The Cursing Stones

by Sonya Bateman

  “Da’,” she said as gently as she could. “All the curse victims were villagers who attacked her, weren’t they? Except me. But I’m pretty sure I was cursed by accident.”

  His massive shoulders stiffened, and he turned to face her with mingled pain and anger. “’Tisn’t Glynis,” he said. “Can’t be. She’s left the island.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Damn it, girl, I’m sure!” he roared, coming out of the chair to loom over her. “I don’t know what manner of book ye’ve looked at up that castle, but it’s lyin’ to ye. These killings, these beasts … Glynis would’nae use an animal like that. E’en a faerie creature.”

  Now she knew he was seriously pissed. His accent had thickened to a brogue that barely contained English. Still, she knew the translation was right. And she’d have to lie to him again, if only by omission — but maybe she could use his superstitions to convince him.

  “My research isn’t wrong, Da’,” she said. “What I found was a scroll. It was signed by Morgana Le Fay.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, and then made a thick, startled sound. “Ye speak that name with far too much ease,” he half-whispered. “Her that trips the tongue with a very thought. And ye think she’s one to tell the truth?”

  Rain’s jaw clenched. “I’m telling you, it says Glynis Mulloy.”

  “And I’m tellin’ ye it’s not! Ain’t no truth to be found in dead words from the black witch of the ancients.” With a low snarl, Lachlan thrust a hand out. “Give over the stone,” he said. “We’ll find another way.”

  She backed away. “No.”

  “Excuse me?”

  His all-too-familiar threatening tone wasn’t going to work this time. “I said no,” she stated with another step back. “I already translated it, and we’re wasting time. We have to stop this.”

  “Rhiannon Dawn—”

  “Don’t do that.” She gave him a hot stare. “Why don’t you trust me? Why doesn’t anyone around here tell me a damned thing, or believe me when I start finding things out on my own? Just because I’m not all that great at being a druid, doesn’t mean I’m an idiot!”

  Lachlan deflated visibly. “I never said that. It’s just … ye can’t truly believe Glynis could’ve done all this. Can ye?”

  “No, I can’t.” She shuddered as Kieran’s words whispered through her mind. Understand that Glynis is no more. Now, she thought, she might know what he meant. “But maybe she’s cursed, too,” she said.

  Her father’s brow furrowed. “How do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. But the black dog was cursed, unable to control itself.” She closed her eyes briefly against fresh sorrow. “So maybe Glynis can’t help it either. If someone cursed her into doing this—”

  “Not possible,” her father said. “She’s long gone. It’s not her.”

  “It is possible,” she snapped. “I’m not wrong about the translation. Do a Finding spell if you don’t believe me. She’s here, and she’s killing people.”

  “There’ll be no Finding spell. Give me the stone. Now.”

  “Fine,” she breathed, knowing full well he was too damned stubborn to listen. She produced the stone and slapped it into his palm. “I’m leaving,” she said. “Talk to me when you’re ready to believe the truth.”

  Before he could get the last word in, she whirled and darted out of the cabin. At least she knew what was happening, what to look for.

  And if her father wouldn’t help her, she’d just take care of it herself.

  Chapter 53

  The Apothecary – Next Morning

  Rain hadn’t exactly gotten a good night’s sleep. She was still sickened over Glynis, furious at her father for refusing to believe her — and horrified about what was happening to Kieran.

  Somewhere unpleasant. That’s where he said he was trapped, when she’d asked him. Apparently it was several levels beyond unpleasant, full of living wolf skeletons that were trying to kill him. And they looked halfway to succeeding, despite his insistence that he couldn’t die.

  She’d dreamed of him. Briefly, vividly, nothing but a vision and a feeling. That mingled sense of dread and fascination he kindled in her.

  I know your soul.

  But it was morning now, and she had a shop with no customers to open. Which she’d do as soon as she shooed away the ghost and the talking bird.

