by Shona Husk
His fingers closed around it. “I’ll destroy it.”
She nodded. Good, he got that. And when she looked at him, she thought for a moment that he was keeping his own secrets and that he knew far more than he was letting on. Hope flared. Maybe he’d be the one to change something here. Maybe he could set her free.
Her gaze landed on all the sharp tools on the workbench. If he wasn’t, maybe she could make the change herself. The healing cuts on her arms throbbed. Could she kill Mr. Quigley? Even as she thought it, the idea broke apart and left her wondering what she’d been thinking.
“Mylla? Are you okay?”
She snapped her gaze back to Oskar. What was she doing? The confusion remained and she looked at the tray and the tea. He was holding something in his hand.
For a moment she was lost. Why was she here?
“Hey.” He grabbed her hand. “You’re not going to faint?”
The contact brought her back. She’d been warning him about Mr. Quigley and…and somehow her mind had escaped her. She shook her head and pulled her hand free. She had to get back to the house.
“Wait.”
She hesitated and looked back at Oskar.
He held up the little piece of paper. “Thank you.”
What had she written? She made her lips smile and then she walked back to the house, careful to move slowly like she should. No rushing around. No excitement. The cloak of expected behaviors settled around her and the smile left her face. Only this time she was aware of the control slipping around her because for a moment it had been gone. She’d been with Oskar and had felt desire and tested her own thoughts. For a few moments her mind and body had been her own. She wanted to scream, but when she opened her lips nothing came out. Instead, frustration bubbled in her belly and burned in her heart.
She’d stayed up late and read most of her notes last night, and nowhere had she made mention of being trapped, of being controlled or even of the fog lifting. Even her notes were confused and incomplete. Tears formed but none fell. She couldn’t cry. He’d stopped that. But she didn’t know why. She didn’t know why he’d done this to her, yet she needed to know. She needed to know who she’d been before.
And there must have been a before.
Her eyes ached as she walked upstairs to clean a few rooms before making lunch. She went through the motions as she usually did, her body working out of habit as much as orders. But this time her mind didn’t empty, she held onto the realization that she was some kind of prisoner, even if she couldn’t feel the bars.
As she dusted she became aware of being watched. Sometimes Mr. Quigley would sit and pretend to read while he watched her, but his stare was different, as if he could make her perform while he watched. This gaze was just observing, but it lacked the heat that Oskar’s held. She felt a shiver run through her, even though it never reached her skin. She moved around the room so she could see who was watching.
On the balcony railing sat a large crow. Her first thought was to shoo it away. Mr. Quigley hated them. Called them filthy pests. But it was just sitting. It cocked its head to the side as if inviting her to open the door and have a closer look. She took a step forward, and when nothing interfered with what she wanted to do she flung open the door.
As a breeze swept over her skin and through the room, she gasped. Had she never opened the doors before? Did the house never get aired? The crow opened its beak as if smiling at her. Below her in the garden, Oskar was washing his hands at the tap by the shed.
The crow turned its head and let out a caw.
Mylla jumped back, but Oskar looked up. For a moment she couldn’t move as their gazes locked. It didn’t matter how far away he was, something in him touched the bit inside of her that was free. She looked back at the crow now cleaning under its wing. Then it ruffled its wings and a feather fell to the ground. One glossy black feather.
She hesitated, then bent and picked it up. Cool and smooth against her fingers, it shone blue-black in the late-morning sun. As she stood, the crow flapped and flew away, looping past Oskar, then on until it is was a black speck against the sky. If only she could leave so easily.
For a moment she thought about letting the feather blow away on the soft breeze. If she was caught with it there would be trouble. She could hear Mr. Quigley’s voice in her head as clear as—maybe clearer than—her own.
No. I will not listen.
She tightened her grip on the feather, then forced her hand into her apron pocket. Releasing it was easy. But she felt its weight. Who’d have thought a feather could weigh so much? Or maybe it was guilt for keeping it, knowing how much Mr. Quigley hated crows.
