by T. M. Cromer
“That was the problem, wasn’t it? She was ignorant of our big secret.” Sebastian shook his head, angry at his own stupidity in not telling Mack about this place and warning her away earlier. Her injury was his fault. “The boom, the trap. How does it work?”
“My mother cast a spell long ago. Normally, it would’ve died if it weren’t sustained by constant magic. However, since Mother didn’t die and was instead entombed, any spells remained active.”
“What does that mean for today? For Mack?”
“The boom we heard was the arrival of the Psychic Thorne. Isolde charmed these lands so that should the witch possessing psychic ability set foot on the property, the magic wouldn’t allow her to leave. At best, I’m worried Mack is now tied to it.”
“And at worst?”
“It’s not clear to me yet,” Damian admitted with a heavy sigh. “I know I’m asking a lot, but be patient, Sebastian. No one wants to keep my mother contained more than I do.”
“Because of your daughter.” Sebastian didn’t need to ask. The goal here was obvious: keep Isolde away from the small child who holds the power of a Goddess.
“Yes.” Damian withdrew his cellphone and took a series of pictures of the gate and its sigils. After a quick swipe through the images he’d captured, he nodded and tucked his phone in his coat. “I intend to confer with whoever I can summon. In the meantime, pick Leopold’s mind. He was here from the early days and may know something.”
“How old is he?”
Damian’s bark of laughter rang out across the garden. In a flash of light, he was gone.
“Mack, we need to talk.”
She put down her teacup and gave Sebastian her full attention.
“Sounds serious. Are you having second thoughts about us? Is it because I haven’t put out in a few hours? Because we can change that right now if you have time.” The fine lines next to his eyes crinkled, and his lips twitched as he tried to remain serious in the face of her teasing. She nearly laughed at his effort. It seemed Sebastian found her entertaining despite the heaviness of the situation in which they found themselves. Shifting, she created space on the settee, next to her. “Tell me.”
Sebastian lifted her hand from her lap and turned it over. The long, angry wound from the rosebush had caused the skin to pucker. It also itched like mad. If Mackenzie didn’t know better, she’d say an infection was beginning, but an illness of that kind was impossible for a witch.
“We cleaned this right away, and yet…” He shook his head with a deep frown.
She met Sebastian’s concerned gaze. Seemed they were on the same wavelength. “I know. It’s odd, isn’t it?”
“Exceedingly.” He gently palpated the area, careful not to press directly on the wound itself. “Does this hurt?”
“It’s tender, but not unbearably so. Why do you think it’s not healing?”
“I’m not skilled in that area, Mack, but as soon as we’re done here, we’ll seek out Aunt Gwennie. She may know.”
“Whatever you’re thinking so hard about, you just need to come out with it, Baz. Is it about the possessed rosebush? Tell me it hasn’t taken over the garden. I’ll be honest, I’m an air elemental. Fighting rogue plants makes me nervous.”
“Actually, it does have to do with the roses, along with the whole Garden of Death.”
She snorted a laugh, but regained her composure when she saw he wasn’t kidding. “Dude. You’re completely serious about the name.” With a glance over her shoulder out the window, Mackenzie shuddered. “I suppose it’s fitting.”
“It’s the resting place of Isolde de Thorne.”
Her breath escaped and refused to return to her lungs. After what she’d overheard last night, Mackenzie was beginning to think escape was the only option. She wasn’t a coward by any stretch of the imagination, but glowing symbols carved into the garden’s gate, midnight conversations with an evil Enchantress, and deadly rosebushes made her tremble in her proverbial boots.
“We—my family and I—are Keepers of the Gate, Mack. Made so two hundred years ago by the Goddess.” He leaned in as if to ensure she understood the import of his words. “We are the last line of defense against Isolde.”
“And I’ve ‘cocked it up’ as you Brits would say. Simply by coming here.”
“I didn’t know what you were, or I’d have kept you far, far away.”
“But Arabella did,” she said quietly. “Does she have an ulterior motive for the invitation?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know. I think she believed you would be good for me because you challenge me.”
