by T. M. Cromer
“Good. Now, think of the apple’s composition. The skin, the fleshy interior, the core, and the seeds. Can you see it?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Next, fire up the magic inside you like when you lifted the water from the bowl. Then, imagine the weight of the apple in your hand,” she instructed.
He did as she commanded, and when his fingers closed around a solid, round object, he opened his eyes. “Holy shit! I did it!”
The pleased smile on her face matched his. “You’re a natural, Keaton.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Most witches can’t conjure on their first attempt.”
“I have to say, this is so freaking cool. What else can we do?”
She laughed and gave his forearm a light squeeze. “Same ol’ Keaton. Still an overachiever after all these years.”
A rueful grin curled his lips. “It’s true. Give me an inch, and I’ll take a mile.”
“I remember,” she said huskily.
The color of her eyes was not quite back to the warm, bright amber he remembered, but neither was it a muddy brown anymore. Since he’d learned about the color-changing irises of witches, he’d been paying attention to Autumn’s moods. He appreciated the fact that she was letting go of the anger and hurt.
Trying to preserve the current mood, he tossed her the apple and closed his eyes. A cheerful, yellow daisy appeared mere seconds later. With a triumphant grin, he presented it to her with a flourish. “For you, m’lady.”
“I love daisies.”
“I know.”
“You are too damned smooth for your own good,” she grumbled good-naturedly as she swiped the flower from his hand.
He couldn’t contain his laugh.
“Okay. Now we need winter clothes. See if you can conjure a parka in your size. If you want to try pushing it a step further, you can imagine it on your body.”
It took three tries, but Keaton finally succeeded.
“Very good!” she cheered. “You’ll be a pro in no time.”
“I have an incredible teacher.”
“Mmhmm. Your flattery won’t work on me.” She checked the clock. “We need to get a move on. You ready for this?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Okay, hold on.”
“Oh, babe. You shouldn’t tell me things like that. I’d like nothing more than to put my hands on your body.”
Pink brightened her cheeks, and he chuckled as he shifted closer.
He wrapped her in a tight embrace. “Is this right?”
“Hand holding would do,” she said dryly.
“But then I don’t get to hug you close,” he countered and nuzzled his lips against the hollow of her neck.
“You’re pushing it, Keaton.”
Since her tone remained light, he didn’t let go. “I’m yours to whisk away.”
Keaton experienced an internal warming. It started in his core and worked its way to his extremities. Right before the point of burning, it stopped. He hadn’t been aware of closing his eyes or tightening his hold on Autumn, but when she tapped his shoulder and told him they’d arrived, he opened his eyes.
Sure enough, they stood along the edge of a wooded area. The tree-line extended a good three hundred yards beyond the exterior monastery wall. With great care, he released her and spun in a slow circle. “This is it?”
“This is it.”
He nodded absently as he took in the view. In the distance, the snow-capped mountains stood majestically, crowned by a the circle of low hanging, light-grey clouds—the perfect backdrop for the massive stone building before them.
“This is incredible,” he breathed.
“It is,” she agreed warmly.
He focused back on her and asked the question utmost in his mind. “Do you feel the infusion of heat when you teleport?”
“I do. That is your power ramping up.” She placed a hand over the area of his solar plexus. “Magic starts on a cellular level and builds outward. Your body was responding to the power I was putting forth.”
It made an odd sort of sense, and he nodded. “How is it done? How did we arrive here?”
“You concentrate on a mental image of where you are going. Preferably an open area so you don’t wind up merged with a wall or tree.”
He felt the color drain from his skin. “That can happen?”
“Yes, but not if you’re careful. That’s why it’s important to have a clear picture in your mind.”
“I thought I’d be more disoriented,” he confessed.
“As a non-magical person, you might be. But like I said, your power responded to mine. It happens on occasion. I imagine your body’s instincts took over.”
“Okay, what’s next?”
“We duck into the woods, conjure a couple of backpacks to complete our hiker disguise, and then make our way to the front doors on the north side of the building,” she explained. “Once there, we create a cover story about losing our way. Hopefully, they will provide shelter for the night. It will give us a chance to snoop around.”
“How did you become such an expert on this type of deception?”
She studied him for a minute then grinned. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
He trudged into the woods behind her. “Couldn’t we have been more James Bond-ish? Sweep in with some high-end toys, swipe the stone, and run out as the building explodes?”
“Bitch, bitch, bitch,” she teased. “I’ll tell you what, next mission, you get to concoct the plan.”
“Deal.”
Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen has been omitted for obvious reasons. Consider this like a seventh-inning stretch. You can go hit up your social media accounts and tell everyone how awesome this story is.
Or better yet, order Winter Magic here.
Chapter 14
The monastery was enormous. The golden temple rose five stories, with each level smaller in width than the first. The roof edges curled upwards as if smiling. Intricate floral carvings decorated the stone base and were at odds with the simplicity of the building design. Over the main entry was a black sign angled for ease of viewing for any visitors who cared to glance up. The sign contained two gold Chinese symbols that Autumn had no ability to translate. Similar smaller buildings dotted the landscape around them. The tall stone fence and iron gates created a compound feel.
