“And stay home,” Oliver muttered, turning back to walk up the steps. He stopped at the still broken door. He couldn’t leave it like this so he mentally intoned a restoration incantation and watched as it magically pieced itself back together. Once he stepped inside, he cast another set of protective charms on the house. This time, since he was in residence, if any other witch hunters came calling, they would not be able to breach the perimeter as long as he was within shouting distance. He shut the door with his mind and made his way back to Dallas.
He found Dallas right where he’d left her, except she’d nodded off back to sleep, curled into a fetal position on the couch. Finley sat in the large matching leather armchair directly across from the couch. “Try to be quiet. I’ve never seen her look so pale. She’s so tired I wouldn’t be surprised if she slept for days. One of us will have to carry her up to her bed.”
“I’ll do it,” Oliver volunteered without missing a beat, making Finley smile.
“I can see the two of you share an instant attraction. Just be gentle with her heart. She’s not as otherworldly as you, Oliver. She’s fragile, even if she thinks otherwise. The power within her has been a very heavy burden to bear, and it’s led her down the path to great tragedy.”
Oliver sighed. “I expect that tragedy would be the death of her mother?”
Finley met his gaze. “The agents blabbed about it, didn’t they? Those little shits. I’ll give them a blistering earful the next time I see them. Fortunately, they don’t know the real story. Angelica kept the truth from the public. Only a special few of us know what really happened that day as we were the ones who answered Dallas’s frantic call for help.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Dallas was only thirteen at the time, Anya was eleven. Anya lived with her parents in a village a short distance away from Gerrans. When the witch hunters came for Dallas she was alone with her mother at Redgrave House. Her mother attempted to engage the four witch hunters in combat, and considering she stood alone against them, she was giving them pretty good resistance and took out one of them with her magic. But Dallas knew her mother couldn’t keep it up so she called for help.
“She called Angelica first and Angelica told her to call us because we might not be the best fighters in the magical world, but we are trustworthy and loyal. Angelica knew we would do whatever we could to stop them and not back down even if we feared for our safety—they were witch hunters from the Black Death Coven, and so therefore quite formidable. I’d say they were on an even scale with the Bloodbaynes.”
“I take it everything didn’t go as smoothly as you all thought it would?”
“That would be putting it mildly, Oliver. Everything was getting pretty desperate. Dallas was absolutely beside herself with worry. She thought they were going to kill her mother and she couldn’t let that happen so something extraordinary happened, something that none of us believed Dallas had the capacity to do—least of all Angelica. I think that her mother knew she was capable of it though. That would explain why Bryony was always so concerned about keeping Dallas calm at all times and urging her to never use her gift no matter what happened.”
Oliver’s thoughts raced. It sounded as if Dallas carried a gift that was more of a curse than a blessing. His gaze rested on the strikingly vulnerable scene that Dallas created as she lay on the sofa. She looked as if she couldn’t hurt a fly although he was getting a sneaky suspicion that was far from the truth.
“What did Dallas do, Finley?”
“She activated her time-manipulation power, and in her temperamental state, she didn’t create one separate time portal, she created time portals within each and every person within a certain radius of her. I don’t think she knew how it would affect everyone it encompassed, and I just don’t think she realized the breadth and ferocity of her gift.
“You see, when Dallas gets angry enough, she can activate time bombs within anyone she directs her power at. Her mother got caught up in the deluge…and the results were horribly heart-rending.”
“You mean she’s actually a ticking time bomb?”
“Yes.” Finley sighed heavily, scrubbing his hand over his face. “She’s more powerful than any witch I’ve ever known. Her gift opened the time rifts within each of the witch hunters and her mother, causing them to be splintered by time. Sadly, the effects of it killed them all at once. When Dallas realized what she’d done…”
“She lost it, didn’t she?”
“Wouldn’t you?” Finley asked. “She was totally hysterical, absolutely devastated. Fortunately, Angelica arrived just in time, because if she’d arrived a second later, she fears that Dallas would have figured out a way to take her own life, her grief was so severe, and her self-loathing was beyond any I’ve ever witnessed. No one could comfort her, not even Angelica. Everyone knew it wasn’t her fault. They knew she hadn’t meant to harm her mother—well, everyone that is except for her father. He could never forgive her…even when Angelica altered Dallas’s memory in order to give her the ability to move on from what she’d done.
“We were all sworn to secrecy because Marion, Nicholas and I arrived in time to witness Dallas’s hysterical reaction and Angelica’s decision to rewrite Dallas’s memories of the events. She didn’t take the call lightly, but she knew there were only so many things a soul could live with, and she determined that unintentionally killing her mother with the gift that Dallas had sworn never to use was that one thing.”
“Does Anya know what really happened?”
“Of course she does. She was with her mother when they rushed to Dallas and Bryony’s aid. And she knew that Angelica made the only possible choice.”
“You do realize that decision, my mother’s decision, is now slowly eating away at Dallas to the detriment of her health?”
“There’s no actually proof to substantiate that, Oliver. I would stop worrying. Your mother would never have done something that was going to hurt her niece.”