“Highly irresponsible on her part, wouldn’t you say?” she snapped. Mackenzie wiped her damp palms on her slacks, wincing as the still-tender wound came in contact with the material. She stared down at the festering gash. “You can’t leave, because you need to defend this place. I can’t leave because…?”
“How did you guess you can’t leave?”
“It’s what you’re here to tell me, isn’t it? It’s gone too far?” She gestured behind her, toward the window with her thumb. “The glowing carvings. That’s because of me.”
“Yes. Damian and I both believe so.”
“You and Damian. Right.” Mackenzie rose to pace in her nervousness. “I’m leaving. Because despite what everyone thinks is inevitable, I am opposed to resurrecting the spawn of Satan to lay waste to the witch community and possibly the rest of the world.”
She paused her pacing and faced him. His expression was troubled, but he remained silent in the face of her declaration.
“You don’t think I should go, Baz?”
“I don’t want you to, but if you can, it would be for the best.”
“Will she go back to sleep, do you think?”
“What makes you think she’s awake? I didn’t say that.”
Mackenzie jerked in place. What had made her ask? Why had she assumed Isolde was out of stasis? She closed her eyes and visualized the Garden of Death. “I can feel her. Her heartbeat. The panic when she opens her eyes. Her struggle not to lose her shit inside the tomb. It’s faint, but I feel it.”
“Good goddess! Damian said awareness, not awake.” Sebastian surged to his feet and grabbed her hand. He half dragged her through the hall and to the main entry. “Don’t move!”
He took the stairs two at a time, and Mackenzie was too worried to even admire the flash of ass cheek she saw when his kilt flared out.
“Might I get you more tea, miss?”
She bit back a terrified scream when Leopold materialized beside her. “Jesus, Leo. You nearly gave me heart failure,” she gasped out, with a balled fist pressed to her chest. “Now is not the time to be showing up without a bit of warning.”
His rheumy eyes twinkled, and he looked as if he fought a smile. “Yes, miss. Would you care for a spot of tea?”
“No, thank you. I…” She glanced upward, toward where she’d last seen Sebastian. “I’m supposed to wait.”
“Very good, miss.” Leopold shuffled off toward the kitchen, but a loud “psst” changed his trajectory.
Mackenzie eased sideways and caught a flutter of white lace. As soon as the ancient butler disappeared from view, giggles floated back to her. She bit her lip to stop her own bubble of laughter. Seemed Leo and Teddie were all about the stolen moments, Goddess love them. Mackenzie hoped she had their stamina when she was their age.
If she lived through this current nightmare.
She sobered and chewed on her thumbnail. What Sebastian needed from upstairs was anyone’s guess, but Mackenzie was having a difficult time subduing her instinct to teleport.
“Leaving is pointless, Mack.”
A cold wave of air fluttered her hair and danced along the exposed skin of her forearms. She tugged down the pushed-up sleeves of her sweater and faced Arabella. “Did you bring me here to resurrect the Enchantress?” Mackenzie’s voice resembled that of a croaking frog, and she longed for the “spot of tea” Leopold had offered a few minutes before
. Anything to quench her dry mouth.
“Not intentionally.” Arabella wasn’t pretty by anyone’s standards, but she had a striking face. Her features resembled her brother’s and, on her, were too masculine for traditional feminine beauty. Yet, her countenance drew one’s eye, and her expressions always appeared genuine. But perhaps the friendship she offered Mackenzie had been an act all along.
She surged forward and gripped her sister-in-law’s wrist. “Tell me the truth, Arabella. Right now.”
“I had a dream. In the dream, my family was happy. Baz was happy. All because you came here. I wanted to see that happen in truth.”
The rightness of the words struck Mackenzie. Whatever Arabella had done, it wasn’t to cause trouble. Loosening her grip, she brought her friend’s hand to her cheek. “I’m sorry to have sounded so accusing.”
