by Ava Stone
“I did see her. I can’t tell where she is, she is still among us, my lord.”
Blake blew out breath he hadn’t even been aware he was holding.
“What did she look like?” Braden demanded.
“She looked cold,” Brighid began. “Even though she has a shawl. Faded a bit. She’s wearing a yellow walking dress and she seems tired.”
“Now what do we do?” Sir Cyrus asked.
Brighid brightened. ”We will bring her back just after midnight.”
The question needed to be asked, but he feared the answer. “How?”
“Much in the same manner as we banished Mrs….” She looked around, “You-know-who.”
“So, we will return to the dungeon?” Blake held his breath, fearing her answer. He never wanted to go back there again.
Brighid frowned. “I don’t believe so, but I can’t be certain at this moment.”
Braden stood. “Will we need the same group from last night? I’ll make sure they’re all there.”
Brighid shook her head in the negative. “I will need you, Sir Cyrus, Daphne, Lila and those closest to Callie.”
“They will be here,” Braden replied as if he were king and could order anyone about as he saw fit.
“But first,” Brighid said, her gaze locked with Braden’s. “You will meet me here shortly before midnight.”
The plan for today had been very odd up ‘til now. Braden, Lila Southward, Cyrus Eilbeck and Daphne Alcott had all sat in Miss Glace’s herb garden, focusing on Callie while the little witch stared into a crystal and mumbled things about colors. None of it had made any sense to Braden and since Miss Glace hadn’t been able to see where Callie was, he suspected none of it made any sense to her either. And that was the worst of it. The despair for any tangible plan to find Callie and to bring her back from wherever she was.
He cradled a tumbler of whiskey in his hands as he leaned against the desk in his study. Midnight was still hours away and he wasn’t any closer to finding her now than he had been the first day she’d gone missing.
A knock came from the door and Braden glanced from his desk towards the entrance. Miss Southward stood in the threshold, a worried expression etched across her face. “I don’t mean to interrupt,” she began.
There was nothing to interrupt other than Braden’s tortured thoughts. “Do come in, Miss Southward,” he said, forcing a smile to his face.
She stepped further into the study, stopping once she reached one of the overstuffed leather chairs before his desk. “I have to return home, my lord, or my father will be quite angry otherwise.” She shook her head as though to shake that thought away, and her dark curls bobbed against her shoulders. “I just wanted to tell you that I’ll be back tonight, one way or the other. So please don’t start without me.”
With or without her, Braden feared the result would be the same. He said nothing in response, only lifted his glass of whiskey to his lips.
“Oh, no,” Miss Southward whispered in panic, touching a hand to her heart.
Her alarm was enough to draw Braden’s attention away from his drink long enough to ask, “What is it?”
“You’ve lost faith.” Her pretty face looked quite a bit paler all of a sudden.
“Faith?” he scoffed. “Miss Southward, I am not one to believe in faith on my best day and this is far from my best day.”
She stepped closer to him, her blue eyes clouded in concern. “But you have to have faith, my lord. We all have to have faith if we’re to bring her home tonight.”
Poor misguided girl. Braden tipped back another drink of whiskey.
“I’ve heard my father talk about faith all of my life…”
“And I heard mine talk about honor, but that doesn’t mean he had any. Words, Miss Southward, are just words.”
“Faith is real,” Miss Southward insisted, the sincerity in her voice touching something in Braden’s soul. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I’ve seen the sick believe they’ll get healthy and then do so. I’ve seen a child have faith he can take his first steps and then do so. I’ve seen—”
“Have you seen a girl vanish and then reappear?” he asked.
“I will tonight.” The pitying glance Miss Southward cast him made Braden more than a bit uncomfortable. “Faith is powerful, Lord Bradenham. It can move mountains.”
“So they say.”
