“Take ten people and burn all the notes in the lab,” Valgon said to a red wizard. “Stalyia, you do the same in Alloran’s rooms. I’m going to ask the Lord Wizard for an arrest warrant.”
Alloran swallowed a gasp. Arrest him! He’d broken no laws…but people had died. There needed to be an investigation, and he’d no doubt it would be a long one. By the time he was released, everything would be lost.
Reflexively, he started running through the math in his mind, but several lines in, he faltered. Had he gotten those two operations around the right way? He wasn’t sure. It was just the stress, the pressure making him question himself…
But what if in several months, when they cleared him, he really had forgotten? It was pages and pages of mathematical formula and rune sequences…
He bolted. A few corridors away, he stopped, breathing hard and leaning on his knees. Now if he could find some parchment and ink, he could try and write down everything he remembered, and maybe he could hide it until he could come back and retrieve it. Somewhere it would be safe until all the kerfuffle died down.
Not because he meant to use it. No, he’d decided to stop, and that was that: no more research magic for him. No, this was just because knowledge should be preserved. It was just to save it, for its own sake.
It was…just in case.
Books by Ciara
The Seven Circles of Hell
Confronting the Demon
Stalking the Demon
Becoming the Demon
Being the Demon (coming soon)
The Sundered Oath
In the Company of the Dead
On the Edge of Death
To Make the Dead Weep
About Ciara
Ciara Ballintyne grew up on a steady diet of adult epic fantasy from the age of nine, leaving her with a rather confused outlook on life – she believes the good guys should always win, but knows they often don’t. She is an oxymoron; an idealistic cynic.
She began her first attempts at the craft of writing in 1992, culminating in the publication of her debut work, Confronting the Demon, in 2013. Her first book to be published with Evolved Publishing is In the Company of the Dead.
She holds degrees in law and accounting, and is a practising financial services lawyer. In her spare time, she speculates about taking over the world – how hard can it really be? If she could be anything, she’d choose a dragon, but if she is honest she shares more in common with Dr. Gregory House of House M.D. – both the good and the bad. She is a browncoat, a saltgunner, a Whedonite, a Sherlockian, a Ringer and a Whovian… OK, most major geek fandoms. Her alignment is chaotic good. She is an INTJ.
Ciara lives in Sydney, Australia, with her husband, her two daughters, and a growing menagerie of animals that unfortunately includes no dragons.
Get in Touch
Twitter: @CiaraBallintyne
Facebook: http://facebook.com/CiaraBallintyne
Website: http://ciaraballintyne.com
Email: [email protected]
Holiday in Hartland
by Gail Cleare
Bridget Reilly tugged another piece of firewood off the stack on the back porch and added it to the pile already in her arms. She squinted her eyes up at the white sky, where large, lazy snowflakes drifted into focus and zigzagged down through the foggy air. One of them hit her smack on the forehead with an icy splash, and she pulled in her head like a turtle so the hood of her puffy ski jacket shielded her face.
She still wasn’t used to the winters up here in Vermont. Until last year, she’d spent most of her holiday vacations sunbathing in the tropics. What did she know about shoveling snow, driving on black ice, or stockpiling firewood and batteries in case of a blizzard? Before she’d moved here, Bridget had lived in Virginia, where snow was an exotic rarity. Her ex-husband had hired people to take care of the garden, and the fireplace was fueled by gas.
She did most of the household chores herself now. Amazing, how people could change. Bridget got along fine without depending on help. The freedom to simply be herself, without struggling to impress anyone, was a massive relief after all those years of thinking she had to dress herself up as bait to catch some powerful man. That was over now, thank God. Three husbands and three divorces were more than enough failures for anyone to bear.
Bridget had turned the page in her life story. She’d left her high-end interior design business in the hands of her capable staff and gone away on an extended vacation, while husband number three worked out his anger issues. The lakeside cottage in the cozy little town of Hartland, Vermont, was the perfect hideaway. It had belonged to her mother, and no one in Bridget’s old life knew it existed.
