by Leigh Evans
“Man, that looks bad,” said Biggs.
It did. The teeth marks were actually kind of hideous on my pale white skin. Trowbridge cradled my arm and turned it toward the setting sun. “Who did this?” he growled.
“A kid in Threall.” I stared at the devil’s spawn’s bite. What would have happened if the kid had come to me?
My mate’s scent heated and clouded around us. Protective. Angry. Threatened. “Why did you go there?”
“To kill the Black Mage.”
“Do tell us that you succeeded,” drawled Cordelia.
Silently, I shook my head. Trowbridge’s skin warmed my cheek.
His throat moved then he said, “I don’t want you ever going there again.”
But I will.
Merry rappelled up her chain to the open neck of my T-shirt. Trowbridge lifted his arm so that she could slide under the jersey and scoot down to position herself over my heart. Heat warmed my chest as she began the healing process.
My throat was so tight it hurt.
And there it was again. The road map of my life and choices open flat on a table again. Three entwined lifelines on it. Mine, Lexi’s, and Trowbridge’s. But now I saw other lines—fainter but no less important—woven loosely around my own.
They deserve more from me.
“I messed up, Trowbridge,” I whispered.
“How?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.
“Oh, it’s huge.” The trees outside were so beautiful. Just a few hardwoods and a swath of evergreens. “You’ll want to tell the pack to leave the house and grounds. This is family business.”
“Biggs,” said the Alpha of Creemore, accepting the clean towel that Cordelia offered. “Do it.”
No one talked while the grounds were cleared. Trowbridge wrapped the hand towel around my wrist and applied pressure. Cordelia busied herself sighing heavily and taking care of my mate’s discarded dreads. Harry stood in the hall, hands in his back pockets, looking a little out of place.
The house turned funeral quiet. Was Lexi okay?
When Biggs returned, I told them everything. Every single terrible detail of what happened in Threall; all about Mad-one, the devil’s cub, the Black and Old Mages, the pledges, the two trees with one trunk. I didn’t gloss it over; I laid every one of my transgressions bare. My voice was flat—well, mostly; it did get kind of watery after telling about the kid. I finished by explaining that in sewing Trowbridge’s life to mine, I’d tied him forever to the one man he hated among all others. After that, I’m not sure what I said. All I know is that I talked until I couldn’t anymore. And then I sat there feeling empty and waiting for the moment Trowbridge dumped me on the broken seat of the easy chair.
Instead, he wrapped the end of my limp hair around his damaged finger, trying to set a curl in hair that resists suggestion. He slipped his digit free from the coil he’d made, and then gave a half smile as the strand twisted free.
A small head shake. “You are a lot of work, Hedi Peacock.”
“Yeah, I am,” I said evenly, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
Please don’t dump me.
Trowbridge’s arm tightened around me as he blew some air through his nose in one long stream of man-disbelief. “Just to recap: unless your brother is sent through the portal, you and I will die. Merenwyn will enter a dark age. Horror will seep—”
“Drip.”
He nodded. “Drip into this world.”
“It’s a gift,” said Cordelia wearily. “She’s the only person I know who can tip our world toward disaster with one trip to the loo.”
Harry cleared his throat. “Sounds to me like the disaster was already in the making. It’s not all Little Miss’s fault.”
But some of it was. I had to own that.
My One True Love’s chin ruffled the top of my head as he grimly shook his head. “I don’t want you in Merenwyn.”
“I know,” I said softly, “but I’m going anyhow.”
Don’t cling, you fool. Get up. Stand on your own two feet. Resolutely, I slid off Trowbridge’s knee and took a step to the window. I rested a shoulder against its frame and gazed outside. The mower had left lines in the grass.
“One way or the other, I’ve put each of you in a very difficult situation over the last six months,” I said. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am for that.” Merry shifted as I folded my arms and tucked in my chin. I listened to a cardinal’s song for a few bars then nodded to myself. “So, it’s probably best if I handle this on my own. If you can look the other way while I bring Lexi to the portal, I’ll do the rest. That is, if you trust me.” I swallowed. “And believe that I told you everything that happened up there.”