“And they are right,” she said with such conviction, Braden could almost imagine her at her father’s pulpit. “I’ve known Callie Eilbeck my whole life. I’ve never seen the light in her eyes shine as they did that day the two of you came to the vicarage. She loves you, my lord. Love her enough to believe she’ll return, and she will.”
But if he did that and Callie didn’t appear, whatever was left of him would crumble to ash.
“I know it’s difficult,” she said a bit softer. “But we all have to believe, my lord. When we all band together, when we all will her to return, we won’t be disappointed. I have no doubt.”
“And how is you have such faith, Miss Southward?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Because it’s the only thing I have to hold on to. I have to believe I’ll see Callie again. The alternative is too awful to contemplate.”
The alternative was all Braden had been contemplating. Of course, most of his life had been one loss after another. So contemplating one more loss came rather naturally.
“Don’t give up on her,” the girl urged quietly. “She needs each of us. You more than anyone else.”
Somehow Braden found himself nodding. “Very well, Miss Southward, I will try.”
She flashed him a radiant grin. “And I will succeed on escaping the vicarage and being here to help you.”
Daphne hugged her arms around herself as the carriage trundled toward Marisdùn Castle. She’d not wanted to leave the estate earlier that day, but Alastair and Graham had both insisted she go home and rest before the party. She’d gone reluctantly, and she hadn’t rested, of course. Her nerves were far too on edge to allow for that. The worst was being apart from Alastair, but what was she to do? She couldn’t very well show up for the party in her day dress, and Alastair had to tend to his guests so as to not raise suspicions.
A shiver raced up her spine. How could she make merry at a time like this? It wouldn’t be easy, what with so many of them on edge, wondering where Callie was, and if they’d get her back tonight.
“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” Graham said from the other side of the carriage. He was staring out the window into the nothingness.
“How could you?” Daphne replied, wringing her gloved hands. “Witches, ghosts, exorcisms, and worst of all, a missing girl. Not really the stuff dreams are made of.”
“No, but certainly nightmares.”
Daphne couldn’t argue there. And while she knew it was selfish of her, she couldn’t help but be upset that she was falling in love in the midst of all this. Why couldn’t she fall in love in springtime with flowers and butterflies everywhere instead of ghosts and terror?
At least she was pleased with the way her costume had turned out this evening. Callie’s dress was perfect, and perhaps wearing something of hers would help in drawing her out of wherever she was.
The carriage came to a stop. Daphne’s fingers were twitching to open the blasted door herself and run headlong into Alastair’s arms, but she held back and waited, like a proper lady. She had to start practicing sometime, didn’t she?
When the door finally opened, all her efforts at being a lady flew into the cold October wind. She barreled ahead of Graham, and hurriedly climbed down the step to the ground. Without hesitation, she darted into the house. Bendle was there to take her cloak, which she dumped unceremoniously into his arms.
“He is in the main drawing room, Miss Alcott,” the all-knowing butler said.
Daphne gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you.”
The castle was full and lively this evening, spilling out into the gardens since Samhai
n celebrations were to take place under the moon, apparently. The London visitors milled about, dressed in all manner of costumes. The general atmosphere was one of excitement and merriment, and Daphne wished more than anything that she could join in. That her friend wasn’t missing. And that this blasted party wasn’t a celebration of the very ghosts who had taken Callie.
She weaved her way through the crowd until she arrived at the drawing room. Strains from the orchestra in the ballroom further down the corridor filled her ears. Colognes and perfumes mingled with the smell of smoke from the fireplace and all the hundreds of candles lit throughout the rooms. Daphne’s heart raced. Her head felt light. The assault on her senses threatened to overtake her, but thankfully, Graham had convinced her to carry her own bottle of smelling salts this evening.
She reached into her reticule, her fingers searching frantically for the little bottle, but she was shaking so badly in an effort to remain conscious that she couldn’t quite grab onto it. It was then that a strong arm went around her back, warming her from head to toe and slowing her pulse.
