The Cursing Stones

by Sonya Bateman

  She frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  He muttered something in Gaelic, and she caught a curse word or two in there. “The castle is occupied,” he said.

  “Occupied.” She stared at him in frustration. “And you didn’t think to mention this when I got here?”

  “Wasn’t important, until now.”

  “I saw a light in the window up there. Thought I was going crazy.”

  “Ye might’ve mentioned that, too.” His expression soured. “They came in the night, soon after the MacCallan boy was taken. No one knows exactly who or how many. They’ve got guards. Protections. And they’re none too welcoming of strangers.”

  “Great,” she said. “Then why would they let me in?”

  “Because of who ye are.” He gave her a hard stare. “Yer mother’s child.”

  An involuntary shudder gripped her. Lachlan never talked about her mother. Regina, her Poppy’s daughter and her father’s wife, had died in childbirth despite every effort — both medical and magical — to save her. She’d seen pictures of Regina, and the resemblance was incredibly strong. Poppy mentioned her occasionally but never elaborated.

  She knew nothing about her mother. And now her father was saying she had ties to Aislinn Castle.

  “What about her?” she said slowly. “I mean, shouldn’t I know why they’d welcome my mother, so I can get them to do it for me?”

  “Just tell them yer Regina Tavish’s daughter,” he said. “That’s all ye need to know.”

  Her jaw clenched. “Do you have to be so cryptic? Why can’t you tell me anything—”

  “Damn it, Rhiannon, I won’t talk about her!” He pounded a fist on the table, and she jumped. “If it weren’t for yer Poppy gone to trouble, I’d ban ye from ever going to that place. There’s nothin’ but grief and misery to be found there.”

  “So you say.”

  “So I know, and all too well.” He glared at her, and then closed his eyes. “Ye’ll have to wait for dusk,” he said. “None stirs there until the moon rises. Catch a ride with Kincaid, if ye’d like. Or ye can take the mini.”

  Her jaw practically unhinged. There weren’t many cars on the island, but her father had one. A mini Cooper convertible, his pride and joy. No one was allowed to drive it, not even Poppy. “You’d let me take your car,” she said. “Are you serious?”

  He grunted. “Ye did get yerself a license, I hope?”

  “Yes.” She smiled in spite of herself, and said, “You must’ve gone soft.”

  “Must have,” he said. “Go on, now. Ye should talk to the other families before ye head to that castle. Think the Campbells have a dog.”

  She almost hugged him, but decided against it. Her father wasn’t the hugging type — and besides, he was still being impossibly thick about everything else. But at least he was thawing a little. “So can I have the keys, then?”

  He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “By the door,” he said. “Mind you don’t scratch her up, now.”

  “I won’t.” She hesitated, and added, “Thank you … Da’.”

  “Just be careful.”

  “Way to ruin the moment,” she said with a sigh. “I’m not going to hurt the car.”

  He gave her a somber look. “Didn’t mean the car, girl. Like I told ye, it’s not safe out there.” His features clouded. “Especially up that castle.”

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll be careful.”

  She left the cabin with an uneasy heart, for the first time willing to take her father’s warnings seriously. Something bad was definitely happening here. And right now, it was up to her to find a way to stop it.

  Chapter 7

  Aislinn Castle – Dusk

  Rain had only been to the castle once before — with a handful of school friends on a dare, like most kids from the village. They’d climbed the tor, run up to the entrance and touched the flagstones, giggling and scared but too full of childish bravado to stop, and then bolted back down. At the time, the castle’s emptiness had made it frightening and cold.

  The place was somehow more terrifying now that it was occupied.

  She parked the mini Cooper at the end of the cobblestone circle drive, one of the newer additions to the castle, and sat there a moment. She’d driven with the top down, and the steady breeze that lifted her hair also whistled through the stones of the castle and snapped the faded flags mounted on the turrets. Whoever lived here now, their presence only amplified the desolation that had settled into this place over the years.

