Books 1-3

by B. C. Burgess

  But Serafin had more to say. “She’s searching for the Unforgivables, Aedan.”

  Aedan’s heart had stopped. And forget the knot; his stomach had churned and flipped, its contents licking his swollen throat. “No,” he’d croaked.

  The sadness in Serafin’s voice had revealed far more than his words. “I’m afraid so, son.”

  The Unforgivables—a villainous coalition assembled in 1947 by a ruthless and determined wizard named Agro; the most feared group of magicians to haunt the continent since the 1600’s.

  According to rumors, Agro had been a rebellious teenager defiant of morals and self-control, angered by the boundaries placed on his magic. He felt magicians should reign rather than hide, but the majority of covens, his own included, disagreed, so he left home and began searching out individuals who shared his wicked convictions. He sought out unconventionally strong magicians, those with unusual abilities. Then he did everything in his power to spread his gospel. Naturally charismatic and abnormally conniving, he was good at convincing people his cause was just. And if he truly desired the obedience of someone unwilling to fall for his lies, he would simply force them to join, using torture, blackmail or his ever-increasing manpower. He pretentiously called his clan the Dark Elite, urging them to abuse their magical power and rush to the aid of evildoers. He soon grew fond of welcoming bonded children into his ranks and made a point to search them out, adding as many to his trophy case as possible. His numbers grew until they were too big to safely evade their enemies, so he split his troops, choosing bonded children to lead the others. They stayed hidden, coming out to wreak havoc and spark rumors of magic among the hexless. Then they’d vanish, not to be seen again until the innocents least expected them. Their unspeakable and murderous acts had earned them the title Unforgivables, and just the name struck fear into peoples’ hearts. Magical families did what they could to protect themselves, which wasn’t much. Their only defense was to avoid giving the Unforgivables a reason to come around. Bonded families in particular heeded this advice.

  Aedan wasn’t able to say anything more than I’ll call you later to Serafin that day. He’d been too queasy. He could have handled Medea, but the Unforgivables were a different story.

  It had been a week since the dreadful phone call, and the only three people aware of the bad news sat in Cinnia’s café, discussing it.

  Expression grim, Serafin answered the question concerning Medea’s whereabouts. “She’s dropped off the radar.”

  “How long?” Aedan asked.

  “Four days. She was last seen outside New Orleans.”

  Aedan dropped his fist to the table, slopping coffee from his mug. “The Unforgivables love New Orleans.”

  “I know,” Serafin whispered, magically cleaning the spill.

  Aedan shook his head, his jaw so tight he could barely speak. “This is bad. So bad.”

  “Yes,” Serafin agreed. “This could be bad.”

  “Let’s look at this rationally,” Caitrin suggested. “The Unforgivables won’t have a use for Medea. She’s average at best, so they won’t grant her any favors. They could teach her a thing or two, sure, but they’re not going to do her dirty work for her. What we need to worry about is Agro being alerted to our special situation.”

  “Precisely,” Serafin agreed.

  Aedan was lost in thought and didn’t comment, so Caitrin continued. “Agro would love to know you and Rhosewen have bonded, but there’s no reason for him to soar right over. It’s more likely he’ll give it nine or ten months before paying a visit. Everyone knows he doesn’t search out bonded couples . . . just their children.”

  Aedan shifted, resting his elbows on the table as he buried his face in his hands.

  After a moment of tense silence, Serafin ominously whispered. “What are you not telling us, son? Is Rhosewen pregnant?”

  Aedan leaned back, slowly dragging his fingers down his face. “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?” Caitrin demanded.

  “I mean, I don’t know,” Aedan snapped, frustrated, worried and unbelievably frightened for Rhosewen’s safety. He took a deep breath, trying to pull himself together. Then he leaned forward, calmly elaborating. “The night we bonded, before we even knew, Rose and I agreed we wanted a child together, so we didn’t put any protection in place. I know bonded couples don’t need any—that we have to consciously decide to have a baby. I know all that, but I don’t know what to make of our situation. We made the decision, but we made it before we bonded. So does it count? If so, yes, Rose is pregnant. If it doesn’t count, no, she’s not. Unless our first time didn’t count as a bonded experience, in which case our lack of protection could mean she is. After we bonded, we realized the kind of danger our child would face and decided to wait, but we both know there’s a possibility she’s already carrying our baby. So you see,” he quietly finished, “I don’t know.” He covered his face again, trying not to lose his mind. He needed it to get them out of this mess.

