by Sarah Hegger
Colleen had been there, and Lavina, with poor damaged Hester. They had given their souls to protect her.
Years sped past her in a confusing blur of images, sounds, and smells.
Rhiannon had ripped through the wards and brought death and destruction to Baile. For the sake of their future, Maeve had been chosen to do this.
She reached for Baile, for some sense of the castle, but there was nothing there. Panic increased her heartbeat. She was alone in this endless nothing with a strange, foul magic pulling at her.
Blood magic. The same thing that had put her here, but subtly different. Her element of fire rose like a shining red rope and wound about her.
Gritting her teeth against the pain, Maeve quested toward fire. Fire would never hurt her. Fire demanded she wake. Fire had been alone for too long, dormant, misunderstood and abandoned. It reached ravenously for the power in her and lit her from within.
Maeve touched on the blossoming magic. Lily and orange pierced the abyss. The other magic was still there, still pulling, but lily and orange dominated it now, shoving it away from her.
She didn’t know what awaited her at the end of the dark tunnel she traversed. Ahead, fire pulled her and lily and orange rose to assist her. Her magic, the touch of it infinitely sweet and dearly missed.
Would Rhiannon be waiting for her at the end of this tunnel? Could Roderick protect her? Her heart beat faster at the idea of Roderick.
Roderick, her coimhdeacht, whom she had only begun to appreciate. Her last memory was of Roderick, looking into her eyes, his strong arms holding her, as he threw himself into the void with her. Please, Goddess, grant that he had survived the void. She pushed lily and orange into the bond.
Silence. Dead echoing silence.
And then…there. So indistinct she might have missed it. She sensed him. A new sensation took hold of her and shook her. Laughter. Of course, Roderick was there. Roderick was far too stubborn to leave her, and she could not imagine an existence without him.
A sound thumped in her ear. It itched. Then it came again, vibrating through her head, and she did not care for it. The sound grew stronger, more insistent and settled into a steady rhythm.
Da da dum.
It was her heartbeat, growing stronger with every moment. Air rushed into her chest and forced her to take the first real breath in she knew not how long.
Maeve opened her eyes. She drew night air into her lungs and registered unfamiliar smells. The grass beneath her hands was familiar, and she dug her fingers into it. Something was smothering her, and she pushed to get free.
A groan sounded in her ear.
“Roderick?” Her voice rasped, unused and strange to her newly awakened ears.
“Steady,” a man spoke. The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place it. “You’re on the village green.”
Roderick’s chest rose and fell against her back as he drew in a gigantic breath. “Blessed.”
“Coimhdeacht.” Her guardian protector, the man who had linked his life with hers for as long as she lived. “Roderick.”
Above them the moon hovered in a cloud-strained sky. She blinked at the brightness of it, so beautiful she wished she could touch it.
“Maeve?” Roderick’s muscles twitched and rippled against her. “You are well?”
“I believe so.” She touched her face and found reassurance in the familiar tilt to her nose tip, the curve of her lips, the line of her brows and the cut of her jawbone. Whatever else she found, she was still Maeve. And she was awake again.
No sense of the foul miasma of Rhiannon’s magic lingered about her, but someone had woken her. She could sense the source of the strange magic standing to the left of her, and Maeve turned her head.
A man with dark hair crouched beside them. He looked pained, his dark eyes blazing at her. She knew this man. Her gut twisted. She feared this man.
Roderick sensed her fear, she felt him grow alert through the bond. He pushed her behind him and lunged forward. Muscles unused sent him crashing to his knees in front of Alexander.
“Whoreson.” Roderick rasped painfully. He reached for his sword but overbalanced and crashed into the ground.
The foul magic vanished, and Alexander laughed. “It’s been a while since someone called me that. I rather think I’ve missed it.”
“I’ll kill you.” Roderick growled and struggled to all fours. He stayed there panting. Through the bond, his pain lashed at Maeve, more than she believed any being could bear.
“I’m sure you will.” Alexander handed them a strange transparent vessel filled with clear liquid. “Water. You’ll need it.”
