Moonlit Magic

by T. M. Cromer

  Once again, Damian’s gaze coasted over the two of them, summing up the situation. “There are only two bedrooms in the guesthouse. I hope you don’t mind sharing?”

  The color in Liz’s cheeks darkened to an alarming shade of red. “Oh, no. We’re not together. Not in that way.”

  And the trapdoor closed. Damian grinned, and even Rafe blinked at the sudden change.

  “Excellent. Then you shall be my guest here in the manor, Ms. Thorne.”

  “Not going to happen,” Rafe growled. “She stays with me until she regains her abilities.”

  Liz began to protest, but he clamped a hand across her mouth, careful not to cut off her air. “Not another word,” he warned. “We stick together.”

  Damian laughed as if the whole scene tickled him. “As I suspected.”

  “What the hell was that, Rafe?” Liz demanded when they were alone in the master suite of the guesthouse.

  “That was me protecting you from Damian Dethridge,” Rafe snapped. “What were you thinking by admitting we aren’t lovers? It’s like an open invitation to a man like him.”

  “You’re wrong. He’s actually very nice.”

  “He’s a shark, Elizabeth. And not just any shark. He’s a fucking Megalodon who eats innocent girls like you for breakfast.”

  “You’re overreacting.”

  Rafe rubbed the back of his neck and prayed for strength so he didn’t wring her lovely neck.

  A knock sounded on the door to their suite. He jerked the door open with enough force to remove it from its hinges and only remembered in time to temper his magic and muscle.

  On the other side of the opening was an older gray-haired woman in uniform. In her arms, she held a sequined gown the color of natural imperial topaz—almost the same shade as Liz’s incredible eyes.

  “Mr. Dethridge sent this along for Ms. Thorne with his compliments to the lady.”

  Liz rushed forward, gushing at the beauty of the dress. “Thank you so much. It’s stunning.”

  A light brush of color tinted the maid’s cheeks. “He said any undergarments can be conjured by Mr. Xuereb, if you need them at all. He also said he personally wouldn’t ruin the line of the dress.”

  Rafe ground his teeth in an effort to restrain his inner beast. What he really wanted to do was tell Dethridge to go fuck himself. He began to pace.

  “Be sure to tell Mr. Dethridge the dress is lovely, but Rafe will take care of my future needs,” Liz told the woman in a soft, polite voice.

  “Dinner is at six o’clock sharp. I’ll be back at ten minutes to the hour to escort you to the dining room.”

  “Thank you.”

  After Liz shut the door, she held the dress in front of her, twisting her hair up with one hand and admiring herself in a full-length mirror. “Stop letting him provoke you, Rafe. I suspect it’s all a game to him anyway.”

  “It isn’t him provoking me, qalbi. It’s you provoking me.”

  “Me?” She tossed the dress on the bed as if she weren’t just fawning over it. “How do you figure?”

  “You hang on his every word. It’s as if he is the moon and stars in your sky.” And wasn’t that the problem? Rafe wanted to be the most important part of her universe.

  “That would be Franklin,” she snapped.

  He jerked as if she’d struck him, and the air left his lungs. Perhaps she did love that fuckwit Franco. If she did, Rafe had set her up for heartache in his desire to uncover the other man’s dubious business practices and endless lies.

  “My apologies, Elizabeth.” He turned his back to give himself a minute to compose himself, trying to channel his inner actor.

  “Rafe—”

  Because he couldn’t stand to hear her litany of excuses, he asked, “Do you wish me to conjure undergarments and shoes to match your gown?”

  “Rafe, please. I—”

  “While you decide what you want, I’ll pop next door to see if Alastair needs me to whip him up a suit.”

  He strode into the hall without a backward glance. After he shut the door, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes against the pain. Why did it feel as if his heart had been ripped asunder? Would she ever forgive him for his abrupt departure that morning in Paris? Goddess, he hoped so. In all his years, he’d never loved another woman as fiercely as he loved Liz.

  “Woman troubles, Mr. Xuereb?”

