by Ann Gimpel
Yara’s stomach tightened into a knot. “I can leave.” She took a step back, ready to locate her other three sacks and take them below decks.
Meara settled her odd gaze on Yara, stopping her in her tracks with magic that scoured her to her bones much as it had when she’d first met the vulture shifter.
“No reason to go. Everyone here will know what I have to say soon enough. Demons are afoot. Not the same one Elliott loosed inadvertently from Hell, but others just as powerful.”
“They’ve teamed up with the vampires, right?” Stewart’s tone held a dull, dead note.
“Of course.” Meara rolled her eyes, and they looked even more feral than usual. “If I had to piece things together, my conjecture is Grigori was here just long enough to find a vampire or two. Hell, he might have located the nest we wiped out near Munich. Jamal and I sealed him back where he belongs, but his presence gave the vampires ideas.”
Stewart fisted a hand and pounded it into his thigh. “Och aye. Bad ones. If a Romani had enough power to free a demon from the underworld, surely a determined vampire could loose an army.” His nostrils flared. “How many did ye see?”
“Half a dozen. I didn’t hang around to take roll.”
“We dinna need this complication. Given the vampires’ link with the Reich, the demons will sign on as well. Blood, misery, and death draw them like magnets. The prison camps will provide rich fodder, and Hitler is fool enough to court them. He doesna understand they could well be his undoing.”
“By then, it won’t matter.” Meara drew her lips back from her teeth in a snarl. “The damage will be done, and Earth may not ever recover from the damage dealt to it.”
Yara’s mouth had dried so much forming words was a challenge. So was breathing. She finally squeaked out, “You mentioned Hell, but you can’t mean the demon, Grigori. It’s not possible.”
“Oh yes, it is. Do you know any other by that name?” Meara narrowed her eyes to slits.
“I— I don’t know him at all. I never believed he was real. Or any of the rest of them, either.”
“Every single wicked name bandied about by your elders in an effort to scare the daylights out of you was like as not real.” Stewart straightened his shoulders, but it looked as if the effort cost him. “I doona know why, but modern ways and magic have trouble coexisting. ’Tis almost as if the presence of one threatens the other.”
“Vampires managed to work it out,” Meara said dryly. “If they could, so can we.”
“Apparently, the energy mismatch doesna slow demons, either.” Bitterness lined Stewart’s words.
Yara swallowed around the lump working on blocking her airway. Without saliva, it was a losing battle. “These, uh, these demons,” she choked out. “What happens if they don’t go back to where they came from?”
“That place is called Hell, and ’tis real as well,” Stewart muttered. “Demons on this side of the veil separating Earth from the underworld provoke an imbalance in dynamic energies. If they spend too much time here, chaos will ensue.”
“Should fit right in with Hitler’s grand scheme to rule the world.” Meara made a sour face.
“We covered that ground. If the world he plans to rule devolves into anarchy,” Stewart countered, “there willna be much left for him to sink his claws into. Ach, that one is mad, far too sunk in delusions of his own invincibility to play host to reason.”
Yara’s hands ached, and she realized she’d balled them into fists so tight her nails cut into her palms. Uncurling them, she spread her fingers. “The reason we’re crossing the North Sea…” She ran out of words and started over. “The power you believe exists where we’re going. Will it be enough to defeat both demons and vampires?”
“Not without help.” Stewart dragged the words out.
“Who’d you have in mind?” Meara transferred her unsettling gaze from Yara to him.
“Who else? The Celtic gods are the only ones who might answer a plea from me.”
Meara looked away. “Have you had any communications with them since you left Britain?”
He shook his head. “’Tisn’t as if I havena reached out, but no one’s answered until today when I asked Danu and Arianrhod for aid.”
“I wondered where the moonlit path came from,” Meara muttered.
“Aye. ’Twas Arianrhod’s doing, and her intercession heartened me. In my worst moments, I’ve wondered if the Celts dinna pack up and leave for some other world. Magic withers and dies when no one is left who believes in it.”