“No proof? I have seen the proof with my own eyes, Felix. I have seen those who have been impacted by memory switches. I have seen the witches and warlocks who have gone absolutely nut-ball crackers from it.”
“And no doubt those particular witches and warlocks had been the victims of witch hunters—so ergo they had their minds touched by dark magic, not the white magic that Angelica would have used.”
He grimaced. He had to give it to Finley on that, he was right. Witch hunters rarely used the light side of the craft. In fact, he himself used to dabble in the dark arts and he was quite guilt-ridden from that.
“I’m still not satisfied. Despite everything you’ve said, I sense something off within Dallas, and I’m rarely wrong.”
“Be that as it may, you must proceed with extreme caution. Don’t blow her world to hell unless you have good cause to, Oliver. You can’t just restore her memory of events based on your vanity as a warlock. She’s not your cause. She’s not something you can just swoop in and fix instantly in order to alleviate any of the guilt you carry around for what you’ve done in your past.
“Using her to wash away your sins isn’t the way to go, and I’m sorry to say these things to you, but that’s just the way it is. You can’t change your past. You just need to do whatever you need to do so you don’t end up repeating it.”
Oliver silently considered Finley’s words. He wouldn’t do what he desperately wanted to do when it came to Dallas. He would leave the threads of her false memories in place, but at the first sign that her world was becoming frayed at the seams, he was going to step in and make things right—despite the reworking of her memory being the creation of his own mother, a mother he yearned to know. He couldn’t let this go—he had to do something if the time called for it. He felt certain that if his mother was around and witnessed the way that her beloved niece was acting, she would take the spell off her immediately. He wanted to think she would not want Dallas to continue suffering so.
“I’m going to carry her upstairs and then
maybe we should all get some shut-eye. Things are going to get crazy come tomorrow,” he mused.
Finley nodded. “Yes, I’ll use my communicator to get in touch with my brother and make sure he and Marion are really okay. After that I’m going to haul my ass into the guest room bed and sleep the rest of the night away. I’m not sure she has any other rooms opened up…”
“Don’t worry about me. In my line of work I’ve gotten used to being able to sleep almost anywhere.” It was true, he often wondered if he could nod off while standing up if the situation called for it. He gathered her in his arms and activated his magic to keep the afghan tucked around her.
She instinctively cuddled against him, and if she were awake, she would have been shocked by how fast her nearness made his heart race. He inhaled her sweet scent. She smelled faintly of roses and orchids. He knew that for the rest of his life this scent would remind him of her.
Trudging through the expansive house, he came to the staircase, and instead of taking it and jostling her, potentially waking her with the jerky actions, he magically blinked himself to the top and headed toward one of the open bedroom doors. He assumed that one had to be hers as the others were all closed, most likely signifying that they’d been shut up for an indefinite amount of time. The man who had built this house had done so to accommodate a large family. He wondered about the history of it, as the resonance of several hundred years clung to the interior. Some of it needed some redecorating as well as parts of it looked a little worn around the edges. How did she keep the house going? Did they have shares in a company or did her father send money back home? Or maybe she had a career. He’d never thought to ask Finley about that part of her life—seeing as she lived such a lonely existence he doubted she had a job to fill up her days, but he could be wrong about that.
Many witches had a hard time finding employment outside magical firms. Many non-magical humans still cast a wary eye toward those with the craft, and in this small town he doubted there were many employment opportunities for a witch like Dallas. No matter how hard his mother had tried to keep the truth from the public masses, gossip got around and he was fairly certain that everyone in the town of Gerrans knew that there was something dangerous about Dallas, something they didn’t want to tangle with—meaning she probably didn’t have too many individuals who wanted her around them. Plainly put, she was an outcast and he could totally sympathize with her situation.
He strode into her room and stared at the simple furnishings. She had several art deco-style dressers and a large wardrobe. He knew it was her room because it had a definite feminine touch, and he could tell it hadn’t belonged to Anya because the walls were covered in rose-patterned wallpaper. He knew one thing about Anya based on what he’d seen in Silver Gables back on Vanguard—she didn’t go for wallpaper, least of all that kind of wallpaper.
He pulled back the covers with his magic and laid her on the rose-colored sheets. She moaned in her sleep and when he tried to pull away from her, she reached out for him and caught his hand, holding it fast.
“Don’t leave me,” she mumbled sleepily.
He sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. He had to leave. He couldn’t very well stay in her bedroom no matter how badly he wanted to.
She surprised him when she tugged on his arm. “Sleep with me,” she murmured. Her eyes were pressed tightly shut. She must be talking in her sleep, and though he didn’t know how she would react in the morning, he gave in to temptation, snapped his fingers and changed into a pair of red silk pajamas. He climbed onto the bed, atop the duvet, and settled his head on the pillow next to hers. Lying facing her, he let her soft breathing lull him to sleep, smiling, contentment rushing through him. He finally felt as if he’d come home.
Chapter Six
“Mistress White, the ones we sent after the asset have failed. Our coven wishes to extend our apologies and we would like to still honor our agreement by sending more after the worst witch on Earth.”
