Hannah and Alvin slowed to catch their breath and beamed at their friend, arms around each other in perfect accord. “Seriously?” Alvin asked.
“No, he’s not.” Desiree, Grant’s wife and general manager, poked her head around the corner of her office at the back of the gallery. “We have three more appointments today and our artists,” she pointed towards the workroom, “have work to do.” Short and elegantly Bohemian, Desiree kept them all in line. “We’ll have dinner together tonight. Capesh?”
Chapter Two
Clitheroe, Lancashire County, England: 1543
Wynter dabbed the soft bristle brush into a tiny jar, half-filled with golden dust. Her hand shook a little as she said the incantation and stroked the jeweled copper key.
O wise Guardian soft and strong,
Maintain protection, to her belong,
Insure within your charge and cares,
Expose the heart of he that dares.
There is no harm to come or worse,
Secure and safe without a curse.
A tiny stab of guilt pierced her chest. Not exactly the magick Lord Theodric expected, she supposed. But Wynter loved her queen and mistrusted the lord who vied for the woman’s hand. Unless her magick mislead her, she could see through the charade to his true desires; he did not love the queen. That became more apparent with each of his visits to secure her jewelry, purportedly for their ruler.
She examined the piece in the light. About six inches in length, copper wire twisted intricately around its form. Caged amethysts in a delicate shade of purple dotted the bow. Wynter added a holder piece at the top, so the wearer could adjoin it to her girdle. But she knew the queen would want to wear this near her breast, as a token of her loyalty to the man she imagined she loved.
And by doing so, the incantation would do its work.
A flash of light caught the corner of her eye, but she knew better than to turn her head and look at it directly. She had tried before, but the apparition only disappeared. Wynter found if she kept her eyes averted, the specter would stay.
For years, Wynter had observed her mother and grandmother each speak with something other, although Wynter could never see anyone or anything. She had been told when the time came, she would entertain her own guest. Wynter smiled at the thought. One day, Goddess willing, she would be enigmatic to her own children and grandchildren.
Woman, witch or ghost? Wynter had no clue what visited whenever she worked a piece. The spirit exuded no malice, just a curiosity—as if it wished to enjoy whatever she created too. Perhaps one day she could devise a spell to keep it, and they would converse.
Cat jumped to the window ledge, releasing an annoyed hiss just as the sound of horses thundered over the hill. She placed the key carefully in a soft leather pouch and turned her head. The apparition in the corner disappeared.
She quickly put her tools into the barely-visible niche in the wall before gathering her skirts to step outside. If spied through the open window, the expensive tools might give Lord Theodric’s men reason to enter her domain. The spells on the cottage made quite sure they would never leave again. She didn’t relish explaining that to Theodric.
With a quick whisper, Wynter altered her appearance to what they expected from a witch. Her straight shoulders rounded. Tiny wrinkles—not too many—carved into her smooth skin. Soft facial features strengthened into crags, her lips thinned and her piercing blue eyes became grey. Even her gown cooperated, dulling with age and seemingly countless washings.
Three men pulled their horses up, dust flying in their haste. Two dismounted.
“Show me,” the remaining one demanded.
Wynter shuffled to his side and held up the pouch, all the while keeping a wary eye on the other two men. Lord Theodric opened the pouch and dropped the key into his gloved hand. He turned it, lifted it to the sky and squinted at the stones. Finally, he grunted.
“Did you magick it? ’Tis better than I expected.” He secured it in his leather shoulder bag and spurred his horse into a turn. “Pay her,” he instructed his men, “then catch up. I want to get to Clitheroe Castle soon after midday.” He allowed his horse to complete the circle until he faced her again. Controlling the stallion, he bent low over the animal’s neck. “What did you do to your appearance, witch? You look different from the last time I saw you. Perhaps a bath is needed.” He winked.
Wynter listened to his laughter echoing through the hills after the three men left. She imagined he thought he outsmarted the witch.
Think again, my lord.
~ * ~
Clitheroe Castle
A grin still played around his mouth when Theodric dismissed his men two hours later. He strode through the open front door of the small castle he occupied, by the queen’s regard, and nodded to the servant.
“Bring me an ale, then I don’t wish to be disturbed until dinner.”
“Yes, my lord.” The man turned to a side table and poured from a ready pitcher. “Shall I take it up myself?”
“No.” Theodric pulled off his cloak and exchanged it for the tankard. He drained half of it and took the stairs two at a time, anxious to be alone. He didn’t think twice about the servant. Adrian was the only one he employed as such, and he trusted the man implicitly.
Once inside his apartments, he sealed the door with a word. The heavy tapestries over the windows already clung together, not allowing even a small ray of light to escape into the room. He snapped his fingers and two candles, situated on either side of a covered easel, flared to life.
Theodric drained the tankard and set it on a sideboard. He crossed the room and pulled the cloth down, revealing a full-length mirror. Unlike others, this one’s uncommonly smooth surface reflected a master’s magick. His.
