Reckoning

by J. C. Wilder

  The bird flew up into the chair where Shai had sat. Spreading its wings, the feathered creature shifted into his human form. Clad entirely in black, Keirgen was a distinguished-looking man with golden hair tinted at the temples with silver and laughing brown eyes.

  “How’s the family?” Quinn asked.

  “Your brothers and sisters are fine, and your mother sends her love. She’s a bit peeved that you haven’t contacted her about attending the yearly Samhain feast.” He waved a mock-admonishing finger at his son. “She’s threatened to come after you with her rolling pin.”

  He grinned at the thought of his tiny, five-foot-three stepmother on the warpath. Dainty and good-natured, Emme was a delight and she wouldn’t hurt a fly…unless provoked.

  “I meant to get back to her, but I’ve been pretty busy lately.”

  Now, there was an understatement.

  Keirgen nodded, his gaze sharp. “You look tired, my son.”

  Leave it to my father to cut to the chase.

  “I am. It’s been a rough few days.” He gestured to the brandy snifters. “Care for a drink?”

  “No thanks, I don’t like to drink and fly. It makes me dizzy.” He leaned forward. “I think you know why I’m here. I’ve heard disturbing stories about your mother.”

  “She’s not my mother.” Quinn’s voice was firm. “And calling her such is an affront to your wife. Emme raised me, and I consider her my mother.”

  “She’d love to hear you tell her that.” Keirgen smiled then it quickly faded. “I’ve heard rumblings that she’s planning on calling upon the Covens to join forces with someone, a vampire, to overthrow the Council of Elders.”

  “Mikhail?”

  “Possibly, probably.” He nodded. “After last year I don’t think we can put anything past him. I’m hearing another name also, Gabrielle DesNoir. She’s said to be Mikhail’s consort and a lesser vampire, only about a hundred years of age.”

  Quinn frowned. “What does Mortianna hope to accomplish with this?”

  “Power over the vampires and weres? I don’t know for sure.” His father’s gaze was direct. “One thing is certain. Mortianna wants the life of the vampire you’re now protecting, and she’ll do anything to get him.”

  “Including using an innocent.”

  “That’s a given.” Kiergen nodded. “That woman will do anything to further her cause including destroying her own flesh and blood. No cost will be too high for her.”

  Including Maeve. Quinn took a deep breath. Was this the reason the witch had agreed to teach Maeve the spell? Did she think by taking her son’s lover she’d keep him from making any moves against her? While it might not be the sum of her plans, he had the feeling Maeve featured prominently.

  So it all comes down to this.

  Even without asking he understood what his father was telling him. As her offspring, he was the only one who could thwart Mortianna’s schemes. The delicate balance of power in their world now hung by a thread. If Mortianna succeeded in helping Mikhail take down the Council, the lives of many innocents would be the cost.

  Until Bliss’s death, Mortianna had been a reluctant figurehead in the realm of the witches. She wasn’t known to be a social creature, and she’d always avoided the limelight. When called upon in magical matters, she’d been known for fairness in her judgments even if her punishments tended to be harsh. She didn’t tolerate fools gladly, and she let that be known far and wide.

  But the tide had turned. In the last few months, the mortality rate among the preternaturals and witches had risen dramatically. The rumored reason was Mortianna. It was said that with the loss of her daughter, the witch had become unbalanced, lashing out at those surrounding her.

  “I’m sorry it’s come to this, my son.”

  He saw genuine sorrow on Keirgen’s face. “I know, Father.”

  “A child should never have to choose between what’s right and his family, but there are times when hard decisions must be made. This will probably be one of your most difficult.”

  Something died within Quinn’s soul as he accepted his father’s words. “You’re right. When I prevented her from killing Maeve, I knew a showdown was imminent.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “So now I have to decide what I’m going to do next. What can you tell me about the minions?”

  “Nasty buggers.” Keirgen’s face twisted as if he’d tasted something rotten. “Water causes them to dissolve like powdered sugar, and their smell is abhorrent. Many have speculated as to what they are and where they came from but only she knows for certain.”

