by Ava Stone
Many parishioners had already taken their seats when she slipped inside and found one of the few empty places. She clasped the cross at her neck, a gift from her father, and glanced up at the ceiling, waiting to be punished, but she wasn’t struck dead. Should she even be in a house of God? She was a witch. It didn’t seem conceivable, but mother and grandmother always prayed, so it must be so. And, pray was what she did.
Brighid could recall nothing of the service, not words of the vicar or nor which hymns they’d sung because she spent the entire service in prayer. She begged for the answers to bring Callie back, prayed for her friend’s safety, and asked for comfort to all those who were worried.
She hadn’t even been aware the service had come to an end until those around her began to stir, stand and leave the building. She probably should have paid better attention to the sermon, and requested it not held against her for being inattentive, but she really needed to pray more than anything.
Although Graham was being insistent on keeping Daphne close to home, and close to him, he did agree to allow her to go to church the next morning. She had to do something if she wouldn’t be allowed back at Marisdùn , and the best she could think to do was go to church and pray for her friend’s safe return. Oh, and of course, make everyone believe that Callie was just fine.
“Poor dear is confined to her chambers today,” she told Mrs. Linden, who was among those women known for their idle gossip. “Just a bit of a cough, I think. Nothing too serious, but enough for my brother to recommend she stay abed for a few days.”
Mrs. Linden’s hand shot to her heart rather melodramatically. “Oh, my. One must always take these things seriously. Why, I heard that Mr. Conner—you remember him, don’t you?—the poor man had a cough one day and they were digging his grave the next.”
Daphne did indeed remember Mr. Conner, though she remembered the story somewhat differently than Mrs. Linden. But she thought better of telling her that the man had drunk himself to death, and that cough he developed was his lungs drowning in gin. “Oh, yes, so tragic,” she said, mimicking the woman’s concern. “And now I must be off. Lovely service today, wasn’t it?”
Mrs. Linden nodded, her burgundy plumed hat bobbing in agreement. “Indeed, it was. Good day, Miss Alcott.”
Daphne started for the door of the church, feeling assured that the rumor would be all over town by the end of the day, but then she noticed Brighid Glace sitting in the back pew, eyes closed, her hand clutching the small cross she always wore.
Brighid started when Daphne slid into the pew next to her, and then exhaled a shaky breath when she realized it was her friend.
“Have you remained at Marsdùn?” Daphne asked quietly.
“Yes,” Brighid nodded.
If they had found Callie, Brighid surely would have said as much by now, but still, she asked, “Is there any news?”
Brighid glanced around before focusing back on Daphne. “No, but I am doing everything in my power to bring her back.”
“Power?”
Brighid stood abruptly. “I must go. I have to find the answer.” She ran through the doors before Daphne could question her further.
Graham was waiting for her just outside the door, and they fell into step beside one another as they began walking for home. Neither of them spoke until they were certain no one could hear them.
“I spoke with Mrs. Linden,” Daphne said quietly as they strode along the dirt path.
“Well done,” Graham replied. “You couldn’t have picked a better biddy.”
Daphne giggled, and then abruptly stopped, her gut twisting with fear. “I only hope we find Callie soon. Brighid says there is no news.”
Graham’s arm came around her shoulder and pulled her into him. “I’m certain we will find her soon. They are searching tirelessly at the castle, are they not?”
“They are.”
Silence fell between them. Daphne’s thoughts went to Alastair. She wanted to be with him. She felt safer when she was near him. And besides, she really wanted to be among those searching for Callie.
“I had a drink with Wolf last night before I came home.”
Daphne snapped her head sideways to look at her brother. “You what?”
“I arrived just as he was leaving,” he continued. “He asked if he could buy me a drink.”
“And?”
“And what?” A sly smile broke out on her brother’s lips, the cad.
“Tell me!” she demanded. “What did you talk about?”
Graham laughed and sidestepped when Daphne tried to smack him on the arm. “You needn’t resort to violence, dear sister. I will be happy to tell you.”
“Go on then.” Daphne thought she might burst from anticipation.
“Lord Wolverly,” he said, “has asked for your hand in marriage.”
Daphne threaded her arm through her brother’s and squeezed tightly. “And what did you say?”
“I said…” He patted her hand in the crook of his elbow. “That I would be happy to have him for my brother-in-law.”
Light flooded Daphne’s heart. She could hardly believe it was true. She was going to be Viscountess Wolverly, but more importantly, she was going to be Alastair’s wife—Daphne Darrington.
“Graham,” she said, an idea coming to her. “May I attend the Samhain party at Marisdùn ?”
Graham smiled softly at her. “If there is a party, I would be happy to accompany you.”
If there is a party. Daphne looked heavenward and prayed fervently that there would indeed be a party, for if there wasn’t, that would mean tragedy had befallen her dear friend.
Blake blinked and looked around the room. When had he fallen asleep and where was Brighid? Her books remained open on the table, the crystal was in the window, a dark mirror sat in the center of the table, and the fire had died in the hearth. He picked up the cup of tea. It was cold.
