The Phoenix Charm

by Helen Scott Taylor

  Huge hands fastened around his neck, squeezed, the pressure incessant, unbreakable. Pain burned his throat, burst in his head, yet he tightened his grip on Dragon’s stones. With his free hand, he clawed at the viselike fingers as he fought for breath. This monster would never hurt Cordelia again.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “Michael!”

  Cordelia watched Dragon roar in anger and fix his massive dark hands around Michael’s neck. She struggled to stand, and fell back to her knees in the grass, her head fuzzy and spinning.

  This couldn’t be happening again. Dragon had killed her father. Now he was attacking Michael.

  Michael can’t die. She hung on to the thought, repeated the words in her mind. The worst that would happen was he’d have to return from the Under world again.

  After shaking her head to dislodge the last of Dragon’s mind-numbing control, she hastily pulled up her dress, and poked her arms in the sleeves. Then she concentrated, and pushed to her feet, her legs still unstable, but steadier than before. Ten yards away, near the cottage, Michael was still on his knees, his face growing red, while he tugged ineffectually at Dragon’s throttling fingers.

  She ran toward the tussle, her legs getting stronger with each step. She kicked Dragon, aiming for his knees and ankles, balled her fists, and thumped his back and sides, pinched his arms, yanked on his wings. Yet he didn’t even spare her a glance, his murderous gaze fixed on Michael.

  Heart tripping with fear and exertion, Cordelia stared wildly around the garden, looking for something with which to hit Dragon, and noticed a small black-handled knife on the bench seat under the kitchen window.

  She ran around the men and grabbed the weapon, before swinging back in range of the fight. Pausing, she adjusted her grip on the knife handle, then stabbed down into the nightstalker’s biceps with all her strength. On a roar of outrage, he snatched a hand from Michael’s neck to knock her away. His fist caught her shoulder, spinning her around so she fell sideways, her elbow and hip taking the impact. Still gripping the bloody knife, she gritted her teeth, and climbed to her feet. If she kept stabbing Dragon’s arms, he’d have to release Michael.

  Dragon’s gaze jumped to her, before returning to Michael’s face. “Come with me, water nymph, or I’ll kill him.”

  She dragged in a breath and focused to steady her voice. “He can’t die, you bloody idiot.”

  Dragon threw back his head and roared in anger. Blood seeped out of the stab wound in his biceps and dripped off his elbow, but it didn’t stop him from gripping Michael’s throat again. Cordelia circled, gathered her strength, and stabbed down, hitting the biceps of his other arm.

  Before she had time to pull out the blade, Dragon leaped back, releasing Michael to topple forward to the ground. He spun to face Cordelia, eyes glazed pink, anger pulsing from him. “Come with me, witch, and I’ll spare your lover’s suffering. I’ll leave the piskies untouched.”

  Ignoring Dragon, she ran forward and fell to her knees at Michael’s side while he clutched his throat, gasping for air.

  “Cordelia—” Dragon commanded her attention. He pulled the knife from his arm and tossed it away. Then he held his hands out to her. “Come with me.”

  She flung her arms around Michael, protectively. “After you killed my father, and after what you’ve just done to Michael? Are you mad?”

  Then she remembered Tamsy Her anger was transformed to hate, welling up hot and red, filling her head to the bursting point.

  “You killed my cat,” she spat.

  “The bloody creature still lives, witch.” He turned and stomped over to where Tamsy. lay on the slate paving stones surrounding the house. “But I’ll finish the job if you don’t come with me.”

  “No!” Was Tamsy still alive? She tested her mental link with her cat. The overwhelming darkness of Dragon’s presence and the vibrancy of Michael’s blocked her senses.

  Dragon raised his foot over Tamsy’s body.

  “Stop.” Michael’s voice came out a hoarse whisper, but filled her ears. “Or I’ll crush the stones I took from your pocket.”

  Dragon hesitated, then withdrew his foot. With a look of horrified understanding, he stepped back. He dug in one of his front pockets, pulled out the torn lining. Fear shone sharp and bright in his silver eyes. “You cannot do this.”

