Raintree: Oracle

by Linda Winstead Jones

  Light fed good power; evil fed the dark. He could only imagine how bad it would be for the stones of Cloughban to be touched with evil.

  One by one, the invaders went down easily. Wounded, not killed, they fell. A couple of them would recover, stand and fight again, but most just slunk away, edging toward their vehicles.

  Watching, no longer participating, Gideon experienced a tickle of warning. The invaders were surrendering much too easily. It occurred to him that they could not have hoped to win. None of them, not one, fought with magic. No fire, no balls of energy, no lightning other than his own and the occasional burst of green lightning from the incredibly ugly old man. As battles went, this one was almost amusing. Almost.

  The people who had come here to take this village were not trained fighters. They were dressed for the part, and they were armed, but once they began to fight they got in one another’s way, tripped over their own feet. The people of Cloughban were not much better.

  Gideon stepped back; he lifted a hand to call Hope to his side. The villagers were winning handily. They needed no Raintree assistance. Hope began to make her way toward him.

  All but two of the invaders were down when Echo struggled to her feet. Unsteady, she leaned against the pub door as she called his name.

  She tried to shout at him but her words were garbled and weak.

  Gideon turned his back on the fight and stepped in her direction. “What?”

  Her voice was louder as she said, “This is just a distraction. He’s going for Cassidy!”

  Hope called Gideon’s name, a sharp warning, just as something hit the back of his head. He fell, he heard a gunshot and all went dark.

  * * *

  Bryna sat on the sofa next to her gentleman friend who, Rye was happy to see, was very much alive. After the initial attack McManus had been unconscious for a while. Cassidy had thought him dead, but he remained among the living.

  For now.

  Doyle. All this time, the traitor had been right under his nose. Rye hadn’t seen the deception, hadn’t even suspected. Echo hadn’t seen it, either, which meant that Doyle’s abilities were much more than an unsteady bit of telekinesis. Flying pots and an impressive gift for blocking. Judging by a lingering odor in the room and singe marks on the door, he also controlled fire, to some extent. An inborn gift or a one-time trick? It was impossible to know at this point.

  Whatever gifts he possessed, they weren’t enough to satisfy him. Doyle wanted Cassidy. He wanted her powers, the same amazing abilities Maisy had tried to take.

  Rye stood in the center of the main room where he’d watched his daughter grow up. From an infant, to a toddler, to a curious child. Soon she would be a young woman. God above, she deserved to be a young woman. A grown woman. A mother to her own children one day. A grandmother who warned her own grandchild against using potentially dangerous magic.

  He wanted to rush to her, to take her into his arms, but he didn’t dare to move while Doyle held a knife to Cassidy’s slender, pale, vulnerable throat.

  Curse or no curse, powerful or powerless, he was Cassidy’s father; he loved her. He would do whatever was necessary to save her, even if it was the last thing he did.

  “What do you want?” Rye asked. His voice was rough and unsteady. “Let her go, and I’ll give you anything. Anything at all.”

  Doyle looked and sounded downright cocky as he answered, “My brother and I decided that we want what you have, and what you have can be had through her, thanks to a very old spell Walsh discovered.”

  Power. Magic. The ability to have anything his heart desired with a snap of his fingers. Doyle was not without considerable magic of his own, but he wanted more. He wanted it all.

  “Brother?”

  The man who held a knife to Cassidy’s throat smiled. “You knew my brother well. You taught him, for a while. He was your last student, before Echo Raintree came along to revive your teaching career. That’s why I had to be the one to come here, to make the arrangements on this end.”

  It took no magic for Rye to understand. His student Walsh, the one who had expressed an unhealthy interest in Cassidy and what she could do. Knowing that Walsh and Doyle were related he could see a minor resemblance. In the nose, in the shape of the mouth. He saw too late.

  He had to keep Doyle occupied until he figured out a way to disarm him without hurting Cassidy. If he talked awhile, if his arm and hand relaxed. Would he be fast enough to move in and take that knife if Doyle got sloppy?

