Chapter 2
‘Did you feel that?’
‘Feel what?’
Morrigan Cantrae let out a little hiss of frustration. ‘That shift in the power lanes. It almost felt like …’
‘Felt like what, Mistress?’
Morrigan didn’t answer, just closed her eyes and concentrated. Something had changed. She reached out with her mind, but exhaustion caused her usually dextrous touch on the power lanes to be more like a groping hand in the dark. Anger grew from a little kernel in her chest. ‘Damn them all to hell that they laid me low like this.’ Everything was ruined. Centuries of waiting and planning and building had all come to nought. Her sister was unavenged and much of her power had been channelled into Alfrere so he could do what he’d been moulded to do. And now he was gone and she was back to where she started all those years ago.
Unable to use her powers, she picked up the bowl and threw it against the wall.
Eloise O’Brien—the acolyte who was seeing to Morrigan’s needs for the day—flinched as water and pottery exploded, showering over them both. Eloise immediately grabbed a cloth to wipe it from Morrigan’s skin before it could get into the wounds on her face and upper body. The cloth touched the edge of the deepest gash on Morrigan’s face. ‘Ow. Be careful.’ Morrigan sat up, swiping away Eloise’s help. It was useless. Everything was useless. She wanted to cry, to bury herself in the ancient grief that had dug a hole in her heart. She pushed her burned fist against her chest, tears pricking her eyes at the double pain, breath hitching, heart thundering. She began to rock. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,’ she whispered.
‘Mistress, you need to calm yourself. You’re still not healed yet.’
Morrigan’s head snapped up as she rocked, eyes pinning Eloise underneath her stare. ‘I would be if you were any kind of proper healer.’
Eloise’s head bowed, her hands clenched together in front of her. ‘I’m sorry, Mistress. I know my efforts aren’t good enough. But I will try harder. For you. I will do anything for you.’
Something stirred inside Morrigan at those words. She stopped rocking and looked down at Eloise, bowing before her like a supplicant. Water dripped down her face, bits of pottery were in her tawny hair. She was bleeding on her cheek. And yet she’d not ministered to herself at all. She’d thought first of Morrigan. As a proper acolyte should.
The girl is more than an acolyte.
Morrigan let out a sobbing sigh of relief as she heard the Darkness whisper. ‘You’re back.’
I never left. I’m just not whole as I was. But you can fix that. This girl can help you. You chose her along with her brother Cain and their cousin Ben for that reason.
Yes. Morrigan nodded. Their powers were unique. But they needed to be strengthened to suit her needs. This girl, Eloise, was even more unique. She had strengths in a number of areas, strengths that Morrigan had kept repressed because she didn’t want any of the coven to rise up higher than her.
This is but a setback. All is not lost. There is another way.
Like a blinding flash, one face appeared before her eyes.
River.
He stood in beast form, half man, half wolf, the moon high in the sky behind him, the body of a woman at his feet, blood dripping red from his hands. He howled to the moon. A kernel of blackness, an inky sludge spreading between his double auras, writhed and spread its tentacles, planting itself firmly, separating man and wolf.
She gasped. The Darkness had got inside River. At some time he’d invited it in. It was only a sliver, but with the right impetus, sometimes a sliver was enough. It was hope; the heart of her deepest desires. A way forward. She just had to find a way to tap into it, make it grow.
We started the beginnings of it twenty years ago. You felt a whisper of it coming to life just now. And it’s tangled up with that Wiccan-witch healer. I know you felt it. So use that. Move forward.
‘But how?’
Train Eloise as you train her brother. Use her. Infiltration is the key.
Yes. The Darkness was right. His council was sound.
She can be our true family. If moulded correctly, she will allow me in, just as her brethren did centuries ago. Just as you did.
‘Complete her now.’
No. I must be invited in.
Morrigan sighed as the whisper faded. The Darkness had been drained too. They both needed to heal, but now, at least, she had a plan. A way forward, even if it was still unclear.
