The COMPLETE Witching Pen Series, Boxed Set: The Witching Pen, The Sands Of Time, The Demon Bride, The Last Dragon and Wilted

by Dianna Hardy

  “And Mary's not reckless? You don't think she's more likely to do something stupid?”

  “Good point,” he mumbled.

  “Well, I don't want to wait any longer to get Mum out of the Shanka world. I've already waited longer than I should have – Gwain was a big part of my plan. I've made new plans though, on the basis that they may never return.” Her throat constricted at the thought.

  Karl squeezed her hand. “How are you getting on at the shop without Mary?”

  “It's hard, but she did it for me when I was recovering from … you know…” She still couldn't bring herself to talk about how she'd turned into a Shanka demon – sort of – and nearly ended the world. “Besides, Katarra's filling in for me tomorrow.” Thank God – she really didn't want to work weekends.

  Karl frowned. “I can't believe you've agreed to let her work in the shop – she doesn't look human, for God's sake, and does she even know what she's doing? How long is she going to stay with us for?”

  Elena rolled her eyes. Okay, so Katarra’s skin was a little more orange than most people’s, and the hair on her head was a little more red than most people’s… But she kept her fangs hidden, and agreed to wear human clothes to cover up her not-entirely-human-looking body. “It's a Pagan shop, Karl, and it's Halloween in three days – she almost looks human – people just think she's part of the décor … and I don't know how long she's staying,” she muttered.

  Katarra was a sore point. The Queen of the Brujii demon tribe – and an annoying one at that – had taken to Elena like a bear takes to honey. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say, like a mosquito takes to blood. Elena had given the queen her vein after she'd provided crucial information about both Amy's disappearance and the Witching Pen. Just a few sips of Elena's blood had Katarra reeling in a sexual bliss she could not experience in any other way, without losing her magical abilities for months at a time.

  Heat rose to Elena's cheeks – it hadn't been an entirely unpleasurable experience for her either. She sneaked a quick peek at Karl. His neck was an obvious shade of red.

  He was Elena's anchor from giving in to her demon half completely, so she had insisted he'd be present when her blood was given. Unfortunately no one was immune to Elena's succubus energy when she was aroused, so they'd left Katarra revelling in her own orgasmic state, while they had disappeared into the next room to satisfy their own needs. Thank God no one else had been in the house.

  Since then, Katarra had been sickeningly sweet and helpful in every way possible and, quite simply, refused to leave. Clearly, she was hoping for another dose of happy. Although Elena knew she shouldn't be encouraging her, she couldn't deny that she was utterly grateful for the help in the shop and around the house, not least because she was devoting all her spare time to figuring out how to save her mother.

  “Look, as soon as we get my mum back, I'll talk to her, okay?”

  Karl grunted in answer.

  “Hey,” she tugged his hand, and they stopped walking. “She's being really useful right now, and … was it really so bad?” she teased, trying to lighten the situation.

  “Elena, I don't want to be a threesome.”

  “It's not a threesome! It was just that one time with the blood—”

  “And you were so fucking turned on, I was actually a little jealous.”

  Her mouth dropped open at his admission. “Are you kidding me?”

  “No, I'm not.”

  “But you were fine when it was Gwain and the energy transference…”

  “That was different – the transference was for a purely spiritual purpose, and originally given to your mum to save your life. Giving Katarra your blood was solely for a sexual purpose.”

  “Her sexual purpose. And we managed to save Amy because of the information she provided us.”

  “So if I hadn't been in the room, you wouldn't have jumped her?”

  She stared at him in shock. “I … I…” Oh, shit. At her core, she knew the truth was that she didn't know. She wasn't fully in control of her succubus half yet, and part of her wondered whether it had anything to do with control at all – maybe that's the way her succubus would always be in certain … er … heated situations.

  He raised his eyebrow at her in an 'I knew I was right' kind of way.

  “It's irrelevant. You were there, you’ll always be there, and you're the one I want. You're the one I love, for Christ's sake.”

  His features softened, and he leaned in to kiss her forehead.

  She shifted, reached up for his lips instead, and sighed when his warm, soft mouth met hers. His tongue stroked her bottom lip gently, and she opened up to let him in, her whole body tingling in response to his touch. Her response to Katarra taking blood from her had been sudden, sexual and superficial, but this – every single reaction she had to Karl was ten times stronger and rooted so deep she didn't know where he began and where she ended. This wasn't just sexual, this was love – love that ran deep.

  When he pulled back, she observed him through tear-filled lashes. “It's only ever been you, Karl, don't you know that?”

  “Oh, darling, don't cry,” he said, stroking her cheek. “I wasn't insane-jealous, just a little jealous.” He smiled. “It's fine. We live crazy, abnormal lives. It's just another thing to challenge us – to make us stronger. What can I say, my human half still suffers from human emotions.”

  They continued around the corner, and Karl's house came into view. Karl had insisted she think of it as their house – after all, that's where she lived now too, since the explosion that had destroyed their flat. Technically though, it was Karl’s dad’s house. He just couldn’t live in it while he was in jail.