  Caitrin and Serafin silently stared at him for a long time. Then Serafin cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, son. I don’t have any advice, because I don’t know either. Have you heard of a similar situation, Caitrin?”

  “No,” Caitrin croaked.

  Shoulders sagging, Aedan slid his hand to his chin, meeting their stares with strained eyes. “If Rose is pregnant, and Medea’s found the Unforgivables, it could mean . . . it could turn out . . .” He dropped his head into his palm, his throat too tight to talk.

  “Listen,” Serafin whispered. “We don’t know anything for sure. If it turns out Rhosewen’s pregnant, we’ll take the necessary precautions, but right now you have to pull yourself together. For Rhosewen’s sake if not your own. You’re getting married to your bonded mate Saturday, and that’s something to celebrate. We’ll worry if and when the time comes.”

  “Hear, hear,” Caitrin advocated.

  But Aedan merely nodded. He’d stay strong for his beautiful Rose, but the knots and worry would remain.

  By Saturday afternoon, the lawn was set for a beautiful wedding. White chairs draped in emerald green satin were spread out in curved rows, facing a large archway comprised of sea blue and emerald green roses bursting from twisting vines of gold. Behind the chairs, sat an enormous round table, most of its surface dedicated to a large reflecting pool, yet it could easily hold enough food to serve over two hundred guests. Tropical fish swam in the pool’s depths, and its bright blue surface rippled when floating rose petals caught the gentle breeze.

  Rhosewen stood in her parents’ living room, getting ready to marry the man of her dreams, her perfect love, her soul mate. She couldn’t wait.

  Morrigan and Daleen fussed over her, but she was serene as she watched Cordelia Kavanagh, her friend and coven member, nurse her baby boy.

  “I can’t believe those dimples,” Rhosewen said, motioning toward the baby. “They’re deeper than his dad’s, and I swear they get cuter every day.”

  “I know,” Cordelia beamed, dipping a forefinger into the tiny yet defined dimple on her baby’s left cheek. “He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?”

  “He’s perfect,” Rhosewen confirmed.

  “I still can’t believe how lucky I am,” Cordelia sighed. “First I find my bonded mate, now this. Some people have all the luck.”

  As Rhosewen watched Cordelia nuzzle her baby, she reflected on what she knew of her happily ever after. Cordelia relocated to Rhosewen’s coven two years earlier, after bonding with Kemble, one of their lifelong members. They’d met while visiting a mutual friend in Rome, and it had been love at first sight, so Cordelia happily left her home in Alaska. She and Rhosewen found instant common ground, quickly becoming close friends, and now that they were both bonded, they had even more in common. As Rhosewen reveled in the beautiful miracle of mother and child, she laid a hand over her belly, wondering what other similarities she might soon share with Cordelia.

  Her view was interrupted when Daleen stepped in fron
t of her, zapping a dress onto her body, but Rhosewen ignored the garment and found the baby again. “Thanks for being my go-to girl, Cordelia. You’ve been a big help.” Not even nursing a four-month-old every two hours had kept Cordelia from tending to even the tiniest wedding errands.

  “You’re welcome,” Cordelia returned. “I’m happy I could help. And Kemble’s thrilled to have Aedan around. It’s like you and I when Kemble dragged me home.”

  For what seemed like the millionth time, Rhosewen considered how odd it was that her coven now had three bonded couples. A magician usually had to travel to ten or more communities before laying eyes on one, yet here they had three. It seemed unfair to everyone else. Rhosewen wondered—again, not for the first time—if fate had brought them together, if they’d been deemed worthy of the deities’ gazes, touched and guided by them, or if they were simply the luckiest coven in the world.