It didn’t matter. It was hers. Maybe she could find a way to fly free like a bird.
She stepped closer to the balcony edge.
Could she climb onto the railing and jump? She knew she couldn’t fly, but maybe she’d be free in death.
This time she felt the fog roll in and blanket her thoughts, but it was too fast for her to stop. She blinked and looked around. Why was she standing on the balcony? The house was supposed to remain closed to keep the heat in. She turned around and walked inside, then locked the doors.
By the time he’d gotten everything ready for tackling the garden tomorrow, it was late and the yard was falling into shadows. Once again the house looked dark and unwelcoming. A faint light shone from the kitchen window, but that was all. The rest of the house could’ve been deserted. He drew in a breath of cool air, the taste of decay settling on his tongue. It wasn’t making him gag today.
Another few days and he wouldn’t even notice the off scent. But he’d feel it in the squirm of unease in his gut and his urge to leave. He washed his hands at the tap and glanced up at the balcony where he’d seen Mylla earlier. She’d picked up the feather. A gift from the Morrigu or a sign? Either way it was no random event and he wanted to know what it meant.
He shook water off his hands and walked back to the house. The throbbing black tumor was almost visible in the dusk, but only because he’d looked for it. He knew it was there, felt it. And had no idea how to kill it or Thomas.
Did death beat death?
Death bred decay and spread the rot. The neighboring houses were vacant or falling down, abandoned as the owners gave up trying to live in an area where they failed to prosper. How had no one realized there was a witch causing blight on their doorstep? Three hundred years ago there would’ve been a witch hunt and burnings. As brutal as that sounded, if a witch was breaking the rules something had to be done before things got bad. Like this place.
These days people would just look at the house, get an odd feeling, and keep going—some might look over their shoulder and fewer would get a nightmare or two. Lucky bastards. Witchcraft had given him more nightmares than he cared to count. Admittedly, most of them came from trying to mop up the mistakes the wannabes made—and he wasn’t talking the new agers.
He needed more than incense and crystals. He needed a coven meeting where ideas would be tossed around over a meal and drinks. A summoning of the Morrigu that didn’t result in Her mocking him for being childless and shoving him into the dirt while reminding him he was going to die. Usually She was called for the fight and they drew Her power into them before going out and doing Her work.
He didn’t know how to do that because they hadn’t let him in on those secrets.
The kitchen was empty but there was a plate of food under a cover. He lifted it up; it was still warm. Given that there was no microwave, his stomach was very grateful. But it also meant that he’d just missed Mylla.
The twinge that followed had nothing to do with hunger. In fact, he didn’t like where that twinge led. He didn’t know enough about her to like her. Lust, yes, but any man who hadn’t had sex in the best part of a year would feel more than a twitch when looking at her. He was going to have to get that twitch under control since he was going to be seeing her every day, and if Thomas didn’t want her talking to him, doing more would create trouble.
Plus he’d promised himself no sex until he’d broken the curse. That was becoming one hell of an incentive.
He lingered over dinner, hoping she’d come down and they could do dishes together again. He wanted to ask her why she’d picked up the feather, most people wouldn’t. Why had she even approached the crow?
Cold hit his gut and blossomed.
Just how much did she know about Thomas and the Coven of the Raven?
Had she known she was talking to the Morrigu?
If she had, what did that mean?
He leaned back in his chair, his appetite for food and sex gone.
Tonight he’d spend some more time looking at Mylla and seeing what he could figure out. He needed an ally, but it was quite possible he was seeing what he wanted—a woman in need of help and a potential conspirator—when she was really a pretty lure in league with Thomas. But who would willingly hand over control of their lives to another?
Someone who wanted to share in eternal life.
That wasn’t a comforting thought. That would mean she’d lied to him and was playing him. He stared across the room without seeing the aging plaster and the smoke-stained paint.