  At least she knew a bit more about what she was looking for than she had this morning. But the knowledge wasn’t very comforting. She’d talked to the Campbells and their dog, Bagley. The long-haired setter had gone out to the moors with Aidan Campbell to gather peat, and he’d come back muddy, tangled, and without his master. From Bagley she’d gotten a clearer picture of the beast, including the way it wrapped Aidan in clouds of thick, yellow-white silk once its bite rendered the man unconscious. The dog had been knocked aside and temporarily stunned, but awake during the taking.

  From the Donaldsons she’d learned that Leigh had also been near the moors when she vanished, tending to her father’s grave at the sprawling cemetery that bordered the moorland. And her own father said that Poppy had gone that way to look for the others. No one knew Danny’s whereabouts the night he disappeared, but Rain figured with three out of four, the creature most likely preferred the moors.

  Well, she couldn’t sit in the car all night. The spider-thing might not be killing its victims right away, but she knew it wouldn’t keep them alive forever. She only hoped it wasn’t too late to save them all.

  And the instant she had some idea where to start looking, she was going after them. Nightfall or not.

  The near half-moon shone bright in a velvet gray sky as she made her way to the great wooden doors of Aislinn Castle. She reminded herself that the worst these people could do was refuse to let her in, or simply not acknowledge her presence. It wasn’t as if death waited to pounce on her from the other side of those doors.

  Still, a cold shiver moved through her as she took hold of the rope pull beside the entrance and rang the bell. The deep chime echoed in the cool night air, ominous and much louder than she expected.

  She waited long moments, studying the vast wedge-shaped doors and the smaller, normal door set into the right-hand one. Just as she was about to ring the bell again, a slot in the smaller door slid open and a pair of angry hazel eyes looked out. “No visitors,” a male voice said. “Take your bloody casseroles or whatnot, and go home.”

  “Um.” The voice had a flat accent, faintly English, but no dialect she could place. “I didn’t bring a casserole,” she said. “I was hoping to speak to whoever’s in charge here. My name is—”

  The small door slammed open, and the man stepped outside. “Don’t care who you are. I said, no visitors.”

  “Oh, my,” she whispered.

  The man was tall and very well built, dressed all in black from shirt to boots. His expression was somewhere between a sneer and a death threat. One hand, bearing a small blue ankh tattoo, rested on something at his waist—and for a moment she could’ve sworn it was an actual sword.

  It was a gun. Less bizarre, but just as bad.

  The man moved toward her, and she had to fight not to turn and run. “Are you deaf, pretty?” he said. “Told you to go home. I meant now.”

  “Bastien? What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” the tall man replied to the voice behind him without looking away from Rain. “Just another blighter from the village, trying to get a peek at you.”

  “I’m not peeking at anything,” Rain said with more indignity than she intended. “I don’t even know who you people are.”

  The man with the gun snorted. “Then what are you doing here?”

  “Stand aside, Bastien,” the gentler voice said.

  He obeyed the command with extreme reluctance.

  Rain glanced at the second spe
aker and found herself momentarily at a loss for words. He was a beautiful man, with shaggy dark blond hair and penetrating eyes, blue as the depths of the ocean. Darker scruff coated his strong jaw, giving him a rugged appearance—yet he was seated in a wheelchair with a plaid throw covering his legs.

  He smiled, and she wanted to swear allegiance to him.

  “Hello,” he said. “My name is Duncan Aislinn. I’m the master of this castle, so to speak. And this is my overzealous head of security, Bastien Loch.”

  Bastien grunted something that might’ve been a greeting.

  “Really, Bastien. We can still pretend to have manners.”

  The tall man sighed. “Hello,” he said. “I suppose you’re not a blighter.”

  “Thanks.” Rain frowned a bit. “I think.”

  Duncan was looking at her with mild expectation. Before she could figure out why, he said, “And you are?”

