by Arthur, Keri
“Clayton,” he continued, “let’s go. Elizabeth, I’ll be in contact to arrange the audit.”
“Fine.” My voice was surprisingly even given the tumultuous state of my stomach. “But after that, don’t bother. I don’t want to see you; I don’t want to hear from you.”
A cool smile touched his lips, but he didn’t actually reply. He simply gave me a somewhat mocking bow and then followed Clayton from the room.
Relief hit so hard my legs went to water. I would have collapsed had Aiden not caught me. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s over—done.”
He was a good enough judge of people and situations to know that it wasn’t, but I didn’t say anything. I simply enjoyed his embrace while I could.
“Well,” Monty said into the silence. “That went way better than I thought it would.”
“Aye,” Ashworth agreed, his tone dry. “None of us are dead.”
“Clayton’s furious, not insane,” Monty retorted. “He won’t break the threefold rule.”
“That rule doesn’t apply to physical attack,” Belle said quietly. “And that’s what’s still coming.”
“Then we need to get you somewhere safe.” Monty paused. “Both of you, I mean.”
“Of course you did.” My voice was dry. I pulled free from Aiden and turned around. “And we have a plan for that.”
“No, we really don’t,” Belle said. “Not unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“I think it will be.”
“And I think you’d better enlighten the rest of us,” Monty said.
I waved a hand. “Later. For now, can we get the hell out of here? Clayton’s stink lingers, and my stomach is threatening to revolt.”
Ashworth’s gaze sharpened. “I’ve got a good nose for cologne, lassie, and he wasn’t wearing any.”
I hesitated, but he deserved the truth. Or at least part of it. Neither he nor Monty knew about the second wellspring and had no idea Katie’s spirit controlled it, and I really wanted to keep it that way. The fewer people who knew what Gabe had done, the better—especially when it came to people like my father, who cared for nothing except power and its uses.
“It appears the wild magic is sharpening some of my senses.”
Ashworth frowned. “Why would it be doing that? It’s a force—a form of magical energy from deep within the earth. It can kill, but it can’t alter.”
“I know, and I don’t understand why it’s happening. It just is.”
Which was totally the truth, and yet his expression suggested he knew there was more I wasn’t saying.
“Once the current problem has been dealt with, I might take a trip up to Canberra,” he commented. “The Society has an archive of old magics—there might be something on wild magic there.”
“They have?” Monty’s eyebrows rose. “I don’t suppose you need a research assistant, do you?”
“No, laddie, I do not.”
“You’re reservation witch,” Belle said, voice dry. “You can’t be flitting about willy-nilly.”
“Even a reservation witch gets holidays.”
“Not when they’ve only been in the job a few months.”
“There is such a thing as pro-rata,” he commented, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Truth is, you just want to keep me close.”
A smile touched her lips. “Well, you are handy when it comes to psychos wanting to punch me out.”
“If you’ve finished flirting with each other,” Aiden said, his voice dry, “how about we get on the road? I’ve an early start tomorrow.”
“It’s all right for you,” Monty grumbled as he led the way out the door. “You’ve caught your girl. Mine’s still playing hard to get.”
“Not hard,” Belle drawled. “Impossible.”
“Impossible isn’t in my vocabulary.”
“Then look it up. You’ll see a picture of me.”
Their by-play continued as we headed down the stairs and walked across to the truck. To my relief, both government cars had gone. For some reason, I’d half expected Clayton to do something crazy—like try to run us over or even shoot us. But perhaps he wanted to check the spell had indeed been fully removed before he got down to the business of revenge.
I had to find a way to protect Belle. Had to.
I didn’t say much on the way home, and I didn’t stay at Aiden’s, as much as I wanted to. Belle’s exhaustion pulsed through me, its force so sharp and strong my own bones were aching.
I made us both a strength potion, but shoved such a big dose of sleeping herbs into hers that she barely even made it to bed. I tugged the blankets over her, then walked across to the bookcase and studied the old books secured behind glass doors. While the twenty or so leather-bound volumes we had stored here were only a tiny portion of the books Belle had inherited from her grandmother, I had a vague memory of seeing a spell that could protect the recipient from physical assault. I had no idea if it had been in one of these volumes or those stored offsite, but if I could find it, then maybe I could prevent Clayton doing to her what he’d tried to do to me.
I opened the door and ran a finger across the spines, hoping instinct or even that distant memory would kick in. Neither did, so I pulled the most logical three out and headed into the living area. After making myself a large hot chocolate and liberally dosing it with Bailey’s Irish Cream, I settled down for a long night of reading.
It was close to dawn before I found it, though it wasn’t in any of the books, but rather amongst a number of handwritten notes tucked in the back of the rather oddly titled—and also unfinished—Spells from Uncertain Times. Nell had obviously died before she’d been able to finish the book.
I carefully unfolded the brittle piece of paper and studied the spell. It required the recipient’s hair or skin, as well as something he or she held dear, and would only work if there were a deep connection between witch and recipient—which was rather odd.