  “You’re Ansara?” Rye asked, taking a half step forward.

  “Yes and no. Walsh, my late brother, could claim a tenuous connection through his mother,” Doyle said with a weird hint of humor. “She died young, so my father, our father, took him in. We both secretly took the Ansara name a few years back. There’s power in a name.”

  One word stuck with Rye, out of all that. “Late?”

  Instead of relaxing, Doyle’s grip on the knife tightened. “Walsh and I had a disagreement over how we should proceed here. I had to remove him from the equation.”

  So, Doyle had already killed—his own brother—and would not hesitate to do so again.

  Rye lifted his hand, palm forward. He was ready to beg, to plead. He’d do anything...

  Doyle shifted the knife he held on Cassidy so that it pressed against her skin. “Use any of your magic on me, and I’ll kill her here and now.”

  Rye dropped his hand. For a long moment, he didn’t respond. For all his abilities, Doyle didn’t see that he had no powers? Cassidy knew—he could see it in her eyes—but she said nothing to give him away. They had even spoken of the curse...though Doyle had not been around to hear details of the curse or its removal.

  “Tell me what you plan to do,” Rye said. “This spell Walsh discovered...is it the same one Maisy attempted?”

  Doyle nodded. “Ungrateful bitch. She knew Cassidy was meant for me, not for her. I’m glad you took care of her.”

  The dark man he had been had ripped out Maisy’s throat and then set her on fire. Cassidy had been there, but how much had she seen? He prayed she had not seen much.

  “Maisy is nothing but ash now,” Rye said.

  Doyle nodded his head. “Thanks for that.”

  “I don’t understand.” Rye took another small step forward. “What kind of spell is this exactly?”

  Doyle noticed Rye’s forward movement this time. He nodded his head and motioned for Rye to move back. Reluctantly, he did so.

  When Rye had taken two steps back, Doyle answered his question. “The spell takes everything a person is, all abilities and strengths, and transfers it to another. In this instance, Cassidy’s powers will transfer to me.”

  Rye’s heart was pounding so hard Doyle had to be able to hear it. Everyone had to be able to hear. He had to stall; he had to find a way to stop Doyle before it was too late. “Maisy had a knife. A special knife. I took it. It’s in my room above the pub.”

  “Blood has to be spilled,” Doyle admitted, “but I don’t need any special knife. Maisy just liked that one. I think it belonged to her father. Or a sister.” He shrugged, as if Maisy and her knife were of no consequence. As if the words he spoke were just ordinary words.

  “Blood,” Rye repeated in a lowered voice.

  “Yes, blood,” Doyle said carelessly. “That doesn’t mean Cassidy has to die. I don’t have to take it all.”

  Cassidy’s lips moved, but she made no sound. Liar.

  “That’s good to hear,” Rye said, trying to hide his panic at Cassidy’s silent, single word. “The stones... Does the spell have to take place there?”

  “It’s preferred,” Doyle admitted. “Not necessary, but there is a better chance of success. It’s more likely that all abilities will transfer if the words are spoken there.” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t think I won’t ki
ll her here and now if you give me any trouble. Wait, let me have the powers I need and when it’s all done you can have her back. I can’t say she’ll be unharmed, but she will be alive.”

  Liar.

  He had to stall, had to find a way to move Doyle away from Cassidy. With that knife at her throat, a sudden, impulsive attack was possible. Doyle might prefer to kill her in the stone circle, but he’d kill her here and now if he felt he had no choice.

  Rye had never felt so helpless, had never wished so hard for the powers he’d taken for granted.

  Doyle wanted power. He wanted it badly enough to kill his own brother, as well as an innocent child. He craved what the darker side of Rye had wanted.

  Everything.

  Rye asked as calmly as he could, “Why her? Why not me?”

