“Calico, there is a reason people believed I could have killed m’father,” he said.
I frowned. “Is there? What?”
“He was suspected of killing m’mother.”
I didn’t want to look shocked, but I’m sure I did. “Why?”
“She was unfaithful. She was in love with his best friend—someone who’d joined the opposing political party in our realm. Ye see, royals still allow themselves to marry for political reasons. My parents weren’t ‘love-bound’ but married to join two strong families.” He sighed. “I was a man grown when she explained it all to me. I knew she was in love with another man … I knew who he was.” He stopped and frowned. “The rumor was that my father tracked my mother down to his friend’s house, where she had gone when she left him.” He eyed me. “Ye are not to think ill of her. She was ever truthful with m’father. He respected her. ‘Tis why I can’t believe he would have followed her or killed her. But someone viciously murdered both m’mother and Samuel of Renley, and it was said that m’father killed them with his dagger, which went missing and was never found.”
“And you are certain your father would never have …?”
“Never. M’father felt for her situation. He wished her well. She gave him two sons who he loved … m’father was a good man.”
He looked away from me and appeared deep in thought. “However, people did believe it, but without definite proof … it was all left to gossip.”
“The question you have to ask yourself is, who else would have killed them and why?” I said as much to myself as to him.
“Aye then, that is the question. Francis has always believed a high-ranking official from the opposition party named Blakely of Danfield—yes, the very man Tanna has taken as a lover—, killed m’mother and her lover. No doubt he believed m’father would be charged and that would be the end of his reign.” He rubbed his leather-covered knee, and I tried not to look too long at his hard, naked, and muscular chest. “There was a child—Samuel’s child. He was a widower, and at the time of his death his daughter was but five years old. A little red-headed daughter. She was never found. Her name was Calico.” He looked at me intently.
I pushed away from him and stood up to walk backwards in the room. My body went rigid with shock. A memory forced its way into my mind. It was real, so real, as though happening on a 3-D screen right before my eyes.
I saw her, this lovely woman—not my mother, but dear to me, all the same. She was good and kind, and she hugged me as she pinned the note to my little sweater and said, “I’m sorry, darling Calico … but this is the only way to keep you safe. If we defeat him, I’ll come back for you.”
I heard her voice in my head, reverberating. I remember thinking I didn’t want to leave my father. He came out of the study, and when he picked me up and hugged me, he was crying. He kissed my cheek and told me, “We will defeat the enemy and come for you, Calico my babe.”
It was the first time I had ever experienced this memory.
Something Brodie had said brought it all flooding back into my mind.
I put out my hand as her memory jolted me into denial. “No … no …”
Denial arrives when we can’t face the truth, when that truth is so ugly a lie comforts. And the ugly truth was that they hadn’t defeated the enemy. They hadn’t come for me.
What had I always hoped? That one day I would be reunited with my mother and father? Now I knew both my birth mother and the woman who had cared for me—saved me—was dead. My father … dead. Was it at the hands of Brodie’s father? I wasn’t sure that was something I could deal with. But I believed Brodie when he said he was sure his father would not have done anything so awful. Still, I hadn’t gotten a handle on anything yet, and all I could say was, “No … no … no.”
His steps were long and hard as he put the distance between us away. I tried to stop him, but he had me in his arms and said, “Lass, m’own wee lass … we don’t even know if it really is yer father we are speaking of.”
“We do—I do. I saw it … I saw a woman … Brodie, you are her son. I saw her face, and it was too much like yours not to see she was your mother. The memory came to me in 3-D … it was so real. I felt what I felt then as a child … I saw it all so clearly. It had to have been just before she and my father were murdered. She took me away. She held me, told me she would come back for me if she could. She said she had chosen a human witch to find me. Lyla. I remember it all.” I shook all over and collapsed against him. He held me for a long while, and we stood like that in silence.
“Why, Brodie …? Why did the memory come to me now?”
“It was hidden in yer mind and needed a trigger. I can only guess that m’mother placed it there for ye so that one day ye would know—she was like that, far-sighted.”
“How could I have buried it all these years?”
“Ye didn’t. Magic did. The mirror … it is here because it was meant always to take ye home. M’mother must have told yer Lyla to come here to set the mirror up in yer room. It was all done to reunite ye with yer home.”
“But why did my magic work against the Council’s wards, if I am from your realm?”
“Although I was an adult when m’mother brought you to Ireland, I didn’t see her that last day … I wasn’t there for her.” He shook his head as the memory slashed through him. “I don’t have details for ye, lass … I just don’t have them.”
I interrupted him, momentarily diverted. “Just how old are you?”
“Well now, are ye sure ye be wanting to know?” He looked worried.
“Of course I want to know,” I told him, but did it matter? Not really.
“I am one hundred years old,” he said quietly.
I eyed him a moment. “Right … that isn’t so bad. I was thinking you might have a couple of centuries on me—wait.” I put out my hand. “Wait … how did this Blakely creep murder my dad and your mom if they were immortal?”
“Ah, there are only a few ways to kill an immortal. A Death Weapon is one of them. Only a small number of Death Weapons exist in our realm, and the way to make one was lost in the last war over a thousand years ago. M’father’s dagger was just such a weapon, as is mine.”
