by Ava Stone
Blake stopped at her side. Could she really see into the ball? He had heard of gypsies gazing into crystal balls to tell a fortune. He thought it was a bunch of foolishness and a way to get people to part with their money. Yet, that appeared to be what Brighid was doing.
She chanted low, almost silently, and he gave up trying to understand her. After several moments she sat back on her heels, her shoulders slumped as if defeated. “I can’t see her. I can’t find Callie.”
Marisdùn’s cook harrumphed as Braden paced the kitchen floor. Let her be annoyed with him. The castle was his and he could pace wherever he wanted. And as the kitchens were next to the herbarium that he wasn’t allowed to enter, then the kitchens were where he’d pace until Miss Glace decided to emerge from her private domain.
The woman harrumphed again and Braden speared her with a look, daring her to challenge him. Wisely, the woman returned to her baking, leaving Braden to pace the floor in peace.
Relief swamped him when Chetwey stepped into the kitchens. The man had, after all, remained with Miss Glace in her herbarium the entire night. Or at least that’s what Mrs. Small had told him when he’d come down that morning. “Did she find an answer?” Braden demanded before Chetwey could even offer his morning felicitations.
“Might I have a cup of coffee, Cook?” The man strode past Braden, barely sparing him a glance, which hardly boded well for Callie. If Miss Glace had been successful in her planning, Blake Chetwey would say so upon seeing Braden, wouldn’t he?
“Have you learned anything?” David Thorn asked from the threshold.
Braden’s eyes were trained on Chetwey, willing the man to tell him the news he needed desperately to hear.
Chetwey glanced about the kitchens instead of answering. Damn the man! Did he enjoy torturing Braden more than he already was? Then he heaved a sigh. “She doesn’t know what to do,” he finally said, taking a cup of coffee from the portly cook.
She didn’t know what to do? Then what the hell good was she? “Damn it all!” Braden barked. “You were in there all bloody night. She said she would bring Callie back!”
Blake took a sip from his cup. “She said she would do everything in her power to do so. But she has denied being a witch for the past decade. You can’t expect her to suddenly possess all the knowledge she needs to bring Miss Eilbeck back.”
Bloody perfect. He had a witch who couldn’t do a damn thing for Callie.
“Let’s take a ride,” Chetwey suggested as he took another sip of coffee.
“Take a ride?” Was the man of out his damned mind? Braden wasn’t going to take a bloody ride. Callie was still missing, for God’s sake!
“Yes,” Chetwey said calmly, starting for the back kitchen door. “It will clear my head, and perhaps yours as well.”
Braden didn’t need a clear head. He needed a way to get Callie back.
“I’ll come with you,” Thorn said, following Chetwey towards the outside door.
Oh, for God’s sake! How could his friends act as though he just needed to clear his head? A clear head would not bring Callie back to him. “I am not leaving this castle or its grounds,” Braden called after them.
Chetwey glanced over his shoulder and cast Braden a rather annoyed look. “At least step outside with me, then. I am in need of fresh air.”
Fresh air wasn’t about to save Callie either. But since Cook turned an annoyed glare on him, Braden heaved a sigh. “Very well,” he said, following his friends out-of -doors. “At least tell me Miss Glace is still working to find a way to bring Callie back.”
Chetwey scrubbed a frustrated hand down his face. Though why he was frustrated made no sense at all. He hadn’t lost the girl he loved within the blink of an eye. “She is sleeping at the moment and I would appreciate you keeping your voice down,” his friend complained.
“Sleeping? She is sleeping while Callie is lost somewhere?”
Without another word, Chetwey turned on his heel and strode directly to a little herb garden a few feet away, stopping beside a crystal. Braden exchanged a glance with Thorn who shrugged and then followed Chetwey’s lead, settling on a nearby bench.
Oh for God’s sake! Braden followed the pair into the herb garden and folded his arms across his chest. “What the devil?” he began.