  Rafe’s eyes popped open to see Damian leaning casually against the opposite wall, hands in the pockets of his trousers and his legs crossed at the ankles. He straightened and glared at Damian. “Not at all.” The mocking smile on the Aether’s face said he knew Rafe to be a liar. “I thought dinner wasn’t until six?”

  “I came to see if Al needed a suit.”

  “Seems we both had the same idea.”

  “Hmm.” Damian studied him for a long moment. “Don’t be disheartened, Mr. Xuereb. Ms. Thorne is yours for the taking.”

  Rafe snorted his disbelief. “If you don’t mind seeing to Alastair’s clothing needs, I need some air.”

  “Of course.”

  As he moved to pass Damian, the man clamped a hand on his arm. A surge of electricity transferred from the Aether to him. Calmness, not his own, settled in his mind.

  “Consider it a magical Xanax. It will help you get through the evening without losing your cool.”

  Rafe snatched his arm away. “I don’t care to have my mind altered against my will.”

  “Your mind is your own. All intact to torture yourself when the lovely Liz smiles my way.”

  “Fuck off.”

  Chapter 7

  “Taunting Liz’s young man again, Damian?”

  Damian continued to watch Rafe as he stormed out the garden door. “He makes it so easy, Al.”

  “Yes, men in love are the easiest targets, it seems.”

  “Those two are destined for heartache if they can’t get out of their own way.”

  “Lucky for them, I have vast experience as a matchmaker.”

  Damian laughed until he realized Alastair was serious. “Come keep me company. I get so little of that these days.”

  “I’ll need an assist if you don’t mind.”

  He sized up his blond friend and snapped his finger. In the time it took to blink, Alastair was clad in an Armani tuxedo, with onyx and diamond cuff links to complete the look. “By the way, I like the new hairstyle. I’d hoped you’d come into this century.”

  “Stuff it, Damian.”

  He grinned, enjoying himself for the first time in many years. “Come on. I still have a bottle of your favorite scotch in stock.”

  In his study, Damian poured them both a dram, handed a tumbler to his friend, and sat in the leather wing-backed chair by the fireplace.

  “Care to tell me what’s really going on, Al?”

  “I can only tell you what I suspect.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “Isis imparted her wisdom in the form of a riddle. ‘A new threat rises from the old’ was the way she phrased it.”

  He shot Alastair a frustrated glance. “What the devil is that supposed to mean?”

  “I’ll be buggered if I can figure it out. Other than the Dethridge line, there isn’t another family older than the Thornes. So if you aren’t the threat, that means one of my own may be the cause of this mess.”

  “You forget the Six.”

  “Of which, you and I are two. But no, I didn’t forget. I simply can’t see anyone among the other four families willing to make an enemy of me.”

  Damian could’ve contradicted him, but he didn’t see the point. Alastair was arrogant, but he’d earned his reputation. There were many young, stupid witches looking to make a name for themselves, but they would need to be hellaciously powerful to steal from the Thornes. No one quite fit the bill. “You can’t go around without your magic, Al. It’s too dangerous for you, to say nothing of your kin.”

  “You aren’t telling me anything I don’t know.”

  Damian drained his drink
and set the glass on the side table. “I’m assuming you’ve scryed for the source?”

  “Not me personally, but yes, I have Knox Carlyle and my son-in-law, Quentin, on it.” Alastair crossed to the fireplace, rested an arm on the mantle, and stared down into the flames. “It’s the darnedest thing, but it seems all they get for their troubles is a black film over their scrying mirrors. They’ve literally tried every spell in the book.”

  “Knox has been gifted the power of a God, has he not?”

  “He has. As Zeus’s descendant, Quentin is just as strong."

  “It makes no sense. Who could possibly hide from them?”

  Alastair faced him, his expression troubled. “Only you, Damian. Only the Aether.”

  “If you believe nothing else in your life, Alastair, believe I would never start trouble with my oldest friend.” He cast Alastair a wry smile. “Even without magic, you’d be a formidable opponent.”

  “I need you to scry for me. The sooner, the better.”

