power to perform it.”

  “I’m not sure if I should be angry that this still exists or relieved.” replied Fenris.

  “It isn’t meant...”

  “No I understand. It’s just a little upsetting to know that my life rests in the hands of people I don’t know.”

  “It’s really not like that.”

  “Yeah, it is.” he responded, his expression quelling any further argument. “So you’re a witch, what do you need with a werewolf? You should be able to take care of the Guardians yourself.”

  She looked down into the drink she hadn’t started drinking yet, racking her brain for a better excuse than ‘I’m scared shitless.’

  “I’m a vegetarian.” she finally said looking up into his blue eyes. “For moral reasons, not health reasons.”

  “Okay, you don’t have to eat them to get rid of them.”

  “I’ve tried everything in my arsenal to try, short of killing them, and I am not sure that I have it in me to do that...if I had to defend myself, yes. But I only have it in my heart to be reactive, not proactive.”

  “So you have come to me for help because,”

  “Because you are not vegetarian.” she interrupted with a sly grin.