“That’s what happened to Romani magic, isn’t it?” Yara held up a hand. “Never mind. The erosion of Romani ability has no place here.”
“Maybe it does,” Meara said thoughtfully. “Shifters have kept to themselves. There’s no place in any society for dual-natured people who can transform into animals. That’s been true for hundreds of years. Because of that, we’ve been relatively immune to the dampening effects of a human population that no longer believes in magic.”
“Whereas Romani have been dependent on interaction with humans to earn their way.” Yara picked up Meara’s line of reasoning and ran with it. “The ongoing proximity to people who think our power is nothing but smoke and mirrors has been a lynchpin to dull our ability.”
“Precisely.” Meara stared at her again. “But I’d not be so quick to dump yourself in with the rest of the gypsies.”
The same discomfort whenever the topic of her origins surfaced pricked unpleasantly. “And why not? I may not know for certain who my father was, but—”
Stewart’s dark, liquid eyes took on a thoughtful expression. “Ye may not know who your mother was either, lass. Ye know who raised you, but they’re not necessarily one and the same.”
“Of course, they are,” spewed out before she could stop the words. Yara stumbled backward, staggered by the implication.
Meara exchanged a pointed glance with Stewart. “We’re not going to solve the demon problem in the next hour,” she said. “I’ll alert the others. Perhaps once we’re rested and can devote a few more minds to the problem, better answers will emerge.”
“Come with me, lass.” Stewart beckoned.
Meara turned and trotted the length of the deck, disappearing into the same doorway Jamal and Gregor had been carting bodies out of.
Yara clasped the bag slung around her body closer, clutching it as if it were a lifeline. “Come with you where?” she stuttered.
“’Tis in everyone’s interest for us to sort out your magic. I’m the logical one to do that.” He hesitated. “I willna hurt you.” He extended a hand but didn’t touch her.
“What if we find something I don’t like?” Fear left a metallic taste in the back of her throat, and she trembled from more than being wet through from the persistent rain.
“How could ye not like what ye are? Ye’ve been living with that woman for something akin to twenty-five years.” His voice took on a low, persuasive tone, and she recognized the subtle prick of a compulsion spell.
Yara jerked away from the hand he’d snaked toward her. “Do not force me.” She paused between each word for emphasis. “I may be stuck here on this boat, but we have to land sometime. When we do, I’ll leave. Anywhere would be easier than living in the Netherlands. According to the man my sister left with, caravans still roam the British Isles. They haven’t been outlawed yet.”
“That was certainly true when I left, but ’twas well over a century ago. What frightens you most?”
She tossed her head, and wet hair slapped her in the face. “I’m not afraid of much of anything. Got over that once I found out I could manage on my own.”
“Vampires scare you. So do demons.” He held up a hand. “Before ye protest, they should terrify you. Fear is useful. It keeps us safe. Would ye like to know what I think?” He’d dropped his extended hand, but he moved closer until he was almost touching her.
Warmth radiated from him, and she had to stop herself from leaning closer still. The scent of his magic ming
led with the salt smell of the sea, heady and intoxicating. A woman could drown in that smell and die happy.
Got to get hold of myself.
She squared her shoulders, but couldn’t escape his heady magic.
“Not particularly, but I figure you’ll tell me anyway.” She turned her head away. She was being rude to a man who’d gone out of his way to provide for her, but she didn’t want the protective shell around her shattered. Bad enough to not know who her father was. She needed to hang onto the memory of her mother. Letting go would cast her adrift. Would mean her entire life had been a sham.
Her eyes burned, but she commanded herself not to cry.
“What I believe,” he went on despite her reticence, “is that deep down inside, ye already know. Ye have a great deal of power, some of which ye utilize to conceal what ye are. Ye’ve done it for so long, ’tis become second nature and ye no longer realize what ye’re about. If ye focused the mirror of your third eye properly, ye’d know everything about your origins. All the missing pieces would fall into place, and ye’d be whole.”