Living here alone after Mom’s death had made Bridget more independent. Her sister, Nell, came to visit now and then, but this past year it had mostly been Bridget, her toy poodle Lulu, and Mom’s dog Winston, a West Highland Terrier. Just the three of them, unless she felt like company. Friendly townspeople who had known and loved her mother invited Bridget to dinner parties and community events. She’d mastered the art of declining in a polite, but firm, way. Most of the time, she preferred being alone. Reinventing herself yet again was hard work, and Bridget had a lot to think about.
She turned her head and glanced into the woods, reassured to glimpse holiday lights glimmering through the trees. Yesterday, she’d helped Jake string them up on his porch. She’d insisted and wisely, he’d caved in. One of Mom’s closest friends for much of her life and in love with her for most of that time, he knew exactly how stubborn the Reilly women could be.
Jake didn’t intrude on Bridget’s solitude, but he welcomed her whenever she called or appeared at his door. Their friendship was solid, based on helping one another through dark times and emerging safely from the other end of the tunnel. Bridget owed him a lot. If it weren’t for Jake’s encouragement, she would never have started looking for her daughter again.
She clambered up the stairs to the back porch, burdened by the heavy logs, and kicked her boots against the top step to knock off the snow. Then she flipped the storm door open with her foot and entered the kitchen. She balanced against a kitchen chair while she slid out of her wet boots and left them on the mat by the door. Balancing the firewood carefully, she went through to the living room and stacked it into the box near the hearth. Bridget pulled aside the fire screen and tossed another log on the fire, then poked the embers until it caught and slid the screen back into place.
Lulu and Winston watched from their matching beds, placed strategically near the fireplace. They wiggled their tails and smiled but didn’t budge from their warm nests. Winston leaned his head over and licked Lulu’s ear. She rolled onto her back and showed her belly, poking him with one petite paw. When Bridget made a kissy sound, they both turned to look at her, ears perked.
She laughed. “No, it’s not time for dinner yet. Don’t worry, I won’t forget.”
Glancing at the clock on the bookcase, she went back into the kitchen to hang her coat on a hook by the door. Stopping to stir the big pot of homemade chicken soup that bubbled on the stove, she tasted it and adjusted the seasoning. A loaf of fresh-baked sourdough bread sat on the wooden cutting board, tempting her, but she pulled herself away and ran upstairs to brush her hair and refresh her lipstick. She looked into the guest room on her way past. Everything looked neat and comfortable, and the scent of the cinnamon candle she’d lit earlier hung in the air.
She’ll be here soon. Oh my baby, my sweet girl.
The image of a small pink face flashed through her mind, with the memory of a baby’s hoarse cry. Then the vision morphed into the pretty face she’d seen just two months prior, the adult woman that infant had become. Bridget had looked deep into Lizzie’s eyes, and suddenly all those lost years felt insignificant. Her daughter had seemed nervous and emotional, but who wouldn’t in that situation? Bri
dget hoped that by now, Lizzie’d been able to get used to the idea that the woman she’d always thought was her mother, was really her grandmother, and the man she’d thought was her older brother, was really her father.
Hoping the snow wasn’t too bad on the highway, Bridget went back downstairs and settled into an armchair by the front windows. On the footstool in front of her was a photo album. She picked it up and thumbed through it again.
Here they are, her grandparents, great aunts, uncles, and cousins. Six generations of the Reilly clan, collected on these pages.
Mom had kept a stack of photo albums in the cupboard behind the television in the den. Bridget had spent the last week going through them, pulling a few prints here and there, to make up a sampler of the family history. On the last page, she’d put a print of the shot Nell had taken with her cell phone in October, and an orange maple leaf that Bridget had pressed and saved from that day. The photo showed the two of them, Bridget and her daughter, standing close together with their arms entwined. They had the same face, the Reilly blue eyes, and long blond hair. If it weren’t for eighteen years between them, someone might take them for sisters. Nobody would ever have suspected the two had just met for the second time, the first being the day Lizzie was born and had disappeared from Bridget’s life.
