The Phoenix Charm

by Helen Scott Taylor

  Wings snapped through the air. Nightshade dropped down between her and the huntsman. “You’re safe,” Nightshade threw over his shoulder.

  With a flash of incredulity, she noticed the wound on Michael’s chest closing. A blast of confidence spurred her on. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. When her heart slowed, she touched her fingers lightly to his throat and released blue light. Quickly, she moved on and pressed her palm between his eyes, sending indigo streaming into his spiritual third eye to bring his mind, body, and spirit back into alignment.

  The hole over his heart had now closed, leaving only a silvery line marking the stab wound. Her healing power flashed around Michael’s body, along nerves and veins, into every cell, repairing damage.

  Cordelia focused the ebb and flow of her energy. Now she had healed Michael’s body, she must face the hardest task of her life: calling him back from the Underworld.

  As Devin moved forward, Troy held up a restraining hand. “Let’s wait until the pisky wise woman summons Michael to return. I don’t wish him to become involved in my disagreement with Gwyn.”

  Devin shot Michael a concerned glance. “Cordelia should have called you back by now.”

  Fear burned through Michael. “Gwyn won’t hurt her, will he?”

  “I imagine he’ll consider her beneath his notice,” Devin said. “Anyway, Gwyn is here in the Underworld now. I’m more worried about you.”

  Michael pressed his lips together and met his father’s gaze. “Everything I’ve done these last couple of days has been to rescue Finian. I’m coming with you to make sure he’s released.”

  “He’s earned the right,” Devin said softly. Then with a note of censure in his voice, he added, “Anyway, he’s already well and truly mixed up in your disagreement with Gwyn.”

  Troy turned away. “So be it. I’ve sheltered you for too long.” He opened his hand as if passing Michael responsibility for his life. “From now on, I’ll not interfere in your decisions.”

  A short distance farther on, a golden glow penetrated the gloom.

  “My light shield,” Troy said, confirming Michael’s suspicion that the glow must be from the cocoon surrounding Fin. He ached to hurry forward and check that the boy was safe. Instead, Devin and Troy slowed their pace, carefully scanning the area.

  Troy withdrew his sword and Devin pulled a small implement from a hook on his belt.

  “Watch out for shadows invading the Darkling Road. The dead become mindless wanderers, with no memory of who they were. The King of the Underworld can summon them to his defense. They can’t harm you, Michael, as you’re technically dead, but they’ll suck the mortal life from Troy and me.” Devin held up the implement in his hand. “A Taser’s the best invention since condoms. Zaps the dead like it was made for the task.”

  The golden glow resolved into two shapes as they approached. One was the oval light barrier protecting Finian, the other was the radiance from a massive gold throne placed in the mud a short distance from the cocoon.

  A black-robed Teg man lazed in the throne, threads of gold glinting in his white hair, his expression arrogant.

  “Gwyn ap Nudd,” Troy said, his voice glacial. “You have an annoying habit of escaping.”

  Michael’s gaze skated from his nephew curled peacefully in his light shell to the intimidating figure seated on the throne. He’d known Gwyn was hiding his true appearance when they met him in the tower.

  Gwyn pointed an accusing finger at Troy. “You’ve not explained our history to Michael, have you, Troy?”

  “No excuses, no explanations,” Troy said flatly.

  “For crying out loud,” Michael said under his breath. “Let’s just get Finian out.”

  Gwyn rose to his feet and a long curved sword appeared in his hand. He pointed the blade at the golden cocoon around Finian. “Your doing, Troy?”

  Troy remained stony-faced.

  The king stalked around Fin. Michael tensed, waiting for him to slash at the light shell with his sword, but he stopped facing Troy, red sparks flashing in his eyes.

  “You planned to cheat me of my blood price by rescuing the child and then resurrecting Michael. I won’t allow that, Troy.” Gwyn pulled the Phoenix Dagger from the folds of his robes and brandished the blade triumphantly.

  Devin’s breath hissed in. “Ebn el kalb. He’s taken the dagger from the wise woman. She has no way of resurrecting Michael now.”

