by Helen Scott
She smiled shyly and shook her head as the waitress returned with their drinks. The aroma of the coffee hit him like a ton of bricks, so he ordered a cup for himself, as well. He swirled the thick amber liquid in his antique-looking silver goblet. The bartender had made a Sazerac, but it had an apple twist and made him feel like he should be by a fire in a log cabin instead of in a speakeasy with a wolf shifter.
Ben pulled his phone out while Imogen blew on her coffee, trying to cool it down enough so she could drink it. He quickly texted Alec and figured he’d have to wait a while for a response.
He was wrong.
The phone buzzed almost immediately and simply said: “Stay put. I’ll be there ASAP.”
When he relayed the message to Imogen, she snorted and chuckled until she took in his face. Once she realized that he was going to do exactly as Alec said, she almost, almost, pouted. If she’d been in the same situation, then she should understand better than anyone that he couldn’t mess the mission up.
When the waitress swung by to check on them once more and deliver his coffee, he asked if there were any private rooms available. She scurried off to inquire for him.
“Private rooms?” Imogen whispered in an angry tone.
“We need sleep. I can watch over you for a few hours if you’ll do the same for me? Sleeping here is better than anything else I can offer, and before you ask, I can’t jump you to Chicago. I just don’t have the energy.”
“Okay, so long as you don’t think you’re going to get lucky.”
The seriousness with which she spoke made him worry about her past and deflate a tiny bit, not that he was going to proposition her, but that statement made it clear that there was a line in the sand and he was not to cross it, which was fine by him.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he responded, and downed the last of his drink before cupping his hands around the warm mug. He was surprised at how they served coffee. It didn’t fit with the decor or the general feeling of the place, but the mugs were perfectly sized stoneware that allowed for the warmth to seep into his hands, chasing away the last of the chill from the night outside.
Finally, after what felt like forever, the black-and-white-clad waitress returned once more, which was good since Imogen looked as though she was about to pass out on the table. Her coffee had vanished a while ago, and the moment she’d rested her chin in her hand with her elbow on the table, he’d known it was only a matter of time before she became a sleepy, drooling mess on that beautiful marble.
He nudged her foot under the table as he made movements as though he were going to get up. When her eyes caught what was happening, they widened, and she popped up out of the seat. Their guide led them back to another staircase, and they made their way to what he thought was the top floor, and to a small room that held a double bed and an armchair. A small chandelier hung in the center of the room, casting a warm glow over everything.
After thanking the waitress, he tipped her and closed the door. By the time he turned around, Imogen was on the bed, eyes closed, and curled into a ball. She hadn’t even made it under the covers. He pulled the top blanket over her and shrugged out of his winter coat before propping himself up in the armchair, thankful that it also had an ottoman.
He’d take first watch and wake her in a few hours. It didn’t matter how much he trusted the club; it was smarter to have one of them sleep at a time, and he got the feeling that he could go much longer without sleep than she could, so he let her rest and kept his eyes glued to the door, ears alert for any sounds of movement outside. They might not be the ones who were captured, but they were on the right path to tracking down whoever took the fae, which could land them on the wrong side of a dangerous enemy.
Chapter 13
By the time Vivienne returned with a bigger bag, Alec’s chest was tight with anxiety. The other woman pulled a variety of candles out of the bag, as well as a campfire in a can, a series of bottles, and a massive container of salt.
“First thing is to determine if this is related to blood magic in any way. To do that, I have to cast a protection circle, and you can’t be in it,” she said, looking squarely at Alec. She glanced at Cin and added, “Neither can you. It’s dangerous enough for Ellie to be in there with me. I usually only ever cast a circle if I’m the only one inside.”
Alec’s gut twisted with nerves.
Vivienne cocked her head. “It might be best if you leave.”
“No.” The word was out of Alec’s mouth before his brain could moderate the tone.