  “Oh! I’m so sorry. It’s just … you’re an actual Aislinn.” She closed her eyes briefly and got hold of herself. Last she’d heard, the Aislinn family line had died out. She wasn’t expecting to encounter an heir. “Rain Finlay,” she said. “I’m—”

  “The daughter of Regina Tavish.”

  Her breath caught, and she noticed the sharp look that Bastien threw at Duncan — which the man in the wheelchair ignored. “How could you know that?” she said.

  His crooked smile was electrifying. “Have you looked in a mirror?” he said. “There’s no way you’re not Regina’s daughter.”

  “Oh.” She managed to relax a bit. “Did you know her?” she said before she realized this man must’ve been a child, or at most a teenager, when her mother died.

  He didn’t comment on that, though. “Sadly, I didn’t get the opportunity to meet her,” he said. “But she was known here.” A pained look crossed his face as he added, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” She wouldn’t mention the fact that she’d never had the chance to meet her mother, either. It wasn’t something she cared to discuss with strangers, when her own family wouldn’t even talk to her about it.

  “So,” Duncan said. “What can we do for you, Miss Finlay?”

  She suddenly remembered how to smile. “First, you can call me Rain.”

  “Rain. That is a fascinating name.”

  Okay, she’d definitely imagined the husky, interested note behind those words. “Anyway, I have a request,” she said. “A strange one.”

  “Let’s hear it, then.”

  She drew a deep breath. “I hear you have an old library, and I’d like to have a look around in it. If you don’t mind.”

  “Is that all?” he said with a smile. “Well, I don’t see why not.”

  “I do,” Bastien rumbled.

  “Bastien. You will be polite to our guest.”

  The tall man straightened with a glare. “Sorry … sir,” he said without a hint of apology.

  Duncan shook his head slowly. “You’ll have to excuse Bastien,” he said. “We’ve been on a long and difficult journey, and it’s quite the challenge settling into a place this big. Especially when it comes to arranging security.”

  Rain’s brow went up. “So you’re staying?”

  “Aye. For some time, at least.” Duncan wheeled himself easily back from the door. “Please, come in,” he said. “You’re welcome here, Rain Finlay.”

  She smiled and walked inside.

  Her first impression was sheer vastness. Beyond the door was an enormous great room with a polished stone floor and carved stone columns, a cavernous fireplace with ornate stonework and ivory accents, and a wide, curving staircase that led to a balcony encircling the entire room. Electric torches, fashioned in the style of the genuine article, brought a warm glow to the space. It was more beautiful than she could have imagined.

  But beneath her awestruck wonder lurked something else, something unsettling. A sense of … recognition.

  She knew this place. And that was impossible.

  “Please forgive me, Rain, but I won’t be able to accompany you to the library.”

  She looked at Duncan. In the stronger light, she finally noticed the signs of exhaustion that marked him, from the slumped posture to the rough-shaven face and the dark circles under his eyes. “Of course,” she said. “I understand, and I appreciate your indulging me.”

  “Bastien will escort you. Just ring for him when you’re through, and he’ll show you out.” With a wan smile and a wave, Duncan turned his chair and wheeled away.

  “Thank you,” she called after him.

  The security man cleared his throat. “Come on,” he said. “I haven’t got all night.”

  She tried to glare at him. Judging from his extra-angry expression, it wasn’t very effective, so she gave up. At least she was inside. “All right. Lead the way.”

  As she followed him in the opposite direction Duncan had gone, she tried not to think about how many places there would be to hide a body in this castle. Like hers, if Bastien decided she wasn’t as welcome as his boss insisted.

  Chapter 8

  Aislinn Castle – The Library

  One glance was enough for Rain to decide she was never going to find what she was looking for.

  The library wasn’t just massive. It was also in complete disarray. Shelves upon shelves lined the walls of the huge circular room and stretched to the ceiling twenty feet above. Every shelf was stuffed with a jumble of books, scrolls, parchments, and random items. There were four tables arranged in the center of the room, each one stacked with more books and scrolls. And a thick layer of dust coated everything in sight.

