The Phoenix Charm

by Helen Scott Taylor

  “I could—”

  “No!” She stopped at the bottom of the steps and yanked down the neck of her pullover, exposing the pale ridges of scar tissue on her throat and shoulder.

  Nightshade’s breath hissed between his teeth.

  “Your father’s marks.”

  All expression was wiped from his face, leaving his eyes hard and flat.

  “That’s the effect I have on males. If you touch me when the wards come off, you’ll probably lose control as well.”

  Nightshade straightened, his nostrils flared, and he gave a single nod. “Go to Devin’s chamber. I’ll bring someone.” When they entered the corridor, he sprinted away, leaving her to find her way back to the room where she and Michael had bonded. Tears tightened her throat and filled her eyes. She swallowed hard and gritted her teeth. She had not been trained to use her healing powers, but she must be strong and pray the skill came to her naturally. Otherwise, Michael would be lost to her forever.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nightshade burst into Devin’s bedchamber with Rhys’s mother at his heels. Because he was taking her child to safety, he was sure Eloise would help Cordelia.

  Cordelia was kneeling in an alcove at the back of the room beside an old-fashioned faucet set into the wall above a stone bowl. When he entered, her head shot up. Fear flashed in her eyes, quickly replaced with relief. “Thank the gods, you’re back.”

  Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined a time when she’d be pleased to see him.

  “This is Eloise.” He nodded to the woman at his side, who took a tentative step toward Cordelia.

  “Good. Come and help me, please.” She held out a cleaning cloth. “I need all the symbols on my skin scrubbed off” Her breath caught, and her chest heaved a few times before she continued. “We’re running out of time.”

  Cordelia was naked except for her plain white underwear. He should have averted his eyes, but his gaze was drawn to the five intricate black Celtic symbols decorating her slender back. They must be the magical wards controlling her water nymph allure. She had a small round design on her nape, a large woven knot shape between her shoulder blades, the triangular symbol for inner strength straddling the delicate ridge of her spine at the level of her solar plexus, a triple spiral in the small of her back, and the top of a star peeping out over her panties.

  Although she had her back toward him, he assumed from the way she rubbed at her chest with a wet cloth that she must have matching symbols painted on her front.

  His throat closed and he swallowed painfully at the sight of the ragged edge of vicious scarring on her neck and shoulder. The cold weight in his belly that had settled there when she first showed him her in jurysolidified into lead, weighing down his spirit. No wonder the poor woman had always treated him with fear and loathing. How would he come to terms with this legacy of violence left by his father?

  She glanced at him, and he finally turned his back, the pale scars on her skin burned into his retinas for eternity.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “This isn’t your fault, Nightshade. Michael and I decided to come here. The consequences are on our heads.”

  “That’s not what I mean. I’m sorry for what my father did to you.”

  The frantic scrubbing noise ceased. He glanced over his shoulder to find her staring at him with an aching vulnerability. “It wasn’t totally your father’s fault. I was partly to blame.”

  He stared at Tamsy pacing restlessly around Cordelia. How could a frail woman think she was at fault when a nightstalker savaged her?

  “You can’t have been to blame, wise woman,” he said gently.

  The wet rubbing noise started again, interspersed with her murmured instructions to Eloise. When the seconds lengthened to minutes, he thought she wasn’t going to say anymore.

  Finally, she spoke, so softly he almost missed her words. “I’m half water nymph.”

  As if that explained everything.

  He blinked at the blurred colors of a wall hanging. “How does your being part water nymph make my father’s attack your fault?”

  “It’s not your fault if Dragon attacked you,” Eloise said categorically. “He takes what he wants from human, Teg, or water nymph.”

  “He’s here?” The stark terror in Cordelia’s voice crushed Nightshade’s soul.

  “No,” he said, trying to reassure her. Moving closer so they could talk, he sat sideways in a chair near the alcove.

  “He visits occasionally,” Eloise explained.

  “Has he attacked anyone here?” Reluctant curiosity quivered in Cordelia’s voice.

  Eloise sat back on her heels, holding a dripping cloth. “Me,” she whispered.

