by Ann Gimpel
She opened her mouth, but he waved her to silence. “Because ye’ve ignored the possibility of magic, trading it for a staunch belief in science, ye’ve misinterpreted many events. Couched them in scientific terms or buried them in an ‘everyone does this’ mentality. Did Rhea ever engage you in ceremonies?”
“W-what do you mean?” The same sensation, the one where she was on the verge of careening down a slippery slope and losing her mind was back in spades.
“Candles. Chanting. Blood rituals.”
Somehow her hands, both of them, were clasped in his, and he was leaning so close their knees touched.
She shut her eyes, and his scent rose around them. Similar to what she’d smelled when he pulled her forward in time, but softer somehow. Heather, gorse, and the pungent odor of wet moorlands soothed her.
“Aye, lassie. Look back and remember.”
His words were hypnotic. Images formed behind her closed lids.
An underground lair. Black candles. Rhea with her eyes on fire, drawing in the dirt with a sharp, pointed stick. Runes glowed in the dirt, white with streaks of red. “Almost there, child. Long have I waited for one such as you,” Rhea had crooned about the time her mother and grannie rushed into the cave.
Her mother had snatched her up, screaming at Rhea, cursing her in Gaelic.
“Enough.” Her grandmother’s shout trumped everything. Somehow it even shut Rhea up. Grannie had placed a hand across Kat’s forehead then, and everything went black. When she came back to herself, she was outside under cloud-shrouded skies with her mother and grandmother. Rhea was nowhere to be seen.
Kat’s eyes snapped open, and the opulent suite swam into focus. “I remembered something.” Her voice was thin, raw.
“Aye. I ken it well enough. Touching you allowed me to share your vision. Your kinswoman obliterated your memories when she touched your forehead, but they’re never truly gone, merely locked away. I gave them a wee shove. ’Tis intriguing, though.”
“What is?” Kat tried to extricate her hands from his, but he held on tight.
“Your grandmother had power to burn. She must have told Rhea to go to hell and spurned her place as the next Roskelly witch.”
“Grannie didn’t live for hundreds of years.” Kat was grasping at straws, but she needed “normal” to reassert itself, and damned fast. Her mind felt fuzzy, as if she were drowning.
“She might not have,” Arlen replied in a thoughtful tone, “not if she rejected the power flowing through her blood. Or, she could still be alive, and you’re not aware of it. What I think,” he went on before she could say anything else, “is Rhea attempted to recruit her and failed. Even she wouldn’t live forever, so she was desperate to ensure continuation of her line. Normally, a ceremony such as the one I saw in your mind—”
The implication, coupled with his earlier statements, hit her with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball. “You were inside my mind? How?” Her voice emerged in a high, scratchy wheeze, not sounding anything like her.
“Breathe deep, lass.” The soothing tone, rich as aged whiskey was back. “’Twas why I was holding your hands. Strengthens the connection. As I was saying, witches don’t normally indoctrinate the next generation until they’ve matured. Ye were but a child in what I witnessed.”
“Matured as in began to bleed?” she broke in.
He nodded. “You Americans are far too blunt at times.”
She yanked her hands free and flapped them his way. “You can skip the criticism. I was just past nine when that episode happened, and I recall it clearly now. Rhea died a few months later, right after I turned ten.”
“Did she try anything similar again?”
A confusing array of emotions buffeted her. Pain. Sorrow. Relief. A deep ache in her soul as both mother and grandmother made certain Rhea lived out her remaining days in an institution.
“Lass?”
“No. She never had a chance. Mom and Grannie locked her away.”
“Katerina, look at me.”
She didn’t realize she’d been staring at her lap, and she lifted her gaze until he snared it with his own.
“Blood ties are strong. In her own way, Rhea not only loved you, she also saw you as her last chance to pass the baton to a new witch. It must have pained you when she was sent away.”