It wasn’t until I reached the end of the spell that I realized why—it required the blood of the practitioner to fuel it.
Blood magic.
Dark magic.
Which explained the title. Blood magic had been in heavy use during the Dark Ages, but had thankfully petered out since then. Few these days used it—and those who did were hunted down and killed.
While many of Nell’s other books mentioned counters for dark spells, none—as far as I was aware—detailed an actual blood spell. So why this one? Did that mean it was safer? That it didn’t stain the soul as deeply or as darkly as the others did?
I scrubbed a hand across my eyes, uncertain what to do. There’d been no other workable spell that would protect her from physical assault, but dare I risk blood magic?
My gaze swept the note again. At the very bottom of the page, in writing so small I had to hold it closer to the lamp to read it, was a note; I foresee a need for this in the distant future, but be wary of its use, dear witchling. The spell lies in the gray zone; it will not draw the ire of the council but it will make you more susceptible to the darker forces of this world.
I swallowed heavily. Being more susceptible to darkness was not something I needed or wanted in a reservation that still had several years of being invaded by those same forces ahead of it.
But if it could protect Belle from what was coming…
I grabbed a pen and quickly jotted down the instructions, then carefully refolded the note and tucked it safely back in the book. I returned all three to the bookcase, then collected the candles and other magic paraphernalia I needed from the reading room. I collected some hair from her brush, then walked over to her dressing table. There were many beautiful necklaces and rings that she no doubt loved, but the spell had called for an item the recipient held dear, and to me that meant something they didn’t want to lose.
Nothing here fit that bill.
But I knew something that did.
I opened the top drawer and reached past her underpants to the small stack of ribbon-wrapped lett
ers sitting there. They’d all come from Belle’s first lover—a much older French chef with a poet’s heart who not only taught us both to cook, but who’d fallen madly, passionately, in lust with the then-eighteen-year-old Belle. Their affair had burned bright for seventeen months and had ended equably, but during that time Miguel had sent her numerous poems and letters detailing his admiration and desire for her. She’d kept every single one of them.
They were all yellowed with age and smelled faintly of the rose petals that had once accompanied each one. I carefully undid the red ribbon, then opened the top note. It was obviously the letter he’d written after they’d made love for the first time, and detailed exactly what he intended to do the next time. The intimacy of it had my cheeks burning and my pulse racing.
I grabbed my phone and took a photo so that Belle would always have his words if not the actual note, then quickly did the ribbon back up and tucked the letters back into their hiding spot.
One would have to be enough.
After placing the candles around the bed and ensuring there was nothing close by to catch alight, I carefully lit each one and then sat within their semicircle. I lit the final candle, placed it in front of me, then tugged her hair from her brush and put it and the letter beside the candle and my copied instructions. I took a deep breath to center my energy and still my nerves, and then began the incantation. It was long and intricate, and the forming threads were clouded and heavy. By the time I neared the end, my pulse raced and I was shaking with fatigue.
I blinked the sweat out of my eyes, then slid the tip of my athame into the folded letter and held it over the candle, watching it burn as I whispered the spell’s penultimate line. As the paper blackened and burned, and tiny sparks of red spun into the air, the spell’s threads began to pulse with power.
It was working. Just one more thing to do… and it was possibly the hardest.
My hand shook as I pressed the tip of my athame to my finger. I briefly closed my eyes, gathering courage, and then pierced my skin and let the blood drip onto the candle. Something fractured deep within, and uneasiness stirred. I ignored it and spoke the final few words. The pulsing threads settled like a blanket over Belle’s sleeping form and slipped under her skin. She stirred, murmuring a soft protest, but didn’t wake.
I closed my eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. It was done. All I could do now was pray that it lasted long enough to counter Clayton’s arrival.
* * *
Belle clattered down the stairs midway through the breakfast rush. “Why the hell didn’t you wake—” She stopped and studied me through narrowed eyes. “Why do you look like utter crap?”
“I didn’t get much sleep last night. It’s nothing serious.”
In truth, I hadn’t gotten any. It had been close to six by the time I’d finished cleaning up the spell stuff and sprayed the room so that it didn’t smell like burned hair, and I’d figured it was pointless going to sleep for less than an hour. I’d come down, made myself breakfast and several coffees strong enough to stand a spoon in, and then started the day’s prep work.
“When you say things like that, I know it’s time to worry.” She hesitated, her face paling slightly. “You’ve done something—something you’re desperately trying to hide from me.”
Meaning, for whatever reason, she wasn’t immediately aware of the spell’s presence, which was something of a relief. How long that would last, I had no idea, as the strength of our connection made it difficult to keep secrets long-term. She’d kill me if she ever did discover the risk I’d taken to protect her.
I quickly piped cream onto the apple pie I’d plated up and pushed it across the counter for Penny to collect and deliver. “I placed a protection spell on you last night, that’s all.”
She frowned. “You did? Then why can’t I feel it?”
“Because it’s embedded, just like the spell we lifted from Clayton.”
“No protection spell we know can do that.”