  Alastair would never ask for a favor from him without a damned good reason. He’d never want to be deep in anyone else’s debt. Damian opened his mouth to agree when the fine hairs along his neck stood on end and a chill swept his spine. The flames in the hearth were doused at the same time the lights flickered.

  “What the hell was that?” Alastair demanded.

  Damian waited for the sneeze that always accompanied Alastair’s swearing. It was a curse his friend had been saddled with upon his return from the Otherworld. If he swore, he sneezed, and the force would unleash a swarm of locusts.

  Yet this time, it didn’t happen. Damian imagined the shock on his face mirrored Alastair’s. “You’re truly powerless,” he said, stunned.

  Alastair’s face turned a sickly shade. “I am.”

  “I thought perhaps it was hit-or-miss magic, but not a total loss. Fuck, Al. You can’t be unprotected.”

  A gust of wind swept throughout the room. It shook lampshades, ruffled papers, and swayed curtains, plunging the two of them into darkness. Another chill gripped Damian. “I don’t know what’s causing this little haunting, but it can’t be good,” he muttered. He didn’t mention it was the sixth attack against him in as many weeks.

  “Book of Shadows?” Alastair looked around the study with a wary eye.

  “It’s in my private room behind the bookcase. Let’s go.”

  He held up his hand and visualized a flame. His fingers acted as a torch to guide the way through the darkened room. The light was more for Alastair than for himself. Damian was blessed with night vision in addition to his other abilities.

  A twist of his wrist triggered the lever for the hidden passage. He looked at his friend. “Are you going to be okay in a room with no windows?”

  Alastair had been imprisoned during the Witch Wars by the Désorcelers Society leader, Zhu Lin. Although he’d never spoken of it, he went through hell. Enclosed spaces made Alastair sweat like a sinner in church.

  “I’m good. Thank you for your consideration, Damian.”

  Damian pointed the way to the altar containing his spellbook. Although magical families had grimoires containing generations of spells, there was only one Book of Shadows, and that book belonged to the Aether—the strongest and most magical elemental in existence. “I’ll let you search while I check on Sabrina. I’ll be back shortly.”

  A cold draft swept through the guest room, causing Liz to shiver in her filmy sequined dress. She’d been sans undies since Rafe took off before she could ask him to conjure a pair. When the lights flickered and cut out, she grew nervous. And when the phantom appeared in the corner of her room, she knew something was terribly wrong. Not that she was skittish by nature, but ghosts showing up in the modernized English estate of Damian Dethridge didn’t seem right.

  Liz wouldn’t call herself a coward in normal circumstances, but the truth was she had no way to defend herself against this new threat. And without a doubt, it was threatening because she could feel the ominous air. There was almost a hatred vibe coming off the thing.

  With no idea where she intended to go besides away from whatever the hell was in the room with her, she hightailed it to the door, yanked it open, and promptly shrieked.

  “Liz! It’s me!”

  “Rafe? Thank the Goddess.” She placed a hand to her thundering heart. “You scared the bejeezus out of me. Get me the hell out of here, please.”

  He peered around her into the dim recesses of the room. “Qalbi, are you all right? What happened?”

  She cast a frightened glance behind her, but the spirit had vanished. “The power’s out.”

  “I can see that.”

  “No, you don’t understand. Even if a transformer in the area blew, Damian would have at least one backup generator for an estate this size. Probably more than one. Rafe, we need to find Alastair. Something’s seriously off.”

  “Okay. Take a second and breathe while I conjure a pair of shoes for you. You can’t run around barefoot.” He frowned and ran his eyes the length of her dress. “I can see you didn’t need my assistance for lingerie.”

  She shifted a little self-consciously. “I feel naked underneath this thing.”

  He smiled and wisely remained silent. With little effort, he conjured her a pair of four-inch, pointed-toe pumps with an ornamental topaz leaf that wove up the heel.

  “Oh, Rafe! They’re gorgeous!” And didn’t a part of her turn to goo because he just seemed to inherently understand the girly part of her needed things like drool-worthy shoes?

  “I’ve added a spell to make them comfortable. Shall we try your shoes on, Cinderella?”

