Love Spell in London

by Shereen Vedam

  PINPRICKS OF ENERGY kissed Grace’s skin as she moved from an environment of air to one of water.

  Llyr, the water god’s son, nodded a welcome before he stepped into the adjoining air-breathing room Grace had just vacated. There, he transformed into a young dark-haired gentleman, properly fitted in modern English attire that included a tailcoat, pantaloons and polished hessians. Was he was trying to best Dewer’s stunning appearance?

  Suppressing a smile, Grace silently wished him the best of luck with that doomed strategy. Her attention swung to the water god. His large white shell-bed rested on a four-foot stand, bringing it waist high to her. Laying her staff on the floor, she sat on the shell’s edge. As she examined her patient, time felt as if it sped by, slipping from her grasp like water trickling through splayed fingers.

  Hollis, the eel who had followed her to this lake, had said his friend, Hudson, was dying. As was this water god, if the ebb of his energy flow was any indication. Grace could only help one at a time. Since Hudson was currently lying sick on the bank of the River Thames, many hundreds of miles away, she feared she would not arrive in London in time to be of any assistance. That looming failure ate away at her as she sent probes into this ailing deity, gauging the source of his malady.

  There were no distinct dark globules on him as there had been on his daughter’s ankle and forehead. Instead, Grace sensed a pervading sense of death flowing from the water into the god.

  “You are too late, Healer.” A tentacle touched her forehead. Startled, she glanced up. His words were jagged musical notes that translated as a breathy speech in her mind. “I will not live to swim my streams another day.”

  “Do you know what ails you, my lord?”

  “My waters are infested with I know not what. My creatures are dying, including the friend of that eel that seeks your assistance. Save your energy to help them.”

  His gaze wandered toward his children and his tentacle slid down and wrapped around her neck before the tip touched her lips.

  Grace tasted the poison there. The salty tang was tinged with a familiar flavor of the underworld’s dark magic. She moved the tentacle aside. Could the water god have been infected with the toxin that had injured his daughter? If so, was Adramelech also its source?

  The water god gripped her shoulders and Grace gasped as he pulled her thoughts into him, taking her on a journey though lakes, rivers and streams, crossing England from west to east, flying above ground for the most part but occasionally dipping underground until finally they splashed into the Thames. From there they travelled beneath several bridges, skirting galleys and row boats until they reach the bank by the Tower of London. This was where the poison originated, where Hudson lay dying.

  The water god released his hold on Grace and sank back into his shell, looking exhausted from the ordeal of sharing that information.

  Without his support, she gasped and slid to the floor.

  “Go,” he commanded, his misty sight lingering on his children. “Heal my world, before this insidious infection destroys all I love.”

  She stood on shaky legs but instead of leaving, she sat back on the shell and placed her hand over his chest, trying to detect his heartbeat. She received the steady beat from that organ. The flow of energy was strongest there, where his blood pumped hardest.

  With firm resolve, she sought out the minute specks of darkness infecting him. There were millions of those deadly dots. More flowed into him from the water. Slowly, Grace chased them from around his heart, and then from his body, back out through his pores and into the water. As soon as she released her hold on the water god, she sensed them swarming back to infect him.

  He took a gasping breath and swooped up, looking vibrant again instead of pale and deathly.

  Grace staggered away from the shell on shaky legs, envying the water’s god’s returned energy. She was entirely drained from that healing exercise.

  “You are not cured, my lord,” she said by way of a warning, “merely revived. To properly heal you, we must find and halt this invasion of your waters. You are already becoming re-infected.” She glanced back at his son and daughter in the other room. “I am unclear why your children seem well. If all of Britain’s waterways are so poisoned, they, too, should be at death’s door.”

  “They are not tied to my waters as I,” the water god said. “They will remain safe, until my passing. You have given me hope that I can withstand this assault until we can effect a permanent cure. You must hurry. Go. Find what is darkening my realm, Miss Adair, and eradicate it!”

