by Sarah Hegger
“Come.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders and led her down the stairs.
He took her around back of the pub to where his car waited in a small parking lot wedged between buildings. Opening the door for her, he motioned her inside.
“What was all that about?” Bronwyn pointed to the pub. “And you keep calling me little witch.” She held up a hand to stop him from speaking. “Don’t tell me it’s my imagination. I’ve had about all the strange shit I can take right now.”
“I know.” Sighing, he scrubbed a hand across his face. “But come for a drive with me, and I’ll answer your questions.”
Once she was in the car he drove through the village and took the road to the castle. As far as she knew, this road only went one place.
Bronwyn turned in her seat. “We’re going to Baile.”
“Eventually,” he said and kept driving.
More riddles and half answers. “Alexander.” She put as much steel as she could into her voice. “Pull over. I want those answers now. I’ve just left Baile. I can’t go back there now.”
“Can you give me ten more minutes?” He glanced at her. “Then you’ll understand.”
Fool that she was, Bronwyn nodded.
When they reached Baile’s drawbridge, he pulled the car to the shoulder and climbed out.
Bronwyn got out before he could come around to her side.
Sadness was back in his eyes, and she wanted to cry for him, and for some strange reason, she wanted to cry for her too.
“Little witch.” He cradled her face. “I call you this because that’s what you are.”
She started that he knew that. She’d only fully admitted the truth to herself this morning. “I don’t…” It seemed best to say nothing so she trailed off.
“You are a water witch,” he said and kissed her forehead. “And unless I miss my guess, you are a healer as well.”
Fear tiptoed into the bright, sparkly cocoon he wove around her with his touch and his words. He shouldn’t know these things, couldn’t know these things. “Who are you?”
“Give me a second on that one.” He trailed his lips to her cheek.
It was hard to think past the touch of his lips, and the gentle scrape of his beard. “Why?”
“Once I tell you who I am, you will never look at me the same.” He drew back and his gaze searched her eyes. “I want to remember the way you’re looking at me now forever. I want to see the man I wish I was reflected back at me.”
“I don’t understand.” Tears prickled behind her lids. It sounded like he was saying goodbye, and it felt that way too. They hadn’t even gotten to know each other, and he was walking away. The wrongness of him leaving resonated through her. “Tell me.”
“Your ancestor came from here.” He nodded toward Baile. “Almost four hundred years ago, she would have been a member of this coven, and a healer.”
“You can’t know that.”
“But I do know this, my little witch. And so much more.” He kissed her, a soft brush of his mouth over hers. “I know because healing is hereditary, and when I touch your hands, I can feel the power in them. I know because when you reach for your gift, I smell the honey and sage of it. I know because I was there.”
“Eh?” She must have misheard him. Either that or he was nuts. “This isn’t funny.”
“I’m guessing your ancestor was away from Baile the night the coven was attacked.” When she tried to pull away, he tightened his hold on her face. “Healers were often out of the castle. She might even have had a coimhdeacht with her, and he got her to safety. Either way, she escaped the coven massacre and went to America.”
“Let go of me.” He must have been making fun of her desire to connect with her heritage. All this crazy talk and using words she didn’t recognize. “I want to go back now.”
“You can’t go back.” He shook his head. “I lied to get you into the car.” Jerking his head at the car he said, “I have your packed bags in the boot.”
Outrage swept through her and she wrenched away from him. “I…what…what the hell!”
“I was hoping you would stay at Baile this morning, because that’s where you need to be, behind Baile’s wards.” He looked as sane as the next man, but the crap coming out of his mouth was certifiable.
She marched around to his trunk and popped it. Like he’d said, her suitcase and carry-on were in there. “Son of a bitch. You had no right to touch my stuff. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Listen to me” He grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a small shake. “You’re going to need to listen and do it well.”
The nerve of the asshole. She didn’t find him one bit sexy now. “Listen to me, you moth—”
“If you don’t get inside Baile’s wards, and stay there, the same thing will happen to you that happened to your grandmother, your sister, your aunt, your mother.” His gaze bored into her. “The same thing will happen to you that happened to all the women in your family.”
“Are you threatening me?” Pulse spiking, fear thrummed through her.
“No, sweeting.” His face gentled. “I’m trying to save you.”
“From what?” When he didn’t speak fast enough for her, she planted her palms on his chest and shoved. “Talk!”
He barely rocked back. “Goddess cannot wake until she has a witch from each element. We thought all the water witches were extinct, but you were in hiding.”
She had questions, so many, and yet her brain couldn’t form the right words into sentences, so she gaped at him.
“It took Rhiannon time to find you, but she did, and she’s been killing the women in your family who manifest the gift. One at a time, until you’re the last one left.”
Her feet didn’t feel solid around her and the cliff, the sea, his face all blurred and swirled. She thought she might faint. “You can’t know this. This can’t be true.”
“You are the last water witch, Bronwyn, and without you, Goddess will never wake.” He pulled her into his arms. “You’re going to have to get over your freak out, because we’re out of time, and there’s more you need to know.”
