The Phoenix Charm

by Helen Scott Taylor

  Ignoring Devin’s simmering attraction, Nightshade focused on the danger. He could all too easily forget this creature was born of shadow.

  “As you’re checking the pit, I assume Michael’s planning to come before the Enne ad again?”

  Nightshade stared at Devin, wondering at his questions, then resumed his perusal of the wall. He didn’t dare completely turn his back on the djinn, so he kept him in sight from the corner of his eye. “Did Gwyn ap Nudd reveal our plans to you?” Seems he’d been right to distrust the King of the Underworld.

  “Maybe I already knew.” Devin pushed away from the wall and ambled closer. Nightshade tensed, extended his wings just enough to stabilize himself if he needed to move fast.

  “I’m friend, not foe, stalker.”

  Nightshade swung to face the djinn, who stood glowing faintly like a candle in the night. “You voted against us.”

  “No, I abstained. A whole different bunch o’bananas.”

  “What do you want with me, dark one?” Nightshade asked.

  “Isn’t it rather ironic you should call me dark one?”

  “I’m referring to your spirit, not your skin color.”

  Devin’s eyebrows rose. His eyes still glittered, but the spark of humor hardened to a deadly sliver of warning.

  In the blink of an eye, the djinn was in his face. He ran a nail across Night shade’s chest, the barest touch, yet it robbed him of coherent thought.

  “Take care what you say to me,” Devin whispered, his tone a dark promise of pain that drew a whimper from Night shade’s throat.

  His mind screamed strike, yet his arms hung useless at his sides while he stared into Devin’s midnight eyes.

  “My spirit is no darker than yours, stalker. Do not goad me. You may be fast in shade form, but you have your feet grounded in the earth. I could destroy you with a thought.”

  Suddenly the djinn released him from his thrall. In a heartbeat, he stood at the top of the steps, staring down. Nightshade slumped against the wall, abrading his wings on the rough stones. He grimaced and stepped forward, his chest heaving with anger and humiliation.

  “Don’t ever do that to me again,” he forced out between gritted teeth.

  The djinn angled his head. His dark hair slid aside, revealing the pointed tip of one ear. “I came here to help you, stalker.”

  Nightshade snorted.

  Devin’s grin twitched the corners of his mouth. “Forget your pride, or you’ll miss something important.”

  With a steadying breath, Nightshade pushed aside his seething anger and walked forward. “Speak then.”

  Extending a hand, Devin indicated the door. “I have something to show you.”

  Nightshade would pull out his fangs before he let the djinn walk behind him. “You go first.”

  Apparently unthreatened to have Nightshade behind him, Devin swung around and headed out of the council chamber.

  A short distance along the corridor, Devin opened a door and passed through. When Nightshade followed, the beguiling fragrance of burning incense swamped his senses. He found himself in a large richly furnished room that seemed out of place in the austere castle. Bright tapestries decorated the walls, while oriental rugs covered the floor. Devin sat on the end of a massive four-poster bed surrounded by purple and gold curtains. He slipped off his black silk slippers, and stepped into leather ankle boots. “This is my bedchamber when I’m in the castle,” he said with a glance up as he fastened the bootstraps.

  A few minutes later, they left the room and made their way along corridors and down steps to a lower level. In the passage, they met a few human women in plain brown dresses and aprons who all stepped aside and eyed Nightshade warily.

  Finally, the djinn led Nightshade into a narrow corridor ringing with the sound of women’s chatter from a room at the end. Devin halted at the door, and Nightshade paused behind him. Five human women worked at sinks, scrubbing laundry and pushing clothing through a wringer.

  “Ladies.” Devin bowed with an elegant sweep of his hand. The women’s giggles turned to gasps when they saw Nightshade. Two backed away and cowered against the far wall.

  “You’re safe with my friend,” Devin said, his voice dark silky persuasion. The women visibly relaxed, but tension still hung in the room.

  “What are we doing here?” Nightshade whispered. Devin raised his hand, requesting patience. Nightshade shook his head as he surveyed the laundry room. Hadn’t the Teg heard of washing machines and dryers?

