Forever (Book #3 in the Fateful Series)

by Schmidt, Cheri

  Frowning, the fairy shook her head. “Since they use magic born of the Earth, we can’t repel them well at all. It is the same for the pixies. The witches probably used some kind of poisoned substance on them and they’re likely still recovering from it, which may be why we haven’t seen any pixies here yet.”

  Ethan had known witches used potions, herbs, and incantations to work their magic because as mortals, the power did not run through their veins. Of course, he knew better than to think that made them any less dangerous.

  They began making their way back to Headquarters. He didn’t want to wait it out like this, feeling helpless and useless, but he didn’t see that he had any other choice.

  “As soon as we return, I’m going back to being a vampire,” vowed Max.

  Feeling the same, Ethan nodded in agreement. He wanted to be a father, but even more than that, he simply wanted to have a life with Danielle. And if these bloody creatures would not leave them alone, then he was done with being mortal. It was true that things might not stop hunting her, and he’d have to wait to turn her until after the baby was born, but neither of them would be as fragile and as susceptible to injury as they were now. Ethan obviously knew Danielle would hate this idea, but if the only way to keep her safe for eternity was to turn her, then so be it.... Recalling his memories of her feeding from him because she was unwilling to kill an animal, he decided he would willingly continue with that.

  As they neared the city so they could gain transportation back to London, Ethan’s phone rang. “Hello?” he said, unable to recognize the number on the caller ID.

  “Ethan, the team failed,” said a female voice.

  His forward momentum stopped abruptly—as did his breathing, and quite possibly the beating of his heart. “Lydia?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked with his brow furrowing.

  “We found the French coven, and they didn’t have Danielle and Nadia, but they were so angry about the intrusion of vampires they did something that put all of them into some kind of spell-induced comas. I had hung back, and was able to slip away before they saw me.” Lydia sighed. “Luckily they abandoned the men and I was able to drag all of them away from the witches.” She paused for a beat or two and then continued. “I think they’re coming out of it.”

  “What is it?” asked Max, worry etching lines into his face, and desperation filling his brown eyes with fear of things he couldn’t control.

  Lifting a hand to hold Max off while Lydia finished, Ethan listened as Lydia explained that she believed the girls were taken farther east. Remembering to breathe, Ethan put his phone back in his pocket with trembling fingers. As he explained, he watched the color drain from his friend’s face.

  “We can’t go back to Headquarters then.”

  “No,” Ethan agreed. “But I don’t know what to do.” East wasn’t much to go on. How far east? Or was it east within France, or to some country that was farther east from here?

  “We may know someone who can help you,” said Alora, with Elrick nodding behind her.

  “Who?”

  “His name is Sir Roland, and he’s a sorcerer in this area.”

  Ethan had heard of him, though he’d never met the man. Rumor had it he was very eccentric and rather odd.

  They gained transportation and traveled to a lake where the fairies said the sorcerer lived. Max, who was driving, steered the vehicle down a gravel road, nearing a cottage-sized building. The glow of the headlights lit up the surrounding trees and water as they drove. It did seem as though most sorcerers and sorceresses were sort of hermits, with small but comfortable dwellings, and this fellow appeared to be no different. As their SUV stopped in front of the cabin, Ethan decided this old chap had things set up quite well for himself. A crisp mountain breeze ruffled his hair and Ethan drew a deep breath of pine as he stepped out of the vehicle. The moon was bright enough for him to see the lake encircled by tall, white-capped mountains, which reflected in the glass-like surface of the water. Many would find this place a perfect location for a quiet holiday, and Sir Roland lived here.

  They made their way up to the front door.

  Max turned to the fairy seated on Ethan’s shoulder. “Are you certain we can trust him?”

  From his peripheral, Ethan could see her nod in response. “You’re both mortal, and you have a fairy with you.”

  Alora had advised that they didn’t bring their guards even though the curse was subdued within them, because Sir Roland hated vampires so much, that Alora feared what he might do. He may have been old, but he was still extremely powerful. It was the reason why they had to be cautious, but also the reason they thought he could help them.

