"Why me?"
His smile was rueful. "Because once, you asked him to."
My eyes widened. "My crime?"
"It is better if you don't remember. That is why you—why we—thought it best that you sleep the oubliette."
"Lucien." I braved my own needs and gripped his forearm, holding him in place. "If it can help the sunstriders at all, tell me, what did I do? Can it be undone?"
He dropped his head, and I almost jumped as his forehead pressed against mine. My eyes slipped shut as his breath gusted against me with every word, the stink of the nightwalker all but faded as the memory of him overrode what he had become. "My bond silences me."
"Your bond to him, your maker? It is almost dawn, it must be weakened now."
His eyelashes brushed against my eyebrows as he opened his eyes and drew back, cocking his head slightly as he regarded me. "My bond to you."
A weight pressed the small of my back, his cool fingers twisting in my thin shift. He moved toward me, or I moved toward him—it didn't matter. Our lips met, an electric spark strong enough to raise the dead raced through me, my pulse thundering in my throat, in my stomach.
Cold lips pressed against mine, his winter-wind breath gusting past my own parted lips. A soft moan welled deep within his chest, his fingers tangled hard in my hair as he drew me close, closer, so tight against him that I lifted to my toes to maintain my balance.
The muscles of his forearm bulged beneath my grip. I reached up, skimming my palm against the hard muscles of his back, reaching for that sweet spot at the base of his neck that I knew—he groaned, loud and pained, and pushed me back.
I stumbled, scraping my heels against the gravel as I regained my balance. He tore away, half turning, hunched over himself, burying his face in his hands. I reached out, and hesitated, my arm extended halfway to him.
"Lucien..."
"I can't," he rasped, and when he turned to me again his eyes were a maelstrom of churning silver. "The scent of your blood... I..." The tips of his fangs descended, making him slur, and he jerked away, hiding his face in the shadow of the rose garden.
I drew my hand back. My oath pounded in my veins, demanding the death of the nightwalker. It hadn't been so strong, under the light of the moon, but as the sun slid over the horizon her searing light let me know that she was very, very angry with me for sparing this man. This creature.
A pink smear of light glazed the mist enshrouding the estate as the sun reared up on the other side of the world. Power thrummed through me, the promise of sunlight enough to crank my senses into overdrive. The phantom of his weight pressed against me became such a solid presence that it almost drove me to my knees.
"The moments before dawn," he whispered, drawing back. "Those are all we have."
"Dusk..."
He shook his head. "I trust you, Magdalene, when the day comes. I cannot trust myself when night falls."
"I trust you," I whispered.
He smiled, shaking his head. "You shouldn't. Leave this place, before he comes. It will go better for them."
Before either of us could say more, he dissolved into the shadows of the trees.
Twenty-Eight: The Cottage Witch
It took me less than an hour to learn how to ride the motorcycle Adelia found for me in her expansive garage. Another hour to get used to riding it over the bumpy terrain of the moors. Roisin led the way, a fan of dirt kicking up from her back tire. I leaned low over the front of the bike, relishing in the wind whipping the hair from my face. But the chill wind of the moor was not enough to wipe clean the unctuous feeling of the secret I kept.
I had not told Roisin of Lucien's visit. Not yet. His words pulled at me, urging me to leave the estate, promising that things would go easier for them all if I weren't there. I did not think he would lie to me. But that didn't mean that what he was said was true. With the nightwalkers coming, I couldn't risk leaving.
A peaked roof covered in moss appeared on the horizon, a few scraggly lavender plants bowing in the wind over the eaves. Stacked grey stones marked the boundary of the cottage garden, and a door painted a brilliant red pierced the same stones which made up the walls of the cottage. The sharp, sweet scent of herbs blew toward us, mingling with the silky smoke seeping out of the chimney.
Something tingled against my skin, like the brush of a cobweb, and the moment we passed the sensation the cottage expanded, sprawling in rooms connected by haphazard hallways between the hills and valleys. A complex large enough to rival Adelia's. The garden stayed the same, though. Small and wild.
