She reached for his side, trying to comfort him, trying to bring back the calm she’d succeeded in drawing out of him. The second her fingers touched he darted forward. He leapt into the air, arms wide, claws wielded, fangs bared. A roaring screech left his mouth. In the lightning she saw five figures waiting to fight him. They held guns pointed at Erik.
“No,” Lydia yelled. “Don’t hurt him.”
She moved to stop them. Something hit her from the side, tumbling her to the ground. She felt a body pressing into hers and struggled to be free.
“No, you don’t understand. I can stop him. He won’t hurt me.” Lydia tried to wiggle out of the tight hold on her body. She watched Erik’s arm strike forward. Three shots sounded in quick succession, pop, pop, pop. Erik flung back as if shoved before dropping to the ground in an unmoving heap. “No!”
“Easy, lass, we got him.” The grip on her body loosened. The sky lightened by small degrees making it easier to see. Iain laid over her. When he confirmed his brother was down, he stood and offered her a hand. “Did he harm ya?”
“No,” she cried weakly. Pushing Iain aside, she half-crawled, half-ran to were Erik lay on the ground. She turned him on his back. His face was partially distorted but not as badly as before. The fangs had receded into his mouth, and his claws were gone. She touched his face, a strange combination of fur and flesh. “He was stopping.”
“Are ya alright, lassie?”
Lydia leaned over Erik and looked up at the man who spoke. He appeared older than the MacGregors she’d met, but she saw the resemblance in his face and heard it in his voice. His accent was a little thicker than Erik’s.
“This is my fault. He wasn’t going to hurt me.” Seeing that they weren’t aggressively holding their weapons, she turned to feel Erik’s chest for a heartbeat. The steady thump hit her fingers. Darts stuck out of his arm, shoulder and leg. “What did you do to him?”
“I’d never harm my boy,” the man said. Then, frowning, he gestured behind him to three men. “Come on, laddies, lift your brother.” He reached a hand to help Lydia up.
Iain and Euann she knew. They wore jeans and T-shirts. The other two men were in kilts.
Iain gestured to the third man. “Lydia, this is our brother, Niall.”
“Sorry to be meeting ya under these circumstances,” Niall said. His eyes were green and lacked the playful light his brothers normally carried. Brown hair fell in a shag around his face, as if haircuts were the last thing on his mind. His kilt looked like it’d seen better days.
“This is our da, Angus.” Iain motioned to the older man. The guy hardly looked old enough to have so many grown sons.
Lydia merely nodded at them.
“Malina,” Angus growled. “Ya caused this mess, ya help this young lady clean it up.”
She hadn’t noticed Malina standing in the background away from the others. The woman gave her a guilty look and then turned her attention to the ground.
“Who’s that?” Niall asked, nodding toward the house. He frowned.
Lydia turned to find Charlotte peeking out with wide eyes at them.
“Take him,” Niall told his brothers, thrusting Erik’s weight at Iain and Euann without giving them a choice. “She’ll have to be dealt with.”
“No, she’s…” Lydia reached to touch the warlock’s arm to stop him. Niall turned hard eyes to her, and she instantly pulled back. This man wasn’t like his brothers. “She’s Charlotte. She’s my friend. I won’t let you hurt her.”
“It won’t hurt, lass,” Niall said, reaching for the sporran at his waist and pulled a small bag out of the pouch. “She won’t remember a thing.”
“Don’t erase her memory,” Lydia demanded. She automatically turned to Angus as their father. “She won’t tell anyone. Who would believe her?”
“She’s not one of us, lass,” Angus answered softly. He reached to touch her. “Trust me, ya don’t want to leave her in that condition. Let her think it all a bad dream and a bad storm. Look at her face.”
Lydia obeyed. Charlotte was pale. Her lips worked but no sound came out. Tears ran over her cheeks. How could she agree to erase Charlotte’s memory? Then she remembered what Charlotte had said, Nothing is ever going to be normal again, is it?
“Just, only tonight. Nothing else.” Lydia looked from Angus to Niall.