She reached out to touch Eloise’s chin, tipping her head up to look in the clear, strange yellow-green eyes of this girl who did not know what she truly was. But Morrigan did, because of the Darkness. She was the vessel. The way forward. As was River and somehow, that Wiccan-witch, Bronwyn.
Through them, Morrigan would have her revenge.
Chapter 3
‘Are you sure you’re okay in there by yourself?’
‘More than okay,’ Bron said to Iain, her Shadow for the day. She slipped the key into the lock and opened the door of her shop. Plastering a smile across her face, hoping it would convince him in the same way it had convinced Patrick, her Shadow for the past two weeks, she turned. ‘I’ve got some reading to do and some spells to try.’ She tapped the Pack Diary in her arms. ‘And I need some peace and quiet to concentrate.’
‘But shutting down your shop …’ He cocked his head as he looked at the dark shop behind her. ‘That seems a bit extreme. I’m sure we could find somewhere for you to have peace and quiet at the packhouse and your assistant could continue to run the shop.’
‘You’re kidding, right?’ She laughed, the sound a tad hysterical. His dark brown gaze swung to her, piercing in its intensity. ‘Not about my assistant,’ she hedged. ‘She’d run the place no problems.’
‘I know the packhouse can be busy, but we all know the importance of the work you, Skye and Shelley are doing. Jason would kick everyone out if you asked.’
‘I know he would. But I wouldn’t do that to the pack.’ Her smile gentled and she reached out and touched his arm, knowing her new pack responded to touch, needed it. Although Iain didn’t flinch away, her touch didn’t seem to settle him like it did the others—in fact, it seemed to make him study her even more closely. She let her hand drop back to her side. ‘The pack need their Alpha to be accessible and he’s not leaving Skye’s side any time soon, so it makes more sense that seeing I’m the one with the problem, I should take care of it myself, not dump it on others.’
‘You don’t have to work alone.’
‘I know. But I want to. It’s only a few weeks until the next full moon and I need to find a way to help River.’
‘He told Adam he doesn’t want your help if it means you flare out again.’
‘Is that why he’s been avoiding me?’
Iain shrugged, his dark gaze boring into her. ‘Will you? Flare out again?’
Bron’s mouth tightened and she looked away. She didn’t know. She had no idea why she’d flared out that night or why her powers had gone haywire ever since. But she wasn’t about to admit that to Iain. ‘River’s aura fought me that night and I had to push too hard to get in. I won’t do it that way again. I need to research, to think. That’s why I’m here.’ That was partly true. He had fought her and she’d barely got in—and that was when she had some semblance of control. Now … she didn’t dare touch him until she was certain of what she was doing. And she couldn’t concentrate on gaining back her control with the urgent expectation in Skye’s eyes haunting her. She knew time was limited. She didn’t need the emotionally draining reminder.
Iain began to say something else, but movement caught her eye in the trees at the side of the road and she tuned out. Those trees led back to the clearing where her grandma used to perform her most powerful spells and worship the Mother Goddess. She frowned. Nobody should be back there. It was private property, part of the land Adeline Kincaid had bought because of the ancient power of the untouched bushland there. ‘Is someone else shadowing me today?’
> Iain followed the direction of her gaze. ‘No. I’m your only Shadow. Why?’
She shook her head slowly. ‘I don’t know. I just thought I saw someone standing over there.’
Iain’s body shifted, tensed as he turned to stand in front of her. ‘Who?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, walking into the shop. ‘I couldn’t see them clearly. It was probably nothing, just the trees shifting in the breeze.’
He frowned, not as flippant as she was in the face of possible danger. ‘I’ll go and check it out, right after I’ve checked in here.’
He moved past her too quickly for her to protest. She knew her shop was safe. She could feel it in her bones; the deep sense of welcome and homecoming as if the shop itself was alive. Adeline had always said she would know if there was something wrong with her shop, and now it was Bron’s, she understood what her grandma meant.
Iain was back a few moments later after checking out the client rooms, the storeroom, the office upstairs and her workroom. She gave a start when he turned to look at her. She didn’t expect the usual smile she got from Patrick—Iain was a different kettle of fish altogether from his brother—but she didn’t expect him to look so grim.