  “Eloise—” Devin beckoned a slightly built woman with light brown hair spilling from beneath a grubby cap. She hesitated, then came two steps closer, maintaining what she must think was a safe distance. “Where’s Rhys?” Devin asked.

  Her eyes flared with fear. She clutched her wet apron in chapped red hands and shook her head. “Are you sure it’s safe to talk, sir?”

  Devin raised a calming hand. “Do not fear. Arian is busy elsewhere.” Her eyes darted to the doorway, then settled on Nightshade while her teeth worried at her lip.

  “This is Nightshade. He’d like to meet Rhys.”

  Nightshade raised his eyebrows. That was news to him.

  The woman stared at him for a few seconds, then crouched and peered beneath the massive oak table heaped with piles of clean laundry. “Come out, my pet.”

  Nightshade expected a dog or cat, although why he would want to meet either baffled him.

  A small black head peeped out. Nightshade’s breath imploded, locking muscles, wiping thoughts. A little boy, no larger than Finian and Kea, crawled out from under the table. He wore nothing but a sagging diaper fastened with two huge safety pins. Chubby black fingers clutched at his mother’s arm. He pushed himself up onto his legs and gave a coy smile.

  “May I present your half brother Rhys,” Devin said softly.

  A lifetime of memories skated through Nightshade’s head as he stared at the boy—a cuckoo in the nest, just as he’d been. His legs carried him forward without conscious thought. The woman jerked back, startled, as he dropped to his knees in front of her.

  “Don’t be frightened…Please.” He raised a gentling hand, made sure he kept his wings folded tight to his back. Gradually, she relaxed her grip on her son. Nightshade pushed his hair back, and smiled at her, carefully, not too much, just enough to reassure.

  “Hello, Rhys.” The child angled his head, his silver eyes glinting between sooty lashes. His lips parted in a grin, revealing six teeth along with gaps. Slowly, Nightshade reached out and stroked the fluff of dark hair on his head. “How old is he?”

  “Eleven months. He’s just finding his feet.”

  “May I?” Nightshade held out his hand and, after a moment’s hesit ation, Eloise turned the child to face him.

  Rhys blinked at him shyly He touched Nightshade’s hand, then turned away and pressed his face to his mother’s skirt. “You’re a cutie, aren’t you?” Words Nightshade never dreamed would pass his lips slipped out as though he’d been saying them all his life.

  The boy stretched out his hand again and grabbed one of Nightshade’s fingers, then found his feet.

  “Clever boy.” He grinned like a fool and couldn’t stop.

  Rhys gave another toothy grin and stepped forward. Nightshade ached to hold him more than he’d ever imagined possible. Unknown emotions gripped his chest and throat, making it difficult to speak.

  Eloise stroked the child’s back, then glanced up nervously. “When will his wings grow?”

  Gently, Nightshade turned Rhys sideways to see the two little bumps of flesh on his back. “The wing buds will develop a little over the next few years”—his heart clenched at the memory of pisky children chasing him around calling him hunchback. He couldn’t bear to think of this innocent child going through the same torment—“then at puberty they’ll grow much faster. That’s when he’ll get his fangs.” He left unspoken the implication that he’d also develop his taste for blood.

  What little color Eloise had in her face drain
ed away. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.

  Devin appeared at their side and hunkered down. He rubbed Rhys under the chin with his knuckle. “Nightshade is Rhys’s half brother,” he said.

  “I heard you say that.” Looking down, she sniffed. “What do you know of your father?” When she looked up, tears shimmered in her eyes.

  “I’ve never met him. My mother was a Cornish pisky. He lived with the piskies for a while. By the time I was born, he’d gone.”

  She shook her head. “You were lucky.”

  Nightshade had never considered himself lucky. He’d longed for his father to come back and claim him. To finally meet one of his own kind…

  “Dragon isn’t a good father,” Eloise whispered.

  Devin laughed, an incredulous bark as if the sound had been knocked out of him. Rhys flinched. Nightshade curled a protective hand around the boy’s tiny shoulders and scowled at the djinn.

  “Eloise is being diplomatic.” Devin nodded encouragement to the woman. “Tell Nightshade the truth about his father.”

