Rosa felt her eyes widen with a flicker of excitement at the thought she just might possibly be able to witness Aden at work. She was far too suspicious. She needed to back off. She was on edge because of the bells, and she was taking it out on the first man with potential to cross her path.
“We ought to get going. It’ll be dark in ten minutes. The wind has picked up, and it’s likely rain will follow.”
“It won’t rain.” Aden lifted the back of his collar against his neck and looked out at the night sky. “I’m sure of it.”
Rosa wrapped a scarf around her neck and flung the ends over her shoulders. “How do you know?”
“I’ve a weather vane in my little finger.” He waggled the culprit so she could see for herself. The long finger was bent to an uncomfortable looking angle, and Rosa caught herself shuddering at the thought of his bone breaking. “I broke it as a child while playing cricket with my brother. Now it aches when it’s going to rain. Believe me, it’s more reliable than any weather report.”
“The report on the radio this afternoon said cold, biting wind and rain in the evening.”
Aden laughed. “The only report you need is attached to this hand.”
“So what else does your finger say?” Rosa opened the front door. A strong gust rushed in, threatening to whip the door from her hands, but well used to the vagaries of the weather, she held it firm.
Fisting the neck of his jacket to ward off the cold, Aden looked up into the waning sky as he stepped past her onto the pavement. “No rain. That’s all.”
“So it doesn’t give a comprehensive report?” Rosa locked the door behind them and began walking down the hill alongside Aden at a swift pace. Aden’s breath misted in the air and mingled almost intimately with hers before evaporating.
“Nope.” Aden pulled his hand from his pocket and waggled his little finger one more time. “It’s not that clever.”
Rosa smiled. There was nothing she could think to say to that.
“You didn’t know about dinner tomorrow night, did you?”
Rosa’s head shot up to meet his knowing gaze. Dinner! Of course! “Am I so transparent?”
Aden chuckled. “You didn’t know I was in Raven’s Creek until this morning.”
“True. At least Beth had the wisdom to choose her own home as the venue.” Beth could, if she wanted, whip up something delicious with magic, but she preferred to cook from scratch, saying the real art of cooking was in the act of doing and therefore much more fulfilling. “My baby sister is a domestic goddess. Something I’ll never be. She’ll immerse herself in her kitchen for the better part of tomorrow, and food for the serious gourmet will appear on the table as if by magic.”
“You’ve no idea how much I’m looking forward to eating a home-cooked meal.”
There was truth in his statement, and Rosa was beginning to relax in his company when the next question set alarm bells off once again. “I’ve heard tales you and your sisters have been nicknamed the Greenwood witches.”
Rumors were one of the ingredients that made the town what it was — a mix of old-world charm, mystery, and a dash of magical lore. “It’s not something we discourage. I make — we all make — natural herbal medicines and tinctures and the like.” Rosa shrugged, pretending indifference. “Our mother did the same, as did our grandmother and so on. It’s a rumor that has persisted over the years, and it’s stuck.”
A handful of individuals knew who and what the Greenwood sisters actually were. Then there was the rest of the township, who pooh-poohed the notion as nonsensical. Either way, all three sisters were in demand both as artists and as witches: the latter after hours and, more often than not, in secrecy. Not everyone cared to admit to resorting to the use of the supernatural but many supported their gallery. Rosa and her sisters were fiercely protected by the long-term residents of Raven’s Creek, especially by those who had known them since their birth and afterwards when their parents had died.
Aden kept pace at her side, his hands plunged deep into his pockets. “I get the feeling the locals have whole-heartedly embraced the notion of you and your sisters’ magical qualities. It’s endearing.”
Rosa’s gut told her he chose his words carefully. Why had he been so approachable to the citizens of Raven’s Creek yet brushed her and her sisters off so coldly this morning? Why would he be speaking to strangers when he could have come directly to her?
“I’ve heard from various individuals that you’ve been asking questions, about the gallery.” And us.
