by KB Anne
Mathair Mhór had led her to believe that the Land of Shadows was safe. That it was the only place truly protected from Balor. The wizard wouldn’t leave Caer exposed if she was in danger. He was powerful—that was why he could see the space between. That was how he had seen her.
To prove her theory, she pulled the space around her as she always did when she disappeared and picked up a log. Indeed the log vanished along with the rest of her and didn’t return until she placed it in the fire pit. Feeling reassured about her gift, she blew on the fire again. Red embers erupted, soon replaced by flame.
Her mind traveled back to another fire.
First the smoke had crept into her nostrils, waking her from a deep sleep on the rocky ground. She had leapt up, sword in hand, prepared to battle whatever intruder, be it beast or man, encroached upon her while she slept. She’d never intended to spend the night on the mountain after Mathair Mhór read her future card. She knew better than to leave herself exposed to the elements or an attack, but she was so angry with the Lovers card. How could a man save her? She was capable of taking care of herself. To prove it, she had stubbornly decided to stay out until the moon rose. But she must have fallen asleep. A soft breeze blew deadly promises, reminding her why she had awakened.
It was happening.
It had taken two years, but Balor had finally found her.
She’d never understood why Mathair Mhór forbade her from swimming or bathing in the open, but at that moment she knew. She was the reason Mathair Mhór’s hut was burning. The laughter surrounding the innocent game of hide-and-seek had soon been replaced by screams as the children had run away from her in the water. Rumors of her appearance had spread across the land like the fire now consuming the place where she’d found sanctuary. The place she called home.
Sword drawn, she had sped down the mountain, but she’d been too late. Nothing remained of the hut or Mathair Mhór. Even Nimblefoot was gone. Balor had burned everything in his path to get to her, and he wouldn’t stop hunting until he found his prey.
Caer pulled out her knife and dragged it across the stone, but mostly she stared at the flames, wondering if what Gallean had said was true. Were the brother and sister the only ones who could help her?
9
Nothing to See Here
Three days.
In three days Scott and I leave for the Shadow Realm.
In three days, at the peak of the Shadow Moon, Scott and I will take a portal and begin training with Gallean. If we don’t find Alaric and Lizzie by then, I fear I will lose any chance of getting them back.
Three days is all I have left. It needs to be enough.
And who had been in the seomra de rúin with us? A movement out of the corner of my eye drew my attention away from Scott and the crazy-ass bear. That’s when I saw her. And then the bear had let out an I-will-eat-you-and-like-it roar, and my focus shifted back to trying to stay alive and keeping Scott from becoming the main meal of Yogi’s picnic basket.
I had forgotten all about her until now. Clarissa and Granda told me that only imagined objects will manifest themselves in a dreamscape. Other than Gallean, no other living thing can enter or exist in that space, or at least those are the basic rules. But I know better than anyone that rules are meant to be broken.
Will she pose a threat to us when we arrive in the Shadow Realm? I hope not. The fact that Scott and I can barely contain our magic in our own world when our emotions run wild makes me less than optimistic that we’ll have any hope of accomplishing much of anything in the Shadow Realm. Throw in an unknown entity and I’m not particularly psyched about the idea of leaving our own world behind. Especially with Alaric and Lizzie still missing. But Scott believes that Gallean can help us. He’s trying not to be selfish about it, but he’s latched onto Clarissa and Granda’s notion that Gallean will be our magical savior. Our only hope. Read: his last hope. He wants Gallean to help him.
And after the whole swimming-tourist incident, I guess I might need some help too.
Madigan climbs up the steep slope of the fairy mound to stand next to me. He stares off into the distance, the same direction I’m looking, but whereas I’ve disappeared into my own head, he’s wondering what could possibly be captivating my attention. He’s much easier to read now that we’ve spent a few days together. After several long minutes, he breaks the silence. “What are we looking at?”
I smile up at him. He adds a nice distraction from the stench of all the shite I tend to step in. “Sometimes I drift off into my head and think.”
I don’t know why I tell him this. I keep my innermost self shut off from most people. Even those closest to me I’ve lied to, but I’ve never even laced the truth with Madigan. I’ve always been open with him. He is the closest connection I have to Alaric, and that bond makes me want to tell him everything. To be open with him. When Madigan trusts someone, he will do anything for them, and now he trusts me—a concept that is fresh and new to me.
He pats my head like I’m his favorite pet. “Sometimes I drift off too, but we’ve got to find Alaric, and from what I can see, he’s not lounging on a stump waiting for us to find him.”
“Right you are.”
And I realize another reason why I like Madigan so much. He doesn’t treat me like a goddess, even if it is just a reincarnated one. Scott, Clarissa, Granda, and all the other coven members treat me differently, even if they don’t mean to. Scott, of course, is gifted in giving attitude back to me, but then in his next breath he cracks a goddess comment. Madigan knows I’m Brigit reincarnated—Declan and Maria told him—but he’s not affected by it. I like that about him.
He rubs his hands together. “So, let’s get to it.”
Scott wanders over from the other side of the fairy mound. “Another tracking spell?” His tone rings with disapproval.
“Yes,” I respond tightly.