Kat remembered the jagged, gaping wound Rhea’s absence had torn in her soul. No amount of comforting made a dent in the pain. Something Arlen had done, or maybe just his presence, made it easier to reconstruct the past.
“She came to me in a dream right before she died,” Kat murmured. “Told me she’d find me, that we weren’t done with one another.”
“And?” Arlen prodded.
Kat tipped her chin at a defiant angle. “I waited. And I hoped. See, despite Mom and Grannie, I loved great-great grandma, but she never came back.”
“Until yesterday.” Arlen’s tone was implacable.
Breath whooshed from her, and she dropped her head and her gaze. “Too little, and too late,” she murmured, not sure whom she was speaking to.
“Ye can thank all your lucky stars and a god or goddess to boot for that,” Arlen replied. “If Rhea had her way, I’d be talking with a Roskelly witch, not a mortal woman who thinks magic is a crock.” He retreated to English for his last observation.
“Touché.” She forced herself to meet his penetrating eyes again. Eyes that reminded her of her great-great grandmother’s. “What happens next?”
“The next part is up to you. We need to leave here. I’ll drive us back to Inverness. It will give you thinking time.”
“What are my choices?” She inhaled deep and held it, not sure she wanted to know.
He sent a rueful smile skittering her way. “Spoken like a true academic. You can walk away from yesterday and pretend it never happened. Once you return to the States, the odds of a repeat occurrence are thin.”
“Why?”
“Something about the New World mutes magic to a certain extent. Your other choice is to embrace your power and learn to control it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Doesn’t that mean I’d become a witch?”
“Aye, but not necessarily the black magic variety. You could shape your power for good rather than evil. You wouldn’t be as strong, but you’d have no need of that level of magical skill, either.”
She stared at him. “What aren’t you telling me?”
He arched a brow. “See? That’s a solid demonstration of your ability. You sensed you hadn’t heard the whole story. And you haven’t. If you decide to open the door to your power, I can almost guarantee another confrontation with Rhea. She will demand you pick up the threads of your birthright, and you’ll have to be strong enough to refuse.”
“Why would it even be a problem?”
He shrugged. “Power corrupts, lass. Absolute power—”
“Corrupts absolutely,” she finished for him, and then added, “but I’d have to want what she’s offering.”
“Indeed.” He got to his feet and extended a hand, hauling her upright. “Witchy magic could propel you to the tip top of your field.”
“Meh. I’m already almost there, and I did it on my own.”
“Witch power could make you rich.”
She shrugged. “Money is overrated. Besides, I have enough.”
He frowned. “You’re being flip. This is the most serious decision you’ve ever faced, but at least you’re tackling it as an adult and not a vulnerable nine-year-old. Give this twenty-four hours to percolate, and we’ll revisit it.”
She went into the bedroom and collected her bag and briefcase, her mind brimming over with questions. Uppermost was why she’d stopped questioning his primary assertion: that magic existed in the world. Every single thing he’d said rested on that claim.
Kat returned to the suite’s living area. “I’m ready.”
“Good time to make a run for the car.” He grinned as if they hadn’t spent the last couple of hours discussing the impos
sible.
She peered out the still open window. “Why would you say that? It’s raining.”
He shrugged. “Merely misting, lass. Shall we?” He pulled the door open and motioned her through.
Chapter 6
Arlen had forestalled further conversation while they drove north. He’d left Katerina at the King’s Arms with stern instructions to eat again and get some rest. She’d asked where he was going but retracted the query almost immediately. He understood, or he thought he did. Her question presumed an intimacy where they had a right to know one another’s whereabouts, yet nothing had passed between them.
He blew out a breath, followed by another. Perhaps it was a byproduct of her magic, but he was drawn to her, attracted to her so strongly, his need shocked the hell out of him.
