by Fawn Lowery
Tears suddenly burned the back of her eyes. The situation was one she had little control over. Marcus bent her will at every opportunity and if that wasn’t enough, she couldn’t halt her growing feelings for the man. Being separated from him even for a short time made her ache inside.
“You promised to release me. Open the door.”
“Shut up.”
“I told you Drucella’s secrets. Now let me out.”
Ronna crossed the room to the cage and glared at the fairy. She cringed against the far wall—her tiny wings wrapped around her little body in an effort to hide her trembling from Ronna.
“Drucella is dead. All the witches are dead. The coven no longer exists.”
Tiana gasped and flew against the glass walls of her cage, distraught.
“The vampires will pay! You will pay!”
“And you have no mistress now. What will you do, Tiana? Will you fly back to the black abyss? Will you serve the dark one?”
“You are a cruel witch. You torment me for no reason. Open the cage and set me free.”
Ronna studied the tiny face peering up at her. Tears stained the little pink cheeks and the glittering blue eyes were moist. Her bottom lip trembled, on the verge of tears. Her gossamer wings drooped as though she had lost all will to live.
“I’m not a cruel witch. I’m a good witch.”
Tiana moved across the cage and pressed her body against the mirrored bars, staring up at Ronna.
“I will reveal one more thing to you—if you release me.”
Ronna smiled slightly. Tiana was trying to trick her.
“I will tell you where Drucella hid the vampire Chandler.”
A note of surprise zinged through Ronna. How did Tiana know she could not find Chandler?
A blond brow lifted. “Why do you think I haven’t already found him?”
“Because you said so in your fitful sleep.”
Shit!
“I know where he sleeps.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“He sleeps within a statue. I know where the statue sits. I know where Drucella hid it.”
“Tell me.”
“Release me first.”
“Not a chance. I’ll keep you imprisoned for the rest of your little fairy life—”
“All right.” She sighed and crossed the floor of the cage, turning her back to Ronna. She folded her tiny arms across her chest in a show of defiance. “The statue is in a secret room within the spell room.”
Ronna sucked in a quick breath. She had been right about one thing—there were hidden rooms within the castle that Drucella had magically sealed for everyone except herself and, apparently, the nosy fairy.
“But beware.” She laughed loudly in her high-pitched fairy voice.
“Beware of what?” She bit her bottom lip.
“That’s for you to find out.”
Ronna left the bedchamber, her anger raging because of Tiana’s insolent manner. One more minute in the room with her and she might be tempted to pull off her little gossamer wings. She heaved a long sigh. It was becoming easier and easier to have destructive thoughts. She shook her head and turned her thoughts to breakfast. Conjuring up a plate of pancakes and sausage, she sat down at the table in the great room and began eating.
Marcus was asleep somewhere in the manor, deep within the lower level. She felt a bit of relief just knowing he was near by. Her brows drew together in contemplation as she remembered his words about giving her the gift of immortality.
Would immortality really be a gift?
She knew in the near future, she would have to decide whether she wanted to become immortal or not.
At least Marcus is willing to let me decide.
“He could very easily take the decision out of my hands.” She touched the spot on her neck where he sank his fangs into her vein. “I’m not so sure I want to be a vampire witch.”
She pushed aside the thoughts and returned her mind to the castle of the coven. When she returned to search again for Chandler, she would cast a revealing spell and look for the secret room where he slept.
Tiana’s warning came suddenly to mind. Did she dare trust the fairy?
“She has no mistress to return to therefore she has no one to serve.”
She thought suddenly of the spell book Marcus had taken from Drucella—the book she had been unable to open because of the fire ring guarding it. Without further hesitation, she cast a revealing spell to locate the book within the fortress. It appeared to her in a vision, safely tucked within a recess in an upper room of the building. She rushed from the great room to search for the book.
It lay safely within a wall cavity in a room that appeared to have once been a bedchamber. She gazed at it for several minutes before attempting to touch it. Finally, she raised one hand and held it above the book, testing the spell Drucella had placed around it.
A wide smile broke across her face when the book yielded no heat against her palm. She quickly pulled it from its hiding place and hurried back to the great room. Perhaps all of Drucella’s spells were null and void with her death.
She laid the spell book on the table by the fireplace and opened its leather back. Dust billowed from the pages and rose into the air in a wispy fog. Waving one hand into the air, she cleared the haze so she could see the writing on the yellowed pages. The script was quite elegant, penned in black ink that magically withstood the test of time. She gazed at the pages as she turned them one by one, carefully laying them one on the other, for fear they would crumble like old crackers and leave nothing behind except crumbs.
The book was indeed filled with spells, each listing the ingredients to be used and detailing the chant to voice while mixing. She marveled at the array of spells, everything from childbirth to death wishes. She stifled a shiver when she discovered a spell to bring about death on a birthday.
“Damn! What a present that would be!”
