Eternal Love: The Immortal Witch Series

by Maggie Shayne

  “Was that... ?” Sheila began.

  The creature jumped again, and with a final slap of its tail, submerged.

  “It was... a dolphin,” Sheila said. “But it shouldn’t have been. Not this far north, this late in the season.”

  She looked at Nidaba. “What does it mean?”

  Nidaba smiled. “You tell me.”

  Blinking, Sheila bit her lip, but it didn’t stop the tears. “When we were girls together, in Townsville, in Queensland, we used to go to Halifax Bay and spend hours just watching the dolphins.” She dashed away tears. “When we were sixteen, we bought matchin’ pendants.” She touched the necklace at her throat, lifting it. And in the glow of the lantern, Nidaba saw the pendant, a tiny silver dolphin with a gleaming topaz eye.

  “You’ve had your sign,” Nidaba murmured. “Speak to her, if you wish. She’ll hear you.”

  Swallowing hard, Sheila closed her hand around the pendant, and shut her eyes. “I loved you, Lisette, my friend. Like my own sister you were, and are. I’ll cherish your memory always, love.”

  “Go in peace,” Nidaba said softly.

  She could not see Nathan sliding the lifeless, lovingly wrapped body into the sea. But she sensed it happening. Nathan knew the ocean here. Knew the tides. He hadn’t weighted the dead woman’s body, but instead had placed her into the loving embrace of an outgoing current that would sweep her quickly out into the sea’s forgiving depths.

  Sheila sniffled. Nidaba felt a true tug at her heart. These two people who flanked her were, she sensed, very dear to Nathan. It was not difficult to see why. Looking sideways at the woman’s tear-filled eyes, she was moved to speak. No longer in the role of comforting High Priestess, however, but in that of avenging angel. “I promise you, Sheila, the person who killed your friend will pay. I will see to it.”

  Looking back at her, Sheila studied her for a long moment, then nodded once. “I do believe you will,” she whispered.

  Glancing out to sea, Nidaba saw the tiny golden light of Nathan’s lantern moving slowly, steadily, back toward shore. It was done.

  Still holding their hands, Nidaba led the other two away from the shore and back to the house. It would take time for Natum to make his way back to them. Sheila was exhausted, emotionally drained. And George had dealt with far more excitement today than he was used to. They entered the house through the rear door, which led into the kitchen. Nidaba released their hands and went to the stove, rummaging around in search of a teapot, and teabags.

  “You needn’t do that, now,” Sheila was saying. “You’re the one who’s been so... so ill. I ought to be fixin’ tea for you.”

  Nidaba offered a smile. “Nonsense. You’ve been waiting on me hand and foot while I’ve been lying like a lump in that bedroom upstairs. But I’m fine now. Better every moment, in fact.”

  She saw the doubt in Sheila’s eyes, even as the woman slumped into a kitchen chair. “It truly is amazin’, how fast you seem to be recovering,” she said.

  Nidaba knew she was likely making conversation only to keep from thinking too much about her loss. It was natural, and she was glad to play along. “It was a reaction to the drug they gave me that made me so ill,” Nidaba explained, knowing the woman might still have some lingering doubts about her mental state.

  Sheila frowned. “Like... an allergy, Nathan said.”

  “Exactly like that.” Locating the kettle, Nidaba filled it and set it on the burner to heat. “I was given a tranquilizer, and when I reacted the way I did, it was mistaken for a mental breakdown of some kind, and treated with more drugs, which only worsened the reaction.”

  Nodding, Sheila sighed. “And that’s why they had you locked up in that hospital. I vow, it must have been horrible for you.”

  Nidaba found cups, lined three of them up on the counter, and began opening cupboards in search of teabags. “I don’t remember much about it, to be honest. I wasn’t even certain I believed Ean... uh... Nathan when he told me that part.”

  “Oh, I can vouch for him on that. I was with him when he first glimpsed your picture in the paper. I thought he was goin’ to faint dead away, by the look on his face. And I was with him again, the night he took you out of there.”

  “You were?”