He pulled out the key Wynter had made and grinned, running his thumb over her work. Did the witch really think he hadn’t seen through her feeble attempt to age herself? He tapped the key lightly on the corner of the glass. Instantly, Theodric’s reflection disappeared, and he beheld another person in a brightly lit room, engrossed in a task he couldn’t identify.
“I have the key,” he said.
The reflection wavered for a moment then stilled again as the beautiful silver-haired woman looked up, her face softening when she saw him. “Good.”
Chapter Three
Lancaster: present day
Hannah rubbed her thumb along the length of the key her grandmother sent months ago, feeling the magic within its form. The patina of the old copper glowed a beautiful greenish-blue, almost teal, forming a perfect backdrop for the three amethysts woven within it. She had convinced herself that touching it helped her create her designs.
Alvin would laugh at her.
She set the key in its velvet case and began working the copper on her bench.
Hannah had used the basic design to create five keys, all with different stones and weaving patterns. If those generated enough interest—especially after the sale today—she could work off the commissions. Right now, she wanted to craft one identical to the original.
Desiree poked her head in.
“Ready for dinner?”
“What?” Hannah pushed her hair out of her eyes and glanced at the clock. She didn’t realize how much time had passed. She listened intently, but her stomach stayed silent.
“Dinner,” Desiree repeated.
“Oh. No, I’m fine.” She gestured to the box. “I want to work on this a bit more.”
Hannah held her breath as Desiree stepped over to the workbench and put out a finger to touch the old key. She quickly offered a pair of white cotton gloves, similar to the ones covering her own hands.
Desiree shook her head. “That’s okay. You’ve told me often enough that I shouldn’t touch, no matter how tempting.” She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. “I can’t believe you’re not hungry. But you artists are always working on your own schedule, so I suppose us mere mortals must forgive you.”
“Is Glimmer Man goin
g?”
Desiree laughed. “Are you daft? A sale and a free dinner in one day? Alvin wouldn’t pass on that one.” She inclined her head towards the key. “I’m surprised you are.”
“Tell you what.” Hannah decided to be sociable. “Where are you going—the tavern? I can join you there in about an hour.”
“We’ll be at The Hanging Tree, and I’ll even order you a meat pie. The chef makes it from scratch for you anyway.” She paused on her way out. “I won’t get you a pint, because I know you Americans drink them cold. Later, luv.”
“Thanks, Desiree,” Hannah said to the closed door, already intent on the curvature of the bit ward.
It wasn’t right. She checked the original. No matter how she turned the wire, it wouldn’t follow the same curve. What had the artist done to form this part?
Hannah went to the door and eased it open a crack. No noises came from the front of the gallery, but that wasn’t unusual this time of night. Her workroom faced south, situated at the back of the building. The rooms Grant and Desiree offered to their current artists were spacious, well lit, soundproof—and away from the actual gallery to keep wandering guests out.
Gripping the old key, she slipped her cell phone into her back pocket and made her way to the gallery’s showroom. The overhead lights were off, but the security night-lights glowed. She stopped in front of Alvin’s Beauty Multiplied. For weeks, this particular mirror had propped up a wall at the very back of his studio, somewhat lost throughout the sheer number of pieces cluttering the room. She had to give him credit—he was a prolific artist. Where she had two or three pieces ready for sale at any time, Alvin had dozens.
This one amazing creation, hidden in plain sight, turned out to be perfect for her needs. Hannah stood directly in front of the full-length mirror. She lifted the ancient key, held it against the glass and recited the verse her grandmother taught her in high school.
Guardian of all, hear my plea
Safeguard those who count on thee.
Take me to my sister dear
The one whose heart knows I am here.
No harm to those, I pray to you,
Who seek your wisdom, great and true.
The mirror shimmered and then burst in a flash of lightning. Hannah didn’t flinch at the optical illusion; it happened every time. The surface of the glass rippled and slowly settled, like water in a pond, until Hannah could see the room in the glass. It was always the same setting: a one-room cottage brightly lit by several lamps. Heavy drapes pulled to the side of an open window allowed the sun to slant on a workbench covered with small tools. Spools of fine metals with different diameters hung on the wall, within easy reach of the woman sitting there. Several open boxes held uncut stones. On one side, a small grinder waited for feet to urge it into a spin. To the left of the bench, on the other side of the room, a small bed nestled against the wall. A black pot steamed over the fireplace; Hannah imagined she could smell the aroma of the contents.
The urge to step forward assailed her, but her grandmother had warned her to ignore it. “Look for what you seek,” G-ma said, “but do not attempt to enter.” Often, Hannah imagined the woman on the other side wished to interact, but it never happened.
The woman raised a key to the light—identical to the one Hannah held secure on the mirror—and inspected it. Hannah marveled at the beauty of the newly formed copper and leaned forward to examine the detail.
Without warning, a cat jumped to the open sill, interrupting their scrutiny. The woman placed the key in a leather pouch and glanced across the room. When she met Hannah’s eyes, the scene disappeared.
“What are you doing?”
Hannah let out a small scream of surprise and tripped over her own feet as she spun around. The precious key flew out of her hand, skidding across the marble floor. Alvin stopped the slide with his shoe and extracted a white folded handkerchief from his front pocket. He crouched to scoop it up.