  After rapping gently against the door, Ethan stepped back and they waited. And waited. As the time with no response lengthened, Ethan worried the man either wasn’t at home, or he was choosing not to answer for reasons they didn’t know.

  “Greetings, my young friends.” The words were spoken in French, but he’d understood them. Ethan spun on his heel, as did Max, to see a very short old man standing on the step behind them. His age-curved spine caused him to stoop forward, like the basket of fish he carried might topple him over at any moment. Dressed like a professor, the man wore a pair of brown wool slacks, with a tan waistcoat and a houndstooth jacket. There were purple stains on the lapel as though he’d dribbled jam from his morning toast on it. The only odd thing about his attire was that it didn’t appear to be fishing garb, but he carried a basket of freshly-caught fish. And apparently he fished at night, another oddity. The man peered at them from over his spectacles with an expression of open curiosity crinkling around his blue-gray eyes.

  “Hello, Sir. My name is Ethan Deveroux. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Ethan said as formally and respectfully as he could, adding a slight bow. He sensed this man was older than he’d first thought, and would expect to be treated as such.

  Max bowed as well and offered an equally elegant greeting, “I am Sir Maximilian. Alora has said nothing but kind words about you.”

  It was an exaggeration, but Alora had told them they needed to turn on their old-fashioned charm to win Sir Roland over. Ethan had brought out Mr. Darcy and Max was laying on his knightly chivalry just as thick.

  Sir Roland’s gaze locked onto Alora, and with a gap-toothed grin, he offered a finger for her to perch upon while he carefully balanced the basket in his other hand. Alora accepted and landed gracefully on the man’s knobby knuckle as she fluffed the skirt of her blue petal-dress. “I have not seen a fairy in many years,” he said. “How delightful it is to see you again, Alora.”

  “Thank you, Sir Roland. I’ve missed you so very much. How have you been?”

  There was a hesitation before the old man said, “I am well enough, thank you. What is it I can do for you this lovely day, or rather evening?”

  “We’re in need of your aid,” answered Alora.

  At that, Sir Roland’s bushy, white eyebrows lifted before he considered them with a tip of his head. As the corner of his mouth twitched slightly, the old man nodded, and nudged Max with the basket. Max was quick to catch on, taking the man’s burden as Roland shuffled forward and opened the door after unlocking it with a tarnished skeleton key.

  As they entered the humble dwelling and Sir Roland flipped on a light, Ethan wondered how much of what they were seeing was real, and how much of it was hidden by glamour. Did Sir Roland really look so feeble?

  A sweep of Roland’s arm indicated they should take a seat. After obeying the silent command, Max sat the basket of fish upon the trunk in front of them that served as a coffee table. Sir Roland stared at the fish in apparent contemplation for a moment before saying, “Would you care for some fish stew? I was about to have a bowl for dinner.” At their hesitation, Roland added, “It’s on the stove simmering. I caught this for a midnight snack,” he added, motioning to the basket on the trunk.

  Ethan’s “A spot of soup would be lovely,” came
simultaneously with Max’s “Yes, thank you.” But Ethan was confused by the man’s eating habits. Checking his watch, he noticed it was nearing midnight as they spoke.

  Alora, who was now seated upon the man’s finger, simply gaped in horror.

  This earned her a soft chuckle, and an apology. “Forgive me, ma petite, for you I have a fresh bowl of cherries.” Upon standing, Sir Roland sat Alora on the trunk, snatched up the reeking basket of dead fish, and lumbered to what Ethan supposed was the kitchen.

  After a few moments, the clattering noises coming from the kitchen stopped and Sir Roland returned with four bowls, a loaf of rustic bread, and tea service.

  While eating, Ethan and Max watched Alora struggle with the task of daintily consuming a fruit the size of her head as she explained what they needed.

  When she finished with their tale, Roland scratched at his bald head. “Before I can help you, I need to know which coven we are dealing with.”

  “We don’t know which coven has them,” said Max.

