Past a dense woodlot and around a curve, she pulled into the long, narrow dirt drive that led to Raylene’s house. The old homestead property adjoined her own. The truck tires kicked up a cloud of dust, and Noba sneezed a shower of sparks out the window that set Raylene’s Doberman howling.
In the moving vehicle, Kenzo got his balance on the edge of the opposite open window before taking flight through the tall oaks. He met Raylene on the rickety back porch. The far end of the structure still leaned so much that steps weren’t needed, and peeling paint revealed half a dozen old colors the house had once been.
Noba attempted to follow, but Cullen blocked him with a hand. “Wait until we stop.”
The second Vickie parked beside Raylene’s rusted Toyota short bed truck, Noba hopped to the ground. Nearly lost in the tall grass, he half flew, half ran to join Kenzo.
Lyra waved to Raylene, who nodded and drew a gray, hand-knitted cardigan around her thin shoulders that poked from a black tank. She wore pajama bottoms printed with pink and purple ponies. Layers of her dirty blond hair stuck out in every direction. She yawned a hello and dropped a length of rope. “Sorry, too late to catch Jitt now. Dog’s been wound up for days.”
“Lyra has an old family photo you’ve got to see.” Vickie motioned Lyra under the porch light.
The dog writhed, snapping and barking at sparks Noba continued to sneeze.
Without reaction, Raylene observed the commotion through heavily lidded, puffy eyes. Lack of sleep made her look older than her twenty-five years. She looked down at the page Lyra held out. The two ladies sat on the lowest branch of the tree, swinging their black stockinged legs, long dark skirts raised to reveal gaudy bloomers. Raylene’s eyes bugged out. “That’s my grandma Draora all right. And I saw this other woman last night—Aunt Brigid.”
“She’s a ghost like Draora?” Lyra grabbed her younger cousin’s arm.
“Naw. More like an image Draora conjured to show me. She’s been dragging all sorts of shit out ‘o that honey tree the past week.” She moved her face closer to the photograph. “What I don’t get is how she managed to make this picture work miles away from here. I didn’t think she had it in her.”
The Doberman barked louder, which alerted them to scan the twilit yard.
“Look!” Vickie pointed to the back of the acreage. “The honey tree’s branches are whipping now.”
“Been doing that near every night. That ain’t nothin’ new,” her cousin replied.
“Raylene! Come over here, girl!” a husky whispered voice blew around the porch with a breeze. “I do have something new you best see.”
Lyra felt electricity in the air—magic. She remembered those vibrations around the honey tree from the last time she and Cullen came to find the ancient text written by Scribe Sorcha. In case Draora would be sensitive to his presence like before, Lyra motioned Cullen to stay behind.
Vickie offered each of her cousins an elbow and said, “Like we got through it before—together.”
Lyra linked arms with her, and Raylene followed suit. The three cousins got only as far as the edge of the porch. Lyra couldn’t tell which of them shook the most.
From a seat on a wide rope swing in the honey tree, the two women from the picture batted a butterfly between them. The ghost of Draora, the shorter woman with a gray-white braid, called to them, “Lyra, sweet child, you’re finally here to get that rock I found in my garden. About time! This pesty bug is wanting the same thing and giving off a dreadful smelly magic.” She crinkled her nose and shoved it under the brim of the taller lady’s hat. “Brigid, when you told me to protect that rock until I gave it to her, I sure didn’t know I’d be clanking around as a ghost for over a century.”
“But the butterfly’s beautiful—black with large, purple spots, like eyes on its wings.” Brigid opened her palm, then let out a spine-chilling scream.
Raylene’s dog raced into the back yard and jumped the wooden fence that surrounded the honey tree.
Cullen pushed past the three cousins and filled his hand with a blue powerball.
Lyra’s heart thumped. She charged her free hand with her own golden aura.
Chapter Seven: The Honey Tree Keep
Keeping her eyes fixed on the butterfly, Lyra concentrated on the aura in her powerball.
Following Cullen’s alert, everyone stood quiet in Raylene’s backyard and watched. Even the two old ladies allowed their swing to come to a rest. The limbs of the honey tree hung motionless.