The longer he was here, the less he knew. The less he trusted his own instincts. Maybe that was part of the magic. It didn’t suck him down fast; it would drag him down inch by inch so he barely noticed until it was closing in over his head. He drew in a breath and got up before the thought could settle. He was not going to drown in death magic.
He scraped his uneaten food into the bin and washed the plate. Then he went through the routine of washing and getting ready to expand his consciousness. He flirted with idea of stepping onto the astral but shot it down. It was too dangerous without someone to watch him, and he really had no need to leave the physical plane when he was just watching.
Finding Mylla was easy. She was like a firefly in the darkest night. But this night pulsed and was sticky, transferring to all who touched it. He checked himself and saw a couple of fine strands, which he simply burned away with a thought. If Mylla knew anything about magic, she’d have been trying to fight back. Most people would instinctively withdraw from something unhealthy. They would stop thinking about it, push the thought aside, and try and move on.
She wasn’t.
As he watched, her light dimmed a little and the cocoon swelled around her.
What in the Morrigu’s name was he seeing?
Do you really want to know?
The voice was in his head, as seductive as it was sharp. He felt Her hand on the back of his neck. He’d invoked Her without even trying—or maybe She was staying close, ready to take his soul when he fell.
Show me. He knew he was going to regret it before the thought had even fully formed.
The images in his mind solidified and merged, going from a mix of symbols and blurred almost-reality to hard reality, as if he’d suddenly stepped into the room.
He’d never been in there before, and yet he knew it was part of the house. His uncle’s bedroom. The four-post bed was draped in crimson curtains, but it was empty. His uncle sat in a large armchair, a glass of liquor in his hand and a knife in the other. Oskar’s gaze immediately re-shifted to Mylla. She was dressed only in what he assumed was old-fashioned white underwear. The cocoon was like an extra shadow, enveloping her like a cloak as she offered her wrist.
Thomas cut her and gathered her blood in his glass. When the flow slowed, he waved her away and said something Oskar couldn’t hear. She removed the rest of her clothes, but her movements weren’t smooth. Her face was blank, as if she had no thoughts of her own. She was a puppet.
Oskar drew back, he didn’t need to see anymore. Enough.
His thoughts tumbled and spiraled back into his mind. His head snapped up as he drew in a breath. But he wasn’t sitting in his bedroom anymore.
The blood-soaked battlefield surrounded him. Above him, ravens wheeled against a crimson sky. This was not what he’d intended.
“No? And yet when I offered you the chance to see more, you accepted,” the Morrigu murmured in his ear. Her long nails pressed against the back of his neck.
He wished he hadn’t. He didn’t want to think about what Mylla was doing right now. And yet he couldn’t help it. He’d seen the blood in the glass, the control of her limbs and slow removal of her underwear. Would she even remember in the morning?
“I have given you what you need. I have given you the proof you need. Now give me what I want.”
“You don’t want Thomas, you already told me that.”
She tugged on his hair and dragged his knees to the ground so he was gazing up at Her face. “I want you, Oskar. I want you to fulfill your promise to me.”
Her timing was terrible. She was still wanting a son to serve Her while he was trying to work out way not to die. “You want me to get Mylla pregnant, while she is under the influence of Thomas?” What he’d seen echoed in his soul, a gut-wrenching tearing that made him want to rise up and fight. Thomas had no right to do that to another person.
The Morrigu smiled, all seduction and danger. “Yes.”
A laugh bubbled up and he couldn’t contain it. “No, really?”
“Really.” The smile was gone and the air around him cooled.
“I need to break the curse, not add a child into the mix.” He wouldn’t drag Mylla into his problem. She was a victim. That had at least become clear tonight, and he would not add to her problems. She needed his help.
She looked at him. “Living still scares you.”
Considering it had only been a couple of days since they’d last spoke, he didn’t see how his view of life and his impending death could have changed. Nor could he hide it from Her.
“I’m scared all the time in that house.”
Her black eyes stared into him. “Why, I thought you weren’t scared of death?”