“How modern are you guys? Do you do the CSI thing?” My mind was working furiously.
“CSI?” He looked perplexed.
“Fingerprints, DNA—that stuff,” I said.
“Aye, but we use pure white magic. It hasn’t been done in m’case yet. The friend I mentioned, Jebidiah, who is a senior member of the Council and a very powerful wizard, managed to meet with me when they first threw me in the prison cell. He wanted me to stay there at first because he said it was the only way to keep Francis safe. He believed—at least at first—that while I was in prison, Tanna wouldn’t dare harm m’brother.”
“So he doesn’t believe you killed your father?”
“Of course not. Jeb is my closest friend. He wouldn’t care if ten people said they saw me stab m’father. He would tell them they were blind.”
“But something changed, and he wanted you to escape?”
“Aye, in fact, he was working on a way to get me out.”
“Brilliant. So now what is the next step?”
“Set up a trial date. Blakely doesn’t know we have DNA evidence. Jeb means to spring it at the trial and prove me innocent once and for all.”
“And when will the trial take place?”
“I’m not sure. Jebidiah is working behind the scenes to get a majority vote for the trial. Then he will present me and declare he had me in custody because of the beating I received while in prison. He means to show them just what happened to me while in prison—he has irrefutable images, saved by the viewer he secretly installed in my cell. He means to make the Council see that the wizard who had me beaten was the man who killed m’father.” Brodie shook his head. “Politics are in Moreland as ugly as anywhere else.”
“Brodie, does he know that Blakely had you beaten using dark magic. Does he?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Kinda exciting jumping in and saving a big boy like you.”
He chuckled but then got serious all over again. “Now, will ye show me that note, Calico love? I would like to see if it truly is in m’mother’s hand.”
I didn’t say a word as I broke free from him, ran out of the room, and hurried up the stairs to my bedroom. I called Ebony, she flew into my hand, and I pointed her at the top drawer of my dressing table. My special little trinket box was hidden by magic.
A moment later, and with trembling fingers, I took out the treasured piece of ivory paper that I had always thought had been written by my mother. It hadn’t been written by mother at all. A sure sadness filled me.
I also took out and opened the other note, a note I had never read and didn’t know existed until a few days ago. A quick glance told me it had been written by the same hand as the one with just my name and birth date, so it, too, had not been written by my mother.
I had nothing of my parents. Nothing.
Brodie had followed me up the stairs, and I turned and handed him both notes. The moment of truth loomed so large over my head that I began to tremble.
Lyla had always known more than she said. Lyla had always protected me, and even though I don’t believe secrets protect anyone, she’d believed otherwise. I could not fault her. She always tried to do her best.
Brodie opened the folded paper, and I was aware of the tension he felt. It was on his face, in his stance, in the style of his set lips.
His mother had been murdered.
This was hurting him as much as it was hurting me.
His mother had been in love with my father—how did I feel about that? Weird. It was too stunningly difficult to deal with, so I set it aside for another time.
Brodie read out loud:
Lyla,
We have had our talks. The time has come.
This is Calico of Renley. Her magic is beyond your understanding. Her mother was very special. Calico will come into her own when she is twenty-one and be a power unlike any you have ever known.
Teach her the responsibility needed to safeguard her from misusing that power.
Unlike you, she is immortal. Keep her safe in your realm, but tell her nothing of this letter until you must.
If I can, I will return for her and take her home. If I don’t return within the next moon, it is because neither I nor her father are able to, and you will know where to go and what to do when she is of age. She will be at full power on her twenty-first birthday, which is Christmas Day in your world. She is only five now, so there is time, and each year her abilities will grow. Keep her in check in your world.
Tell her she was loved, and tell her that the note with her name and birth date was all she had on her. It is for her protection.
Felia of Morelake
Brodie stared at the notepaper after he read the words. He said in a voice that broke, “This is m’mother’s hand, m’mother’s name.”
A voice in my head wondered if Brodie’s father could have killed his wife and my father. If so, it wasn’t Brodie’s fault, just as it was not mine, but it was something I wanted to know for sure, because if this creep Blakely had done this—if he had destroyed our parents and altered our lives—he needed to pay.
“Ye are wondering if m’father could have caused all this pain. He never would have laid a hand on m’mother. Ye must believe that to be true. He did not fault her when she left him. I was old enough to know about such matters.” He frowned and reached for me. “Calico … don’t pull away from me. Instead, cling to me, lass, believe in me. We will get to the truth together … aye?” He ran a hand through his black locks. “Don’t ye see … it is all so clear now. Francis has always been right. Blakely was behind this … and when Blakely killed m’mother and Samuel, he tried to put it at m’father’s door, but m’father couldn’t have done it, as he was at an emergency meeting he had called with the Council. Blakely wasn’t on the Council. He didn’t know. He believed m’father wouldn’t have an alibi. Then, Blakely said m’father must have hired someone, but that couldn’t be proven. So, I’m supposing Blakely bided his time and hatched a plan to kill m’father—the king. Ye see, being immortal, time means little. So he waited. Lass … do ye know how bold it is to kill a beloved king? Blaming it on me was even better than his original plan. This is the work of Tanna and Blakely. They are the only ones that stand to gain from these machinations.”