‘I’m going to go and check outside. I want you to lock the door and stay away from the windows. You’ve got my mobile number if you need me.’
‘You don’t have to do that,’ she began, but it was too late. He was already gone. A sigh of relief escaped her lips. She knew she needed a Shadow to protect her from Morrigan and her coven, but she was kind of glad right now that Iain had gone. He was far too canny—more so than the fun-loving Patrick—and she was afraid he would discover her secret and let the others know. That was the last thing she needed right now. She couldn’t stand their pity and worry bearing down on her too.
Just as she was about to lock the door, a small shape darted into the shop. Stopping before her, the little tawny cat twirled around Bron’s legs, meowing loudly. ‘Bluebelle,’ Bron cooed. She bent and picked up the cat, careful of its sensitive back leg that had obviously been broken at some stage and not healed properly. ‘You felt my need, didn’t you?’ she asked, stroking the cat’s small head.
The cat, her new familiar, meowed and rubbed her face against Bron’s before jumping down and scampering off with a limping gate into Bron’s workroom. ‘I’ll feed you in a minute,’ Bron called out. But instead of following the little cat, her gaze was drawn outside to the quiet streetscape. There were only a few shops along this stretch of road that lay at the peak of the hill—an enticing building that had been modelled to look like a gingerbread house that sold the boiled lollies that were Shelley’s only food weakness, an antique store, and an old-fashioned café that did the best Devonshire teas in the whole of Victoria as far as Bron was concerned. Each shop was lined up on her side of the road, because the other side was almost cliff-like and afforded a delicious view of the rolling hills and dense bushland that stretched out from Kangaroo Grounds to Sugarloaf Reservoir and beyond. On a clear day, she fancied she could see all the way to the Snowy Mountains.
The peacefulness of that view usually filled her with such contentment. Today, it filled her with something else. An itchy longing for something more, something …
She shook her head, cursing herself for an idiot. She had important things to concentrate on—and getting her powers to behave so she could heal River properly and stop him from turning into the Beast again was at the top of that list.
Shoving the door closed, the bell tinkling madly above her head, she spun and faced her shop. Pleasure filled her despite the turmoil in her mind as she looked over the shelves of creams and ointments she’d made, the clean lines of the sales desk and the jewellery and crystals they sold, glinting in the light coming in through the window to the right. Perhaps she should rearrange the display? She hadn’t done that for a while. Or she could dust and check the dates on the bottles of medicinals she sold.
A loud meow sounded from her workroom, jolting her back to reality. She was procrastinating. Nothing needed to be dusted or checked or rearranged. Everything was as it should be. She was the only thing here out of step. Another plaintive meow made her smile. ‘I’m coming,’ she called. She pushed the door closed, and sighed. She couldn’t be sorry for the spell she and Shelley had canted to help their friend win against that mad witch, Morrigan Cantrae, but what they said about consequences of actions was true—she was paying for hers now.
Another meow echoed through the room and Bluebelle darted out from the workroom and stared at her from the doorway as if to say, ‘What’s more important than feeding me?’
Bron chuckled, a bitter edge to the sound. ‘I wish that was all I had to worry about.’ Bluebell meowed again. ‘I know. You’re hungry. I’m coming now.’ Shaking off the lethargy that kept seeking to take a hold of her, lethargy that would have once seemed alien but was now almost a friend, she took a deep breath and made her way to the workroom.
As she passed the shelves that stood to the right of the door, a set of candles caught her eye. Excitement flickered in her chest as she came to a halt, staring at them. Bluebelle meowed again as she noticed Bron halt. Bron looked down at the cat. ‘Just a minute, sweetie. I’ve had an idea.’ She put the Pack Diary she’d brought with her on the shelf and picked up the frankincense candle—nothing was quite like frankincense for inspiration—and then darted over to another shelf and picked up a large moonstone. The crystal, alive with earth energy, buzzed and tingled in her hand. A sense of peace settled over her and the flash of thought she’d had settled into certainty that it was a good thought; a right thought.
