by Ann Gimpel
Back when men believed in magic, their adulation strengthened us. Those days are long gone.
I stood, head cocked to one side, and regarded the remains of the Breaking spell through my third eye. I hadn’t employed my psychic view lately, and it might yield new information. Slowly, I titrated power into the rift, urging it to cough up its secrets.
The scents I’ve always associated with Celts, mint, vanilla, and amber, wafted from somewhere. Had my magic loosened them from the residual spell? I switched back to my earth eyes in time to see Rowan striding purposefully toward me.
“You! What are you doing here?” she shouted and skidded to a stop, hands raised to draw power. Magic arced between her raised palms.
“Keeping an eye on the spell that caused the Breaking.” I kept my voice mild to conceal my roiling inner landscape. I’d wanted to see her again, and here she was, but why the hell was she so angry? It wasn’t as if she owned this misshapen place. Unless—
An ugly thought pushed through and took over. Her magic wasn’t an exact match for the Breaking spell, but it wasn’t all that far off, either. I slapped a truth spell over her. “Did you do this?” My tone wasn’t gentle, but I hadn’t meant it to be. This was serious business. Before all the gods, if she’d set this spell in motion, I’d find out why and see justice done.
My attraction withered on the vine as I waited for her answer. I couldn’t afford to have even a single positive thought. Not if she’d sundered this world.
Angry darts shot from her eyes, and she batted at the obvious weave of my truth spell. “I could break this.”
“Really? Try it.” I challenged. Fury added to her allure, but I’d still see her punished if she’d done this. Not that I would be the determining factor, but I’d drag her in front of Odin—or Thor—and let them take over.
For a scant moment, her eyes took on the whirling aspect of a dragon’s as that part of her nature pushed for ascendency. Or maybe I imagined it because it was gone quickly. The outrage bled out of her, and her shoulders slumped.
“It wasn’t me, but Ceridwen, my mother, who crafted this abomination.”
The revelation hit me like a sucker punch to the guts. No wonder Rowan had felt so much like Ceridwen. They shared blood. I must have been staring at her gape-mouthed because she said, “You didn’t know.”
“Of course, I didn’t know,” I sputtered. “About either thing. I determined Celtic magic was behind the Breaking, but I had no idea who was responsible.” I hooded my eyes, still unwilling to dismantle my truth spell. “How is it you know about this?”
She folded her arms beneath her breasts with a small return of her spirit. “How else? Mother confessed, but I only dragged the truth from her a few days ago. I found this spot long before that and have been watching it closely. Despite all my poking and prodding, I have no idea how to totally defuse the residual magic. And I was afraid to just go in slugging. What if I made it worse? Now that I know Mother was behind it, I may be able to finish dismantling the damned thing.”
She stopped to suck in a ragged-sounding breath. “I’ve been afraid it would spiral out of control, that there were other hidden spells hanging about just waiting to spring.”
Her words pinged sweetly off my spell. She’d told the truth. I reeled in my magic. “It’s amazing I haven’t run into you here because ever since I found this spot, I’ve been checking on it too.”
“Not so amazing.” She sounded weary but resolute. “I always scanned the area before I allowed myself to access it.”
I’d done the same. No wonder we’d never crossed paths.
A frisson ran through me as she took my magical measure. It didn’t alarm me because she didn’t mean me harm. Her eyes widened, and she muttered, “Stronger than you appear.”
I wasn’t sure whether to take it as a compliment or a reproach. Or whether she simply expected everyone she met to be weaker than herself. I wanted to ask about her dragon side—since it was a dragon who’d commissioned me to spy on Midgard—but it wasn’t the kind of thing you blurted out to a stranger.
She regarded me with wary eyes, and her tongue snaked over her lips. It told me how nervous she was. “Um, feel free to say no, but we could do more if we joined forces. That way, both of us would be keeping watch over the Breaking spot. Coordinating our efforts, as it were.” She swept a hand toward the rift.