And it wasn’t precisely true that nothing had passed between them. He’d relayed a tale worthy of Grimm’s Fairytales, the original, bloody version that hadn’t been sanitized for modern children. Myth and fantasy aside, the desire to shelter her and protect her was strong, but odds were he’d have to bury his longing and watch her walk away. As soon as the thought marched across his mind, he realized he fully expected her to run from her nascent power. She’d lived thirty-five years without delving into that part of her nature, which meant she was stronger than the Alice in Wonderland trapdoor in her mind.
Before he drove away, after telling her he’d pick her up at seven sharp for supper, she’d said she was going to remain a day or two longer than her original plans. Joy had speared him at the prospect of more time with her, but he chided himself as he guided the car through light midafternoon traffic.
Where she went, and what she did, were none of his affair.
He’d have to be very careful not to do anything to influence her decision about her magic. She had to come to terms with what she wanted on her own without any pressure from him. Power could be a perilous path—and a great responsibility. It wasn’t something to be undertaken lightly.
He hadn’t been joking when he’d told her the choice was irrevocable. She couldn’t go backward if the going got rough.
“Arlen?” Sean’s telepathy sent guilt ratcheting through him.
“Aye. I’m fine. Sorry. I should have contacted you before this.”
“No worries. Feel like a spot of tea?”
Arlen grinned. It was Sean’s way of requesting a meeting, one where he could mine for details about Katerina. He started to decline, but his initial resistance yielded to common sense. Sean had a shrewd, incisive mind. He’d be a good resource, and he wouldn’t mince words if he felt Arlen had made a huge mistake disclosing magic to someone who was mostly human.
Katerina had magic aplenty, but for all intents and purposes she counted as magically naïve: ergo human.
“Well?” Sean pressed.
“Sure. Usual spot?”
“Aye. Where else? I’m already there. See you soon.” Sean closed their connection.
Arlen had been heading home. He turned the Aston Martin back toward town. The car was one of his few indulgences. If he spent willy-nilly for the next hundred years, he’d be hard pressed to run through his funds. As it was, he walked a fine line between surrounding himself with nice things and not appearing so ostentatious people gossiped about him being a spendthrift.
Scotsmen were a frugal people. Flashy and flamboyant never met with approval, nor did spending. Saving was valued to the extent it was almost a national pastime. When he’d decided to remodel his two-hundred-year-old manor house, he’d spread the project out over a decade, and turned the rather austere structure into something warm and inviting.
His mind was wandering, but he needed a break. He’d trod a fine line with Katerina. He couldn’t soft-pedal what she was to the point she didn’t take him seriously. Nor did he want to terrify her. As it was, he’d seen her fear, felt it leak from her pores. She was a strong woman, but no one was strong in the face of something so alien it flew in the face of everything they’d ever believed in.
He’d felt her fascination at the prospect of time travel. It didn’t take much of an imagination to see wheels turning in her head and her coming to the inescapable conclusion it would be easier to study the past if she were actually there.
Hope spilled through him, but he pushed it aside. He’d have to make certain she understood using magic for that type of thing was forbidden. Maybe not for black magic practitioners, but certainly for those like him who walked the good side of the magic street.
They lived in a human world. Employing magic to gain an advantage over humans was strictly prohibited.
He pulled into the small parking lot behind Sean’s favorite tea shop and bakery. Delightful smells wafted over to him the moment he exited his car, and he hurried inside.
Sean raised a hand in greeting from his usual spot in the far back corner. Arlen stopped by the counter and purchased a pot of tea and two scones with butter and marmalade. The clerk assured him she’d bring everything to his table, so he trotted to the end of the room and slid into the vacant chair.
“Cheers!” Sean waggled his teacup in Arlen’s direction.
“Cheers, back at you.”
Sean spun an index finger in a circle. “I’m all ears, mate.” He switched to an antiquated form of Gaelic, and Arlen felt the faint touch of a spell designed to keep their conversation within its bounds.
He shook his head and smiled encouragingly at a youngish blonde woman wearing an apron who was heading their way with a loaded tray. “Wait until my tea and biscuits show up.”
“Of course. Wouldn’t want you to go hungry.” He pinned Arlen with his keen dark eyes but stopped before mentioning how magic sapped a person.