  Gavin and Isobel had become fast friends. At the moment, the ghost-girl stood in the middle of the shop floor, giggling as the goshawk tried to perch on her nonexistent shoulder. He’d flutter his wings and manage to hover in approximately the right spot for a few seconds, and then tumble to the floor in an ungraceful heap, muttering words that sounded a lot like curses.

  “All right, you two.” Rain closed the drawer of the old brass cash register once she’d finished counting the change and came around the counter, trying to look stern. “Break it up. It’s almost opening time.”

  Gavin righted himself and flapped free of the ghost’s legs. “You know, I could help you drum up more business around here,” he said as he flew to slightly higher ground on one of the shelving units. “If I went round telling people they need to buy something from you, they’d just think it was their idea.”

  “Oh, no,” Rain said with a smirk. “I’m not having your death on my conscience.”

  The bird looked offended. “Who’d want to kill me? I’m magnificent.”

  “Brigid, for one.”

  Isobel’s eyes widened, and she sent a frantic look around the shop. “Is she here?”

  “Not yet, but she will be soon.”

  “Oh. I, uh … have to go. Sorry, Gavin.”

  He blinked. “Where are you going?”

  “Someplace else,” she said hastily, and vanished.

  Rain smothered a laugh. “You should get going, too,” she said to Gavin. “Unless you want to be chased around with a broom again.”

  He managed to sniff somehow. “That witch doesn’t scare me. But I think I’ll go upstairs and sleep for a while, anyway.” He puffed his breast and preened at his feathers for a minute. “I have an important mission tonight, you know.”

  “Oh, do you? What is it?”

  “Well, I—” He stopped mid-word. She’d never seen a bird seem so annoyed. “It’s important,” he said. “Terribly important.”

  “I’m sure it is,” she said, trying to sound soothing. Poor Gavin might be far more articulate than the average bird, but his memory span was about the same. Which was to say, practically nonexistent. “You’ll remember eventually.”

  He hunched his head, looked sideways and blinked at her. “It’s about you,” he said slowly. “And … the castle! That’s it,” he said, straightening in triumph. “I’m going to the castle, so I can remember what I forgot.”

  She smiled. “That sounds like a great idea. Just do me a favor, okay?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t talk to anyone up there. They don’t even like other people, much less talking animals. And I’m pretty sure I saw a few stuffed goshawks mounted on the walls in that place.”

  The bird shuddered. “Point taken,” he said, spreading his wings to offer an oddly graceful bow. “Goodnight, m’lady.”

  Her brow furrowed. “What did you call me?”

  Gavin swiveled his head toward her and bent his neck quizzically. “I don’t know,” he said. “What did I call you?”

  “Never mind,” she said slowly. “Goodnight.”

  He whistled as he flew off toward the stairs in the back room, and she shook her head as she went to unlock the door. No one said m’lady any more. That kind of language belonged to the fictitious King Arthur and his nonexistent knights, and the black witch who definitely hadn’t written a scroll about the Unseelie Court, because she wasn’t real.

  But the horrified look on her father’s face when she’d said the name was far too real.

  She’d turned the lock and was halfway back to the counter when she heard the door open, an
d a familiar sour voice remark, “It’s about time you opened up. I’ve been standing out there for ages.”

  “Good morning to you too, Brigid,” she said, repressing a sigh as she turned back. Apparently the girl wasn’t going to be any nicer after their shared misadventure. But she decided to be nice to her, anyway. “I missed you yesterday,” she said.

  “I doubt that.” With a haughty sniff, Brigid swept across the room and settled in her place behind the counter. “Well?” she said as she pulled the iPad from her oversized purse. “There’s probably work to do around here.”

  “Right. Glad you’re feeling better,” Rain murmured, heading for the broom closet.

  As she opened the narrow wooden door, she felt eyes on her and glanced back to find Brigid staring almost uncertainly at her. “What?” she said.

  “Did you … really miss me yesterday?”

  Rain wasn’t sure how to respond to that. She could lie and flatter her so-called mentor, try to appeal to her ego — but if she started down that path, she could never stop. And Brigid would see right through it, anyway. She could go with brutal honesty, the same level of vitriol that Brigid seemed to delight in dealing to everyone. But that would be cruel … and not entirely true. In a way, she had missed her.