  Doyle smiled. “Nice try, boss. Let’s face it, you have a lot of abilities and I wouldn’t mind having them.” The expression on his face said, Maybe one day I will. No, he didn’t realize that Rye had lost his powers; he still had not seen that truth. “She’s more powerful than you are. More powerful than anyone, I expect.”

  Rye had always understood that Cassidy’s abilities would put her in danger, would make her attractive to those who wanted what she had. Power beyond imagining. He’d always thought he could keep her safe at least until adulthood. No child should be threatened like this, and Cassidy...she was a sweet girl, untainted, generous. Filled with love. He loved her. He would die for her if he had to.

  “That’s true, she is more powerful than I am,” Rye said. “But the kind of power that flows through Cassidy’s veins doesn’t come without a price. There’s the issue of control, the very real possibility that the magic will rule you instead of the other way around.” He knew that too well, since it had almost happened to him.

  “That’s a problem I can handle,” Doyle said, but Rye saw his doubts.

  Now was the time. A shift in the conversation, a suggestion... “If you take my abilities you can keep her, control her and have it all. You can have everything.”

  “You’re offering?” Doyle snapped.

  Yes. Hell, yes. He’d do anything, so in the midst of lies and deceit he spoke the truth. “I love my daughter. Promise me you’ll let her live, promise me you won’t hurt her, and you’ll get no fight from me.”

  Doyle hesitated. He shifted his feet almost nervously. One swipe of that knife and Cassidy would be gone. Just gone.

  Rye snapped, “Have I used my powers to fight you?”

  “No.” Again, he saw Doyle’s indecision. “But only because I have a knife to her throat.”

  True enough. If the move wouldn’t put Cassidy in danger, he would have wrestled Doyle to the ground already. “Maybe I’m hoping that once you take all I am into yourself you’ll love her as I do. Maybe I hope more of me than my magic will affect you. I want my daughter to live, to be taken care of. She can give you everything if only you care for her.”

  The knife at Cassidy’s throat wavered, moving slightly away from her skin. “I’ve never seen much to speak of out of you. How do I know you have abilities I want?”

  He’d been afraid this might happen. Doyle wanted a demonstration, and Rye was without magic. “You want the man I used to be. Ask anyone in Cloughban about the man I was a dozen years ago or so. I’ve kept my abilities dampened for a very long time with talismans. You saw them, the wristband and the stone at my throat. They’re gone now.” It was all gone. “Without those safeguards I can do anything Cassidy can, and more. My abilities are fully developed—they are not the gifts of a child. What power do you wish to see? I have them all.”

  One eyebrow rose slightly. “We’ll start with something easy. Fire?”

  The cold fireplace was instantly filled with flame.

  “I have control of all the elements,” Rye said. As if on cue, a strong wind whipped around the cottage, whistling, screaming like a wounded animal. It died suddenly and completely a moment later.

  “Telekinesis?”

  “Like you?” A lamp, a book and a cup of tea floated around the room so smoothly not a drop of the tea was spilled.

  All three items returned to their proper places. Cassidy didn’t twitch, didn’t so much as wiggle her little finger. There was no way for Doyle to know that she’d been the one to provide the demonstrations.

  The man who had been a valued employee for eight months gave the idea some thought. Rye began to sweat. What if he turned down the offer? What if he still wanted Cassidy?

  Without magic, could he save his daughter?

  “We’ll do it at the stone circle,” Doyle finally said, edging toward the door. “If I don’t like what I become after I kill you I’ll continue as planned, with the girl.”

  At least he was no longer lying about his intentions. Someone would die in the stone circle, and Doyle would become a formidable force in the magical world.

  “Fine.” Rye followed.

  He thought of Echo, wished he could reach out to her as he once had. But he was not the man she’d fallen in love with, and he was on his own.

  At this moment, nothing mattered but Cassidy.

  Chapter 25

  Echo ran. Others had heard her words and followed, but they’d fallen far behind. She’d never run so fast. She’d never had reason to.

