“The charm broke as we reached climax. He was furious, leaping up and pulling his knife. But he hesitated.”
“Your souls had bonded?”
She shook her head, her hair sliding over the water of the lake. “His soul was gone already, but some part of him recognized me as … I don't know … part of himself. That hesitation gave me the chance to use a sleep amulet I had made as a precaution. He dropped into a heavy sleep and I ran.”
Disappointed, she said, “It didn't work. It changed nothing.”
“Except one thing. You were conceived.”
The words echoed in her head, my father is a rogue witch hunter. Was that the evil her adoptive father had sensed in her?
“From the first moment I realized I was pregnant, I loved you, Darcy. Your father couldn't stay away from me. Something of me got inside him and he tracked me relentlessly. Eventually he learned that I was pregnant. I ran, but he was never far behind. He was furious and believed I had tricked him to get pregnant with you. He was desperate to kill us both. You see, he'd been tricked before.”
Her father wanted to kill her. It roiled in her stomach. “Tricked how?”
“By the demon witches. He was the hunter they tricked and captured.”
“And he blames all witches.” Just as Axel would blame her if he turned out to be her soul mirror. He would believe she'd tricked him. He was already suspicious that she had done something to him. He'd be furious and … she didn't know what.
“Yes, and he couldn't stand it. I knew he'd never give up, so when I had the vision I put you with the MacAlisters, then kept running, hoping I could find a way to live and get you back. But he found me.”
“He killed you.”
She nodded. “My last thought was that you would be safe, at least for a while. I wouldn't tell him where you were, no matter what he did.”
“Oh … Fallon, Mom …” What should she call her? Darcy had loved her adoptive mother very much. But this woman had died for her. Didn't she deserve the title “Mom,” too?
Her smiled was luminous. “Thank you for that, Darcy. Hearing you call me Mom … thank you.” Her voice was thick with years of pent-up emotion.
God. “How can I lose you now when I have only just found you?”
“You never lost me. I've always been with you and I always will be. I am choosing not to reincarnate, but to stay in Summerland as an Ancestor. I'll always hear you, and you will always know I'm there.”
“Thank you.” She wanted more, she wanted her mother here with her, but Fallon had loved her enough to die to keep her safe.
“I'm leaving you all my spells, all the spells from the witches in our family. They are my legacy to you, and I hope you can find a way to help that child …”
“You know about Hannah?”
She nodded, her long auburn hair floating on the water. “I do.” Raising her chin, her dark eyes held a determined light. “How can I help you?”
She had to learn as much as possible to heal Hannah. “Axel says I only have until the waxing gibbous moon to heal her with magic.”
“He's correct. The death curse fills the victim with suffocating darkness. Fever, headaches, and nightmares take over. Each day, more and more threads of darkness grow in the victim. The death mark on the forehead darkens to a deeper color as more of these threads form and grow. Before the waxing gibbous, the threads are separate and unorganized. We can draw out these threads with a high-magic spell. Once the phase passes, the threads meld together and form a bond with the demon witch.”
The pressure made the swirling fog around her feel like hundreds of pounds of weight were on her. She had to succeed. “What happens if we don't do it by then?”
“Under the full moon, the demon witch will finish the curse and cause the threads to slowly strangle the victim from the inside. Between the waxing gibbous and the full moon, only killing the demon witch will save the death-curse victim.”
But if Axel killed the demon witch, he'd lose his soul. She had to figure out how to do this. “What if my familiar doesn't show up? Can I do it without one?”
Fallon said softly, “Maybe your familiar already has. Or it might still show up. You're a witch with a witch-hunter father. You might be the witch who will break the curse and get a familiar. Or you will do it another way. Maybe by a soul mirror.”
“You don't know the future?”
“No, but I have faith in you, Darcy.” The waters rippled and the image of Fallon began to sink into the pond. “Time is running out. I have to tell you the name of your father.”