Bluebelle meowed at Bron again and she turned, a smile that felt true for the first time in days parting her lips. ‘Thanks Bluebelle. You’re right. Start at the basics. You are hungry, so I feed you—the hunger goes away. My magic isn’t working, so I need to feed it with basic magic and retrain it.’ She hurried into her workroom, put the candle and moonstone on the round table in the centre of the room, placed some smoked salmon—Bluebelle had a discerning palate and would only eat smoked salmon and cooked chicken—on a plate on the floor then gathered up a few more things from her shop.
Moments later she settled at the table, frankincense candle burning on the shelf behind her, filling the air with its rich aroma, another plain beeswax candle set on a plate in front of her, the moonstone clutched in one hand. ‘Right. Start with basics. Concentrate. Light the candle.’
Closing her eyes, she settled into an old familiar cantrip to put her mind at rest, and then gathering the magic she borrowed from her Goddess—a teeth-clenching moment as it resisted her manipulation—she built the image of flame flickering to life on the wick in front of her. Once the image was stable, she filled it with the energy of her magic and said, ‘Light,’ as she sent that image out of her mind, centring the energy on the beeswax candle.
The magical energy skittered off to the side and slid away. She didn’t even have to open her eyes to know the candle hadn’t lit. Firming her lips, she took in another breath and tried again. Patience. That’s all this would take. A little retraining led by patience. A pity patience had never been her strong suit. But today, with desperation filling her and an emptiness she’d not experienced since her grandma’s death waiting to swallow her whole, she would become more patient than even the Dalai Lama.
At least, she would try.
Teeth clenched, she pulled on the resisting magic and tried again.
***
Shelley hopped out of the car and had to grab hold of the door to stop herself from wobbling. The last thing she wanted was for annoying Adam to do the caveman thing and pick her up and cart her home again. She was just tired. Not to mention feeling the stress of trying to keep all the spirits away. The extra power she’d taken on to save her friend had unexpected side effects. It was as if she was a mozzie light for spirits. They’d always hung around, but not like this.
She glared at them as they rushed her now, wis
py tendrils of fog that left shivers on her skin as they tried to touch her, begging for her attention. Her head throbbed. ‘Piss off,’ she said, in a low, harsh whisper. ‘Leave me alone.’
‘You know I can’t do that.’
The tendrils parted to show Adam in front of her. ‘I’m not talking to you,’ she said testily. ‘I’m talking to them.’ She waved her hand.
Adam’s eyes didn’t waver from her like most people when she indicated spirits were around. ‘Are they hurting you?’
The growl in his voice made them tumble away. She would have laughed if she wasn’t so relieved. ‘No. They can’t hurt me.’
‘Liar. I can see your headache has got worse.’
She gaped at him. ‘How did you know I have a headache?’
‘You’re grumpier than usual.’
‘I am not grumpy.’
‘Yes you are. Normally you’re just tetchy, but today you’re downright grumpy.’
She was about to bark at him when she saw the twitch on his annoying lips. He was laughing at her! She whacked him across the shoulder with the diary she held in her hand.
‘Ow! Why do people keep hitting me?’
‘Because you deserve it. I am not tetchy or grumpy. I’m just tired because I’ve come off a very long night shift and need some sleep.’
‘Then perhaps I should take you home now and tuck you into bed.’
She glared at him—not that glaring at him had any effect whatsoever. Which made him even more annoying. She knew she gave good glare. Many a belligerent patient had become meek and compliant under that glare. But the more she glared, the more he smiled. ‘Argh,’ she said, turning on her heel and stalking towards Bron’s shop. He caught up with her in a stride. ‘Go away.’
‘The spirits again? If I wave my hands around, will that make them go away?’
She snort-laughed as he began to do just that. ‘No. Your hands just pass right through them. But I wasn’t talking to them anyway. I was talking to you this time. Can’t somebody else be my Shadow?’
Moon Bound Page 3