by KB Anne
“Finally, I get the praise I deserve. FYI, I prefer ‘witch,’ but ‘wizard’ will do. Now, let’s talk fowl.”
He follows alongside me. “Don’t you always talk foul?”
I punch him in the ribs. “Not foul language. Fowl as in birds. Feathered creatures. Swans.”
His mood suddenly turns solemn again. “Right, swans.”
“So, before we were so rudely interrupted what seems like ages ago, what form does your Great Love take? Swan or human?”
I’m careful not to put “Great Love” in air quotes because, after the realization that Alaric and I have been together over many lifetimes, I will not judge anyone.
He sighs. “Promise not to laugh.”
“I really hate when you put restrictions on me.”
“Promise.”
I throw my arms up. “Fine.”
“She comes to me in spirit form.”
Since I’ve had a variety of encounters with otherworldly forms, and not just from the Otherworld, I need a little more information. “Go on.”
He thinks about her, and I instantly see what he’s talking about, but he needs to learn to use his words sometimes.
“Verbalize.”
“She’s not a swan. She’s not a human. It’s her essence.”
“And her essence is making you sad?”
“You promised not to laugh.”
“I’m not laughing. Merely asking.”
“Did Alaric come to you in essence form?”
“No.”
Scott picks up a rock and zings it at the nearest mound. “Shit. That settles it. I’m crazy.”
“You’re not crazy. Besides, I find that word offensive.”
He picks up another rock and bounces it back and forth in his hands. “Then what do you call it?”
My initial thought involves a sarcastic comment about “fowl” minds, but I know that’s not helpful, and Scott’s really at a loss, so I decide to be completely honest with him for once.
“Alaric and I have been together in other lives.”
“I thought you hadn’t reincarnated since Saint Brigit way back in like 400 AD. And wasn’t she celibate then because she was a nun? You are the opposite of celibate.”
I knock him in his hip. “You’re one to judge.”
“But seriously, Gigi, when were you with Alaric in a previous incarnation?”
The flash of memory of Alaric and me together on a beach along the coast comes to me. Then another at a primitive hut with a small fire inside to keep us warm.
“A long time ago. Thousands of years maybe. I can’t really tell when. I only sense pieces of us together,” a lone tear streams down my cheek, “and apart.”
He takes my hand and squeezes it. “We’re going to find him this time.”
More tears come, and I’m unable to stop them. “What if it’s already too late?”
He cradles my face in his hands and stares at me. Warm fuzzy thoughts push out the sadness and fear that were once there. I don’t know if he’s compelling me to forget, casting a spell, or just being Scott with his firm optimism, but I guess it doesn’t matter. “What does your heart tell you?”
I close my eyes and search for the truth. A small spark still beats there. “He’s alive.”
“Well, let’s find him.”
6
The Magician
Caer studied Gallean’s movements. Since the arrival of the brother and sister in the seomra de rúin, he’d been moving slower, more methodically. He’d stopped training with blades and swords and switched to using his own body. She watched as his hips swayed back and forth while he guided his open palms facing up into the air, gathering energy toward his head, then pushing it away from him as if in offering to his surroundings. Before the energy completely left his palms, he’d draw it back toward his body, flip his wrists, then lower the energy past his hips until his arms were fully extended and the energy was pushed back into the ground. She wouldn’t call it magic, but she could see the energy moving with him as if engaged in an intimate dance between lovers.
This training seemed useless to her. She wanted him to use the blade. To make it an extension of his body and jab out at an enemy with the full force of his body and the weapon. She needed to learn how to slice off her enemy’s head with a single swipe of her sword, without the weapon or her movement being hindered when blade met skin, then tendon, then bone.
Dancing with herself wasn’t going to teach her survival skills if Balor’s soldiers found her. She needed to learn how to eliminate his men, leaving no witnesses to inform him of her whereabouts.
Caer didn’t know if Balor could penetrate the Land of Shadows, and she wasn’t too keen on finding out. That’s why she needed to stop the brother and sister from arriving. Sure, in the beginning she was excited at the prospect of watching the three train together, but if this energy dance Gallean had adopted following their departure demonstrated the type of instruction the brother and sister would receive, and by extension her, she wanted nothing to do with it. An energy dance would prove a useless battle strategy if she wished to remain alive.
She would take a portal to their realm on the morning of the Shadow Moon. She’d kill them and return without alerting anyone to her presence.
Even if Balor’s sorcerer could track her into the Earthly Realm, they’d never reach her before she disappeared back into the Land of Shadows again.
“The problem with that plan, is that you’ll eliminate the only two people who can help you,” a low, gravelly voice said.
Caer blinked, her eyes refocusing on her surroundings. The wizard stood before her, reeking of sweat and scorn. She hadn’t meant to lose herself in thought. It was further proof that the brother and sister needed to be eliminated. She’d spent years studying the wizard in secret, and now, in a lapse of judgment, she’d revealed herself to him.
“I’ve been aware of your presence since your first visit.”
While she was shocked that he’d read her mind, she knew better than to reveal her emotions. He had taught her that much. She lifted her chin in defiance. “Easy to say now that you’re standing in front of me. Maybe I just stumbled upon your keep.”
