by Michele Hauf
Dane hissed. “I was a witch? How could I have not known? And my father came after me?”
“You weren’t willing to believe I was a witch when we first met, even though you work with our kind.”
“What else did you see?”
She knew he wasn’t going to like what she said next, but it could mean finally coming to terms with this whole situation.
“Your father was going to murder you,” she said.
Now Dane pushed up from the couch and strode through the grass with his hand at the back of his neck. He paced back toward her, flung out his hand in dismay, then shook his head and turned away. He was clearly struggling with yet another truth that could be accepted only by blind faith.
“That’s wrong,” he said. “You twist your own beliefs onto something you need to be true.”
“Dane, you now understand you’ve lived many lives. Why is it so difficult to believe your father could have once been so evil? You said you heard him say he was going to sacrifice something.”
“Yes but—I am not like my father!” he raged, pounding a fist against his chest. “And I never will be.”
He marched out the doorway, and moments later Eryss heard the kitchen door shut, followed by the rental car’s engine humming into motion.
“No, you’re not like Edison Winthur,” she said, alone in the conservatory. “But your original father? You could become something so much worse.”
* * *
Dane charged into the antiques store and spied Harold Stuart strolling down the aisle back near his office. “We need to talk.” He walked right up to the man, stopped and got an affirmative nod from him as Harold gestured toward his office door.
Once inside, Dane closed the door. “What do you know about Edison Winthur that you’re not telling me? About the baselard? You know what it’s capable of. Don’t you?”
Harold crossed his arms high over his chest, then with a raise of his brows, dropped his arms and nodded. “I’ve been waiting for you a long time, boy. Your father was never willing to take on the task of witch hunter, so I knew it wasn’t him but rather his son who would become my rightful heir.”
“Your...rightful...?”
“Every creature society has fictionalized is real. I know that. You know that. That’s why you do what you do, isn’t it? Protect the paranormals from human discovery.”
“How do you know about the Agency?”
Harold shrugged. “I make it a point to know a little about a lot when it comes to the paranormal. I have remained much the same, while you, you have changed. Drastically. For the better, of course. You might say I’ve been doing this for centuries.”
“Centuries? What are you?”
“Human. Just like you are. But I’ve been around a few times. Just like you and that witch who works across the street.”
Dane put up a palm to stop the man. Knowledge about the paranormal world aside, something didn’t add up. “Did you plan to get me here? How did you know? I was the one who found the record on the baselard and contacted you. I don’t understand.”
“I’ve been waiting a long time for you to return to me, my soul son.”
“Your soul son? What are you saying?”
“I was the man who fathered Ivor Svendson so many centuries ago. And your wife killed me.”
Chapter 25
“But how did you—” Dane paced the short stretch from the office door to the chair. “This is too much coincidence. You can’t be my—how do you know about Ivor? And now? I was recruited to the Agency...”
“I figured you’d come across the witch blade sooner or later. That thing has a way of finding you through the centuries. Or at least, after you decided to fight on the side of the good and not practice witchcraft.”
“Not practice witchcraft? But Eryss...” Had accused Dane—or rather Ivor—of being a witch. And his father. Harold could not be that same soul if he believed witchcraft evil.
“I’ve got time to talk about all this,” Harold said, “but I know you don’t. Thirtieth birthday and all.”
“How do you know about that?”
Harold shrugged, then splayed his hands before him in confession. “I’ve been keeping notes. Making sure my next incarnation finds her.”
Dane gaped at him. “How many times has Eryss killed you?”
“Just the once. But that’s all it took. The dark enchantment took hold of you and the dagger.”
“Dark enchantment? But it didn’t come from Eryss. She said—were you a witch? Were you going to sacrifice me, your son?”
Harold chuckled. “I’ve changed paths since then. I would never harm you, my soul son. Ever since I was stabbed by the bitch and the darkness seeped from my soul into the blade, I’ve been on a more righteous path.”
“Righteous? You mean killing witches?”
“I don’t murder. But as for you? Time to burn the witch, boy. Once and for all.”
Incensed, Dane gripped the old man by the throat and pushed him against a wall where sales ads and historical ephemera were pinned. “You are not my father. Edison Winthur died twenty-seven years ago.”
“I don’t always reincarnate as your father. In fact, I rarely do. Only three times that I’m aware of. Edison was just another soul caught in our story. Haven’t you had flashbacks? You know it’s true. You need to trust what you’ve seen. I know the witch knows you’re the one who has slain her through the centuries. That’s due to me, boy. My only goal each lifetime is to get that dagger in your hands and you standing before the witch. But this time you’ve got to do it right. Use fire!”
Dane released the man and spun, running his fingers roughly through his hair as he frantically tried to digest everything. Harold knew it all. And he had actually been the catalyst to bringing him and Eryss together so Dane could murder her?
Harold was Ivor’s father? The very man Alexandra had murdered, who had been the catalyst for Ivor killing her.
“From what I’ve seen in the flashbacks, I looked upon my father with pride. A man who was human, just like me.”
“In your original incarnation, you were not born human. Your mother was witch.”
“Then why marry her and have a child?”