  “That explains a lot.” He told his father about the peculiar corpses they’d found a few days earlier.

  “I want you to know something about Mortianna.” Keirgen rose from his chair and placed a hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “She wasn’t always like this. The first years of our marriage were good, very good. She was a different woman then. I knew she had a darker side—we all do—and when she learned she was pregnant, she changed before my eyes. I’ve asked myself thousands of times if there was something I could’ve done to help her.”

  “In order to help someone they have to want it.”

  “And she didn’t want anything to do with me once she carried you. Maybe she felt I’d fulfilled my purpose.” He looked away. “When I left her I took her greatest gift to the world, and that was you.”

  “Thanks.” Quinn’s throat felt tight and his eyes burned. “You, Emme and my stepsiblings are all I ever needed to get a good start in life.”

  “You’re more than I could’ve ever hoped for in a son, and you make me proud.” He gave Quinn’s shoulder a squeeze before he pulled away, headed to the French doors. “I’ll tell Emme to expect you for Samhain.” He winked at his son. “And maybe I can keep her from coming after you with her rolling pin.”

  Quinn grinned.

  Keirgen’s smile faded. “Your destiny lies before you, son. Walk in light.”

  “Walk in light,” Quinn echoed.

  The mantle of inevitability settled on Quinn’s shoulders as his father stepped into the early morning. Transforming once more into a raven, Keirgen flew into the brightening sky. For a moment Quinn wished he could follow his father, but the feeling soon passed.

  He knew what he had to do.

  “So tell me, revenant, what do you want with the binding spell?”

  Mortianna’s condescending tone grated on Maeve’s already frayed nerves. She rubbed her eyes, trying to rid herself of the fuzziness in her head. When the witch had closed the cape around her, she’d lost consciousness only to awaken in what she assumed was Mortianna’s home.

  Schooling her features into a calm façade, she met the woman’s gaze. “Does it matter why I need the spell?”

  Mortianna’s brow arched, and Maeve caught the flash of approval in her eyes. The witch nodded before turning her attention to a table loaded down with a myriad of curious objects.

  “It doesn’t matter to me why you need the spell. I’m merely curious.” She reached for a thin sheet of ivory parchment then selected a black quill from a glass container. “By giving you the spell, I’ll break thousands of years of silence. It’s never been given to a non-witch and the number of us who do know it is dwindling.” She selected a small pot of red liquid. “What I offer you is quite the coup.” She dipped the tip of the quill into the liquid and began to write. “Many have died in pursuit of this knowledge.”

  What would it hurt to tell her?

  “I have a score to settle with someone.”

  “And this calls for the A’ bhais Cadail? Now this is interesting, indeed.” The scratching of the quill over parchment stopped, and Mortianna glanced at her. “Revenge is a motive I can understand. It appears we have much more in common than I thought. Who is he, a mortal?”

  “Vampire.”

  “Ahh, that explains it.” She nodded slowly. “May I ask who you wish to use this spell on?”

  “Mikhail of Kiev, the vampire who killed my sister.�
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  The witch’s expression looked startled, but she recovered quickly. “It appears I’ve underestimated you, for you aim high.” She turned away once more, and the scratching resumed.

  “Will the binding spell work on a vampire of his power?”

  “Oh, yes. The binding spell works on any living creature. However, one thing stands in your way.”

  “And that would be?”

  The sound of spiked heels on stone sounded in the hallway, and Maeve tensed when a kiss of cool hair touched her skin. Her eyes narrowed, and her preternatural senses screamed the arrival of the dead.

  Vampire.

  The scratching stopped. “Have you met my new friend, Gabrielle?”

  Gabrielle DesNoir, Mikhail’s consort, entered the room. Maeve had never met the woman, but she’d heard the stories. With the fairest of skin, her blue eyes were piercing—unearthly—and her hair was black as night. Clad in black leather from neck to toes, she looked like the spawn of Satan.

  Maeve’s stomach lurched. Since when did Mortianna declare herself friends with the undead? This couldn’t be good.

  “Not formally.” Her lips were stiff.