She blinked to relieve the pressure behind her eyes. He wasn’t censuring her; he was being kind. She hadn’t expected that. Not after she’d told him to leave her alone.
“The hardest path,” he went on, “is continuing as ye’ve been. Now that your suspicions have been kindled, ye willna be able to let this rest until ye follow it to its end. Would ye like me to help? Or would ye rather I find you a berth below where ye can pursue this alone?”
One of the tears she’d struggled to hold back escaped and slid down her cheek. “You already know, don’t you?” She forced herself to hold his gaze.
“Nay, lass, I doona. Nor does Meara, and she’s looked you up, down, and sideways twice now. ’Tis as I said, ye learned—or were taught—to shield the core of what ye are. Your ability is potent enough, ye’re not even aware of the energy ye’re diverting to protect your magical identity.”
She shifted from foot to foot, not certain what to say. She wanted to accept his offer. If she closeted herself in a cabin, she wasn’t at all certain she’d have the guts to do anything but patch up the denial that had held her together all these years.
“Come on then.” He latched a hand beneath her elbow. “Join me and let’s get this over with. We have many, far bigger problems, than the unknown nature of your magic.”
Guilt rolled through her in a painful wave at the reminder. Her issues were petty balanced against vampires and demons. “I—uh, you—” Clearing her throat she tried again. “You should be with Meara and the others. I can do this. I—”
Stewart tightened his grip on her and tugged gently. “Let me be there, lass. I’m the one pressing you to expose your roots. If there are rougher spots than I anticipate, I want to be there.”
“Rough spots? Like what?” Fear of the unknown rose, engulfing her in dread so profound she felt frozen in place.
“None of us know what your power will look like unleashed.” He smiled softly. “The only thing I’m certain of is ’twill be far stronger than what ye’re used to.”
“I don’t understand.” She was stalling, but she couldn’t help herself.
“Nor do I. Not completely, but ’tisn’t a reason not to find out.”
This time when he urged her forward, she followed him across the deck to steep metal steps leading down into darkness.
Chapter 7
Yara had descended partway down the first flight when she stopped and turned around.
“’Twill be all right, lass.” Stewart wasn’t quite certain what he’d do if she took a stand and flat out refused to sort through the power swirling around her. Either he could sense it more directly because he knew it was there, or it was delighted at the possibility of being set free. Regardless of the reason, it was far more palpable than it had been before.
“I didn’t change my mind. It’s my book.”
“What book?” Stewart felt confused.
“The one I brought with me. I can’t explain why, but it’s kicking up a fuss about being left on the main deck.”
“A magical book, eh? And a strong one at that.” He quirked a brow just before he turned around. “Wait here. I’ll fetch your bags.”
Stewart loped across the deck and scooped up the pile of cloth sacks. He focused a calming spell, but kept it subtle, as he returned and handed Yara her things. She’d picked up on his earlier efforts to hurry things up, and he wanted to make damn sure he didn’t spook her further. He chided himself for letting his impatience add fuel to her nervousness. Of course, she’d be terrified. Facing the unknown was bad enough, but if that unknown was a part of yourself, it made things far worse.
He sent out a tendril of magic, seeking to know more about the book he’d just delivered. His exploratory thread bounced back at him with a snap that would have hurt if he’d deployed more power to begin with.
Yara headed back down the stairs with him right behind her.
She’d accused him of already knowing what she was, except he didn’t. Not for lack of trying, but his efforts to penetrate her layers of protections hadn’t been any more successful than Meara’s. Discomfort streamed from her. While they were still topside, he’d wondered if she were on the verge of making a run for the railing and tossing herself overboard.
Her magic wouldna allow that.
Once the words resonated in his mind, he recognized truth in them.
Yara stopped at the bottom of the first flight. A dark, narrow corridor extended toward the stern. “Which way?”
“I doona know, lass. I’ve not had a chance to look this vessel over. Let your magic lead.”