  Michael had risen partway from the ground. He sat back on his heels, his neck bruised black and purple, blood and dirt streaking his arms. “’Tis already done, nightstalker. I own you.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Dragon strode forward, a muscle above his eye twitching.

  Holding out a hand, Michael uncurled his fingers to reveal the three red-speckled linked stones of Dragon’s Magic Knot lying on his palm.

  Dragon froze, rooted to the spot, face tight, eyes wide. “Give me my Knot.”

  Cordelia’s hand flew to her mouth on an exclamation of shock. “What have you done?” If Michael had touched Dragon’s Magic Knot, he’d bonded himself to the nightstalker for life. He now had influence over Dragon. But at what cost?

  Taking his time, Michael accepted her help while he got to his feet. He fingered his neck and grimaced before turning his gaze on Dragon. “I’m privy to the sickness of your spirit, and the perverted thoughts in your mind.”

  “Do not judge what you don’t understand, pup.”

  A whisper of the darkness Michael sensed in Dragon brushed Cordelia’s mind. She shut him out, a shiver of fear trembling through her. How could she ever join with Michael, mind and spirit, if he were forever tainted with Dragon’s evil?

  Michael gratefully felt Cordelia retreat from him. He did not want her stained with the horror of the nightstalker’s essence.

  Giving them a wide berth, Cordelia hurried to Tamsy and kneeled by her cat, her bottom lip clamped between her teeth, tears overflowing her lashes. Michael had half a mind to crush Dragon’s stones and banish him to an eternity in the oblivion of in-between. But although reason said the world would be a better place with one less cruel predator, he could not condemn even Dragon to suffer that infinite emptiness forever.

  Dragon’s silver eyes bored into him, tension thrumming between them. They both stood silently in the garden, the sea rushing up and down below, the breeze gently ruffling their hair, yet a battle raged. The nightstalker psychically charged at him, testing Michael’s strength.

  The force of Dragon’s attack was like being hit with a peashooter.

  In a moment of revelation, Michael’s world tipped onto a new axis. He finally understood what he was. The legacy he’d inherited from his father was not immortality or silver tongue or poking his hands through solids. The Phoenix Charm was simply a limitless psychic potential from which all other gifts and powers sprang. He would not die, because he was primarily a creature of mind and spirit. The physical world would bend to his will.

  Michael did not crush Dragon’s mind, although he could bring him to his knees with a thought. The magnitude of Michael’s power brought with it unexpected pity. This depraved creature’s egotistical belief that he could take whatever he wanted had brought him nothing but misery. With the barest effort, Michael defeated Dragon’s mental assault. Snorting in frustration, Dragon again plunged aggressively along their newly formed mental link, trying to assert control. Michael smiled, pinned him down like a bug, and watched him struggle.

  The nightstalker released a fraught breath and fear swarmed onto his face, vibrating along their connection. “Please give me my stones, Michael.”

  At Dragon’s pleading tone, Cordelia glanced up from her ministrations, her hands spread on Tamsy’s chest and stomach, the healing energy a tickle of silky ribbons across Michael’s senses.

  “Don’t be frightened that I’ll crush your Magic Knot and send you into oblivion,” Michael said softly. “I don’t plan on harming you. I just want you gone from here.”

  “With enough distance, you’ll have no control over me,” Dragon snapped back.

  Michael flicked
up his eyebrows. “Then go away. Leave Cordelia in peace, and forget about Rhys. Let Nightshade be a father to him. I have no wish to be subjected to your presence.”

  The nightstalker’s lip curled. “Rhys is my son.”

  “Remember, I can see what you have planned for him.” The brief glimpse of Dragon’s thoughts concerning Rhys convinced Michael the child must never fall into the nightstalker’s hands.

  Dragon cast a longing glance over his shoulder at Cordelia, and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. The red scales covering his skin faded, the pink tinge to his eyes disappeared. He seemed to shrink before Michael’s eyes.

  He looked back at Michael once more. “Give me my stones.”

  “I’ll give them to Nightshade. He’ll decide what to do with them.”

  His belligerent attitude returning, Dragon’s nostrils flared. “I’ll not be controlled by you or any other. I’ll find a way to rid my self of your hold; then I’ll return for Rhys.”

