by Hall, Linsey
“Maybe not yet with this company, but you’ve been on earth two thousand years. This can’t be your first attempt.”
He sighed. “It’s not. But they’re substitutes for what I should have been doing. I realize that now.”
“No, you’ve done good here. We all have our paths to tread.”
“And I didn’t tread mine. I should have stayed in Otherworld, served my time.” His eyes met hers, intensity shining within. “If we don’t find Logan Laufeyson, I’ll take your place.”
“No, Cam—”
“I care for you, damn it. I’ll not leave you to the fate I should have saved you from. After the half-life I’ve lead, after the fate I consigned you to in Otherworld, I don’t deserve you. The least I can do is save you from the fate I doomed you to.”
“This fate did save me. Otherwise, I’d be like my family right now.” The thought of them sent a pang of pain through her chest. So old now, but still there. Their shadows haunted both Otherworld and her heart.
“And you’ll have earth back, no matter how it has to happen,” he said.
“No, Cam. I’ve grown pretty fond of you, too.” Understatement of the century. “Ditch me now and I don’t know what I’ll do.”
He yanked her to him and kissed her hard, the press of his lips against hers making her head spin. The thought made her shudder. He’d be trapped in Otherworld, allowed to escape only a few times a year for an hour here or there. But it could be her fate.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Highlands of Celtic Scotland, 634 BC
Long before Camulos met Andrasta
Anticipation sang through Druantia’s veins as she watched her disciples, the lesser Druids, prepare for the feast ahead. They laid out fruits and wine, turned great haunches of meat on spits, and hung the sacred mistletoe from oaks surrounding the clearing. Spirits were high, for such a party had never before been thrown in the mortal world.
The sun would set within the hour, and then the gods would arrive. She shivered with excitement. But not with nerves. No, there was no reason to be afraid, for they would never anticipate what she had planned. Not a mere servant such as herself, she thought bitterly.
“High Priestess, the nymphs are here,” Alban said from behind her.
Finally, they’d arrived. Druantia turned to see a bevy of beautiful young women and men. Tree nymphs, specifically of oak trees, called Dryads. And as such, they were under her direction. They came because their presence was requested. They’d do as she commanded because she willed it.
“The gods will be joining us for our great feast this eve,” she said to them. She gestured to the food and wine behind her and glanced at the bodies of the beautiful Dryads. “We will welcome them to the earth, to taste of our bounty. Tonight there will be revelry such as they have never known.”
And they would come. All of them. For the gods never could resist a pleasure. Ruled by their emotions, they were. Joy, greed, pride, jealousy.
Tonight they would see all that she was capable of.
“Go now.” She gestured to the clearing. “For they will be here soon, and we must be ready to welcome them.”
The Dryads nodded, though not all their faces showed pleasure at the idea of what was to come. No matter. They would do as she commanded, because as the gods had control over her, she had control over the Dryads.
When the last rays of the sun sank behind the horizon, the first god arrived from Otherworld. Cernowain, along with his boar. Before long, dozens of gods littered the clearing. Then three hundred of them, perhaps more. All the Celtic gods, even the ones worshiped by people from lands far away across the sea.
They drank and ate and sang and caroused. Wine flowed as freely as rain, the scent of roasted meat filled the air, and the sound of revelry rang through the night.
“You make amends.” The deep voice from behind sent a chill down her spine. Her hands and face stiffened to iron, but she forced herself to breathe deeply. To soften her features into repentance and docility.
She turned to face Camulos. “But of course, god of war. For you are great and wise, and I wish for you to partake of all that the earth has to offer you.”
He nodded, drank from the mug of wine, and surveyed the revelry. The energy in the air had grown frantic, joyous and sultry. It affected even her.
“There are many pleasures to be had in our woods,” Druantia said. She pointed to a tree, under which sat a Dryad who wasn’t carousing as she should be. “There, she waits for you.”