“I’m here, my love,” Alastair whispered in her ear, his face so close to hers, all she had to do was turn her head to the side and she’d be able to kiss his cheek.
“However did you recognize me?” she teased, though her voice was shaky and uncertain.
“I sensed your presence before I even saw you,” he said, his voice low and gravely. “But when I did see you, I knew you were in trouble.”
“It’s all a bit overwhelming,” she admitted.
“I know.” He pressed against the small of her back, urging her to walk. “Come with me.”
Alastair wasn’t about to let Daphne collapse in a heap on the floor in the middle of the party. He’d seen her standing there, in all her beautiful glory, dressed as a woodland fairy, and wanted more than anything to lay her down and make love to her right then and there. But then he’d noticed her chalky pallor and the vague look of panic in her eyes behind her mask. He knew that look from their morning in the stables.
She’d seemed to relax at his touch, and her hand had stilled in her reticule. Now, as he led her away from the drawing room, toward a less populated part of the castle, he asked, “What was it you were looking for in there?”
“Smelling salts,” she said. “Graham insisted I bring them, just in case.”
“He’s a wise man, your brother.”
“Would you be saying that if he hadn’t given his blessing for us to marry?” She turned her face up to look at him, a cheeky smile on her lips, and color back in her cheeks. Alastair released the breath he’d been holding at seeing her recover so quickly.
“Most certainly not,” he replied. “How are you feeling now?”
“Much better.”
He led her toward the doors that led to the gardens. “Good, because you’re going to need all your strength tonight.”
She stopped just before the doors and turned to him, her body so close and so warm, causing his member to twitch beneath his trousers. Damn, he couldn’t wait to marry her.
“Do you think it will work?” she asked, and the look on her face nearly broke his heart in two.
He wouldn’t lie to her, though. The chances of Callie returning to them tonight…well, he didn’t know what those chances were. No one did. And he’d never been much of a betting man, unless horses were involved.
He put his arm around her neck, drawing her into him and kissing the top of her head. “All we can do is pray,” he said, for truly, what else could they do?
The masquerade was in full swing. Half of London was overflowing Marisdùn’s ballroom, parlors and gardens. But Braden hardly noticed them or anything else. He’d spent the afternoon letting Lila Southward’s advice flit about his heart. He had everything to gain by having a little faith, everything to gain by focusing his whole heart and soul on following Miss Glace’s instructions, and everything to lose if he didn’t.
Hope had burgeoned up inside him all evening and now midnight was nearly upon them. Miss Alcott, Miss Southward, Blake Chetwey, Sir Cyrus and Brighid Glace had all assembled in the small herb garden off the kitchens to watch Braden toss hemp seeds over his shoulder. He didn’t know why it was necessary for him to do so and mutter, “Tilleadh thugam, troghad,” nine times; but Brighid Glace had told him to do so while picturing Callie in his mind, and he was bound and determined to do everything he needed to do in order to bring Callie home.
With each handful of seeds he tossed, he imagined Callie as he’d seen her that first day in Marisdùn’s gardens. She’d been the prettiest sight he’d ever seen. Her flaxen curls had framed her lovely face and her eyes—so green, so piercing, she seemed to see straight into his soul like no one had ever done before or since.
He remembered encountering her in Ravenglass and every moment of their walk to the vicarage. He told her things on that walk that he’d never divulged to another living soul. And there was more he wanted to tell her, more he wanted to learn about her. And he wanted to spend the rest of his life learning those things, kissing her, making love to her, keeping her safe, giving her children, sharing every moment the two of them would ever have.
In the distance, twelve bells rang out over Ravenglass.
“It is past midnight,” Sir Cyrus hissed.
Braden stopped where he stood and glanced at the little witch, who was hunched over her crystal a few feet away.
“It just turned,” Miss Alcott muttered softly.