  “Gods and goddesses, I’m sorry.” Cordelia gripped the other woman’s hand. “How badly did he hurt you?”

  “She has a babe,” Nightshade said, with a guilty flash of pleasure that he could finally tell someone. “My half brother.”

  Nightshade dragged his chair around to face them, practicality overcoming his observance of propriety. “I’ve agreed to bring Rhys home with us to protect him.”

  Cordelia put a hand over her mouth, stared wide-eyed from Eloise to Nightshade and back. “I can’t think about this now. I must finish cleaning off my wards and get to Michael.”

  As the symbols disappeared from her body, Nightshade felt the pull of her sensual allure with disbelief. How could the cold, aloof wise woman have hidden this side of herself for so many years? The unbelievable discipline and self-denial left him speechless. And why would she want to hide her true nature? The restriction must be akin to his binding his wings. He couldn’t tolerate that for a day, let alone a lifetime.

  “I’m done.” Cordelia stood and pulled on her trousers, sweater, and jacket without bothering to dry off. “Tamsy, you stay here.” She touched her cat’s head briefly.

  “Can you show us a back way into the area beneath the council chamber?” Nightshade asked Eloise.

  “That’s the gateway to the Underworld,” Eloise said. “The wild hunt always starts from there. You should be able to enter through the huntsmen’s door near the kennels.”

  After following Eloise through a maze of corridors, they descended to a lower level where the ground dropped away on the far side of the island. They emerged on a flat area to find slate-roofed stone kennels surrounding a paved yard.

  Eloise stopped, her back pressed to the wall. The yard bustled with activity as huntsmen cleaned out the compounds and shouted instructions to each other.

  “The place isn’t usually busy at this time of day.”

  “I’ve lost track of what time of day it is.” Nightshade stared up at the sky. The sun was at its zenith in an unbroken blue expanse.

  Tears glistened in Cordelia’s eyes. “We’ve taken too long. I must get to Michael.”

  “There’s another rarely used door. The only problem is it’ll be locked.”

  “Not for long.” Nightshade flexed his fingers as they edged back.

  They followed Eloise along the side of the castle and under an archway to a sun-bleached door in the wall. After Cordelia tried the handle unsuccessfully, Nightshade dug his fingernails around the lock, paring away the wood.

  “Hurry, please.” Cordelia rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes. Her allure teased his senses, and he understood how easily he could let the gentle ebb and flow of that attraction gather momentum and tempt him to do something he’d regret.

  She must have seen his curious glance because she stepped away, her hands crossed defensively over her chest.

  “You’re in no danger from me, wise woman. Any male with integrity can resist the lure of a female, unless she sets out to seduce him.”

  He gave a final yank on the door handle and it came away from the wood, letting the door swing open. Inside, a dark corridor angled off under the castle.

  “We have no light.” Cordelia looked around frantically.

  “I can see in the dark,” Nightshade said in
a soothing voice.

  “Here”—Eloise untied her apron and pulled it free—“use this like a rope.”

  Cordelia looped one of the ties around her wrist and held out the other to him. “Quickly, Nightshade.”

  He turned to Eloise. “Fetch Rhys and wait for me in Devin’s chamber. We’ll probably need to leave fast.”

  They set off along the murky corridor, accompanied by the sound of water rushing through a gulley below. After a few minutes, muffled voices reached them.

  Light glowed in the darkness ahead. “Quietly now,” he whispered.

  At the end of the tunnel, Nightshade pressed his shoulder to the wall and peered out into the dungeon beneath the council chamber. He counted four huntsmen and about twenty hounds. Gwyn wasn’t visible, but Arian stood by the entrance to the chamber, issuing orders. Nightshade couldn’t see the seers from this angle, but he didn’t expect them to give him any trouble.

  Cordelia moved to the other side of the opening. Her breath hitched. “Michael’s just hanging there.” She wrung her hands, her face a mask of misery. “We’ve taken too long. I’ll never be able to heal him.”

  “Yes, you will.” He waited until she met his gaze, then glared at her steadily until she pulled herself together. “I’ll provide a diversion. You heal Michael.”