“This was one I found in your gran’s books. I didn’t tell you about it because I didn’t think we’d ever use it.”
Her confusion deepened. “Why ever not?”
“Because it called for an item close to the recipient’s heart to be sacrificed.”
Her eyes went wide. “Not Miguel’s letters…?”
“Only one—and I took a picture of it before I burned it.” I caught her hand and added softly, “I’m really, really sorry, but believe me when I say it was utterly necessary.”
“I do. It’s just…” She stopped and blinked rapidly.
“I know.” I squeezed her hand and then released her. “But if Clayton attempts to rape you, the spell should prevent it.”
She absorbed this in silence for a few seconds. “And what about you?”
My smile felt thin—humorless. “I have the wild magic.”
“Which won’t help if you’re unconscious.”
I shrugged again. “It’s acted before to protect me without direction. There’s a good chance it’ll do so again.”
“The problem with that theory is that Clayton now knows you can use it. It’s more than possible he’s researching means of circumventing it even as we speak.”
“If Ashworth and Monty are having trouble uncovering information about wild magic, I don’t think Clayton will have much more success.”
“Except for the fact he has a hell of a lot more contacts.”
“I’m thinking positively here. Don’t spoil the illusion.”
She snorted softly. “Delusion, more likely.”
“Whatever works.”
She shook her head, then nudged me to one side. “You’re making a goddamn mess of that cappuccino. I’ll take over—you do the cakes.”
I smiled, switched positions with her, and fervently hoped the matter of the spell was now forgotten.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Once we’d closed and cleaned up, I called Aiden.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he said. “I was just about to ring you.”
Alarm slipped through me, even though there was little in his voice to suggest anything was wrong. “Why?”
“Ciara’s invited us to dinner.”
“Why?” I repeated.
He laughed softly. “Because she likes you. And because I told her you’d finally agreed to move in. It’s a celebration, of sorts.”
More likely a cross-examination. I wearily scrubbed a hand across my eyes. It was an unfair thought. Ciara wasn’t his mother, and though she’d been somewhat standoffish at the start, she’d slowly accepted my growing presence in Aiden’s life.
But this invitation was still unexpected.
“I’d love to accept, but I had a really shitty night last night, and I’m dead on my feet.”
“Dreams again?” Concern vibrated through his voice and warmed me deep inside. “Or something else?”
“I was working on a spell that would protect Belle.” She was within earshot, so I fudged the truth. “It took all damn night.”
“Was it successful?”
“I think so. We won’t really know for sure until Clayton tries something.”
He grunted. “Get some sleep then. I’ll tell Ciara we’ll make it next week.”
“Thanks.” I paused, torn between the need to sleep and the call of desire. “I can sleep as easily at your place as mine. That’s if you don’t mind a snoring companion.”
“I’ll take you any way I can get you. Be there in an hour.”
He didn’t only pick me up, but carried me upstairs when I all but fell asleep in the middle of dinner. He stripped me off, tucked me in, and kissed me, soft and lingering.
I protested sleepily when he pulled away, and he chuckled softly and dropped another kiss on my forehead. “Plenty of time for that in the morning, love. You need to sleep, and I’ve got reports to write up.”
Love. He’d called me love. I couldn’t help but wonder if he even realized it.
“Promise?”
“P
romise.” He sealed the deal with another kiss, but this time it was fierce—demanding—and full of hunger. He broke away with a groan. “Sleep.”
“Like I can after that sort of enticement.”
He chuckled softly but didn’t kiss me again. I closed my eyes and listened to his retreating steps. I was asleep before he reached the base of the stairs.
* * *
Nothing happened on the Clayton front, and no more deaths were reported over the next few days, which suggested that the ghoul might have moved on. I certainly hoped so—I was over the whole dramatic confrontational final battle thing that always seemed to happen whenever a new evil stepped into the reservation.
The café was also quiet, which at least allowed us to do a stock take and to catch up on baking cakes and slices. But each day that went by uneventfully had tension rising within. The longer Clayton had to plan, the more dangerous he’d be.
What made the situation worse was the fact that we were relying on other people—on Ashworth’s connections with the Black Lantern Society, and on my mother actually keeping her word—to get the heads-up we needed if we were to have any chance of surviving Clayton. Belle and I had spent nearly thirteen years depending on no one but each other, and while it felt good to have people in our lives that we could count on, there was a part of me—undoubtedly a very stupid part—that would have preferred it to remain just the two of us.
Still, there was one good point about the continuing silence from Canberra—it allowed me to spend extra time with Aiden, even though I hadn’t officially moved in.
A hot chocolate appeared in front of my nose. I flashed him a smile as he reclaimed his position next to me on the sofa. It was close to midnight, but we both had tomorrow off so had made the best of it by catching up on some new release movies.
“What do you want to do tomorrow?” he asked.
“Shop? We’re almost out of food.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Shopping is boring.”
“Shopping is necessary if we want to eat. Besides, living together on a more permanent basis will involve boring moments. Life’s full of them.”