“Ah, I see that you are awake.” Brighid breezed into the room.
He pushed his fingers through his hair. Maybe she had just gone up to freshen and change her gown. “Where were you?”
“Church.” Brighid removed the bonnet from her head and tossed it onto an empty stool.
“Church?” He couldn’t believe she would leave the castle at a time like this.
Did witches even attend church? He assumed that was the last place they would want to be.
“I always go on Sunday mornings.” She drew off her gloves and set them beside the bonnet. “Besides, I needed to pray.”
He should have been at her side, not sleeping. Besides, it certainly couldn’t hurt to pray himself.
“Have you eaten?”
He blinked. She should be exhausted. Why did she seem so bright and chipper? He wished he could crawl into a bed and sleep for a few hours, and he had gotten some rest.
“I’ll have cook prepare something.” Blake rose from the stool and walked around the table, pausing at her side. “Did you find the answers after I drifted off?”
Her smile faltered. “No.”
Blake caressed her arm, wanting nothing more than to draw her into his arms. “You will.”
She gave a quick nod but turned away. Brighid may have seemed in good spirits when she entered the herbarium, but she remained troubled. He returned to the hearth and lifted the tea kettle. “I’ll bring more water as well.”
Brighid offered a weak smile. “Thank you.”
As she moved around the table and resumed her place in front of the books he could only watch, his heart going out to her. Everything rested on her shoulders and there was nothing he could do but try to take care of her.
Brighid pushed back from the table, exhausted beyond anything than she had ever experienced before. She had been awake for almost two days. She was beginning to wonder if she would ever find the answers or if she even understood what she was reading because she was so tired. That is, when her eyes weren’t blurry from lack of sleep and she could actually read, but she had managed to read all the tomes
and hopefully now had the answers. “I know what needs to be done.”
Blake grasped her hands in his. “Will it work?”
So much concern in those green depths was almost her undoing. She blinked so as not to let the tears fall. “I don’t know.”
“You should rest.”
Yes, she should, but not yet. “I must do something first.” She walked to the small window and glanced out. The moon had moved to the western part of the sky. There was enough brightness outside and the moon was nearly full, which gave her hope. If only it was at its fullest, then she would have its power to draw from, but according to the charts, it wouldn’t be full until November first, and if she didn’t get Callie back before the sun rose on that day, it would be too late.
No, she mustn’t think like that. She would get Callie back. She had to get her back.
Taking the black cloth and the crystal from the ledge, she started for the door leading to the kitchens and stopped. “I can’t go out there yet.”
Blake rushed to her side. “Why?”
“I fear Mrs. Routledge will see what I am about. She mustn’t know or it will never work.”
“What won’t work?” Blake demanded.
She blew out a breath and turned to Blake. “To claim a spirit we must give one up.” It sounded even scarier when spoken than it had in her mind.
“I don’t understand,”
Brighid sighed, setting the crystal and cloth onto the table. “All of the spirits in the castle were brought here because of a séance that Mrs. Routledge performed. They were left wandering about, not free to return from whence they came.” He would think her mad if she continued, but it was written in the tomes and the ceremony had been performed once before—over a century ago.
“Why did she do this?”
Brighid blinked at him. “I truly do not know, only that she did. This upset my great-grandmother and the two had words and my family was banished.
Blake rubbed the bridge of his nose and blew out a breath. He must be as exhausted as she was, yet he remained with her to the early morning hours. “You should sleep.”
His head jerked up and he grasped her hand in his. “Not until you do.”
A smile pulled at her lips. It was sweet and kind of him and she did draw on his strength. Each time he touched her, a part of her was renewed, as if he were the life to her magic. Mother had told her that she would recognize her mate, the man she was destined to love; by the way he fed her magic. Brighid had not understood what she meant until now. She just wasn’t certain he would remain when this was over. Nobody wished to be married to a witch and for her to fully realize her magic; they would need to become one.
She shook the thought from her mind, now was not the time to think of such things. She needed to get Callie back. Her mind couldn’t remain muddled as it was. The kettle still hung above the burning embers of the fire and she prepared another cup of tea. Once she was finished with what needed to be done, she would brew chamomile to help her rest.
“If your great-grandmother was banished, how is it that you and your mother came to be here?”
Brighid blew on the hot liquid. “After Mrs. Routledge was gone, there was no one to keep my family from returning and the servants liked having us here.”
Blake pushed his fingers through his hair. “I never really believed Mrs. Routledge disappeared until recently. I thought the woman had run off and her husband concocted the entire story to save himself from the humiliation.”
Brighid giggled. Goodness she was tired. This was not a story to be laughed at, but she knew there were many who wished to make up a believable tale they were comfortable with instead of acknowledging the truth. “There is a spell, though it hasn’t been used in a very long time, to bring someone back that was taken.”
“Why didn’t they do the spell for Mrs. Routledge?”
Brighid shrugged. “Perhaps they didn’t want her back or maybe my great-grandmother was still angry at her, or too stubborn. I don’t know.”
“So tell me, what must happen?”