Camulos grinned, arrogant as ever, and walked off toward the Dryad, a pale thing with shining blond hair. Quite pretty, as they all were.
With something dark boiling in her chest, Druantia watched him go. When he walked off into the forest with the Dryad, she turned to survey the rest of the festivities.
Clothes had scattered, wine and food spilled all over the tables set in the clearing, and gods and Dryads danced to music played by a band of mortals from her village. A select few of the lesser Druids were here to see to the occasion. No doubt they thought she was actually making amends with the feast.
She smiled. And waited. And watched. And as the dark grew deeper and the night grew later, the revelry became frantic and frenzied and wild. The energy that swirled in the air from the gods’ joy was palpable, throbbing to the beat of the drums that played faster and faster.
They took such joy in this night. Such joy in their godhood, in their power. They loved and laughed and raged and fought. Were ruled by emotion, lived by it. So she would take from them that which they loved most.
Their joy. And every other emotion that went with it. For humiliating her, for treating her like she was nothing, she would take from them. For lording their power over her, she would trap them in Otherworld. She’d instill in them the belief that if they were to leave, their home wouldn’t survive. They thought so highly of themselves, it wouldn’t take much of a spell to convince them that Otherworld’s very essence depended upon their presence. And with the gods stuck in Otherworld, she would truly be the only intermediary between gods and mortals. A true gutuatri, one who spoke to gods.
She would be the only one to speak to the gods. And then only if she chose. The most powerful Druid to ever live.
All with a single spell. And yet she was not stupid. One didn’t rise to the heights that she had by being stupid. No. She could not cast a spell upon the gods. For the only ones who could cast a spell upon the gods were the gods themselves. So she would make them cast a spell upon themselves.
Druantia watched as the festivities reached a fevered pitch, as the wine and food and music went to the gods’ heads. She watched as the Dryads began to disrobe, to dance and touch and kiss the gods. Until the clearing floor and the forest beyond were covered in bodies rolling and sweating and rutting—until every earthly pleasure that could be had created such a wealth of emotion and joy and lust in the gods that it became a physical thing that swirled upon the air.
A thing that she could manipulate into something darker and to her purposes. When it reached such heights that it became magic worthy of the spell, she reached into her bag and withdrew a hare, that most sacred animal to their people. Never should one harm a hare.
Without a glance, she dragged a knife across its throat until blood sprayed onto the ground and onto the nearest god, rutting atop a Dryad.
The energy changed. From lust and joy to dark and dire. The god rose up and tore the Dryad limb from limb, his passion and rage contagious. The other gods followed suit, until the clearing ran red with Dryad blood.
Druantia watched as their joy and rage turned to nothing. To motion, not emotion. The blood of the Dryads soaking the ground, a sacrifice that sealed the spell. When they all lay dead, Dryad, Druid, and mortal—all except her and the gods—the night went silent.
As if in a trance, the gods looked into the sky and around at each other. But they saw nothing. Nor did they remember. Not the party, not their past. Not ever feeling emotion. One by one, the
y disappeared to return to Otherworld.
Druantia stood in the clearing, panting and exhilarated, as the blood of the Dryads soaked into the ground and the bones grew into great oak trees that created a canopy over the forest floor. They drank up the blood and sprouted leaves. A dark forest formed, imbued with the memory and the emotion and the life force of the gods.
It flowed into Druantia, imbuing her with power such as she had never known. Into herself she took the immortality of gods. Their emotion, their passion, their joy all became hers. They would live in Otherworld, continue on with their duties and their titles. Yet for Camulos victory would become hollow, for Scathach prophecy would become rote, for Carlin the night of Samhain would become dull. As it would be for all the gods, because they had dared to cast her aside.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Highlands of Scotland, Present Day
“Pull over,” Ana said. “I think I see it.”
Cam pulled the car to a stop on a gravel patch at the side of the road. Ana climbed out, shivering under the cloudy sky in the chill winter wind. They were in a valley with mountains sweeping up on either side of them. Snowflakes fluttered around them as dusk turned the white mountains gray.