He studied her. She felt his penetrating gaze as he took in her clothing, the sword strapped to her back that her fingers itched to reach, the blade hidden in her left boot, even the garrote she was slowly retracting from her wrist in a mad attempt to catch him off guard, wound him, and be gone before he alerted Balor of her whereabouts.
“In order to tell a lie, you must believe it. You stink of deception.”
She gasped. “You’re the one that stinks.”
He threw back his head, fully exposing his neck, and laughed. She could shove the dagger into it and run before he knew what had killed him.
The rumble of his amusement echoed through the valley. “Had I known you were so entertaining, I’d have collected you sooner.”
Collect? She would not become a part of anyone’s collection. She reached for her sword, reacting on pure instinct. The wizard was the same as Balor and needed to be eliminated.
“Hold on,” he said, removing her sword before she even realized he had moved. “I didn’t teach you to sneak up on your enemies. That is the coward’s way.”
“So you are my enemy,” she said through gritted teeth, hoping to dispatch him with the knife in her boot.
He swung her blade in his hand. “You will not wound me with your knife either.”
“Get out of my head,” she growled.
“But it is such an enjoyable place to be.” He winked before turning around. “Come. We have much to discuss.”
She watched the tall, hulking figure covered in animal skins walk away from her. If she leapt on his back, she could tug the garrote around his neck and be done with him before he knew what was happening. Then she’d leave and find a new place in the Land of Shadows to hide.
“I know exactly what you’re thinking, and you will not succeed. You do not trust
easily. Your flight instinct overrides your fight reflex, but I’m asking you to sit by my fire and share your tale with an old man.”
“Why should I trust you?” she shouted at him.
He stopped and turned to her. “Because I know what you are.”
“And what is that?” she spat. He couldn’t possibly know her secret. She’d never heard of anyone else with her curse.
“It’s only a curse if you allow it to be.”
“Get out of my head,” she growled again.
He offered his hand, his palm big enough to cover her entire face and squeeze the life out of her if he chose to.
“I haven’t done that in years.”
Hesitantly, she rested her hand in his. The smooth surface of his skin surprised her. For all his sword work, training, and wood chopping, she assumed his hands would be as rough and calloused as the rest of the wizard.
“You must first learn not to judge someone by their external appearance,” he whispered, guiding her into the courtyard of his keep. He led her over to one of the wooden benches scattered around the fire pit before settling onto his own.
“Now, tell me, how is it you were able to penetrate the seomra de rúin?”
“I thought you could read my mind. You said you’ve been aware of my existence for a long time.”
He folded his fingers together and pulled them to his chin as he studied her. “You were, perhaps, eleven when you first entered the perimeter.”
She gasped. The stab of his betrayal brought tears to her eyes. She was so sure he had been unaware of her existence, that she could come and go as she pleased. “Why didn’t you draw me out? Why didn’t you take me in and care for me? I was a child.”
He drew in a slow, deep breath. His eyes softened in the firelight. “You were a child. A damaged one at that.”
His admission of the truth hurt. “Damaged? So you didn’t want to care for me then? I was to be tossed out with your garbage if you took me in?”
“Caer, you were damaged, but not beyond repair. I sent a woman to care for you until you were ready for training.”
“You sent Mathair Mhór?” Memories of the old woman she had come to think of as her grandmother brought a rush of warmth to her body. “Why?”
“The keep was no place for a young child. My angry bear nature doesn’t just erupt when I shift into that form. I was not prepared to take on the care and training of a child. You’ve seen the visitors I’ve had through the years. I couldn’t risk your exposure to my guests because even though they all take rigorous mental and physical acts to visit me, I ultimately do not trust anyone.”
She rose to her feet. “So you’re saying you sent me away to keep me safe?”
“I did.”
“And when Balor’s men lit fire to our hut and killed Mathair Mhór and Nimblefoot?”
“That was unintended and unforeseen.”
“I thought you could see the future. I thought you were the most powerful wizard of all time.”
His forehead bunched at the slight. “There are some things I cannot see. Mathair Mhór knew the risk. She was willing to take it.”
“Do you think she wanted to be locked in her hut and burned alive?”
A fat tear slid down her cheek. She moved to swipe it away, but not before Gallean reached it. It sat at the tip of his finger. He lifted it into the air before dropping it into the fire. As the flames kissed the tear, a vision appeared above them. A young girl covered in dirt and scratches curled up by the side of a lake. A bear watching from a distance as Mathair Mhór bent down to inspect the sleeping child. A magical aura covered them as she bundled the child and lifted her into her cart, while the bear lumbered off in the opposite direction.
“I thought you both were safe. I didn’t think Balor’s men could penetrate the magic I cast over you. Something about your energy signature makes you resistant to magic. At least my magic. I believe it’s what allows you to enter my boundaries without notifying me of your presence.”
“I thought you said that you knew I crossed your boundaries my very first day in the Land of Shadows.” Accusation laced her every word.
His left cheek pulled in as he allowed a slow smile to play across his lips. “You were not as stealthy as you are now. I saw your head peek out from behind the wall before you learned to make yourself invisible.”