Scott isn’t in agreement with me about how much magic I’m sharing with Madigan, but he promised not to argue about it. Not to mention that a quick spell on my part ensured he can’t bring it up with me ever again. It was one I remembered from the grimoire I’d found in Gram’s attic. The very same grimoire that had briefly twisted Lizzie into an obsessed, psycho, dark-magic witch. After it had disappeared from the school attic following Lizzie’s little exorcism on Kensey, I assumed that the grimoire was gone. But now, with the discovery of Breas’s true nature and what he’s capable of, I’m ninety-nine percent certain that he stole it along with Kensey. I don’t care much about what he plans for Kensey—she was an empty-headed bobblehead in Vernal Falls with a diabolical need to make my life miserable—it’s what he plans to use or has already used the grimoire for that concerns me. If I knew more about tracking spells, I could track the grimoire, and by default, Breas, and by accessory, Alaric, and by double added bonus, Lizzie.
Madigan hands me Alaric’s shirt. It’s the third article of clothing we’ve used to track him, and as of yet, we’ve been unsuccessful. I’ve also been unsuccessful in taking in a deep inhalation of Alaric’s delicious scent before I use it for tracking. And not because it doesn’t smell like him—I’m sure it does—but because of the judgy eyes of my brother and the becoming-familiar-but-not-quite-that-familiar eyes of Madigan.
“Scott, can I have the map?”
He rolls his eyes as he reaches into his back pocket and withdraws the folded piece of paper. “It’s not going to work.”
I grind my teeth. Ever since our field trip to Newgrange, our relationship has been strained. He thinks I went too far when I compelled the tourists, and even though it turned out okay in the end—mostly—he’s been pissed about it and impatient to get to Gallean’s. That disastrous day also reinforced Granda and Clarissa’s belief that Gallean is the only one who can handle training us.
But still, a tracking spell is harmless. Except for the risk that Madigan might be caught sneaking into Alaric’s cottage since Maria seems to have taken up residence there.
“Did anyone see you?”
I fondle the shirt, trying not to imagine me ripping it off of Alaric.
Madigan slouches, shoving his hands in his pockets. My stomach knots. He looks guilty of something. I pray to the rest of the gods that he didn’t get caught or reveal our plans to anyone from his pack. I’ve put a lot of faith in him based solely on Alaric. Alaric never actually mentioned anything about Madigan’s trustworthiness, but my gut leads me to believe that Madigan is honest and dedicated to Alaric. Then again, my gut proved to be unreliable back in Vernal Falls before we knew that witches, werewolves, and magic existed. I’ve changed a lot since then. Hopefully my gut has too.
Shit, Scott thinks. I told you we couldn’t trust him.
“Did somebody see you?”
Madigan’s cheeks grow blotchy.
“Out with it, Maddie,” I say, adopting Alaric’s nickname for him. Right the fuck now, I mentally add, not wishing to offend either a sensitive soul or a downright backstabbing bastard whose ass I will kick before turning him over to Scott for another ass-kicking.
“Maria and Declan were otherwise engaged when I walked into Alaric’s room.”
My stomach rolls over but for a much different reason. “They were having sex in his bed?!”
He winces, backing away from me. I didn’t mean to shout at him but, my gods, Alaric and I were never able to do anything in his bed. We were ripped apart far too many times. The one and only time I was in his bed was the night we first met at Hell’s Gate. We were strangers. Well, at least he was a stranger to me—though he never did feel strange to me. I guess even then I recognized him from a past life or felt his familiar presence from Metropol in Pittsburgh or when he watched me at the football game or when he took me home after Breas almost killed me on the motorcycle . . . Whenever something bad happened, he was there to take care of me. And now, he’s gone, and Declan and Maria are having sex in his bed.
“They’re getting it on? Lucky them,” says Scott, the guy who isn’t looking to have a relationship with anybody. Although apparently he’d like a toss in Alaric’s bed with Maria.
Madigan’s face scrunches up. Clearly he’s uncomfortable with sex talk. I applaud myself for not cursing at him—I probably would have made him cry.
“I wouldn’t say they’re having sex. It’s more like she’s taking from him and he’s letting her.”
“You mean she’s blowing him?” Time to get out of the prude closet, Madigan.
His face turns beet red. It might actually explode. “No, I wouldn’t say that either. It was more like he was lying on the bed naked, and she was straddling him, but her clothes were on. It was like she was taking energy from him.”
Scott and I glance at each other. Madigan knows some things about magic, but he doesn’t know everything. And he just unknowingly revealed that Maria must be one of Carman’s pupils that Granda was worried about. Calliope and Carman might be gone, but evidently, she did train others.
Clarissa called Carman an energy vampire, I plant in Scott’s mind.
What the feck is that?
Someone who drains energy from others to add to their own power and to keep them young and to give them power.
Scott shakes his head as if trying to rid himself of this supernatural magical nonsense that continues to settle around us. “What did they do when they saw you?”
I didn’t think it was possible, but Madigan looks even more sheepish than before.
“Well, I . . . um . . .” he shoves his hands into his pockets.
I’ve never been a very patient person, but now, with Alaric and Lizzie missing, I am at the freaking end of my rope. And so is Scott.