  He took out the short blade he kept in his boot for emergencies and handed it to her. “To protect yourself.”

  She accepted the knife, her eyes wide.

  “You can heal Michael, wise woman. Bring him back.”

  Adrenaline seared away the slight ache in his shoulder. Nightshade leaped from the tunnel and snapped down his wings, clearing the hounds. He scanned the gallery as he soared to the high ceiling, confirming that Gwyn had gone, leaving only the three gatekeepers for him to tackle. Should be a cakewalk. He almost felt sorry for them.

  Grinning at Arian’s alarmed expression, Nightshade plunged down. Arian went for something at his belt, but he was too slow. Without touching down, Nightshade swept Arian up, and smashed him against the wall, knocking the breath from him with a whoosh. The sweet pain of his fangs descending brought saliva to his mouth. He angled his head and struck. Arian whimpered and went limp in his arms as disgusting cold blood flooded his mouth. Nightshade jerked away and spat.

  When Arian recovered and opened his eyes, Nightshade gave him a wicked grin. “That was for me. This is for Michael.” He drew back his fist and socked the gatekeeper on the jaw with a crunch, then released him to crumple to the ground.

  Nightshade spun, ready for the attack by Dai and Olwyn, who had transformed themselves into light spheres. The two glowing orbs raced toward him. He considered changing into his shade form, but he could beat them easily as he was. He ducked aside and seized a table, using it as a shield. One brushed his arm, leaving an icy chill in its wake. When the other circled back, he judged the distance and speed and swung like a batsman, sending the orb spinning across the chamber to land among the hounds. The beasts growled and pounced like kittens on a ball of wool. With a muffled cry, Dai materialized beneath the legs of the excited pack.

  Nightshade tracked the other orb while it circled, ignoring the rush of feet as the seers fled the chamber.

  Swinging at the orb, Nightshade grinned as it careened off into the shadows. Pumped with adrenaline, he leaped from the gallery with a cry of victory and headed down to protect Cordelia while she healed Michael’s body.

  For Michael, time passed strangely, or maybe not at all. He walked beside his father for a long while, yet he felt as though they’d just left the vale. The Darkling Road wound through foggy hills, appearing in front of them, and disappearing once they’d passed.

  “We’re nearly there,” Troy said.

  “How can you tell? All looks the same to me.”

  “There are markers on the road if you know what to look for.”

  Ahead of them, a snort sounded in the murk. Troy halted and stared intently into the darkness. “Pig-faced trolls.”

  “Pig-faced what?” Michael strained his eyes to see through the fog. The snorts multiplied, and the ground began to vibrate.

  “Damn, they’ve scented us,” Troy said. With a whisper of metal on metal, he drew his short black sword from the scabbard across his back.

  Michael still couldn’t see anything.

  Then they came into view, and he wished they hadn’t. A group of about twenty short, thickset creatures with ugly flat faces and round snouts charged toward them brandishing swords.

  “Better get behind me,” Troy said, taking up a fighting stance.

  Something inside Michael rebelled. All his life Troy had told him to stand aside whenever there was trouble. He’d just taken a dagger in the heart to save his nephew’s life. He was damned if he’d let Troy order him to stand back this time.

  The pig-faced creatures bore down on them, the snorting a frantic rattle as mucus trailed from their nostrils. Their stench nearly made him gag.

  Michael was armed with a weapon that would inflict no damage, a weapon he’d used all his life. “Stop!” he roared, infusing every ounce of compulsion he possessed into his voice.

  They slid to a halt, the last barreling into the first, resulting in a tumbled heap of squat, fat bodies.

  Troy turned to him, an uncharacteristic look of wonder on his face. “In all my days, I’ve never trusted my silver tongue to stop a charging assailant. Well done, lad.” He touched his forehead in a gesture of respect and resheathed his sword.

  Michael grinned at the unexpected praise.

  Behind the creatures, a tall dark figure approached. He stopped when he reached the tangle of pig-faced trolls and reprimanded them. Then he strolled toward Troy and Michael, unwrapping a length of material from his head as he came.