  As Grace turned to leave, Llyr and Llyn rushed into the room and swooped to hug their father, tentacles swarming around him. Grace, about to give this family time to celebrate their short-lived joy in private, noticed an eerie shadow in a corner that set her pulse hammering with alarm. Her unease rose as she caught a glimpse of a blade. She summoned Joy, who was instantly in her grip, thrumming with rising power.

  The hooded shade raised a bony hand in peace and then a finger beckoned her closer.

  She glanced into the other room. Dewer was at the window’s edge glaring at her, ordering her silently to come to him. He held out his hand, as if offering her assistance.

  He must realize she would be weak after that healing. His offer was touching and she wanted to go to him, but not yet. Holding her left hand up to indicate she would be just a handful of minutes, she followed that bony summons.

  The specter led her into a dark recess of the chamber. Had it come to collect the water god, and was now upset she had stolen its prize? It did not appear angry, though it was hard to tell much beneath that dark hood. She, instead, gained the impression it was merely anxious to converse.

  Chapter 9

  JOY, GRACE’S STAFF, checked with concern over her mistress’s shoulder into the other room where the water god had gone to speak to the deliciously scrumptious Dewer. The two men appeared to be arguing more than chit-chatting. “Olivia, what do you suppose has those two so hot under the collar about?”

  Olivia, Grace’s witch’s hat and shield, refused to look away from the hooded stranger conversing with her mistress. “Did you hear that? He just mentioned Jonas, Grace’s cousin. The boy was murdered by Dewer’s mother ages ago. Why bring that boy up of all people?”

  A jessamine branch sprouted from Joy’s top end and she used it to point toward the air-breathing room. “Look over there, Olivia! The water god has taken hold of Dewer. I think he’s trying to rip off the warlock’s forearm.”

  “What?” Olivia swiveled to check on the room at her back. “Grace just saved the water god’s life. Why would he harm the warlock who accompanied her? Also, Joy, why do you keep sprouting those scented vines?”

  “Never mind that.” Joy squashed her worry about the unsettling effect of her spellcasting with Grace’s grandmother. “We should tell the mistress about what is happening in that other chamber.”

  Olivia sent a quick message. “Done.”

  Grace instantly left Death to swim to where the water goddess was crossing the room’s barrier. Their mistress rolled into the air-filled room and once on her feet, she shook herself dry and knelt beside Dewer. The warlock was flat on his back before the water god. “What have you done?”

  Joy leaned over for a closer look and the vine from her top end brushed Dewer’s nose.

  Grace impatiently flicked that strand away and checked on Dewer’s breathing and then his pulse.

  Joy cut off her dangling vine and it dropped to loop tenderly around Dewer’s right ear. “The mistress is terribly worried. I told you she was falling in love with him.”

  “Is he still alive?” Olivia whispered. “No good being in love with a corpse.”

  “His pulse thrums at his neck beneath the mistress’s fingers.” Grace’s rising anxiety churned up Joy’s power level. “She is preparing to strike at the water god.”

  “Oh, no!” Olivia spread a swift shield over Grace. “His children are here. Even if he is still weak, we will no
t win if they decide to defend their father.”

  “Have you noticed how silent Kemp is? As his staff, he should be defending his master. If the water god had wrapped his slithering tentacle around Grace’s arm, I would instantly have struck him down.”

  “I agree that Kemp’s inertia is troubling,” Olivia said. “See if you can jolt him awake.”

  Joy sent a shot of energy at Dewer’s staff.

  “Ow!” Kemp flared. “Why did you do that?”

  “Your master is in trouble and we thought you might want to help,” Joy said with deep sarcasm.

  “Where is he?” Kemp asked.

  “You are in his grip.” Joy gave Olivia a worried look.

  “Where is my master?” Kemp repeated. “Where is Dewer? What have they done with him?”

  “Well, that bodes ill,” Olivia said.

  DEWER WANTED TO CHASE after Grace but the glass separating them refused to shimmer to let him through. He speared the water god with an accusatory glance.

