Daughter of the Spellcaster

by Maggie Shayne

  “Save him, Lena. It is your destiny.”

  * * *

  Ryan felt as if he were standing a long, long way from his own body, and at an even greater distance from Lena. He could hear her, could see her, but it was as if he was looking at her from far away. Someone had taken him over.

  And he was afraid that same someone was going to use his hands to plunge the golden knife into Lena’s heart.

  No. He couldn’t let it happen.

  Ryan.

  That voice! That voice that wasn’t Lena or the one he’d come to think of as the Master or—

  Ryan, dammit, pay attention.

  Dad? he asked inside his head.

  All your life, you’ve been avoiding the one thing that can help you now, you stubborn spoiled brat. All because you didn’t want to be like me.

  Ryan frowned in confusion, because his brain was beginning to clear and he could see...something. Somewhere. He wasn’t in Lena’s house anymore. He was in what looked like a desert.

  And, he realized in shock, he was apparently on a horse. His father was standing on a sand dune a few yards ahead of him, dressed like some kind of ancient desert dweller. What the hell?

  Tell me why? Why are you so afraid of it?

  Somehow he knew what “it” was, in a disconnected, no-idea-how-he-knew sort of way. And he found himself answering even before he planned to say anything at all.

  It drove you crazy.

  When she left me, you mean?

  When she died. You abandoned everything. You abandoned me.

  His father lowered his head, closed his eyes. I’m sorry. I’m not proud of that. I was weak. I didn’t realize how quickly the time would pass. I didn’t understand how, once we were together again, it would seem like only seconds had gone by.

  Ryan watched as a beautiful young woman walked into sight from somewhere beyond a swirl of wind-whipped sand. It was only as she drew closer that he realized who she was. Mom?

  Hi, baby.

  Mom, is it really...?

  All that pain. His father was speaking again. All that mourning and weeping and aching for her. Such a waste. When my time came, it was instant. Closed my eyes, opened them again. Like a blink. There she was, holding me. And it felt as if no more than a minute had passed since the last time I saw her.

  It was the same for me, my love. Ryan’s mother stroked his father’s face, love beaming from her eyes.

  Ernst nodded. It was only then that I realized I’d wasted my time on earth, aching for something I’d never really lost. I should have spent that time with you, son. Maybe you wouldn’t be so messed up if I had.

  He’s not messed up, Ernie, he’s just scared.

  I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me, Dad.

  I’m dead now. And I’m in paradise. That’s what love will get you, son. That grieving I did? That wasn’t because of love. That was because I didn’t understand. But now I do.

  What is it, Dad? What do you understand now?

  That loving your mother with every part of me, heart and soul, body and spirit, was the best thing I ever did. The best thing. My salvation. And loving Lena, that will be yours, Ryan. You’ve got to open your heart, lay it bare, risk it all—because there’s really no risk at all. Just ignorance.

  Love, Ryan, his mother whispered into his mind. Love is the answer.

  The answer to what, Mom? I don’t know the question.

  It doesn’t matter, honey. It’s the answer to every question there is.

  His father swept his mother into his arms, and out of nowhere a dust devil rose around them. When it was gone, so were they. Ryan was alone again, his horse pawing the sand with its massive hooves. He looked up, and in the distance he saw three women standing on a cliff. He knew Lena was one of them, and he felt his heart swelling in his chest as if it would burst. He had to get to her.

  This time he had to save her.

  * * *

  With a whoosh, Lena was back in her body, back on the bed, back in the grip of a powerful contraction that refused to let up. She had no idea how much time had passed. Her mother’s arm was trembling, her body shaking as she fought to maintain their magic circle. The hordes in the hallway were pounding her door, which was rattling and shaking.

  “Let it go, Mother,” she grunted in anguish. “Let it go and pretend to be asleep.”

  Selma’s arm dropped to her side, and she sank back into her chair. “I’m sorry, Lena.”

