by T. M. Cromer
“Should we cloak the castle?” Aurora asked.
“We are too far out for anyone to see the light, but if you feel we should, I will.”
“No, it’s fine if you don’t think we need to.”
“Then let’s get started.” He lifted his arms, his palms face up toward the heavens.
“I call on the Goddess’s divine will
To assist us in our time of need.
Show us what we wish to see,
In a time before the fire and debris.
As it will, so mote it be.”
It was simple and to the point as far as spells were concerned. With Preston’s power, he didn’t need showy.
A blaze of yellow light flared at the center of the circle. Like a kaleidoscope, the reverse images took them back to right before the time of the fire. They silently watched as the pictures formed and replayed the past in forward motion.
Jace had been in his study, an old, thick tome on the desk in front of him. A sound caught his attention, and his head whipped up in time to see Alastair stroll through the door.
Aurora’s heart spasmed to see how haggard Alastair looked. Rarely had she seen him less than pristine in appearance.
“What are you doing here?” Jace snarled.
“I thought we could work together to find a way to bring her back.”
“I think you’ve done enough.” Undisguised hatred was reflected on Jace’s exhausted face. “Because of you, my sister is dying.”
Alastair didn’t try to defend himself. The bleakness in his darkened eyes said it all. He obviously agreed with Jace.
“Should you change your mind, know that I will be working day and night for as long as it takes to save her.” The raw edge to Alastair’s voice spoke of his pain.
Jace flung a snifter of brandy at Alastair’s head. It never reached its target. Alastair simply held up a hand and redirected the glass to a sideboard table.
Rage colored Jace’s complexion to a dark shade of red. “Go to hell, Alastair. My sister was cursed the day you stepped into her bloody life.”
“I cannot argue that point. Be at peace, brother.”
“I’m not your brother. I’m not your anything. After I find a way to revive Aurora, I intend to rip you from her life like the poisonous weed you are.”
Alastair’s sharp gaze swept the desk with its haphazard stacks of papers, and landed on the ancient book. “Then I wish you luck, Jace. You’ll need it because no one will take what is mine. Not now, not ever.”
A shiver rippled the length of Aurora’s spine. The steely quality of Alastair’s tone inspired fear in her. She couldn’t imagine that Jace hadn’t experienced misgivings.
She met Preston’s troubled gaze across the short distance. While he didn’t voice his concerns, they were written on her husband’s face. Alastair’s fierceness spoke of obsession.
As one, they turned back to the scene playing out.
In a blink, Alastair disappeared, as did the book from the desk.
“That bastard!” Jace raged after he noticed its disappearance.
“Jace?”
He faced the petite brunette in the opening of the doorway. “What is it, Sylvie?”
“Come to bed. I’ll help you research more tomorrow.”
“I’m not tired.” His lie was obvious.
Sylvie moved to his side and placed a hand on his lower back. “This fixation isn’t healthy. Aurora’s been gone over a year now, and you hardly eat or sleep. We can’t keep going this way.”
Jace knocked her hand away. “Then leave.”
The coldness stole everyone’s breath—Sylvie’s and the three bystanders’ observing the past.
“I mean it, Sylvie. I want you to go.”
Her lips trembled as tears flooded her eyes and streamed down her face. “Don’t do this to us. Aurora wouldn’t want this.”
“I said go!” he shouted. Pain, fury, and another deeper, undefined emotion radiated from him.
As Sylvie turned to leave, he spoke again. This time, there was no mistaking his contempt. “You’re as much to blame as Alastair, Sylvie. You told her where he would be. You encouraged her in that fool’s quest.”
“She loved him, Jace. What was I supposed to do? She only did what I would’ve done.”
“Well then, it’s too bad it wasn’t you in her place, isn’t it?”