  The deity met his gaze and shook his head, attesting he had indeed barred Dewer’s entry into his chamber.

  The water god knew Grace had gone off into the shadows with a suspiciously cloaked stranger. He banged on the glass and it shivered beneath the energy he pumped into it, Farfur’s power backing up his anger. One, possibly two more thumps and he was sure it would break.

  Suddenly the water god was before him, sending Dewer stumbling backward. No longer a squid creature with tentacles, he was a man standing a head taller.

  Dewer seethed at the unnecessary increase in height that spoke about a need to dominate. He was tempted to grow taller himself but that would be giving into his opponent’s petty masculine posturing. Instead, he demanded, “Let me pass. She needs me.”

  “She is safe. Death will not harm your lady. He asked and gained my permission before approaching the Healer. He was surprisingly talkative for one of Death’s minions, who are normally a taciturn lot.”

  “That was a soul taker?” Dewer’s terror spiked and he shifted the water god aside and banged on the glass wall. This time, a shiver of cracks raced across it, startling Llyn and Llyr on the other side. They leaped back as if expecting the wall to splinter apart.

  “What does he want with Grace?” Dewer gathered his energy for the next strike and silently ordered, “Farfur, get ready.”

  “That he did not indicate,” the water god said and touched the glass. The crack instantly sealed as if it had never existed.

  Seeing all his work come to naught, made Dewer’s breath whoosh out in disappointment.

  “He was indeed sent here to collect me, but he seemed unconcerned, thrilled even, that I had been spared. Said his name is Alfred. Odd fellow.”

  In the far recess of the adjoining aquatic chamber, Dewer caught a glimpse of the back of Grace’s gown. At least she was on her feet and still in this realm.

  “The entire time he was in my presence,” the water god said, “Alfred’s hollow gaze seemed trained on my Llyn, rather than your healer. It made me wonder if my daughter is marked for death.”

  Ah! He was worried about his daughter. “She is fine,” Dewer said. “She was gravely injured earlier because of an encounter with an underworld demon, but Miss Adair healed her of that ailment.”

  “What was Llyn doing in the underworld? Going there means certain death to our kind.”

  “It is a long story. Suffice it to say, she is perfectly healthy now.”

  “Then why was Death so fascinated by my Llyn?”

  Now here was an opening that could work in his favor. “Shall we go and ask him, my lord?”

  The water god met Dewer’s calculating gaze and his smile grew. “You are a clever one, fae/warlock. I agree. Though my time has been extended, it is fast diminishing and I would see my children safeguarded. I lost too many years already because of my foolishness toward Llyr’s rebellion.” He laid a hand on Dewer’s forearm. “You have given me an idea. Will you promise me something?”

  Dewer knew better than to agree to anything without knowing the specifics of a bargain. After what happened with Llyn when he made a deal with her, his alarms rang loud and clear. In fact, his brand heated beneath her father’s touch, as if to remind Dewer to be wary of dealing with this deity.

  The water god chuckled, his hand clenching around Dewer’s forearm. “This is one of Llyn’s creations, and born of Llyr’s imagination.” He nodded. “Yes, it will do very well.”

  Dewer snatched his arm free. “Will do what very well?”

  “Miss Adair has agreed to go on a mission on my behalf. If she is to succeed, she needs a protector.”

  The water god’s thoughtful gaze swerved toward his son and Dewer’s back instantly went up “She has me. She needs no one else.”

  “Then you agree?” the water god said, his attention returned to Dewer and he realized he had been played.

  Before he could argue that he had not agreed to anything, the water god pointed to Dewer’s arm and a tentacle shot out to slither under Dewer’s coat and shirt to grip his forearm.

  The heat that seared him was ten times worse than what Llyn had done. His right arm felt as if it was being severed in two. He was afraid to pull away, in case he left half his limb behind.

  His blood bubbled and his heart pounded in terror. Dewer’s sight began to dim and just when he thought he might die, the attack stopped. His lower limbs buckled, and he would have fallen but for the water god catching him in his arms.