“Do you think that’s it?” Ana asked, pointing to a small cottage nestled in the deepest part of the valley. Fiona had called back a few hours ago with the supposed location of Logan Laufeyson and they’d set out immediately, driving into the Highlands.
Cam walked to her side of the car and peered into the distance.
“Could be,” Cam said, turning to meet her eyes. “Fits the description and location, so it’s—”
Ana jerked when she felt the familiar rubber-band snap of another god appearing from Otherworld. She spun in tandem with Cam and drew her bow. Silence. Snow fell more thickly, obscuring her vision.
Suddenly, a boar broke over the top of a nearby hill and charged them. Ana aimed and fired. The boar fell, but another had appeared in its place. Within seconds, there were a dozen. She fired off arrows as fast as she could.
“Cernowain,” Cam said as he flung a dagger at a boar and felled it.
“But where?” She downed another boar, but more had appeared. She couldn’t see Cernowain anywhere. Were there other gods as well? She blinked snow out of her eyes and fired again.
Cam sprinted to retrieve his dagger and flung it again. His invisibility to the other gods gave them an advantage, and for now, they were just barely holding off the—
Ana screamed as arms grasped her from behind. Her bow clattered to the ground as the grip tightened. She struggled, fighting the pull from the aether that tore at her insides. He was trying to aetherwalk with her! She’d be dragged back to Otherworld.
The arms dropped her and she stumbled to her knees. She jerked around to see Cam throw Cernowain onto his back. The god’s brown cloak fluttered in the wind.
“What is this magic?” he bellowed.
Of course. He couldn’t see Cam. When he surged to his feet, Cam punched him so hard in the face that he flew backwards.
“How did you find me?” she yelled. Had the boar spies found them during the storm in Inverness? Would Cernowain really have sent the boars into the city?
“I had help,” Cernowain ground out through broken teeth as he started toward her, eyes darting for the unseen threat. “You’re coming back.”
Cam hit him again, compounding the damage to his broken face. Cernowain crashed to the ground.
“Fuck.” Cernowain’s words gurgled through the blood he spat out.
“I’m never coming back,” Ana said. She grabbed her bow from the ground and fired, sending an arrow through Cernowain’s leg. Then another through the heart of a boar that had gotten too close. She turned back to Cernowain and shot his other thigh.
“Fuck!” Cernowain glared at her, his gaze as black as the night creeping over the mountains, then disappeared. The boars followed. The rubber band snapped against her skin and she was sure he was gone.
Ana slumped. “Shit. He’ll bring the other gods back.”
Cam ran to her and pulled her against him. She shook all over, feeling colder in her bones than her skin, despite the wind that picked up speed. No matter how hard she sucked the cold air into her lungs, it didn’t seem to fill them.
“Come on,” Cam said, rubbing her arms and pulling her toward the car. “We don’t have long before he can gather enough gods to force you back. He’ll want to heal up before he faces them. We have a few hours at most.”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
Cam looked at the sky and a frown stretched across his face. “Let’s find Logan before this snow turns the roads to shit and we get stuck.”
She hurried into the car, and Cam engaged the four-wheel drive for the last few miles to what she hoped was Logan Laufeyson’s house. It was slow going, with big fat flakes hitting the windshield and turning the road white.
“What will you say when you meet him?” Cam asked, his eyes intent on the road ahead of them.
“Um—hi, do you want to be a god?” Honestly, she was so freaked out from having seen Cernowain that she’d be proud to be that eloquent.
“Subtle.”
“I’m not exactly at my mental best. And it’s got to be appealing to some people, right?” As long as they didn’t know what Otherworld was really like. She felt a twinge of guilt. But if one were power hungry enough, it would be a decent trade-off.
“To some, sure. I think it’s as good as anything. So long as he doesn’t shoot us on sight. Just lay it all out.”
