Bewitch Me: The Red Veil Diaries: A Witchy/Fae Romance

by Marianne Morea

  Footsteps echoed from the main house, and Aislinn looked up from her sewing, giving a nearly imperceptible nod.

  “Lane, I’m heartened to see you dressed as a lady of your station. You are of house, dun Sliabh Creagach, and all will know you as such.” He frowned, turning his attention to Aislinn as she helped Eve pull a stray thread.

  “Don’t grow too contented with your daily comforts, you unworthy whore. You are only here because my daughter wishes it. That’s right, you taint-blooded slut. My daughter. The one you hid from me and then abandoned.”

  He walked behind her, giving her hair a vicious yank, pulling her from her chair. Aislinn winced, but she didn’t cry out.

  A servant took a step toward her as she lay on the ground beside her chair, but one look from Leith sent the girl running. He waved his hand and every servant fled.

  Lane flung her broken sewing at Leith and rushed to Aislinn’s side, motioning for Eve to follow. The two crouched beside her, helping her to her feet.

  “I guess you didn’t take my hint about flies and honey, did you, asshole? What an absolute waste. Like Mama said, you might look like a sexy, real-life Legolas, but you’re no Lord of the Rings. You’re nothing. Not to me and not to her.”

  “Really, dearest. I expected more of you.”

  Lane straightened, keeping her hand linked with Aislinn’s. Eve stood on the opposite side, her fingers laced as well.

  “Are you addressing me or my mother? She was your dearest once, but that all changed when you decided to try for glory. I’ve got news for you, bucko. For glory you need guts, and you are nothing but an insecure little boy trying to fill a man’s shoes.”

  “Rail all you want, Lane. In time, the lure of your Sidhe blood will be too strong to resist.” With a snort, he turned on his heel. “I’ll leave you to your happy reunion, but come morning we have a war to plan, and I expect my daughter to be at my side and do and say everything I ask, or this reunion will be a funeral pyre.”

  “Time’s up, dude. My Sidhe blood is calling and it wants you!”

  The three Ravens lifted their joined hands, with Lane at their center. Power grew, circling and swirling in and through the circle of three.

  Leith growled, lifting his hands, but his palms were empty. His eyes flashed to Lane and she pushed her lips to a vengeful smirk. “Your biggest flaw is hubris, Leith. Not mendacity. Not avarice. But pride and overconfidence. You left the three of us to our own devices, gave us freedom to walk the halls of this manor. What you forgot is we’re witches, and when you get three of us together, we can open a whole can of whoop ass.”

  Aislinn smiled. “All those years you kept me sequestered didn’t dull my witchy powers. I practiced alone. Honing my skills. Hoping one day you’d grow so complacent, so sure of my yolk you’d forget the rule of three and unwittingly bring other witches here. I should thank you, Leith. Not only did you bring me witches, but you brought Ravens, and no one masters the power of three times three times three better.”

  Lane nodded. “There’s one other tidbit you should know. The rules also ricochet. Whatever you put into the universe will come back threefold.”

  Eve giggled her sweet laugh. “Basically, dude, you’re fucked.”

  Aislinn turned, blowing in the direction of the crystals they placed in a circle ahead of time. The exact circle where Leith stood.

  The pure quartz blazed with white light, and he turned in a rush, but he was trapped.

  “Tsk, tsk, Dad. Game’s over and you lose.”

  “I am an immortal! You cannot kill me!”

  They gripped hands even tighter. Their words catching power, it eddied within the bound circle.

  “We call the realms of space and time, unlock the gates, release the prime. From fiery breath, world’s first light, fire burn and candle bright, invoke the fates, set wrongs to right, burn baby burn, our foe now smite!”

  The courtyard’s bluestone slates shook and split. Leith fell to his knees as around him the ground gave way. It crumbled like it did in the Middle Course, only this time Leith couldn’t seal the rift. Fire spewed all around him as he knelt on a small outcrop of rock.

  Lane pulled loose from Eve’s grip, keeping her other hand laced with her mother’s hand. They’d do this together.

  She lifted a hand toward the fiery rock, and mumbled words she didn’t know she knew. Wind ripped and swirled and in the midst of the maelstrom, the sword rose.

