Enchanter's Embrace

by A R DeClerck

  “What did you see?”

  “Road,” he muttered as he drifted off again. A smile curved the corners of his lips. “Our road.”

  Lucia had to blink back a few tears that gathered on her lashes. So now, he knew it too. They were meant to be. Each the terminus for the other.

  “Never doubted it,” he whispered as his hand stroked hers again, and she laughed. Of course he hadn’t. She was the only dunderhead who’d tried to deny it.

  “Rest,” she told him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. His brain would need time to recuperate from the force of the impact, even though she had healed the fractures and bruising. Sleep would restore him to perfection.

  “How much farther?” she called up to Bessemer as the rough wind cut through her coat and shivered her timbers beneath her skirts.

  “Nearly there, Miss.” He glanced over his shoulder and nodded to her with a serious glint in his rheumy blue eyes. “Never you worry. Yer safe with me.”

  “Safe from what, Mr. Bessemer?” She wondered how much the tenant farmers knew of the dark wizard at work.

  “From aught that aims to do ye harm.” He pointed and she raised her head to see a cabin and a lean-to, surrounded by a fence of stacked stones.

  “Are those cairns?”

  “Right ye are, Adept. Nothing passes these borders that I don’t let in first.” The old man stopped the wagon and climbed down. Lucia watched with interest as he carefully moved one tiny stone. He waved the horse through and she moved the wagon inside the perimeter before he replaced the stone precisely where he wanted it and dusted off his hands with a satisfied nod.

  “What keeps anyone else from doing the same?” Corrigan asked.

  “Let ‘em try. They’ll get a helluva whomp from the magic.”

  “You’re not a wizard,” Lucia said, eyeing the old man as he walked beside the horse the rest of the way. “This isn’t aether-bred magic.”

  “Aye, it’s my grandmammy’s magic. Older and stronger than most. Protection and wards. Came with her from the old country.”

  Bessemer unhooked the old horse and she wandered into the lean-to of her own accord.

  “Does this have anything to do with the archaic magic the Trimbles have?”

  Bessemer’s eyes narrowed as he lowered the tailgate of the wagon. “What you know of Trimble magic?”

  “Grayson Trimble is a friend of ours. He is the one who brought us here to help the Wickets.”

  Corrigan climbed over and helped the old farmer carry Archie into the house. They laid him gently on a bed of straw and blankets in the corner of the cabin.

  “Indera Trimble was a distant cousin of my grandmother. Possible it’s similar,” the old man said grudgingly. He knelt before the fireplace and stoked up the fire. “Sit and pour some tea. It’s not much but it’ll warm your bones. I have to see to Cosy.”

  “Thank you for helping us, Mr. Bessemer.” Lucia settled wearily into the hard wooden chair in front of the fire. The flames warmed her instantly.

  The old man left without answering, and Lucia took the chipped teacup Corrigan passed to her. “Interesting fellow. Obviously he fears something, to have the fence up.”

  “I think he’d have it up no matter what.” Lucia sipped the bitter tea and wished for a bit of milk and sugar. Still, beggars could not be choosers, and it did warm her up as promised.

  “Can we learn something from him regarding Atticus Dooley?”

  “That remains to be seen,” Lucia told the captain. He perched on the edge of the chair, a muscle in his jaw working as he tried to reign in some energy she did not understand. “Is something wrong, Captain?”

  “What? No.” He looked away and did not meet her eyes and a prickle of fear skittered up Lucia’s neck. He sipped his tea with a grimace and she tightened her hand on her own cup. Icarus had warned them they could trust no one, not even each other. She would be on her own against him if he was bewitched. She jumped when the door opened and the snow followed the old man in. He shut it with a snap and rubbed his hands together by the fire.

  “Cosy’s all tucked in. The snow is pouring down now, but it will end in a bit. Then I’ll see you back to the main house if your man is well enough by then.”

  “Thank you.” Lucia did not take her eyes off the Captain. He was tense, his eyes darting. “What do you know of the dark doings at Summer Ridge, Mr. Bessemer?”