The white mist pressed in on her again and she began to hear an echo of other voices. The brilliant colors that formed her mom had started to fade. “Who is it?”
“Quinn Young.”
THURSDAY (VERY EARLY MORNING)
DAY SIX OF THE DEATH MARK
Axel felt Darcy's magic tumble through him in a continuous stream, vibrating through his intestines.
Then it stopped.
For nearly an hour she had stared at the tapestry. Even stranger, he had heard her talking inside his head. He figured out that he was hearing her side of the conversation with her biological mother. That was some weird shit. He could only assume that because he'd touched her blood, and perhaps because they'd had sex tonight, he had been magically pulled into half of the conversation.
Joe moved to stand in front of her. “You were crying. Just staring at the tapestry and crying. You didn't hear me talking to you.”
Axel tried to sort out what he'd learned from hearing her side; her mom was dead, murdered. Her mom might have known how to break the curse. Discussion about familiars and Hannah. It fed the dark suspicions rustling in his mind.
Why now? Why could Darcy talk to the tapestry now? Why had he felt her powers vibrating through him?
What had she done to him?
She pulled herself from beneath his arm and moved to sit on the bed, huddling into the blanket around her shoulders. Lifting her gaze to her cousin, she said, “I saw my biological mother. She's dead, and has been for twenty-six years. She was murdered by my father.”
Axel swore his hawk tattoo tried to reach out to her, to ease her grief.
He watched as Joe sank onto the bed next to her. “Ah shit, Darcy.”
She smiled wanly at that. “You always know the right thing to say.”
He squeezed her in a one-arm hug. “It's my natural charm.”
Axel leaned back on the worktable and focused. There was nothing they could do about her parents, or the fact that her mom had been murdered—most likely by a rogue. “Can you access the spells in there now?”
Joe frowned. “Jesus, Locke. She's not a machine.”
“It'd be better if I had a familiar.” Her face looked troubled as she stared at the tapestry. “Maybe he or she will show up soon.”
The familiar comment brought his father's accusations back to him. How had she drawn him into her magic? Her next words snapped him out of his thoughts.
“Who is Quinn Young?”
Axel went stiff and looked at her pale face. “He's the head of the rogues. He's organizing them and determined to wipe out the existence of witches entirely. Why?”
Sharp laughter spilled from her. “Guess that explains why he wants to kill me so badly.”
Her eyes were too big in her face, accentuated by dark shadows. “Darcy, what's going on?”
She looked back at the tapestry. “Quinn Young is my father.”
“Bloody hell,” he muttered. He couldn't help thinking that things were just getting more complicated. Her father was a rogue witch hunter. But maybe that made sense, maybe that formed a bond between them and that was why she was able to draw him into her magic.
Or maybe that gave her an ability to use him to increase her magic. He had to find out more. “Did he know about you?”
“Yes. But my mom put me in a mortal family to hide me. She refused to tell him where I was even when he killed her.”
“He wants t
o kill you. He had you moved up to the top of their witch kill list. But how did he find you?” Things began to fall into place. “Sutton told me you registered to find your birth parents.”
“My adoptive mom registered me before she died. You think he found me that way? All she put on the site was my birth date and my picture.” She glanced back at the tapestry. “I saw my mother, I look just like her.”
Axel worked on the idea. “He could have set something up on the search sites. Probably by your birth date, and when you registered with it, it flagged him.”
She shrugged. “He'd recognize me since I resemble my mother.”
Axel remembered her telling him that she'd seen his father at the cemetery. “I suspect he sent my father to double-check that you are a witch. That's why he didn't kill you then, he wanted to report back that you're a witch. Far as I know, not many witches are adopted into mortal families. Young would be certain you were his daughter.”
She didn't say anything.
He had to know. “Why does he want to kill you this badly?”
She shifted her gaze back to the tapestry. “He believes my mother tricked him. She used a charm to shield her powers and they had sex. The charm failed and she got away. He believes she tricked him like those demon witches did to capture him.”