She fought to gain her balance without touching or falling into Alvin’s exhibit. Devoid of any grace at all, she tiptoed out of the area, glaring at him.
“What are you doing sneaking up on me?” Hannah heard the snark in her voice but couldn’t control it. She hadn’t thought anyone would be returning to the gallery.
Alvin rose. “I told Grant and Desiree that you probably lost track of time,” he said mildly, holding up two bags. “They went home. I brought you a meat pie and a couple of brews.”
Damn the man. Hannah’s anger and embarrassment drained away. At least he didn’t say anything about her touching his expensive mirror. “Thanks.” She held out her hand. “My key, please?”
He held it up to the dim overhead light, the gesture so similar to the woman in the mirror that Hannah’s heart thumped. “Beautiful,” he said before handing it back along with the food. “By the way, what were you doing with my mirror?”
Busted.
Chapter Four
Lancaster Castle: 1543
Wynter traversed the length of the castle’s throne room, accompanied by four honor guardsmen. The full skirt of her white gown swayed with each step; a jeweled headdress secured the dark contrast of her hair from too much exuberance in the eyes of the court. She gazed straight ahead, yet her ears couldn’t help but register the whisperings of the other occupants. Lords and servants alike on either side of the procession shrank back a bit, reluctant to feel even the breath of the witch passing.
When she came within ten feet of the throne, Wynter sank into a full curtsy and held the pose.
“Wynter! Approach.”
Wynter raised her head to see the queen motion to her grumbling court and advisors. Gaining her feet, she folded her hands together and watched them retreat. A warm breeze blew through the open windows, fluttering tapestries against the stone wall. Once the last guard closed the tremendous oak doors, the queen dropped her haughty demeanor and leaped to her feet.
“Wynter, how are you? It’s been much too long since you last visited me.”
The two women met at the steps and embraced.
“Aurelia, my queen, I am well. You look beautiful, as always. How goes the running of our country?”
Arm in arm, they entered the queen’s apartments through a door behind the throne and settled in the padded chairs next to the fireplace. Aurelia pretended to pout. “How is it you never ask how your queen fares?”
Wynter raised an eyebrow. “You feel fine, but your courses run too strong. I have a potion for you that will help.”
“I don’t know if I like having a witch in my queendom.”
“I could leave—” Wynter teased and half-rose from her chair.
Aurelia leaned forward to put her hand on Wynter’s. “I do wish for
you to leave ... your cottage.” She paused. “And move here, into my castle.”
Wynter frowned. “Why? We’ve known each other since we were children. You know it’s not my preference to be in the castle.” She sat back and cast a thread into the queen’s mind. “You worry about Theodric.”
“Somewhat.” Aurelia shrugged. “He is what he is. No more and no less.”
“Have you any clue to his intentions? He strikes me as too ...” She paused, searching for a word. “ ... Arrogant, too strong. He’ll smother you.”
“Or all that arrogance and strength might keep this kingdom safe.”
Wynter rose to pace in front of the fire. “What about love?”
Aurelia laughed, an enchanting sound like the tinkle of bells that filled the room, making Wynter smile. “Stay here and make a man love me.”
“You don’t need me to make someone love you, my queen.”
Aurelia put out a hand when Wynter paced close. “No, but I need you to talk sense into my advisors. Please.”
Wynter bowed her head. “Of course. You need only to command me.”
~ * ~
Busy selecting the herbs she needed for a potion, Wynter barely registered the heavy footsteps crunching on the gravel in the conservatory. She
didn’t have to look up from her task, though, to know who approached. His scent engulfed the area, even stronger than the fragrance of the plants.
“I have another commission for you.”
She pinched off a leaf and took a steadying breath. “You recognize me? I’m surprised you approach me here.”
“I would know you anywhere, in any guise.” Theodric touched a tiny flower from the plant and bent his head to inhale the fragrance. “I went to your cottage three times. It was only when I mentioned your absence to our queen that she revealed your presence.”
In the month she had been here, she kept herself busy looking after her queen’s needs. The conservatory thrived under her watchful eye. She spent her days mixing elixir, and her nights polishing stones for her jewelry. And she kept her ear to the ground for news of the men who desired the royal hand in marriage. Theodric had just returned to the castle in the past day or two. He was on the prowl. She could feel it.
Wynter watched him inspect her plants. She had to admit he was a pleasure to the eye: tall and muscular, yet with enough scars to claim a warrior’s title. He surprised her with his soft touch on the flower. Still bent over, he turned his head to stare at her.
Something went through her, coursed through her body like a bolt of lightning. She couldn’t tell whether it was good or evil and took a step back.
“What do you want?” His presence unsettled her and Wynter wasn’t stupid enough to deny it. Her mind told her to take another step away, but her body refused the command and stayed.
He straightened. The same finger he used to touch the flower now slid lightly across her cheek. He smiled.
Only when Wynter took a deep breath did she realize she had been holding it. And that annoyed her. She picked up her basket and swept down the aisle to her workbench, leaving Theodric to follow as he pleased. Damn him!
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