Chetwey glanced around the area and then said very quietly, “What I tell you will not be mentioned outside of this garden.”
“Why is this garden so special?” Thorn asked.
“Brighid has protected it so that Braden’s great-grandmother can’t hear us.”
A bit of hope lifted Braden’s chest. “Does that mean she does know how to bring Callie back?”
Callie strained to hear what Braden’s friends were saying to him in the small herb garden off the kitchens, but some force kept her from entering the area after them. She couldn’t hear anything they said. It was almost as though they were speaking underwater. She could hear pitches and tones, but no actual words.
So she waited on the stone walkway while the three gentlemen continued their conversation. She felt a darkness at her back, encroaching slowly upon her. But she couldn’t look away from Braden. If she looked away, she had a feeling in the pit of her stomach that she’d never see him again.
“He’s not for you,” came a whisper in her ear, and Callie’s heart ached.
Braden was for her. He loved her. She loved him. She glanced over her shoulder towards the sound, but only darkness was there.
“He’ll mourn you,” the whisper echoed in her other ear. “But not for long.”
Callie wanted to yell for the voice to stop, but no sound came from her mouth.
“He’ll go back to London and you’ll be…here.” A cackling hit her ears and swirled all around her, making Callie shiver. “Forever.”
She glanced back at Braden only to find the herb garden shrouded in darkness and fading from her sight. Callie reached out towards the garden, desperately needing it to stay in sight. Why had she looked away from Braden? What if she never saw him again? What if she never got back to him? What if…
Then the world around Callie went completely dark.
Brighid gazed into the crystal, but it was filled with nothing but a whitish lavender fog, moving and shifting but allowing no shape or vision to emerge. She should have placed the crystal out as soon as the moon had risen on Saturday so that it could be charged with the power. The sun was of no assistance, which is why she had brought the crystal into the herbarium, hoping the pictures would be clearer in not such a bright light. It had sat out last night, but the moon wasn’t yet full and she feared one night was not enough to give it the energy that was needed.
The color did change, but that was all.
This would never do. She needed a vision. She needed to see that Callie was still with them. What if she had moved on? What if Mrs. Routledge had done something once she had her and it wouldn’t matter if they got rid of the woman, they still wouldn’t get Callie back?
“Stop it!” she chastised herself. Such thinking would bring about failure.
“Stop what?” Blake asked from behind her. He had been sitting on a stool beneath the window. Normally she would hate to have someone with her all of the time, but Blake’s presence brought security and comfort.
“Just chasing away negative thoughts.”
He rose from his seat and came forward, wrapping his arms around her. “You will do what is needed. I have every faith in you and whatever power you possess.”
Her skin tingled where he touched her, even through the clothing, and she drew on his strength and stared back into the crystal. The lavender disappeared and red hues began to emerge.
She sucked in her breath. Please let it mean passion and not danger. “Step away from me.”
His arms dropped and he did as she said.
The colors faded to pink and then lavender before shifting to yellow and then grey, not quite reaching black before the clouds shifted back to yellow and lavender. Black was worse of
course, but yellow spoke of betrayal and the lavender of enlightenment. The more she looked the less she could see. Brighid sat back and pulled the black cloth over the crystal. “As soon as the moon has risen, I need to return the crystal to the garden to gather strength.”
“Here you are,” Anna announced brightly as she stepped into the herbarium. Her cousin, Lily Southward, followed her into the room.
Brighid blew out a breath, thankful her friend had come so quickly. She had sent Lord Quentin for Anna less than an hour ago.
Blake pulled away. “I shall leave you with your friends.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Send word if you need me.” Blake nodded to Anna and Lily as he left. Anna sent her a speculative look, which Brighid chose to ignore.
“When you summon me, please do send that handsome gentleman again.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief as she moved further into the room. Brighid wished she could laugh with her friend. Surely Anna was aware that Callie was missing.
Lila Southward’s face was drawn with barely a hit of color to her cheeks. Brighid’s heart went out to the young woman. Callie was her dearest friend and she must be worried beyond measure.