  Michael gave a lazy grin, which was an effort because his neck had started to hurt like the Furies. “The luck of the leprechauns to you, boyo.”

  Sweeping down his wings, Dragon ascended slowly. Michael watched until the stalker was a tiny dot against the sky before going to kneel at Cordelia’s side.

  With her eyes closed, she held her hands over Tamsy’s head. The cat’s tail flicked, and her back legs peddled. An aura of energy enveloped them both, filling the air with sparkling points of light, tickling and teasing Michael’s senses. After a deep breath, Cordelia opened her eyes.

  “Is she fully healed?” he asked.

  “Yes, thank the gods.”

  The cat’s presence purred in his mind. Tamsy’s gaze slid to Michael and held, a flash of almost human perception in her gray eyes. Then she looked at Cordelia and mewed.

  “Oh, sweetheart, come to Mommy.”

  Cordelia gathered the cat into her arms and stood. Michael rose with her and embraced them both. Tears slid down her cheeks when Tamsy started purring. He led her to the bench, sat, and snuggled her beneath his arm.

  Even as he held her, the darkness of Dragon’s spirit drifted around the periphery of his mind, clearer to him than the sense of Cordelia. The fact that he was more intimately bonded to an evil predator than he was to the woman he loved made him bridle at the injustice.

  “You can sense me, love, can’t you?” he asked.

  She raised her head and leaned forward to rub her lips over his. “Of course.”

  He closed his eyes and let the sun warm his face while he held her, wishing they could always be together like this. But finally, the truth he’d been avoiding sneaked into his mind. He was immortal. She was not.

  Michael drove sedately back to Trevelion Manor with Cordelia in the passenger’s seat hugging Tamsy. He’d called to tell Thorn to bring the babies home from Truro. Before they arrived, he wanted to check on Nightshade and send the three Teg away.

  When he pulled up in front of the coach house, two pisky men came out to meet them and directed him to the room where they’d taken Nightshade. He made his way up to the bedroom and stopped in the doorway. Nightshade’s eyes were so swollen, Michael was surprised he could see.

  “Rhys?” the stalker choked out.

  “Safe and well,” Michael answered.

  On a long sigh, Nightshade’s body relaxed deeper into the bed.

  “I nearly had that bastard of a father,” he spluttered through puffy lips.

  Michael sank wearily into the empty chair at the bedside. “Defiant as always.” He rested an affectionate hand on Nightshade’s arm.

  Nightshade’s breath hissed through his swollen, bent nose, his perfect profile no longer so perfect. “Is the wise woman all right?”

  “She’s with Thorn and the babies downstairs. Your father’s gone.”

  Luckily, Nightshade didn’t ask how Michael had persuaded Dragon to leave. Just now Michael didn’t feel up to explaining the power he had over the nightstalker. He felt in his pocket for Dragon’s Magic Knot, which he’d wrapped in kitchen paper and put in a plastic bag so he didn’t have to handle the stones again. He withdrew the package and held it out to Nightshade, concealed in his fist. “I’ve something for you, boyo, a parting gift. Our blood bond can’t continue now I have Cordelia.”

  Nightshade looked away, his injured fingers gripping the sheet. Then he turned back and raised his hand. Michael dropped the package onto Nightshade’s palm. The stalker frowned at the ball of scrunched paper wrapped in plastic.

  “Your father’s Magic Knot.”

  “His what?” Nightshade’s slitted eyes opened as wide as the swelling would allow.

  “’Twas the only way for me to master him.”

  With a glance at Michael as if he had spoken gibberish, Nightshade asked, “How on earth did you overpower him?”

  Would this be the way of things from now on? With the exception of Troy, none of his family or friends would understand his nature. He still didn’t fully understand it himself. “Before your father left, he threatened to return for Rhys sometime. You might need to use Dragon’s stones as leverage to keep Rhys safe.”

  Nightshade’s gaze dropped to the package and he blinked.

  Michael stood and stretched carefully, his neck aching. “Cordelia will come heal you soon.”

