by Dani Harper
Brooke passed by her garden, relieved to see the green futon was still safely in the greenhouse—that damn sexy vision was going to be tough to forget—and located Aidan at last. He was sitting at her table and chairs on the far side of the roof. She’d been concerned that she wouldn’t know what to say but discovered she needn’t have worried.
His eyes were deeply shadowed beneath a furrowed brow.
“You look terrible, like you didn’t sleep a wink,” she said with real concern, as she handed him a cup. “Didn’t you tell me to put the stones down for a while? From your face, I’d say you’ve been carrying mine as well as yours, plus everyone else’s on the block.” She could sense some monstrous weight pressing down on him.
“Perhaps I am not accustomed to human sleep yet. It did not visit me, and at dawn I decided to go walking.” He had no smile for her and continued to look out over the city rather than at her. Not that she expected a parade or anything, but this was ridiculous considering how good together they’d been last night. Hell, they’d been spectacular.
Time for the direct approach.
“Look, is this about the sex last night? Because I really enjoyed it, Aidan, and I’d hate to think you were sitting here regretting it.”
His gaze snapped to hers immediately. “No! Not at all. It was—it was indescribable, cariad. I never felt anything like it in my life, never imagined anything like it. And you were right about the magic too, but our coming together was powerful long before our magics mixed.”
Okay, at least he’d agreed it wasn’t ordinary sex. “So what’s cariad mean? You called me that a couple times in the night.” Dear goddess, don’t let him say buddy, pal, or friend, or I’ll have to kill him.
“Darling one, of course. Love. I think you say sweetheart in this time.”
She blinked at the unexpected endearment. “If that’s so, then why the hell did you disappear this morning? It looked an awful lot like you were avoiding me, and right now you’re acting like you’re not glad to see me at all.”
He was on his feet almost faster than she could track the movement, and he held her tightly to him. “Nay, it isn’t so. I am poor company this morning, Brooke, but not because of you. Never because of you.” Aidan nuzzled the top of her head and kissed his way down her face to her lips, where he lingered. When he drew back, he shook his head and took a step back, although his big hands continued to rest on her shoulders. “It is as it was last night. I held you and then it wasn’t enough. Last night I had to have more. I did not plan what happened, but it would not be denied. If I continue to hold you now, I will want you all over again. I already do.”
“Sex is supposed to be spontaneous,” she said. “You’re human again, with human needs and feelings. And you’ve been celibate for a thousand years. Don’t you think that has something to do with it?”
He snorted. “Celibate is when you feel the urge and you deny yourself. Trust me that I felt not the urge while I was a grim. You feel little or nothing in that state—not hunger, not cold or heat, not weariness. And never desire. Only emptiness and anger.”
Emptiness and anger. Brooke closed her eyes for a moment. What a horrible way to exist—yet how much of that rage still burned in him? There was something more she had to say too, and she might as well get it over with. “You must still be grieving your fiancée. It has to be hard that I constantly remind you of her.”
He shook his head. “Now that I know you better, I don’t see Annwyl in you as I did at first. I know you to be very different.” Aidan tipped her chin up with his finger then, his gray eyes looking into hers. “What I do see, I find myself wanting a great deal, Brooke Halloran.”
Dear goddess, he was attracted to her—as her. Then why did he still look so solemn, even unhappy? “Does it make you feel guilty?” she asked gently.
“Some. But once I avenge her death, I will have done all that I can. And that’s why I have to leave. I’ve made my vows to face Celynnen, and that’s what I’m bound to do.”
“But Celynnen might kill you! In fact, she’ll probably kill you now that you’re human. Annwyl wouldn’t have wanted that for you. I don’t want that for you—what kind of fate is that after a thousand years of captivity? In fact, what kind of goal is that, to walk right back into your prison and spit in the warden’s eye?”