  Sheila rose and came across the room to open yet another cupboard, from which she took a sugar bowl and a canister brimming with assorted teas. “Yes. I was driving the car. I could scarcely believe it was our dear Nathan committing a crime like that in the dead of night, running from the police.”

  “I helped too!” George said from the table where he sat.

  Cocking her head to one side, Nidaba studied them both. “It seems I am more deeply indebted to you two than I even suspected.”

  “Oh, no,” Sheila said quickly, setting the sugar and the tea canister onto a silver tray. “We’d do anything for Nathan. And by the looks of it, he’d do anything for you.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  Sheila shrugged, turned to the refrigerator and took out the cream. “Well, isn’t it obvious? He’s never had so much as a parking ticket, missy. Not in all the time I’ve known him. He takes great pains not to draw attention to himself and keeps his life so quiet and mundane that it—well, it’s almost tedious. And yet, along you come. Out of the blue. And he turns everything upside down. For the love of heaven, Nidaba, have you not even noticed what he’s out there doing this night? Disposin’ of a body, of all things!”

  Nidaba paused in placing the cups on the tray. “I suppose that’s true. He’s putting himself and his... his mundane lifestyle at great risk by all of this, isn’t he?”

  “Ah, now, I didn’t mean to make you feel badly for it.” Sheila patted Nidaba’s hand in a motherly fashion. “It’s what he wants to do. There’s no talkin’ to Nathan when he sets his mind to something he wants. And I, for one, think he’s doin’ the right thing. It’s you I’m concerned about.”

  “Why?” Nidaba picked up the whistling teapot and poured the three cups full of steaming water. Then she lifted the tray and carried it to the table. Sheila followed, taking a seat and helping herself to a cup.

  “Well, now, do you remember what happened to cause them to give you the tranquilizer in the first place?”

  Nidaba thought back, but only fuzzy bits came. “No. I guess—I think there was an ambulance, but...” She shrugged. “Nathan said something about a fall from a building.”

  “They claimed you’d jumped from a rooftop,” Sheila said, dipping her teabag slowly. “Called it a suicide attempt.”

  “Um-hmm,” George said, taking a cup himself and adding massive amounts of cream and sugar. “I remember that. Your picture was in the newspaper, and as soon as Nathan saw it, he got all quiet... sad, like.” George stirred his tea rapidly, whipping it with the spoon as if it was pudding, then lifting the spoon out to lick the clinging bits of sugar from it. When he finished he had a wide-eyed look on his face as he said, “Hey, you won’t go jumping off our roof, will you? ‘Cause that might upset the birds.”

  “The birds?” Nidaba asked, looking from one of them to the other.

  “I keep pigeons up there,” Sheila explained.

  “You should go up and see them, Nidaba,” George began, but then he bit his lip. “But not if you think you might want to jump again.”

  “Don’t worry, George,” Nidaba said. “I promise you, I won’t do that. I didn’t try to commit suicide before either.”

  “You didn’t?” George asked.

  “No. I don’t remember what did happen, but I know better than to think that.”

  “I’ll wager you had some help off that rooftop, missy,” Sheila exclaimed, her voice deep and angry. “This evil visitor we’ve had—some black-hearted murderess who wants to harm you badly enough to kill my Lisette in order to do it—who’s to say this was the first time she’s tried?”

  “Indeed,” Nidaba said. “I only wish I knew for sure.” Small pieces of memory came back to her. A confrontation. Yes.
A battle. Her dagger had been in her hand. There had certainly been another immortal on that rooftop with her.

  “Bah. How many people have more than one enemy out to do them in?” Sheila asked. “It’s rare enough to have one in a lifetime. Much less two.”

  Nidaba sipped her tea. Sheila couldn’t know how far off base she was. Nidaba had lived far more than one lifetime, and she’d crossed blades with countless Dark Witches whose only goal had been to do her in. No matter how many she killed, she knew there were always more to come.

  Always.

  She sighed, truly tired of the violence of her existence. And for a moment she almost understood why Natum had chosen to live a lie, pretending to be an ordinary mortal. Perhaps the endless violence had been too much for him.

  Oh, but what he’d given up to be rid of it. His identity. His nature. His freedom.