  “Are you sure it's your human half that's jealous? I mean, it's the succubus in me that's the wanton harlot—”

  His lips curved upwards at her use of that phrase.

  “—maybe it's your angel half that's jealous.”

  “I thought you saw my angel as saintly.”

  She laughed. “Well, Katarra told me that vampires are fallen angels who could never adjust to life on Earth.”

  “Vampires exist?”

  “Apparently so, although no one, not even demons, have seen one for thousands of years, so they’ve become myth rather than reality. She said that when angels first fell into the physical dimension, the hunger pains they suffered were so great, they had no choice but to feed on blood, and blood was the only thing that would quell the pain because it is of the physical body. Some fallen angels became so consumed by their need for it, that it ruled their lives. They forgot where they came from, and lost their wings as their fangs emerged.

  “Anyway, that’s why fallen angels have a bloodthirsty nature. And they’re often ruled by emotion because they're not used to feeling all these … feelings … when they're all ethereal and love and light or whatever. So, my point is, that maybe it's the angel in you that's spitting with jealousy, and not the human.”

  “Hey, I said I was a little jealous … and I’m definitely not bloodthirsty, or an emotional wreck, but that's an interesting point. I've been researching what I can find on angelic lore over the past two weeks, and … well, the war in Heaven since Eden fell – it's pretty violent. And certainly Gods across all mythologies have been known for their emotional and jealous natures, just look at the Greek pantheon – Zeus and Hera, for example… Maybe we humans are actually the enlightened ones.”

  They walked up their drive, and he took his keys out of his pocket.

  Elena slipped her hand under the bottom of his coat and squeezed his backside.

  He cast her a curious sideways glance. “You feeling playful?”

  “We have two hours before Amy and Pueblo show up,” she smiled, sultrily, “and all this talk of jealousy and sex—”

  He laughed out loud, then pulled her into his chest as he unlocked the door. “Your succubus likes that, does she?”

  She blushed, and looked down, suddenly embarrassed.

  “Elena,” he li
fted her chin up and she met his eyes. “I'm not making fun of you – I love that you're so open and honest, remember? In fact, that's the thing that turns me on the most about you.”

  “Really?” she asked, surprised. “You like that I'm open?”

  “God yes,” and he crushed his lips to hers in a kiss that was much more demanding than the last. “It's beautiful – it makes my heart swell up … and it makes me want to fuck you senseless.”

  She grinned into his mouth. “Well, my jealous angel, hurry up and lock the door behind you, and I'll show you just how open I can be…”

  The door slammed shut, and they never made it further than the hallway.

  ~*~

  It was a marvel – one of the mysteries of life – how some things aged and ebbed, slowed to a stop and died, whilst other things remained timeless.

  The apple tree had not changed one bit. Even as everything else had fallen apart around it, figuratively speaking, anyway.

  Paul tore his eyes from the tree, then, as swiftly as his spent body would allow, turned away from the window that overlooked it, and out of the master bedroom of his estranged house, that belonged to his estranged past.

  He would never have thought it possible that one could approach their own death with such peace and certainty, but he was ready to die, and he could feel nothing but gratitude that in the end, peace was even possible after everything he had done; after everything he had put others through – his daughter, his granddaughter … her.

  He had removed the magic spell that connected Amy to him, but it was strange how at this moment in time, he felt closer to her than he ever had before. Maybe it was because he was about to die where she had … or should have done … Elizabeth, not Amy. Except they were one and the same – and wasn’t that the most confusing thing of all, not least because, despite all his failings, he had still grown to love her as a father over the past twenty years. Not once, after he’d abducted her as a child, had it occurred to him that Amy was his long lost wife – at least in part – despite having heard the name ‘Amy Langdon’ tumble from her lips over fifty years ago. At the very least, he’d thought it coincidence; at the very most, he’d thought her a fated gift that had come his way. What he had known, whether coincidence or fate, was that he had to have her. She had represented something that he’d lost – maybe she would even be the key to help him find it again – and he couldn’t let her go.

  It was only after Elena’s portal opening, after he had cast the Alica ad Horarium, that he had finally seen it all. And now, he could no longer think of Amy without seeing her as his wife. He tried to conjure up the fatherly feelings he once had for her, but they were no longer there – only his love for her as a husband and lifelong friend. He wondered if deep down, at his very core, he had known the truth, but refused to accept it; after all, he had watched her grow into the spitting image of his wife. Why else would he have kept her with him for so long? What a cruel bastard he was … and a self-serving idiot.

  But he had age on his side, if not wisdom, and once the years could no longer keep you from your own mortality, you ceased to question the ‘what ifs’ and ‘whys’ of life – you just bloody well got on with it.

  So it was without question or hesitation, that two weeks ago, he had shed his assumed name of Etienne Green. It had simply felt right; after all, it stood for everything he had become, and everything he hated about himself. Deed poll papers were signed, and he had returned to his true identity of Paul May – this was the name he wanted carved into his headstone, not the name of the wretched man he had turned into. Yesterday, his final Will and Testament had been amended. There was no more left to do … except this.