  “Maeve Leigh? At long last we meet. I’ve heard a great deal about you.” Gabrielle smiled and Maeve caught a glimpse of her fangs. Only the young would flash their teeth like that. Shai was right. This one was vain and operated under her own agenda and no one else’s.

  “Funny, I’ve heard nothing about you.” She kept her tone bland.

  Gabrielle’s eyes narrowed, and Maeve knew she’d scored a hit. The vampire’s expression brightened, and her scarlet lips stretched into a fake smile.

  “Oh, I know.” She snapped her fingers. “I’d mistaken you for your sister. Mikhail speaks of her very highly.”

  Maeve didn’t know how she remained seated when what she really wanted to do was separate her head from her shoulders. Gabrielle’s words had hit home, but she’d be damned to hell before she’d let the vampire know she’d drawn first blood.

  “Well, we are twins.”

  “I believe ‘were’ is more accurate.” Her smile grew wider.

  “Now, ladies, let’s sheath the claws and get down to business.” A trill of laughter escaped Mortianna. “I think we can all benefit from each other’s expertise, and it would be best if we form an alliance.”

  Inwardly, Maeve balked. She had no desire to enter into any type of relationship with the vampire. As Gaby was Mikhail’s woman, Maeve wanted nothing to do with the bitch. While Maeve would do almost anything to achieve her goal, dealing with the bloodsucker might be a deal breaker.

  “What do we need from her?” Gabrielle was looking at her as if she’d just climbed out from under a rock.

  “Plenty. Whether Maeve knows it or not, she’s the key to our plans.”

  Maeve looked at the witch, but her expression gave nothing away. Her instincts were telling her to run while at the same time her body refused to obey.

  “What do you mean by that, Mortianna?”

  “Gabrielle came to me with a fascinating proposition. She’s requested the witches’ assistance in Mikhail’s bid to overthrow the Council of Elders. I, in turn, want Damien St. James’s head on a platter.” The witch smiled, and it wasn’t a pleasant sight. “That’s where you come in.”

  Maeve rose from the chair. It took all of her strength to keep her knees locked and her feet rooted to the ground. She’d thought there was nothing that could stand in her way of bringing down Mikhail but there was, and it had taken the witch to make her realize this.

  She didn’t care what happened to her but sacrificing her friends was the only price she was unwilling to pay.

  “I can’t help you. Quinn has appointed himself Sinjin’s guardian, and I can assure you, he didn’t undertake this task lightly.”

  “He would reconsider if you were to ask him.”

  Maeve gaped at the witch. “You really expect me to convince your son to relinquish Sinjin to you?”

  Mortianna nodded. “And, in return, I’ll give you the spell.”

  Maeve realized the witch thought she’d already won. There was no reason for her to think Maeve would show any loyalty to the vampire as it was hardly a secret that she’d been kept at the castle against her will. Of course she expected her to turn over the vampire as most would assume they had an adversarial relationship.

  Not to mention the fact that the woman didn’t know a damned thing about her son. Once Quinn had stepped in to protect Sinjin, the only way he’d back down was when the vampire could take care of himself. Nothing anyone could say or do would change his mind, not even Maeve. It was one of the things she loved the most about him.

  “No,” she said.

  Mortianna’s smile faded. “What did you say?” Disbelief colored her voice.

  “You heard me the first time. I won’t do it.”

  “Well isn’t she a brave one?” Gabrielle began to laugh, and she pointed her finger at Maeve. “Foolish too.”

  “You’ve asked me for the spell, to break thousands of years of tradition to my kind yet you will not do me the smallest favor?” With each word Mortianna’s voice grew louder.

  “Don’t kid yourself. You’d break with tradition in a heartbeat if it worked in your favor.” Maeve shook her head. “This is hardly an insignificant request, Mortianna. You’re asking me to betray two good, brave men and that I cannot do. Your son.”

  “I have no son,” Mortianna thundered. “My only child, my precious daughter, lies dead in the other room, and you quibble with me about betrayal? Is it not the greatest sin to destroy someone you love? If anyone should know this it would be you.”