Someone had left a rake abandoned by the peony bushes.
“You’ve forgotten some pretty important stuff,” Trowbridge murmured.
My body stiffened. He doesn’t. The Alpha of Creemore’s scent reached for me and slid a tendril of him around my throat. Was it threatening? No. A half second later, I felt him—well, at least the heat of him—right beside me. So close. If I pulled my gaze from the peonies, if I turned my chin just half an inch … No. I didn’t want to chance a look at him at the moment, because truth was, it was taking everything I had to keep my lip from trembling.
His hand—one thumb, a pointer, and a middle finger—curled around my shoulder. Into my ear he said softly, “Did you forget what I said? Heart of my heart. Mate for all my years. I offer you my life?”
Low blow. My nose burned in the way it did when it was gearing up for a monumental boo-hoo. “Maybe the mating vows didn’t take and you still have a chance.” I rubbed my face and said wearily, “Maybe all we have between us is sex. Whenever I’m near you, I can’t think properly. Every time I see you, I keep thinking the same thing over and over again, and it drowns out every rational thought I ever—”
“Mine,” he said.
My mouth fell open. I was thinking of a verb far less profound.
“That’s what I think when I see you. That’s why I suffered nine years of blue balls. That’s why I kept living when it would have been easier to die. That’s why I came back and that’s why I’m here now.” He gave me a fierce smile. “You are mine. I am yours. It’s fucking simple. Don’t make it complicated.”
I gazed at the lawn, remembering the night I followed Stuart Scawens down to the pond.
“The vows took,” he said. “I meant those words when I said them to you, mate.”
No more lies.
“I tricked you,” I whispered. “You thought you were saying the mating vows to Candy.”
“Candy never smelled like wildflowers in the field.”
“Sweet peas,” I choked out. “My blood smells like sweet peas. Why don’t you know that, Trowbridge?”
“It’s a detail. I’m better on the big picture.” The Alpha of Creemore turned me toward him. Blue-tailed comets spun in tired eyes, then his light—oh Goddess, his flare—it shone through his gaze.
Not painfully. Not hurtfully.
Mine, it said tenderly.
My flare—and oh sweet heavens, I was so far gone I didn’t even feel its burn coming because my eyes had been blurred from the moment his scent had skimmed my flesh—burst forth. Mediterranean blue met brilliant green. Someone went “Aw” as turquoise light filled the bedroom.
“You are my mate who smells like tiny flowers.” He cupped my face with his two large hands and tilted my face toward him. And that was that. His lips brushed mine. Once, twice. Not landing, just for a fly-by warning. His breath mingled with mine as he nuzzled the corner of my lips. “Don’t ever forget that again.”
Things have happened since he said those words.
But still, I’ve never forgotten him saying them.
* * *
Someone blew their nose then flushed the toilet. “What I want to know is how we’re going to call the portal when it’s time to go fetch brother dearest from the clutches of the Black Mage?” drawled Cordelia as she eme
rged from the bathroom.
We.
“You’re not going,” said Trowbridge. “Too many people crossing the gates at the same time is just going to increase the chances of getting caught. I can get Hedi to cover quicker if there’s just the two of us.”
We.
Cordelia’s eyes narrowed.
Before she could put thought to word, I said, “Casperella can do it.” Trowbridge lifted an eyebrow so I elaborated. “There’s a Fae ghost in your cemetery who knows the words to the song.” I felt my cheeks flush. “She’s the one who called the portal last night. I couldn’t remember the words.”
“There’s a ghost in the cemetery,” Trowbridge repeated.
“There’re three.”
“I knew it,” Biggs said.
Trowbridge’s breath was warm, his heart solid. “If there was a ghost in the cemetery who knew the song, then why did you wait six months before telling her to summon the gates?”
Shame bit me. “I didn’t know she was a Fae. And besides, Casperella was mute until she got her mitts on my magic.”