  Michael stepped forward, fists raised. “If you’ve hurt Cordelia, I’ll…” He loaded his voice with threat that should have left Gwyn cowering, yet the King of the Underworld remained unmoved.

  “You’ll what, pup? You’re mine now, son of Troy. You may walk the Darkling Road with your father, but once he leaves, you’ll lose your way and wander for eternity through the mists. For a few weeks, you’ll remember your name; then your mind will fade, leaving only your spirit to drift aimlessly, waiting to do my bidding.”

  Michael turned to Troy, expecting a response, yet his father remained silent.

  Gwyn raised his sword and pointed it at Devin. “You, Master of the Darkling Road, are born of shadow. Your position gives you a seat on the Ennead. You owe fealty to me.”

  “Less than half the Darkling Roads run through the Underworld,” Devin countered. “The majority exist in mortal realms. By that reckoning, I owe fealty to the king of the Scottish Seelie court, who over sees the mortal world.”

  Gwyn barked a laugh. “The Seelie court would not deign to acknowledge you. Your dark djinn heart is shrouded in shadows, even though you fight the call of your nature. You are mine and your father knows it. Go now, Devin. Do not stand against your king or you will make an enemy of me.”

  Devin shifted into a fighting stance.

  Gwyn released a weary sigh before raising his sword toward Troy. “I want to make you suffer millennia of imprisonment and depravation, deathless one. But you would bear your punishment stoically and give me no satisfaction. So I will take one you love.”

  Gwyn glanced at Finian, and Michael leaped forward to protect the child, instinct wiping all caution from his mind. “The baby must be released.” Michael stretched his arms out at his sides to shield the light cocoon from Gwyn.

  Up close, a shadowy aura surrounded the King of the Underworld, while red sparked in the depths of his eyes like pinpricks of blood. “You gave your life for the child, expecting to be resurrected, son of Troy. Are you still willing to give me your life, knowing I will not release you?” Gwyn said.

  “Don’t agree to anything, Michael,” Devin advised. “We’ll find a way out of this.”

  Michael looked to his father for guidance, for some sign to indicate he was doing the right thing. Troy said nothing, his face unreadable.

  What Troy thought of him didn’t matter. The choice was his life or Finian’s life, and at all cost he must protect his nephew. He remembered his father’s comment: no explanations, no excuses. Troy should add no emotion to his motto as well.

  “Release Finian,” Michael said. “Troy will take him back to me brother.”

  “And you?” Gwyn asked.

  A lifetime of weaving words made him pause and consider how to phrase his offer so that if, by some miracle, Cordelia found a way of resurrecting him, he would not break his word. “My death is your blood price.” At least if he were doomed to wander in the mists, he would soon lose his memory and forget all he’d lost.

  “Then we have a bargain.” Gwyn extended his hand.

  Michael clenched his jaw, but couldn’t stop himself glancing once more at his father. Devin was frowning, but Troy appeared indifferent. Michael wanted to shout at him, break through his cold marble shell to discover if he cared.

  Gwyn stepped back to the opposite side of his throne and indicated Troy should take Finian. Michael watched with a hollow sense of unreality as his father sheathed his sword and strode forward. With a wave of his hand, Troy dissolved the golden bubble surrounding Fin. He gathered the sleeping child into his arms, looked down,
and smiled.

  Troy glanced up at Michael, his smile dropping away. “This time I didn’t interfere, lad.” Michael’s heart ached as though the blade was still in his chest when his father turned his back on him and disappeared.

  Devin stared at his brother, looking as shocked as Michael felt.

  “So what do I do? Just wander the paths until I get lost and forget who I am?” Michael asked, trying to make a joke of the situation. But his voice cracked, giving him away.

  “No.” Gwyn walked toward him and the golden throne blinked out of existence. “I have no intention of letting you off that lightly. Troy condemned me to an eternity of waiting, trapped, without the luxury of sleep. For every minute of the last thousand years, I’ve hoped for release. Now you will do the same.”

  “Not the tower?” Devin said under his breath.