Brighid Glace nodded at Braden. It was time to see Callie. Dear God, let this work. Braden glanced over his shoulder where the last of his hemp seeds had landed and his heart nearly burst from his chest. A vision of Callie appeared behind him and she reached a tentative hand out to him. “I see her!”
“Braden?” she said, her voice sounding distant, but she was there! Damn it all, it had worked.
“Where?” Miss Glace asked calmly, but Braden paid her no attention. How could he when he could finally see Callie?
“Callie sweetheart, is that really you?”
“Oh, Braden, I’m so scared,” she said, her green eyes piercing him where he stood.
“Stay there. I’m coming for you,” he promised. Then he turned and reached his hands out to her, but she vanished as though she’d never been there at all. As though a dagger had pierced his heart, Braden sucked in an anguished breath as his arms fell to his sides. “She’s gone.”
“Where is she?” the witch asked, standing at Braden’s side in an instant.
Where was she? How was he to know that? She’d been here and then…And then he knew as surely as he knew his own name. “The fountain in the gardens. Where we first met,” he gasped out. Right beside the gazanias.
Miss Glace grabbed her satchel from Chetwey and started for the castle door. She called out, “We must hurry,” to the rest of the assembled group. “Follow Lord Bradenham to the fountain he means.”
They all followed Braden, racing through the castle and into the formal gardens. They pushed past masked merrymakers and townsfolk, hurrying as fast as they could down the garden path. There was no time to waste, no excuses to be made. Time was ticking away and Braden had no idea how much time they had left.
As soon as they reached the fountain, Brighid Glace arranged them all in the shape of a triangle. Then she began chanting nonsensically, her voice calm and steady as though she’d done this a hundred times before.
Braden glanced across the triangle, his eyes landing on Miss Southward who nodded with approval. For a moment, doubt began to creep into his mind. What if this didn’t work? What if all of this had been for naught? What if…
A soft, gardenia-scented wind filled the triangle and Braden’s uncertainty fell away. Callie was there. He could feel it!
As soon as they came to the fountain, Brighid had the group form a triangle. She was at the top point with Braden and Miss Lila Southward at the opposite two. Sir Cyrus sat to Brighid’s right, Miss Daphne Allcott to her left and Patrick was place
d between Braden and Miss Southward, directly across from Brighid. If Braden was correct in the location, the spirit of Callie Eilbeck should be in the center.
Blake hung back and observed, watching for any distress in Brighid.
Again she chanted in a language he did not understand, other than her friend’s name. The difference this time was her tone. Instead of yelling and being forceful, it was calm and loving, as if she were calling her friend to her.
A gentle breeze filled the air along with the scent of gardenias. A mist formed in the center of the triangle, twirling and shifting and Blake could swear he heard the twinkling of bells.
Brighid continued to speak in a loving tone; never once raising her voice and the mist began to take shape, forming into a woman. It was more of a silhouette from where he stood observing, but the entire circumstance was fascinating. The image continued to solidify until Miss Callie Eilbeck stood in the center.
She had done it. Brighid had brought her back.
A round of applause erupted from the veranda. The party guests must have followed them, “Bloody hell!” How were they going to explain this?
He turned to congratulate Brighid only to find her once again, collapsed on the ground and unconscious. He was never allowing her to do this again.
Callie blinked into the fog that surrounded her. The air was much thinner than the dark thickness that had encompassed her the last few days. And she could move again, which was more than wonderful. What was happening, though? Where was she now?
She tried to focus beyond the fog and…Braden!
She blinked her eyes again. He was still there, staring right at her. She glanced around her and spotted Cyrus, Daphne, Lila, Brighid, and a few people she didn’t recognize all circled around her spot.
And everyone was looking right at her. They could see her! She felt certain they could finally see her.
A sob burst from her, and she’d never been so happy to hear any sound in her life. And then, from the surrounding darkness, applause hit her ears as well. Applause? Before she had time to think on that at all, Braden rushed towards her and pulled Callie into his embrace.