A flash of unease tempered the forgiveness in Arabella’s dark eyes. “This is on me, Mack. Whatever I dreamed, it was a lie, wasn’t it?”
“I don’t know, Belle. It’s hard to know what’s real here, I think.”
“You’re talking about your midnight journey to the maze, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I spoke to…” Mackenzie glanced around, almost afraid to utter the name. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Isolde.”
“And it seemed as if she were truly there.”
“Yes. And now I’m terrified she was.”
“Do you think she manipulated my dreams?”
Mackenzie started to shake her head, but stopped. Why not? If the Enchantress had enough power to tap into her brain, why couldn’t she tap into Arabella’s? “I think maybe she did.”
Anything Sebastian’s sister would’ve said was cut off with his return. “There you are, Belle! I’ve been searching the entire north wing for you.”
“What is it, Baz?”
“I want you to pack your things and go. Take Teddie and Gwennie and get out.”
“I thought we went through this last night. Drakes stick together.” Arabella’s strong chin jutted out. “I’m not leaving you to fight this alone.”
“We are all leaving. Mack and me included.”
Her eyes widened, and she gasped. “But who will watch for…” She turned toward the terrace. “… for… the Enchantress?”
“Damian can pay people, or Isis can send a guard. I’ll not risk my family anymore to this nonsense.” He laced his hands together and cradled the back of his head. “I can’t.”
His agitation was painful for Mackenzie to witness. “Maybe you won’t have to if I go, Baz. Maybe it will all go back to normal.”
“Try to teleport to your flat, love.”
Mackenzie closed her eyes and visualized the living room in her New York apartment. Her cells heated as the magic in her blood fired up. She felt an instant relief as her body broke apart and reformed a second later. When she lifted her lids, she almost threw up. In front of her was the gate to the Garden of Death with its glowing symbols.
Okay, so teleporting was out. She had two perfectly good legs for walking down the main drive. Closing her eyes, she snapped her fingers to return to the foyer of the Drake home. Both Sebastian and Arabella were waiting, optimistic expressions firmly in place.
She hated to dash their hopes. “I couldn’t get out. My teleport deposited me in front of Isolde’s garden gate.”
“Right.” The light died from Sebastian’s eyes, and it made Mackenzie’s stomach hurt to see it.
“What about an old-fashioned human exit?” Arabella suggested, apparently not ready to give up.
“I had the same thought, actually,” Mackenzie said, pasting on a determined smile. “Let’s go for it, huh?”
Sebastian skirted his sister and stalked to the four-foot round table occupying the center of the foyer. He stuck his hand inside a massive white bowl and removed a set of keys, jangling them in the air. “How do you say it in America? To escape a place?”
“Let’s bounce. Let’s fucking ride.” Mackenzie shrugged. “Take your pick.”
He smiled, but it never reached his eyes. “A mashup of the two, then. Let’s fucking bounce.”
She forced a laugh and threw her arms around his neck. “I’ll make an American out of you yet, Lord Kilbride.” She drew back and snatched the keys from his hand. “But I’m going to do this alone. If I can’t break through the barrier, I don’t know what’ll happen to the vehicle. It may crash into an invisible wall for all we know, and I’m not risking Arabella’s or your safety.”
“You’re not going alone.” Sebastian grabbed for the keys, but she danced backwards.
“Stand by the fountain and watch the drive, Baz. If I make it, you guys can teleport. This lockdown doesn’t pertain to you two.”
He crossed to her and hauled her close, dropping his forehead to hers. “You’re killing me, love.”
Not yet, purred a silky smooth voice inside her head. A voice not her own.
Mackenzie felt as if she’d been doused with a bucket of ice water. She gasped and began to shiver. Even wrapped in the blazing warmth of Sebastian’s embrace, she couldn’t shake the cold.
“What is it?” He inched back enough to meet her panicked gaze. “Mack, what’s wrong?”
She clenched down on her chattering teeth and shook her head. She’d rather die than let him see her cry. The last time she’d cried in front of anyone, she was six years old and her father had walked out on his small family.