Vivienne shot him a sour look. He knew she was not one to put up with petulance, just like her mother. Nivetta and Vivienne had both been around too long to tolerate such behavior. “Fine, but if you interfere, I will throw you out myself.” She pointed a finger at him like she was scolding a child.
“I will stay out of your way, I promise.” He bowed his head as he spoke.
Satisfied, Vivienne pulled the blanket off Ellie and, after discarding it, began to pour the salt in a wide egg shape since the room wasn’t wide enough for a true circle. He’d never realized how disgusting the carpet was until the bright salt crystals sat atop it. The dusty brown carpet seemed to shrivel under the chunky grains.
Once a thick line of it encompassed the two of them and her equipment, she knelt in the center and held her hands out to the side. Her breathing changed, becoming the slow and steady breath of someone meditating. A moment later, she raised her hands over her head, and when they connected, she brought them down in front of her, the fingertips on each hand touching the other. With that step seeming to be complete, she opened a book, and her finger skimmed along lines of squiggly text on the yellowed page as she read. She pulled some herbs and liquids over to her and began to mix them in a small bowl that she positioned over the campfire in a can.
When she lit it, the room filled with warmth much faster than he would have expected. Alec could hear the mixture begin to bubble as it slowly rose to a boil. The smell that greeted his nose was not as unpleasant as he’d expected. It was a mixture of sweet scents with an underlying tang of vinegar or something similar. She tore one of the pages of the journal, removing a small piece from the edge, avoiding any symbols as she did so. He hoped Ellie wouldn’t be upset at the damage. She loved her books. That passion for knowledge and the preservation of stories was one of his favorite things about her.
Vivienne dropped the chunk of paper into the mixture, which was now up to a rolling boil. As soon as it connected, a hiss sounded and the scent changed to something sour, almost sulfuric. He tried to suppress a cough but wasn’t successful. Cin had pulled a pillow up to her face and was, evidently, using it to try to filter out the smell.
A moment later, the bowl let out a belch of red smoke that billowed around them. It even had Vivienne coughing. She broke the salt line, and he realized that her circle had been keeping most of it in there with her. Once it was broken, the stench was so bad that Cin began to retch. He grabbed the trashcan and shoved it at her. The last thing the carpet needed was to be soaked in vomit, not that it would make much of a difference. He knew after Ellie was back, the entire room would need to be gutted and redone, because he doubted that smell was ever going to come out otherwise.
Now that the circle was broken, Cin raced past them, clutching the trashcan. When she was out of the room, he could hear the faint sounds of her vomiting while he and Vivienne practically coughed their lungs up in the small back room.
“Definitely . . . blood . . . magic . . . very . . . powerful . . .” She wheezed each word between her barking coughs.
Alec wasn’t sure what that meant for Ellie, but Vivienne didn’t look happy about it. He could tell that she was muttering something under her breath, but between Cin’s retching and his own coughing, he couldn’t make out what it was. Quickly, she made a swirling motion with her hand, and the smoke filled one of the vials she’d emptied into the bowl. The stench was now safely encapsulated in the bottle, and they could all breathe easier.
“I hate blood magic,” Vivienne grumbled.
She reconnected the circle, leaving the smoke-filled bottle on the outside. Quickly, she performed the same hand gesture as before and began to rub a cotton ball over Ellie’s fingertips, concentrating on the one that had bled. The bleached cotton came away with a slightly pinkish-red smear on it, and as she released Ellie’s hand, it went back to hanging limply at her side. Alec watched a fat droplet of blood form on her fingertip and drip onto the carpet. Rage overwhelmed him for a moment as the paralysis of being able to do nothing to help consumed him. He took a deep breath, and then another, and by the time Vivienne had removed the other items she needed from her bag, his anger was under control.
She produced two vials, each with a dropper attached to the cap. She released a few drops of each liquid onto the cotton, and the red color spread over the whole thing. Vivienne tore the thing in two and placed one part on a small plate, while the other was exposed to yet another liquid. It changed color—what had been red was now a rich purple color. Her shoulders drooped slightly at the sight.