“You shared your magic with a ghost?”
The emptiness—that searching feeling I’d felt without my talent—it didn’t bear thinking about. “Not willingly,” I said quietly. “And I got it back eventually.” I lifted a shoulder, then let it drop. “Casperella would probably be willing to make a trade. She wants to go home. Back to Merenwyn. I could loan her my magic if she summoned the portal for us. The trickiest part would be to make her to give me back all of my green sparkling bits before she slipped across the portal.”
“Sweetheart,” he said. “A warrior never gives up his weapons. Ever.”
A weapon? Was that how he saw my magic?
“We won’t need the ghost,” said Trowbridge. “The ghost didn’t call the portal—your brother did. It started to materialize up on the hill within three bars of the song.”
I thought back. Who had really called the portal? Casperella? My twin? Or had Fate suddenly decided to intercede? Had she watched, unseen, until the precise moment all three of us so desperately needed an intervention? Was something larger than all of us guiding our destinies?
Trowbridge ran a soothing hand down my back. He murmured, “Your brother knows the song, let him sing it.”
And just how would I get Lexi to call the portal? Without giving him false hope?
My head hurt.
Ralph flashed a “hey, over here!” as Merry emerged from my neckline. “Ralph needs to be fed. Merry, too.” I smoothed the dark hair on Trowbridge’s arm. It was soft and silky.
Harry cleared his throat. “There’s a shrub or two that I can pull out from the mess out back if he needs something fast.”
“There will be no shrubs in the bedrooms,” said Cordelia. She’d used the brush. Her hair was a nice smooth sheet.
I got a flash of her last night—hair askew, mouth twisted in pain.
Harry and Biggs, too.
“You guys should leave when the portal is summoned. The pack will smell the magic of the portal—they’ll come to watch.” I thought of those jiggling asses. “But they’re afraid of the gates so they’ll keep their distance. It would create a diversion. You could use it to slip out of Creemore. With any luck you can be on the highway before anyone notices you’re gone.”
“That’s true,” said Cordelia. “They’ll smell the magic and come running.”
Nod and let her go.
My friend’s face twisted into her full diva scowl. “Damn. We’ll have to think around that—it will make getting her brother through the portal a lot harder.”
Harry did a man-sigh as he scrubbed his mouth. “If Bridge doesn’t take immediate action against her brother, he’ll look weak. We’ve got to factor that in, too.”
We.
Suddenly, Biggs spoke up. “She should let the old guy keep her brother’s soul.” His expression grew haunted as an awful silence fell and stretched. “What? I’m only saying what everyone else is thinking. Her brother might have been a good guy back in the day but he’s a bit of a douche now.”
Trowbridge’s arms tightened around me.
“Not the time to bring this up,” Cordelia said, her voice very low.
“Well, when is?” Biggs was already leaning on the wall. But he upped his homage to James Dean by crossing his arms and flattening one foot behind him. “Someone needs to give her a wake-up call. We all earned the right when we stood by her—”
“A man doesn’t bring that stuff up,” growled Harry. “Now get your damn foot off the wallpaper.”
Biggs did, if a little slowly. “Well, someone still needs to tell her that she should just let the old guy take over her brother’s body.” He flicked a wary glance toward his Alpha. “The old dude will take better care of it than her brother ever did. And with all that magic shit he’s got going on, he might live forever.” He dug his hands into his jeans pockets, his expression mulish.
Harry looked neutral. Cordelia played with her earlobe, her gaze slanted from my searching one.
And Trowbridge?
He played absently with a strand of my hair while he stared at the floorboards in deep thought. “The Black Mage is a cruel bastard but I’m told that compared to the Old Mage, his magic skills are…” Brows furrowed, he groped for the right word. “Pedestrian. He’s never going to come up with the end of the world on his own.”
Biggs muttered, “I don’t care if the Fae world blows up.”