An earth witch that could hide her powers? “The demon witches used a glamour to hide their powers, making themselves appear as young, mortal women,” Axel said. “Your mother had that kind of magic?”
“She said it was a charm she made, that she was trying to break the curse. She ended up paying for that with her life.”
Had that really been what she'd been doing? Could earth witches even make a charm like that? What had Darcy's mom really been up to? He'd heard Darcy mention familiars. “Was she trying to finish the curse? Bind Young as a familiar? Is that how she thought she'd break the curse?”
Her face went red, her witch-glow darkened to almost black with her rage. “My mother was an earth witch!”
Her fury filled the room with the scent of smoke. Candles on the granite counter began to melt into a waxy mess. Faucets turned on and off. Her outrage rasped against his skin until it felt like the feathers of his hawk were ruffled in sympathetic anger.
“Jesus, Darcy.” Joe slid his arm off of her, looking around the room in shock.
Axel drew in a breath and calmed down. “Darcy, you didn't see her in real life, how would you know? She could—”
She jumped up from the bed. “She died protecting me. She could have turned to demon magic and saved herself. Then she could have fought back against Quinn Young. But she didn't. So don't you dare suggest anything different!” She stormed into the bathroom. The door slammed, sounding like a gunshot.
“Darcy, I need your help.”
Joe's voice sliced through her restless sleep. “What?”
She sat up and shoved her hair out of her face, and tried to blink away the dryness in her eyes.
He loomed a few feet away from her bed, wearing only sweatpants and a deep furrow between his eyes. “It's Morgan. She's locked herself in the bathroom. She's not making sense.”
She shoved back the covers and stood. “What do you mean?”
“Just hurry. I'm worried about her.” He spun and strode out.
The tile floor was cold, but she ignored it and followed Joe down the hall and into another bedroom. This one had a double bed, a nightstand, and a TV mounted on the wall.
Joe strode up to the closed door that led to the attached bathroom.
“What happened?”
“She had a nightmare and I came in here. I got her to calm down, and she went back to sleep. I must have fallen asleep. When I woke up, I heard her muttering to herself in the bathroom. She wouldn't come out, the door was locked and—” He broke off sharply, and ran his hand through his hair. Then he snapped, “Just open the door! I'm afraid she's going to hurt herself.”
“Morgan?” Darcy called out.
“No! I have to protect him, I have to. I, please … I can't remember.”
Her voice cracked and it broke Darcy's heart. She remembered when Morgan had been an overconfident teenager, so sure she would have a brilliant life in front of her. Darcy had envied that. Envied the way Morgan always knew where she fit. She knew she would be a journalist. She just knew.
In those days, Darcy had sometimes thought about wanting to see Morgan brought down a peg or two.
Right now it made her sad and her stomach pitched in sympathy. Morgan didn't deserve this. “Morgan, I'm coming in.”
“No! I won't let him … I won't … I had to run, but he'll find me … and why can't I remember?”
Joe bounced on his feet. “Move, I'll break down the door!”
Darcy shot Joe a withering look. “Or I could just open it.” Putting her hand on the doorknob, she opened her first four chakras with that elevator-drop feeling, focused the power through her fingers, and heard the lock disengage. She turned the knob and pushed the door open.
Morgan stood with her back to the wall between the bathtub and the counter. She had her arms wrapped around herself. An oversize dark blue T-shirt made her look small and lost. “No, don't touch me,” she moaned. She slid down the wall, as if standing were just too hard, and curled her arms around her bent legs. “I won't let him …” She squeezed her eyes shut, her face contorting with pain. “I won't let …” She put her forehead on her knees. “God, I don't know!”
A well of pity filled Darcy. What the hell had broken this woman? She turned toward Joe. He wore a look that bordered between panic and male confusion. He was useless. She walked into the bathroom and knelt down. “Morgan, who are you protecting?”
She looked up, her face bleached of color. “I don't know.” Tears sprung up and spilled down her face. Her body shook with emotion.