Wondering how the girl would react when she saw the pictures, Bridget put the album aside and gazed across the room at the spruce tree she’d set up in the corner. Decorated with garlands of popcorn and cranberries strung with a needle and thread, it was hung with pinecones and fresh-water mussel shells that she’d dipped in sparkly gold and silver paint and tied with red and green ribbons. At the very top was a star she’d made of twisted grapevine, painted gold. White fairy lights twinkled in the branches, and under the tree several prettily wrapped packages looked intriguing and mysterious.
After glancing at the clock again, she brought the album into the kitchen, where a roll of Christmas paper and ribbons waited.
It was late when she finally heard the sound of a car in the driveway. Curled up on the sofa with a book, Bridget raised her head to listen. A car door slammed, so she went to open the front door.
She’d left on the holiday lights that decorated the porch and the lamp post. Lizzie stood at the bottom of the front steps in the multi-colored glow, a suitcase beside her. Her face looked tired and drawn. Without a word, Bridget opened her arms wide and her daughter stepped into them. She buried her face in Bridget’s shoulder and they stood together amid the swirling snowflakes, locked in a hug that had been a long time coming.
“Thank you,” Lizzie said. “For being here. For letting me come.”
“Are you kidding?” Bridget held her closer. “I’ve been waiting twenty-five years to celebrate Christmas with you!”
Her daughter looked up, smiling. “Merry Christmas, um…Bridget.”
“Come inside? I’ve got hot soup, and two small furry people who want to meet you.” Lulu and Winston stood just inside the door, dancing with excitement.
Lizzie got her bag and dragged it up the steps. “Sounds like heaven.”
They went inside and closed the door.
“And this is my Aunt Katie, my mother’s sister. She always had the most gorgeous clothes. Nell and I adored her.”
Lizzie turned the page, fascinated by her new relatives. “Wow, you really look like her. I guess I do, too. She’s dead now, right?”
“Yes,” Bridget nodded. “A few years before Mom. We miss them both.”
“You’re so lucky, though. Growing up with all these people who loved you.” Her face crumpled and tears filled her eyes. “I never did. Not that it’s your fault, don’t get me wrong. Everyone lied. To you, and to me.”
“But, your grandparents must have loved you, honey. Look at all the trouble they went to, keeping your real relationship a secret. They protected you.”
Lizzie grimaced. “Maybe. Or maybe they were protecting the family name. And the family money, of course.”
“No, that can’t be right.” Bridget hadn’t ever thought about it that way.
“They just wanted to be sure you couldn’t take them to court, get custody, and come after the Longworth fortune.” Lizzie’s face looked hard and cold, unforgiving. “That’s all anybody ever cared about. All my friends from school, their parents, everyone from the town where I grew up. They were so impressed, because my parents had tons of money and power. All the girls wanted to be invited to come spend the night, to see our house, swim in the pool and ride my pony. They didn’t care at all about me, and I can prove it.”
“What do you mean? How?”
Lizzie held out her left hand and wiggled the fingers. “Notice anything missing?” The diamond engagement ring was gone.
Bridget swallowed a gasp, shaking her head. “But I thought things were going so well?”
“They were, until he found out the truth. Stupid me, I blabbed the whole story. His parents had a fit, and two days later the wedding was officially cancelled.” She sighed, shrugging her shoulders.
“You must know, he wasn’t the right one.” Bridget thought of her own failed marriages, each a testimony to the value of honesty in relationships. “If he truly loved you for who you are, there’d be no way anyone could talk him into calling it off. And that’s the only kind of man who’s good enough for you, my darling.”
Lizzie raised her eyes with a bashful expression, her face blushing. “I know that’s true, but it still hurts.”