“Well, you sure as hell should. Because it wouldn’t surprise me if things did ‘drip’ down from the passages. I’ve seen stuff in Merenwyn. Stuff that…” A long pause grew, which was never filled with words, but somehow managed to swell with misery.
The Alpha of Creemore said very quietly, “So if you want to worry about something a little more home-based, you think about that.” He lifted his head and his gaze swept the room, touching on each one of them—the family that was not my family and yet somehow had become my family. “The old guy’s chances of succeeding on his own are bad. Forget his magic skills—he’ll use a lot of that to carry him past any guards the Black Mage has left by the gates. Then he has two days of terrain to cover before he reaches the castle, and he’ll be wearing the Shadow’s face the entire time he dodges the Royal Guards and the Raha’ells.
“My mate did the right thing,” he told them. “The Old Mage will need backup—that will be me and her. And when it’s done, his cyreath has got to be taken from her brother’s.”
Burning pressure behind my eyes again—either pent-up tears or a simmering flare.
He lifted my chin so that he could gaze into my eyes. “You did exactly what I would have done.”
“You shouldn’t be coming to Merenwyn,” I whispered. “You’ve got a kill-me sticker slapped on your head.”
“Small sticker.” He smiled. “Even smaller print.”
“Lovely.” Cordelia stomped over to the dresser. “Just lovely.” She opened the dresser’s second drawer, from which she pulled out a folded white T-shirt. This, she tossed to Bridge. “Before we challenge Armageddon, can we focus on tonight? How are we going to do this under the pack’s nose without screwing the pooch?”
Face grim, my mate shook out the cotton with two quick snaps. His voice grew muffled as he pulled the garment over his head. “We can’t hide it from them.”
“This is going to be a mistake,” muttered Biggs.
The Alpha brooded. “Your brother has to be near death when he goes through the portal—the mage was right about that. So, we’ll turn that into something we can use. I’ll summon the pack. Then we’re going to have to make it look like an execution.”
That sick feeling came back.
“After the pack witnesses your participation, they’ll never doubt you again.”
I don’t care if they doubt me.
I closed my eyes. But I couldn’t seal my ears, so I heard the rest. “There’s enough sun potion in Knox’s bottle to put Lexi into a coma. Once the Shadow calls
the portal, we’ll force him to drink it.”
I flinched.
Trowbridge said, “He’d just go to sleep, sweetheart.”
Knowing I’d betrayed him.
* * *
An angry sun was setting over the tree line. I shivered. Trowbridge wrapped an arm around me and drew me close. We stood near the edge of the cliff, overlooking the pond, under the very same oak tree where a teenage Trowbridge had once strummed his guitar.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“Not really,” I said quietly. But I was, right down to the bones, and I was beginning to worry that it was the type of chill that was never going to get better.
Cordelia peeled off her tasteful beige sweater. “She’s lying through her teeth.” My ex-roomie looked worn out, but then again, age, worry, and fatigue are hard to hide when a woman hasn’t had a chance to trowel on a thick layer of foundation. “Here, put this on,” she said gruffly, holding it out so that I could thread my arms into it.
“I don’t need it,” I said, shaking my head.
Let me be cold. Let me be numb.
But Trowbridge gently turned me around so I faced him and helped me thread first one arm, and then the other, into the sleeves. Hard to do with the bulky bandage I wore above my wrist. Cordelia fussed over how the cardigan sat on my shoulders. “I told them to get some of your clothing from the laundry basket on the chair in my bedroom,” she fumed as she rolled the sleeves. “Instead they rummaged through my bag for Goodwill. So bloody lazy.”
You can’t fix me, my Cordelia. Even if you feel a powerful need to fix something in the face of all this wrong. Trust me on that.
“We’ll get some new clothes tomorrow,” Trowbridge said dismissively. He began to do the buttons up, with more adeptness than I thought he’d manage considering the pearl closures were small and slippery. When the last button was done, he pulled my hair free of the neckline and used two fingers to rake its length so that it spread over my shoulders. “You hanging in there?”