How did he explain to an immortal Goddess what death meant to him?
“Try, Oskar.” She tilted Her head, but Her hand on his chest kept him from rising. Why did he always end up in the dirt with Her?
“I know I’m yours, that doesn’t scare me. Nor does the curse, I’m resigned to that.”
She tutted. “A warrior is never resigned to death. A warrior welcomes the battle that will bring his death.”
“I don’t want to end up as one of Thomas’s statues.” That terrified him. It made the primitive part of him squirm and want to hide.
“Hmm. I cannot kill you and save you from that fate.”
“I’m so glad we had this talk.” He tried to rise but She pressed harder.
“You will defeat Thomas. He is a blight that needs to be eradicated.”
He lowered his gaze. He didn’t want to fail Her, but he didn’t know how to win, either. He wasn’t a good enough witch for this. He was so far out of his depth he couldn’t even see the bottom. The death magic would suck him under and he’d be lost.
“If he is allowed to continue…” For the first time She looked concerned.
“Why did you let him start?”
“I don’t kill, Oskar, I merely choose the worthy and grant them eternal life in my army.”
“But he must have channeled power through you.”
“Yes, he did when he was in the coven. He fought, the battle was glorious. But then something changed.” Her eyes refocused on him. “He stopped turning to me. He turned away from his coven. Do not fall under his spell.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Your family has always coveted power. Beware.”
Oskar frowned. That was the second time he’d been told that by a woman today. “How much are you influencing Mylla?”
And how much was She toying with him? Moving them like chess pieces to do Her bidding until She got what She wanted?
Her lips curved, but it was a cold, feral grin as She examined his every thought. “You are my King and she is your Queen. You know what you need to do.”
His eyes opened and he was in his bedroom, his legs nu
mb and his back stiff. For a half a second, the urge to fight gripped him and consumed all other thought. He wanted to grab a knife and run up to Thomas’s room. The need to do something pumped hard through his body. He went to rise, and the rush of blood to his cramped limbs almost sent him to the floor. He glanced at his watch on the bedside table. It was after midnight. Whatever Thomas had been doing would be over now. He hoped.
But he couldn’t get the picture of Mylla undressing out of his mind—and for all the wrong reasons. She’d been dead eyed and wooden limbed. Not the way a woman should look when undressing.
Oskar breathed in and let reason settle. Charging up there would serve no purpose. Which was probably why the Morrigu had snatched him away, to stop him from doing something stupid. She’d probably saved his life, which meant that She really did consider stopping Thomas the biggest problem. How expendable was he in this game She was playing?
He carefully stretched and replayed what the Morrigu had said, looking for clues.
She is your Queen.
The Queen had more moves than every other piece. The King, on the other hand, was the piece that needed to be trapped to win the game. That didn’t bode well. If Oskar was caught, Thomas won.
Chapter 6
It had taken days to claw her way out of the fog that wanted to suffocate her will and be back into her own mind. She’d seen Oskar in passing when she’d taken him tea, and, while he’d spoken to her, she’d been unable to do anything more than register his existence. He’d pushed paper and a pencil at her and she’d wanted to reach out and write help. But her fingers had only curled against her side.
She could see his frown and concern and could do nothing. Say nothing. And she wanted to scream. But each time she was with him she felt something inside her like a warm coal. Every time Oskar was near her he was breathing on it and it was glowing brighter, getting hotter, but it wasn’t enough to start a fire. Yet.
Then she’d found the feather in her book, and saw what she’d written about Oskar, and she’d felt something flare. The memory of his touch on her face, his smile as they’d talked—well, he’d talked and she’d written. But a conversation with a real person. Her lips curved as she prepared two trays of tea: one for Mr. Quigley and one for Oskar. She carefully schooled her features and delivered a tray upstairs first. Mr. Quigley was distracted and eager to get into his study, the one room she was never allowed in. Did she want to go in there and see what he hid?