Still unsure of her powerball technique, the pause gave Lyra time to select the right shot—tight like a laser to strike only one target. She didn’t know what might happen if her fire hit Draora, a ghost-witch. Lyra worried less about the image of the previous Scribe, Brigid, since she was supposedly only Draora’s conjured vision.
The insect walked across Brigid’s open palm.
“Ouch!” She flung the creature to the ground. “Vile beastie bit my finger.”
Her action set off a string of reactions. Kenzo sailed over the cousins’ heads. He grabbed a precarious landing on a swaying branch above the dazed insect that flapped an injured wing.
Noba followed, but, at his master’s direction, perched on a corner of the fence surrounding the honey tree.
Cullen took a step closer, powerball still pulsing with aura in one hand. He held his other hand high to detect magical vibrations. Usually his detection was swift and automatic; his definite action made Lyra worry. An instant later, he drove a laser-tight powerball onto the butterfly.
Before Cullen’s strike hit its mark, a violet haze surrounded the butterfly and deflected the laser.
Lyra sensed Dark Realm magic. She couldn’t determine which person the aura belonged to. She wanted to touch Cullen to read his thoughts about the identity, but Vickie’s grip on her arm somehow prevented her from going to him.
From her seat in the swing, Draora whispered an incantation, “Stingers welcome the unwelcome.”
The witch’s words stirred a breeze in the boughs of the honey tree, spinning soft echoes to half a dozen bee skeps fastened above her. Bees spilled out from each and formed flying ribbons that spiraled one around the other, making way toward the butterfly.
Brigid nudged her cousin. “Quite the impressive display, gal.”
While watching the stream of bees, Lyra suspended the powerball in her hand.
Raylene left Vickie’s side and ran to the picket fence, hands lifted toward the oscillating hives.
Her Doberman raced around her legs, then darted through a hole under the fence.
The skeps continued to hum and pulse with life inside, but no more bees exited.
Draora’s eyes squinted and her mouth contorted into a jagged line. Her gnarled fingers stretched and twisted. She worked to hang onto the fading spell.
Kenzo left his perch and sailed between branches, fanning the hives with his wings to no avail.
The violet dome protected a wider diameter around the butterfly.
The witch’s bees poked the capsule with their stingers, and the shield shattered like broken glass.
The form of Eburscon rose from where the butterfly stood. He flexed his left arm, the same wing that the insect had fluttered limply.
Lyra prepared to throw, but Cullen fired faster, perfectly aimed at the alchemist’s chest.
Some bees stung the exposed skin of Eburscon’s face and hands. Others tried in vain to sting through his thick, velvet cloak.
Eburscon swatted them away from his face with his good arm and turned his body to smoothly accept Cullen’s shot into his other hand. He engulfed and smothered the blue powerball with his own aura. “Sire Drake, please make your further attempts more challenging. Your effort was weak at best.” The alchemist smirked and opened his hand, letting the gray discharged power drop. “Pity, you are so limited while away from the Alliance.” He drew a hand to his brow, the gemmed rings gleaming with his aura, to shield his eyes from the bees. “The one you’re sworn to protect shall have to do her best to gu
ard her protector. It does not speak well for you that she’s so naïve, incapable of commanding her quintessence leadership abilities.” He cackled and leaned in Lyra’s direction. “Always a simpleton—” He yelped in pain when a bee attacked his eyelid.
Cullen flinched, and his whole hand turned blue.
Lyra snatched her arm from Vickie’s and ran to his side, hoping their power shared through contact would help them fight.
Draora collapsed against the trunk, and her bees retreated, trailing back to their respective skeps.
Lyra glanced at the witch and found her fidgeting, a confusing action for such an adept witch. She took hold of her cousin’s arm and whispered in her ear.
Using Lyra’s force, Cullen launched an accurate shot, so large he recoiled against her shoulder with the backfire.
Eburscon grabbed for the mixed golden-blue powerball, but dropped it as soon as it touched his skin. The flaming mass sizzled and steamed in the evening dew collecting on the tall grass. “A good technique, but still not sufficient.” He encased his skin with aura and turned his back to them. He walked past Raylene through the gate to the honey tree.