Aden stopped walking so she was forced to stop too. He rocked forward on the balls of his feet and then back and stared down at her for a long, brooding moment. “Just trying to get the measure of the town since this is my home for the next few weeks. When I heard the witch rumor, I was more than a little intrigued.”
Rosa recommenced walking — or actually more like marching, as she was in a hurry to get this night over with, and within a heartbeat Aden was at her side again. “There’s nothing intriguing about us. This is our home. The gallery is our livelihood. It’s taken hard work to get where we are now, and there’s nothing magical about it.”
Aden glanced up at the changeable sky. “Such a beautiful night.”
Thank the Goddess! He’d changed the subject. Rosa looked up. She wouldn’t have called the wind and dark, broody clouds sweeping overhead beautiful, and she would be glad to get home and warm her hands on the fire. “Looks like your finger will be wrong.”
“I’m never wrong. Jack Frost will definitely pay a visit in the morning.”
Night was descending, and the dew on the road shone under the night lights as they switched on, illuminating the path as they walked. Stars twinkled in and out from behind the clouds, and the words a night made for magic whispered enticingly in her mind as they neared the inn.
The crisp night had brought people outside onto the adjoining deck of the bar at the inn. Silhouettes bopped, and raucous laughter mingled with the rhythmic thrum of music reverberating through the timber building. The bass beat vibrated under her feet, and although Rosa knew sound carried more at night, tonight it was noisier than usual.
Raven’s Creek Inn was lit up like a Christmas tree, festooned with bright, colored lights. It appeared the party or whatever celebration it was would continue long into the night.
Resignation echoed in Aden’s next words. “Another sleepless night.”
• • •
Once more, Aden stood at the window of his hotel room. The indigenous wildlife in the surrounding countryside recognized Aden’s presence, and he experienced a surge of relief in knowing there was no need to shield his magic from nature. Drawing strength into himself from the earth outside, he caught the scent of hearth fires and the aromas of rich, heart-warming casseroles cooking.
But he was not interested in the night’s menu. No, he wanted to find out more about Rosa. He cast a stealthy spell, taking more care this time to ensure it lasted and would not be detected by Rosa or her sisters, and sought her out, focusing on her, going deeper than he had yesterday now that he held a clearer picture of her character. It would be difficult to remain isolated and disconnected in the presence of so much warmth woven into the town’s fabric. Here was a community who cared deeply for the Greenwood witches, and, in their own way, watched over them, silently shielding them from those who would exploit them. It was almost as if each and every inhabitant of Raven’s Creek had congregated to weave their own spell to protect the sisters from harm.
Irritation flared as that same warmth swirled in past the cold air and reached out to embrace him. He rebuffed it immediately, refusing the lure of welcoming spirit.
No! I am not here to stay!
The slam of a door jerked his attention back to the present. Releasing his breath in a hiss, he swung around to inspect the interior of his room with an air of rest
less contempt. Memories embedded in the walls rasped like sandpaper across his skin. Loneliness permeated the room, swamping him, making him acutely aware of his own empty existence. A longing washed over him, and Rosa arrived in his mind, perfectly formed.
No! Ruthlessly, Aden cast her out. Alarm rushed into the void. Tempted to shake his fists at the walls and command them to silence, he clenched his jaw and bit down on his tongue. It would be a precious waste of magic to sweep the room clean, and he knew it would never be enough to grant him the physical and mental balance he required. His energy was better spent ensuring Lavender Cottage was his for the next few weeks.
Aden grunted with brusque amusement as he recalled Rosa’s instinctive and suspicious reaction toward him. With the Fates on his side, Rosa’s past, present, and future were about to collide. It was his sole responsibility to ensure she did not evade the consequences if she failed.
It was extremely convenient he had been invited to showcase his work around the exact same time the bells were tolling for Rosa. But then … was there ever such a thing as coincidence? He was inherently suspicious there was more at play than had been explained to him before he left Marylebone. He paced the square room and strove to ignore the overwhelming sensation of being caged by insipid pink walls and beige carpet. Unwilling to spend another minute in what he now saw as a prison, he swore explicitly and stalked out of the building to embrace the night.