“What is it?” Alec’s voice was hoarse after all the coughing.
“She’s the one who triggered the magic. Her blood activated it. It just happened to be on a spell in there that is a nasty piece of magic. Who did this belong to? I know it had to be a blood relative, but why was she looking at it?”
“Her grandfather, he raised her and passed away . . . It’s been almost a few years now.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. MacLeod had been his friend, a good one at that, but the connection the man shared with Ellie was something he would probably never understand. His own parents hadn’t exactly been the doting type, and with the trials and tribulations that Ellie and MacLeod faced together, it was no wonder she was still struggling with his death.
“That makes sense. The spells make sense now too.”
“She didn’t write them. From what I can tell, the journal contains everything he went through when his wife was sick and right after she died. He and I weren’t friends at that point, I don’t think, but I can tell you that he loved her deeply, more than I expected humans to be able to love, to be honest.”
She looked at him quizzically. “Why do you say that?”
“Their lives are so short. I always assumed their emotions were scaled down, as well. Since we live so long as immortals, I figured our emotions were larger, which is why the gods get so damn touchy.”
“I would be surprised if there was truly a difference between the two.” She broke the salt circle once more and stepped out of it with the plate containing the other half of cotton. “Mankind loves and hates just as deeply as we do. Sometimes I think it may even be more so, as though the shortness of their lives infuses them with an extra layer of passion.” She shrugged.
Alec had begun to agree with her point of view ever since he’d met Ellie. When they’d met, she’d been as close to human as she’d ever be, and once she’d been to Tír na nÓg and become immortal, her passion hadn’t grown or waned. She loved with the same ferocity that she always had.
Vivienne used tweezers to pick up the cotton ball and place it in a clear vial. Once it was contained, she sprinkled powder over it, and it seemed to shrivel in on itself, turning a dark bluish-black before all the color simply seemed to fade and it was an ugly midwinter gray.
“Good news.” She smiled as she capped the bottle containing the oddly colored cotton.
It was the last thing he’d expected her to say, since it had turned black, but he couldn’t help feeling the bloom of hope inside his heart that begged for this to have an easy resolution.
“Well, spit it out, then,” Cin said from the doorway, looking ghostlike. Her skin had lost its color, almost looking as though it was tinged with green, and her tattoos stood out in stark contrast.
“Are you feeling better?” Vivienne’s concerned eyes traveled over his brother’s soulmate, assessing for any damage that needed to be fixed.
“Yes.” She nodded. “Once the smell went away, I was able to get a few clear breaths. I feel a lot better now, but you may want to get a new trashcan.” At the last part, her eyes traveled over to Alec with a sheepish expression.
He smiled. “This whole place is going to need to be redone once this is over. Don’t worry about it.”
“Yeah, that smell is never going to come out, is it?” Cin chuckled.
“Probably not,” Vivienne admitted with a smile before she returned to business. “Ellie is still here, both physically and mentally. She’s just been trapped in her own mind. Something about the resurrection spell, or maybe the fact that she got blood on both the page containing the resurrection spell and the one containing the summoning spell. All of that, combined with the binding spell on the book, has taken her deep inside her own psyche.”
“So how do we get her out?” Alec asked, unable to wait for Vivienne to find her way to the topic on her own.
“We don’t, not really. She has to find her own way out.”
Alec sighed and dropped his head into his hands. “How long will that take?”
“I don’t know, to be honest.” Vivienne’s voice had turned soft and consoling. “Don’t despair. There are things we can do to try and speed it along, but I’ll need your help for it.”
Chapter 14
“What the hell are you talking about?” Ellie’s voice came out in an unexpected shout. “My mother is dead.”
“Mostly that is true, and yet I am here.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Believe what you wish, child. It makes no difference to what stands in front of your face,” the old crone snorted.