A woman stepped through the red front door. Slight of stature, she leaned against the frame, her bony elbows sticking out as she crossed her arms. Copper curls the mirror of Roisin's flared around her head like a crown, and the mauve shift-dress she wore was long enough to brush the tops of her bare feet. Bloody red lipstick added a punch of color to her face, and from her neck draped a heap of silver chains of various lengths with vials at the end.
"Wondered what happened to you," she said as Roisin and I killed the motors on our bikes and dismounted. She met my gaze and snorted. "Another one? Don't expect me to be making you dinner then."
She turned and stomped through the door, waving at us over her shoulder. "Come on, come on, I imagine you want something."
Stepping across Roisin's family threshold was like stepping into a dragon's hoard. The walls and floor were all plain stone, but every available surface was draped in fine tapestries, paintings, rugs, or furniture carved from solid pieces of wood. Glittering candelabras dotted the hallway, revealing the perfect shimmer on each exquisite surface. Not a hint of dust or a scuff of foot marred a single piece of the witch's collection, though she muttered to herself as she passed individual items and reached out to straighten them even though they hadn't been crooked to begin with.
"Maeve," Roisin said, taking me by surprise. I hadn't known her 'niece' was named for the fairy queen. "I need your help to undo a spell."
"Oh?" She puttered along to what must have been a drawing room at one point, but now every available surface was covered in unrolled scrolls and vials of various specimens. I stopped examining them when one winked at me. "That spell on the moor is gone, dearie, and I don't touch the wards over at the Durfort-Civrac house. That family and I have an arrangement."
"What arrangement?" I asked.
Maeve snorted. "I leave them be, and they never know I'm living on their land."
"This is her property?"
"Ach, no. The soil beneath is written up on some deed as hers in the city, I'm sure, but the house is ground consecrated with the blood of the Quinns, and all the illusions on it mine. I'm a good little tenant. I don't smoke, and I keep the builders from wanting to put tract homes or strip malls or whatever the thing is nowadays out on the moors. Bloody menace, builders. Had to work up a banshee scream the other day to keep a lot of 'em from laying those—what are they called—survey lines down out here. Made 'em all have a bit of the shivers for the next month, too." She snorted and put her hands on her hips. "See if they come back."
Roisin gave me a 'please don't get her started' look. "About this spell. It was done, we believe, by a venefica—"
"A? You mean the. There's only one Venefica left, dearie, and she makes it very clear she prefers the definite article."
"You know her?"
"Hah. Hah. Hah. Not on your life—such as it is—I know of her. That's the way these things work. If we met, we'd probably duel for the right to eat each other's heart, or something. It'd be a mess, anyway."
"Can you undo her spell?" Roisin pressed.
Maeve threw up her hands. "Haven't even seen it, have I? Asking the world of me and I haven't even had my lunch."
"If you need to eat..." I said, but she fluttered a hand at me.
"Are you kidding? I'm not going to get another chance to undo the Venefica's spellwork. Can you imagine how mad she'll be once she realizes? I bet she'll tear her hair out."
"Do you know w
here she lives?"
"Live is hardly the word and, Oberon's tits, no, I most certainly do not. That kind of thing is a secret, you know." She gave Roisin a pointed look.
"I won't tell Adelia where you live," I said.
She threw her head back and cackled with laughter. "Oh my. I'm sure. Adelia's a dear old thing but she doesn't have a lick of the power in her bony body. She'd never find me if I didn't want her to, though I appreciate your reluctance to blackmail me."
"I didn't mean..."
This time she flapped both hands at me. "Don't be gentle with me. Now stay put, I need to gather my things."
Maeve scurried around the room, ferreting supplies out of nooks and crannies I hadn't realized existed until she stuck her hands in them. Bottles appeared from within lampshades, a particularly large bundle of some dried, leafy plant was purloined from behind a couch cushion, and a handful of cracked-open geodes were gathered from within a hollowed-out book on one shelf. She dumped each item into a sagging green linen bag. At first I thought the bag had a dark cloud pattern on it, but then I realized it was just stains.