“Out with it,” Scott says. “Just get to it. What did they do when they saw you?”
“Well, you see . . .” he starts, then pauses.
I want to punch him in the face or kick him in the ass, but that’s probably not the best way to get him to talk. So instead, and I’m quite proud of myself for thinking of this, I reach out my hand and touch his skin to my skin and think, Tell us.
“I . . . I can go into places, and people don’t notice me.”
Scott and I both look at each other and then him. We’re both thinking the obvious. He’s almost seven feet tall and weighs at least two hundred fifty pounds. There is nothing about him that could sneak into a room and not be noticed.
“Why can’t they see you, Madigan?”
“So, you know that I’m a werewolf, right?”
We haven’t talked about his werewolf nature since that night in Granda’s cottage, but I supposed we all came to a silent understanding, and now we try to put our complete faith in each other. Or at least Madigan and I do. Scott’s surprisingly more skeptical.
“Go on,” Scott encourages him.
“Well, before I became a werewolf, I was able to sneak into places without anybody noticing me.”
“And how do you do that?”
“I pull the energy around me, and something shifts . . . and I’m able to go into places unseen.”
“You mean to say that you can become invisible?” I mean, sure I’d love to have an invisibility cloak, but being able to do it on my own? I don’t think so.
“Be nice, Gigi,” Scott says. “If he says he can become invisible, then he can become invisible. I believe you, Madigan.”
Leave it to Scott to take the diplomatic approach.
Invisible ass-kisser.
Just see what happens. I am not just a pretty face.
Madigan looks from me to Scott and back to me again. “I know you’re having a hard time believing me. It’s probably better if I show you.”
“Yeah, you do that,” I snap at him. It’s not that I mean to take out my anger and frustration on Madigan, but to say that he can become invisible? Come on.
Madigan visibly takes a shaky breath. I feel like it’s important to point out that it was a visible breath.
“I’ve never done it with anyone watching before.”
Scott rests his hand on his shoulder. “Do you want us to turn around?”
Quit babying him.
Listen, if he can become invisible, do you know how much of an asset he could be?
He’s got a point there.
“Sure, Madigan. We’ll turn around.”
And Scott and I turn our backs. I roll my eyes. I still can’t believe I’m indulging this giant, but whatever. If Scott says he could be useful, I’ll do it.
“You can turn around now,” Madigan says.
We do, and he’s . . . he’s . . . gone.
10
Two of Cups
The pain of an empty stomach didn’t subside as she slept, but that was not what woke Caer. Balor came to her. The giant pirate man with the eye patch often haunted her dreams, but last night she remembered something of the time before Mathair Mhór had found her curled up along the shoreline of Lake of the Dragon Mouth. She remembered Balor staring at her through the tiny crack in the wall just before he sliced a man’s throat. But it was not just any man’s throat. It was her father’s. For years she’d buried the horrors of that night inside the deepest recesses of her memories, but her day spent in the company of Gallean—after years of solitude—stirred emotions in her that tore the hinges off the locked door. And now that it was open, she didn’t know what would escape.
With her heart trying to beat a hole out of her chest, she fell back into a fitful sleep. This time Balor wrapped a mighty hand around her throat and squeezed the life out of her.
Hours later, the ghost of his hand still clung to her neck.
She paused to steady her breath as she crossed the first border to the keep. It would not do well to worry about a past she barely remembered. Survival was all she knew, and soon she’d learn the means with which to kill the monster and end his hunt of her.
The pheasant swung back and forth from her hip. She’d found it this morning in the snare she had set the day before. She didn’t know if Gallean’s bear nature dictated an appetite for berries and fruit rather than fresh-caught g
ame, but she brought it as tribute.
Caer still found it beyond comprehension that the wizard had sent Mathair Mhór to her. Tears welled in her eyes. She loved that old woman and still mourned her passing. It annoyed her that Gallean had waited until thoughts of killing the brother and sister stirred within her to reveal that he knew of her existence. He did seem ready to train her though. She would take that as positive sign.
As Caer passed through the third and final barrier, Gallean stood at the entrance to his keep.
“Thank you for bringing breakfast,” he said, removing the pheasant from her belt. She was relieved that her concerns about him not eating meat were unwarranted.
The sight of the wizard calmed her. The last remnants of her troubled sleep disappeared as she followed him through the tunnel. She didn’t know why the gruff wizard calmed her nerves. He didn’t hug or speak to her gently. He laid no magic spell upon her. She supposed she craved company more than nourishment. That’s why she had waited to eat the pheasant.
A heavy cauldron sat amidst hot red logs in the fire pit. The wizard had been expecting her. Mathair Mhór always had a fire ready along with the proper utensils needed to skin or pluck whatever prey Caer brought home.
Gallean plunged the bird into the boiling pot of water to scald the feathers, making it easier to pluck. “How did you rest last night?”
“Not well.”
“And what troubles the young warrior?”
It would be easy to lie to him and not mention the truth about her past, about who was after her, but she was sure the wizard already knew.
“I was haunted by the death of my father.”
He sat on a log and quickly pulled at the feathers. “You witnessed your father’s death?”