  She was tempted to turn around and leave, but she’d never find her way out alone. She had no idea how they’d gotten here. There were a lot of twists and turns, and a set of stairs that looked like they should’ve led to a dungeon. Wherever Bastien had gone when he left, she doubted ringing him right now would work — and it’d probably piss him off even more, if that was possible. He’d been furious when he showed her how to use the old call bell system by the door to indicate when she was done.

  But maybe there was someone she could ring up.

  Miraculously, her phone had one bar of service. She tapped to her address book, dialed, and held her breath. He answered on the third ring.

  “Kincaid,” she said. “Do you have a minute?”

  “For you? Course I do.” He paused. “This is Rain, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it’s me.” She coughed once, not exactly sure how to ask for what she wanted. Finally she decided to just spit it out. “I need to do a Finding spell, and … I don’t know how.”

  His pause was longer this time. “You don’t know the Finding spell. Seriously?”

  “Well, I do know it. I just—” She sighed and rubbed her temple. “I’ve never been very good at it.”

  “Finding spells?”

  “Magic.”

  Kincaid laughed softly. “And you gave me grief for my bike,” he said. “Some druid you are. I suppose you’ll tell me now that you can’t even cast a circle.”

  “I’m not a druid. At least, I haven’t been for a long time.” She tried to keep the anger out of her tone. “Look, I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t ask my father for help with this. He’d disown me if he knew how hopeless I am. So can you help me, or not?”

  “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll come and show you. It’s easier when you’ve got someone there to work with.”

  “You can’t,” she said.

  “Why not? Where are you, anyway?”

  “Aislinn Castle.”

  “What, on the inside?” he said in teasing tones.

  “Yes.”

  He made a choked sound. “You’re kidding.”

  “Right now, I kind of wish I was.” She looked around at the impossible tangled clutter of the library again. “But I’m here. And I have to find something.”

  “All right,” Kincaid sighed. “Why don’t you tell me what you know, and I’ll try to fill in the gaps?”


  “Thank you.” She closed her eyes briefly. “I know how it works, in theory,” she said. “Cast a circle, focus on the object, say the spell. But I don’t have anything for a circle. No salt, no stones, no candles. I’m not exactly sure what object I’m looking for. And I might have forgotten a word or two of the spell.”

  “Is that all?” Kincaid said dryly.

  “Yes, that about covers it.”

  He sighed again. “Well, I think it’d be best to work this backwards,” he said. “The circle will take some explaining. So let’s hear the spell, what you know of it.”

  “Right.” She recited the words.

  When she was done, she could practically hear him shaking his head. “That’s it, except you didn’t say ‘so mote it be’ at the end. You know — the thing we say at the end of every bloody spell we use?”

  “Oh, Lord, I’m an idiot,” she groaned. “I knew that.”

  “Uh-huh. Sure you did.” Faint amusement mingled with his sarcasm. “Right, then, onto the next step. What sort of object are you looking for?”

  “A book. Or a scroll. Maybe.”

  “How specific of you,” he said. “Do you at least know what this book or scroll pertains to?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s your focus, then.”

  She shuddered a bit. Focusing on that nightmarish creature was not an exciting prospect. “All right,” she said. “What about the circle?”

  “I take it you’ve never cast one without tools before.”

  “Didn’t even know you could do that.”

  “Of course not,” he said. “So, first you have to purify the space as best you can. Make it as clean as possible.”

  “Clean,” she said, staring at what was probably centuries of dust. “Right. Um … give me a minute.” She moved away from the tables, toward the wall, and started pacing a slow circuit of the room. She used a little trick she’d developed, her own non-magical version of a Finding spell—looking not for something specific, but at what was actually there, and making a quick mental list of what her eyes saw. Books, scrolls, books, more books, a small wooden box, a nearly empty shelf. Books and scrolls, a collection of odd-looking figurines, scrolls and books.