"There," Maeve said, squinting around the room as if she suspected something useful might be hiding from her. "What are you two standing around for? Let's go. You're delaying my moment."
Roisin rolled her eyes expansively as she shooed us out of the room in front of her. Maeve snagged a cap helmet, a bright pink thing covered in holographic stickers of unicorns and rainbows, and plunked it on her head, pulling the strap tight. She settled herself behind Roisin on the motorcycle and sang folk songs at the top of her lungs all the way back to Adelia's place. By the time we got there, her voice was hoarse.
DeShawn met us on the driveway, a frown engraved on his dark face. He approached the bikes and offered his hand to Maeve to help her off.
"You three got back just in time. Adelia says there's something funky going on with the magic in the house. Beats me if I have any idea how that shit works—begging your pardon, Ms. Quinn—but she's all worked up about it. Says she can't make sense of what's going on. Some of the wards are shocking guests when they pass through, and a couple of the doors keep sticking."
I glanced toward the rose garden and saw a dark cloud lingering above it, blocking out the light. Maeve took her helmet off and popped it under her arm, then shook her hair out like she was kicking loose an infestation. She cocked her head and waggled her fingers through the air. Little sparks scattered from her fingertips.
"Oh," she said.
"Oh?" Roisin pressed, trying her own trick with sensing the magic but, judging from the scowl, coming up blank.
"These aren't the original wards and cantrips. Those have been taken down and replaced by something new."
Roisin's eyes widened. "Who would do that?"
"The Venefica, of course. And she's coming here, now. Close, I think, by the way the magic is gathering interference."
"She's coming here?" I asked, bewildered. The sun was still a few hours from setting.
"Well, she would eventually, wouldn't she? Now." Maeve rubbed her palms together. "Which way to the sleeping sunstriders?" Maeve took off up the steps to the estate, leaving DeShawn and me gaping at each other.
"Roisin..." I said.
"I'm on it. I'll take her there and do our best to get them up before our guest arrives."
Roisin hurried off to see to her niece, and DeShawn and I shared a look.
"The perimeter is secure," he said, firmly. I winced, remembering how easily Lucien had penetrated our defenses.
"Not exactly," I sighed, resigning myself to revealing his visit, if not the whole truth of it. "Follow me, there are a few things I need to show you."
Twenty-Nine: The First Ripples
I took DeShawn to the edge of the rose garden, then lead him along the narrow path toward the labyrinth. With each step we took his gaze tracked the perimeter of the wall encircling the estate, and the windows and balconies from which he'd stationed lookouts. I stopped when I reached the place where I'd run into Lucien, or, more accurately, where he'd found me. A quizzical look pinched DeShawn's features, and I didn't blame him. From here, it looked like one could see straight into the manicured trees, no place to hide. He wouldn't have known to account for the shadows.
"Do you remember how the remnants looked like trees?"
He squinted at the trees as if they'd bite, hand going to his side arm. "Yeah..."
"The nightwalkers needed the help of a powerful sorceress called the Venefica to pull that off. They don't need help to blend with regular old shadows." I cleared my throat. "Last night, I came into the garden about thirty minutes before dawn. There was a nightwalker, right there." I pointed to the tree that had hidden Lucien.
"Shit," he said, "are you okay?"
I waved off his concern. "It was Lucien. He didn't mean me any harm. He was trying to warn me off, get me to leave the estate before his master found me. He knew I never would, but I think he felt he had to try. I attempted to get some information from him about what his master was doing, but that bond is too strong. I didn't get anything useful. Aside from knowledge of the security breach, of course."
"So how do we fix this?" he asked. "Put a bunch of lamps out here? Wait, no, I've got it. Big house like Adelia's, it's gotta have a ton of fairy lights for Christmas. You see her foyer? That tree has got to be huge. Come on, let's go see if the house staff can help us out."