  The old man chuckled and took his own tea with a slurp. “As much as any man with ears and a brain, I figure. The Wickets never had no use for magic and when Atticus Dooley was found out as a black mage it was old man Wicket’s cry that was the loudest to hang him.”

  “So you think he’s getting revenge?”

  “Mayhap. I never believed he could die so easy. Man was shrouded in the black so deep you couldn’t see his soul if you tried.”

  “They say he killed a child.”

  “Do they?” Bessemer smirked. “Mayhap. Mayhap not. Rumor is that Dooley had his heart set for Widow Wicket, even as young as she was. When that boy went missing Dooley swore he didn’t have a thing to do with it. In that one thing I believed him. He was a bad ‘un but he weren’t lying about killin’ that boy.”

  “He was here with Delbert Wicket. They kidnapped Elizabeth and I and tried to make me kill her. They blame all their misfortune on her.”

  The old man’s eyebrows went up but he nodded. “Right to the tellin’ I s’pose. The woman has the face of an angel but she’s quick to wring a man around her finger to get what she wants.”

  “Is she unfair to you here?” Lucia addressed the old man but her eyes were trained on the captain. He was frozen still, taking in every word without moving.

  “The old man kept to the terms of our bargain, but when he’s gone she’ll not honor it I reckon.”

  “What does she want with forty acres of farm land? Surely it’s worth more to her with your crops on it.” Lucia noticed the tick of the muscle in Corrigan’s jaw and the way the rest of him was unnaturally still. Though she could not sense it, she had the skittering feeling of black magic on her neck.

  “Mayhap, if’n these forty acres weren’t ripe with old magic.”

  “Old magic?”

  “Aye. The kind me granny used, and me mammy. The kind the Trimbles know. Comes from the earth and the electric fields.”

  “The ley lines?” Lucia sat forward, her interest piqued. Ley lines were notorious for collecting and directing aether, causing it to migrate to the place where the lines converged. In the old days these convergences were places of great and sacred power. “Are you saying there’s a convergence point here? In Kensington?”

  “Not Kensington proper, girl. ‘Bout two kliks in that direction. You’ll not be feelin’ the power because of my fence. Pushes it back, ye see.” He gestured west. “Wickets never had any use for it, them hatin’ magic and all. But she...she’ll be wantin’ it.”

  “Elizabeth isn’t a mage.”

  “Well now, I s’pose if one was a magic user one could hide that fact, too.”

  Lucia had to concede Bessemer’s point. She jumped up when Archie groaned from his pallet in the corner. As she hurried to him the old man settled into her chair by the fire, eyeing the captain.

  “You’ll be ownin’ the flying ship in the Acres?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Corrigan’s voice was faint as he stared into the flames absently. “She’s mine.”

  “Fine ship.” Bessemer’s voice was sharp, but Corrigan only nodded.

  Lucia knelt next to Archie and pulled the rough blanket over him. He was healing quickly, but his eyes were bleary when he blinked them open. She took his hand and held it in hers.

  “Hello, darling.”

  “I like when you call me that,” he told her.

  She liked it too, and there was much more to be said between them. Now, however, was not the time or the place. She leaned close under the guise of checking his head wound, and whispered into his ear. “Something is terribly wrong with the captain.�
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  He moved his chin to let her know he’d heard. His hand tightened on hers.

  “I hear tell the ball is going on as planned.” Bessemer turned in his chair to look at them.

  “Yes. Elizabeth insisted.”

  “Big to-do every year. Started with the older Mrs. Wicket. The old man’s mother. Only time of the year the Wickets got sociable.”

  “The town could use some dalliance after all the trouble these last few days.”

  “Demons, ya mean?”

  Lucia felt Archie’s hand clench on hers in surprise, and she smiled. He was only just learning about Mr. Bessemer’s strange affinity for magic. “What do you know about demons?”

  “Only that nigh on a gaggle of ‘em tried to knock on my door last night. Couldn’t get past me fence, a’course. Moved on when the sun came up.”

  “You’re a man well educated in magic for a simple farmer, Mr. Bessemer.”

  He chuckled. “Mayhap.” His face grew serious and his eyes flickered to the captain. “I’d be careful tonight, if’n I was you. Dooley and Wicket are sure to know the widow ain’t dead, and if’n they’re the culprits of this mess they’ll come back to finish the job.”