  “It’s all...right.” She could barely speak for the pain. “I think I know...what to...do.”

  The circle dissolved and the bedroom door burst open, her captors all but hurtling in. They surrounded the bed only seconds after Lena managed to shove the chalice beneath the blankets as her daughter fought to emerge from her body.

  Not yet, little one. Not just yet.

  “Ryan!” she cried.

  He stood beside the bed. His eyes were not his own, but she knew he was in there, distant, powerless perhaps, but there all the same. “Ryan, please,” she whispered. “Please, before I die, I want to kiss you one last time. Please.”

  He looked at Bahru, almost as if seeking permission.

  Lena looked at the guru, too. “You know, don’t you, Bahru? All of this is tied together somehow. You know how long I have loved this man. How long he has loved me. How long we have waited to find each other again, only to be torn apart, just like before. Please, I beg of you, for the sake of whatever humanity remains in you, grant me my dying wish.”

  Bahru frowned. Lena could see his internal struggle.

  “Demetrius,” Lena said softly. “My destiny is to save you. I know that now. Grant me this boon in return.”

  Bahru nodded, and then Ryan sat down on the bed beside her, stiff, uncertain. He slid his arms around her shoulders, lifted her from the pillows. She stared deep into his eyes, and with everything in her, she channeled the woman she had been all those thousands of years ago and spoke to the devoted prince he had been then. “I love you. I have loved you for all time, it seems. Do you hear me, my prince?” She pressed a hand to his chest, projecting her emotions into him with all she had. “I love you. I love you. I love you. And I trust you completely.”

  He blinked rapidly, and his eyes seemed to spark to life again. His gaze shifted almost imperceptibly left.

  “The baby is coming, Ryan. Take out your blade.”

  His back was to the others, but she saw the horror in his eyes.

  “Trust me as I trust you, my love. I know what must be done.”

  There were tears in his eyes—and questions, endless questions—but he did it. The blade was in his hand.

  “Remember the first time we made love? Remember how I explained the symbolism? Male and female. The Great Rite of the Craft. The Blade and Chalice?”

  She shifted her gaze, saw his follow, and she could tell by his expression when he glimpsed the chalice, visible for his eyes only where she’d lifted the covers.

  “I thought it was a kiss you wanted,” his voice said. “Take it, then, so we can proceed.”

  But his eyes said more. So much more.

  Lena nodded. “Kiss me, then, my love.”

  He bent and pressed his lips to hers. Softly, gently, slowly. He gathered her close and, with her body for cover, lifted the knife to the chain around his neck. Then he gritted his teeth and seemed to squeeze the tiniest flame from the blade. He’d learned to control it, she realized. Like a laser, it sliced clean through the silver chain.

  Lena felt his body tense, heard him grunt with pain as the flame licked his skin, and then the chain and its deadly crystal fell onto her chest. She quickly swept them under the blankets, shoving them away so they didn’t touch her.

  Another contraction, and she hugged his neck. With her face buried
there, she whispered, “The Great Rite, Ryan. It will work. I know it will.”

  He nodded, the barest motion, but she felt it.

  She prayed he truly understood what he had just agreed to.

  Then she grunted in pain, and he stepped away.

  Nurse Eloise stepped forward decisively and pushed the covers up past Lena’s bent knees, followed by her nightgown. “It’s coming,” she said. “Dr. Cartwright, the child is coming. It’s time.”

  The doctor had vanished into Lena’s bathroom, but he returned now with his hands dripping. He hadn’t forgotten basic medical sanity, then. He went to the foot of the bed, nodded at what he saw. “Bear down on the next contraction, Lena. Are you ready?”

  “Lena?” her mother said. She got up, wandering slowly toward the bed.

  “Doctor?” asked the nurse. “Should I...?”

  “It’s fine. What can she do at this point? Selma, sit down or we’ll be forced to drug you again. Go on, Lena, there it is. Push now. Push.”

