by Vivian Wood
"And what of the cost? I gather that your help is not without some reciprocation."
Mere Marie gave him a calculating look, then nodded.
"It's true, there is something I want. Your service back in my... land," she said. Rhys could sense that she was choosing her words very carefully. No surprise there, really; witches derived much of their power from incantations, words spoken in the correct order, at the right moment. They were often circumspect in their phrasing.
"For how long?" he asked.
"You would never return to Scotland, I'm afraid."
Rhys felt like she'd delivered a physical blow.
"Never return to Scotland?" he echoed, taken aback. "From where do you hail, witch?"
A muscle ticked in her jaw, and Rhys could tell that she found him disrespectful.
"You'll address me as Mistress, or nothing," she hissed, pointing a finger at him. The change in her was startling, making Rhys take a step back despite having the advantage of greater size on his side. "Now will you choose to save your people, or not?"
Rhys glared at her, but he knew what his answer must be.
"Aye. I'd do anything," he said. Anne's image flashed in his head, the perfect example of why he'd sacrifice all for his clan.
"Good," Mere Marie said. She produced a thin book bound in midnight black leather, and opened it to show him a contract.
There was more in the contract, several paragraphs of text, but Rhys didn't need to read it. No matter what it said, he would sign. At the bottom of the page was a broad line, awaiting his signature.
"Have you a quill?" he asked.
Mere Marie handed him an odd silver instrument. The rod was perhaps as long as his hand and thinner than one of his fingers. Rhys took it, gripping it uncertainly. Mere Marie gestured, showing him how he ought to hold it, to press the tip to the page. The second he pressed the instrument to the paper, a deep jolt of pain shot through him. The ink came out a deep, vivid crimson, and it took Rhys several moments to realize that he was somehow signing the contract in his own blood.
"Go on," Mere Marie urged, her eyes darkened with anticipation. "Finish it."
Gritting his teeth, Rhys scrawled his signature across the book's page. The second he withdrew the instrument, Mere Marie snatched the book back, blowing on the page to dry the ink. She closed the book with a snap, then took the pen back from him, vanishing both items easily.
"It is done," she said, strangely eager.
"Will I be able to say my goodbyes?" Rhys asked.
Mere Marie shook her head slowly.
"This scene, what's happening right now... It will never happen," she explained. "You'll never come back from the war. Instead I will save your brother's life, which means your clan will never be undefended."
Something warm bloomed in Rhys's chest. He hadn't considered that his brother might live as part of the bargain, but no news could be more welcome. He couldn't form the words to express the feeling, so he looked into the distance and nodded, feeling his throat constrict with happiness. Truly, this was the first good thing to happen since he'd returned from the King's service.
"Let us go, then," he managed. "Take me to your land, Mistress."
Mere Marie shot him a look of pure satisfaction, then clapped her hands together.
"Close your eyes," she said. "And prepare yourself for your new life, Rhys Macaulay."
Rhys closed his eyes, and everything went blissfully dark.
3
Chapter Three
Gabriel
London, England — 1847
A bone-shaking growl of pleasure ripped from Gabriel Thorne’s throat as he hurtled down a narrow London side street, frantically racing toward his sister’s rooms in Whitechapel. The leather satchel slung about his torso was heavy, slowing him down a little, but nothing could dampen his spirits. Not when he was this close to attaining a better life for himself and his sister Caroline.
He turned a corner and came out onto a larger thoroughfare, dodging several horse-drawn carts. Darkness had fallen over the city, and Gabriel passed two young boys carrying tall brazier torches, slowly working their way down the sidewalks as they lit the gas street lamps. With the ground under his feet better illuminated, Gabriel allowed himself a final burst of speed as his sister’s cheap second-floor apartment came into view, the hastily-built clapboard structure leaning against the next building. Back-to-backs, they were called. Whitechapel was crammed with tenements like these, row after row after row of houses for the poor. And the Thornes were certainly poor, despite Caroline’s recent marriage.