  Cordelia held her baby out in front of her, cooing soft sentiments. Then she switched him to her other breast. “I’m trying to fill him up before the ceremony,” she said. “I doubt this is what you have in mind for wedding photos.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Rhosewen countered. “It’s amazing, watching your beautiful body nourish your beautiful baby. Anyone lucky enough to see it should count their blessings.”

  “That’s what Kemble says,” Cordelia replied, “but between us girls, I think he’s jealous.”

  “Of you or Quinlan?”

  “Well, I know he would jump at the chance to feed Quinlan, and of course he’d enjoy it, but he would be beyond thrilled to be on a two hour feeding schedule himself, so I’d say it’s a little of both.”

  Rhosewen laughed as Morrigan and Daleen turned her toward the mirror. Then her giggle faded as she scanned her reflection from head to toe.

  Everything about her shimmered—her skin, which seemed to be dusted with prismatic glitter; her loose spirals, which were entwined with delicate strands of silver and laced with tiny, sea blue rosebuds; and her silk chiffon Grecian gown, which had thousands of miniscule aquamarines adorning the plunging neckline and empire waist, as well as filaments of silver woven through its soft, layered skirt and the sheer chiffon loosely covering her cleavage. Even her fingernails and toenails sparkled, flashing the exact same color as the zultanite in her wedding ring. When the gem shone pale green, so did her nails. When the gem faded to pink, so did her nails. The entire ensemble was meticulously thought out and designed around her and Aedan’s preferences.

  “Perfect,” she whispered, smiling at Morrigan and Daleen, who’d spent the past two days making her attire. “You’ve done a beautiful job. Thank you.”

  Their auras pulsed with pride, and not even their flowing tears could stifle their brilliant smiles.

  At three o’clock, the lawn hummed with quiet chatter, soft piano music, and distant birdsong; and Aedan stood barefoot beneath the large archway, waiting for Rhosewen to make her entrance onto the lawn through Caitrin and Morrigan’s front door.

  His attire was casual—comfortable slacks and a white button-up shirt, which he left untucked. He didn’t care what he wore. He’d marry Rhosewen in nothing but a pair of clown shoes if that’s what she wanted. Concerning his attire, he had one request—that the top button of his shirt lay open to display the rose gold tag Rhosewen had crafted him. Attached to a braided leather chain and engraved with their names and bonding date, it was the only material object he owned that he considered precious.

  He was the epitome of calm, anxious only to see his bride, but that was nothing new. He ached to lay eyes on her every time she stepped away.

  When the door opened, their gazes met, and their bonded lights burst loose, mingling with their elated auras. The brilliant combination swirled along Rhosewen’s glittering skin and twists of long, flowing hair as she gracefully floated forward, urging her mom and dad to keep up.

  As they approached the end of the petal strewn aisle, Rhosewen kissed her parents’ hands then let them go, reaching for Aedan instead. He reached as well, and as their fingertips touched, the luminosity of their bonded lights doubled, enveloping them in a glistening, golden sphere.

  He pulled her close then firmly held her against him through the ceremony, eyes locked and bodies tingling.

  When Aedan grinned and kissed the bride, a hundred white doves swooped through the clearing, dropping heaps of blue and green rose petals, and the guests cheered, shooting colorful spells into the air.

  Aedan and Rhosewen listened to their loved ones, but watched each other, unable to stifle their grins. His fingertips brushed across her pink cheek then picked a petal from her shiny spirals. When he softly blew on the bloom’s silky surface, it burst into sea blue glitter and formed her name.

  Rhosewen’s face and aura lit up. Then she pulled him into another kiss, whispering against his lips. “I love you, Aedan.”

  “You’re my life, Rose,” he whispered back, sweeping her off her feet. “Forever.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder, sighing peacefully. “Forever.”

  Chapter Eight

  After a fantastic feast abundant with variety, the dinner table was magically swept away, but the reflecting pool remained, lowered to ground level and surrounded by silk covered benches. The chairs were rearranged around a bonfire, and a table of hors d’oeuvres and beverages replaced the arch. Enchanted flutes and acoustic guitars materialized near the north tree line, and soft music began drifting amidst cheerful laughing and bright conversations.

