Michael continued to stare at Troy, baffled. “Everyone knows ’tis Niall who takes after you. Not me.”
Troy looked at the blade in his hand as if he’d forgotten it. He reached over his shoulder and slid the sword into the scabbard on his back. “Niall takes after your leprechaun mother. He practices earth magic and has the leprechaun touch of luck. Those are his only gifts.”
Michael shook his head violently, unwilling to discount so easily a belief that had shaped his whole life. “What about his skill with a blade? There’s no denying he inherited that from you.”
“Niall’s skill with a blade is the result of practice and determination, not a gift.” Troy laughed, but the sound held more incredulity than humor. “He chose to emulate me, though I’ll never understand why.”
Michael stared off into the darkness, suddenly adrift in a world where he no longer knew himself or his brother. Or the father who’d just tipped his world arse about face.
“Think of your gifts, lad: glamour, silver tongue, the ability to read people.” He paused and waited for Michael’s bemused gaze to find him. “These powers you inherited from me.”
Michael stared at his feet half submerged in mud, his mind in free fall. “You were always so proud of Niall,” he said, his voice sounding lost.
“Of course. Niall accomplished everything through strength of spirit. For you, life will be much easier and much harder.”
Troy withdrew a jewel-handled dagger from his knotted hair, releasing the golden cascade of strands onto his shoulders. He palmed the blade and held out the ornate hilt to Michael. “When you reach Wales, you must go before the Ennead, the council of nine. Reveal this blade to Master Devin. He willtell you how to proceed.”
Michael wrapped his hand around the intricately worked gold handle and stared at the huge rainbow-hued gem in the pommel. “Is the stone magic?”
With a small shake of his head, Troy pressed Michael’s hand around the dagger and pushed it down to Michael’s side. “This is the end of an era, lad.” He pulled Michael into a fierce embrace, then drew back with a sigh. “Don’t think badly of me, son.”
“Why would I think badly of you?”
“When you understand my legacy, you will have every right to hate me.”
Michael sat at the desk in Niall’s office at Trevelion Manor. Although Troy had arranged for the Master of the Darkling Road to guard Fin, Michael and Cordelia had also organized a roster of pisky men to keep watch. The piskies might not be able to reach the lad, but at least he wasn’t alone.
He stared at Troy’s dagger, which rested in the middle of the oak desk. The metal blade glinted darkly beneath the lamp, while the multicolored jewel in the handle cast rainbows across the ceiling. During his childhood, he’d seen the decorative cross in Troy’s hair on numerous occasions and thought it nothing more than an elaborate hair ornament.
Cordelia sat on the other side of the desk, hollow eyed and pale. Her hands absently stroked the cat on her lap. “Are we agreed, then?” she asked, her voice flat with fatigue. “We’ll leave for Wales immediately and call Niall when we can?”
Michael gripped the back of his neck. Since the Teg gatekeepers had arrived, he’d done nothing but make mistakes. Niall would have died rather than let them take his son from Trevelion Manor. Yet Michael had carried the boy out to the ruddy car. Niall would have stepped up and offered his blood to appease Gwyn ap Nudd, not tried to talk his way out of responsibility. Michael hadn’t even stopped to think. Now Finian had paid the price.
“Blood and fury.” Michael slammed his fist on the desk, making the blade jump with a metallic clunk. Ye gods, he needed a cigarette. He’d glibly agreed to give up smoking when Rose was expecting the babies—a pledge proving harder to keep than he’d expected.
The door creaked open, and Thorn and Nightshade came in. Thorn rushed to comfort Cordelia. Nightshade strode past the desk and threw his arm over Michael’s shoulders. “What happened to Fin wasn’t your fault,” he said.
Michael lurched to his feet, shrugging away Nightshade’s arm. He paced to the window and stared at the pale light of dusk creeping across the horizon. “I’m not wanting understanding.” He seethed with frustration at his own stupidity.
The reflection of Nightshade’s shocked face in the glass made him grip the windowsill until his fingernails bit into the wood. He didn’t want to hurt his friend—but everything had changed this night. He’d never let Nightshade bite him again. The frivolous pleasure of dallying with death had lost its appeal. And for some reason, he hated the thought that Cordelia would disapprove.