Chapter Five
Feet bare, Aden stepped onto a lawn of fragrant thyme to enjoy the quiet solitude of the late spring morning. He was right. The rain Rosa had spoken of never arrived, just as he’d foretold, and the wind had moved on to chase leaves elsewhere.
Self-satisfied, he tossed the keys to Lavender Cottage in his hand. Alanna had been more than happy to lease the property to him. Of course, he’d known all along she lived in the studio above the gallery, but he had also known she was a jogger — something else Super Sleuth Ruth had told him — so he’d stationed himself near the gallery early that morning to ensure he would “accidentally” bump into her just as she returned, all hot, puffed, and not in the slightest bit exhausted.
No magical persuasion necessary. Instead, he identified an ally of sorts, but he would need to watch for interference, as she was, he discerned, a willful, meddlesome creature. When she eventually reached her true potential, she would be an impressive and remarkable magical being.
If she ever learned to control her impulses and her selfish characteristics. But today, that selfishness suited his needs, and he felt no guilt in exploiting it to get what he wanted.
A pleased smile on his lips, he tilted his head up to enjoy the warmth of the sun before turning his attention to the backyard of Rose Cottage, a century-old Kauri homestead, immediately opposite and a fraction to his right.
Rosa moved around the boundary of the yard with a paintbrush in hand, dabbing at spots on the white picket fence. She moved deftly, at one with nature and it with her. White geraniums, deep purple lavenders, and the soft pink of old-fashioned climbing roses creeping along the length of the fence eased back, allowing Rosa access to complete her task.
Aden stood beneath the branches of a very old and magnificent Pohutukawa. Screened by a burgeoning profusion of leaves, he welcomed the opportunity to view Rosa unobserved. Although he had not deliberately set out to watch her, the simplicity of her movements and the calmness of her actions captured — no, demanded his attention.
Riveted, he absorbed everything. Her raven hair, tied back off her face into a ponytail. Her flimsy skirt provided tantalizing glimpses of skin. Her demeanor, in direct and confusing contrast to yesterday when she all but froze him out of the gallery, was relaxed and in tune with her surroundings.
Rosa was wise to trust her intuition and to be wary of his motives. Even Aden did not fully comprehend why he had been directed to shield his true nature, that of warlock. It was an unusual request, and no amount of questioning his superior had elicited a satisfactory response.
An aura of light shimmered about Rosa as she hummed softly to herself. Aden’s sharp hearing caught the lilting tune of a folk song he hadn’t heard in centuries. The song thrust his memory back into the past; to a time he’d locked away and rarely allowed himself to think about. His world tilted and his hard-won calm, regained after leaving the inn and spending the remainder of the night resting illegally in the gentle-spirited Lavender Cottage, evaporated.
Aden ground his teeth so hard his jaw protested and a needle-like pain jabbed at his temple. Anger whipped through him as long-buried memories sought release. His lightning bolt earring heated to an uncomfortable burn, and the sentient Pohutukawa, hiding him from Rosa’s line of sight, protested by recoiling, leaving Aden exposed and vulnerable.
Idiot!
Aden placed a palm on the trunk and sent it reassurance. I mean no harm. But he was a stranger in a small town, and the Pohutukawa was slow to respond. In that moment, Rosa looked up and over to where he stood.
Had she felt the surge of magic within the Greenwood circle?
Rosa’s paintbrush stilled, as did the chatter of birds above Aden in the tree. The air crackled with a quiet tension, and this time Aden’s earring seared his skin. His fingers clenched into tight balls at his thighs, and he forced himself to ignore the keys as they cut into his skin. No use pretending he hadn’t been staring, so he schooled his mouth into a friendly smile, moved out from under the branches, and waved.