  Gideon was hurt, but not seriously. She hadn’t had time to stop and tend to him, not after what she’d seen in the vision that had taken place as the people of Cloughban had fought for their home. Brigid had nodded at Echo, had all but dismissed her as she knelt down to tend to Gideon’s head. The final act of the last standing invading soldier—a short blonde with ears too big for her head—had been to conk Gideon on the back of the head with the iron skillet she’d taken from Maeve. Hope had stayed with her husband and the healer, and with an annoyed Maeve, who’d angrily snatched her skillet back from the wounded soldier. Gideon would be fine; he was being well cared for.

  Echo’s place was with Ryder and Cassidy. Now and forever. They were her family as much as Gideon. She’d traveled around the world to find them...

  The attack on Cloughban had been nothing but a distraction. She’d seen it in her vision, a vision which had once again come too late. Doyle. Doyle! She had never suspected him, not for a moment. The attackers had distracted the entire town from the real purpose on this day. Taking Cassidy.

  She saw everything now. The pieces of the puzzle had finally come together. When he’d hired the soldiers to attack Cloughban, Doyle had promised them the magic they lacked. Four of them possessed a minor ability, three were entirely without magic. He’d promised to make them all Ansara wizards in his new order, to make them his trusted council when he ruled the magical world. Lies, all lies.

  Doyle was desperate to rebuild what had once been a powerful, and evil, clan. With himself as Dranir.

  He wanted Cassidy, wanted her amazing abilities for himself, but in Echo’s most recent vision it had not been Cassidy Doyle stabbed; it had been Ryder. The knife had slipped into his body. She’d felt his pain as if it were her own, had felt the warmth of his blood flowing out and down his body.

  It started to snow again, fat flakes and icy bits of sleet falling in spurts. Around her, ahead of her, behind. She couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop it. The air turned frosty as big white flakes fell to the bright green grass and hung there for a moment before melting away.

  She ran for what seemed like a very long time...had she missed it? Had she somehow passed the stone circle? The air turned colder, and the snow that fell did not melt away quickly. It clung to grass and rocks. Was she headed in the right direction? Was she too late? The sun had set. Soon it would be dark. She had no chance of finding Ryder and Cassidy once that happened.

  Suddenly the way was lit with those sparkling lights she’d seen once before. Pink and yellow and blue and la
vender, those colorful lights twinkled against the snow in a slightly waving line that canted to the left. She could see that line all the way to the crest of the next hill. Fairies? Maybe, maybe not. Whatever they were, they had led her to the stones once before. She followed their lead.

  The lights danced around her feet, broke apart and moved ahead as she ran. “Please take me to them,” she whispered, not knowing if whatever created the lights could hear her and understand. If she didn’t find Ryder and Cassidy, if she found them too late...how would she survive? They were hers. Hers to protect. Hers to save on this cold night.

  She crested a gentle hill and finally, finally, saw the stones ahead. Tall and majestic and shimmering with power, they called to her in a way they had not before. She ran harder, all her focus on the stones. A few seconds later she saw the three standing there. Ryder and Doyle. Cassidy, standing close but not too close.

  Doyle held his knife against Ryder’s side. Distracted by the unexpected and unnatural snow, he tipped his head and looked up. A few flakes landed on his face and he smiled. She read his lips as he looked at Ryder and asked, “You?”

  “Yes,” Ryder answered. She was close enough to hear his voice when he added, “Get this over with. Do it now.”

  Doyle chanted a few words she did not understand—so few words, not enough, not long enough, not enough time—and then the knife plunged deeply into Ryder’s body. Ryder fell; he dropped to the ground. Echo screamed. Cassidy screamed. The earth shook.

  Just as in her vision, Echo felt the blade as if it had punctured her skin as well as Ryder’s, but she didn’t stop running. She didn’t even slow down. The sparkling lights that had led her here disappeared. They didn’t fade away; they were just suddenly gone.