Brighid gestured for them to take a seat and explained what she believed needed to happen to get Callie back. By the time she was done, even Anna was pale.
“What do you need from me?” Anna asked.
“I need you to make a poppet from cloth and clay and paint the face of Mrs. Routledge upon it. Lord Bradenham is getting a personal item of his great-grandmothers’ so we can put it into the doll.”
Anna blinked at her. “I don’t even know what the woman looked like.”
“There is a portrait of her in the gallery.”
Her friend sucked in a breath. “You want me to walk through the castle, go to the portrait room and begin painting?” She glanced around “What if I am seen by her.”
Brighid bit her lip in thought. They must use deception in order to succeed. “I know, simply announce that you thought to view the portraits during your visit. The staff and ghosts are already used to your presence in the gardens while you sketch and study the statues. Then you can come back and paint. Will that work?”
“It should.” She turned to Lila. “You will come with me, won’t you?”
Lila’s eyes grew wide and she visibly swallowed. “Of course. But let’s do be quick.”
The day before the Samhain party finally dawned, though Alastair had been up for hours. He stared blankly out the window as the sun pushed its way upon the horizon, driving the darkness away. Though it did little to soothe the pit in his stomach—the fear that Miss Eilbeck was lost to them forever.
Alastair shook his head, moving away from his window toward his dressing room. This all seemed like pure foolishness to him, but he’d go along with it. There was no other choice. They’d spent two more days searching for Miss Eilbeck, tearing the castle apart at first, but then branching out to the surrounding grounds and even through the town. Alastair had ridden Jupiter to the coast and searched the banks of the river for hours, but there was nothing. Not a single sign of her, and not a single person who had seen her in days. He had to be careful how he asked after her, but it was obvious, after speaking to several people, that she’d not been seen since Saturday morning, when Quent reportedly saw her disappear into the hedge.
How ridiculous! One didn’t simply disappear, let alone into a densely-planted hedge. Alastair had looked, and there was no way a person could wiggle themselves into its thickness. He wanted to believe Quent had been deep in cups when he’d seen this hallucination, but his friend swore to every deity he was not.
So, it had come to this. A banishment ceremony. It would take place this evening, for apparently there was only a small window of time between then and midnight on Samhain that the door to the other side would be open, allowing them to get Miss Eilbeck back from the beyond.
Alastair wanted to laugh, but the truth was, it was their last option. And he’d do anything at this point to get the girl back. He wouldn’t be able to bear the hurt it would cause his bride-to-be.
With a new determination, he finished tying his cravat, put on his jacket, and left the room. It was his turn to entertain the guests. They’d all had to take turns searching and entertaining alternately over the last few days. The house was now flooded to overflowing with their guests from all over England, and it wouldn’t do for any of them to know what had happened here. So the six of them were taking shifts so as not to alert the masses to the strange happenings at Marisdùn .
Sidney was already in the drawing room, doing his due diligence, when Alastair arrived. With him sat three lovely brunettes and three gentlemen, all of whom he recognized from his club in London.
“I hadn’t realized this was to be a family reunion,” Alastair said, making his way to greet his friends.
The Brothers Lockwell, both Damien and Drake, the Viscount Flitwick, along with the Viscount Heathfield, all stood to shake his hand. Then they proceeded to greet their wives: Emma, Lady Heathfield and Mrs. Isabel Lockwell, who happened to be twin sisters, and Penelope, Lady Flitwick.
“We’d been wondering where you’d gone off to,” Flit said, taking his seat again. “And here we find you, rusticating in a haunted castle.”
“Yes, well, I find the countryside quite to my liking,” he replied, thinking of Daphne, of course.
“That must mean you’ve fallen in love.”
All eyes turned to Mrs. Lockwell, but Alastair was the only one with his mouth agape.
Damien Lockwell smiled. “You’ll find my wife to be rather astute and rather blunt, I daresay.”