I took a step back. She’d just suggested we work together. I’d always flown solo with my magic. Never had a colleague, for a whole lot of reasons. I stole a glance at her, but her face didn’t give anything away. She may as well have asked if we’d team up for a hunting venture.
I stood a little straighter. I could see advantages to each of us knowing what the other was doing, but I could see drawbacks too. What if our magic didn’t mesh well? It was one of the reasons I flew solo. “I’m honored you trust me enough to suggest it…” I began.
“But?” She raised a russet brow.
“We need to test our power. See how it blends.”
The tiny lines between her eyes smoothed. “Of course. That goes without saying. When would you like to start?”
A smile pushed its way through. I tried to stifle it, but it got away from me. “How about right now? You’re here. I’m here.” I didn’t add she might change her mind even though it had been her suggestion. The specter of her being a wicked sorceress had been laid to rest, and I didn’t want to risk letting her get away.
Working with anyone else opened you to them in a very personal way. We’d be vulnerable to one another, know each other’s strengths—and weaknesses. It could draw us closer. Or have the exact opposite effect.
After a short pause, she tilted her chin and said, “Right now would be perfect.”
I drew power and began a cleansing incantation to hang on the remnants of the Breaking. It would keep me busy and not let me think too long nor too hard about changing my lifelong pattern of working by myself.
It had been her idea, but I’d accepted. Her magic probed the edges of my fledgling spell. I peeled back a corner to let her inside.
Chapter Eight, Rowan
I have no fucking idea what got into me. Yeah, I was shocked to find Bjorn working magic at Mother’s sandbox but thrilled to see him again too. This little jolt of absolute joy shot from my toes to my head. What in the Nine Hells was wrong with me? I should steer so far clear of him, all I ever saw was my dust as I loped away.
I could have done a whole bunch of things, but I ponied up the bright idea about us joining forces. Granted, it was a decent strategy.
From a purely magical point of view.
Before Mother fessed up, I was afraid of mucking about too deeply in the remains of the Breaking. What if I made things worse? Created a second Breaking that finished what the first had begun? I felt guilty I hadn’t spent any time here untangling her casting, but there was always so much to do.
Moving the Coven’s base of operations was one of them, and it took precedence now that we’d selected a cadre. They should be well on their way by now, if not actually there. It meant three spots for me to keep an eye on. The witches’ original location, the new one, and where Mother broke the world.
There were many practical reasons Bjorn’s help would come in handy. I had no idea what a magical powerhouse he was until a little bit ago. Granted, I got a taste of what he could do the night he and the dragon wiped out the goblins and the troll, but even that underplayed his ability by a good big bunch.
What was he?
Did he have dragon blood? Was that why power shimmered about him in iridescent bands? Not the kind of thing I could ask. We barely knew each other.
Would I have been so quick to float the idea of working together if I wasn’t attracted to him? I’d like to believe the answer was yes, but I’m not certain. I’ve spent years avoiding complications. It was why I ditched Mother and the rest of the pantheon.
One of the reasons.
Her indifference had hurt me. When I’d hurt e
nough, I voted with my feet.
I felt Bjorn summon power. I was curious if we were well-suited to blend our magic. Sometimes my efforts flew in the face of witchy spells. I’d learned to keep my contributions low-key until I was certain I wouldn’t cause something to run off the rails. It had happened a time or two and made me cautious.
No need to do anything but run wide open with Bjorn. It was the first time since I walked away from the Celts I’d met someone I didn’t have to pussyfoot around. The specter of throwing caution aside was heady. I pushed a few jots of power against the perimeter of his casting. It was a purging spell aimed at what remained of the Breaking. Not precisely how I’d have cast it, but elegant in its simplicity.
The hard truth was I hadn’t had the nerve to attack the remnants so directly. Once I’d discovered Mother was behind it, I’d have been bolder. Maybe. The stakes were high, and I didn’t trust Ceridwen. Mercurial as fuck, it would be just like her to add a backdoor trap that would lock me away forever.