  “You and Nathan... you’ve known each other before. In the past. Haven’t you, Nidaba?” Sheila asked.

  Meeting her eyes, Nidaba nodded. “Yes. A long time ago.”

  “I could tell. It’s a rare kind of thing I see when he looks at you. I’ve seen it in him only once before. One night when I couldn’t sleep, I got up and came wanderin’ down the stairs. He stood there, all alone in the dark, nothin’ but the moonlight flooding through the windows. He stood there, just staring up at the portrait that hangs above the hearth, and the way the moon lit it from above. And I vow, there were tears on his cheeks.”

  Nidaba opened her mouth but couldn’t speak.

  “I thought that might be something you ought to know,” Sheila said with a sigh. “I’m goin’ on up to bed now, love. Thank you for helpin’ me through this difficult night.” She patted Nidaba’s hand. “And you truly did help, you know. You truly did.”

  “It was true, what I told you out there at the cliffs,” she assured the older woman. “Your friend is still alive, just in a different way.”

  She nodded. “I believe it. I do.”

  “Take a sleeping pill,” Nidaba advised, but her voice was choked and barely audible. “The rest will do you good.”

  Sheila nodded, leaving the room, and Nidaba turned to George. “You may as well go to bed too,” she said. “You can barely keep your eyes open.”

  “I’ll wait for Nathan,” he said. “I don’t want to leave you alone. What if that bad lady comes back?”

  Nidaba looked around, spotted the dog lying at George’s feet. “You can leave your dog—what do you call her?”

  “Queenie,” George said proudly.

  “Well, you can leave Queenie here to protect me. She certainly looks up to the job.”

  “Oh, she is! She’s the best,” George said. He got out of his chair and crouched near the dog’s head, stroking her muzzle. “You hear that, Queenie? You have to stay here and watch out for Miss Nidaba. Okay?”

  The dog didn’t quite nod, but it was close.

  “Good girl,” George praised. Then he drank the last of his tea, which was, Nidaba guessed, two-thirds cream and sugar. He set the cup down again. “Good night, Nidaba.”

  “Good night, George,” she said. She watched him go, sipping her tea and trying hard not to hear Sheila’s words about Natum echoing in her mind. But they echoed anyway.

  To distract herself, Nidaba stared at the dog, who stared right back at her. It really was a beautiful creature, with broad shoulders, and a wide powerful chest. Feet like a bear, and a wide, blunt muzzle. She weighed close to a hundred pounds, or a bit less, and Nidaba imagined that if she turned on an intruder, she’d tear him to shreds in minutes. If she were so inclined.

  The dog rose and walked toward Nidaba, her eyes piercing. The hair on the back of her neck bristled upward, and a low, menacing growl came from deep in the beast’s massive chest.

  Nidaba blinked, and got to her feet, taking a step backward. “What is it, Queenie? What’s wrong with you?”

  The growl got louder as the dog crept closer, half crouching now as if she would spring.

  “There, now,” Nidaba said, backing further away, edging toward the door behind her. “Don’t you remember me? I thought we were going to be friends...”

  The door opened before she ever reached it. The growling ceased, and the dog eased her stance instantly. She looked up even as Nidaba turned around. And when the dog saw Nathan standing there, she seemed to relax. Then she turned and trotted away in the direction George had gone.

  Nidaba still had one hand pressed to her chest. “By the Gods, I thought the beast was going to eat me alive.”

  Frowning, Nathan came forward, shrugging off his peacoat on die way. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” She sighed, feeling ridiculous. “George told the dog to guard me. I guess the beast understands far more than I realized. She must have heard you coming before I did. She got all wrought up.”

  “Really?” He seemed surprised, staring after the dog. “She’s never acted at all menacing before.”

  “Well, she certainly did just now.” Nidaba shrugged. “Maybe she senses the danger in the air. That’s the only explanation I can think of. Once she saw it was only you at the door, she was fine again.”

  Nathan rubbed a hand over his chin. “Might not be such a bad idea to have a dog like that around the place.”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  He came closer and placed his hands on her shoulders, his eyes searching her face. “It frightened you, though. You’ve had a hellish day, haven’t you?”