Mrs. Lockwell’s cheeks didn’t so much as redden, but she did smile proudly at her husband’s description. “I only recognize the look about him because it’s the same one you had when you fell in love with me.”
A quiet tittering went about the room, and now Alastair’s cheeks were flaming. “Well, I suppose there’s no denying it now,” he said, swiping his nose nervously with his thumb. “But if everyone could keep this quiet until this evening, I would very much appreciate it.”
“Oh, you mean to propose this evening?”
He had meant to, though that was when he was certain Miss Eilbeck would be safe and sound by now. “If the moment presents itself,” he said simply.
“Well, that’s not terribly romantic, is it?” This came from Flitwick’s wife.
“Penelope,” Flit said, though there was humor in his warning.
“Well, it’s true,” the third lady put in—Lord Heathfield’s wife. Goodness, were all married women like this? Outspoken and forward? Alastair had to laugh—Daphne would fit in just fine, he supposed.
Lady Flitwick shot her husband a triumphant look. “Women want a grand gesture when they’re being proposed to.”
“Lady Flitwick has a point, Wolfie,” Sidney said, causing the hairs on the back of Alastair’s neck to stand on end. Damn, why couldn’t this be his time to search for Miss Eilbeck?
“I promise I will do my best,” he finally said to the room at large. “Thank you all for your input.”
Lady Heathfield stood abruptly. “Ladies, I do believe I fancy a walk through the gardens.”
“I would much prefer to visit the library,” Mrs. Lockwell said, joining her twin.
“Oh, come, Isabel,” Lady Flitwick said, standing as well and looping her arm through Mrs. Lockwell’s. “You can read anytime, but it’s not every day you get to explore the grounds of a haunted castle.”
Mrs. Lockwell rolled her eyes, clearly not convinced the place was actually haunted. A few days ago, Alastair would have been rolling his eyes right along with her, but not now. Not anymore.
“Fine,” she finally sighed, and then she turned to her husband, “Come and rescue me soon, will you?”
Lockwell laughed as the other ladies dragged his wife away. “The gardens will be good for you, darling!” he called after her.
Mrs. Lockwell shot daggers at her husband over
her shoulder.
Garrick gave a low whistle. “She’s a handful, isn’t she?”
“You have no idea,” Lockwell replied, but the smile on his face belied his love for his wife.
“Well, gentlemen, what have you planned for us today?” Flitwick asked, leaning back against the plush red velvet cushions of his chair.
“We have a very nice billiard room,” Sidney said.
“In the words of Lady Flitwick, we can play billiards anytime,” Heathfield countered, a mischievous grin coming to his lips.
“I don’t like that glint in your eye,” Alastair admitted, moving further into the room and taking a seat near his friends.
“It is soon to be Samhain, after all,” Heathfield went on. “And we are in a haunted castle. I think a ghost hunt would be far preferable to playing billiards.”
Alastair took a deep breath and exchanged what he thought was a covert glance with Garrick. Apparently, it wasn’t covert at all.
“What was that?” Lockwell asked, looking from Alastair to Garrick.
“There appears to be something going on here,” Flitwick replied. “Come on, gentlemen. Out with it.”
“I’m sorry, gentlemen,” Alastair said, coming to his feet. “As much as we’d like to appraise you of the situation, it is, unfortunately, very…sensitive.”
“But we could use a few extra pair of eyes, couldn’t we, Wolf?” Garrick’s hazel eyes were wide, encouraging Alastair that telling the truth would be in their best interest.
Damn. They were all staring at him, waiting for him to divulge the details. To be honest, they could use the extra help, though he had a feeling Miss Glace would have his bullocks on a platter for talking about this inside the castle. “Well, we have a bit of a situation,” he began. He cleared his throat. “Someone has gone missing. A young woman, actually. And it is now believed, after days of searching both this house and the countryside that…” Could he really say this out loud? He was going to sound like a lunatic. Surely his friends would pack him up straight away for Bedlam.