“He’s good at what he does,” Angus assured her. “A wise decision, lassie.”
Lydia had a feeling it was the only decision they would have given her.
Niall lifted his hand toward Charlotte. The woman began to shake her head violently, mumbling, “No, no, no, no…”
Niall blew against his palm. Sparkling dust floated. Charlotte swatted her hands but within a couple seconds her body went limp. Niall tried to catch the woman but only managed to grab an arm. His shoulder hit the barrier spell, lighting up the house. He jerked as it tried to toss him but held his footing. “Malina, ya help me work the spell.”
Malina joined her brother, stepping into the kitchen to help shift Charlotte’s fallen weight. She could go inside because Lydia had already invited her, but the others could not.
“Get Erik up to the house,” Angus ordered. Then to Lydia, he asked, “This will go easier if ya have the original potion.”
Lydia nodded and walked toward the house. She ran downstairs and dug the lotion from the old furnace. When she came back up, Angus was standing outside her door, looking around at the frame.
“Pretty powerful natural magick,” Angus said, as if admiring Gramma Annabelle’s work. Then frowning he looked inside and sniffed. “Ya got ghosts, lass.”
“What about me? Are you going to erase my memory?” Lydia handed him the bottle. He shoved it in his sporran.
“Is that what ya want?” Angus asked. Lydia shook her head in denial. The man nodded in understanding. “Then that will be up to Erik. Ya have magick, but ya don’t come by it naturally.”
Behind him, Malina and Niall hovered their hands over Charlotte whispering an incantation. Their eyes were three shades too light as they stared at each other. Tiny sparks danced over Charlotte’s face, combining to give the slightest impressions of a memory before bursting into nothingness. Lydia watched the likeness of her own worried face explode and fade before having to look away.
The storm clouds had lightened considerably now that Erik was unconscious. Daylight peeked through the clouds, showing the full extent of her damaged home and lawn. She was too tired to do anything about it now.
“Will they be all right?” She looked at Charlotte on the ground and then Erik being carried away.
“Ya can check on him tomorrow,” Angus said. “As for your friend, she’ll be fine after a long sleep. Malina will stay and help ya put your house to order. It took a magical beating. There are cracks in—”
“Not now.” Lydia shook her head. To Malina, she added, “Just help me get Charlotte upstairs so I can take care of her. I’ll deal with everything else later.”
The light faded from Malina’s eyes as the color darkened to normal. She broke eye contact with her brother. Niall helped her lift Charlotte and carry her to the door. He looked expectantly at Lydia to let him in. Out of all the brothers, he’d be the last one she’d invite into her home. There was a coldness to his expression. Instead, Lydia went toward him and slipped her arm around her friend. Malina helped her carry Charlotte inside, the unconscious woman’s feet dragging behind them. They laid Charlotte on the couch.
“Lydia, I’m sorry,” Malina said. “I thought it would be funny.”
Lydia simply looked at her. No part of what happened felt like a joke. Her home was wrecked. Her best friend had the crap scared out of her and her mind wiped. The guy she’d been interested in turned into a monster. How exactly were they supposed to build any kind of relationship after that trip into crazytown? Every time she looked at him she’d see the beast he could become. And Malina “thought it would be funny”.
“Just go. You’ve done enough.” Lydia w
ent to the small closet door and pulled out a couple of blankets. When she turned back around, Malina was gone. She laid one blanket over Charlotte and then looked out the window to see Malina disappear into the trees. The MacGregors were gone. Wearily she wrapped the second blanket around her shoulders and sunk into a chair. Mumbling to herself because no one else was there to listen, she said, “I knew dating the sexy new neighbor was a bad idea. Lesson learned, universe, lesson learned.”
Chapter Eleven
“A woman with clearly enough training in the old magick to be a natural witch, even if she only makes lotions like ya say, and Erik’s inthrall after she’d recently fed on your brother’s powers?” Margareta MacGregor’s voice was low and soft. That was a bad sign. Whenever her tone dropped like that someone was in serious trouble. “It’s bad enough ya chased Kenneth away, but now ya are trying to kill the rest of my sons?”