  Lena pushed. Her mother defied the doctor and moved around to the left side of the bed to hold her hand. Ryan stood close on the right, one hand on her shoulder, his eyes downcast. His lashes were wet.

  “Again, Lena,” the doctor said. “Push.”

  She pushed, and then she pushed some more. Everyone was too busy staring at the child emerging from her body to notice the tears running from Ryan’s eyes.

  And then suddenly the baby slid out. Lena felt a rush of relief, and her head fell back against the pillows.

  “Now, Ryan,” Bahru said. “Do it now, before it breathes.” Doc Cartwright was reaching for the baby, cutting the cord, then standing ready with a bubble syringe to suction her nose and mouth.

  “Hurry, Ryan,” Bahru insisted. “The child must breathe. Do it now.”

  Ryan lifted the blade and met Lena’s eyes. “As the rod is to the God,” he said.

  “So the chalice is to the Goddess,” she replied, and as the others all blinked and frowned, just beginning to wonder what was going on, Lena pulled the chalice from beneath the covers.

  Bahru saw it and lunged toward her. “No! No, what is this?”

  Ryan turned, pointed the blade at him and fired. A blast of energy shot out, knocking Bahru into the far wall. Molly and Doc Cartwright charged Ryan next, even as Lena scrambled to gather her baby into her arms so she could clear Eleanora’s mouth with her fingers. Ryan stood between her and the others, and he blasted with the dagger again, once, twice, and then Dr. Cartwright and Molly were shuddering on the floor, smoke spiraling from the burned clothing at their chests.

  The nurse sank slowly to the floor, weeping. “Oh, Master, Master, all is lost....”

  Facing Lena again, Ryan met her eyes. She was still working on the baby, frantic, smacking her little bottom as a last resort.

  And then Eleanora cried. She cried! A snotty, snuffly, lost lamb sound, and Lena cried with her.

  Ryan’s smile was shuddery, and he bent over them, hugging the baby and Lena as one.

  “Behind you, Ryan!” Selma shouted.

  He spun, wielding the blade, and Bahru went flying again.

  “Ryan,” Lena whispered, wiping her eyes and gazing at the miracle in her arms in absolute awe. “Ryan, we have to finish it.” She looked up at her mother, who took the baby from her, wrapping her in a warm receiving blanket that had been waiting nearby.

  Lena set the chalice on her belly and looked up at Ryan again. The love radiating from her for this man was beyond anything she could have imagined.

  He lifted the knife.

  She closed her eyes and felt him lower the blade into the chalice.

  “And together they are one,” they whispered in unison.

  The tip of the blade touched the bottom of the chalice, and a soundless flash of white light filled the room, then faded as if it had never been.

  * * *

  Ryan had been bent over to protect her. Now he straightened and looked slowly around the room. “What was that?”

  Lena didn’t know, but she was pretty sure another piece of his soul had just been returned to the unfortunate and misguided Demetrius. Her chalice and Ryan’s blade had vanished. And she no longer felt the so-called house ghost’s presence. In fact, the entire place felt as if a pall had been lifted.

  Selma gathered little Eleanora closer. “I’m going to get her all cleaned up and warm. We’ll be right back.” She took the baby into the next room, stepping over the people still lying on the floor.

  Doc Cartwright had ended up near the chair where Selma had been sitting. He blinked up at the ceiling. “What in the world is going on?”

  Nurse Eloise was at the foot of the bed, rubbing her forehead and sitting up slowly, frowning as if she didn’t know what had hit her. “How did I get here?” she muttered.

  Bahru was out cold—perhaps dead—lying near the wall. Molly Dunbar lay still, eyes open, unseeing, skin already turning blue.

  She was dead. Lena knew it and thought it was for the best. How could she have lived with knowing she had murdered her own husband while under the power of some mad spirit?

  Nurse Eloise crawled on hands and knees toward her. “Doc, we have to start CPR.”