She fought his hold. If she heard any more, her head might explode. “There can’t be.”
“Listen to me.” He held her against him, refusing to let her struggle free. “You must listen to me. If you keep walking around in ignorance, it will kill you. And you cannot die, little witch. I will not let that happen.”
“Why?” She stayed stiff in his hold, but the betraying softening was already invading her muscles.
“Because the way you feel when I’m around. This impossible fucking craving to be close to me, I have it too.” He kissed the top of her head. “You are my destiny, Bronwyn, and I’m only now grasping the full extent of that.”
His words, the startling sincerity of his voice, reached inside her and quieted her.
“I was created for you,” he said. “And I’ve been waiting all these years for you. I had no idea when I found you that I would crave just to be near you.”
“Please.” She pressed her face into his neck. Not sure what she was asking of him, but sure that she needed it like her next heartbeat.
“Ironically, it’s because I was created for you that I can never have you.”
It was crazy, but he broke her heart with those words. “You can, I’m right here. I don’t understand most of this, and I’m terrified, but you’re the only thing I am certain of.”
“You can’t be.” He drew back far enough to look at her. “You belong first to Goddess, and she needs you, and the rest of us need Goddess. Without her, we’re fucked.”
Bronwyn didn’t get half of what he was saying. She only got that he was walking away from her before they’d even started. A tiny part of her brain registered she wasn’t asking the questions she should be asking. That she was focusing on the wrong thing.
“There’s a prophecy,” he said, his beautiful eyes intent on hers. “The son of death shall bear the torch that l
ights the path. And the daughter of life shall bring forth water nascent and call it onto the path of light. Then they will bear fruit. And this fruit will be the magick. The greatest of magick and the final magick.”
“That has nothing to do with me.” She shook her head, but she couldn’t shake the sick feeling he was telling the truth.
“You are the daughter of life.” He smiled. “And I’m the son of death. In your heart, you know it’s true.”
She stared at him. Deidre and her dream flooded back to her.
“There are forces that want the child we would create.” Alexander laughed, but it held no real humor. “Our child will be the greatest and the final magic, and there are forces that will kill to control that child.”
“This is nuts.” It seemed such a gross understatement that it made her laugh. Once she started to laugh, she couldn’t seem to stop.
“The story Hermione told you is true.” He spoke over her hysterical laughter. “Almost the entire coven was massacred in one night. They were massacred by the same being who wants our child. She tried to overthrow Goddess that night, and she failed. Since then, Goddess has been dormant, but that you’re here now is a sign she’s ready to awaken.”
“You keep talking about a goddess.” She battled her bizarre laughter under control. “I don’t even know who that is.”
“She is who you serve.” His expression grew wistful. “She is why the cré-witches came into being. Your coven sisters will tell you about her.”
Sadness, soul deep mourning, pierced her. There had been many more coven sisters and they were all gone.
Alexander growled and shook his head. “There’s so much to tell you and not enough time for all of it.” He cleared his throat. “You think you came here to find your past, but you’re here because you’re fulfilling a deeper purpose in a game that is bigger than both of us. You’re here to save the cré-witches by waking up Goddess.” He raised her hand and kissed it. “And Goddess must wake.”
“You can’t be serious about this.” She felt stretched taut beneath her skin. “Where does that prophecy thing fit into this?”
“They have dovetailed into one person. You.” He shrugged. “Goddess always did like a neat plan.”
Her mind refused to absorb the information. Words were being fired at her like missiles, and they exploded around her and shattered her world. “This isn’t real.”
“It’s real.” He tightened his grip almost painfully on her hand. “And you’re out of time. Rhiannon knows you’re here, and she knows how to get to you.”
“Rhi—what are you talking about?” And then, like she was a complete fucking girl, tears streamed down her face. She didn’t even know why she was crying, but it all felt too much.
“I know this is a lot. Strangely enough, that will be the least of my sins against you when you come to make sense of all this.” He gripped her shoulders. “For now, understand this. I have never wanted to flout my fate more than I do now.” And he kissed her.
Hot and hungry, he devoured her mouth with his.
She tasted the despair and desperation in his kiss, and she wanted to take it away.
Then he released her and looked beyond her.
Niamh and Mags walked through the gatehouse surrounded by Niamh’s usual collection of animals.
“Mags knew you would be here, and the animals sensed Bronwyn,” Niamh said. “What’s going on Alexander?”
“Bronwyn can tell you.” As if it hurt him physically, he grimaced and stepped away from her. “She’s had a shock, and she’s going to need you when she recovers.” Alexander unpacked her luggage from his trunk and put it on the road in front of Niamh. “Take her inside the wards and keep her there.” His face was so cold it made her shiver. “If she leaves, she’s as good as dead. Don’t doubt it for a second. In your library, I want you to look up Rhiannon. When you find that information, know that she’s back, and she’s stronger than ever. There’s a fight coming, and you ladies need to wake the fuck up in a hurry and get ready.”