Jace’s fiancée cupped her abdomen and bent nearly double. Desolation was in every line of her body. She gulped in air, and when she could once again straighten against the onslaught of his hatred, she said, “If I had one wish, it would be to trade places with her. Then you could have your precious sister, and I’d never need to see you again. I envy her the oblivion.” Once again she turned away, but not before saying, “Remember, when you are standing in the ashes of your life, you were the one who lit the match.”
Sylvie slipped the engagement ring from her finger and let it drop to the floor. The clink of metal on stone was light in comparison to the weight of the devastation happening. With a snap, she teleported to Goddess knew where.
Jace stood staring at the empty space where she’d been. With dead eyes, he surveyed his surroundings. “Yes, perhaps a cleansing fire is what’s needed.” A small flame sparked to life from his fingertips. For a full ten seconds, he toyed with the fiery ball, rotating it around. Then, he snuffed it out. Falling to his knees, he started to sob. “I’m so sorry, Rorie. I failed you, sister. Forgive me.”
Aurora sank to her knees, facing the destroyed man who was her brother. “Oh, Jace,” she whispered.
He teleported in a blink, and she was left staring at the empty room from nineteen years before. Had she not concentrated on the fire, she’d have missed the popping of the log in the fireplace, missed the spark that landed on the antique Persian carpet. In seconds, the rug was ablaze. The flames quickly spread throughout the room and consumed everything in their path.
Suddenly, Alastair appeared. Within another minute, the fire was extinguished, and in another five, the smoke was cleared from the room.
“You should’ve let it burn.” Jace appeared from the shadows behind him. “There is no one left to care.”
“Rorie’s children may one day care, as will yours.”
Jace continued to stare at the ruin of the study. “I effectively destroyed any chance I may have had of future children. Sylvie will never speak to me again.”
“Why? What did you do?”
“Does it matter?”
“It would break your sister’s heart to see you behaving this way.”
“She’s not here to see it, is she? She never will be here because of you and Sylvie.” Jace created a baseball-sized fireball and lobbed it at the wood beams of the ceiling. “This time, let it burn,” he said tonelessly and teleported away. Alastair once again extinguished the blaze. With a quick incantation, the whole structure changed, resembling the burned out ruin it now appeared to be.
Alastair dusted off his hands. “Well, my love…” he spoke as if Aurora were with him. “…at least that idiot can’t destroy what’s left of the castle if he believes nothing exists.”
The visions of the past faded to nothing. Aurora looked to Preston. “It still stands?”
“It would appear so.”
“But if Uncle Jace didn’t die in the fire, what could’ve happened to him?” Summer asked.
“That’s the question of the hour,” Preston said. His gaze dropped to where they’d witnessed the truth. “It seems perhaps it’s time I spoke with my brother.”
4
Alastair swiped a hand over the scrying mirror and wiped out the image of the three people at Fennell Castle. They’d discovered his trick to save Aurora’s home. Good. A simple restoration of the study, and she could haunt the halls of her old home for as long as she wished.
“Alfred,” he called out.
His faithful manservant appeared instantly. “Yes, sir?”
“My daughter will likely show up soon. I imagine she
will have my brother with her. See they are given whatever they need. The dossier on Jace Fennell is in my safe, as is the reversal spell to restore Rorie’s home.”
“Yes, sir.” Alfred bobbed his silver head. “When asked, where shall I say you’ve disappeared to?”
“Bora Bora seems nice this time of year, doesn’t it?”
“Indeed it does, sir. Very good.”
Alfred left as quickly as he’d arrived and caused Alastair to smile. His old retainer was worth every penny of his salary.
“Remind me to add a large bonus to your next paycheck, Alfred,” Alastair called to the empty room.
Alfred’s voice echoed back to him. “Consider it done, sir.”
With a soft chuckle and a small salute toward the hidden camera in the corner of the room, Alastair headed to his bedroom. He arrived to find a snifter of brandy by his favorite chair and the gas fireplace on a low setting. It produced enough light to see by.