I had an inkling that fairy lights, whatever those were, had nothing to do with real fairies. While DeShawn busied himself in search of a staff member that could help us, I hurried down the steps to the cellar to check in on Roisin and Maeve. As soon as my feet hit the second step, I heard loud, aggravated chanting in the language of the fae—a garbled, sing-song language that I'd never bothered to get the hang of, as it was used to power magic that my blood disallowed me from touching. Not knowing what might break Maeve's concentration, I drew on a little of my inherent power and moved silently down the steps.
"Stop that," she snapped, whipping around to glare at me.
"What?"
Roisin, leaning against the wall while spinning a gun around her finger, cocked an eyebrow at me. "Don't cross the power streams."
"Oh. Right. Sorry." I let the power leave me, quick as a snuffed candle.
Maeve rolled her eyes and turned her back on me, extending her arms in the same grandiose pose she must have been in before my entrance had tripped her up. As her chanting picked up, I slunk down the stairs, feeling sheepish, and went to lean against the wall next to Roisin.
"She's been muttering like that for an hour. I don't think it's an actual spell," Roisin whispered.
"I can hear you," Maeve said.
Roisin grinned at me and inclined her head toward the door. I followed her back up the steps to the foyer between the cellar and the grand staircase, the library door hidden in the shadow of the swooping stairs. She shut the door behind us with exaggerated care.
"How is she progressing?" I asked.
"Well enough. She's confirmed what we suspected, that this is the work of the Venefica, and is practically salivating at the opportunity to undo her work. It'll take time, though."
"How long?"
She crossed her arms and kicked at the ground as she shook her head. "No way to be certain. Maeve's good, don't get me wrong, probably the best witch living, but she's no sorceress, and she's got nothing on the Venefica's age. Fae blood can only do so much to enhance one's power when you're working against magics born from the primordial mists, so to speak."
The door to the cellar slammed open, making us both jump. Maeve regarded us with a wary eye, then sniffed and rubbed her forehead with the back of her wrist.
"If you two are done gossiping about me, I could use some assistance. It would help a great deal if you could place the sunstriders in the light, where the sun could aid me in repairing the corrupted nature of their oath."
My thoughts flashed to the rose garden, then pushed the idea aside. If Lucien's
master was on his way, then we needed the sunstriders within the walls of the estate, where they could be defended.
"The cupola in the library lets in a great deal of light," I said slowly, and decided to keep the rest to myself. Roisin gave me a look that said she was thinking of that single set of defensible doors just as I was, but she inclined her head instead of saying anything. No need to spook Maeve.
Maeve went to find staff to lend us a hand while Roisin and I did the heavy work of moving the coffins, one by one, into the library. We worked in silence, laying them in a radial pattern around the center point of Maeve. Like a sunburst exploding across the floor of the library.
All the while, Maeve held her tongue, interrupting us only with subtle gestures to guide the placement of the coffins, a gentle angle of her palm, a subtle prod with a fingertip—nothing more. For all her flamboyance, even she sensed the shift of mood between Roisin and I and respected our reverence. Though we did not know every sunstrider in the coffins personally, they were our family.
They may very well be all that was left of us.
DeShawn poked his head into the room, his arms wrapped in forest green cables with little globes of glass poking out like thorns.
"Hey," he said, his cheerful voice cracking the somber mood. "Got a pile of lights, and the staff is digging around for more. You ready?" His gaze flicked over the coffins, and the sour look on Roisin's face. His eyes widened. "Shit. Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt, uh, whatever you're doing."
I brushed stone dust from my palms. "It's fine. We're finished here."
Under Maeve's scornful gaze, we left the library and went to the rose garden, DeShawn trailing a long cable of an extension cord behind us.
"Here." He shoved a bulb-laden string at me. "Take that up the nearest tree and wrap it around a branch to secure it. I'll give it a once-around on the trunk, then trail the rest over to the next tree in the row. By the time we're done this'll look like Santa's Village."
Sun Cursed (Shades of Blood Book 1) Page 16