He ran his hands back through his hair. “We’ll have to decide what we’re going to do. I can’t speak to Niall yet to get his advice.” After all that had happened, he could hardly believe Niall was still in midflight.
An idea struck him—a good one for once. He was amazed Cordelia hadn’t suggested it. “Will you take a reading of the future for us, Cordelia? Tell us what’s going to be happening.”
She blinked at him tiredly. “Umm, yes. I can certainly try.”
Try?
According to Niall, she was an expert at foretelling. “Why the uncertainty?”
“We’ll discuss it in my room.” She looked down to brush the creases from her clean dress as she rose.
She went to the door with her neat, precise steps, the cat trotting at her heels. Thorn moved to follow, and Michael shook his head. He passed the lad a note he’d made of some useful references he wanted to take with them. “You two find these and bring around the car. We’ll not take long with this foretelling.”
He caught up with her in the hall and followed her to the medieval wing of the house. He’d assumed her bedroom was upstairs, but she ignored the stairs and took a side hall. “I have my own suite of rooms.” She halted before a door and unlocked it with a key from her pocket.
Once inside, she showed him into a small, cozy room. The cat jumped on a sagging floral armchair in the corner, circled, and curled up on a hairy crocheted cushion. Streaks of morning sun penetrated the windows, painting strokes of light across the granite fireplace. A faded tapestry adorned the wall, and a multitude of shelves and tables filled every space. Each was crowded with ornaments: pearly shells, pinecones, china, and colorful knickknacks of all sorts.
She pulled out a leaf on a table by a pair of glass doors and then moved a straight-backed chair so he could sit there. With another key from her pocket, she unlocked the narrow double doors. A gentle breeze carried the fragrance of a summer’s morning in from the garden: cool dew, the scent of sweet peas climbing a crumbling pillar, the tang of salt from the Atlantic. Michael sat, entranced, and looked up at dangling threads of pink and yellow shells jingling in time to the lazy hiss of the sea.
He’d never understood people who liked to be alone in quiet places. He loved crowds, noise, and music. But with his mind in turmoil, the peace was soothing.
Cordelia sat opposite him and folded her hands on the lacy tablecloth. “I can’t read my own future, Michael. No one with the gift of foretelling can.”
He nodded, linked his fingers, matched her pose. “Fair enough, lass. Read for meself.”
A hint of pink crept into her cheeks. She looked down and twisted the silver ring on her little finger. “I doubt I can read for you either.”
Michael pressed his fingers to his eyes. The deep empty well of loss inside him, which had eased for a few minutes, ached anew. “Just give it a try, lass. Anything we discover that helps us rescue Fin is good, for sure.”
Her cheeks grew pinker. “I’m sorry, I don’t think…” Her words trailed away and she bit her bottom lip.
He reached for the water-filled dish with the three white candles floating on the surface and dragged it in front of her. “Have a go,” he said, a touch of irritation in his voice. He knew seers were not able to divine for themselves. But there was no reason why she shouldn’t read for him. Unless she was scared of what she’d see, scared what his reaction might be
. He tensed his shoulders, let them relax. He covered her slender hands with one of his. “ ’Tis all right, lass. I’m only asking you do your best.”
She gazed at his hand silently, the tightly buttoned bodice of her dress rising and falling a little faster than usual. Then she looked up, but not at him, at her cat. The creature stared back with solemn gray eyes very similar to Cordelia’s. The moment stretched. He had the sense she was drawing strength or inspiration from Tamsy. He wondered if the cat were more than a pet.
Finally, she looked at him. “I’ll try if you promise you’ll stay seated.”
“Anything you say.” He’d agree to stand on his head if she’d get on with the reading. His heart thundered as she struck a match and lit the three floating candles. The squat white stumps bobbed in the water while she repositioned the dish. When all three candles were producing thick ribbons of smoke, she sketched a symbol in the air and whispered some words. The smoke spread, then appeared to freeze in place, a golden glaze coating the surface. Michael slid his chair to the side, curious to watch, but she shook her head. “Stay opposite me or I won’t continue.”