  “My apologies, warlock,” the water god whispered, “but this is the only way I could think of to assist you.”

  Dewer, kneeling on the floor, wondered how the water god managed to speak without moving his lips.

  Llyn rushed past the barrier to his side, looking concerned. “What did you do to him, Father? He helped me.”

  “Now he is going to help me,” her father replied, but the words sounded distant as if the world faded. Dewer’s last coherent thought was, I failed Grace.

  SIX HOURS AFTER LEAVING the water god’s demesne, Grace, deeply troubled, was headed back toward London in Llyn’s company. Due to the logistics of transporting an unconscious Dewer, they were in a dorey, a small shallow boat that should have required at least two rowers, but with Llyn at the helm, it propelled itself. Alongside them, Hollis, the eel that had come to request Grace’s assistance with his friend, Hudson, swam, never tiring. Occasionally, Grace shot him a burst of energy. She worried that by the time they reached the Thames, it would be far too late to help Hudson.

  Two seats had been removed from the dorey’s center to make room for her and Dewer. She sat with her limbs stretched out while Dewer’s head and shoulders rested on her lap. It was odd to look at him so vulnerable and still. While she had waited for Dewer to come and fetch his hellhounds, he had often frequented Grace’s dreams. On each of those occasions, he had appeared vibrant, alive, and full of hot, riled up emotions. Even in her dreams, she had not dared to touch him without permission.

  Now she tenderly stroked Dewer’s forehead as they sailed over lakes and sped along rivers. When land blocked the path forward, the dorey would rise up and fly. During those moments, with a little help from Grace, Hollis, encased in water, flew beside them, his bulging eyes making him look as startled as he probably felt at that unusual form of travel. Thanks to Llyn’s water magic, all around them, people in England’s countryside carried on with their lives, unaware of the dorey’s passage other than as a particularly bright spray of mist.

  They sped toward London in the company of a still unconscious Dewer. The longer he remained in his motionless state, the more worried Grace became. She had wanted to question the water god about what started the altercation between them but he had vanished. Both Llyr and Llyn had apologized profusely on their father’s behalf, but their assurances that Dewer would recover soon did little to pacify Grace. Especially because, a day later, Dewer had yet to awake.

  She had sent probe after probe into Dewer’s mind and body and dis
covered much about a warlock’s physiology, especially this prime specimen. There was not a single thing wrong with him. He was delightfully fit, utterly sexy and undeniably desirable.

  Her mother would say Grace was allowing her emotions to distract her healing energy but she had been acutely focused. Even as her fingers were tempted to stroke instead of tend, she had been diligently on the hunt for what ailed Dewer. She found nothing out of harmony in his makeup other than an odd sense of heaviness.

  “His color is good,” Llyn said as they sped along a river in High Wycombe in the County of Buckingham that she said would connect them to the Thames.

  “Everything about him is wonderful,” Grace said.

  Llyn flashed the first smile she had shown since they discovered her father bent over Dewer. “You like this warlock.”

  “Too much, my mother says.”

  “You? What do you say?”

  Grace ran a finger along his hair line until his silky black locks fell over her hand. “He is a warlock, and a dark fae.” Her finger reached his right ear where that odd jessamine branch fell off Joy and struck him. She glanced at Llyn. “His home is in the underworld.”

  Llyn’s lips curled down in disgust. “You are not a water being, Miss Adair. You can travel into that dismal realm without fear of being steamed alive.”

  “I am a healer,” Grace said, “with a newly acquired affliction to do no harm to any being. That may be my witch’s code but we were taught the precept had its limits. However, the Laneast well may have cursed, or blessed me, for now I feel compelled to follow that code to the letter.”

  “That well is said to be in favor with the Creator, so I would say you have received a blessing, not a curse, though such contacts are often difficult to distinguish as good or bad. Is that why you wished the demon hornets to be saved?” At Grace’s nod, Llyn speared Dewer with a considering glance. “He spared them for you.”