The thought was sobering, and I started to tell Bjorn to be careful, but I didn’t want him to think I didn’t trust his ability to sort things out on his own. Instead, I pushed harder at the edges of his casting. Maybe he hadn’t felt me the first time. Or maybe he’d been busy. Complicated magic is structured into layers. If you lay the foundations well, the upper parts take care of themselves.
He peeled back a corner of his working, and I slid into it. At first, I was delighted he wasn’t simply planning a demonstration of his own ability, but when my magic blended with his, I felt a jolt all the way to my feet.
Like nothing I’d ever experienced before, it was similar to an arcane key finally finding the lock it was meant for after searching for centuries. That comparison was a wee bit overblown. More than a wee bit. I was starstruck by him, and I needed to get over my infatuation fast. I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t resist sneaking a glance his way to see if I’d imagined what I felt. The “where have you been all my life” sensation. He looked as flummoxed as I felt, but he covered it well.
Only a raised brow and a twitch at the corner of his mouth gave away his surprise.
No going back.
Not now. I was firmly entrenched in his spell. It should have worried me, but I leapt forward. The rich scents of Norse power—the briny touch of a restless ocean and the baked clay essence of dragon fire—eddied around me. I couldn’t help myself. I sucked the smells into my lungs like a starving urchin. As if Bjorn’s magic could save me from every evil that stalked the many worlds.
I gave myself a sharp mental shake. I was being stupid. The luxury of relying on anyone but myself had come to an end long before the day I finally walked away from the Celts. I focused on Bjorn’s developing spell, locating weak places and shoring them up with my own magic.
We had different ways of attacking the same problem, but it took very little output from me to turn his—no, our—casting into a virtual storm of power. The jagged edges left from Mother’s hideous ploy to force me back to her side took on a shining aspect, becoming far more visible.
I’d never viewed them this clearly before, and the specter was chilling. Even spent as it was, her magic had sent its roots deep into the underpinnings holding Earth together. She’d picked a spot where the plates above this world’s liquid center were weak and had capitalized on their instability.
“This isn’t good,” Bjorn mumbled. A wave of his hand sent an object auguring into the area beneath us. It began with a vertical trajectory and then turned so it sat parallel to the dirt beneath our feet, not unlike the English letter L. Power drained from me as if he’d opened a spigot, and I must have gasped a little.
He turned eyes darkened to midnight on me. “Can you stand a little more?”
Out of energy for anything beyond nodding, I met his direct stare. His mouth had taken on grim lines. “Even with both our power, I can’t repair the damage, but with your help, I can stabilize it better than it is.”
“Don’t talk,” I gritted. “Finish it.”
The next moments lasted years. I held myself open to him when every instinct I had for self-preservation screamed at me to run as far and as fast as I could from Bjorn. I was trusting him with my most precious possession.
My magic.
I wasn’t just weak. I was vulnerable. If he wanted, he could truss what was left of me like a Christmas goose and barricade me in a tower. Or a cellar. Or a cavern. The L-thing glowed first red and then white as he leached residual evil into it.
I swayed on my feet and pried my eyes open. I had no idea I’d closed them. Three shimmering L-shapes had joined the first one. Spaced at maybe half-meter intervals, they made a difference. The pulsing, living Celtic magic had dulled to a faint throb. Somehow, Bjorn had transferred it into the glistening containers. If I hadn’t known the Breaking spot was there, I might have walked right by.
A barrier fell, severing my linkage with Bjorn. I doubt I could have reeled my magic in. It didn’t exactly bounce back in my face. Nope. It fell around me with all the élan of a limp dishrag. The swaying worsened.
Was I about to pitch facedown into the dirt?
Bjorn ran to me and wrapped a steadying arm around my shoulders. I leaned into him, mostly because it was either that or crumple to the rock-strewn mud. He was breathing hard. I wasn’t the only one the spell had taken a toll on. We stood like that for quite a while.
Finally, he let go and repositioned himself so he faced me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it would take so much magic, but once I had the spell in hand, if I’d let it go—”
“I know,” I broke in. “Neither of us would have had enough juice for a second go. Not today.”