With a sigh, he moved his chair back and angled his head to see her around the side of her strange scrying mirror. She had a cute little nose, which she wrinkled up when she concentrated.
As the minutes ticked by, his attention wandered to the window. Seagulls wheeled over the cliffs at the bottom of the garden, screeching to each other. A blackbird landed on the flagstones outside the door and peered at him.
“See anything?” he asked after what felt like an hour.
“Shh. I’m concentrating.” She narrowed her eyes. Slowly, she tilted her head to the side. “Oh. Oh my goodness.” Her hand flew to her throat. Her cheeks turned scarlet.
So she could see his future, after all. Michael was out of his chair and around the table in an instant. He leaned in beside her, searching the mirrored surface, desperate to know what would happen when they arrived in Wales.
What he saw stunned him. Naked, he lay tangled with an equally naked woman in a very imaginative position. Despite his somber mood, heat flared in his belly. The woman in the mirror threw back her head and moaned, the sound from the image filling Cordelia’s small room. She dragged a hand through her hair, lifting the strands off her face. For a disbelieving moment Michael stared, then he whispered, “Sweet bejesus, Cordelia. That ’s you .”
Cordelia nearly knocked the table flying when she shot to her feet. She had to put space between herself and Michael now. She tripped on her hem as she stumbled out the French window to the garden.
The warm swirling feeling in her belly spread, tingling in her thighs, across her ribs, into her breasts.
“No!”
She ran down the neatly manicured lawn to the lichencovered wall dividing the garden from the sheer cliffs that dropped to the ocean. She stopped, fists crumpling her skirt, and let the cool wind whipping up off the water dull the sensations. Her allure churned so wildly, she feared it would break out of the containing wards painted on her body and drive Michael to madness.
“Cordelia?” The question in Michael’s voice sent a chill through her that quelled the flow of sensation more effectively than the coldest wind. She dropped her face into her hands, wishing fervently that he would disappear, that this was all a nightmare. But she sensed him moving closer, the warm beat of his presence strong and fierce in her chest. A constant reminder of her vulnerability to him.
“Don’t use your glamour on me,” she snapped.
“I’m not , lass ,” he replied, sounding baffled.
“Oh rats’ tails.” If she felt like this when he wasn’t using glamour, eventually her allure would grow too strong for the wards to control. Once they’d rescued Fin, she must keep away from Michael. Niall would probably banish her anyway after what had happened to his son. Tears welled in her eyes. She brushed them away with her knuckles, hoping Michael wouldn’t notice.
“Is that image in your divination mirror what you’re expecting to happen in Wales?” he asked.
“Gods save us, no,” she said on a rush of breath. “Absolutely not.”
She glanced over her shoulder to find his eyebrows raised. For the first time since they’d lost Fin, Michael’s lips twitched, almost making it into a smile. “The timing is undoubtedly bad, but the foretelling did not look that terrible to me, lass.”
Turning to face him, she scraped back the loose wisps of hair fluttering in her eyes. “There’s no way anything like that can happen between us, Michael. Ever.”
“I thought you foretold the future.”
“Possible futures. Or in the case of that ridiculous image”—she jabbed a finger toward her room—“an impossible future.”
He frowned. “So you’re sure that’s not likely to happen in Wales?”
She drew a shaky breath, released it slowly. “That image has nothing to do with Wales.” She’d learned as a child that she must remain neutral during a reading or she could summon a false image. She feared the image of herself with Michael was nothing more than a representation of her desire.
Silently, she begged him not to ask any more questions. She’d rather jump off the cliff than admit she liked to watch him making love.
He rubbed the back of his neck and stared out to sea. “I’m thinking you’ll not be able to give us any clues how to free Fin.”
The wind ruffled the chestnut waves of hair around his blue eyes and dark, unshaven jaw. In the low morning sun, his gaze glittered with pain, bright as the jewel in Troy’s dagger.
She was beyond selfish worrying about her own longings when all that mattered now was rescuing Fin. “Do you think Troy’s knife is magic?”