“I can see why.” Bridget put her hand over Lizzie’s and squeezed.
“Then the jerk went and told his sister, who told all my girlfriends, who now hate me. I’m not good enough for them anymore.”
“Oh, no, I’m sure that’s not true. It couldn’t be.”
Lizzie nodded. “It’s true all right! We were all supposed to go skiing in Aspen for New Year’s, but they disinvited me when Curtis broke it off. Said it would be too uncomfortable for him and nobody else would have any fun. And they stopped inviting me to ladies’ night at our favorite bar in Boston, and nobody returns my texts.”
“Oh honey, I’m so sorry. People can be incredibly nasty.”
“Yeah.” Lizzie stood up and wandered over to the tree. “This is beautiful. Did you make all these ornaments yourself?”
Bridget nodded. “I’m the queen of the hot glue gun and sparkly paint. Before I started my design business, I used to make things with shells and moss, stuff I found on the beach and in the woods. It’s fun, and you’d be surprised how much people will pay for wall sconces made out of lichens.”
“Really? I’m so impressed. Haven’t got a creative bone in my body, except for writing. And nonfiction is my specialty.” She went to the fireplace and leaned close, holding out her hands toward the flames. Lulu stretched and slid out of her bed, then asked to be petted by wagging her tail and winding herself around Lizzie’s ankles. “So, what’s the program for tomorrow? Is your sister coming up, with her family?” She picked up the little dog and snuggled her close.
“Yes, but just for dinner in the afternoon. They’re all going to Florida to visit her husband’s parents, the day after. Everyone has to be packed and ready.”
“I’m glad they’ll be here. My troubles seem smaller, since I have a big new family to get to know. And, I’m glad they’ll be leaving, too. It gives us the chance to spend some time alone together.”
Bridget smiled. “Let’s bring your things upstairs and get you settled, okay?”
“Okay.”
Lizzie put down the dog and followed Bridget to the stairway, wheeling her suitcase behind her. She bumped it up the stairs and rolled it down the hallway, where her mother stood at the guest room door. It was cozy inside, and a jar candle flickered on the dresser. A wreath of sparkly pinecones decorated the window. “I see your glue gun has been at work in here too,” s
he teased.
Bridget grinned. “You’ll find clean towels in the bathroom, and extra blankets in the hall closet. Please ask if you need anything. Mom lived here on and off for forty years, so this house is well supplied. We even have snowshoes and cross-country skis, if you’re so inclined.”
“Wow, that sounds like fun. If it ever stops snowing so we can see where we’re going.” Lizzie peered out the window. “What is that across the street? Is it the lake?”
They stood side-by-side, looking outside into the blurry darkness as snowflakes tapped against the windowpanes. Across the street, a vast expanse of treeless white could be vaguely discerned.
“You need to see this view in the summer. It’s fabulous.” Bridget put her arm around Lizzie’s shoulders.
“I’d love to.” Her daughter looked at her. “You’re so welcoming. It’s awesome, really. That you’d just open up your life to a stranger like me.”
“Lizzie, you aren’t a stranger. You are part of me. I was so young, and I didn’t handle it well. But now, here we are, together. It’s a Christmas miracle.”
They hugged again, and this time Bridget had a hard time letting go. But she held herself back, knowing that patience would be needed to grow the kind of intimacy that mothers and daughters share.
“Ready to turn in?”
Lizzie yawned and nodded. “It’s been a long day. And driving in the snow is not my favorite thing.”
“I’ll go down and let the dogs out, then close up for the night.” Bridget paused in the hallway. “You can have the bathroom first.”
“Okay, cool.”
“Welcome home, sweetheart. Sleep well.”
Lizzie hugged herself, rubbing her arms. “It feels restful here. The cottage must be full of good memories. I’ll sleep great!” She stepped forward and kissed Bridget carefully on the cheek. “Good night…Mom.”
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