The imagery won a half smile from him, but his expression was feral rather than cheerful. “I promise I’ll do far more than spit at her. And I’m not going there blind—I know the faery realm, I know Celynnen, and I have my plans.” He looked away again. “I have to try. Nothing will stop me from doing that. Not even what I might wish for here with you.”
Dammit, he couldn’t leave her! Here was somebody she felt amazingly connected to, and—equally amazing—he had feelings for her too. Why had the Universe brought him crashing into her life when he was determined to run off and get himself—
Before she could finish the thought, the answer was crystal clear in her mind: So you can help him.
Brooke nearly smacked herself in the forehead. It seemed utterly simple. The Code clearly said: To hold the Gift is to strengthen the just…
“You and I are going on a road trip,” she announced, folding her arms.
He frowned and shook his head. “Cariad, I have to leave.”
“No, you don’t. Not yet. You want to be as prepared as possible, right?”
“Yes, of course. I have many preparations to make.”
“Then it won’t hurt to add another one to your list. You need to come and meet Morgan’s husband, Rhys. Consider it a fact-finding mission to further your goals. I met the guy last year at the wedding, and a few times since. He was born in Wales. Not only does he speak your language; he seems to know a very great deal about Welsh history and legends, including a lot about the faeries.” And to think I’d once called it mythology. “You might find out some things you could use to help you succeed in your plans. On top of that, Rhys competes in weaponry competitions in Renaissance fairs across the country, and he teaches swordsmanship and things like that. George just told me that Rhys has built an authentic blacksmith’s shop on the farm. I’m pretty sure that I could get you permission to use his forge.”
“It appears that you have solved several puzzles for me at once,” said Aidan. “Very well. I would like to travel with you to meet with your friends.”
“I’m glad that’s settled. I have to go open my shop now.” She was about to leave her chair, but he put a cautioning hand up.
“I have not told you everything. There is a greater reason why we must part ways for now, and as quickly as possible.”
“Why?”
“Celynnen has found me. She used her magic to reach out in the night to mock me.”
Brooke was stunned. “Here? Her rotten magic reached into my shop, my home? How is that possible?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“You told me she was five thousand miles away, under the Black Mountains of Wales in the faery realm, isn’t that right? The Hound Lord—”
“Lord of the Wild Hunt,” Aidan interjected.
“I don’t care what the hell his title is. You said the guy didn’t chase you this far. You were in the middle of the goddamn ocean when my spell locked onto you, so he couldn’t know your location, you said. Nobody should!” Her voice rose with indignation. “How the hell did she find you, and how did her spell manage to violate my house?”
“I told you, I don’t know the answer to that. She is very powerful, as are all the Tylwyth Teg, particularly those of the royal family. But as long as I’m here, you are in danger. I must go at once before—”
“Oh, for crap’s sake, skip the damn movie cliché!” Brooke looked at her watch. She could close the shop for the morning if she could reschedule a couple of appointments to the afternoon. And then…She grabbed the lapel on Aidan’s jacket and looked him in the eye. “You told me you’ve vowed to stand up to Celynnen, right?”
“Aye, that I have. But I
will not risk your life as well.”
“I think it’s way too late for that, mister. Now that she knows where I live, Celynnen isn’t likely to leave me alone just because you’re not here anymore. In fact, I’m willing to bet she’d try to use me to hurt you or recapture you.”
She could see the instant the truth hit him, and he sighed.
“No wonder you’re a gwddon. You’re very wise.”
For all the good it does me. “Maybe, maybe not. What I do have is magic. I have some emergency fortifying to do that I hope will keep Celynnen out of this building, and I need you to stay right here and help me.”
He nodded. “My hands are yours to command.”
Brooke emptied every big storage jar she had of protective herbs—fennel seed, St. John’s wort, marsh marigold, and dried primroses—and mixed them into buckets of coarse sea salt. Aidan took them to the roof and poured a line of the crystalline blend along the entire half wall that formed the perimeter of the roof. She had him sprinkle it around the chimney, and each and every vent up there, plus pour a thin line on the pavement at street level, close to the building. Every possible entry, even where plumbing came into the structure, had to be charmed in some way.