  Ethan could hear by the curtness in his friend’s words that Max was growing impatient, and Ethan understood how he was feeling. The longer it took for them to find their wives, the more danger they were probably in. They didn’t have time to have a quaint chat, and eat soup with this man. “Sir, perhaps you don’t understand our urgency...” began Ethan.

  With a lift of his hand, Sir Roland made it quite clear he did understand. “Give me a moment while I read the dregs of your tea, would you?”

  A frown crinkled Ethan’s brow at that. As of yet, they hadn’t see this man perform any magic, and Ethan feared the old chap might have lost his talent, or his wits, or maybe both. From his experience, sorcerers did not read dregs. That was a practice used by witches and perhaps psychics. “Sir, I don’t see—”

  With an abrupt tsk-tsk, Roland again silenced his words. “Foolish boy, how else do you expect me to find the witches who have your women if I do not use their form of magic? Hmm?”

  Struck speechless by the obvious logic in that, Ethan sank back into the cushions of the sofa and waited impatiently as Roland bent over his and Max’s cups, muttering to himself in a language that sounded like Old French to Ethan. There were some words he understood, but many he didn’t. Finally the man lifted his head and announced, “’Tis the witches in Hungary who have your women, I fear.”

  Propping his elbows onto his knees, Ethan bent forward, struggling for calm, and asked with a sinking feeling, “Why do you fear that?”

  “As one of the oldest covens in existence, they’re quite dangerous, I’m afraid.”

  “But you’re a sorcerer.”

  Those blue-gray eyes of his widened slightly at his words. “That I am, but it doesn’t change the fact that these witches are deadly creatures.”

  “You’re sure the werewolves don’t have them yet?”

  “Of that I am very certain.”

  A sense of relief and hope surrounded his heart. “Then you’ll come with us and help—?”

  Again Roland lifted his hand, his palm forward, cutting off Ethan’s words, and just that quickly the relief evaporated. “I cannot come with you. I do not hide behind a glamour as many of my kind do,” Roland admitted, his fingers fiddling with a string where a button should have been on his jacket. “I am not as spry as I once was.”

  Ethan began to think they’d been wasting their time. If this man was aging in a way sorcerers do not age, then there was something seriously wrong with him, and he might not be capable of helping them. They didn’t have time for this. “I fear we may have wasted your time.” Ethan said, forcing a politeness he wasn’t feeling.

  Sir Roland spoke again as though Ethan had said nothing at all. “However, I will do this much for you ... I will enchant you so that if these witches try to cast a spell upon you, it will repel the magic and bounce off, doing you no harm.” The old man continued to tug at the string as he spoke.

  “But what about Danielle and Nadia? What if they try to use them as hostages?” asked Max, thinking of that angle as any trained knight would.

  “If you are holding onto them, then they will be protected as you are. But, if they try to use their spelled arrows against you, then my magic won’t help.” Knobby fingers gave another nervous tug at the string, harder this time.

  “Why?”

  “Some witches are archers, and those who are have perfected the art. Their arrows can pierce any enchantment.”

  “But you don’t know if these witches are?”

  “The dregs don’t tell me that.”

  Taking a breath and releasing it slowly, Ethan shared a look of concern with Max who asked, “Can’t you do something that will protect us from that too?”

  “There are incantations that would work against ordinary weapons. However, not against the potion on the tips of their arrows.” The string came off around Roland’s finger. With a slightly startled look on his face, the man let the thread drop to the tattered rug below his feet.

  “Why not?” Ethan asked as Roland inspected the spot on his jacket. A frown formed between his eyebrows as though he’d only just now realized the button was missing.

  “They use a dark magic that is older than even I am,” Roland said, not meeting his gaze.

  “What about vampires? Can we take them to help us?” Ethan asked without thinking. The question had already left his lips when he remembered Alora mentioning how much this sorcerer disliked them, but it was too late for him to call the words back.

  Hatred flashed in the old man’s eyes at the mention of vampires, and Ethan felt bad about that. “Bring them if you like, but the poisoned arrows will destroy them too. Permanently.”

