The Silver Rose

by Rowena May O’Sullivan

  “What if we don’t succeed? Aden may be her only chance if she wishes to remain earthed in this world.” Beth’s words hung in the air, and she wished she had not uttered her deepest fear.

  “Rosa will not die or give up her power. I will not allow it!” Alanna’s voice was harsh with uncharacteristic desperation. “Tomorrow at midnight, we contact Marylebone and demand they send a warlock ASAP.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Witching night! Full moon.

  Shadowed figures crept to the edge of the embankment. Shielded by a towering mass of trees there was no chance of discovery.

  “Are you sure no one will see us?” Beth whispered for the umpteenth time. She looked back toward the faint light coming from Lavender Cottage as they moved deeper under the cover of trees, and her skin prickled with fearful anticipation. They were taking a huge risk of being discovered by a Dragon of Marylebone Coven. Of course, maybe that was a good thing. Could she send out a silent warning to him? No. She didn’t want to embroil herself further in this deception.

  The moon hung suspended above them, an illuminated bauble, waiting, heavy, expectant. Once a month, the three sisters met to form the Circle of Three at witching hour to renew their connection with the elements.

  Tonight was different. Knowing they needed to complete their mission before midnight, Beth and Alanna set out early. It would have been better to perform the ritual right at midnight when the moon and the Goddess were at their most powerful, but, unwilling to alert Rosa to their duplicity, they had met at ten, gone over their plan, and then skulked around the perimeter of Rosa’s property and into the woods.

  “Rosa’s bound to know we’re up to something.” Beth wasn’t about to give up on changing Alanna’s mind. “She’s going to be aware of the energy we create.”

  “But not until it’s too late to stop us.”

  “You underestimate her,” Beth argued.

  “She underestimates us. I’m not going to stand around waiting for nothing to happen.” Alanna turned on Beth. “What does she think we’re made of? Stone?”

  “You work with it often enough. Perhaps some of that hardness has rubbed off on you.”

  “You’re so paranoid. Get over it. Who’s going to catch us? It’s our land, and no one is going to be creeping about it on a full moon. Even if the locals believe it’s all codswallop, they’re too scared to really search out the truth.”

  Beth glared at her sister and wondered if she had inhaled too much stone dust. Looking uneasily over her shoulder, she also wondered if the Dragon and his little familiar were watching them.

  “We’re not crazy. We’re … desperate.” Alanna reiterated.

  “Speak for yourself. I’m here because I’m scared you’ll bungle this diabolical plan if you attempt it by yourself.”

  Alanna shot Beth a disconcerted look. A flicker of doubt wavered in her eyes. “You don’t think I can do this?”

  “I’m certain of it. A witch never contacts Marylebone Coven. You know that. Believe me, I didn’t say yes lightly. You’d better be right, or I’m going to weave you into one of my tapestries and keep you there for a long, long time.”

  Amusement laced Alanna’s voice. “You wouldn’t. You love me too much. Besides, Rosa’s going to turn me into several toads and send me hopping off all over the place.”

  “Don’t be so sure I won’t get there first. Once I’ve woven you into the tapestry, I’ll tack you to the piano stool. That way we’ll know exactly where you are at all times.”

  Alanna tossed her fiery mane in defiance. “A few tacks won’t hold me down.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Beth murmured as she pushed back a branch and made her way through the dark along a path she had walked since she could toddle.

  A gust of unrestrained laughter erupted from Alanna, and she snorted as she attempted to contain herself. “I’d like to see you try.”

  Beth’s irritation increased. “And I’ll sit on the tapestry as often as possible, infusing it with other delightful scents specifically designed to taunt you.”

  “We’re doing the right thing.” Alanna inhaled the fresh scent of pine, and frowned. She inhaled again. “Speaking of scents, if I didn’t know better, I’d say a warlock was already here.”