She turned the pages of the book, briefly reading the spells and their ingredients until she came across one that sounded familiar to her. The spell she commonly used to entice customers to buy in her shop appeared very similar to the spell of old written in the book. Her jaw dropped as she realized she uttered the very same words and only the ingredients were off a bit. Instead of mixing a series of herbs into a fine powder to be sprinkled on the intended victim, she simply bestowed a look of intention upon the intended while she silently chanted the words of the spell.
“This book is my heritage. I have to take it with me when I return to my time.”
She bit her lip and tried to figure how she could manage to transport the book ahead to her time. Would holding it when she wished herself home be enough to get it there? Or would it disintegrate when she tried to take it beyond that time period?
She sat for the longest time paging through the book. The spells were fascinating to read though the lists of ingredients were foreign to her as a witch. Most of the herbs and powders mentioned she had never heard of. The thought that perhaps the book would be useless to her even if she managed to transport it ahead to her time grew in her mind.
She glanced at the tall window in the room. It would be hours before Marcus was up and could accompany her back to the coven’s castle. The notion that she might be able to find Chandler on her own was growing stronger by the second now that she had the spell book in her possession. She closed its heavy cover and rose from the table, tucking the book under one arm. She would go the castle and find Chandler, then when Marcus awoke, she’d communicate with him telepathically to tell him she was at the castle.
She clutched the book and walked outside the manor, thinking about flying. Her feet rose off the gravel yard of the fortress and she took to the air, the book clutched in one arm. Higher and higher she soared, a smile on her face because of her new ability. For a second she thought about all she had learned to do since knowing Marcus. Aside from learning she could take to the air with just a mere thought, she had learned she could shape shift in
to a bird and be able to do all the things a bird was capable of like soaring above the trees, and landing on a branch.
As she spied the castle in the distance, she realized a new idea was forming in her mind. She needed to destroy Drucella’s viewing pot before she returned to her time era. The thought that perhaps the pot might fall into the hands of someone equally as menacing as Drucella or other members of her coven—if indeed others existed—would not bode well with the inhabitants of Morganford. She wondered which spell within the old book would eliminate the pot. A shiver of fear shot through her insides. Had Drucella used a spell from the book to summon the dark one and thus their communication had come about through the viewing pot?
She felt cold suddenly, her insides chilled at the thought that the dark one may hold too strong a power over the pot and she might not be able to destroy it. God forbid she fall under his power like the coven.
She descended to the ground at the front door of the castle. It was ajar, as she and Marcus had left it earlier. She clutched the book to her chest and pushed the door back on its heavy hinges. The high-pitched squeak set her teeth on edge and echoed throughout the empty main room of the building. She stepped inside, her eyes straining to see through the dim light illuminating the interior.
The fireplace was cold with only ashes spilling from its mouth and the destroyed furniture lay about the floor. The tallow candles lay scattered and broken amid the remnants of Drucella’s meager possessions. She stepped over the debris and made her way to the long hallway leading to the other rooms of the castle. The first act of business would be to destroy the viewing pot, then turn her thoughts to finding the secret room where Marcus' brother was confined.
She entered the spell room and paused near the door. The black pot sat near the hearth. Though it was only an inert object, it somehow seemed foreboding to gaze upon. Perhaps it was the reminder of its service to Drucella and the coven that clung to its façade.
Ronna shook her head and willed the flood of apprehension filling her to dissipate. She needed to be in control when she cast the spell that would shatter the pot into a million pieces. She approached the long table in the room and placed the book on one corner. Flipping through the yellowed pages, she decided to try a spell that required only her mental abilities to break the pot. She made herself ready, taking a deep breath and limbering up her muscles. She aimed a steady gaze at the pot and began to chant, commanding it to crack and splinter, then disintegrate.
Her temples pounded. Her heart raced. Sweat popped out on her forehead.
The pot remained unscathed, sitting in the floor as though it were impervious to any spell she should cast.
“Damn!”
Realizing that she might have to put a bit more effort into demolishing the pot, she stretched out her right arm and commanded the pot to break into a billion tiny pieces.
The pot defied her efforts.
She screamed the order to disintegrate.
The pot defied her words.
She sighed. Had she practiced her witchcraft, as she probably should have, she might not be having this difficulty now. She laughed in spite of the situation. She had never tried to destroy anything in her life—so why should she be able to now?
She leafed through the spell book, searching for a spell that might possibly work, when the jars of herbs and colored powders caught her attention. She had no idea what any of them were, only that the coven had probably used the ingredients in their spells of menace. An idea took root as she remembered Marcus saying they were a terribly evil coven.
She gathered several of the jars and carried them to the pot. Without thinking of the consequences, she cast the contents of each jar against the side of the pot. Foul smelling clouds of dust and particles billowed upward to obscure the air in the room. She coughed and waved one hand to clear the air. Returning to the table, she gathered more of the jars and returned to dash the contents against the side of the kettle. The herbs flew against the black sides and fell to the floor, their potency useless against the magical container.
“You waste your time, witch Ronna.”