  She gently encouraged Rhys into Nightshade’s arms, then stood and paced to the sink.

  With a burst of pleasure, Nightshade cuddled the child, stroking the soft tufts of dark hair back from inquisitive silver eyes. For the first time he understood why Michael was willing to sacrifice himself for Finian. Nightshade had only just discovered Rhys, yet he would defend his tiny brother with his life.

  “Dragon doesn’t really want Rhys, yet he is possessive about him. Whenever he returns, he demands to see Rhys and expects him to do things no child of his age can do. Then he punishes him when he fails.”

  Blood raced hot and fast to Nightshade’s head. “Tell me.”

  Tears rolled down Eloise’s face as she eased down the top of Rhys’s diaper to reveal pink streaks of scar tissue.

  Devin caught the woman’s arm. She struggled to pull away. “Shh, woman. He needs to see.” She sagged against the edge of the table, hanging her head, and stood mutely while Devin lifted the hem of her skirt to reveal similar scars on her legs.

  “I wasn’t here the last time Dragon visited.” A hint of color crept along the djinn’s cheekbones, and his eyes glittered with hate.

  Nightshade stared at the vicious slash marks on Eloise’s legs. He had believed his father to be selfish and irresponsible, but could he have done this? Could this monster Eloise was describing really be the creature whose blood ran through his veins?

  “Arian is as bad,” Eloise choked out, tears streaming down her cheeks. “He taunts my baby. I’m frightened of what Arian will do to him when Rhys is old enough to answer back.”

  Nightshade held Rhys tightly to his chest. His gaze lost focus and he played out exactly what would happen to Rhys in a few years. He had been there, done that. The pisky children who teased him were reprimanded, but there’d be no one to stop Arian taunting Rhys. No way could a small boy with wounded feelings and not enough maturity to keep his mouth shut defend himself against a full-grown male.

  Eloise blinked and rubbed her eyes. She gazed at Devin, heartbreak on her face. “When you said you knew a way to keep Rhys safe, I didn’t realize you meant someone would take him away.” She pressed her hands to her mouth and sobbed.

  Nightshade stared at her, at a loss to know what to say to give comfort.

  “The decision is up to you, Eloise.” Devin touched her arm gently.

  She wiped her cheeks on her apron. “The choice is already made.” She pulled Rhys from Nightshade’s arms and rocked him. “The most important thing is to keep my baby safe.” She turned swollen red eyes up to Nightshade. “I can already tell he likes you, and you’re family. You must take him with you when you leave.”

  A whirlwind of emotion roared through Nightshade, hope, pleasure, a twinge of guilt at his joy. “I’ll take you both. He needs his mother.”

  Devin’s mouth set in a hard line. “The human slaves are magically shackled to the castle. There is a way she can escape, but we have to choose our time carefully” He rested a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Until I can help you escape, Rhys will be safe with Nightshade.”

  Footsteps sounded in the corridor outside the laundry room. Silence fell over the women, and everyone stared at the door. A huntsman halted in the doorway. “Master Devin, you’ve been summoned. The Ennead is reassembled.”

  Nightshade touched Rhys’s cheek and smiled at Eloise. “You keep him safe for a little longer. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  After pushing to his feet, Nightshade followed Devin out the door. He paused for one last sight of his brother before he hurried after the djinn.

  As they neared the council chamber, a sick fear burned in Nightshade’s stomach. What would happen to Michael? Could he really return from the dead? Nightshade stared at Devin’s back and anger flooded him.

  “I don’t understand you,” Nightshade snapped. He gripped Devin’s shoulder and pulled him to a halt. “You went out of your way to help Rhys, yet all you had to do to save the pisky king’s son was vote in our favor.”

  Devin shook away Nightshade’s hand, his expression unreadable. “That was not the plan.”

  “Whose plan?” Nightshade growled.

  The djinn’s outline wavered; then he disappeared in a puff of smoke.

  Chapter Ten

  Michael rubbed his sweaty palms on his thighs and tried to calm his pounding heart as he stared down into the plaintiff’s pit once more.