Mistress Rebecca White eyed the two witch hunters sternly from behind her desk. Her pet Shadowflare Panther looked at them both wearily and growled ferociously. “Calm down, Precious. They will try again and keep trying until I get what I want. Either that or there will be one very displeased witch.”
“We didn’t expect the resistance that was reported. Our coven’s mole back on Earth tells us the four we sent are in prison in Halifax and they are not going anywhere anytime soon, as she can’t possibly hope to break them out with the enchantments on them still standing. The other agents are hesitant to have the spells on them lifted as they have never encountered such formidable witch hunters before.”
She tapped her long manicured blood-red fingernails on her desk. Click, click, click. Sighing heavily, she looked away from Master Ackerman “I should hope they are more than the Magical Authority can deal with. I paid for the best. I thought my husband’s coven would do the job for me—I am wondering if I was mistaken in that assumption. My husband has brought much dishonor to my family and I need to rectify all his mistakes. I can’t do that without the Hyde witch. You either bring me the Hyde witch within the next fortnight or I will go to my coven and tell them how inadequate you are. You will be a laughingstock amongst the dark arts covens.”
“With respect, Mistress Rebecca, the members of your coven failed almost twenty years ago.”
Her panther hissed and moved to lunge at him. “No, Precious, you stay where you are.” Stretching languidly, the big black cat sat back on her silk-covered pillow and yawned loudly. “Go to sleep, my dearest pet. I am fine.” Obediently, her panther closed her eyes and soon her deep breathing filled the room.
“I know exactly how my coven failed me. That is why I hired your coven this time, Master Ackerman. That is why you can’t fail in this endeavor. To fail would be to put yourself back where my coven now stands… Your coven no doubt enjoys the high status you have at the moment. If the Black Death took back prominence as the most feared dark arts coven, it would be humiliating to say the least. Especially since you are now High Warlock within the Bloodbayne Coven, as my poor husband is serving his long prison sentence.”
“It’s partly your poor husband who is behind our failure.”
She arched her left eyebrow. “How do you mean?”
“His son was the reason for our epic failure. From our reports, Dallas dealt with three of them using a potion her cousin created. Oliver dealt with our insurance policy. He wrapped him all up.”
She rolled her eyes. “I fail to see why you are blaming my darling Raymond. He only sired the brat. The lot of you had him in your coven for many years just like you had that Forsythe freak married to Anya Ross in your coven as well. If I were you, Ackerman, I’d make sure I didn’t have any other white-magic pansies hiding in your ranks. Perhaps you need to do a clean sweep of your blasted coven,” she suggested silkily.
Master Ackerman bristled indignantly. His eyes lit with fire. If he knew what was good for him, he wouldn’t try any funny business on her. “Oliver White might have turned to the light side, but he is, and never will be, a magical pansy. In fact, he’s the greatest warlock of his age—as much as I hate to admit it, that warlock has more power in his pinky finger than most of us have in our entire bodies. I don’t blame Rex for falling in battle against him. I could not even stand against him, and in my day I was the best warlock in my league.”
“So we’ve established that the little shit is almost all-powerful. I always knew that. I should know, it was I who was transformed into a pig once because of him. Raymond couldn’t convince the boy to change me back for four weeks. He had to tell everyone I went away on holiday. If he had just disciplined Oliver the way I wanted him to by using the leather strap on him, I daresay we wouldn’t have had any hiccups in his rearing.
“But no, Raymond was proud of him when he transformed me into a pig. He told me it was a testament to his son’s formidable magical ability. I never should have married Raymond knowing that he had a child. I first th
ought he was the perfect man for me—he already had a little brat so he wouldn’t be up in my business about giving him one. Boy was I wrong—I had to compete with that little fucker for every morsel of attention from Raymond, and I suppose that’s why I resent him so much.”
“Yes, Raymond’s Achilles heel always was Oliver. It was well-known throughout the coven how compromised he was when it came to his son.”
“I’d put a price on Oliver’s head if I didn’t still fear the wrath of Raymond,” Rebecca mused.
“You are a good and faithful wife, and though I hate to admit it, I do not think there is a witch hunter in existence who could possibly hope to fulfill that bounty.”
She stood up and walked over to Ackerman. “Yes, I already guessed that. Once I have the Hyde witch, I will be able to do anything I want, including wiping Oliver from my existence and his father’s life.”
She looked down at the holographic image of their wedding. She was dressed entirely in black, except for her blood-red veil, and had looked so beautiful on that day. And he was so handsome in his Bloodbayne robes. She just wanted their lives to be free of Oliver and she would do whatever she had to do to make that a reality.
“When will you be sending out more witch hunters to deal with her?”
“I…” His voice cracked with nervousness. “I would be sending them on a suicide mission,” he muttered, dropping his eyes to his feet.
“Are the others dead? I think not. They were only inconvenienced.”
“They are fucking goddamn rabbits, and the other one looks like a mummy from ancient fucking Egypt. I would not call that a minor inconvenience for those involved.”
“If you don’t have the balls to do it, then I will.”
“Be my guest, Madam. If he turned you into a pig when he was young, he’ll turn you into a sow this time as well. Maybe they’ll have a pork festival while you are there.”
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