“How did you know it was me? I was a young child the last time you saw me.”
He traced the patch of hair next to her ear. Though the white was stained black to match the rest of her hair, the patches grew in tufts and stuck out no matter how much she tried to hide them. “You know why.”
She knocked his hand away. His touch reminded her of a memory of her past, her father maybe, and she would not allow soft-hearted nostalgia to cloud her judgment. “So what now? Are you going to train me since I’m no longer a child and so breakable? Or are you going to train that stupid brother and sister in the art of dance that won’t protect anyone?”
Gallean swept his hands into the air. A ball of energy swirled around him and he pushed it away from his body. Caer winced, thinking he was going to hit her with it. He drew it back into his body and pulled it up to his mouth. He watched her, his eyes twinkling. A wariness fell over her. She drew in a breath, knowing what was coming. He winked as he blew the energy ball at her.
It floated in the air. She watched it bop over, paralyzed to stop it. It hit her square in the nose and seeped into her skin. Her body absorbed the energy and reshifted it into something that might be usable to her in the future.
“Not sure how energy puffs can help in a fight,” she growled.
Gallean smiled as he snapped his fingers, and then everything went black.
7
Godly Power . . . Activate!
A flash of lightning shoots across the sky. The air crackles with tension. I turn to Scott. “Did you feel that?”
He runs a hand through his hair, checking to make sure he’s not rocking the finger-in-the-electric-socket look. “Feel it? I was almost hit by it! Where did it come from?”
I pat his shoulder to reassure him. “It must mean we’re getting close.”
“Close to what?”
“Wherever Breas is hiding.”
Scott rubs his head again, not completely certain he wasn’t hit by a rogue lightning bolt. Not that he thinks he’ll find any dating prospects among the seventy-and-over crowd—he prefers females below the age of twenty-five—but he wants to be camera-ready in case his swan shows up. With his inability to control his magically produced tornadoes and the bird shit on his shoulder, his appearance should be the least of his worries, but I keep that sidebar to myself. Granda and Clarissa warned me that it was my responsibility to keep Scott in control of himself and to try not to agitate him. I made no promises, because I do enjoy agitating him, but for the sake of the surrounding buildings and, well, the world, I’ll do my best to keep him calm.
“Is Breas the God of Thunder and Lightning? Because I feel like Granda and Clarissa should’ve shared that with us if he is.”
“Scott, get over your man crush with Thor. Breas might be hot and muscular—I wish to the other gods that he wasn’t—but he is no Marvel comic character who can call lightning to imbue his hammer with power.”
Scott knocks into my shoulder. “I do not have a man crush on Thor.”
I frown at him.
“Well, I mean, who doesn’t, but what Thor does with his hammer is really no different than what you did with nightlock and those crystals.”
I’d never thought about my magic like that, but he does make a point—not that I would tell him that. But still, some things are different. We are different. “I don’t think my crystals will pack the same punch as Thor’s hammer. And he’s from Norse mythology not Celtic.”
Scott considers my point while we walk toward the distant mounds. “In that case, Breas could be the God of Thunder.”
It amazes me how much we both try to avoid our own godly nature. I d
on’t know how much Scott remembers of Oegden. I only remember fragments that come to me when something or someone triggers a memory, but there are certain things we both just know, and we’re far past ignoring it.
“Scott, we know Breas isn’t the Celtic God of Thunder. Taranis is.”
“Cut straight to the point, why don’t you? I thought we were going to live happily ever after in complete denial of our reincarnated god selves.”
“If we could live in oblivion, I’d be all for it. Hell, I’ve spent most of my life striving for that state, but it’s too late for that now.”
“Talk about a reality buzzkill. I never thought I’d witness the day that Gigi Brennan embraced the truth rather than hide in denial.”
I punch him in the arm. “Don’t worry, I’ve retained my bitchiness.”
He rubs it. “Oh good, at least most of you is still intact. But that still doesn’t explain the thunder and lightning on a clear day in Ireland, which in and of itself is a rarity.”
As if in answer, another flash of lightning strikes the ground in front of us followed by a loud growl of thunder. I open myself to the power generating in the air as a result of it. The old me would have called it some hippie-dippy shit, but this more-enlightened version of myself willingly allows herself to succumb to other channels.
“I think the thunder and lightning has more to do with the assembly of gods, both actual and reincarnated, along with the son of the Original Werewolf combining together to create an emergence of power. I remember reading about ley lines. Maybe Newgrange is on one?”
“Maybe,” Scott replies before falling into contemplation. He’s thinking about all the fecking shite we’ve been through—his shooting Ryan and how he wished Clayone had been the one that killed Ryan, or at least in place of Lizzie.
I drag my crystal necklace from Clarissa back and forth across my lips, wishing I could imbue Scott and everyone I care about with power that could keep bad stuff from ever happening to them, but unfortunately I don’t have that power. If I did, I would have called on that shit back in Vernal Falls when Lizzie dropped through the floor of the church. My stomach flip-flops. A part of the old Lizzie, the part that was my friend—my best friend—has to be buried inside this new werewolf who thirsts for my blood.