  “We’ll be ready,” Lucia promised.

  “Keep a close eye on yerselves. Even we poor folk heard tales of your demon fightin’. Reckon we’re all safer with you lot about.”

  “Thank you, Bessemer.”

  He nodded, but his mouth was set in a straight, worried line. “The snow is lettin’ up. If’n the Grand Adept is able I’ll drive you back now.”

  “Yes, please.” Lucia looked at Archie and saw her own worry reflected back in his eyes. There were just too many unknowns, and too much danger, to make putting Kensington’s most powerful people in one house. The old man went out into the cold to rig up the horse and Lucia helped Archie sit up.

  “How’s the head?” she said as he went a bit green around the gills with the movement.

  “Passable,” he lied. His gaze went to the captain. “Thank you for helping me with the carriage, Captain.”

  It seemed a chore for the man to pull his eyes from the fire. “Yes, you’re welcome. Damned hard tumble you took.”

  “I’ll live. And you? Are you well?”

  “Bit of a headache myself,” the captain admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can’t seem to shake it today.”

  “A lie down before the ball will do us all good, I think. We’ve learned more here than I’d hoped.”

  “Really?” The Captain shook his head. “What did we learn?”

  “That Elizabeth Wicket is not what she seems. Though the Romani appear to revere her, the tenanted farmers have little faith in her desire to maintain their contracts. They obviously distrust her, and with a nexus of magical power in her back forty acres I can see why.”

  “Yes...why didn’t she mention that?” Lucia wondered. Archie struggled to his feet and after a moment of swaying he was steady, though he leaned on her arm.

  “We shall ask her, but first I’d like to fortify the house and put up a few detection spells. I want to know if anyone at the ball is using magic. We’ll have the elder Trimble...”

  “No!” Corrigan looked horrified as the shout burst from his lips. He shook his head, rubbing again at his neck. “I don’t know why I said that.”

  “Something off about Master Trimble?” Archie guessed.

  “I don’t know for certain. When you said his name....my skin crawled and my head beat a furious tattoo. Strange.”

  “Another interesting tidbit we shall deal with as soon as our host deposits us home. I shall enlist the Romani to serve as footmen and coachmen tonight as well. I want a watchful eye on every guest. The ball is just the place to carry out some dastardly plan we haven’t caught wind of yet.”

  “Can we shut it down?” Lucia hated to think of all the innocent lives that could be destroyed by one brush with dark magic.

  “We do and we tip our hand. For now, it seems to all that we have accepted the blame lies with the Dooley/Wicket pair. No one aside from the three of us knows our suspicions. If we can catch the culprit at work tonight all of our questions may be answered.”

  Bessemer threw open the door and waved them all outside. “The wagon’ll take you back, same as before.” He helped Lucia into the bed beside Archie, but he held her hand for a moment before letting go. “Be careful, lady mage. Sometimes shadows are more than smoke.”

  She nodded in thanks at his warning and he climbed into the driver’s seat and clicked for the horse to carry on. Corrigan sat next to him, once again staring blindly into space.

  “Do you think the Captain has been bewitched?” Lucia whispered into Archie’s ear.

  He eyed the man and raised a shoulder. “I sense no magic, but I cannot trust that sense anymore. I have the feeling we rely too heavily on it to guide us. He certainly is acting strangely. From here we will trust only ourselves with our plans, I think.”

  She smiled when his fingers wrapped around hers. His human fingers were chilled as a few flurries of snow drifted around them. She was worried for their friends, but she also knew that if anyone could save them, it was Archie.

  The Caroling of the Bells

  “Well that’s a sight, then!” Bessemer swept off his floppy hat and rubbed his chapped hand over his forehead. “Never seen the likes o’ that before.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Lucia agreed.

  Against the backdrop of the pristine snow Summer Ridge manor glowed. In every window candles were lit, and green garland hung around every door. Halos of holly berries sat slightly askew on the heads of the lions that guarded the house. “Beautiful, yes, but Mr. Wicket is bound to have a fit if he sees it like this.” Bessemer shook his head. “The ball has always been a somber affair with minimal fuss and ta-da.”