  Most of the councilors had already taken their seats. Mawgan extended his arm, inviting him to descend the five steps to the lower floor. Cordelia’s slender fingers slid into his hand, the simple touch giving him strength. She blinked up at him, tears glistening in her eyes. The prospect of his death must be almost as difficult for her to cope with as it was for him.

  “I’m with you, Michael. Whatever happens, I won’t leave you.”

  “Thank you, lass.” His throat closed, trapping the words so they barely escaped his lips. He kissed her knuckles. “When I return, I want…“ What did he want? To spend time with her, get to know her, make love to her. Yet to tell her now, when he might not survive, seemed insensitive. He must not make promises he wasn’t sure he could keep just to make himself feel better.

  He should concentrate on Finian, focus on what he would achieve, not what he might lose. An image filled his head of the boy in the mud at the bottom of the dark trench. Anger blazed through him, giving him strength. He squeezed Cordelia’s fingers, then let go. Only he could cross into the Underworld. He had to do this alone.

  He and Cordelia descended the steps side by side. She held her cat bag across her chest like a shield. When they reached the bottom, he glanced back at the door. Where was Nightshade? Although he’d thought he didn’t want the stalker here, he missed his friend.

  “Back so soon?” Arian slouched in his chair, legs stretched before him, crossed at the ankles. “I thought you’d be halfway back to Cornwall by now with your tail between your legs.”

  Michael ignored his taunting voice and scanned the gallery. Two chairs were still empty. One of the robed seers was missing and so was the djinn. He wanted both of those council members present before he presented his plea. The seer had been sympathetic to his case earlier, and he still hoped Master Devin might support him if only because he knew Troy.

  The missing seer entered from the gallery door and hurried to his seat. Mawgan gripped the arms of his chair and looked around. “Once again we await Master Devin,” he said, his tone resigned.

  “Start without him.” Arian flicked his hand at the vacant chair contemptuously. “He has no right to keep the rest of us waiting.”

  As his words faded, a wisp of smoke appeared above the empty. chair A second later, the djinn materialized, seated with his legs crossed, eyebrows raised at Arian.

  A beat of shocked silence filled the chamber, before Arian jumped to his feet. “No magic in the council chamber.” He pointed at Devin. “You forfeit your right to hear this
case.”

  An awkward silence fell while Arian glared at the other councilors, looking for support.

  Devin rose to his feet. “I apologize for my unorthodox entry. I was busy elsewhere and thought to expedite my arrival.”

  “Apology accepted, Master Devin,” Mawgan said. “The call was rather sudden, so your action is understandable.”

  Arian gave a dismissive gesture and flopped in his chair.

  Nightshade strode through the door, then hesitated at the top of the descending steps. Instead of the air of wounded pride Michael had expected, his friend radiated a vital urgency.

  Arian leaned forward, resting his hand on the intricately carved pillar beside his chair. “Nightstalker, forget them and join me in the gallery. The view is much better from up here.”

  With a grunt, Nightshade ran down the steps and strode to Michael’s side. “He’s determined to bait us.”

  Where had the stalker’s new restraint come from?

  Gripping Michael’s shoulder, Nightshade leaned closer. “I was wrong, my friend. You do the right thing in offering your life for Finian.”

  Michael turned a questioning gaze on Nightshade, who answered with a quick, tight smile. What had happened to change the stalker’s mind in the hour or so since they’d last spoken?

  “We await your further plea, Michael O’Connor,” Mawgan announced. “But be aware this is the last time we will gather at your call. Our decision on this appeal will be final.”

  “I do not appeal against your judgment.” Michael scanned the council members, noting the surprised glances they shared. “I respect the opinion of the Ennead that a blood price was due in payment for the breach in our domain.”

  Being careful not to look at Arian directly, Michael watched the gatekeeper’s reaction in his peripheral vision.

  Arian leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clenched, and scrutinized Michael. “Why then do you take us from our duties once again?” Arian demanded, his tone wary.

  “I have a proposition.” Michael spoke carefully, kept his voice free of compulsion. He turned a full circle, making eye contact with each of the nine council members. “Do you agree a one-year-old child is an innocent who can have had no knowledge of the illegal gateway? That whatever his bloodline, he’s not guilty of any crime?”