No longer, though. A smile tipped Gabriel’s lips as he approached Caroline’s building, slowing to keep himself from plowing into a trundling oxcart. It had taken him twenty nine years of life, five years of painstaking magick practice, and several months of preparation for the enrichment spell he was about to cast.
Gabriel fairly flew up the stairs to Caroline’s flat. Running along the wobbly outdoor walkway to her house, he almost slammed into Caroline’s husband Thomas, who was just stepping out the front door. The red-haired blacksmith was already scowling, which was not a bit unusual, but his expression darkened further when he looked up to find Gabriel in the doorway.
Thomas’s lips lifted in a sneer, the threat of violence clear as he bared his teeth at Gabriel. Gabriel could sense that Thomas’s bear was close to the surface, no doubt stirred up by yet another argument with Caroline. Bear shifters were a hot-tempered lot to begin with, but Thomas and Caroline were exceptionally so. They’d been close to brawling every minute of the day since they’d tied the knot.
Needless to say, Gabriel disliked Thomas every bit as much as he loved his sister.
Gabriel stepped to the side to let Thomas pass, then hurried inside and closed the flimsy front door.
“Carro!” he shouted for his sister. “I’ve brought it!”
Caroline emerged from the further of the two rooms that made up her apartment, wiping at her eyes.
“What ‘ave you brought, then?” she asked, her accent much thicker and rougher than Gabriel’s own. Given the choice between the two siblings, Gabriel’s parents had spent a portion of what little money they had sending Gabriel off to the parish seminary at a young age. There Gabriel had befriended Old Wilhem, who had taken in Gabriel when his parents died.
It took Gabriel two years to find his sister after their abrupt separation, and by then Caroline, age thirteen and three years older than Gabriel, had already found rooms of her own and taken a job as a scullery maid in one of the great houses in London.
“I told you. I saved up and send off for some ambergris through the post,” he said, politely ignoring his sister’s tear-reddened eyes and nose. Usually Gabriel was blunt to the point of offense, but he was sweeter with his sister than anyone else. She was all he had in the world, and he was determined to do right by her. She deserved so much more than breaking her back to clean rich people’s homes all day and then coming home to care for a mercurial, often cruel husband.
Thus the spell, whose ingredients Gabriel began to pull from his satchel, naming them as he carefully laid them out on the table that dominated Caroline’s front room.
“Here’s the ambergris,” he said, producing a small wax paper packet of the priceless whale secretion. “And mandrake, Shisandra and yarrow root, spotted owl feathers, and dragonsbloom…”
Caroline watched him, her lips pressed into a near frown. She let him continue until he’d listed all the ingredients of the spell, eyes widening as he pulled out a dusty spell book, a golden wand, and a hand-sized, hollow bowl made of delicate crystal. All borrowed from Old Wilhem without the man’s knowledge, but that couldn’t be helped. When Gabriel introduced the last tool he needed for the spell, a small but wickedly-sharp ceremonial knife, Caroline’s brow furrowed with concern.
“Wot ya think you’re doing with all that, eh?” she asked.
Gabriel grabbed her wrist and pulled her over to the table.
“
Sit with me. The spell won’t take long. Once it’s done, we’ll be rich beyond our wildest dreams,” he said, a grin spreading across his face.
“You been with that ol’ wizard too long, Gabes,” Caroline informed him with a cocked brow. “You’ve gone cracked.”
“Not yet,” Gabriel said with a wink. “Maybe tomorrow.”
Caroline gave a long-suffering sigh, but waved him on.
“Tell me, then,” she said.
“It’s simple. I mix all the ingredients, summon the right spirit, say just the right things, and then we’re rich as Croesus,” he told her.
“I don’t know, Gabes. Ya sure you know wot you’re messin’ with?” Caroline asked.
“Perfectly,” he shot back, arching a brow.
Caroline waved a hand and blew out a breath.
“Go on, then, Mister. When carrots start growin’ on your ‘ead, I’m gonna laugh.”