He downed the brandy in a single fluid movement and swirled a finger to magically return the glass to the kitchen. His next order of business was a hot shower. The hope was that the heat might penetrate the coldness of his soul. Slowly, he stripped down and stepped under the spray. The high pressure of the water—his element—went a long way toward restoring his mental health. As the moisture seeped into his skin, he felt stronger, less fatigued. He continued to absorb the water as it pounded down upon him and fed his power.
A knock sounded on the bathroom door.
“What is it, Alfred?”
The door cracked open, allowing the steam to escape.
Preston walked into the room and crossed his arms over his brawny chest. His brother was a superior specimen by anyone’s standards. Even had he not had his magical powers, he’d still be intimidating to the average individual.
Tempering the urge to scowl, Alastair turned off the tap and grabbed a heated towel from the rack. “Ah, I guess it was too much to hope that you’d come for the information about Jace then leave.”
“Rorie’s a mess. She needs you.” Without a doubt, the words cost Preston to utter them.
“No, brother. She doesn’t. Nor does she want me to help her.” He sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face, worn to the very fiber of his being. “She’s with you, where she belongs. I’ve only ever brought her pain.” He raised tired eyes to his brother’s concerned face. “Please, just leave me in peace now. You have all you need to find Jace.”
A deep furrow appeared between Preston’s dark auburn brows. “You sound as if you are giving up.”
“Maybe I am. I’ve accomplished most of what I’ve set out to do. Rorie is awake and once again settled at Thorne Manor. The girls all have found their mates and are on their true life path. And you have your wife back. My job here is as done as it can be.”
Alastair smiled, and he hoped to hide his desolation and despair. He should’ve stayed in the Otherworld when Lin had killed him all those years before. Instead, he’d struck a deal with Isis and returned. But the destruction he’d wrought to so many lives had not been worth his own life. Not Aurora’s and Preston’s, not Jace’s and Sylvie’s, and not his sister, GiGi’s, or her husband, Ryker’s.
“I’ve never known you to have a defeatist attitude, Al,” Preston said as he perched on the edge of the clawfoot tub. “Surely you aren’t giving up with one small setback?”
“A small setback?” Alastair snorted and snapped his fingers. Dried and dressed, he hung up the towel, then leaned against the vanity, a copy of his brother’s casual pose. Reaching back, he lifted a jar of Aurora’s favorite perfume. Idly, he removed the stopper from the small bottle of Chanel and lightly sniffed. The compilation of floral and woody base in addition to the vanilla and amber notes, when mixed with Aurora’s own pheromones, drove him wild. It was a sad reminder of what no longer was. With a bittersweet smile, he replaced the tiny bottle on the counter. “She hates me now. As well she should.”
Clarification of the “she” wasn’t needed. They both knew he referred to Aurora.
“You’re wrong. You didn’t see her reaction to being left at the manor. You also didn’t see her reaction when you saved her home.”
“Actually, I did see her reaction in the castle. It was a momentary feeling of gratitude on her part. Nothing more. After what she sacrificed on my behalf, I couldn’t bear the thought of her losing her ancestral home.” Alastair straightened and tugged on the sleeves of his dress shirt. “My debt to her is paid. As is my debt to you, Preston. Go enjoy what remains of your life together.”
“Is that all I was to you for all these years? A debt to be paid?” a raw voice asked from somewhere behind his left shoulder.
Heart hammering, Alastair blanked his features and faced Aurora. “Yes.”
“I hate you!” she screamed, and that hatred she claimed blazed in her dark gray eyes.
It hurt him to see the change in her irises. How he missed the sky-blue color and the love that used to shine brightly in them. “So you’ve said. Multiple times.” Without any outward expression other than a lifted brow, he asked, “I assume Alfred gave you the dossier on your brother? Yes? Good.”
Unable to stand another second of her contempt, Alastair teleported to the clearing by the Thorne estate. He centered himself and called out, “Isis!”