  Calling to it, she gripped the hilt and with every ounce of strength, hurled the iron clad steel into Leith’s chest.

  He screamed as the iron ore flamed, engulfing his body in the one fire no full Sidhe could withstand. He fell to the depths, white flame sealing his fate. Lane waved a hand over the pit, and it sealed.

  “Huh. I guess like father like daughter.”

  Aislinn squeezed her hand, before pressing a kiss to her daughter’s cheek. “Let’s not build on that, okay?”

  Lane laughed. “Like mother like daughter.”

  “Uhm, can we make like a banana and split? I don’t want to be here when the minions find out we toasted their boss.”

  Aislinn nodded. “C’mon. The portal to the Seelie Court is down by the water.”

  “The water! You mean down those rocks?” Eve stopped short.

  “Did you think Leith would make any part of this easy?” She tugged Eve’s sleeve. “We’ll be fine. I know a shortcut.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Gareth claimed you.” It wasn’t a question. Still, it didn’t bode well to ignore the Seelie queen. Not in her own court, anyway.

  “Yes, your Grace. He did.” Lane lifted her hand to show the queen the mark on her palm.

  The queen beckoned her closer, and when in reach she touched the dull white mark softly. “That’s quite a sigil. Gareth must have loved you very much.”

  Lane nodded, swallowing against the lump in her throat. “As I him.”

  The queen considered Lane, waving her back to her place. “A claiming rite is a varied and personal thing. It can be simple and perfunctory or elaborate and heartfelt. It requires only two things, of which I’m sure you’re aware.”

  Lane bobbed her head, not trusting her voice.

  “Do you recall any of the words spoken when Gareth claimed you?” She gestured toward the sigil. “The words he used ensuring the rite.”

  Gareth’s words were a tattoo on her heart, even as the sentiments behind them were evidenced on her hand. “Every word, your Grace.”

  “Can you repeat them for me?”

  Lane stifled a recoil. The woman wasn’t just the Tiana, Queen of the Seelie, Sovereign of the Summer Court. She was all Sidhe. As selfish and thoughtlessly forbidding as Leith was cruel.

  “I’d rather not, your Grace. Gareth’s words are still too painful to remember, let alone speak aloud.”

  The queen looked at her, but then lifted a dismissive hand. “Indulge me.”

  Jaw set, Lane glanced away for a moment. Every eye in the court was on her now, and she dare not refuse. Not if she wanted the woman on the throne to allow her, Eve, and Aislinn to return home in one piece.

  She sucked in a breath, ignoring the anger and hurt stinging her eyes. “Root of my root, star spun lives. Bound in flesh and spirit light. Blood of my blood, bone of my bone, I claim thee now as we are one. United in life, transcended in death, the claim is cast on Danu’s breath.”

  “Thank you, Lane. Your lover’s words were as I suspected. He was and is a very clever halfling. It’s why I welcomed him to my court. Aside from the fact he’s rather yummy to look at.”

  Flummoxed, Lane blinked at the regal woman. “Was and is, your Majesty? Gareth is dead.”

  She smiled, showing perfect white teeth behind full lips. “Ah, there’s dead and then there’s dead-dead.”

  Lane’s pulsed raced in that moment. Tiana had uttered the exact words Gareth said when she first saw him at the Red Veil.

  “I see by your eyes you understood my meaning, or at least pa
rtly. When Gareth spoke the words, united in life, transcended in death, he unwittingly found a loophole. He spent enough time in Faerie to know we are cunning creatures, and unless requests are made comprehensively, it leaves room for less exacting interpretations. Wiggle room, to use a human phrase, that the Sidhe employ at their whim.”

  Lane licked her lips, afraid to ask the million-dollar question biting her tongue. Leith had played the same game when she demanded he let Eve go. She assumed he understood she meant home to the motherhouse. The bastard was true to his nature and played her.

  When the queen didn’t elaborate, Lane plucked up the courage and asked, “Are you telling me Gareth is alive?”

  Tiana lifted a hand again. “Not exactly. Not yet.”

  She motioned for Lane to approach again, and when she was close enough, the queen took Lane’s hand, holding it palm up. She beckoned one of her ladies-in-waiting forward and took a silver and jewel encrusted dirk from the woman’s belt.