“Funny,” Gabriel muttered. He focused on the spell, preparing each ingredient just so, according to the dusty tome he’d filched from a locked cabinet in Old Wilhem’s private study. Gabriel knew that his teacher would have something to say about the theft, but surely Gabriel would make him see that endless wealth would benefit Old Wilhelm as much as it would Gabriel and Caroline.
After mixing everything else in the crystal bowl, Gabriel sprinkled in a few hairs from his own bear form. The instructions said that he needed to inform the spell of his sacrifice, and that the sacrifice must be a truly treasured thing. After much contemplation, Gabriel had decided to give up his bear, his ability to shift. He didn’t have much in this world, but his ability to shift was unusual and something he loved deeply. He reasoned that with his wealth, he’d be able to afford to study more magick, thus lessening his need for protection from his bear. It would be a difficult sacrifice, but he’d learn to live with it.
“Now for the last bit. I’m afraid you’ll need to prick your finger,” he told Caroline apologetically.
Caroline pulled a face and took the ceremonial blade, slicing her fingertip and letting a few precious drops of blood fall into the bowl. Gabriel did the same, eager to begin the summoning.
“Step into the other room, Carro. I’m going to summon a spirit, and I don’t want to take any chances.”
Rising, Caroline dropped a hand on his shoulder, looking down at him with a soft smile.
“You know, I won’t be mad if it don’t work,” Caroline said. “I like me life, as long as yer in it.”
“I know,” Gabriel said, patting her hand. “But it’s going to work. I can feel it.”
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Caroline said, heading into the back room and closing the thin door behind her.
Gabriel set the spell book out next to the bowl, easy to read from. He picked up the wand and closed his eyes, focusing on the intent of his spell for several long moments. His mind swam with images of him and Carro living the good life, never having a moment’s trouble again. Never wondering where their next meal would come from, to be certain.
Opening his eyes, he slowly recited the incantation, taking special care to enunciate each syllable. It wouldn’t do to get sloppy at this late stage, not when he was moments away from getting his heart’s every desire. On the last word, he tapped the wand against the bowl, producing a clear tone. The sound hung in the air, then began to grow louder and louder, making the bowl vibrate until it shook the table. Gabriel swallowed hard when the ground beneath him trembled, the walls rattled, the whole world seemed ready to shatter.
“Azrel, I summon thee!” Gabriel cried.
All at once the sound stopped, and Gabriel felt as though the very air was sucked from the room. He tried to breathe, his eyes growing wide as smoke poured from the crystal bowl, creeping up and out to form a broad, flat circle. When he looked down into the circle, he saw a pair of golden, glowing eyes peering back at him.
“You s-s-summon Azrel?” the creature whispered, fire flaring bright in the disembodied eyes.
“I summon thee,” Gabriel said, clearing his throat.
Azrel seemed to consider it, then spoke again.
“Your wish, little s-s-sorcerer?” the creature asked.
“Wealth. Gold, jewels, currency, property. The more I spend, the more I’ll have. My pockets will never empty. Never-ending wealth,” Gabriel whispered, a dark current of greed gushing in his heart. “And immortality.”
The creature gazed back at him for several long moments.
“Done.”
Thank you, was on the tip of Gabriel’s tongue, but he stopped himself. Old Wilhelm once told him that thanking some creatures created a debt in their minds, and Gabriel wanted nothing less than to owe a creature like Azrel, whatever he might be.
Azrel disappeared from the cloud, the smoke filtering up to the ceiling. Quick as he could, Gabriel fumbled in his satchel for his purse. A few coins tumbled inside, but it was mostly empty. Gabriel frowned, now unsure whether the spell had worked as intended.
He thought back to what he’d asked Azrel. The more I spend, the more I’ll have. He pulled one of the coins out of his purse and rushed outside, looking down onto the street. A young girl, no more than five years at most, stood below selling flowers.
“Girl! A flower, if you please,” Gabriel called.
She looked up at Gabriel with a suspicious frown, but when she saw his coin a gap-toothed grin bloomed on her face.