Sebastian shared a worried look with his sister.
“I have to go,” Mackenzie snapped. “Now!”
Chapter 12
As Sebastian watched in stunned disbelief, Mackenzie ran for the door. It only took a quick shove from Arabella to get him moving, but he was too late to catch Mackenzie or prevent her from sliding behind the wheel of the Land Rover.
The locks clicked as he reached for the door handle.
“Mack!”
She swiped angrily at the wetness on her cheeks and shook her head. The vehicle roared to life, and Sebastian experienced a rare sense of helplessness as he watched the distance grow between him and the taillights. The Land Rover screeched to a halt at the end of the drive, kicking up gravel in its wake.
Sebastian teleported and arrived in time to see Mackenzie kicking the tires and raging aloud in her frustration. Some of her words were new to him, and he was awed by her expansive vocabulary. She put hardened sailors to shame with her language.
He waited, resting one hip on the bumper, until she ran out of steam.
When she faced him, the color on her cheeks rivaled her fiery red hair. The blue of her eyes was a murky gray and indicative of her distress. Most witches couldn’t hide their emotions one-hundred percent. The changing of their irises from bright to dull always gave them away. Mackenzie’s eyes were no exception.
“I won’t let her win!” she hollered to the sky. “I can’t.”
His heart ached to hear the pain in her words. The hoarseness of her cry spoke of her tortured thoughts.
“Mack.”
She refused to look at him, instead staring off into the distance.
Uncrossing his arms, he pushed away from the Land Rover and stopped shy of touching her. “Mackenzie.”
Her head turned, but her gaze was focused somewhere around his knees.
“I need you to look at me, love. To hear what I’m about to tell you.”
“I can hear you without looking at you,” she muttered.
He bit back a smile. “Feisty to the end, aren’t you?”
That caught her attention. “You don’t understand, Baz. The second I let my guard down, she wins. How can I be here when it could mean possession or worse?”
A frown drew his brows down, and he lifted her chin with the tip of one knuckle. Possession? Alastair Thorne had mentioned something about Sabrina and her worry regarding Isolde possessing Mackenzie, but Sebastian had forgotten about it in all the excitement. He hadn’t gotten that far in wrapping his mind around this mess. His main goal was keeping the E
nchantress entombed.
“And what constitutes worse, Mack?”
“Your death.”
The air whooshed from his lungs, and he couldn’t speak to ask anything else. Hell, he couldn’t think to ask anything else either.
“She’s putting thoughts in my head, Sebastian,” she said achingly.
“When I held you a short bit ago? That’s why you reacted badly and pulled away?”
She nodded.
“All right.” He led her to a nearby stone bench. “Tell me everything.”
“When you said, ‘you’re killing me, love,’ she was in my head. She said, ‘not yet.’” Mackenzie’s lower lip trembled, and she traced the wound on her palm. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.” He placed a hand on her knee and squeezed slightly. He wasn’t quite sure how to get his point across, but he had to try. “I know you, Mack. You’ll outsmart her.”
“I’m scared.”
“Me, too. But I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid for you.”
“Last night…” She frowned and looked around.
“Last night,” he encouraged.
“Was it only last night we decided to get married? Already it feels like forever ago.”
“Thanks?”
She cracked a small smile. “I don’t mean it like that, and you know it. I feel like a long time has passed since the ceremony.”
“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.”
Her smile dropped, and Mackenzie cleared her throat. “Last night when you asked me about my vision, what I didn’t tell you was I saw myself kneeling over you with an athamé in my hand. It wasn’t one I’d ever seen, and I don’t know where it came from. I felt her desire to kill you, Baz, and it terrified me. There were two faces of me, and a while ago, it became clear one was Isolde.”
“The possession.” Yes, it made sense. If the Enchantress couldn’t get out of her prison, she’d likely try another route to kill her gaolers. “Because of the vision, you now fear what she can make you do.”
“Yes.”
“Have you seen my actual death, Mack?”
She seemed to look through him for a moment before she shook her head. “No.”