Chapter Ten
“On the subject of waking the fuck up.” Alexander stood at the base of the statue. In his long, long—and really, it warranted a third—long life, he’d come to a couple of realizations. Firstly, people didn’t really change. For the most part, they recycled the same patterns of greed, lust, envy and fear. Those who broke the pattern were few and far between, and generally ended up getting devoured by the masses.
Secondly, life had highs and lows, but most of living took place in the endless plain of nothing in particular running between the troughs and peaks.
And thirdly, the one he was about to shove into motion, was that life presented you with defining moments. The problem being, life didn’t announce them with trumpets and streamers. You had to recognize defining moments to act on them. Generally, they popped into your conscious mind, often as a splendidly bad idea with gruesome and repellant repercussions.
He put his leather satchel down and dropped his head back to stare at the sky. He’d always loved the night sky. Stars littered the darkness like pinpricks of hope in a vast fabric of heinous. Dear Goddess, he was getting maudlin. You would think after all these hundreds of years, he’d have had his fill of living. He didn’t know how normal people did it with their precious few years.
Standing before his defining moment, all he could think was he’d never gotten the girl. He hadn’t, and now wouldn’t get to ride into the sunset with Bronwyn, white hat firmly in place. As a concept, he could live with it, but since meeting Bronwyn—knowing the warmth of her skin, the taste of her kiss—it seemed a damn shame.
The night of the coven massacre, Goddess’s first three had used what residual power they had to cast a spell from the shadow realm, drawing Baile’s wards far enough onto the village green to protect the petrified forms of Roderick and Maeve. Baile shouldn’t be allowing him this side of her wards, but it was another of those mysteries he didn’t have time to unravel. Gritting his teeth against the blood magic backlash, he pulled the athame from the bag. Clyde’s blood was still on it and resonating blood magic. If the poor bastard had still owned a soul, he would have been able to see Alexander use his life force for some good.
The athame was bad enough, but the cloth he’d used to soak up the blood shrieked so loud it wouldn’t surprise him if Rhiannon could hear it. By the time she worked it out, the job would be done, the die cast, and his true allegiance revealed.
He ran the athame’s wickedly sharp blade over his palm. In a sort of hypnotized horror, he watched his blood mix with Clyde’s on the blade. It dripped through his fingers to the pale gray concrete plinth. Rhiannon didn’t know that Baile would let him past her wards. If she had known, without a doubt, she would have used his ability.
“Air,” he whispered.
Wind rose in protest, the element trying to escape his mastery, flattening the grass on the green and shaking through the leaves of the oak trees.
Bronwyn. Tiny and fiery and pure of purpose to her gleaming cré-witch soul. His little witch and his defining moment, his fork in the path, the cattle prod up his pampered arse to get him to act. After tonight, nothing would be the same again. Tonight, he declared a side and drew his line in the sand.
Blood flowed freely down his wrist to his elbow and Alexander wrapped the cloth with the dead man’s blood around it. Blood magic hacked through him like a rusty scythe.
“Water.” The agony of blood magic made his head swim. Rhiannon was so much stronger than he.
Dimly the tide crashed into the rocks on the beach. A water fountain across the green bubbled into life and shot a stream of water into the air.
Alexander brought water into line with air and wound them in a ribbon of power. He took the dark oozing force of blood magic and fed it from the power ribbon.
“Earth.” The ground beneath his feet shuddered. The elements were things of life that recoiled from death magic. His head pounded and his heart raced as he gripped earth and wound it with a
ir and water.
Above him, the dark cloud of blood magic rolled into being, and reached its obliterating tentacles for the strongest source of life magic, the statue.
The three elements struggled against his mastery. Clyde’s corrupted blood stopped his hand from healing, and he bled freely, the entire cloth soaked now and dripping, droplets hissing and smoking as they hit the earth.
Alexander pulled on his remaining strength. “Fire.”
Streetlamps around the green flared and exploded in a shower of sparks.
The four elements wove tighter and tighter into the power thread. His breathing was labored, and he grew lightheaded as he forced the two magics together. Lifting his bleeding hand, he pressed it against the stature. “Wake up, you son of a whore. We’re out of time.”
Magic. It reappeared so suddenly she was not ready for it. It was not magic as she knew it either. This magic grabbed for her with harsh grasping fingers. Tainted fingers that rampaged like fever through her body. The torment hammered her, and she screamed for it to stop, but nobody heard her in the void.
Magic ripped at her belly, and she tried to make it stop, but it kept coming in relentless waves. Not content with her belly, the magic fastened around her heart as well, then her throat, and climbed to her forehead and tightened in an excruciating band.
Magic bored into her mind and tore open her memories. She had a name, and her name was Maeve.
Deeper dove the magic and yanked more memories to the surface.
There had been danger, so much danger they had feared for their survival. The end of the cré-witches had come. The final thirteen had stained Goddess with their blood magic and sent her into stasis.
They gathered around her, the dead thirteen, their souls now wraiths hanging between life and death for all eternity. Forever silenced, forever cut off from Goddess, never to reincarnate again.
Gray and disembodied, they stared at her through hollow gray eye sockets. They had stood guard for her all through her long sleep.
How long?