She drank the rest of her tea, letting it seep into her being, closing her eyes, renewing her mind in hopes of bringing further clarity. After a moment, she answered. “To get back one who has been taken, you must send one on who can never return.”
“You plan on sending Mrs. Routledge on?” Blake asked with alarm.
“She is the one who caused the mischief. It isn’t safe to leave her wandering about.” She set her cup aside as another giggle escaped. “Or, I could send Blythe Tucker away. That would give me great pleasure.”
Blake chuckled. “You did very well in banishing her from my chamber.”
“It was only temporary, I’m afraid.”
He walked around the table and pulled her into his arms. “Do I note a bit of jealousy?” He winked. “You were rather put out at finding her in my bed.”
She turned away, unable to look him in the eye. “I’ve loved you for a long time, Blake Chetwey, and you didn’t think of me as anything but a witch in the woods. Yes, it hurt to see you with her, knowing you would never wish for me in that way.”
He chuckled again and pulled her against him until her head rested on his chest. “Oh, Brighid, had I listened to my heart long ago, we would be married by now with at least a child or two of our own.”
She smiled, his heartbeat strong in her ear. It was a comforting vision; one she feared would never come to be.
His heart warmed at the thought of raising children with Brighid. Little girls with midnight hair and grey eyes, tending plants and casting spells. Their sons would play in the woods outside of Torrington Abbey, pretending to slay dragons or sailing away as pirates. The picture was so vivid in his mind that he needed it to be real.
He rubbed his hand up and down her back, offering what comfort he could. She sighed and snuggled against him. “How will you banish her?”
“At the portal.”
A chill ran through him. “Is that safe?”
She wound her hands about his waist but said nothing.
Blake pulled back and looked down at her. “Is it safe?”
“I’m not certain.” She slowly lifted her head, meeting his eyes. “Powerful black magic opened it.”
“Why not just close the damn thing. Seal it off. Put all the spirits in there and close the damn thing for good.”
Her smile was weak as she pulled away. “I could try but we would lose Callie.”
She wasn’t a ghost yet, was she? Blake tried to understand, but it was all so confusing.
“There is a spell to put everyone back and close it for good, but more than one witch is needed for a task so large. I am not even sure I am strong enough to send just one spirit through.”
As he knew of no other witches, it couldn’t be done.
“My grandmother and mother were going to try and close the portal, but grandmother died before it could be done. My mother was waiting until I was old enough, but she died too soon, so it has remained open.”
“What were they waiting for? Why couldn’t your mother and grandmother just see that it was done?”
“It can only be accomplished from the first moment of Samhain through sunrise on the first of November,” she explained. “There are only about thirty hours each year when the spell can be cast and be successful. We could try this year, but in doing so, if we don’t have Callie back, we risk her disappearing for good.”
Blake scrubbed his face. That was something Braden would never stand for so they would need to dismiss the possibility.
“As Mrs. Routledge took Callie, it is my hope that if we can rid ourselves of her, Callie will be released to return to us.”
“How soon would we know?”
Brighid shrugged. “I don’t know. What is certain is that I must close the portal after Mrs. Routledge is through or we risk her returning.”
“So the other ghosts will remain for good?” He needed to make sure he understood, though he wasn’t certain he did.
Blake pulled her back against him and kissed the top of her head. “Could I lose you in this?”
When she didn’t respond, his arms tightened. “Could I lose you?” he asked with more force.
“I don’t believe so, but it does scare me. What if I am not strong enough?”
He would see that she was strong enough, even if he had to hold onto her himself. “You should rest. You will need sleep before you do what is necessary.”
She pulled back and smiled weakly at him. She was exhausted and needed to be in bed.
“I must do something first.”
What could she possibly need to do at four in the morning?
“I need to cast a spell so Mrs. Routledge does not see what I am about. She cannot see into this room or hear what is said, but I am certain she is well aware that I have been in here since we learned Callie was taken.”
Blake nodded though he wasn’t at all comfortable with that entity watching what they did.
“I must go into the garden, but I need to protect my path and the area.”
“Very well.” He didn’t understand, but there was much about what was happening he couldn’t comprehend. All he could do was stand beside her and help when needed.
Brighid lowered her head, closed her eyes and took a deep breath as if going into herself, before walking from the room. She mumbled words he did not understand and could barely hear, and followed her through the kitchens, out the door and down the path to her garden. She stopped in the center, on a flat stone slab, held out her arms; hands turned up and walked in a slow circle, still muttering a language he did not recognize. After a moment she stopped and looked at him. “It is done.”
Blake glanced around, not certain what he would find, if anything, though a bit nervous. “She can’t see you?”
Brighid smiled brightly. “No, and now I can look for Callie.”
How the hell was she going to look for Miss Eilbeck? It was the early morning hours and they had only the light of the moon. He would think Brighid was daft, though he knew better. She marched past him and back into the kitchens. Blake turned to follow, not willing to part from her for long. In the herbarium she once again picked up the black cloth and crystal and returned to the center of the garden. She placed the fabric and then the crystal on a raised, flat stone and settled before it.