  Lowering her gaze from the probing power of his, she said, “I’ve had worse.”

  “I know you have.”

  Drawing a breath, he released her. He fetched down another cup and poured himself some tea. “I think it’s time we talked, you and I. Don’t you?”

  “I suppose it’s inevitable that we do so sooner or later.”

  “Come on. We’ll go out onto the veranda where no prying ears will hear too much.” He took her arm and led her back through the dining room, into the front parlor, toward the library off to one side. But she stopped him and turning, stared up at the portrait above the mantel.

  “Do you like it?” he asked her.

  She couldn’t quite manage to look at him as she asked, “Why did you paint it, Natum?”

  He stood motionless. “I was afraid I might... forget you. Your face. Your eyes. I was wrong, of course, but...”

  She finally turned to him, but he shrugged and looked away.

  The veranda was through a set of French doors in the library. It was simply a cement pad, rounded and extending from the edge of the house. A railing surrounded it, and it sported a glass-topped umbrella-shaded table at its center and benches on its sides. Natum walked past the table, stopping beside the bench farthest from the house. He stood until she sat. Then he sat down beside her.

  He stared at her for a long moment, and finally said, “I hardly know where to begin. At the beginning?”

  “Begin at the end,” she said. “The beginning is too long ago to be important to us now.”

  “Not for me, Nidaba. The beginning was long ago, yes. And it’s painful as hell to revisit. But to me, it’s very important. Maybe... the most important part of my life.”

  She turned her head away.

  “Nidaba, we have to talk about what happened between us back then,” he said, touching her face, turning her to face him again. “Please.”

  Her eyes burned with unshed tears. “If you pound a nail into the heart of a sapling tree, it bleeds. It hurts, and it bleeds, but it survives. It lives and it grows. Layer upon layer, year upon year, until that nail is so deeply buried that it’s invisible. Oh, the tree knows it’s there. It’s still piercing the heart, after all. It’s still painful. But to remove it after so much time—don’t you see? It’s not possible. Not without cutting the tree down. Not without killing it.”

  “No. You’re wrong—”

  “You put this nail in my heart long ago, Eannatum. It has healed over. Don’t try to pull it out, because you’ll only start
the bleeding anew. Leave it. Just leave it.”

  “You are the one who left me.”

  “You are the one who married her.”

  He clenched his jaw. “I had no choice. You were the one who made me realize that.”

  “I know,” she said, about to argue that he did have a choice. He could have chosen her over his throne. A secret part of her had wanted him to do just that. To throw it all away just to be with her. Foolish, foolish notion. But why rake over these old ashes again? She sighed, met his eyes. “It would never have worked between us, at any rate, Natum. You obviously see things far differently from the way I do. I cherish my freedom, relish my immortality, and live fully within it. While you confine yourself, hide what you are, live as mortal.”

  “I’m as free as any man. I live this way because I choose to.”

  She shook her head. “You’re a prisoner, Natum. And this house is your prison, and this persona you’ve created, this Nathan King, is your jailer. It’s the same as before, don’t you see? Only then the prison cell was a gilded palace, a royal throne. Duty was your jailer then.”

  “I don’t see it that way, Nidaba.”

  “No, of course you don’t.”

  “If you’d let me explain...”

  “I do not care. It doesn’t matter now, Eannatum. In fact, all that matters just now is the enemy who has found me here. The one who is trying to kill me.”

  Nathan drew a deep breath. “I think I know who it is,” he said at length.

  “Do you?”

  “Yes. There was a woman here, looking for you. An immortal—I never touched her, but I sensed it. She claimed to be a friend.”

  “I have no friends.”

  “I thought as much. She said her name was Arianna. Arianna Sinclair-Lachlan.”

  Nidaba’s head came up quickly. In her mind’s eye, she saw her son. Nicodimus... and the young woman Nidaba had long blamed for his death. His second death. Her memory of the past year seemed to clarify all at once, flashing into place so brightly it was nearly blinding. Suddenly everything made perfect sense.