Thank the goddess it’s Saturday—defensive magic was particularly effective when performed on this day. And double thanks that Brooke had purchased such a ridiculously large quantity of salt. It had been an expensive mistake at first, an accidental tripling of an online order. But if there were no coincidences, then the Universe had watched over her and made sure she had the tools she needed to protect her home. And it gave her some hope that she’d someday find something to do with the overabundance of domestic turkey tail feathers she’d ended up with. She’d ordered three of the large bronze feathers for use in smudging ceremonies. Instead, she now had three dozen bags of them in the storeroom.
Brooke placed little piles of black stones—obsidian and hematite—in the corners of the building, grateful that they coincided with the cardinal directions. It would be a lot harder to do if the building was oriented according to a nearby river or a winding street instead of by the compass. She added little fragments of amber to the stones, too.
Next she handed Aidan a bucket of iron nails and a hammer. “Pound a few on the inside of every door frame and every window,” she said, adding that the roof’s door must be included as well. “Leave just a little bit of each nail sticking out. We’ll have to be really, really careful that we don’t snag ourselves on them, but iron is a protection against otherworldly creatures.”
“Aye. It’s deathly poison to the fae,” he had said.
Good. Brooke wasn’t out to kill Celynnen, of course. But she was righteously pissed off that her home and sanctuary had been deliberately violated by such evil intent. She wanted the coldhearted faery to think twice before trying to insinuate any more of her tainted magic into this building and influence those who were within its walls.
While Aidan busied himself with the nails, Brooke poured salt, herbs, and dried red berries into the depression that had been burnt into her spell room’s floor. It was hard to be upset about the scar in the wood when it created such a beautifully symmetrical circle. Her altar was already set up at the heart of it. This time, however, in addition to her own magical tools and her prized stone figure of Hecate with her hound, there were a number of photos printed off the Internet that stood in for real objects not readily available—a smith’s hammer, tongs, and bellows, for instance. A yard of real leather, hastily cut from an old coat that had once been part of a costume, formed the tablecloth, a proxy for the protective leather apron that a smith wore during his work. And printed images of Gofannon, the old Celtic god of metalworking, were carefully pinned to the nine candles that Brooke had arranged around Hecate. It felt good, that the deities respected by both Aidan and Brooke were represented. When she’d been online, Brooke had been reassured to find that Gofannon was also the god of magic and weapon makers, although there was one more thing she didn’t quite understand: he was also the god of the fire that transforms.
She sincerely hoped that was just a blacksmithing term and didn’t mean the deity would burn her house down.
Stripping off her clothing, she entered the circle and began to walk slowly deosil—clockwise—around the altar. She lit each candle as she offered up one of the very first spells she had learned from Olivia:
High to low, roof to floor, wall to wall, and door to door;
Basement deep to sky above, fill this home with light and love.
A protection spell was always simple—again, it was the intent with which an incantation was uttered that gave it power. Brooke recited it nine times as she visualized warm amber light surrounding her building, her home. In her mind’s eye, the light limned every line, every brick, every timber, every square inch of floors and walls, even the basement and the roof.
As she paced, her circle of salt began to glow. Light in the form of sinuous golden flames rose until they were nearly waist high. They gave off no heat, only a sense of inner warmth and well-being. The candles on the altar were another story. They flared up suddenly into a single column of white light, which expanded to envelope the entire altar as well. Brooke continued her measured pacing just a little closer to the flames of the outer circle as the glowing altar became brighter and brighter. Just as she could no longer look at it, it abruptly winked out as if someone had pinched out the wick of a candle. The flames disappeared from the circle in the same moment. Only silence, the scent of the berries, and a strong feeling of serenity remained. Brooke had spots in front of her eyes though, and it took a few moments for her sight to clear up. When it did, she blinked again, this time in disbelief. Everything that wasn’t metal or stone that had been on, above, or below the altar—including the altar itself—was now nothing more than a pile of ash, and a small one at that. Brooke’s first thought was for her beautiful table, and all the work she had put into refurbishing the rare cherrywood piece. But then she scolded herself. Sometimes magic required a price, and who knew? Perhaps Gofannon charged a little more than Hecate usually did. Brooke could hardly complain. If her home and all who were in it were safe, it was well worth the little sacrifice.