The air crackled and shifted around him. A vertical blaze of white light split the darkness in half, and the Goddess stepped through the opening. She was breathtaking in her beauty. Wavy, black hair hung to her waist. The front was upswept and set by a gold band—an indication of her rank. Kohl-lined dark eyes saw through to his soul. Isis sported a figure to make men’s mouths water. Her perfection was draped in an off-the-shoulder sheer-white gown that looked to be made of gossamer silk. As she walked forward, the moonlight caught the iridescent threads.
“Exalted One.”
“Beloved One.”
Greetings out of the way, Alastair straightened from his bow. “I’m ready to take my place by your side as per your decree when you returned me from the Otherworld.” Alastair referred to their conversation nearly thirty-two years before when she resurrected him from death at his old enemy’s hands.
“No.”
Stunned stupid, he stared. He hadn’t expected Isis’s rejection. She’d been after him to join her for years.
Her laughter echoed about the glen. “You’re not ready, my darling. You have much to do yet.”
Alastair sank to his knees before her and bowed his head. “I’m tired and ready to come home to you.”
“No,” she stated again.
“What must I do?” He despised the edge of desperation in his voice.
“You must pay the price for going behind my back and using the Book of Thoth to revive Aurora. I’ve decided you must experience love once more.”
Angry at the unfairness of her dictate, Alastair jumped to his feet. “What is this? A Thorne only loves once. You decreed it to be so. Now, I’m to go on some ridiculous journey throughout life in an attempt to find another mate, as if my feelings for Aurora never existed? Have you lost your damned mind?” His sneeze was as violent as the riot of emotions swirling inside him. He had the presence of mind to counteract the wave of locusts that were sure to follow and fisted his hand against the influx of insects.
Lightning struck the ground to his left, and the following boom of thunder was deafening. The ancient oak trees around him shook in relation to her outrage.
“You dare speak to me in that manner?”
Well, no, not if he had thought about it first. He dropped back to his knees. “I beg your forgiveness, Exalted One. I have no excuse for my behavior.”
At any second, Alastair expected to be consigned to the farthest reaches of hell. It was no less than he deserved and a fitting end to his craptastic day. Her hand on his bowed head was not what he anticipated.
“I forgive you. I’m no stranger to the pain of love. But the love you seek is yours for the taking. Aurora is still your fated m
ate.”
“She hates me,” he whispered brokenly.
“Does she?”
The question brought his head up, but the Goddess was already heading back toward the rift in space.
“You still owe me a sacrifice, Alastair—but you are not it.”
Not him? Alastair had spent years believing he would be the required trade for the boons Isis had granted throughout his lifetime. She disappeared through the opening before he could argue or demand to know who or what her intended sacrifice should be.
“Doesn’t that beat all?”
He rose to his feet and faced a bearded, dark-haired man.
“Ryker.” The fact that his best friend got the jump on him was one more reason Alastair felt his time was at hand. A huge part of him was uncaring of the fact. “What are you doing here, my old friend?”
“Nothing better to do, and I needed to clear my head. I’d ask about you, but I see you were conversing with Isis. How is the old broad?”
“You should ask that to her face. I’d love to see her response.”
“I’m sure it would be similar to the impressive display of elements she subjected you to,” Ryker laughed.
“So you’re back at your old homestead now? Does my sister know?”
Ryker shrugged and turned moody.
“Why, Ryker Gillespie, I believe you are still hiding from the formidable GiGi,” Alastair drawled with a half-hearted grin. He studied his friend. “Over fifteen years wasn’t long enough to be separated?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Ryker growled. In his hand appeared a gold lighter. For as long as Alastair had known him, Ryker had been rubbing that old relic like a talisman. The intricate engraved pattern had been worn off by his habitual action.
“Do you ever miss the pull of a smoke?” he asked his friend, curious as to the old addiction.
“Every damned day.”
“You never went back to the Cuban cigars? It’s not like GiGi would’ve known.”
“I made a promise the day we started dating.”