“Morgan.” Darcy reached out and took the woman's hand. Her chakras were open, so she tried to send a calming energy to her.
There was a backwash of emotion and images. Knives. Screams … Oh, God, the screams. Morgan begging him to stop. The pain; razor-like pain slicing through her skin … Then Morgan standing in a bathroom holding a stick. Her hand shaking, nausea roiling in her stomach, staring at the stick …
The realization shocked Darcy out of the connection. She forced herself to breathe through the dizziness and mild nausea. Somehow, she'd pulled in some of Morgan's memories.
And now she knew exactly who she was protecting, even if Morgan didn't know. But, holy crap, the things Morgan had suffered. She shuddered.
“Darcy? What did you do? The fear is better,” Morgan said, her voice smoother now.
“It's witchcraft. I sent positive, calming energy to you. Morgan, you need to rest. Drink some tea and see if you can eat.” She had to think, figure out what to do. Tell Morgan? Get help? Warn Joe? Joe, who she knew was falling for Morgan. Morgan was making Joe feel alive and giving him a purpose. That was real emotion and connection that was …
“I'm broken, Darcy.”
Those simple words tore her from her thoughts and filled her throat with sympathy. She had just seen a brief glimpse of what Morgan had endured. She squeezed her hand and told her the truth. “You're not broken, Morgan. You're a fighter.” Smiling, she added gently, “Maybe you're a little cracked right now, but not broken. And you're not alone. You have me and Joe. Do you hear me?”
She looked past Darcy to Joe, then back to Darcy. “He's been nice to me.”
Darcy snorted. “Nice? You think he feels sorry for you?”
“He was always nice to you, always protected you.”
How long had Morgan been alone? Unable to trust her own judgment? “Nice? Hardly. Joe loved me. He still loves me. We're family. He wasn't always nice, Morgan. Sometimes he was downright mean to me. But he loves me and he always stood by me. If he's choosing to help you …” She realized that this was true. She knew Joe, knew the man he was, and she was beginning to grasp that what he saw in Morgan wasn't a weak woman need
ing rescue, but a strong woman struggling to stand against impossible odds. “It's because he cares. Maybe it's as a friend or maybe as something else, but he cares. He's not just being nice. That is something you can count on.”
“Thank you.”
She nodded, but her mind was whirling with what she had seen. Did she tell Morgan? Tell her now that she'd calmed down? Or wait? She didn't know. What if she was wrong? How did she pull in memories like that? Letting go of Morgan's hand, she stood and said, “I'm going to go talk to Carla. See if she can—”
“Carla? Why her?” Joe reached down to Morgan, took her hands and helped her stand.
Morgan added, “Your friend Carla? The one who helped at your mom's service? She's a hypnotist of some kind. You think that will help me?”
Damn it. She'd been so thrown by what she'd seen and felt, she'd blurted out Carla's name. Her head started to throb. “It's a long story. I'll explain later.” She left.
Axel had managed a few hours’ sleep and dreamed of making love with Darcy. Of holding her, tasting her, then joining with her and feeling whole.
Then the memory of her hurt expression and furious voice as she'd told him to get out woke him up.
He walked softly down the stairs. She was probably still asleep and he'd leave his iPod on the counter. He had set up an account for her so she could download whatever music she wanted.
Oh, yeah, an iPod would make up for calling her mom a demon witch. He grimaced, knowing damn well he'd flatten anyone who called his mom something like that.
He paused when Darcy's voice caught his attention.
“I don't understand how it happened. Morgan was terrified, not making sense. I tried to send calming energy to her, but I got a backlash of her memories, her terror and pain from being cut by her husband.”
He heard the frustration in her voice. Who was she talking to? Had something happened to Morgan? Axel shielded his presence so she wouldn't see him and walked silently to the doorway of Darcy's room. She sat on her bed with her back against the wall and her auburn hair tumbling down around her. She had the computer on her lap, her long legs stretched out.
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