  Gwyn grinned, a malevolent stretch of his lips that chilled Michael’s soul. At the same moment, the faintest tug on his senses caught his attention. On the edge of his perception, warmth and light called to him, a whisper of soft feminine energy tugging and cajoling him to return.

  “Cordelia.” His eyes glazed at the sweetness of her touch. He felt himself drifting, slipping, a swishing sound in his ears.

  Then a hand clamped around his wrist, tight as a manacle, anchoring him. Gwyn’s voice boomed in his mind. “You still think to cheat me. For that, the pisky woman will be confined in the tower with you. An eternity trapped with a lover you can’t touch will be a fitting torment.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cordelia leaned over Michael, ran her fingertips around his face, and pressed her mouth to his ear. “Come back to me, Michael,” she whispered.

  She placed her palm on his hair and released violet healing light into the top of his head to summon his spirit back to his mortal body. She called his name in her mind, opening her awareness, longing to feel a hint of his presence.

  His Magic Knot grew warm and vibrated against her chest.

  She pushed out her senses, searching for the pulse of hot welcoming energy that was Michael.

  With a potency that swamped her whole being, he filled her, wiping away her thoughts, stealing her physical control. She collapsed against his body, her skin tingling, limbs twitching. A jagged spike of fear cracked through the hum of power, carrying a frantic message. “Run, Cordelia, run.”

  Instinctively reacting to the urgent command, she tensed and jerked away from him. She had managed to sit back on her heels and started to rise when she stiffened and sank down again. Whatever the danger, she wouldn’t leave Michael alone and vulnerable.

  She gripped his Magic Knot, the sense of him growing stronger. Then his eyes sprang open, and he hauled in an agonized breath. Blissful relief swept away her energy for a second before renewed strength filled her. She held his hands and grinned down at him. For a moment, he blinked, disoriented; then his gaze focused on her. His lips parted, moved.

  As she lowered her ear to Michael’s mouth, a rumble of distant thunder filled the chamber. The building began to shake. The vibrations growing stronger, until dust and grit rained down. The hounds bayed, filling the air with an excited clamor.

  Cordelia leaned over Michael, cradling his head in her arms, sheltering him from the falling dirt, and whatever new danger was about to descend on them. Darkness tinged with red and gold streaked out of the gloom, howling over her with the chill of a winter’s wind.

  Icy threads tangled around her being, stripping her of strength. The room skewed, distorted, fractured into a senseless mangle of shape and color. Her body dragged at her mind and spirit like an anchor, then the link snapped, and she spun, buffeted by a force so mighty, she couldn’t hope to fight it. She tried to cling to Michael, but like a log on a rough sea, he was wrenched from her grasp.

  Just when she thought she would be shattered mentally and physically, the turmoil ceased. Her consciousness swirled, taking a moment to settle; then all became still and dark.

  Michael? He’d returned to his body, but now she couldn’t feel him.

  She couldn’t feel Tamsy.

  Dark fingers of terror crept through her Her. mind and spirit were lost in the endless void of nothingness between life and death. The same place she’d spent thirty terrible years when the evil druid trapped the whole pisky troop. Only last time she’d had Tamsy for company, and she’d been able to see out into the mortal world.

  Michael’s essence brushed her, light as a butterfly’s wing.

  Cordelia? The psychic sense of Michael’s mind and spirit grew stronger. With an electric shiver, he surrounded her, pulsed through her.

  What happened? she asked.

  Troy was the one who imprisoned Gwyn ap Nudd in the tower. We’re suffering the consequences. You should have left me. Run away when I told you to.

  Despite the blissful shimmer of his presence around her, she yearned to touch him and feel his warm, live skin beneath her fingers.

  He’s ripped us out of our bodies and cast us in-between. We’re in the tower where Gwyn was incarcerated, Michael added.

  Panic swirled through her spirit, sucking away her control like a whirlpool. Help me. I’m frightened, Michael.

  Cordelia, sugarplum, as long as we’re together, we’ll be all right. His thoughts smoothed over her worries like a gentle hand and she calmed.