  Nightshade continued to stare at his hand. With soft footsteps, Michael left and walked along the hall to the nursery. According to the piskies, the gatekeepers had banged on the door and windows for a while, then fallen quiet. He dreaded to think what sort of mess they had made of the room.

  Strange to remember that a few hours ago he’d run from them. He paused outside the nursery door, drew energy up from the granite bedrock below the house until his body hummed. Before his death, he had accepted the trickle of power the earth gave him, but now he was master of his element, able to draw from an infinite well of energy when he desired. He let the power settle around him, remembered the insignificant spark that dwelt at Dragon’s core, and opened the door.

  Olwyn was asleep in a chair, while Dai and Arian sat near the shattered ruins of Fin and Kea’s cot, stony-faced. The men jumped up and prowled toward him. Michael stood silently in the doorway, waiting for the moment they sensed his nature. For the first time, he understood why Troy was so often quiet and still. As his power drifted outward, Michael released a little of the darkness he’d found in Dragon’s soul.

  After three steps, Dai halted with a look of shock on his face, then retreated again. Arian came closer before he stopped. His mouth opened, yet no sound came out. He stared at Michael, his gaze flicking over him as though he didn’t recognize him.

  “What’s happened? What is he?” Dai whispered.

  Arian shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving Michael.

  Visualizing the broken cot whole, Michael sent the intention on a tendril of energy. Wood, plastic, and metal rose and fused themselves back together in a flurry of movement and sound. Dai backed up to Olwyn and shook her awake. The two of them dissolved into sparkling mist and coalesced into orbs, before shooting away over Michael’s shoulder.

  “Where’s Dragon?” Arian asked.

  “Gone.”

  “Not dead?”

  Michael shook his head. “That decision’s not mine to make.”

  “Is Troy here?”

  “No.”

  Arian clenched and released his hands, rattling his metal fingers, his gaze speculative. Then he took a reluctant step back. “It’s you I sense?”

  “Aye.”

  “Stay out of Wales, deathless one.” With those words, Arian dissolved, formed a light orb, and shot out the door.

  The gatekeepers’ retreat, strangely, gave Michael little satisfaction. He glanced around the trashed nursery and grimaced at the mess. He could have commanded the room to return to order in the same way he’d repaired the cot. Instead, he stood the changing table upright by hand, before kneeling to gather the toiletries strewn across the floor. He opened a
window to let in fresh air, then returned to Nightshade’s room.

  Cordelia sat by the bed, her hands over the stalker’s heart while he lay silent and still, eyes closed, face peaceful.

  Michael wandered to the window, waiting for her to finish.

  On a rocky outcrop protruding from the cliff to the south of the manor garden, a lone figure stood silhouetted against the streaks of orange and gold painting the horizon. Rainbow hues flashed from a jewel in his hair.

  Troy, just the person with whom he wanted to speak.

  The touch of Cordelia’s fingers on his shoulder broke Michael’s trance. “Nightshade will sleep now,” she said softly. “When he wakes, he’ll be much better.”

  “Thank you.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her hair. “I know you wanted to start by healing females, but—”

  She put a finger on his lips. “I owe Nightshade all the care I can give him. I’ve not been fair to him in the past. Anyway, I think Eloise was right when she said he’s the master of his instincts.”

  Running gentle fingers over his abused neck, she said, “Your turn for healing now, love.”

  Michael caught her hand, eased it away from his throat, and kissed her palm to distracther. “Later.”

  She turned her face up to him and he found her lips, the kiss gentle at first, becoming more demanding as passion flared.

  His hand cradling her head, he eased away before he forgot what he needed to do. “How’s Tamsy?” he asked.

  “Settled in a favorite spot in the flowerbed outside my sitting room, catching the last rays of sun.” She glanced down at Nightshade. “You gave him his father’s Magic Knot?”

  “Aye.”

  “But you touched it. You’re bonded to Dragon.”

  Michael pulled her head against his chest and stroked her hair. He did not want to discuss Dragon’s stain on his spirit.

  “How does that affect us, Michael?”

  “Not at all.” He kissed her temple and released her before she asked more questions about their relationship. “There’s something I need to do; then we can head back to Merricombe Cottage if you like.”