She and Keaton were admitted to the monastery with minimal fuss. Their cover story didn’t raise a brow. The silent group of Asian men studied them with solemn eyes.
One monk stood out among the rest. He was tinier than the others, standing only as tall as her shoulder. He wore a pleasant expression that bordered on jolly. The laugh lines in the corner of his eyes spoke of his happy disposition. Autumn dubbed him Jolly Ollie.
They were guided to separate rooms next door to each other. Autumn studied Keaton’s room from the doorway as he laid his backpack on the thin cot-like bed in the corner of the small space. She needed a clear image of the room in the event of a teleport. His slight frown indicated he didn’t understand her curiosity. She smiled mysteriously and followed Ollie to her equally tiny room.
“Do you speak English, Jolly Ollie?” she asked the man.
His eyes all but disappeared as they crinkled with laughter. Wordlessly, he bent at the waist and backed from the room.
“Not one for conversation, huh?” she called after the departing figure.
Within minutes, Keaton stood at her door. As a show of respect and per monastery rules, he didn’t enter. “Not luxurious, but at least it’s dry and somewhat warm. The scratchy wool blanket at the foot of the bed will come in handy tonight.”
“True enough.”
He checked the hallway and lowered his voice to ask, “What’s the plan for searching?”
“I figure when the monks are in prayer this afternoon, it will be a good time to explore,” she responded equally as soft.
He frowned and checked the hall again. “This p
lace gives me the creeps.”
Her head came up from where she’d been rummaging through her pack. A long time ago, she’d learned to trust her instincts. If Keaton’s were screaming at him, something was off. “What’s wrong? What do you feel?”
“Eyes. Everywhere.”
She nodded. Yeah, she’d experienced the sensation too. “Did you feel a pull toward any particular direction when we entered?”
“The wing opposite these rooms.”
“Me, too.” She peered around him down the hall. “We’ll head that way when we hear the mid-day prayer bell.”
“How do you know so much about their schedule?”
“Alastair gave a detailed account to Summer this morning.” She reached into her bra and pulled out the folded sheet of paper she’d tucked there before they left. With a triumphant grin, she held it up. “A map.”
“Nice! Memorize it and hand it over.”
She did as he suggested, but it took a while. The sheer size of the place was astounding. “Here. This is the area we passed through to get to this section of rooms. This…” She pointed to an area to the west of where they were. “…is where I felt the draw of something powerful. Magic has a pull. It makes sense that we would feel the stone if it’s here.”
He glanced down the hall again then turned his attention to the map. “Yeah, that location seems about right.”
“You’d better head back to your room. Let’s keep up appearances.”
Keaton had barely tucked the map in his pocket when Ollie showed up and indicated they were to follow him. Together, they fell into line behind the monk.
“How long have you been here, Ollie?”
Her question didn’t even garner a raised shoulder. With a side glance at Keaton, she quipped, “He’s the strong, silent type. My favorite.”
After a four-minute walk, they came to a large oak door off the great hall. Ollie knocked once and turned the handle. With another low bow, he waved an arm for them to enter the room. Without a word, he backed out and shut the door.
Across the twenty-foot space, a man with shiny blue-black hair dusted with gray stood looking out over the grounds. Although he appeared relaxed, Autumn received the impression he was, in fact, tense.
At roughly five-feet-ten, he was taller than the other monks. And while his Asian ancestry was obvious, his skin was a lighter shade of olive, and from her angle, his eyes appeared to be an odd, pale shade of green. It was as if the color had been leeched from his irises. There was no doubt this guy had mixed heritage.
They stood in silence for another full minute before Keaton cleared his throat.
When the man turned more fully, Autumn took an involuntary step backward. This was not a man to be trifled with. Call it instinct, or a warning from the Goddess, but every nerve ending screamed for her to run from this room and never return.
They stood locked in a staring contest. The malice in his eyes was unmistakable. Why he would possibly hate her was anyone’s guess. Perhaps he despised women in general. And yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling his animosity was personal somehow.
“Thank you for providing shelter for the evening,” Keaton cut in smoothly drawing the man’s attention from her. “I’m Keith Harrington, and this is my girlfriend, Amber Shaw.”
Autumn released an internal sigh of relief that he had the forethought to lie. They hadn’t discussed that part of the plan, but providing real names for the man across from them didn’t seem wise.
A slight sneer lifted the man’s lip before he smoothed all expression from his face. “I am Zhu Lin.” There was no need for him to state his position. His air of command was apparent.
“Mr. Lin, thank you for your hospitality.”
Autumn wasn’t sure if it was her or the offer of thanks, but Lin’s eyes darkened, and his expression hardened.
“You may stay tonight only. Tomorrow morning, you will be escorted outside the fence and sent on your way. While you are here, you will remain in your rooms when not dining.” Lin didn’t wait for a response to his decree before he moved behind his desk at the far end of the room. “You may go.”