Roderick recoiled from it. “You think I would drink anything you offered.”
“Right.” Alexander shook his head. He tipped the vessel to his lips and drank. “See? And really, as much as I’ve missed our spats, you’re going to have to get yourself and your witch behind Baile’s walls.”
“Baile.” Roderick quested for the castle. He frowned. “Where is she?”
“She’s there.” Alexander handed them the water again. “But she needs you about as much as you need her right now.”
Swaying and lurching, Roderick managed to rise into a crouch. He reached an arm behind and kept her against his back. “I don’t need steel to kill you.”
“That’s debatable.” Alexander raised his brow.
It was unfair that such a beautiful face concealed a soul so evil.
Alexander glanced behind him. “As much as I’m loving this reunion, we really need to hurry things along.” He shoved the water at her. “Drink the water, Maeve, and get that tunnel open.”
Roderick grabbed the water vessel and sniffed it. He raised it carefully to his mouth. “It smells odd.”
“That’s plastic you’re smelling.” Alexander smirked. “Getting up to speed with this century is going to be a mind fuck I wish I could witness.”
Roderick glowered at Alexander but spoke to her. “If it’s poisoned get yourself to the tunnel.”
“But—”
“No argument, Maeve. Not this time.” Roderick sipped the water.
Maeve held her breath.
He took another sip. Then he gave a grating laugh. “It’s water.”
Handing it to her, he scowled at Alexander. “You woke us?”
“You left me no choice.” Alexander shrugged. “Baile needs you. The witches need you, warrior. Your work has only just begun.”
“My work ends with you dead,” Roderick said.
Alexander nodded and stood. He held out his hand to Roderick. “Fair enough, but why don’t we start with something less ambitious. Standing, perhaps?”
Maeve sipped carefully. Cool and wet, water slid down her throat and brought tears to her eyes.
Alexander put his shoulder beneath Roderick’s and raised him to standing. Then he reached for her.
“Don’t touch her.” Roderick lunged between them and would have fallen if Alexander hadn’t caught him.
“You help her then, but get her up, and do it now.” Alexander glanced behind them again. “The amount of magic this is putting out will have her on her way.”
Rhiannon. The name resounded in Maeve’s mind, and she shivered. Taking Roderick’s outstretched hand, she got to her feet. The pain in her unused muscles made her eyes water and she could barely support her body. She clung to Roderick for balance.
“A few steps and you’ll be able to sense Baile.” Alexander had his arm around Roderick’s waist as he dragged them both forward.
The wards prickled over her skin, but they hit Roderick like an anvil. Through the bond, she felt the influx of sensation rush through his bone, muscle and sinew.
Roderick threw his head back and roared his agony to the skies.
Covering her ears, Maeve tried to absorb what she could through the bond. With the pain came strength as well. Already Baile healed and revived her beloved and favorite son.
Roderick’s vitality bloomed rapidly, reached for Baile. They snapp
ed into a tight loop, Roderick and Baile, feeding and regenerating each other.
Stretching his muscles, Roderick finally stood straight and tall, the unassailable coimhdeacht sent to protect her. He turned to her and cupped her face. “Take from me, Maeve.”
He controlled the rush of power through their bond, feeding it to her in a slower and kinder stream. She grew thirstier and sipped the water and offered the vessel to Roderick.
He took a tiny sip and gave it back to her.
“More.” She nudged him with the vessel. It crackled and buckled in her grip but didn’t break. She had no idea what manner of stuff this plastic was, but it was strong and malleable.
On the far side of the wards, Alexander watched them with a strange whimsical expression. He caught her eye and his normal inscrutable mask slid into place. “Hello, spirit walker. It’s been a long time.”
“How long?” Roderick glared at him.
Alexander raised a brow. “Unfortunately for me, not a conversation I’m going to have with you. Get back to Baile. Now.”
He turned and jogged away.
Roderick flexed his arm muscles and arched his back. He winced, and Maeve felt the pulse of lingering discomfort.