  “Not anymore it seems.” Archie’s face was somber as he looked over the merry scene. “Elizabeth has decided to entice all the landed gentry to her hearth tonight.”

  The wagon stopped by the porch as the door opened and Elizabeth hurried toward them, Grayson at her side.

  “What’s happened?” she demanded. “Where’s the carriage?”

  “Bit of a spill.” Archie reached up to help Lucia down from the wagon bed as the captain clambered down on his own. “I’m afraid the driver had some sort of fit and nearly drove us off a cliff.”

  “My goodness!” Grayson hurried to them, his eyes wide. “Are you hurt?”

  “We’ll do.” Archie felt Lucia’s shiver against his side and knew that the draw of dark magic would soon test her again. “The driver is not so lucky. We’ve left his body by what’s left of the carriage.”

  “How unfortunate.” Elizabeth used the tip of a finger to straighten the holly-berry crown of the nearest lion. Her voice was faint, but rather than upset, she sounded thoughtful. It prickled the hairs on the back of Archie’s neck, and he rubbed the offending area. His head was still aching, the rough pound of hammers on roofs that seemed never ending.

  “I’ll collect the body and bring it back for whatever rites and rituals his people do,” Bessemer said from his seat in the wagon. At the sound of his voice Elizabeth seemed to suddenly realize his presence. Archie knew Lucia noticed her sudden change in demeanor at the same moment he did. Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed, her plush lips thinning as her hands gripped tight fists of her skirt.

  “That won’t be necessary. They can bring him back.” Her voice was nigh a hiss and Archie had the urge to step back from the malice it carried. “Be on with you, Mr. Bessemer.”

  The old man did not seem phased by the unwelcome tone of his landlord. Instead, his eyes narrowed, too, and he spit on the ground at the base of the steps. “As ye wish, milady.” He nodded once to Archie and Lucia and clicked to Cosy. He looked back at Archie as the wagon turned. “Be ye in need of something stronger than what ye have, come to me. I still know the old ways.”

  Elizabeth’s posture relaxed, her normal genial smile returning as
the old man’s wagon disappeared across the fields. “Why my father in law insisted on allowing that man to stay I’ll never know. His crops are worth barely a tenth of the land he farms.”

  Grayson put his arm around Elizabeth. “Most likely because his family has farmed that land for more years than we’ll ever see. Mr. Wicket felt some loyalty to the people who slaved to build his fortune.”

  He seemed stunned when Elizabeth shrugged off his arm and tossed her blonde curls, one shoulder raised in a shrug. “I have no such loyalties, that much is certain.” She turned and stalked away, the door closing with a resounding click behind her.

  The captain was next, passing Grayson and heading inside without a word. The pound of his boot heels on the stairs was steady.

  “What was that about?” Grayson asked, mystified. He rubbed his lip as he stared at the door. “She’s never acted like that before.”

  “Hasn’t she?” Lucia’s voice was light, but her hand tightened on Archie’s. “Not even as a girl?”

  “Of course she was spoiled and used to her way as a child. Everyone around her doted on her. Nevertheless, she grew up and became a sweet-natured young lady. Not the hateful person we just saw.”

  “The recent traumas have most likely affected her in strange ways. They have done it to us all, young Trimble.” Archie ignored Lucia’s subtle tug on his fingers. He knew that Elizabeth was far from the innocent young flower of a girl that Grayson thought she was. What he did not know, however, was exactly how enamored of her Grayson might be. Was his devotion all his own doing, or part of the same heinous skullduggery that seemed to be toying with the captain?

  “Indeed,” Grayson agreed, taking the excuse with a relieved nod. “I’ll go check on her, then. I suspect you’ll wish to have a bit of rest before the ball.”

  “I believe Lucia and I will have tea together in the solarium. Could you have Stella bring us a pot?”

  “In the fives,” Grayson promised.

  Archie was ready when Lucia turned on him with an upraised eyebrow. “You’re flimflamming the poor boy about that woman, Archie!”

  “I do not know if he truly cares for her, or if he has been influenced in the way of the Captain.”