Temper on a low simmer, Autumn spun on her heel and headed for the exit. She paused in her retreat when Keaton didn’t follow.
“You’ll have to pardon me, Mr. Lin, but I don’t understand your desire to be rid of us. Have we done something to offend?” Keaton asked, ever the politician.
With a squinting of his already narrow eyes, Lin shifted his gaze between Keaton and Autumn. “I don’t care to have our routine disrupted, Mr. Harrington.”
“I can well understand, sir. But the reason we sought shelter is because a storm is supposed to kick up in the province later today. It’s not safe to be out in sub-zero temperatures.”
A shrewd light entered Lin’s gaze. To Autumn, it seemed a type of grudging respect for how well Keaton played the game. Lin gave a sharp nod and turned his attention to the tome in front of him.
“You may stay until the weather clears, but the same rules apply,” Lin said. “Good day.”
The door opened, and Ollie stood ready to usher them back to their rooms.
“Keaton! No!”
The heavy urn Keaton had his hand inside crashed to the floor with a resounding boom. The echo throughout the stone chamber was deafening. They stood in stunned silence while they stared in horror at the shattered religious icon.
“What the hell can we do to fix this?” Keaton asked.
“Stand back.”
Autumn didn’t have time or the supplies to cast a circle, so she went with a quick incantation to protect herself before summoning up a spell she’d used once as a young teen. That time, like this, required the repair of a broken statue before she was caught.
As the pieces, large and small, rose in the air and swirled around them, Keaton ducked and squatted. “Careful, you almost took my ear off.”
She didn’t bother to respond, and instead, chose to concentrate on the task at hand.
Sandals slapped the stones in the corridor.
They were out of time.
With one last surge of energy, she fused the pieces together. A slight clink of metal hitting stone caught her attention. The Chintamani Stone, embedded in a hideous necklace design, fell at their feet. The wooden door slammed back on its hinges before she could retrieve the necklace.
An army of roughly fifteen short, heavyset monks flooded the room. One spoke rapid-fire in what she assumed was the Tibetan language.
Autumn looked to Keaton. “It’s all Chinese to me,” she quipped.
An inappropriate laugh escaped him, and he clasped her hand. “Let’s go. I don’t think he’s happy you performed magic on sacred ground.”
She snapped her fingers.
Nothing happened.
Her heart rate kicked into high gear as she met Lin’s smug pale-green gaze across the distance. The head honcho had a real chip on his naked right shoulder.
She snapped twice more in rapid succession.
“We’re fucked,” she croaked. “The room is warded against teleporting.”
As one, the monks surged toward them. Keaton fought ferociously but was no match for the other men. All of whom, it appeared, had been trained in hand-to-hand combat.
Autumn struggled against the hands holding her, using her magic to fling them off before another set landed on her again.
Within minutes, she was on the ground, her ribs smarting from the blows she took, and her wrists encircled in a pair of ancient-looking shackles with nearly illegible runes inscribed on the metal. She attempted to cast them off.
She was powerless.
Autumn had never been powerless in her entire life. She met Keaton’s concerned gaze. Her own eyes must’ve reflected the terror she experienced at that moment, because he made one last-ditch effort to get to her before he was knocked unconscious.
The heels of his thick-soled boots dragged along the large, uneven stones as they hauled him toward the door.
&nb
sp; “Where are you taking him?” she screamed. “Keaton!” She kicked out at the legs closest to her and twisted wildly against the arms holding her. “Where are you taking Keaton?”
“Is he a witch like you?”
Well, crap on a cookie! The man knew what she was.
She closed her eyes and shook her head at her stupidity. It explained the animosity.
“Then he will be spared.”
Her eyes flew wide. Lin thought she meant Keaton was a non-magical human.
His words sunk in. Spared?
“Spared?”
“If he can find his way off the mountain.”
“You sonofabitch! You can’t throw him out in the snowstorm! He’ll die!”
“Would you prefer he share your fate?”
She didn’t know what her fate would be and was too terrified to ask.
“Take her to the dungeon.”
“You all speak English?” As they hauled her to her feet, she stared down the man she’d dubbed Ollie. “Way to be a tool, Ollie.”
A spark of humor flashed in his rheumy dark eyes, but he quickly turned serious. The abrupt change confused her. It was as if he were amused by her and yet trying to relay a message at the same time.
“Ms. Thorne.”
Her heart jerked to a stop when the monks halted her in her tracks. They shifted her to face Lin.
“If you pray, you may want to spend tonight in prayer. Tomorrow, you burn.”
Did she want to know what he meant? She gulped and croaked out the question.
“Where do you think the tradition of executing witches arose?” he mocked.
“Do you want the long, technical version? I’ve done a lot of research. Nothing indicated Buddhist monks were in on the craze though.”
“A well-placed word or suggestion and our will is done.”
“Your will, you mean. The rest of your monk minions are mindless asshats,” she retorted. “But really, what do you have against a poor harmless witch? I’ve done nothing to you.”
“But your family has.”
Okay, that sounded ominous.
“Take her.”