“I began to practice the dark arts after our marriage. It intrigued me.”
“Intrigued you? To sacrifice...? Eryss tells me—”
“The witch lies to keep you on her side. She fears her death and she’ll say anything to prevent it. Where is the dagger? Why don’t you simply do it?”
“I am not a murderer!”
“Blood and revenge fuel your soul, boy. You want that witch dead, and you know it.”
“No! And the dagger is being melted down as we speak.”
“What? You cannot destroy that dark magic! It is infused with my intent and desire to avenge the woman who took my life!”
“Yeah? So why don’t you do it? You want her dead? You take her out.”
“The enchantment lives in your blood. That’s not my role.”
An enchantment that had somehow emerged when he’d found the dagger at eight years old. What would he have done had his mother not wrenched that hideous thing away from him then? Perhaps he would have made a choice to walk the world as a witch hunter—and know it.
“I’m not going to make that choice to fill such a role now. I can only thank you for bringing me here, where I met the most wonderful woman I have ever known. And now that the dagger is gone, we can get on with our lives. Stay away from Eryss and her friends, if you know what’s good for you.”
Dane opened the office door, but as he was leaving Harold said, “You can’t destroy that blade. It’ll find you. It always does.”
* * *
“Did Eryss come in?”
Upon seeing the redheaded Mireio polishing one of the brew tanks with a white cloth, Dane strode to the end of the bar in the brewery. Agitated after his conversation with Harold, he probably shouldn’t have walked straight over, but he needed to see Eryss. To h
old her. Because only she could make the world right. Because he—did he love her?
Mireio popped around and tugged at her short skirt as she eyed him with a flutter of lashes and a smile. “Nope. I thought you two would be together today. She’s been spending a lot of time with you.”
“Yes, we’ve been together a lot.”
“Her birthday is tomorrow.” The woman’s demeanor grew suddenly cold, and she narrowed her gaze at him. “I know what’s supposed to happen.”
Dane said, “I won’t harm her.
Mireio lifted a brow.
“Promise,” he reiterated. “But I left her this morning to visit with...” He gestured toward the window. The antiques store was directly across the way. A few people lingered in the middle of the street, but he paid them no mind.
Come back down to earth, he coached himself. Don’t let the crazy old man who thinks he was once your father rile you. “I thought I’d see if she had come in.”
“Just got a text saying she was stopping by. You want a beer?”
“No.”
Mireio walked over to the taps and filled a small glass they used for flights with a dark beer.
Dane glanced out the window again, to where a half dozen people stood before the brewery, facing the street. His attention was diverted by the clank of the glass on the bar top. “No, I’m not thirsty.”
“You should give it a try. It’s a new blend. Dark and chocolaty.”
“Maybe next visit.”
“Oh, come on.” She pushed the glass toward him.
Dane flinched. “What kind of spell did you put on that? And why would you even attempt such a thing with me?”
Mireio pressed her fingers to her chest, affronted. But she wasn’t that good of an actress.
“I’m not stupid,” he defended himself. “Why are you so eager for me to give it a try?”
“Sorry.” She expelled a sigh. “You’re right. I’m trying too hard. There’s just a touch of a love spell on that one.”
He gaped at her. “Seriously?”
“I want everything between you and Eryss to be good.”
He reached to clasp her hand and said, “It is good. I promise.”
“What about the witch blade with a mind of its own?”
“It’s been melted in a forge. Nothing can come between me and Eryss now.”
“That’s so romantic.” Mireio caught her chin in hand and cast a glance out the window. “Wait a second. Why is everyone...?” She rushed to the window.
Dane followed, now finding it odd that so many people stood outside. Some milled in the middle of the street, holding up their cell phones as if to record something or take pictures.
Mireio swung around and gripped him by the shirt. “You said it was melted!”
He peered over the top of her bright red hair, and when one of the people outside moved to the right, he saw it. The dagger hung suspended in midair in the middle of the street. And one man reached to touch it.
“No!” Dane thrust Mireio aside and ran out the door. “Don’t touch that! It’s dangerous!”
The people cleared a path for him as he made his way to the dagger—and almost grabbed it. A second before his fingers could curl about the hilt, Dane realized what would happen if he did touch it. He’d become a white-eyed, maniacal witch hunter. And this crowd of humans did not need to witness that. Nor did they need to witness a magical sword levitating in the middle of a city street.
The very job he did for the Agency—protecting humans from the truth—would not be breached right now. He had to rescue this situation. But how, without touching the dagger?
“It’s a trick, everyone!” He put up his palms in a placating gesture. “Advertising! For...the brewery’s next beer!”
“Pretty convincing trick,” someone said to his left. “Where are the strings?”
“It’s...” He searched his arsenal of lies and scientific reasoning for a way out of this. “Magnets!”
“Dane!”
He glanced over the conglomeration of curious faces and saw Eryss walking down the sidewalk. Shit. Talk about bad timing. He shook his head at her, hoping she’d get the hint not to approach.
He could feel the dagger’s energy coaxing him. Calling out to him to take the hilt in hand. To own the power it granted him.
To kill the witch.