“Tanna and Blakely—lovers—and your brother has no idea?” I frowned over this. “Why did she marry him?”
“To be queen,” he said simply.
I heard the truth in his words. I knew beyond any doubt that Brodie did not kill his father. My instincts are better than most—I have a knack for seeing a truth. It is an odd thing, because seeing a truth doesn’t mean I can ferret out a lie.
So then, I knew Brodie hadn’t killed his father. I knew that Brodie believed it was this horrible Blakely person and Tanna, his sister-in-law. I believed this to be true because I knew she couldn’t have seen Brodie kill his father. That was an out-and-out lie, so, therefore, she was part of the entire, ugly scheme.
All at once, I wanted blood. I wanted justice for my father and for Brodie’s mother, who had cared enough for me to take me away from danger. But I wanted to know something else. Something about my mother. “Brodie, did you know my mother?”
He shook his head. “No, lass, not personally, I did not … but I knew the mystery surrounding her was rife.”
“What do you mean?”
“Yer mother was presumed dead, killed by her own kind, and turned into ash. Her ashes were found—only her ashes.”
“Her own kind … ash … What are you saying?”
“It was gossip.”
“Tell me,” I demanded.
“Morelake is inhabited by … shall we call them a clan? Yes, let’s for simplicity’s sake call them a clan for now. At one time, over five hundred years ago, we were at war with them.”
“Where do they live?”
“It’s a place called Nether Blue. I’ll show you the mountain range. It sparkles overhead with a blue glitter—their wards, ye see. At any rate, they live quietly and peacefully on the mountain and do not mingle with Morelakes. Ye see, we are at peace, but being immortal … old wounds live on. Some of them lost dear ones—too dear to forget—as did we. Their king does not abide us and does not approve of intermingling socially.”
A tingle of dread began to fill my stomach. “What are they?”
“Fallen Angels,” he said simply.
I gasped. “My mother … was …”
“Aye, a Fallen Angel, that I am fairly certain is true.”
“With wings?” I was beyond dumbfounded.
“Aye … though I never saw or met her, I am fairly certain. Fallens can walk amongst us undetected, as when they retract their wings they have the ability to make them invisible as well.” He caressed my face. “And the thing is, we—Morelakes—have no objection to socializing and even intermarriage, but the Fallen are very opposed to it. An exception is made if the union is to be between a Fallen and a royal Morelake, but only then. The King of the Fallen can’t abide the notion of creating hybrids.”
“How did my mother die?” I heard my voice, and it was tense and small.
“No one knows—her body was never found … just her ashes. The gossip was that the King of the Fallen had discovered she married a Morelake, and as Samuel was not a royal, her king made an example of her for his kind.”
“No … oh no …” If this was true, I would visit this so-called King of the Fallen! For a moment, I wished I had wings like my mother. I looked Brodie in the eye and told him, “We
are going to Morelake Realm together, and you can be certain, big guy, I won’t be left out of this matter. We will prove your innocence and bring down the filth who destroyed your mother and my father, and then, I am going to the King of the Fallen and facing him down!”
“Aye then, lass, if that is what ye need to do, so be it, but I will be with ye every step of the way. Agreed?”
“Damn straight. Bound you said, right?” I slanted a look at him, and he nodded. “So then … bound it is!”
Chapter Nine
WHAT WAS I?
A hybrid. I was a hybrid. I had always thought of that term in relation to vampires and werewolves—things I hadn’t believed in until last year when I came across them up close and way too personal.
Right. So, there I was, half wizard from a predominately wizard nation and half Fallen Angel from a place called Nether Blue. I doubted that ‘Fallen Angel’ was totally related to the biblical expression, but what did it mean exactly?
Brodie was working on opening a small portal to his—well, I guess our—world. I went to the mirror and stared at myself. Same flame-colored hair, same gray eyes, same face … yet I felt different somehow. “Why don’t we just use the mirror to portal into Morelake?” I asked idly.
“Don’t want it traced back here. Better to use what your world would call a wormhole of sorts and close it as soon as we land.”
“Hmm,” I muttered, still staring at the mirror and wondering how it happened to be here. “Was this your mother’s mirror?”
“No … at least, I don’t remember ever seeing it,” he answered absently. “Now let me concentrate.”
“Right,” I replied. I stared into the mirror to whisper, “Who did you belong to, mirror?”
A soft voice whispered, “Inghean.”
I gasped and stepped backwards. I hadn’t imagined it the other day. It said daughter. It said daughter. I stepped forward, tentatively touched the mirror, and asked, “Who do you belong to?”
In English it said, “Daughter.”
“Brodie!” I gasped. “Could this mirror have belonged to my mother? Would your mother have arranged to put it here for me?”
Alphas Unwrapped: 21 New Steamy Paranormal Tales of Shifters, Vampires, Werewolves, Dragons, Witches, Angels, Demons, Fey, and More Page 53