“Don’t be coming one step closer to my tree.” The witch raised her arms toward the branches above her. “This tree’s for kin only—our family keep.”
The alchemist laughed and climbed onto the lowest limb. It shook, as if to throw him off, but he managed to gain a secure hold.
Not waiting for Cullen, Lyra shot a volley of wide, ill-formed lasers that peppered through Eburscon’s ward.
His velvet cloak melted into shreds. He writhed to extinguish the sparks, then bolstered his ward, and resumed his climb.
Heartened by her success, Lyra blasted him with more. Relying on Cullen’s accuracy through their contact made her aim automatic.
Some of her sparks shot through the burned holes in Eburscon’s garments. He lost his balance and jumped to the ground. Occupied with putting out a dozen ignited patches on his cloak and pants, he could only hiss at her.
Taking aim again, Lyra felt Cullen shudder. She glanced at his face, his skin drawn around his eyes and mouth. Does it tax your power when I use it to aim my shots?
Yes. But I can manage. You need me to help you.
Lyra released the portion of his aura she’d taken but kept her shoulder planted into his. She reformed the powerball in her hand, concentrating it to a smaller size that would be more manageable to throw. When Eburscon turned his back to climb, she hurled the mass. Her timing failed. The ball exploded before impact. Lasers splayed over the tree trunk and left linear burn marks.
Eburscon pulled up to the next branch to avoid the bulk of her discharge, but flame licked up the tail of his cloak. He wriggled out of the garment and let it drop. Once free, he reached a hand onto the edge of the central crack where the limbs joined.
A stray beam from Lyra’s shot cut the ropes of the swing, and she held her breath.
The witch and ancient Scribe fell beside the burning heap of velvet. Draora landed on her butt and rolled to one side away from the danger.
Her cousin’s form flattened onto the ground, lifeless and whimpering.
The honey tree’s flailing limbs became still, and Kenzo flew out to perch on a fence post.
“Grandma, he’s in the keep! Do your magic!” Raylene cried.
Draora sat with her back against the trunk, her snowy braid disheveled with strands falling across her face. She grimaced, and her wrinkles became deep furrows criss-crossing her face.
The tree responded. The cavernous crook of the tree closed around the alchemist’s hand.
“Damned witch!” he spat from his precarious position. “Give me that keystone!”
“My bones won’t rest in my grave ‘til it’s in Lyra’s hands,” she snarled through clenched teeth.
“Then let them rattle another century, you old hag.” Eburscon dug his free hand into a pants pocket and withdrew a small pouch.
Cullen clenched his fist, dripping with Lyra’s aura. Using her strength, he fired at Eburscon’s feet.
The alchemist danced from foot to foot, working to keep his balance. He held the pouch above the sealed crack. White light from the contents filtered through the cloth. Five shimmering arcs extended from between his fingers. One aimed into the keep. Another coursed directly to where Lyra had stored the Staurolite in her jeans. Three other beams radiated into the sky at different angles.
What’s going on? That should have vaporized his feet completely off! Cullen exclaimed mentally to her. You’re powerful shots barely pierced his ward.
He has the Pearl! It’s that white glow.
How can he command it?
Lyra sucked in a ragged breath. Do you think he tortured Kessa to give him information?
Let’s hope not. Cullen shook his head. He’s stronger than either of us now.
Should we throw shots at the same time?
Cullen nodded and formed another powerball in his palm.
Lyra prepared her own and took aim.
Raylene ran through the gate.
Hold fire! Cullen let his arm hang limp. It’s not safe now.
Lyra released the aura in her hand, then dug in her pocket. Maybe I can command the Staurolite to control that pearl.
Raylene stood with her legs touching Draora’s that were outstretched on the grass. The young woman lifted her arms above her head and touched the trunk, fingers splayed wide. She trembled with the witch’s energy passing through her.
Vickie rushed to the gate.
The limbs closed over the keep strained and groaned under Eburscon’s opposing forces of magic.