  She decided to answer somewhere in the middle. “Sure I did,” she said. “I mean, it’s pretty boring here when there’s no one around to argue with.”

  Brigid’s perfect lips formed an O of surprise. She blinked once, and then laughed with genuine warmth. “See, that’s exactly what my brother doesn’t understand,” she said. “What’s the point of agreeing about every little thing? It’s so exhausting, being right all the time.”

  “I hear you,” Rain said, warming up to the unexpected conversation. “Being wrong all the time is just as bad, you know? Especially when you’ve got something right, but no one will argue you out of it.”

  She held her breath until Brigid smiled again. “Periwinkle,” she said.

  Rain lifted an eyebrow. “Huh?”

  “The secret to my rollback blend.” The girl slid from the stool, placed her iPad carefully on the counter and headed for the herb drawers. “Blackened periwinkle, scorched in a pocket watch that’s set to five minutes before the current time. Then you blend it with poppy and crushed Valerian root to induce sleep, and…” She opened one of the drawers, looked across the room and gestured. “Here, I’ll show you,” she said.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. Now get over here, before I change my mind.”

  Rain laughed and headed over. Maybe being Brigid’s apprentice wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

  Chapter 54

  Bairnskill Cemetery – Early Evening

  Lachlan Finlay placed the lilac sprigs at the base of the stone, taking a moment to breathe in the sweet perfume of the flower before he straightened with his head bowed. Purple had suited her so well, his Regina.

  His Regina. In spite of what those castle bastards had to say.

  “Well, she’s come home then, love. But I don’t know how long she’ll stay.” He sighed and laid a hand on the top curve of the marker. “I’ve given her the sword. She took right to it, just as ye did when Ewan first gave it to ye.” He paused, and in a shaking voice that no one he knew would recognize said, “Ye’d be so proud of her, love. She’s so strong. She’ll be the one to break it, I’m sure of it.”

  He could’ve sworn he heard his wife’s gentle sigh on the whispering wind.

  Squaring his shoulders, he went on. “Aye, and I miss ye more every day,” he said. “Ye’d always had the gentle touch within the steel. Ye could’ve gotten through to her, far more easily than I can.” He closed his eyes briefly. “I fear for our girl, Regina. So much that my heart breaks. Lettin’ her go, knowing what she’ll find on her own, all the while with her hating me for keepin’ secrets — it’s the worst of tortures.”

  He imagined Regina’s hand on his brow, cool and comforting, and smiled. “Yer own Da’, he’s still the rock. He keeps me on the path, especially now I know what he went through with ye.” He shook his head slowly. “But Rhiannon, she’s got my stubborn streak right alongside what’s yours in her. She’ll not come round easy as ye did.”

  Another breeze lifted his hair, this one stronger. He breathed it in and caught the thread of lilac in the air. The flower of wisdom, memory, and spiritual aid.

  And, as Regina had reminded him so often, simply beautiful to look at.

  Just as he closed his eyes again, the breeze carried something else to him. A low, warning growl — animal, not human. His hand tightened on the tombstone, and he turned slowly toward the sound.

  Not ten feet from him stood a great white wolf, its muzzle branded with a black rune. Sowilo in opposition. A sign of retribution.

  And just beyond the shape of the wolf…

  “Glynis,” he rasped. “I’d not wanted to believe it. Please, tell me ye’ve not done these terrible things.

  Glynis smiled. It was a wicked, haunting expression, so far from her sunny nature that she might’ve been projecting it from the other side of the world. “Terrible?” she said, and the voice was hers and not, all at once. Two voices — one far stronger than the other. “What is so terrible about revenge? Coming from one who tried to take his own, I’d think you would understand. Lachlan.”

  He shuddered and plunged a hand in his pocket, closing his fist around the dagger he kept there. Praying he wouldn’t have to use it. “Let her go, foul spirit,” he said in commanding tones.

  The Glynis-who-wasn’t laughed, a sound that withered his soul. “Poor mortal,” she said in that awful doubling voice. “I’m holding no one against her will. She chose this.”