  How’s he banished me here if Tamsy holds my mind and spirit? Do you think Tamsy’s dead? Cordelia cast around for the psychic presence of her familiar, yet there was no sign of her.

  I’m sorry for dragging you into this, he whispered in her mind.

  The feel of him undulated through her, comforting her. Her thoughts drifted over her past, remembering her room at Trevelion Manor on a sunny morning, the murmur of the sea, Tamsy curled on her favorite chair, the cheeky blackbird that hopped on the patio outside her window each day looking for crumbs.

  Cordelia? Michael’s voice called her back from the distance and she realized how easily she could drift away and lose him in this dark, endless place.

  We must hold on to each other somehow. Con centrate on me, sugarplum. Remember how our minds meshed on the boat trip. His presence surrounded her again, so strongly, she almost felt as though he touched her physically. As he drew her into his illusion, she felt the sensation of his hand wrapped around hers, his arms embracing her, his lips soft and smooth against her temple, his breath warm on her hair. Michael’s fingers smoothed her back, guiding her into a dance. Her feet moved tentatively in dance steps she’d never learned.

  Shiny fabric caressed her skin. Where Michael’s hand rested against her back, the fabric clung hot and damp.

  “I like you in blue.” Michael looked down into her eyes, his gaze sparkling with mischief and a heat that set her blood humming.

  She laughed coyly and turned her cheek to his chest. His heart beat slow and steady against her ear, the pulse of his presence echoing beside her own heart. “I feel you inside me, Michael.”

  He pressed his cheek to her hair, whispered silkily in her ear. “I like the sound of that.”

  “Oh.” She felt like a girl, gauche and clueless.

  His hand slid up her spine, leaving a tingling trail in its wake. His fingers touched her nape, stroked, featherlight, lifting the flowing strands of her hair loose around her shoulders.

  “I love your hair,” he whispered.

  She lifted a hand and threaded her fingers through the chestnut waves that fell to his shoulders. “I’ve dreamed of touching your hair. Imagined how it would feel against my skin.”

  He eased her around in his arms and pulled her back against his chest. Her eyes closed as he smoothed his palms across her belly, while his lips brushed the top of her ear.

  She reached up and he kissed her fingers. “You’re a wonderful healer and beautiful as well,” he whispered.

  “I am?”

  Images of her childhood flitted through her mind. She remembered her first attempts to heal injured creatures she’d rescued: a thrush tha
t had flown into the window and broken its wing, the starving gray kitten she’d found abandoned in a hedge, which had instantly stolen her heart and been with her eversince.

  I healed Tamsy. How had she forgotten?

  Her grandmother must have taken that memory from her.

  “Was your grandmother a healer like you?”

  Cordelia shivered in Michael’s arms at the thought of her grandmother’s horrified reaction to that question. “No, she was the troop wise woman before me. But she was more powerful than I am, a true seer who needed no tools of divination to foretell the future. She was very proud of my father for being the king’s advisor. She always feared I’d bring shame on the family name through my wild nature.”

  “You’re not wild, sugarplum. You’re the least wild person I know.” His lips ran over her shoulder as he eased down the strap of her dress. “You should definitely become more wild. ’Tis me new life’s purpose. To make CordeliaTink wild.”

  Sweet shivers of longing fluttered through her as Michael’s mouth did wicked things to her arm, kissing and nipping.

  “I shouldn’t let you do this. Grandmother would be turning in her grave.”

  “How do you think she gave birth to your father?”

  “Oh.” She’d never thought of that.

  Michael lifted her hand to his mouth and feathered kisses across her palm, dislodging the confusing and rather disturbing notion of her grandmother with a man.

  “We can do anything we want here, Cordelia.”

  His hand tightened on her ribs and his fingertips brushed the underside of her breast. She closed her eyes, held her breath until the sensation passed. She wanted more. She wanted Michael.

  When she opened her eyes, they were standing in a bedroom. A large bed with champagne satin sheets stood close by, while the flickering glow of candles filled the room with warm light and secret shadows.

  “We’re bonded, love. This is the most natural thing in the world.”