Kenneth? Why was she lecturing him about Kenneth? Erik’s brother had been gone for nearly two decades and didn’t want to be found, even though the family had tried, were still trying. Erik pushed through the fog in his brain to concentrate on what was being said.
“Kenneth left on his own. That’s not my fault,” Malina answered. “I didn’t try to kill Erik. It was a simple love potion, that’s all. We pull pranks on each other all the time and nothing serious ever happens. He put moss growing potion in my soap and made me look like a swamp monster before a date last year. I hit him back with a mild love potion spell. It should have worn off naturally when the lotion scent wore off, or when I gave him the antidote. A few badly recited love sonnets and then done.”
His mother wasn’t yelling at him, but at his sister. That made more sense.
“How could I resist, Da?” Malina insisted. “Her store is called Love Potions. And you know how hard it is to find a practicing kitchen witch in these times who is also the romantic interest of someone you owe for causing frogs to jump out of your hair during your coming out party. With the man you wanted to marry standing right there.” Her voice became a little pouty. “You might have done the same, Da?”
His father chuckled briefly only to stop as a loud thump sounded. Most likely he’d been hit against his arm—no doubt Margareta’s doing. He answered with a very unconvincing, “No.”
“Malina, ya want us to treat ya like an adult, but ya continually act like a child,” Margareta scolded. “She’s an inthrall. There is a lidérc. What were ya thinking? I knew it was a mistake sending ya to live with the English, but I didn’t want ya getting swept up in the witch trials. They were examining babies for marks.”
“Good thing yours is on your bum and not your face,” Iain teased, clearly trying to break the tension.
Margareta’s voice softened in warning, “Don’t think I don’t know about ya petrifying a poor human in our home.”
“I’ll just, ah, go check the news for the weather report,” Iain said.
“I’ll help ya,” their da added. A door opened and shut. Erik tried to move, but his body was too heavy.
“I knew sending ya to live with the British was a mistake.” Margareta repeated wistfully, as if her daughter might have missed them the first time she said it. The words were followed by a long sigh.
“That was over four hundred years ago,” Malina retorted. “And I was a baby. You act as if I had a say in the matter.”
“And ya still sound like them,” Margareta countered.
“Then maybe ya shoulda handed me over to the authorities in the North Berwick witch trials, Ma. One look at the mark on me arse and they coulda drowned me for ya!” Malina’s Scottish accent was incredibly thick and sarcastic. This was an argument he’d heard many times.
Erik groaned, trying to break into their fight but unable to form coherent words. His tongue was thick in his mouth. His head pounded, and straining to hear the hushed family argument wasn’t helping. He felt sorry for Malina. She often received the brunt of their mother’s lectures—probably because she was the only daughter and a strong-willed one at that.
“Erik,” Malina gasped.
“Son,” Margareta said.
He felt hands on his face and neck. Blinking open his eyes, he looked from one worried face to one very guilty expression and frowned.
“Did the lads petrify me for freezing them in the hallway?” Erik asked, trying to recollect the last thing he remembered clearly. He recalled Lydia outside on his lawn by a tree. She’d locked him out of her room the night before. He couldn’t blame her for choosing to take care of her petrified friend, or if she was angry at him for what his family had done to Charlotte. A feeling of pure pleasure had rushed over him when he looked at her in the sunlight. Then things started to get a little hazy, and quite frankly a little sparkly.
His mother and sister leaned over him, their faces a little too close to his. They were the only three left in the room. Their breathing hit his cheeks, and he smelled cinnamon rolls. He stretched his body, inhaling a deep yawn to gently force them back.
“I am so sorry, Erik. I didn’t know she truly cared for you that much.” Malina bit the corner of her lip and gave a sorrowful glance to their mother.
“What did ya do?” He furrowed his brow. He’d been around long enough to know when his powers had been used, let alone used to a great extent. The almost relaxed feeling in his limbs worried him. Automatically, he felt his face and teeth. “Did I…?”
Malina nodded. “Aye, you shifted.”