  “Foul, lying spirit.” He pulled the dagger and advanced toward her, despite every instinct urging him to run. “Release her!”

  The cold amusement fell from the face of the woman he’d come to love, in a way, and she gestured fiercely at him. Burning pain seared his arm.

  He glanced down to find the mark of Sowilo charred into his flesh.

  The great wolf coiled into a striking position.

  Thinking quickly, Lachlan raised the blade and slashed it across his own arm, parting the symbol. The wolf whined, settled on its haunches and glanced at its mistress.

  Her fury could’ve melted rock.

  “Glynis,” he gasped, trying to stem the flow of blood by pressing his arm to his shirt. “If ye’re still in there … let me go. Please. I’ll not harm ye, I swear it.”

  For a moment the woman seemed even more furious, a feat he’d not thought possible. Then she gave a violent shudder, blinked twice, and grabbed the great wolf by the scruff. “Lachlan,” she panted — and for a moment she was only Glynis again, pale and drawn with anguish. “Ye must kill me. Please.”

  The words were a blow, robbing his breath. “No,” he whispered. “There must be another way.”

  “There is no other way. She must be stopped.” Glynis shuddered again, her features flickering into a mask of hatred before they smoothed again. “Kill me.”

  “I can’t,” he stammered. “I’ve not the tools here. Ye’re cursed, and—”

  “Then bring them. Find me … and destroy me.” The wolf growled, and then yelped as Glynis jerked back on his scruff. “Go now. Quickly,” she said. “I can’t hold her long.”

  “All right.” He swallowed and circled around her, keeping his face toward the barely constrained animal and his dagger at the ready. “All right, I’ll go.”

  She stared hard at him. “Promise ye’ll kill me, Lachlan. Swear it.”

  After a long moment, he managed, “I swear it.”

  “Go.”

  With a final nod, he pivoted and ran.

  Chapter 55

  Lachlan Cabin – Evening

  Rain opened the door without knocking and walked inside, still fuming a bit at the brusque summons she’d received. Lachlan had called her, stated flatly that she needed to come to the cabin right now, a
nd then hung up. When she’d called back for an explanation, he didn’t pick up.

  “Hello?” she called when she realized the front room was empty. “Damn it, you’d better be here,” she muttered under her breath. After the argument last night, she was more than ready to have it out with him on everything, up to and including the expectation that she’d come when he snapped his fingers.

  A slightly muffled voice from the kitchen said, “In here.” Poppy. He sounded upset. Maybe Lachlan had demanded his presence for whatever this was, too.

  She drew several calming breaths as she crossed the front room into the kitchen. And when she saw what waited there, all the anger turned instantly to sick dread.

  Her father sat at the table, his shirt soaked in blood.

  “Da’!” she cried, stumbling the rest of the way to fall at his side. “What—”

  “I’m all right, girl.” Though pain roughened his tone, his voice was gentle. “Just a cut. Nothing mortal.”

  A shiver traversed her spine. “That’s a lot of blood for just a cut. Show me.”

  “Here, now, I’m fine.” He flinched and lowered the arm he’d been holding upright on the table. “The bleeding’s already slowed.”

  She gasped at the sight of the gash across his forearm — and the symbol branded into his skin beneath the wound. Sowilo in opposition. Just like the mark on Bryan Cleary’s arm at the morgue. “Da’, what happened?” she demanded. “And don’t tell me not to worry about it, or that it’s none of my business. And why haven’t you called Kincaid? Where are the bandages? I’ll get—”

  A big, warm hand rubbed her back, and she blinked back startled tears at her father’s touch, his careful smile. “I’ll tell ye everything,” he said. “Just as soon as ye start breathing again. I’m all right, my girl.”

  Poppy turned from the sink, where he’d been filling a bowl with water, and came to set it on the table. He lifted an unsteady smile as he pulled a cloth from the bowl and wrung it out. “Truly, he’ll live,” he said. “And ye’ll need yer wits about ye, Rhiannon, to hear told what’s gone on.”