Ellie’s head spun. What the hell were these crazy ladies talking about? Her whole family was dead, and she’d been on her own for a few years now, except for Alec and his family. Her heart clenched painfully at the thought of her soulmate. Was he going through hell like her? Was he looking for her? Before the flurry of questions turned into an avalanche, she shut down that line of thinking. She squinted at the old woman as the dull light of Purgatory that her eyes had become accustomed to bounced off the bright snow, almost blinding her. “Who are you?”
“Ye dinnae ken?”
“If I knew, I wouldnae be askin’ ye, now would I?” Her patience with this strange old woman was running thin.
They locked eyes, their gazes clashing with one another like storm clouds, as she clearly expected Ellie to bend a knee to her, as Rae had done, but she wouldn’t do that without reason. The only people who deserved her allegiance were her fiancé, his family, the Morrigan, and Brigid. She would bow to no one else.
Finally, the crone relented. “I’m Beira, or the Cailleach, if you prefer.”
The way she said it made Ellie think she was supposed to recognize the names. She didn’t. At least, not at first. Something was stirring deep in her mind, making her think she’d heard or read the name Cailleach somewhere, but couldn’t remember where or what it meant. When she didn’t immediately respond, the old woman glared at her.
“What are they teaching ye these days? Have ye lost all your culture? All your heritage?” She struck the ground with her cane at each question, making winter spread further.
The cold was getting under Ellie’s cloak and making her shiver as it slowly sank into her bones. The woman was angry, and Ellie didn’t know what to say, so she kept quiet. Whatever answer the crone was looking for, she didn’t have it.
Anger seemed to bubble out of Beira, making the wind have a sharper bite, and the snow that had been gently flurrying around them stung Ellie’s skin. Eventually, she bit out, “I am that whom you’ll never be! I have been denied my rightful tribute by the interference of the Morrigan and Brigid.”
Everything was about as clear as dirt to her. She glanced over at Rae, who was still on her knees, keeping her eyes respectfully downcast, and sighed. What the hell was going on? Ellie asked the only question that she thought she might get an answer to. “How did the Morrigan and
Brigid interfere?”
The Cailleach opened her mouth to reply, but stopped as a confused expression crossed her face, and her eyes seemed to focus on something over Ellie’s shoulders. She turned, unsure what to expect, and she was not disappointed. If she’d tried to guess what was behind her, she never would have been correct.
A tall white stag stood at the edge of the grove of trees from which the Cailleach had emerged. Tall antlers that came up off its head would have reminded her of a tree in winter had they not been blood red. The color was stark against the pale coat of the stag and the wintery backdrop the Cailleach had created. It turned Ellie’s stomach.
Ellie heard the old woman’s cane hit the ground and was almost pushed over by a gust of frosty air. “Who are you?”
She could hear the fury ringing in her words. This was clearly supposed to be her time, and this stag had interrupted it. The animal slowly moved closer, its hooves clicking every once in a while on the stones underneath the snow.
“Answer me!” Cold pushed outward from the Cailleach, and Ellie had to brace herself as another wave of icy wind blew over her.
The stag shimmered in the air before her like the heat off a fire, and the most miraculous thing Ellie had ever seen happened. The stag turned into Granddad.
It was a blow to the gut that made it feel like Ellie was being hit from all sides. She couldn’t take much more of this before she just gave up and curled in on herself. The world had gone crazy—first coming to this place, and then Rae claiming to be her mother, and now a stag that was also her grandfather. There was only so much her mind could take.
The sound of a woman crying penetrated through the haze of her shock. Was it her? She touched her cheeks. They were dry and her throat wasn’t tight, so who was crying? Her stare traveled from where it had been fixed on the ground over to Rae. Granddad was hugging her, with tears shimmering in his own eyes as one hand stroked the back of her head. Rage exploded within her. She could barely keep it contained. Her fists clenched so hard by her sides that she could feel her fingernails digging into the soft flesh of the palms of her hands.