“The keep’s openin’” Raylene cried.
Draora’s head slumped against her chest.
The alchemist worked a leg onto the next higher branch to gain more height, allowing him to peer into the partially closed keep. He moved the pearl closer to the crevice and wedged his other hand deeper inside.
“Ray, what’s wrong?” Vickie leaned far over the gate.
“Grandma, what do I do?” Raylene pleaded to the old witch.
Draora lifted her contorted face, eyes closed. “I need help to protect the keep. Can’t fight that strange magic much longer.”
Lyra left Cullen and took hold of the gate frame, ready to enter at a moment’s notice. Her hand rested on top of Vickie’s. The Staurolite in her other hand illuminated along its cross-shaped crystal. She sent her aura into the stone.
Before she could will it to block the pearl’s actions, Draora sat upright. Her eyes flew open, staring at the pair of women.
Her direct gaze riveted Lyra.
“Raylene, join up with your cousins,” the witch ordered in a stern tone.
“But, I need to send your magic up,” the young woman replied, not moving from her position at the trunk.
“Now!” the witch snarled in a dark voice that made Raylene jerk and scurry to link elbows with Vickie.
Draora raised her arms, and the honey tree answered, whipping its twigs. Leaves whirled in all directions.
Eburscon leaned over the keep with his arm buried to the shoulder and rotating inside the crevice. A cluster of small branches thrashed against his back, but did nothing to slow his actions.
Raylene followed the witch’s lead, taking her cousin’s hand into the air with her own.
Vickie did the same on Lyra’s side. “Must be that, together, we help her out.”
Lyra felt odd magic brush her lifted hands. She added more aura to the Staurolite and conveyed her command. Vickie’s skin shivered against Lyra’s palm. Hairs stood out with static from Raylene’s head. Moments later, Draora jumped to her feet. Unlike Dragonspeir magic, it left no visible trail, but clearly passed in a loop from the witch, through the cousins, and back again. “She’s channeling energy through us to magnify and return to her.”
“The circle of kin!” Draora thundered.
Cullen touched Lyra’s forearm, then jerked away. “Strong!” He motioned to Kenzo, perche
d between two skeps, and to Noba, still on the fence.
The owl lifted off and hovered behind one of the hives.
The witch called her incantation again, this time with a loud, guttural snarl. “Stingers welcome the unwelcome.”
She set the branches in motion, whipping as if caught in a storm. Surrounding trees in the woods responded the same way. The hives shook so hard, Lyra wondered if they’d fall.
Kenzo smacked the higher skeps with his wings, adding to the effect.
Noba selected smaller ones on lower branches. He did his part to stir the residents, whacking hives with his stinger tail.
Bees poured out in the thousands. Leaves whirled back and forth. A whirlwind of the past autumn’s debris lifted around the main trunk.
Lyra’s hair blew in all directions. The wind stung her eyes and whooshed past her ears.
Above the din, the haughty voice of the alchemist called, “I now have another keystone that Kessa shall feel obliged to help me learn.”
The two arcs of light, connecting the two keystones in the keep with Lyra’s Staurolite, changed angles and dimmed.
Kenzo sped along one of the beams.
“Stingers chase!” Draora screamed in a chilling high pitch.
Chapter Eight: The Family Campground
Lyra desperately wanted to speak privately with Cullen, but didn’t dare break contact with her cousins. “Eburscon got away as that butterfly?”
The muscles of his jaw tensed. “It seems that way…unless Draora’s bees can bring him back.”
Lyra fed more aura into the Staurolite in case that might help the witch.
The witch took a wide stance to balance her body and swayed her arms. She directed the breeze to follow her commands, like a conductor leading an orchestra. Her bony fingers danced, creating eddies and jets at her desire.
Her hands still clamped on her cousins’, Vickie faced Cullen. “If that man’s from your world, how did his magic work and yours didn’t?”
Keeping his gaze on the sky, Cullen replied, “He has one of the keystones. He shouldn’t be able to use it. Lyra and I weren’t expecting him to be that powerful. Apparently, he tortured a young seer he has imprisoned into helping him understand its workings.”
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