  Beth spluttered and her eyes watered when she coughed. She stared blindly through teary eyes at her sister for several seconds, racking her rattled head for a clever reply. In the end, she said nothing, because Alanna shrugged. “Wishful thinking on my part.”

  They entered the clearing — a perfect circle. Within the center several stones formed another, smaller circle. Beth and Alanna stood at its edge, clothed head to toe in white silk, white a symbol of purity. Beth only hoped they would still be pure once they had completed their task.

  Alanna took a deep breath and gripped her sister’s hand. “If we’re going to do this, we’d better do it right and fast. Witching hour is approaching.”

  Beth squeezed Alanna’s fingers in reassurance. “We do this together. I’m with you regardless of the outcome. I do this out of love for Rosa. And to save your sorry behind.”

  “You’ll be apologizing to me for that comment before the hour is out.”

  “I hope I am, for both our sakes.”

  Alanna made a cursory nod, and, together, they stepped into the inner circle and placed Alanna’s jade scrying bowl on the central standing stone. From the matching jade pitcher, Beth poured water, purified by rose quartz for love, quartz crystal for clarity, and amethyst to enhance spirit, into the bowl.

  Stepping back, she placed the pitcher on the ground and moved into position, acutely conscious they were minus one and, therefore, effectively weaker. She prayed Alanna was right, and that what they now undertook would not hold dire consequences.

  With a nod from Alanna, their feet fell silently upon the earth and they circled within the epicentre clockwise three times. With each completion of the circle, the breeze intensified. At first, just the slightest waft lifted a leaf or two and then dropped them back to earth.

  The second circle produced a breeze strong enough to ripple the silk over their bodies. With the third encirclement, wind rushed through the clearing. Towering pines surrounding them bent to its bidding, and it was as if they sighed a welcoming touch to their friends.

  All good so far.

  Fireflies flitted in and out of the branches, and fairies trailed in their wake. A wood pigeon cooed, and an old owl hooted. A kiwi came out to see what the fuss was about, but scurried away just as quickly, returning to forage for food amongst the ferns where it felt safest.

  Stars sparkled and winked. Together, Beth and Alanna chanted the spell used in emergencies to contact Marylebone, and although it took a powerful witch to do so, they knew their combined power was strong. Alanna and Beth’s silhouettes winked in and out, playing peek-a-boo with the moon. In unison, both women raised their arms, palms outwards, chanting, calling on Marylebone so they could plead their case.

  Just as suddenly, the air stilled, and a rift between the veils began to open between them. Hesitant, Beth spoke softly. Alanna stood sentinel, her hands in the air, mentally holding the veil open, enabling Beth to speak freely with those they could not see but who were there nonetheless.

  And then there was silence. Beth waited, appearing calm but terrified to her toes. What they did was wrong. Alanna stood, impatience etched in every aspect of her stance and expression. Just as suddenly, the trees around them swayed dangerously. Long hair free from ties blew in wild tendrils, reaching out to the unseen, and then a voice whispered back to them, so soft, so cool, and so detached both women shivered and fell to their knees in shock.

  • • •

  Rosa walked briskly across the road to Beth’s. She wanted to speak with her before they ventured into the woods. Earlier that day, when s
he had arrived at the gallery, her little sister had sported dark circles under her eyes and carried an unusual and substantial air of wariness about her. It was so not like her, and it concerned Rosa enough to warrant an earlier arrival at Beth’s than expected.

  The gate to Clematis Cottage swung silently open and shut without her having to touch it. It was bespelled to recognize each of the sister’s auras. She wanted to open the front door the same way, but respect for Beth’s privacy had her knocking.

  No reply.

  Where was she? Rosa unlocked the door with another spell and proceeded to check each room. A trace of Alanna’s spicy perfume redolent with sandalwood and mimosa lingered in the air. Candles burned on the coffee table, and the remains of supper lay discarded on the bench.

  An unfinished tapestry lay amongst the crumbs of food. Hairs on her arms prickled, rising to stand on end. She shivered involuntarily. Beth treated her skill as a Spell Weaver with care. Always. This casual rejection of her work was out of character.