  “We can’t. She signed a DNR in my office not a month ago,” he said softly. “It’s almost like she knew.” He rose from the floor, then helped the nurse up, and the two of them moved to where Bahru lay and began checking his vitals.

  Selma returned, placing little Eleanora into Lena’s arms. The baby was all cleaned up, diapered, dressed in a pretty T-shirt with a matching little cap that had moons and stars in yellow and blue. She was bundled in a fresh, clean blanket, and her face was scrunching up comically.

  Ryan, who was sitting on the edge of the bed with one arm around Lena, smiled down at their daughter, then looked back up at Lena. “I can’t...believe it. Look at her.”

  “Eleanora,” Lena whispered.

  “Eleanora Sarah,” he said.

  Lena smiled. “After your mother. Eleanora Sarah...Dunkirk? Or McNally?”

  He met her eyes, and his were moist. “It would be kind of silly to call her Dunkirk, wouldn’t it? She’d have a different name than her dad—and her mom.”

  Lena blinked.

  “I remember,” he whispered. “I more than remember, Lena. I loved you so much it damn near killed me to lose you back then.” His voice went tight, his throat choked with tears. “And I love you just as much now. I’ve loved you the whole damn time, I was just in denial, walling it up inside me. I love you, wildly, passionately, madly, insanely. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

  Epilogue

  Lena was rocking week-old Ellie in front of the fire. Her mother and Bahru were in the kitchen, arguing over how much mint to put into the latest batch of her newest tea blend. Ryan was reading one of her Lena and the Prince stories to Ellie as she nursed. It was yet another construction-paper creation, but they would soon have hardcover versions. He was having them all printed, so Ellie could keep them forever and hand them down to her own children one day. They were working together on the illustrations.

  The cat was lying on the hearth, purring to her heart’s content.

  Molly had died. Her husband’s body had been found, and the medical examiner—Dr. Patrick Cartwright—had determined that she had suffered a mental breakdown due to a brain aneurism, shot him, then died a few hours later. And most of that was even true. She had died of a brain aneurism. The stress of what had happened in Lena’s bedroom had probably been what caused it to rupture, but that part didn’t go into the report. No one would have believed the truth anyway.

  Doc Cartwright didn’t know what had really happened, either. Neither he nor Nurse Eloise, who—once she was released from Demetrius’s control—turned out to be a wonderful woman wit
h a wicked sense of humor, had any memory of the past few weeks. As for Bahru...well, Lena thought he did. And she thought he was ashamed that he hadn’t been strong enough to resist Demetrius’s power.

  None of them had any idea what had become of the house ghost, which they now knew had been the long-tormented Demetrius. Lena hoped he had found peace. A body, maybe, or release of some kind. It didn’t matter which.

  Her part in his story was done, Lena thought. Her bond to that past life was broken. Her life was her own now, hers to live in the present, with no more ancient spells or curses allowed to interfere.

  All she had now was peace, serenity and absolute bliss. Her dreams had come true.

  “‘And then,’” Ryan read, “‘the royal prince rode his mighty stallion through the desert sands and saved the beautiful harem girl. And the tiny princess inside her, as well. But what surprised him the most was that those beautiful witches saved him right back.’”

  “‘And then they lived happily ever after,’” Lena said.

  He met her eyes, leaned in and kissed her slowly. “And ever after, and even ever after that.” A knock at the door interrupted them, and he whispered, “I’ll get it.”

  He went to open the door, and Lena watched from his mother’s rocking chair, which had been delivered the day before, as two people stepped inside. A gorgeous, stylish blonde with the most killer boots Lena had ever seen, and a darkly handsome man who looked to be Hispanic.

  “We had a message on our machine,” said the woman. “It said you’d found our cat?”

  “Oh, the cat!” Lena nodded at the feline in question, who hadn’t even bothered to lift her head, though she was blinking her green eyes slowly at her mistress.