Not being shot on sight would be good. And she liked the idea of laying it all out. It would ease her conscience. She wanted Logan to agree so badly that she couldn’t imagine it not happening. It was poor logic, but she couldn’t help it. Nervous, she gripped her seat’s arm rest as they rumbled down the drive to the cottage.
“The lights aren’t on,” she said, her gaze darting around the exterior of the cottage. Small, only a couple rooms. No footsteps in the snow. “Are you sure this is it?”
“No. All Fiona said was that it’s a small cottage in the Cairngorm mountains off of the A939, south of the village of Tomintoul. This could be it, or it could be down the road a bit.”
Ana nodded, peering hard into the darkened windows of the cottage as Cam parked in the small drive. He had to be here. He had to.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Cam followed Ana to the door, his eyes alert for any movement in or around the house. Fat snowflakes glinted in the light of the car’s headlights. They stepped onto the stoop, and Cam glanced down at Ana. She nodded, so he knocked. Waited. Knocked again. The wind picked up, and with it the snow.
“This sucks,” Ana said, rubbing her arms.
Cam knocked again, but by now didn’t expect an answer. He glanced behind him to see the drive to the house now blanketed with snow. What had started as fat white flakes had turned into a storm that was whiting out the night.
Ana hopped off the stoop and walked to one of the windows to peer in.
“I think it’s empty,” she said, moving on to the next window.
Fuck. Disappointment dropped Cam’s heart to his feet. As much as he felt like a worthless bastard for abandoning his post in Otherworld, he wanted to stay with Ana far more than he wanted to live out that destiny. He hadn’t realized how much hope he’d had riding on finding Logan Laufeyson and getting him to take Ana’s place.
“Let’s try the back,” he said, and trekked through the snow to the rear of the cottage. It was just as dark on this side, but when he tried the back door, he found it unlocked.
“What do you think?” Ana whispered.
“It’s worth a check to see if we’re in the right place. And we’re not going to get back up that road until this storm lets up.”
“Good. I’m freezing. Let’s go in.”
They scraped their shoes on the mat and stepped inside, careful not to drip too much water. Better not piss off their host when they wanted something from h
im. They crept silently through the cottage, determining within a minute that it was empty.
“Must be a rental,” Ana said, tapping the small binder of brochures and house directions on the counter. Sturdy, generic furniture and the lack of photos corroborated the theory. “Do you think he’s staying here?”
“Could be. If so, he’s changing his hermit ways.” Cam swung open the fridge to reveal a six pack of Tennant’s Lager and some ham and bread. He went back into the bedroom, drew the curtains, flipped on the light. The closet revealed a bag containing a few changes of men’s clothing and a passport at the bottom. He flipped the passport open and peered down at the face of a man who looked to be in his mid-thirties, though he was far older.
He frowned at the name next to the picture. Conrad Allen.
“What’d you find?” Ana asked as she walked into the room and stopped at his side.
He tilted the passport to her.
“Could be fake,” she said.
“That’s what I’m thinking. He wouldn’t leave his real name lying around.” With that thought, Cam slipped a cell phone out of his back pocket and dialed Fiona.
“It’s Cam,” he said when she picked up the line.
“I bet you have another question that’s going to be a pain to answer,” Fiona said.
“Probably. Do you know what Logan Laufeyson looks like?”
“Sort of. I’ve got a description from the Acquirer who saw him steal the bow and arrow. It’s one of the ways I tracked him.”
Cam looked down at the passport. “Has he got real pale skin, a thin scar along his jaw, longish black hair, and”—he squinted at the picture— “black eyes?”
“That scar sounds right, as does the rest.”
“Good. Do you have any record of him going by the name Conrad Allen?”
“No, but I’d buy it. I’ll do some research, add it to my records. But I’d bet it’s him. The witches pinpointed him to that valley, and almost no one lives there. And that description fits.”
“Good. How would he feel if he came back to his rental and found two squatters waiting for him? The snow’s coming down hard and we won’t make it out of here ’til it clears.”