“Is anyone hurt?” he demanded. Erik looked around the room as if he could make Lydia appear by sheer willpower. If he’d shifted, that is the first appetite his animal would want to sate—his unfulfilled lust for Lydia. The memory of darkness and the smell of fear slammed over him. He saw Lydia’s face in his clawed hand. Lightning flashed over her features. “What the hell did I do? I used magick in my shifted form? But how did the binds slip?” Then remembering Malina’s apology, he glared at her. “What did ya do? Why would ya unleash me?”
“The young woman is unharmed,” Margareta soothed. “Her friend’s mind has been erased so she won’t remember. The situation is contained. All that matters is that ya are well, my son.”
“Malina?” Erik demanded, ignoring his mother’s attempts at comfort.
“She was so mad at you for erasing her thoughts. She already suspected something wasn’t right. I thought it would be funny to help her cast a little revenge. I told her it would make you remorseful for what you’d done to her. It was supposed to be a simple love potion. We mixed it into the lotion she gave you.”
“Ya don’t mix a love potion with an inthrall,” Margareta stated, as if such was commonly known.
“How was I to remember that? The family hasn’t seen a natural inthrall since Uncle Raibeart’s lover nearly drained him and left him a broken, crazy bachelor.” Malina crossed her arms over her chest. Erik knew that stubborn look. A full blown fight was about to start. His sister did not like being attacked, and she really didn’t like having to humble herself to apologize—especially when she was wrong.
“Ma, leave us a moment?” Erik asked.
Margareta studied both of them before nodding. She kissed Erik’s forehead, just like she’d done whenever they were sick as children and left the room.
“Is Lydia harmed?” Erik pushed out of the large bed and swung his feet to the floor. He felt weak, but that hardly mattered at the moment. “I remembered the beast touched her. Did I…?”
“No. It was…” Malina gave a long disbelieving sigh. “It was actually quite remarkable. You didn’t hurt her at all. It almost looked like you tried to protect her. Of course, this was after you tried to blow her house down with a storm, which was after you sang.”
“I sang?” Erik flinched. Now there was some damage he might not be able undo.
Malina nodded. “Aye.”
“What?”
“Mostly songs you made up.” Malina scrunched her face as if bracing for a blow. “And a few of the old ballads.”
“Stop loo
king at me like I’m going to attack.” Erik stood and brushed past her. His formal kilt hung around his hips but he wore no shirt. He sang made up ballads in his formal wear? Faint whispers of doing just that echoed in his mind. “I know ya didn’t mean to cause this much damage. Had the roles been reversed I would have probably done the same and taken advantage of a prime situation. But we’re even at the moss and the inked teeth and the pink horse.”
Malina nodded in agreement. She had been yelled at enough by their mother, and he could see the age-old hurt in her eyes. In many ways she was different than her siblings. Her English mannerisms and speech were as ingrained into her as their Scottish manners were. She’d spent a human lifetime away from the clan in her younger years. Then grimacing, she said, “The pink horse was you? I’ve blamed Iain for the last hundred years.”
“Even,” Erik put forth.
She nodded, still frowning. “Da wants to erase Lydia’s memory and move her and her business to one of the other cities where our people can keep an eye on her. I convinced him not to cast a spell until he spoke to you. I know she’s your inthrall, but for the potion to work as strongly as it did, there has to be more there. I know our parents found their fíorghrá long ago. It was a different time for them. People lived with magick every day and accepted it. After all these centuries, none of us have come this close to love. Perhaps it’s our ways. We send away anyone who might get close to discovering the truth of who we are.”
“It’s for the clan’s protection,” Erik said. “The family must come first. It is the only way we’ve survived the witch trials and inquisition.”
“I know that. But you have a chance here, a rare chance that may never happen again.” Malina patted his arm. “I think you really do love her. And I think she could come to love you. The spell I used should not have gotten that out of control so fast. The only explanation is that there is a natural chemistry between you, a destiny whose magick transcends simple spells and potions. There is true power in that kind of love.”
Love Potions Page 14