He nodded somberly. “Aye, and if this casting is sentient, as I believe it might be, in the space of time it would have taken before we gave it another try, it might have strengthened itself in some way.” He stopped to take a measured breath. “As it is, I barely got my precautionary measures in place.”
I turned my head and looked through my third eye. Sure enough, the stanchions, or whatever they were, glowed brightly. Their lower arms had levered into the dirt. “How long will they last?”
“Not all that long. They’ll contain the worst of things for now, but we need a permanent solution, and that will require study. Consultation with those older and wiser than me.”
I shook my way out from beneath his hands. It was hard because I wanted him to keep on touching me in the worst way. To reduce the temptation to reach for him, I folded my arms beneath my breasts and said, “Not Odin.”
To my surprise, Bjorn laughed.
It annoyed me. “What’s so fucking funny?”
“I’d never ask Odin for anything. He barely acknowledges my existence.”
Mmph. That was a relief. After Odin’s little sleight of hand with Mother, he was the last one I wanted anywhere near me. For all I knew, he’d cooked up some new scheme with my mother. All she had to do was make good on the coin she owed him, and he’d whore for her.
“If not Odin, then whom?” I persisted. I didn’t know zip shit about the Norse gods beyond a few of their names, but I’d be damned if I’d admit it to a Norseman. It would be akin to telling a mortal I’d never heard of Christ or Mary Magdalene or the Holy Ghost.
“I’m not sure yet.”
I closed my teeth over my lower lip. “You’re hedging.”
He nodded. “I am. I’ll start with the Norse dragon god and move down the ranks from there. Nidhogg is ancient beyond reckoning. If he doesn’t hold the answers I seek, I have no idea who would.”
An odd sensation, heat prickles but with sharp edges, jabbed me unpleasantly. The push-pull of fascination married to disbelief was unsettling. Rather like the other night when I’d rushed outside only to find a dragon whipping through the sky.
I’d heard of Nidhogg. Just like I’d heard of Odin and Thor and a few of the rest of them. But why should the sound of his name spoken aloud make me shiver with anticipation?
; To center my restless thoughts, I asked, “What do you want to know that the dragon might have answers for?”
Bjorn pointed at the spot Mother’s spell had been. “That casting isn’t normal magic. It reaches beyond this world, but I was unable to trace its roots. In that way, it reminded me of Yggdrasil, the One Tree, whose roots support the Nine Worlds.”
“Yeah, but isn’t Yggdrasil pure of heart?”
“Not exactly. It just is. Were it to fail, the Nine Worlds would wither along with it, so it plays a critical role, but Yggdrasil is neither intrinsically good nor intrinsically bad. Which makes it very different from your”—he stumbled before saying—“mother’s complicated weaving.
“The reason we had such a hard time with even the small working we managed today is that her spell draws its essence from places beyond the Nine Worlds. It makes her casting challenging, and it also makes me certain she’s not monitoring it.”
The chill I’d felt earlier about the dragon changed pace and tempo. The fascination aspect departed fast. Before terror dug its claws in too deep, I stood straighter and dropped my arms to my sides.
“I can trace her spell.”
A corner of his mouth turned downward. “Not today, you won’t.”
I slitted my eyes at him. “That sounded dangerously like an order. We’re barely partners—although we haven’t talked about that part yet. Partners presumes equal standing, and—”
Bjorn sliced a hand downward. “Stop it. I’m not planning on expending any more magic today, either. We don’t have much left.”
I opened my mouth to tell him to speak for himself but shut it fast. I was running on fumes. To suggest otherwise would be lying. Worse, he’d know it. I mumbled something incomprehensible to avoid apologizing. We seemed to be done for today.
Maybe we were done with each other, although not blending our magic ever again seemed like a crime of the highest nature. Our power was meant to work together. I was certain of it, but uncomfortable too. He hadn’t said anything about being taken aback by how seamlessly we’d blended our abilities.