  If this conversation had taken place before Maeve and Quinn had met, she would probably agree with her. But it didn’t and she was no longer the woman she had been a week ago and she had Quinn to thank for that.

  “Sinjin had nothing to do with Bliss’s death—” she began.

  “She’s dead because a vampire laid his hands on her. None of this would’ve happened if he’d stayed away from my child.”

  “And she stayed away from him?” Maeve shot back. “Bliss came to him willingly. I already told you that.”

  “She betrayed me!”

  Mortianna’s image shimmered, fractured before reassembling itself like a bad television signal. This could not be good.

  “Who are you angrier with, Mortianna?” Keeping her gaze on the witch, Maeve stepped toward the door. “Sinjin for falling in love with your daughter, or her for loving him back?”

  “He never should’ve touched her. He had no right.”

  Mortianna moved toward her. The strange flickering grew stronger and through the static Maeve caught glimpses of a wizened crone with steel gray hair and eyes clouded with cataracts. Which was the real witch?

  “That vampire will know my vengeance as will his cohorts in the dark realm,” she continued. “Either you stand with me or against me. Choose now.”

  “I think we both know the answer to that.” Maeve turned away.

  Immediately she realized her mistake as a mad itch sprang to life between her shoulders. She started to turn back when something grabbed her by the back of the neck. Icy fingers dug into her flesh, and she was whipped around to face Mortianna.

  Giving the command to grab her boot knife, she was stunned to find her muscles wouldn’t respond. She struggled against the invisible bonds, but it was no use. She was as helpless as a moth pinned to a specimen card. Her brain screamed for her to move, fight, but her body was unable to answer the desperate summons.

  “You’ve disappointed me.” Mortianna’s voice was calm. The weird flickering had stopped, but Maeve noticed the hair around her face was completely gray now. She’d aged several years over the past few minutes.

  “Let me have her, Mortianna.” Gabrielle loomed behind the witch, her eyes glittering with bloodlust. “Nothing tastes as good as the blood of innocence.”

  Revulsion crawled under Maeve’s skin. When she reg
ained control of her muscles, when that bitch got within arm’s reach she’d take great pleasure in kicking her ass.

  “Sorry but I have other plans for her.” Mortianna gave the vampire a cool glance. “A few weeks in the oubliette will convince her to reorder her priorities.”

  The Little Place of Forgetting.

  She’d heard horror stories of the pits. They were used to kill one’s enemies over a thousand years ago. Usually built into the side of a castle or fortress, they were small chambers with narrow, slick walls and metal stakes or pikes in the bottom. Men were thrown down the shaft and impaled. If they were lucky they died quickly and if they didn’t, it could take weeks. Some even had narrow windows cut into them so the condemned could watch others go about their lives as they waited to die.

  Terror sprang to life as Mortianna forced Maeve to move. With the wave of her hand, a door appeared in a dim corner of the room. Horror beat a desperate tattoo in her chest as she was propelled into the darkness.

  The witch picked up a torch and seconds later it burst into flame. Taking the lead, Mortianna led Maeve along a narrow, twisting passage that led deep into the earth. The smooth floor gave way to an uneven earthen path as they worked their way deeper still. The scent of mold and decay sent shivers down her spine.

  All too soon, they reached their destination, a hole in the floor about the size of a round dinner table. A strangled scream locked in her throat when Mortianna pulled her to the ledge.

  “During your stay in the oubliette I want you to think about this.” The witch lit another torch hung on the wall with the one she held in her hand. “Since you’re immortal, you’ll have the pleasure of experiencing something few mortals ever will. Well,—” her smile was faint, “—they’ll experience it sooner or later, but they won’t be around to tell their story. Again and again, your mortal body will die in the pit, and your immortal soul will rejuvenate your corpse. Depending upon how long I keep you down there, it could be a never-ending cycle of life and death.”

  If looks could kill, Mortianna would be a pile of ash right now. Maeve fought her invisible restraints, surprised when she managed to move one leg a fraction of an inch. She’d gladly forfeit her life to feel the hilt of her blade in her hand.