  Rosa picked the piece up and smoothed it out with the palm of her hand. A tapestry barely begun. Embroidered in the center, two half-complete gold rings were marred by a fresh stain. Closing her eyes, Rosa merged her mind with the tapestry and saw an image of Beth pricking her finger and a large drop of blood spilling onto the material. Rosa witnessed Beth’s bewilderment and resultant horror as she dropped the piece to the floor. In a mirror imitation, the tapestry slipped from Rosa’s nerveless fingers, and she covered her mouth with trembling hands. A cry of concern escaped her lips.

  Blood on a tapestry.

  Witches’ Ruin.

  Whatever secret ate away at Beth was far more alarming than Rosa had believed. Alanna was definitely mixed up in this, and Rosa knew it did not bode well. Stubborn, wayward Alanna did not understand the meaning of the word no. But Beth — she had never thought Beth would play with something she was not equipped to handle.

  A thick cloud of deception hung in the air. Rosa searched the room, wondering what had changed, when a furious blast of wind flung the front door back against the wall, bringing with it conspiracy. Her sisters were up to no good.

  Galvanized into action, she yelled, “Alanna,” and rushed out into the night, knowing where she would find her sisters. “You promised!”

  • • •

  Aden’s hands moved tirelessly, smoothing, polishing, and shaping a large piece of silver. He focused his concentration, shutting out outside stimuli as he worked, melding and bending the metal into shape, working the magic through his hands.

  It would be a masterpiece, a silver bowl for Rosa. He had known immediately that the bowl Rosa had dropped had been her scrying bowl. He had felt the magic escape and recognized his father’s signature in the spells. Aden felt responsible. If he had not snuck through her wards and startled her, she never would have broken it.

  Work on the bowl was balm to his tired and perplexed soul. It was his way of shutting out the ache in his belly whenever he thought of Rosa’s responsive lips, which, as it turned out, was practically all the time. Absently, he clicked his fingers and the lights switched on. Eyes tired from the strain of close work and an aching back from hunching over the half-completed bowl, he eventually surfaced.

  Witching hour approached. Good. He would send a message through Albert to his apprentice without having to release any obvious power. He required more silver mined and stored by magicians. However, as he made mental plans, something knocked at the edge of his awareness and the air grew heavy and potent.

  Something was wrong. Very wrong.

  With a swift, savage movement, he surged from his chair. It rocked violently on its back legs before tipping and crashing to the floor. Aden strode to the French doors and flung them wide open.

  “Albert,” he called with urgency. “Come to me?” Silence. He whipped his hand out to avoid the door swinging back on him, but a strong gust whipped it out of his hands. It banged back against the wall and the glass inserts shattered.

  “What the … ” Aden said, but he never finished his sentence. A blast of magic rent the air, hitting him full force, and then Albert winked out of nowhere and alighted on his shoulder.

  “The witches make magic,” Albert hissed. A small flame shot from his nostrils and the heat seared Aden’s cheek. “Bad. Very bad. Not good. Not good at all!”

  • • •

  Beth screamed and Alanna, not easily shocked, gasped, “Who are you?”

  A man stood before them. No, not a man. A warlock. With shoulders so broad he blocked the moon behind him, his dark silhouette surrounded by an eerie aura. He looked down his arrogant nose at them both but remained silent, his eyes watchful, his demeanour stern, his presence powerful.

  “Silly question,” Alanna muttered to herself.

  Beth crossed her wrists, fists clenched protectively over her sternum. “It worked!”

  The warlock blinked. “Apparently so.”

  “Who are you?” Beth mimicked Alanna’s question.

  “Goran Thoreaux. Dragon’s apprentice.” He inclined his head a fraction at his introduction. “Who, might I ask, are you?”

  Beth stuttered, “Don’t you know?”

  An eyebrow lifted. “I know. But do you?”