  Around midnight, the lawn emptied of everyone who wasn’t staying, but the enchanted band continued to play for the coven. Serafin and Daleen remained, as did Aedan’s friend Kearny, who decided to stay after meeting Rhosewen’s cousin, Enid. The two of them hit it off immediately and were in the surrounding forest, getting to know each other.

  Aedan looked at his wife, wondering how on earth he’d gotten so lucky. Then he leaned closer, smelling her hair as he whispered. “Dance with me.”

  Rhosewen happily turned into him, and he wrapped one arm around her waist, carrying her into sweeping circles.

  “Was it the wedding of your dreams?” he asked.

  “Better,” she answered.

  “Good,” he approved, picking up the pace.

  He didn’t have to match the rhythm of the music; the bewitched instruments had been matching his all day, so he was free to concentrate on Rhosewen’s entrancing eyes, pink lips, and glowing skin.

  “It seems impossible,” he whispered.

  “What?” she asked, thinking the world was exactly as it should be.

  “That you’ll be more beautiful tomorrow than you are tonight,” he explained. “But it’s not impossible, because that’s how it is everyday. Every morning, when I open my eyes to your face, you’re more beautiful than I remember. You take my breath away every time.”

  Tears stung Rhosewen’s eyes as she clutched his cheeks. “I love you, Aedan. You mean everything to me.”

  “Sounds like we were made for each other,” he quipped, lifting her high into the air. Then he spun once and lowered her lips to his.

  They were still kissing when Kearny and Enid shot from the trees, soaring unusually close to the ground. As they approached, their feet flipped out in front of them, catching their breathless bodies, and Aedan and Rhosewen looked over, finding stark white faces.

  “The Unforgivables,” Kearny warned.

  Aedan’s embrace tightened as icy fingers gripped his heart. “How long?”

  “Thirty seconds. Maybe.”

  “Shit.”

  Aedan turned toward the crowd, and Rhosewen spun with him, locked in his tense biceps. The instruments had crashed to the ground, and the lawn was silent, its occupants frozen.

  “What are you waiting for?” Aedan shouted. “Go! Get the children inside. Kemble…” he mumbled, searching him out, “take Cordelia and Quinlan and hide, all three of you.”

  His shouts snapped everyone out of their tranc
es, and many of them scattered. But Morrigan, Caitrin, Serafin and Daleen flocked to their offspring, and several adult wizards formed a united front behind the golden family.

  “What’s going on?” Rhosewen asked. “Why are the Unforgivables here?”

  Aedan met her frightened stare, terror twisting his gut. “Medea,” was all he could say, and it killed him to say it. This was his fault. Everybody in the community, everyone he loved most, was in terrible danger because of him.

  As if he’d called her name, Medea slowly stalked from the south tree line, her focus on Rhosewen. She looked wild—crazy golden eyes; matted lackluster hair. Hate and vengeance had consumed her aura, changing not only the hues, but the way it flowed—sluggish and dull, steadily draining of life. Another noticeable change, one that had everything to do with the situation at hand, was the raised, purple scar marring her bony right cheekbone. About half an inch wide and three inches long, it hideously dominated her features.

  Fury boiled Aedan’s blood as fear challenged his strength. She’d actually done it. She’d sold them out to the deadly Dark Elite. “I can’t believe you did this, Medea. And for what? You’ve doomed yourself as much as you’ve doomed us.”

  Medea didn’t reply. She just ran an unkempt fingernail down her ugly scar as another thirty magicians emerged from the forest. Wearing blood red flying cloaks, they stalked forward in a perfect V with Agro at its point. When he was ten feet away, he stopped, but the others formed a half circle around the bold yet frightened family.

  Menacingly handsome with long brown hair, a sharp face, and glowing orange eyes, Agro cordially stretched his arms out, his gaze sliding over the tight knit group. “Fellow magicians,” he greeted, appraising the abundant golden glow. “How nice to see all of you. I’ve heard wondrous things about your coven.”

  Caitrin squared his shoulders and cleared his throat, speaking as evenly as possible. “What are you doing here, Agro?”