by KB Anne
The man stepped in front of the girl as a breeze cut through the courtyard. Her hair moved with it. Caer stopped herself from gasping again. More than five years in hiding had taught her many lessons, one of them being, don’t make the same mistake twice. Caer blinked to ensure she wasn’t seeing things, but the black beneath the white was unmistakable. She reached for a tuft of her own hair and twirled it around her finger. The two were marked the same, but opposite.
She rolled onto her back and stared up at the sky. Mathair Mhór had once told her she was imbued with ancient magic, magic that was the product of a god. That was why Mathair Mhór worked so hard to hide Caer’s white tufts. That was why Balor was after her.
For the first time, the battle ended peacefully for all parties involved. Of course the brother did receive a bite to the arm. Gallean didn’t permanently maim him though. He bit him as a warning to demonstrate what the bear was capable of when provoked. And maybe Gallean wanted to test the man’s inner fiber—weak and cowardly when attacked or ferocious and aggressive. The man’s roar left no doubt.
Soon after the assault, the bear disappeared down the tunnel and the old wizard returned. It wasn’t often that the wizard revealed his weaker form—though those who knew of the wizard knew there was nothing weak about him.
Caer tugged on a tuft of her stained white hair and tucked it behind her ear, though it always managed to pop out whenever she tried to hide it. As the visitors conversed with Gallean, she learned that they had traveled to his keep through a seomra de rúin and that their physical forms would return at the next Shadow Moon to train with him. Her mind was drawn once again to the man with the green eyes. His easy smile, his tall, strong body . . . he didn’t resemble any of the village men. After quickly finding his key, which would enable him to leave the seomra de rúin, he chose to sit contentedly with the wizard while the girl stomped around the entire keep searching for hers. His eyes sparkled as he laughed with the wizard while the girl—his sister, Caer heard him say—searched everywhere for hers.
She watched from above for as long as she could until the girl approached the stairs to the second floor. Then Caer slid back into the shadows, slipped out the window, and climbed down the wall. She was reluctant to leave. It was the first time she’d watched anyone other than the wizard for longer than it took the bear to dispatch an intruder. The brother and sister were different too. Caer had spent many years with the sole companionship of Mathair Mhór, and now, she was alone. Her only company was the wizard who didn’t even know of her existence. It gave her comfort that she would have three companions to watch train in the future.
A great sadness crept over her when the flash of light poured from the windows. She knew that the mysterious couple had returned to their realm and that she’d have to wait for the Shadow Moon for their return.
For restless nights after, Caer couldn’t stop thinking about the girl and her hair and the man with the green eyes. She dreamt of him when she finally did sleep, and he was the first person she thought of when she woke up. She attributed her longing to her solitude, but a thought needled in her mind about the Shadow Moon.
4
A Howling Tea Time
Tonight we won.
Tonight Scott and I ensured a werewolf-not-shifting-and-trying-to-kill-me future. If we can hand out the nightlock-imbued crystals like party favors, and find Alaric and Lizzie, my future will be secure. And for the werewolves, the painful transitions from human to wolf to human can come to an end—at least for the ones wearing the crystals.
The Dark Moon ceremony was a success. The faint glow of the nightlock-imbued crystals in Scott’s basket makes me smile. The spell worked. We actually conducted magic without destroying anything or killing anybody.
By the gods, we can be taught.
Of course, Scott’s still afraid to touch them in the off chance that the spell can rub off, even though I’ve assured him a dozen times that the magic is inside the crystal—it isn’t superficial magic. He can be such a dork sometimes.
On our way home from the Dark Moon ceremony, I sensed someone following us long before they revealed themselves. The signature of a werewolf is unique from all other humans, and though I don’t know who it is, I know what it is.
“Friend or foe?” Scott whispers, clutching the crystal basket to his chest.
I cast out my mind in search of some indication that we either need to fight this stalker or ask him or her if they want to hang out. Of course, I hope it’s Lizzie so I can convince her I’m not her enemy. Preferably by peaceful conversation, but if necessary, by force. My vines should hold a werewolf, and I’ve become quite gifted in growing them. As if to prove my point, one gently taps me on the shoulder. Okay, so I don’t exactly have complete control over them yet.
“Well?” Scott whispers.
“Give me a minute.”
“You’ve had two.”
“Since when have you been so impatient?”
“Since gods have entered from the Otherworld, evil witches have tortured and tried to kill me, and now Lizzie has returned from the dead and Alaric and Breas are missing. Oh yeah, and there’s the potential rise of the Fomorians and the release of Balor, some Medusa wannabe who needs four people to lift his eyelid because he would like to turn the entire world to stone. Yeah, I think that’s the one that tipped the scales.”
I roll my eyes. The effect is lost in the darkness, but at least I know I did it. “That’s probably an exaggeration. I mean, how big can this guy be?”
“You saw Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.”
“You’re basing your knowledge of giants on a work of fiction?”
“That’s what you do half the time, and J. K. Rowling researched folklore.”