  Without preamble, the queen slit Lane’s palm below the claiming sigil. Blood rose in a red line, and Lane didn’t dare move. Tiana then did the unthinkable. She pricked her own finger and held it over Lane’s palm.

  The collective gasp that rose from the court earned a stern eyebrow from the queen, and it quieted immediately.

  She curled her finger inward, waiting. “You’ll have to forgive the court, my dear. They are not used to witnessing my aid to halflings and Ravens, but if we are to survive the new millennium and continue to thrive, that needs to change.

  “My counterpart, Lachlan, King of the Unseelie and Sovereign of the Winter Court, wholeheartedly agrees. It’s the reason Leith attempted his coup. He knew that with you and your mother, he had an ace up his sleeve. Who better to rule a new dynastic Faerie than one who had…what is it you humans say? Skin in the game?”

  The queen then uncurled her finger. “Do you know where Gareth fell?” she asked.

  Lane nodded. “In the labyrinths of the Middle Course near the abandoned spring portal.”

  “Very well. Picture him there. Not as he was when Leith set him aflame, but as you wish to see him. Virile. Handsome. Whole. Keep the image vivid, and do not pull away from my hand.” Her eyes met Lane’s and her gaze held.

  Lane nodded and then closed her eyes as instructed. Without hesitation, Tiana squeezed the tip of her finger. A drop of royal blood mingled with the blood in Lane’s palm.

  Immediate pain shot through Lane’s hand, scorching worse than any burn from a hot stove.

  A strangled cry died on her tongue as she gritted her teeth against the reflex to jerk away. Lane didn’t dare open her eyes, betting her flesh had crisped, charring as the agony spread toward her elbow.

  Panting, she concentrated on Gareth, forcing her mind to a place of cool water and refreshing breezes. She pictured Gareth’s sexy crooked grin, and the way his raspberry blue eyes flashed with laughter. The way those same blue eyes darkened with need as his body tensed with desire. The image expanded, and memories of him flooded her mind and heart, augmenting the picture in her head, making the pain subside.

  In that moment, the queen released her hand. Lane opened her eyes, expecting worse than third degree burns, only to find her skin smooth and unmarked.

  “I’m sorry, my dear, but I had to test you. I actually got the idea from a Sci-Fi book decades ago.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I can’t recall the title, and it doesn’t really matter, though I admit, the method is quite effective.”

  Lane’s mouth dropped. “You gave me a Fae version of the Bene Gesserit box test from Dune?

  “Gareth proved his love for you by sacrificing his life for yours. If I am to help bring him back from the dead, I need to be sure you are deserving of my help. Though you professed as much, I needed to satisfy you truly love him as you sat.” She smiled. “You passed the test.”

  Lane rubbed the phantom burning still in her hand. “Well, thanks. I guess.”

  The queen inclined her head again.

  “So, your Grace. What now?” Lane threw caution and propriety to the wind. If Tiana was psycho enough to magically duplicate a fictional torture device, then nothing was certain. “How do you help bring Gareth back? He’s a Phoenix, so his DNA might prove helpful. The last time it took ten years.”

  The queen shook her head. “Much less than that. A month in Faerie, and he was sitting up in bed. Of course, it took many months for him to fully regain his strength. His DNA, as you put it, allowed him to return from the ashes because he was killed with human flame. This time he was killed with Fae fire. It’s a little trickier.”

  “How long for him to recover this time, your Grace? Just give it to me straight.”

  The queen raised an eyebrow, but the smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth said she was impressed.

  “Very well. The images you held in your mind during your trial are all that was required.” She motioned to Lane’s palm. “Your sigil. See how it glows iridescent, instead of the flat white as when you arrived at my court? Your trial had you endure simulated Fae fire, but it was your strength of will and your love for Gareth that sustained you. Not only did you prove your faithfulness to me, you proved it to the fates. Gareth lives. He will need to recover but seek him where last you saw him. He will be there.”

  Lane’s heart pounded with every word the queen spoke, and every fiber of her being twisted to bolt for the nearest portal, but she didn’t dare turn and run.