The green was surrounded by so many buildings, many of them ugly and crude, but the church was still there, and she motioned toward it. “Should we?”
Roderick raised his brow at her in an expression she hadn’t even realized she’d missed. “I think we must.”
Bronwyn woke as her forehead hit the table. “Ow.”
It took her a moment to orient herself. She was in the Baile library. After Alexander had dropped her off, she’d come with Mags and Niamh to find out more about Rhiannon.
Bronwyn had no idea how long she’d been asleep. In the predawn gloom casting shadows over the stone walls and floor, her knowing prickled beneath her skin, and she looked about for what had triggered it.
With three floors of shelving on either side of a bank of windows facing the sea, the library presented a daunting number of books, but no other people. Opposite the great floor-to-ceiling windows gaped a walk-in-size hearth.
Click, who-ha-hoo, click, vrrrt.
Wearing a tatty Tasmanian Devil sleep shirt, a woman perched on the back of a three-seater leather sofa to the left of her. The woman’s long gray hair was a tangled mess that hung past her waist. Her big green eyes were fixed on Bronwyn. She made another clicking sound and turned her head to the side and kept going, way past the point a normal head should turn.
Bronwyn was warming up for a good scream when the door opened and Niamh stamped in. “You’re awake. Alannah was getting the kettle on.”
“Er…yes.” Bronwyn didn’t know how the strange woman was perching on her haunches like that.
“Roz!” Niamh addressed the woman. “I told you I would introduce you to Bronwyn.”
Roz hopped off the sofa, stuck her arms out behind her like she was flying and ran from the room.
“Well.” Niamh gave her a bright smile. “I see you’ve met Roz.”
“I—”
The floor shook and Bronwyn grabbed her pen before it rolled off the table.
“Sodding hell!” Niamh stuck her arms out to keep her balance as the floor rumbled and shook around them.
As suddenly as it had started, it stopped.
“Was that an earthquake?” Bronwyn hadn’t heard of England having earthquakes.
“I don’t know what that was.” Niamh held on to the back of a chair and peered into the gloom, as if waiting for the quake to come back.
A door banged, and they both jumped. Then another door and another, until the entire castle was echoing with door bangs.
“Is this normal?” After that awful scene with Alexander yesterday, Bronwyn was all done with bad surprises.
Niamh shook her head, eyes huge in her pale face. “I have no idea what’s happening.”
A subterranean groan rumbled through Baile.
“It’s Baile!” Sinead burst into the library with Alannah on her heels. “She’s…alive.”
“Alive?” Bronwyn said at the same time Niamh yelped, “She?”
This had all the makings of a horror movie.
“Definitely a she,” Alannah said and beamed as if she’d won the lottery. She motioned Sinead. “We can feel her.”
Not sure what to make of any of it, Bronwyn clung to the table edge. “I’m confused.”
“You’re confused?” Sinead rolled her eyes. “I was born in this castle, have spent my whole life here, and I’ve never known she had an awareness.”
Niamh chewed her bottom lip. “You’re sure this is the castle you’re sensing? There was that time with the mushrooms—”
“Oh, yes.” Alannah nodded and grinned. “She feels…old.”
“And solid,” Sinead said. “Also I get the sense she’s happy.”
This was starting to feel a whole lot too much like a Halloween haunted house. Only real. And a castle. “What the hell does a castle have to be happy about?”
“She was missing something. Longing for it.” Alannah frowned and got a far off look in her eyes.
Niamh leaned forward and peered into her face. “Are you talking to Baile now?”
“It’s a someone.” Mags flit through the door already dressed in a maxi skirt and peasant blouse. Her hair was brushed and shining, and she looked wide awake. “It’s a someone Baile has been missing.”
“You can talk to her too?” Niamh frowned. “Why can’t Bronwyn and I?”
Bronwyn was not at all sure she wanted to speak to Baile.
“No.” Mags scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I saw him earlier tonight.” She fluttered a hand around her head. “I had a vision whatsit.”
“This someone is a him?” Bronwyn seemed to be the only one keeping track of the facts here.