I cradle the Chalice of Healing in my hands. I still can’t believe it presented itself to me. “True, but there aren’t many references in pop culture about Druids or Celtic mythology, so let’s not make any assumptions. More of a wait-and-see approach. Or in the case of Balor, wait and not see.”
“I prefer to be ready on all accounts. I don’t like the idea of leaving this world unguarded while we train in the Shadow Realm.”
“We’ve got time. Besides, a portal or a rip between the worlds can’t occur until there’s a full moon and the stars align in a certain celestial pattern and there’s some major astrological event, and they all need to happen at once before nasty monsters can return from the Underworld.”
“You also said that evil villains seem to know when that kind of stuff happens, and from your obscure memories of him, your husband seems like the evilest.”
I punch Scott with my free hand while the other holds the Chalice of Healing. “Stop calling him my husband. It really makes me sick.”
“But he is, or at least was. Are there divorces in Celtic god-dom?”
“I have no idea.”
The signature of our follower fills my mind. “He’s close.”
Scott stiffens. “He? Could it be Alaric?”
The Chalice of Healing warms in my hands—or my hands are warming the Chalice of Healing, which may not be safe for the integrity of it—but Scott’s mention of Alaric makes me lose my train of thought. I focus on the signature.
“No, it’s not him.” Sadness cools my palms, extinguishing the heat with it.
The werewolf is upon us now. Scott doesn’t know that they’ll blame me for the loss of their alpha. That they’ll thirst for my blood for the sake of revenge.
I swallow my nerve and shout, “Show yourself!”
Madigan from Alaric’s band walks out from the tree line.
“Madigan, what are you doing here?”
Scott tenses next to me. He’s wondering if he can toss a crystal at him in case he turns.
He can’t turn until the full moon.
Are you sure?
Scott, trust me.
“Gigi, have you seen Alaric?” If he had a tail, it would be between his legs.
“I haven’t. Have you?
”
His large trusting eyes study me before shifting away. “I haven’t.”
He’s lying.
No duh.
“What’s going on, Madigan?”
He’s reluctant to share what he knows with us, but something makes him decide to. “There are rumors that you’re responsible for Alaric’s disappearance.”
So my fears are warranted.
You’re the Goddess of Prophecy. You often possess visions of the future.
And thank the gods Brigit decided to show up—and I mean that in the most sarcastic way possible.
Scott steps in front of me. “Why are they blaming my sister?”
Madigan shifts backward. He might be tall, but he’s low on the chain of command. He’s risking a lot by coming here—if it was his own decision.
“Madigan, this is Scott, my brother.”
“I . . . I didn’t know you had a brother.”
“He just got into town. He was at the bar the other night. Remember, the drunk guy on stage?”
Madigan glances at him again. “I thought you were taller. You seemed huge the other night.”
“Must have been the whiskey.”
They evaluate each other. Well, it’s more Scott deciding that Madigan is most likely not a threat. Madigan already knows his place in their relationship.
“Madigan, who’s blaming me?”
“Declan and his new girlfriend.”
Hope blossoms within me. Could Lizzie be his girlfriend? I mean two werewolves howling at the moon together—why not?
“What’s Declan’s new girlfriend’s name?”
“Maria.”
“The girl from the bar?”
I knew she was a slut and untrustworthy, I plant in Scott’s head.
I knew she was a slut too—that’s why I wanted to hook up with her.
You’re too good for her. Someday you’ll find your swan.
In this body, feathers don’t do it for me.
No, a large set of knockers do.
You said it, not me.
Madigan clears his throat as if he can tell we’re having a silent conversation directly in front of him and he’s politely waiting his turn. Scott and I really need to start restraining ourselves in front of other people. Neon signs shouting “God Here” would be less obvious. We both tilt our heads to encourage him to continue.
“I guess she wound up going home with him, and she never left. She’s really intense.”
The key to getting information from someone is to lull them into confidence. Madigan doesn’t completely trust me, but he trusts Alaric. I might not be able to read his mind because of his werewolf nature, but I can tell by his guarded body language. “Would you like to come back with us and have some tea?”
“Tea?” Scott says.
By Madigan’s expression I can tell he’s surprised too.
“Yes, tea. We could stand out in the middle of the countryside in the cold, or we could get comfortable by the fire and drink some tea.”
Do you think that’s a good idea?
Alaric trusts him. He might know something.
“Okay, let’s go get some ‘tea.’” Scott thinks I’m going to drug Madigan. It’s not a bad idea, but I’m pretty sure I can get what I need from him without it.
Madigan hesitates. “I don’t know. It’s late. I really should be getting back.”
Scott lays his hand on Madigan’s arm. “Come with us. Let’s make it coffee with shots of Baileys in it. Actually, let’s make it whiskey straight.”
Madigan glances between the two of us. With Alaric missing he’s unsure who to trust. Scott, sensing Madigan’s indecision, gives him a look that would be difficult for anyone to refuse. It’s a combination of “You will do as I say” intensity combined with Scott’s natural charm with a little something extra.