  Recalling how the French witches had easily put the guards into magic-induced comas, he believed Sir Roland was probably right. They had no choice but to attempt this rescue alone, and as mortal men.

  Ethan felt disheartened by the outcome of this meeting. Sorcerers were supposed to be more powerful than witches. Of course, Sir Roland had offered to enchant them for protection, but Ethan wasn’t convinced this frail version of a sorcerer was capable of accomplishing the task. Unfortunately, they didn’t have time to seek out another sorcerer. Frustration twisted inside Ethan and wrung out the last of his patience. Not bothering to mask the anger in his expression, he opened his mouth, but snapped it shut when Alora interrupted. “Thank you, Sir Roland,” said Alora as she gave Ethan a warning look. “We are deeply grateful to you for your time and generosity.”

  Roland’s face lit up when he met Alora’s beaming smile with his gaze. In a loving manner, he touched a gentle finger to Alora’s tiny hand and sighed, the air wheezing out of him. “There is a reason why sorcerers and sorceresses do not live together. While we are immortal, we can be quite dangerous to one another’s health in our wrath. I am the unfortunate victim of such a curse. I am aging and will not live forever. I do all of my own cooking and cleaning to save my magical strength. Mostly, I live as a mortal because even though I have lived for centuries, I am no longer immortal. Certainly, the magic in my brittle bones keeps me warm at night, and it is available to me when needed, but otherwise I conserve what I have.”

  A strong sense of pity rose up to replace the annoyance Ethan was feeling as he took in the sad loneliness in the sorcerer’s eyes. The poor old gent. What must life be like for him? He must feel so very secluded and forgotten.

  A hint of the man Sir Roland used to be flickered to life in his humble expression. The change made his eyes look more blue than gray. Roland stood, forced his spine a little straighter, cleared his throat and conjured a map. He unrolled it and hesitated when his eyes landed on the mess of dishes littering the trunk. “Allow me,” Ethan said, jerking to his feet as he worked to clear the surface. Max helped and they carried it all off to the kitchen.

  When they returned, Roland had the map spread out over the top of the trunk and he was studying it with fingers curled around his chin. They again sat down and his eyes found Alora who was hoveri
ng at Roland’s shoulder, but she soon ignored him.

  Max and Ethan watched while the fairy and sorcerer discussed different locations, and he was surprised to be the witness to a bit of flirting. Once they’d settled on a city in Hungary called Tatabanya, Sir Roland had walked his fingers across the map to circle Alora as though dancing with her. She giggled, took flight and planted a kiss on his bulbous nose. Sir Roland chuckled in response, cupping his palm into a place for Alora to sit. She sat down and curled her feet beneath her. “You must come and visit again, my sweet fey friend.”

  “I promise I will,” said Alora.

  “And you’ll bring your friends with you?” Sir Roland asked, grinning as though he was sixteen instead of nine hundred and sixteen, and blushing.

  “Of course,” she said batting her eyelashes at the old man.

  “And you’ll dance for me?”

  “Uh,” began Max, “I hate to interrupt you two lovebirds, but we really should be going.”

  “Oh! Yes, the enchantment!” Sir Roland blushed some more. “I nearly forgot.”

  The old sorcerer stood and shuffled around the trunk to stand in front of Ethan and Max. He touched his hand to each of their heads and murmured a series of words, again in Old French. Releasing them, he brushed off his hands and said, “You’re all set, my lads. Go and conquer the wicked witches.” His smile slipped slightly. “Just mind their cunning nature, and watch out for poisoned arrows, and...” Roland snapped his fingers, “Oh, what was it?”

  Preparing to leave, Max and Ethan stood as they waited for him to finish with his warnings. The time stretched out until Roland finally said, “Seems I can’t recall what the third thing was. Never mind that. Carry on! Carry on!”

  As they made their way back to the SUV Max muttered, “Do you feel enchanted?”

  A sardonic laugh left him. “No. You?”

  “Nope.”

  “Do you think this is going to work?”

  “I haven’t got the foggiest...”