“Thank you both,” she breathed to the gods she had called on as she knelt to rescue her stone figure of Hecate, and brushed the ash from its fine features. Her athame and boline were likewise unharmed. Even the oak floor survived the event. Except for the top layer of varnish being blistered where the altar had once stood, there were no holes, ruts or other impressions.
She left her little statue standing with the boline beside it on the floor and used her athame to “cut” a door in the circle so she could leave without disturbing the magical energy. Once out, she sprinkled salt over the spot where she had crossed over to seal it and went to get dressed as quickly as possible. The CLOSED sign was just going to have to stay on the front door of Handcastings a little longer—there was more work to be done today, she’d decided.
They would have to go over to Olivia’s house and repeat the entire process.
To hold the Gift is to guard the helpless and to remove power from the cruel. Brooke wasn’t about to allow her friend and mentor to be endangered because Aidan was working there. Nor was she about to let Aidan be taken by Celynnen if she could help it. Because if intent was the most important factor in magic, then Brooke had the key ingredient: You can’t have him, you bitch.
NINETEEN
Olivia’s large home was beautiful, and apparently very old for houses in this time and place. She said it was Victorian in style. Aidan admired the grand height of it—two and a half ornate stories of wood and brick with a steeply pitched roof.
With only George living with her, there were empty bedrooms upstairs, and Olivia encouraged Aidan and Brooke to stay in one for the time being.
“The faery found Aidan at Handcastings before all the protections were in place, and that is where she’ll be looking for him again,” said Olivia. “Al
l the work you did will prevent her from knowing if he’s in there or not—and even if she suspects he’s not, she won’t know where to look next.”
“And we’ve just fortified your protections too,” said Brooke. “So chances are good she won’t see Aidan, right?”
“Not even if she scries for him—and that’s likely how she found him before.”
Aidan alone objected. “I do not like this idea. It’s not right to place everyone in danger because of me.”
Olivia simply patted his arm. “If evil must be opposed, then we are stronger together, m’ijo. Besides, to hold the Gift is not to hold it alone.”
“I don’t have the Gift. Not the way you mean.”
She eyed him speculatively. “I’m not so sure about that, but it doesn’t matter. We’re sticking together.”
“But it puts you and George at risk…”
“I am at the shop almost every day and so is George. We are already in danger.” Olivia was not going to take no for an answer, and she shooed the pair to the door. “Get your cats and your things, Brooke, plus the spells you need to put together for your orders. You can close the shop and work here this week.
“And as for you,” she said to Aidan, “don’t forget I’ve hired you to perform miracles with my yard. If you’re staying here, I know you’ll never be late for work!”
A smart man knew when to admit defeat. Olivia was a force of nature, and Aidan wasn’t going to win, especially when Brooke had sided with her. Besides, he couldn’t disagree with one aspect of her reasoning—it would be easier to work on the property if he was staying here, and the more work he did, the faster he could earn the means to buy iron. He might even be able to purchase some before they traveled to Brooke’s friends’ home. She had indeed won him permission to use their forge, and he was looking forward to trying out his weapon designs.
The sooner he did that, the sooner he could deal with Celynnen once and for all.
Olivia’s house was even grander inside than it looked from the outside. The dimensions of the bedroom Aidan shared with Brooke amazed him every time he was in it. His entire shop could have fit into the space, living quarters and all. Although Deykin the Magistrate had had a much larger house than this one, the bedchambers weren’t of such impressive size, nor did they boast such large windows.