The voice growled, echoing into the empty room and sending icy chills up Ronna’s spine. She stumbled back, reeling on her heels, then fell. With wide frightened eyes, she searched the room, expecting that the dark one had risen from the pot and was hovering near the ceiling.
“Your witchcraft is useless against me.”
The low growling timbre of the voice filled her with a new jolt of fear. She scrambled up from the floor realizing that the voice still came from the pot. Her first instinct was to race through the door of the room, but she pulled up short when she realized she left the spell book behind. She wanted so badly to take it back home with her. For a moment she considered running out of the castle and never looking back. The dark one, seemingly voicing his presence from within the coven’s magic pot, knew she was trying to destroy his vessel.
She turned and gazed through the door at the pot. If she were home and had the pot, she would merely toss it off the balcony of her loft apartment. It would have to be made of rubber to survive such a fall. A blond brow lifted. The pot was made of clay, thick, aged rock hard, yet clay nonetheless. Clay could not withstand a fall as great as the one she proposed it have.
She stepped back into the room.
“The damn thing is too big for me to pick up. And much too heavy.”
She looked upward at the only window in the room. It would be impossible to throw it out the small high space.
She crossed the room and picked up the book. Perhaps her idea of destroying the pot was unrealistic. She hadn’t the power to do so. She hated to admit defeat, but it appeared to be staring her in the face. She clutched the book to her chest and decided to cast a revealing spell to locate the secret room where Drucella had hidden Chandler.
“Come here, Ronna.”
The voice cut into her thoughts, and at first she thought someone else had joined her in the room—the voice was so clear and held none of the malice it first hat—then she cast an eye toward the pot and saw a wisp of white smoke curling from its upper rim. Her stomach knotted in fright. Her hands closed tightly around the binding of the old book.
“Do not fear me. You are the last of the Morganford coven. You have a multitude of power at your beckoning.”
Her feet felt frozen to the floor. She hadn’t envisioned the pot summoning her and now that it had, she felt at odds over what to do. She had no desire to be caught up in the former coven’s menacing antics, nor did she wish to be drawn into any conversation with the dark one. The thought of conversing with him sent shards of terror traveling through her insides.
“Come. Peer into the pot, Ronna. I will bestow upon you the power of the coven. The world will fear you.”
Ronna bit her lip. Her thoughts were muddled. She tried to conjure up a spell of silence—at least for as long as it took for her to cast the revealing spell and find the room where Chandler slept. She found it difficult to concentrate. She raised one hand and raked her nails through her hair.
Marcus! Marcus! Are you certain you can’t help me? Marcus!
“The vampire sleeps.”
She yelped out loud and scampered to the door of the spell room. The dark one had heard her thoughts—read her mind—as Marcus was capable of doing. For a second her mind rationalized the fact. Marcus was bound by a curse that originated from the dark one—an existence in an undead state. She clamped one hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. If she aligned herself with Marcus—she would be consorting with the dark one.
Ribbons of fear coiled within her body. The whole business of witchcraft and vampires, of traveling back in time, Marcus—
She felt tears sting her eyes. She raised one hand and clutched the amulet nestled between her breasts. God forgive her! She needed to go home!
“Come and taste the power I offer you, Ronna.”
Everything seemed unsavory just then. She glanced down at the old book she clutched
so tightly against her chest and suddenly the whole idea of taking it back home with her nearly made her wretch. She let out a scream of distress and hurled the heavy book toward the pot!
As though in slow motion, the book rose into the air, turning end over end, its yellow dusty pages spilling from its binding as it hurtled toward the black pot. A trail of choking dust arched into the air, then dissipated as the book landed with a loud crack against the upper lip of the pot. It teetered on the black rim for a moment, then toppled inside.
The pot shook, black smoke billowed upward, then the pot splintered and exploded filling the room with chunky black shards that sprang forth and vaulted into the room.
Ronna screamed and fell to the floor as the explosion shook the very air. Black smoke filled the space, a terrible rancid stench spewed forth, making her cough and gag.
The smoke cleared, and the smell dissipated. Ronna lifted her head and looked around. The pot was gone. And the shards that she had witnessed spraying forth had disappeared as well. She rose slowly to her feet, leery of the disappearance of the pot. Had it really gone? Had it really shattered and exploded when the book fell into it?
CHAPTER 22
When the air cleared, the pot really was gone. Ronna walked about the room and mentally congratulated herself for destroying it. She had, however, lost the spell book in the process. She managed to salvage a few of the pages that had fallen out of it as it hurtled through the air just before colliding with the pot. She picked them up and folded them gently, then stuffed them into a back pocket of her jeans. Whether the spells written on them would have any significance in her life when she returned home, she didn’t know. She was aware however that the pages had warmth about them. Her buttock was tingling where they pressed against it.
She turned her full attention to casting the spell that would reveal Chandler’s hiding place and put thoughts of the lost book out of her mind. It was growing near sundown and soon Marcus would be waking up and coming to her. She shivered with the thought. A part of her yearned to see him again, ached to be in his arms, but another part of her being knew of the dire consequences she risked just knowing him.