  As if reading her mind, Tiana lifted a hand. “What are you waiting for, girl? Go!”

  Lane pivoted on her heel, but then stopped, circling back to offer a curtsey. She caught Eve and Aislinn’s faces in the flurry. How could she go anywhere knowing they were still stuck?

  Holding her breath, Lane straightened. “Your Grace,” she began haltingly. “What about my friend and my mother?”

  “It is my wish they stay at court a little longer. Rest assured they will be restored to you in due time.” The queen turned her eyes to Aislinn. “I believe there is much to learn from your mother about resolve.”

  Lane hesitated, but then plunged ahead. “Would due time be in Fae time or our time?”

  The queen laughed out loud, her eyes flashing gold. “Do you really want to ask that question of me?”

  “No, ma’am. I guess not.” Lane shook her head. “I’ll have to trust you and your word.”

  Tiana gestured to one of her guards. “Ilar, escort Mistress Alden to the spring portal. You will follow her to the Middle Course, but no farther. Report back to me once you return.”

  The guard’s fist hit his breastplate. “As you wish, your Grace.”

  Lane curtsied low, mouthing the words thank you before turning for the door with the guard. She followed him down the palace steps and into the palace park.

  The gardens were wild and beautiful, with every kind of tree and flowering plant known and unknown in an endless summer. No wonder the Sidhe picked the New York Botanical Gardens to hide portals and ex-pat fae.

  Ilar led her to a spring at the center of a temple-like garden. Water lilies floated on thick green stalks in the dark depths. Trees reflected on the surface gave all who looked a magical mirror image.

  “This spot is beautiful and all, but what do we do next?” Lane waited for Ilar as he stood by the silty edge, silent.

  “Are you telling me you don’t know how to work this inter-realm thingamajig, because I certainly don’t. Gareth and I had a hogboon helping us—” she broke off mid-sentence as Xax’s words to Gareth came flooding back.

  She met the guard’s eyes. “What’s your name again?”

  “Ilar, mistress.”

  “Well, Ilar. Do you guys know the Ballad of Tam Lin?”

  “Of course, mistress,” he replied. “It’s a well-loved tale.”

  She nodded, chewing on her lip. “Okay, then I think I know how to start our engines here. I need the words to the last lines of that poem, and a silver blade.”

  He stood blinking, as if unsure w
hat to do next. “Chop, chop!” She clapped her hands. “Pen and paper, or quill and parchment. Whatever floats your Faerie boat. I don’t know this ballad, so I’ll need you to dictate the exact words so I can write them down.”

  Ilar turned on his heel and jogged in the direction of the palace. When he came back, he had a rolled piece of parchment and what looked like Gareth’s ritual jackknife in his hand.

  “Will these suffice, mistress?”

  Lane took the knife from his hand. It was Gareth’s all right. “Where did you get this?”

  Her voice cracked at the thought of Gareth’s belongings traded for bets on dice games in some dank garrison.

  “The queen gave it to me earlier. She said if you asked for a blade, I was to give you this. The parchment I had to procure.”

  He held out the scroll. “It is the ballad in its entirety. My mother wrote out the poem for me when I was a lad.”

  Guilt bit at her for thinking the worst. “I’m sorry for snapping at you, Ilar. I appreciate the help. I promise I’m not keeping the poem. I just need to recite the words.”

  He nodded and unrolled the parchment, holding it up for her to see. “Whenever you’re ready, mistress.”

  Lane issued a silent prayer to the universe and ran her thumb over the delicate runes and Celtic scrolling on the jackknife’s handle.

  “Here goes everything.” Opening Gareth’s blade, she traced a five-point star in the air as she read the last lines of the Ballad of Tam Lin.

  “Oh, had I known, Tam Lin,” she said, “what this knight I did see, I have looked him in the eyes and turned him to a tree.”

  The water in the spring rippled then swirled until it settled again, showing clear as glass. At the bottom was the torchlit passage where Gareth shielded her from Leith’s energy ball.

  Her chest tightened at the memory, and dry tears scored her throat. She blinked back the sting, peering into the crystal water for any sign of Gareth.

  Blue and white flame had consumed his body in seconds. The ball of energy left nothing behind. No scorch marks, and no ash.