  His magic all but depleted, and his eighty-two years finally caught up with him, Paul walked through the kitchen, and out of the back door without bothering to close it behind him. He made his way up the garden which had once been such a cherished place. Over the years he had kept a gardener and a housekeeper, paying them to check in on it weekly, and keep it clean and tidy. It didn’t do anything to make it look lived in – no, life had died here long ago – but the garden still looked beautiful. Nature would always continue – one of those mysterious things that retained its timelessness through a cycle of life, death and rebirth.

  As he lowered himself down by the trunk of the tree, he briefly wondered if the blackbird three feet away would know the difference between the past and the present if it happened to be caught up in a time loop.

  Perhaps not.

  Lucky thing.

  Making himself comfortable, he relaxed, then slowly concentrated on the last morsel of magic he possessed. The Mortem Incantatores was not an easy spell to master. It would take all of his focus to get it right, and he didn’t have a lot of energy left in him… So it was a great shame when a cool breeze, followed by a dark shadow, fell across him, although he couldn’t say that the accompanying smell of cinnamon and moonflowers was entirely unpleasant – enticing would be more like it.

  Cautiously he raised his eyes to find the source of the disturbance.

  He should not have been surprised; not with everything he’d learnt over the years. Yet, as he looked upon the woman crouched before him, with the beautiful, but dangerous countenance, and the long, flowing waves of chocolate brown hair, he was struck dumb.

  He would have thought her an angel, except angels never happened upon you this quietly, and her wings looked like that of a giant insect, not like that of a bird.

  “I was never really sure your kind existed,” he finally managed.

  She smiled wryly, her lips seeming both delicious and deadly, but said nothing, and nor did her gaze falter from his.

  “Am I supposed to know who you are?” he continued.

  She nodded, once, her silent answer as regal as the way she held herself.

  “Morgan Le Fey?”

  Her smile widened, then finally she spoke, and her voice was as light as bluebells, yet as deep as a river. “I prefer Morgana, but it will do.”

  “So many times you could have appeared, and you come now. Why? Because I am at death’s door?”

  “I have not come because of your death, Paul May. I’ve come because of your life.”

  “Where were you when Elizabeth bled right here in this same spot?”

  Silence.

  He sighed, wearily. “I am old, Morgana, and weak. If it is my life you seek, I do not have any left in me.”

  She nodded. “You are certainly old, although you’ve never been weak. But you are right, I cannot keep you from death, and your time will be over soon.”

  “Then why—”

  “Because there is still one final act to play, and you have a leading role.”

  Anger he thought had left him, surged into his chest. “I am not your puppet!”

  Genuine sadness settled on her features. “We are all puppets to one master or another – at least for the moment. Things are changing: By her hand, the Earth will rumble and shatter, and all dimensions will bleed into one.”

  “A prophecy?”

  “The prophecy – the one we have all been waiting for.”

  “An apocalypse?”

  She nodded again. “The destruction of what is, to make room for what will be … and every new era needs a new leader. One that will bring order to chaos; one that sees possibility amid the carnage.”

  “I don’t understand—”

  “No understanding is required. For now, I just need you to agree to play your final part.”

  “Why on earth would I do that, when I have no idea what I’m agreeing to?”

  “Because you hold her life in your hands – right now – with the decision you make. Say no, and she will die.”

  His heart almost stopped beating right then – he didn’t need to be told she was referring to Amy.

  “You would kill her?”

  “Not I. I want her to live. This is the only way.”

  He hesitated. This could be a trick. The fay were known for their t
rickery.

  “This is no trick,” she said, reading his mind. “You will play your part because she will die if you do not, and because … I can finally let you know why your wife killed herself.”

  Tears that he thought had dried up with age, spilled over his cheeks. In all the years gone by, that was the final uncertainty – the one thing he had never been able to fathom. He thought he had managed to lay the burning pain of ‘not knowing’ to rest, but the wet tracks staining his face proved otherwise. “Why did she?” he choked out.

  Morgana merely shook her head, and held out her hand. “Your vow first, that whatever happens, whatever it takes, you will do what you must to save her life.”

  Was that all? That wasn’t really a trial, was it? He already had done everything he could to save her life – right here – too many decades ago, but…

  He couldn’t bear the thought of causing her more pain. “I promised her she’d never see me again.”

  The fairy queen cocked her head in confusion. “What an odd thing to say to your soul-bonded.”

  Soul-bonded? His stunned face must have looked a picture.

  She sighed softly, as if having to explain something to a child. “Did that never once occur to you in all your years? Did you really think that a time loop – which is never created lightly – could even exist with anything less than such a connection?”

  No. God, no, it had never once occurred to him. He had known nothing of magic or metaphysical theories then, and when he had begun to study it all, soul-bonding was not an area of learning he had paid much mind to.

  He opened his mouth to ask another question, but she tightened her lips, tilted her jaw up in defiance, and gestured to her hand with her eyes. He wasn’t going to get anything more out of her without giving her what she wanted.

  He ached in his bones. The mere thought of going on filled him with exhaustion. “I’m not young anymore.”

  “Worry not about that. I cannot increase the time that you have left, but mortal bodies are easy to fix. However, my patience is waning, Paul May.” She extended her open hand further in his direction. “Do I have your vow?”