Arlen pressed a one-pound tip into the serving girl’s hand and cracked the lid on the teapot. As was usual in this establishment, the tea was already perfectly steeped. He poured himself a cup, adding sugar as he felt Sean’s spell settle around them again.
“I’ll save you the trouble of peppering me with questions,” he said and sketched out his journey to Inverlochy, both in this time and the earlier one. Borrowing from Sean’s example, he switched to Old Gaelic as well.
Normally imperturbable, Sean stared at him, eyes rounding as the tale played itself out. “Och aye, how did ye determine just where in time ye landed?”
“’Tis a fair question. I knew ’twas much earlier because the very air had a different tang, but mostly I put two and two together. Rhea would be strongest in her original time period, and Katerina was out and about long enough to overhear men talking.”
“I see.” Sean nodded. “With her background studying the clans, she’d have been able to hear their Gaelic and pin the era quite accurately.” He set his cup down and took a thoughtful bite of a French pastry. “It’s encouraging she didn’t run screaming from the room. Ye told her a lot.”
“No more than was absolutely necessary.” Arlen defended himself. Under typical circumstances, a quorum of Druids would decide how to proceed in the face of someone who didn’t believe in magic but carried the ability to wield it if they chose.
Sean raised one hand, palm facing out in a conciliatory gesture. “I wasn’t criticizing you. Hell, mate, I’m impressed as hell ye got as far as ye did with a midcareer academic. Do ye have any idea what she’ll decide?”
Arlen shook his head. “I’m taking her to dinner in a couple of hours. If she has more questions, I’ll answer them. She was running on overload in Ft. William, and I didn’t think it would be productive to keep on talking there.”
“Ye have a stake in this.”
It wasn’t a question. Arlen considered disputing his old friend’s assumption but gave it up for lost effort. Sean had known him far too long and understood him far too well.
“Aye, but I will not influence the outcome.”
“Good. ’Tis a difficult path we’ve chosen, not one without rewards, but still it does complicate things.” He frowned. “For her to get up to snuff at this point in her life
will take years.”
Arlen slathered butter and marmalade on a scone and took a generous bite, chewing and swallowing thoughtfully. “Years, indeed, and ’twill be harder for her than for most because she’ll be fighting against simply summoning the magic she was born to and being done with it.”
“Aye. The darker side of things.”
Arlen nodded and ate more of his scone.
“Depending on how things go over dinner, ye might consider bringing her out to the island. I could ensure a few of us are at the stones.”
Protectiveness surged, hot and primitive. Arlen dialed it back. His people weren’t whom she needed to guard against.
“We’ll see how it goes,” he replied.
“The great-great-grandmother, Rhea. She’ll try again,” Sean said.
“Och and tell me something I don’t know.” Arlen popped the last of the scone into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed, savoring its buttery layers.
Sean stood and clapped Arlen across the back; his spell dissipated “We’ll be at the stones on South Ronaldsay, and we’ll remain until midnight. Let me know if ye need aught from us.”
Arlen stood too and gripped Sean’s hand. “I shall. I’ll also make certain ye know if we’re headed your way, so ye don’t wait on us for naught.”
“I’ll let the others know.” Sean switched back to English, released his hand, and strode from the coffee shop. His impeccably tailored Italian suit flowed around his retreating form.
Arlen sat, intent on finishing his tea and the remaining scone. Gratitude for Druids and their fellowship beat a path through him. If Katerina picked magic over her old life, he’d make certain she didn’t go it alone. He wasn’t quite sure how that would play out. There were Druid societies in the States, but would they accept a witch?
Whoa. I’m getting a wee bit ahead of the curve.
He needed to wait, give her all the space in the world. If she ended up choosing her old life, he’d do what he could to bury her memories, so they didn’t torment her. Unfortunately, he’d be one of the casualties, right along with what he’d told her about witch power. No way to separate the two.