Michael’s eyes fixed on her again. He seemed to take a second to focus. “Don’t know, lass. Troy said to take the blade to Wales and show it to someone called Master Devin.”
“ You’ll just do as he bid?”
“Aye, lass. There’ll be a good reason, to be sure.”
“You trust your father? I thought Niall had issues with him?” And after her experience with Troy, she wasn’t sure she trusted him.
Michael laughed, a hollow, lost sound that brought tears to her eyes anew. “I cannot deny you have a point. Me father’s thrown me off kilter. What I do know is we must leave for Wales as soon as possible. ’Tis down to us to rescue Fin before the protective shield Troy spun around the lad disintegrates.”
Chapter Four
Nightshade slouched sideways on the backseat of the Range Rover, his wings bent uncomfortably as the car shot along the motorway toward Wales. Michael slept beside him, head propped on a cushion against the door. Although Michael’s face was serene in sleep, Nightshade kept remembering Michael’s angry expression earlier when he’d rejected Nightshade’s comforting touch.
I’ve lost him.
The thought circled in his brain, cutting and slicing and ripping until his heart stuttered with the pain.
His fangs ached in his gums at the musky fragrance of Michael’s skin. Yet he would never taste him again unless he took him by force. The thought of Michael fighting him off cracked his heart.
Nightshade shifted to ease the ache in his shoulder from sitting sideways. Sometimes he hated his wings. They forever marked him out as a peculiarity, not only among humans, but also among The Good People.
The noisy silence in the vehicle oppressed him, the hum of the tires on the road maddening. Thorn drove, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music from his headphones. Cordelia slept in the front passenger seat, her head lolling to the side. He hoped she woke with a stiff neck. Michael hadn’t taken his eyes off her legs since she’d walked out to the car wearing fitted trousers.
The cat uncurled from its spot on Cordelia’s lap, stretched, and hopped between the front seats into the back. The creature paused and looked at him with enigmatic eyes. “Hello, cat.” He did not want to like the creature because it belonged to Cordelia. The cat blinked at him, then steppe
d softly onto Michael’s lap. After circling, it settled in a furry ball, a cheek pressed against his zipper.
Despite his mood, Nightshade laughed. The creature had waited until Cordelia slept, then swapped allegiance. Even the cat wanted a piece of Michael. For some reason, the thought made Nightshade feel better. He wouldn’t give Michael up without a fight.
Cordelia woke to the emotionless voice of the satellite navigation system: in one hundred yards, turn left; turn left.
Michael was now driving. His hair shone lustrous as ever but his face was pale, with tiny lines of tension around his mouth instead of his usual smile. She hoped he’d caught some sleep before he took over the driving from Thorn.
“Where are we?” She massaged her tight neck muscles and admired the misty mountains in the distance.
“Would you believe Wales, the Neath Valley?” he asked dryly.
He glanced at her, his gaze flicking to her legs before moving back to the windshield. Nerves sparked beneath her skin. Was he remembering the image in her divining mirror of them making love? Maybe she shouldn’t have worn trousers. With her legs on show, she felt vulnerable.
“Only a few more miles to Craig-y-Ddinas car park, then we’l l hoof it ,” he added.
As Cordelia drank from her water bottle, she realized Tamsy wasn’t on her lap. She glanced back, expecting her cat to be with Thorn. Her heart jolted when she saw the traitorous creature resting her chin on Nightshade’s knee while he stroked her face.
Cordelia jerked her gaze away, stared out the window at the narrow road threading its way among stunted oak trees. She pushed out her consciousness to meld with Tamsy and released shock and disapproval into the cat’s mind. Tamsy gave a lazy mew, radiating pleasure. Why wasn’t she frightened of Nightshade? Being confined in the car with him set Cordelia’s nerves on edge. She had only been able to sleep because she was exhausted.
She could hardly reach back and grab her cat, so she sat stiffly, jaw clenched, while Michael maneuvered the car into the parking lot. He stopped in the middle, the engine idling. They all stared around at the numerous walkers in weatherproof jackets with backpacks. A little girl ran in front of their car wearing a pink My Little Pony anorak and matching cap.
The Phoenix Charm Page 5