The air around her brightened, taking on a shimmery aspect. One of the bags pulsed along with her enhanced power. Must be the one with the mysterious book. Stewart itched to hold it, examine it. He’d left most of his magical accoutrements behind when he fled the British Isles. He hadn’t had much choice, but over the years of his exile, he’d longed for his library. Maybe the books would still be where he’d sequestered them in a decaying castle north of Glasgow.
Best not to get my hopes up.
Yara hesitated before one of` the string of closed doors on their left. “This one feels like the right place. Don’t ask what I’m basing that on because I won’t have an answer.”
Reaching around her, Stewart unlatched the door and pushed it open revealing a small cabin with bunk beds built into the bow side wall. A writing desk with its drawers hanging open was bolted to the floor on the stern side. Faded places on the wood-inlaid walls suggested someone had stripped something off them.
“Geez. It looks like someone was hunting for something.” Yara dropped her sacks on the floor at the head of the bed and perched on the edge of the bare mattress.
“It does, indeed.” Stewart pushed in the desk drawers, engaging the latches that held them in place during rough seas. He thought about the dead people in the hold and an expensive boat that had been abandoned for all intents and purposes. None of it was adding up.
Yara dug into one of the sacks and extracted a leather-bound book. From its cracked binding and the hand-drawn gilt runes on its cover, it had to be old. She cradled it against her chest, and the power spilling from it wove seamlessly with hers in a mix of blues, greens, and golds.
Stewart meant to hold silence, let Yara set the pace, but curiosity got the better of him. “That book, ’tis perfectly attuned to you. Have ye always had it?”
To his surprise, she laughed. “You’re joking, right? You traveled with enough caravans to understand women have to learn to read on the sly, and no leader would ever entrust something ancient and magical to a mere woman.”
He opened his mouth to protest he hadn’t run his caravans that way, but changed course. Defensiveness wasn’t called for. Many leaders, like Valentin for example, fit her description to a tee.
“How did ye come by it then?”
“It was in the cave where I worked my magic. I found it there.” She clos
ed her teeth over her lower lip. “After a year passed, I stopped expecting its owner to return. But I still asked its permission before I removed it from the cave once I made the decision to join your group.”
The book’s energy shaded to a darker gold and wove a thread of its magic around Yara’s shoulders. She hugged it closer and latched onto his gaze with her own. “Can you feel its power too?”
“Aye, lass. A man would have to be dead not to.”
She nodded, still chewing her lower lip. “I did what you said and followed my magic here. What happens next?”
“Close your earth eyes. Open your third eye.” He adopted a hypnotic cadence and hoped she wouldn’t fight him. “Imagine it just here.” He tapped the center of his forehead between his eyebrows.
She kept her eyes, more violet than blue, trained on him. “I’m scared. What if I can’t find my way back?”
If there’d been a chair to go with the desk, he’d have drawn it close and sat facing her, but there wasn’t. He settled next to her on the mattress, leaving a respectable distance between them. He ached to cradle both her and the book in his arms, reassure her he wouldn’t let anything harm her, but it was an empty promise.
Things were afoot in the world, evil things. Her best hedge was to locate the key holding her magic prisoner. He suspected whoever had left her with the caravan had swathed her in spells, so no one would suspect she wasn’t Romani.
Nay, so no one would realize she held enough power to bring the caravan to its knees. Had they known, they’d have left her by the side of the road to starve or be set upon by marauding animals.
“What if I can’t find my way back?” she repeated.
Stewart took a measured breath. How to answer her? He opted for honesty, rather than soft-pedaling the truth. “’Tisn’t a gateway ye can kick open and hope to shut again. Once ye see who ye are, your life will change.”
“So I’ll never find my way back?” Her voice trembled.
“I canna lie to you. Nay, ye’ll never be able to return to the state of being and knowledge ye hold right now, but when the blinders are off and ye view the world as it truly is, not as someone wished ye to see it…” He inhaled briskly. “Each of us has a destiny. Until ye stop hiding beneath the geas that was placed on you, ye’ll never figure out what yours is.”