  Her heart longed for him to be her Prince Charming, and she wanted nothing more than to kiss him in that moment. Summoning all her willpower, she held herself back. She wouldn’t go there if she wasn’t sure of him, because if Rafe walked away again, Liz would die a thousand deaths.

  She braced her hand on the doorframe and slipped on the heels he’d conjured. When a knock on Alastair’s door went unanswered, they traversed the hallway leading to the main house. Without the lights, the whole place had a cold, menacing feel

  “I don’t like this, Rafe. It’s creepy as hell.”

  He squeezed her hand, and Liz nearly jumped out of her skin. When had she latched onto him? She must’ve reached for him without conscious thought. If she were any braver, she’d remove her hand from his, but she wasn’t, and Rafe didn’t seem to mind.

  A child’s scream pierced the eerie silence. “No! No! Stay away from me! No!”

  Liz reacted without pausing to consider the danger. One minute, she was the frightened damsel, the next, she was a warrior woman ready to do battle to protect a child. Call it motherly instincts, but she’d be damned if she cowered in the hallway. She ran toward the sound of the hysterical little girl. Right before they reached the opening to the sunroom, Rafe took the lead, hands raised at the ready to defend them.

  A thick blue-black mist circled the child, swirling around her and lifting up here or there as if poised to strike but falling short roughly a foot from contact. Again and again, the darkness slammed against the child’s invisible forcefield. Whatever the source, it was desperate to reach Damian’s daughter.

  “Get the hell away from her!” Liz charged forward, hands lifted to blast the threatening fog away. Only when Rafe swore did she remember she was helpless to fight it.

  His strong arms encircled her as he barked, “Tarka!”

  Rafe’s quick action most likely saved her life. The mist slammed against the barrier he’d created and rocked them backward a step. He maneuvered them closer to the little girl, positioning their shielded bodies in front of hers.

  “Where’s your father, sweetheart?” Liz tried to keep her voice calm and reassuring, but the darkness whipped around the room, and the howling noise it made was near deafening.

  Tears were gathered in the child’s obsidian eyes, and her lower lip trembled. Despite the signs of distress, the girl shrugged as if she
were uncaring.

  Liz squatted and opened her arms. The girl ran through Rafe’s barrier as if it didn’t exist to bury her face against Liz’s neck. The child’s ability to step through their shield spoke volumes in regards to the strength of her powers.

  Liz picked her up. “Let’s head for Damian’s study.”

  “Papa doesn’t like me to go in there.”

  “He’ll make an exception this time. I promise.”

  “I don’t like it when he’s mad.”

  She kissed the child’s temple. “No one does, sweetheart. But he’d want you to be safe, no?”

  Slowly, as if unsure, the girl nodded her dark head. Her insecurity broke Liz’s heart. She intended to discuss Damian’s neglect the second she had him alone.

  “What’s your name, little one?” Rafe asked as he shuffled them toward the hallway.

  “Sabrina.”

  The mist doubled its attack on their shield.

  “What a lovely name!” Liz tucked Sabrina’s head against her shoulder and cast a worried glance Rafe’s way.

  They’d almost made it to the door when Damian skidded to a halt in front of them.

  Liz doubted the man missed a thing as his gaze swept the room and landed on their small group.

  Damian raised one hand toward the darkness. “Come to me.”

  The mist resisted his pull. It twisted and strained away as it emitted a screech. The darkness was no match for the power of the Aether. The lights flickered once, then the mist surged forward with an echoing pop.

  Liz blinked against the sudden brightness of the room.

  “Are you all right, beastie?” Damian addressed Sabrina.

  He held out his arms, but his daughter burrowed closer to Liz, a clear rejection of her father.

  Liz didn’t miss his anguished expression. “I…” She didn’t know what to say. “We heard her scream. I imagine you did, too?”

  “No. I felt the pull of the evil surrounding her.” He placed a hand on the child’s upper back. “It can’t hurt you, Sabrina. Others will continue to try because of who you are, but they can never touch you. Do you understand?”