Rosa responded with an all too schooled reaction. She inclined her head, smiled a stiff, obviously artificial smile back, placed her brush in the paint pot, turned her back on him, and walked toward her villa and out of view. Gone was the warmth and ease of movement glimpsed only moments before, in its place an invisible wall of protection he would not — dared not — penetrate.
A Master Warlock, and he’d acted as carelessly as a novice on his first assignment.
• • •
A savage staccato thumped fiercely against Rosa’s ribcage, so loud there was danger Aden would hear its traitorous beat from across the lane. Much as she wanted to run, she forced herself to walk at a sedate pace toward the veranda and the safe harbor of her home. She would not reveal the inner panic blindsiding her after just one glimpse of Aden standing in the front yard or the hint of uncertainty lighting the aura of the great Pohutukawa guarding Lavender Cottage.
She had finally managed to sleep last night. Granted, it was due in most part to the combination of extreme exhaustion and the herbal draught she had taken for her headache. This morning she awoke with worry still at the forefront of her mind but her equilibrium restored. Now, a few breaths later, poof — it was gone. Just like that!
She had felt power — great power. And it emanated from within their circle. The difference was Aden’s presence. Making a snap decision, she went straight to her workroom, an annex off the kitchen, and pulled out her turquoise pottery scrying bowl from a cupboard. The scrying bowl never lied. If there was an ulterior motive for Aden’s presence in Raven’s Creek, all would be revealed.
She walked back to the kitchen and placed the bowl on the two hundred-year-old Kauri table lovingly made by her great, great grandfather and retrieved a matching pottery pitcher and filled it with purified water. Eyes closed, she took a few moments to still her roiling thoughts, then spoke the words she declared before she started any spell. “For the good of all.”
Opening her eyes, she poured a stream of water into the vessel. Her inner turmoil revealed itself in trembling hands. Rosa bit down on her lower lip, her mind churning and whirling with a million questions. Wasn’t she the one who always took charge, the one who remained calm when the rare emergency struck? Was she not the one the townsfolk came to in times of need? Now, when she was the one requiring help, to whom could she turn?
There was Zelda, her friend and confidante, her voice of reason when all else failed. But Zelda was out of
the country visiting friends. Rosa also feared she wouldn’t understand the implications. A wizardess she might be, but she marched to a completely different set of magical laws.
Without Aden’s permission to peer into his life, Rosa was committing a violation of witch law. Not once in her entire life had she considered stepping over that line. Unable to ignore the signs of portent any longer, she justified her actions by reminding herself her future was at stake, and therefore it was her right to scry into another’s life.
She would go in quickly to allay her suspicions Aden was hiding something from her. From them all. Every instinct told her this was so.
Rosa gripped the pitcher, hugged it against her midriff, and began to recite words learned at her mother’s knee, confident no matter how upset she was, all would be revealed.
“Reflect the truth so I can see, the intentions of Aden Dragunis to me.”
Bespelled to reveal the images she sought, the water coalesced into swirls of stormy gray. The scrying bowl was a powerful tool for a witch. Nothing seen could be misconstrued.
Rosa placed the jug to one side and bent to peer into the water, but when seconds ticked by and no image appeared, a frown of consternation drew her eyebrows together. Inviting the magical elements to reveal the truth a second time, she gazed intently into the bowl and waited.
She repeated the incantation. Nothing.
Tension in her neck and shoulders contorted into tight knots, threatening to spasm the muscles. It was not as if conjuring Aden’s image in her mind’s eye was a hardship. She might only have met him once, but every inch was imprinted in her memory.
So why did nothing present itself now?
Guilt wrung her already tense stomach into a tangle of squeamish knots. She would ask for her own future instead. A scary prospect, because the future would amount to nothing if she did not fulfill the Fates’ wishes. But not knowing was far scarier, so she grounded herself yet once again, bent over her bowl, and repeated the incantation, this time using her own name instead.
The Silver Rose Page 3