  Alanna spoke without thought. “A witty warlock.”

  “An astonished warlock. Your combined skills are powerful to Call any warlock down, let alone one from Marylebone Coven.”

  “We didn’t Call you down,” Beth informed him, stifling the sudden apprehension at his words. “You were sent.”

  Goran shook his head, and his eyes flashed a sparkle of gold as if the idea intrigued and amused him. “I was not sent.”

  The corner of Beth’s mouth developed a twitch. “Not sent?”

  “I was definitely Called.”

  “Rubbish!” Alanna exclaimed. “As if we would.”

  “What have we done?” Beth clasped her arms about her body and bowed her head in shame.

  “Stop being so melodramatic,” Alanna retorted. “We completed the spell correctly.”

  The warlock focused all his attention on Alanna. “Why would I lie?” He spoke softly, his voice tinged with steely strength. His golden eyes glinted eerily in the night. “I was Called down.”

  “Not by us.” Alanna was adamant.

  An eyebrow arched and Goran chuckled. “Then it must be magic.”

  “Funny, ha, ha,” Alanna drawled, but she was perplexed, and it showed in her expression as she studied the warlock before them. “We didn’t Call you down,” she reiterated more forcefully.

  “Not intentionally, but here I stand, evidence of your misdeed. Your powerful but extremely stupid misdeed.”

  “We are not stupid!” Alanna’s voice dripped with irritation.

  He shrugged and huffed out a breath. “There’s another word I could use.” He stood in judgment, silent, tall, and powerful. Raising a hand, he snatched at the air, closed his hand into a tight fist, and then spread his fingers wide. Several flames of fire danced in mid-air, scrambling to form a word. With a dramatic flourish, he underlined it.

  Foolish!

  Goran smiled, obviously satisfied with his choice; however, it was not the kind of smile to reach his eyes or contain any warmth. “Extremely foolish.”

  Unsure whether the heat came from the burning letters or from the angry warlock, Alanna unconsciously took a step back and cursed her show of timidity. Not many people scared her, but this warlock did. Oh, what had she done?

  “We’ll send him back,” Alanna said to Beth. “There must be someone better than this impostor! He can’t be from Marylebone!”

  Beth gasped. “Alanna! Shut your mouth or I’ll be inclined to agree with his assessment of your intelligence.”

  “My intelligence? Where was yours, then?”

>   “Absent,” Beth admitted. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have listened to you in the first place.”

  “I didn’t twist your arm.”

  “Someone had to watch out for you. If you’d done this by yourself, who knows what might have happened?”

  “I don’t think it can get any worse,” Alanna stated heatedly. “Do you?”

  “Witches!” Goran’s voice cut through their argument. “Enough with the histrionics.”

  “Histrionics?” The word fueled Alanna’s fighting spirit. “We’re not hysterical.”

  “You should be. Rule seven of the Conduct of Marylebone Coven states that Marylebone Calls you. Not the other way around. Have neither of you no fear as to what your punishment will be?”

  “Please believe us,” Beth implored. “We didn’t Call you down. Not deliberately.” Her teeth chattered from the current of cold air swirling about them, and she looked uneasily at her sister. “I would never Call someone against their will.”

  The powerful, all-too-knowing warlock stared intently at Beth for several long seconds, and it was if he searched her soul. Unable to deny her guilt, she opened her aura and allowed him to see everything. The Fates had warned her with blood on the tapestry, but she had ignored the signs. Oh, yes. Foolish was the right word.

  Then, without uttering anything to her, he turned an imperious head to Alanna. “Then it must be you.”

  “Not guilty!” Alanna shook her head. “Nuh uh! I held the veil open. That’s all. I didn’t utter a single peep.”

  “The thoughts in that empty head where your brain should reside were broadcasting loud and clear. You’ve acted without regard for others and put magic in motion that cannot be altered. Working with the Marylebone Veil requires one who is honest, wise, and impartial. It appears you do not possess any of these qualities.”