“Yeah, sure. That sounds great.”
See, no one wants tea in the middle of the night.
You compelled him.
What’s a little compellation among friends? Do you think he knows anything?
That’s why I invited him over. Plus, he seems lost.
So much for Maria.
You knew she was trouble.
Why do you think I asked her to dance? I needed some trouble.
She didn’t have enough feathers.
You’re never going to stop, are you.
Never.
* * *
Granda greets us when we get back to the cottage. “I’ve got a pot of water on. I thought we all could use a spot of tea.”
“So much for the whiskey,” Scott says in a low voice to Madigan.
He shrugs. “That’s okay. I really just wanted tea anyway.”
See?
Quiet, smart-ass.
How did Granda know we were coming? Does he have the gift of foresight like Clarissa?
“Children, you might be wondering how I knew you were bringing a friend in the wee hours of the night.”
I glance over at Scott.
I thought he couldn’t read minds.
He can’t. He studies body language.
Scott slumps over. What does this suggest?
That I need to whack you over the head with a cast iron skillet.
He straightens back up.
Granda reaches out to shake Madigan’s hand, and they exchange names. “I heard ya yammering all the way down the lane. Thanks be that all of Ireland didn’t wake up with the lot of you wandering the countryside in the middle of the night.”
Scott and I exchange raised eyebrows. Granda is yucking up the local Irish accent for Madigan, sounding more like a man at the pub than a scholar at the cathedral.
And it works. Madigan’s shoulders instantly relax, and now that he’s properly lulled, Granda abandons the vernacular niceties and gets to the crux of Madigan’s visit. “I understand you’re lost.” He pours three mugs of tea and hands them to each of us.
“I wouldn’t say I’m lost. I know how to get home from here.”
Granda places the tips of his pointed fingers under his chin. “And where might home be?”
Madigan clears his throat and looks away.
“You’ve been to the meeting place underground, haven’t you.”
Madigan leans forward, preparing to stand. “I should leave.”
Granda reaches over and grips his knee. “You don’t need to go anywhere. You’re safe here.”
“I’m safe here,” he repeats.
Is he compelling him?
I think so.
I didn’t think non-god magic types could do that.
Granda is very skilled. We don’t really know the extent of what he’s capable of.
“Now tell me, Madigan. Why are you here?”
“Madigan’s eyes glaze over. Maria sent me out to search for Gigi.”
So he was lying to us. That’s a shocker.
“Why?”
“She said she killed Alaric.”
Tears spring to my eyes at the mere thought of Alaric dead and me having any hand in it. My entire body shudders with the effort of preventing a mental breakdown. Maria thinks I’m capable of killing Alaric? She didn’t even know him before the other night.
“You may speak freely, Gigi. He’ll not remember what you say.”
I glance at Scott.
“Go ahead, Gigi. We have to trust Granda.”
“What did you do, spell him?”
“I slipped him an honesty spell in his tea.”
Scott pushes his mug away. “Did you spell me too? I thought we were over that.”
“You and Gigi are drinking simple black tea.”
I smell the mug, then smell Madigan’s. I definitely can tell that something’s been added to it. “Violets and cherry blossoms?”
Granda nods. “Well done.”
I place my hand on Madigan’s to establish a stronger connection. Between the tea and my own magic, we’ll get some answers. “Madigan, why does Maria think I killed Alaric?”
His pup
ils grow to black discs, voiding the remaining blue of his irises. He reminds me of a demon, but I’m not afraid. He’s completely under my power right now.
“The night Alaric went missing, she said she saw you at the Cathedral with him. It was the last time anyone saw Alaric.”
“What else did she say?”
“She said that you were evil, and you had to be stopped.”
“How did she find the pack?”
“Most of us live in a house on the outskirts of Kildare, close to Alaric. She showed up at our door the night he disappeared.” As he finishes speaking, his face screws up in pain.
I rest both my hands on his so we’re face to face. “You don’t know how she found the house. Why? Is it spelled?”
He jerks his head up and down.
“And you let her in?”
He winces but forces the words out. “No, Declan did.”
His body twitches like he stuck his hand in a socket. His arms and legs start to spasm as if what he’s sharing is in direct conflict with someone else’s wishes. Red blotches erupt across his face and neck, soon followed by red welts.
“Go on,” Granda murmurs and begins a counter spell.
Scott’s eyes widen in alarm. Maleficium is afoot.
“Why did Declan let her in?”
“She whispered something to him—I couldn’t hear what she said, but it made him kneel in front of her. She rested her hand on his head, then he rose and turned to us.”
Whatever counter spell Granda cast seems to be working because the welts recede back into his skin. Madigan’s no longer twisting in pain when he speaks.
“And what did he say?”
“He said that Alaric was dead and that you killed him.”
The thought of Alaric dead gets me every freaking time. I swallow the lump before continuing.
“And you believed him?”
“Yes,” he says in a small voice.
“Why?”
“Alaric was our alpha.”