  Master Devin grinned at them, the subtle glow of his skin like moonlight through the tinted glass of Michael’s Porsche. “Sorry about that. Took my eyes off them for a moment and…Well, you know what pig-faced trolls are like. Can smell a sausage from five miles away but have no brains.”

  “Are you implying I smell like sausages?” Troy asked, a rare smile twitching his lips.

  “Would I dare?” Devin grinned wider. “I’m sure you smell like nothing less than caviar and truffles.”

  Troy laughed, a genuine burst of pleasure that Michael rarely heard. Although Troy had said he knew Devin, Michael hadn’t expected them to be close. He felt slightly put out by their obvious affection.

  Master Devin and Troy embraced, Troy clutching the back of Devin’s head while he kissed his cheeks. He released him just enough to look into his face. “Well met, Devin, lad. Well met.”

  Devin stepped back and turned to Michael. “You allowed Arian his fifteen minutes of glory. Good show, ya rajol. I knew you had it in you.”

  Michael’s eyes narrowed, irritation prickling while he tried to piece together the puzzle of what was going on. “Had I met you before I arrived in Wales?”

  “I saw you a couple of times when you were a child. But you’re one of us now, Michael.”

  “What do you mean?” Michael asked.

  Troy rested a hand on Devin’s shoulder. “Devin inherited my legacy as well. He’s your older half brother.”

  Arian’s words came back to Michael: You give your life to pay for the overarching superority of your father and your brothers.

  A shiver of unease passed through him, and he turned to Devin. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re me brother?”

  “We didn’t want anyone to know you’re related to us,” Troy answered.

  “They do know.”

  Troy’s hand clenched on his sword. “Are you sure, lad?”

  Michael grimaced when he remembered discussing Troy with Gwyn and nodded.

  “That probably explains a small problem we have,” Devin said, concern darkening his face.

  “Not a problem with rescuing Fin?” Michael asked.

  “Possibly.” Devin gave Troy an assessing glance. “I’m afraid Gwyn ap Nudd h
as escaped from the tower and he’s wanting revenge.”

  Cordelia had waited for Nightshade to launch himself into the air and grab Arian. When all eyes in the chamber were on the nightstalker, she’d run toward Michael.

  Now tears flooded her eyes and she dashed them away, her lips trembling. He looked…dead. He hung from the short chains attaching the manacles to the wall, his head dropped to his chest. Her heart stuttered at the cool, clammy feel of his skin. How could she heal a dead body? Devin had told her she must reach Michael before he grew cold.

  Blood oozed from the wound in his chest. The injury was deceptively small and neat, a one-inch mark with only a little bruising around the area.

  Gathering her strength, she hefted his body on her shoulder and struggled to pull out the pins on the manacles. She staggered as his dead weight fell against her. Breath heaving, she lowered him to the ground and dragged him farther into the gloom, out of sight. After pulling off her jacket, she pushed the bundle beneath his head.

  She eased his arms straight at his sides and found her silver chain wrapped around his wrist, the single ring of her Magic Knot on his little finger. With a sob, she pressed his hand to her cheek.

  She smoothed the hair back from his face, so perfect and innocent in death, and pressed her lips to his soft, cold mouth. Placing her palm over his heart, she closed her eyes and tapped into the energy circling inside her body. Even though she grieved for Michael, she was amazed at the sense of freedom she felt as her healing power expanded. For only the second time in her adult life, her aura was unrestrained. It was bliss.

  Depending on intuition, she visualized green light flowing down her arm to her hand, bathing Michael’s heart center, healingthe trauma, sending love. Next, she laid her hand on his solar plexus and imagined golden yellow energy pouring into the swirling center of his body, giving him the will to heal himself. She paused for a moment to fill her lungs and focus, then moved lower and sent orange light into his belly. Then placing both hands over his groin, she visualized red light flowing from her to connect his body back to his element earth.

  A scuffle behind her snapped her out of her healing trance. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw a huntsman wading toward her through the hounds. “No!” She raised a hand as if to fend him off. If he stopped her now, Michael would never recover.