Mags nodded. “Oh yes, definit—” She cocked her head. “Wonderful! Our visitors are almost here.” She turned and looked over her shoulder. “We should probably gather in the kitchen.”
Chapter Eleven
Still not sure what she was doing in the kitchen, Bronwyn took a seat at the table as Alannah made tea. At least Baile had stopped shaking things.
Cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling Mags paced the kitchen, peering out the window and then through the archway into the rest of the castle. “I’m not sure where they’ll come from.” She giggled. “This is super exciting.”
“Will they want tea?” Alannah paused with a spoon of tea leaves hovering over the teapot. She frowned. “I have some poppy seed loaf left but it’s not to everyone’s taste.”
“It’s a tad…dry.” Sinead pulled a face and shrugged. “But everyone likes tea.” Then she glanced at Bronwyn. “Except maybe for you. Is that because you’re American?”
“I like tea.” They were missing the point. “I just pref—never mind.” Somebody had to keep them all focused. “Who is this visitor, and what do they want?”
“Not a visitor.” Sinead took a deep breath. “He belongs to Baile, like he’s part of her.”
Alannah added a couple of extra spoons of tea to the pot. “We’ll definitely need biscuits.”
“Do we have any of that lemon cake you made?” Sinead got up and brought cups to the table. “That was delicious.”
“I do.” Alannah bustled over to fetch a cake tin from the Welsh dresser against the far wall.
“At last!” Mags ran over to the kitchen door and opened it. “Hi!”
A man and woman stood on the other side. They were dressed in what looked like some kind of historical dress and staring at the occupants of the kitchen.
Bronwyn stared right back with the rest of the Crays.
“Hello.” Alannah found her voice first. “You should come in.”
The man stepped into the kitchen.
The hearth fire flared, and Baile shook and groaned, but it did have an oddly joyful note to it.
The man put his hand on the doorjamb. “Settle down, girl.”
He had a deep, raspy voice and a strange accent that sounded nothing like the other accents of Greater Littleton.
“Wait there,” he said to the woman and strode deeper into the kitchen. “I am Roderick. Who are you?”
Nobody answered his question. For her part, Bronwyn was still stuck on his name. “Roderick?”
“Aye.” He nodded his dark head, and his pale blue eyes swept the kitchen and everyone in it. “If you’re here, it means you are cré-witches.”
“Ye-e-es.” Niamh stared at the man. She frowned and raised a hand. “When you say Roderick—I really only know of one Roderick—now I’m confused.”
“Roderick?” The woman at the door wore a long, old-fashioned dress. And by old-fashioned, they weren’t talking the seventies. Not the nineteen seventies anyway. Her blond hair hung in a thick braid over one shoulder. She was short and slim with darkly lashed blue eyes. Bronwyn put her at about her own height of five foot nothing. “Can I come in yet?”
“I need to ascertain your safety first, Blessed.” Roderick’s tone had Bronwyn’s eyebrows heading for her hairline. And she’d thought Alexander was bossy. She needed to focus.
Holding out her hand and stepping forward, Mags said, “Hi, I’m Mags. Well, my full name is Magdalene, but nobody calls me that.”
“Seer?” Roderick stared at her.
“Um…okay.” Mags shrugged. “Can we get back to the Roderick thing?”
“What year is this?” As Roderick glanced around the kitchen, his gaze stuck on the range. “Where is the kitchen hearth?”
Alannah stepped aside and motioned the range with her hand. “They put this in a while ago. It takes some patience to get the hang of it, but once you do, it’s marvelous.”
“Hmm.” Roderick prowled the kitchen while they all stayed stuck to the spot and watched him.
Bronwyn grabbed her courage and cleared her throat. “Umm…I think I speak for all of us when I ask if you could explain who you are and how you come to be here.”
“I am called Maeve.” The pretty blonde waved from the door. “And we came through the tunnels from the church to the caverns.”
It couldn’t be the Maeve from the statue, but that was not a name you heard all that often. Perhaps Bronwyn had hit her head harder on the table than she thought.