“Tulips,” she said, throwing a yellow flower up to Gabriel. He tossed the coin down, dismissing her squeal of pleasure. He went back inside and picked up his purse, a delighted cry escaping his lips when he found it half full of coins.
“Carro! Caroline!” he called, sweeping the door open to tell his sister. “It’s worked! It’s work—”
Caroline lay on the bed, motionless.
“Carro, really. I was only a few minutes at most,” he sighed.
Stepping over to his sister, he reached out to shake her awake. The second his palm met the skin of his shoulder, a chill went through him. She was cold as ice.
“Carro. Carro, wake up, darling,” Gabriel said, more urgent now.
Nothing.
“Carro! You have to wake up! I’ve done the spell!” he shouted, grabbing her by both shoulders and shaking her hard.
Something clicked in the back of his mind. The spell. The droplets of Caroline’s blood…
“No! No!” he shrieked.
“What’s all this?”
Gabriel whirled to find Thomas in the doorway, staring at Caroline’s unmoving body.
“Thomas, she’s cold,” Gabriel gasped, his tongue thick.
“What did you do to my girl?” Thomas howled, furious.
“I didn’t—” Gabriel started, but Thomas wasn’t listening.
“You killed my girl, you bastard!” Thomas’s skin rippled, signaling his intention to shift. Gabriel sucked in a breath. He was sturdy enough, but Thomas was a real brawler. He’d crucify Gabriel in a fight, especially in bear form.
In a fit of desperation, Gabriel picked up his coin purse from where he’d dropped it on the bed and flung it at Thomas, making the man flinch. Gabriel took advantage of his distraction and pushed past him, running out of the flat. The air against his face made him realize that tears were streaming down his face, and he wiped at his cheeks as he flung the front door open.
The second he stepped out of the flat, he stopped dead. There was no outdoor walkway. No little girl selling flowers. No street, in fact. When he turned to look back at Thomas, there was no Thomas, no house. Nothing at all. The world was blank, pure white, like being inside a cloud.
“Azrel?” Gabriel ventured, looking around.
“No such luck.”
Gabriel turned to find a beautiful, dark-skinned woman in a flowing white dress. She watched him with what appeared to be mirth, and Gabriel swiped at his cheeks once more.
“Who are you?” he demanded to know. “Do you work for Azrel?”
“A demon? I should think not,” the woman
said. Looking affronted, she pulled herself up to her full height, which was probably only a little over five feet in total. “I am Mere Marie, but you will call me Mistress.”
Gabriel stared at her in shock.
“Why would I do that?” he asked.
“Because I’m going to help you,” she said with an impatient glare. “If you go back to that world, you’ll hang for your sister’s death.”
Gabriel’s mouth opened, then closed again.
“You can save my sister?” he asked, his heart beginning to thrum in his chest.
“For a short time longer, yes. She hasn’t crossed the Veil yet,” the woman said. Her eyes were a bright brown with an orange tint, almost like bronze or copper, and they flashed with sign of her rising temper.
Wary from his earlier experience with Azrel’s help, Gabriel pressed her for details.
“What do you get in return?” he asked.
“Your wealth, as much as I want.”
“Done,” he agreed instantly. He had infinite wealth, so that posed no challenge.
“There is more.”
Of course there was. Gabriel bit his lip and gestured for her to continue.
“Your service, in my homeland. Far, far away from here,” she finished.
That didn’t sound too harsh.
“For how long?”
“Until I release you,” was all she would say. “A very long time, I should think.”
“But my sister will live?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Will I be able to send her things? Money?”
Mere Marie cocked her head, considering.
“I will make sure your Caroline is well cared for,” she said.
“I want her husband gone, too. I want her to find a nicer husband,” Gabriel said quickly.
The woman’s lips twitched, but the expression struck Gabriel as bitter.
“That I cannot do. I could kill the man, but I cannot make her love another. You should know that, sorcerer.”
Sorcerer. It was the second time today he’d been labeled as such, and the word turned his stomach to lead.