Chapter 26
The crowd gathering in the middle of the street before the brewery startled Eryss. Yet this was Anoka. People did weird things all the time in the city. It was never odd to see a person having an extended phone conversation while planted in the middle of the street, causing cars to drive around them. Or even a ten-minute lip-lock outside the brewery doors? Commonplace. But what was going on now? Had a parade been scheduled that she hadn’t heard about?
Harold Stuart stood in the doorway of his shop, a smug smirk tightening his face. He saw her and made the sign of the cross. Really?
But when, amid the crowd, Eryss noticed the crop of glossy black hair with a curl that dashed across his eyebrow, she quickened her footsteps. People were shouting “Grab it!” and Dane was obviously trying to settle them down by waving his hands and telling them to leave, that it was only a trick.
“A trick?” Eryss pushed past a few people.
Then she saw the dagger suspended midair before Dane. Someone reached out to grasp for the hilt, and he grabbed the man’s wrist and admonished him not to destroy the trick. A trick? He must be trying to divert attention from the real magic. Oh, crap.
“I thought Malakai melted that in the forge?”
Dane must have heard her because he looked beyond a pair of heads topped with ski hats, and their gazes met. Desperation filled his dark brown eyes and he shook his head, pleading for her not to come closer. The dagger must be compelling him to take it in hand. And there was very little he could do about resisting. But he must be trying fervently to avoid the inevitable, for he didn’t want the crowd to witness what would happen should it come to that.
“Get away!” Eryss yelled. “That is a dangerous weapon!”
But her entreaty seemed only to excite the crowd, and they pushed in closer. There must be two dozen people standing about, and others were coming from around the corner where a trilogy of bars held reign. It was afternoon, a time the city was often busy with shoppers, even on frigid days like this one. What a nightmare!
Eryss glanced to the brewery. Mireio stood outside the door. She held up her hand and waved. “Can you grab it?”
Eryss shook her head. She couldn’t touch the thing. It would repulse her, surely, and then what a show the curious bystanders would see—and record on their cell phones. Shit. This was not good. But what sort of magic would work against the dagger’s? Dark? Malefic? Nothing that she could summon. The dark arts were out of her realm of experience.
So instead, she’d have to work on the crowd before Dane could no longer hold them back. Planting her feet and connecting to the earth, she quickly glanced toward Mireio and gave her a nod. Her friend understood, and returned the nod. Mireio raised her hands over her head, bringing her forefingers together.
Moving vita through her body and down through her feet and boots, Eryss pushed through the hard concrete slicked with ice crystals and sought the ground beneath. And once there, she harnessed the earth’s energy and pulled it up, warming the air and curling it about the legs and bodies of those standing in shocked curiosity.
Mireio’s magic summoned water, and suddenly Eryss heard sniffles and sobs. Everyone had begun to cry. Good one, Mireio.
With the emotional vibrations at their highest level, Eryss was able to whisper, “Forget what you’ve seen. Go home.”
And the crowd dispersed and wandered away, some hand in hand, comforting one another, and others walking off as if nothing odd had occurred. They simply went back to shopping.
Only when just she and Dane stood in the middle of the street did she hear him hiss, “I can’t resist much longer. Get away. Now.”
She didn’t need to be told twice. But it hurt her heart to leave him alone with such malevolent evil. “I’m sorry,” she said to him. “I love you, Dane.”
Eryss turned and ran for Mireio, grabbing her hand when she reached her and tugging her inside the brewery. And then she realized her mistake. Outside, Dane grabbed the dagger and tried to fling it away from him. But the hilt stuck to his grip as if glued there.
“He’ll come after you,” Mireio said.
“I just realized that. Let’s go out the emergency exit.” The twosome headed toward the back of the brewery. “We’ve got to at the very least lead him out of town and away from witnesses.”
And even as she unlocked the rear door and turned off the alarm, the front door opened to emit Dane. He looked about. Eryss tugged Mireio down the hallway of the Bank Building, in which the brewery was located. She paused at the door on the opposite side of the building, where she was parked across the street in the lot, and waited for Dane to make eye contact with her through the window at the back of the brewery. At the sight of his white eyes, she sucked in a breath.
“Let’s go,” she said in a wobbly tone. “I don’t know how to stop this, Mireio! That dagger is indestructible.”
The redhead sailed around the side of Eryss’s car and got in. Both their doors slammed shut. “This has been happening for centuries,” Mireio said. “If it’s a curse, there is a way to break it. You know that.”
“Right, but—” And in that moment, when she again made eye contact with the reluctant witch hunter, Eryss knew the answer. “Love.”
“What?”
A warm gush filled her heart. Tears spilled down Eryss’s cheeks. “I said it to Ivor in my flashback. Ivor is—was—Dane. Just as we’d killed one another, and enacted the curse, I said our love would save us. We just need to love one another.”
“Yeah? Well, while you’re feeling the love, would you please get us away from crazy sword-wielding witch hunter?”
“Right.” Eryss pulled away from the curb just as Dane swung at them. The blade tip cut across the driver’s door, making her wince—not at the damage to the vehicle, but because it felt like a cut to her very heart. “I do love him, Mireio. I really do.”
