Concealed Special Edition

by Christina Bauer

  Wyatt stopped before me and set his hands on his hips. He now wore yellow calfskin gloves to match his wagon wheels. I suppose that was one change, at least. “Can this be?” he asked. “Is this my long-lost neighbor Elea?”

  I schooled my features into a look of calm. “Yes, I’ve returned.”

  “You look quite the lady now.” Wyatt stared me down from head to toe. His thin tongue flickered across his lips, a movement that was both unnecessary and disgusting.

  My eyes widened. All thoughts of avoiding my temper evaporated. “Isn’t that your wife and two children back in your wagon? I can’t believe you’re disrespecting them in this way. They’re almost within earshot, and you’re eyeing me like I’m a slab of fresh meat.”

  Wyatt glanced over his shoulder. A small smile rounded his pink lips. “Some women know their place, you know.” He raked his hand through his white-blond hair. “If only you’d learned that, Elea, then you wouldn’t be alone. No man has put a ring on your finger, I see.”

  On reflex, my hand went to my throat. Under my gown, I still wore my mating ring from Rowan on a chain around my neck. I told myself that I’d throw it away. Tomorrow, perhaps.

  Wyatt’s smile widened. “Well?”

  “My personal life is no business of yours.”

  Wyatt took a step closer. His grin disappeared, and a sick kind of menace oozed off him. “It will be my business, all right. My wife lets me do whatever I like. Some night, I’ll walk by that little cottage of yours. A lonely woman like you can’t afford to pass up some company.” His eyes narrowed. “You will open the door for me.”

  I’d never had a lot of control when I was around Wyatt. What little I had today snapped. Raising my left arm, I started to pull Necromancer energy into my body. It was beyond time I cast a serious spell to shut this man’s mouth, once and for all.

  Wyatt pointed at my hand. “You’re still practicing that death magick? Knew it! No one wants people like you around.”

  I gritted my teeth. By the Sire. I was playing right into his plan yet again. The local farmers were Forgotten Ones, Commoners without magick. They’d almost had me kicked off my own land when Wyatt told them I was a rogue Necromancer. What had I opened myself up to?

  The gallop of horses’ hooves echoed through the air. Wyatt and I both turned to see someone riding toward us on a black steed. Even from a distance, there was no mistaking the man’s halo of golden hair.

  Philippe.

  I couldn’t help but smile. I hadn’t been able to say goodbye to Philippe after the battle at the Montagne estate. My chest warmed. He’d tracked me down. Philippe pulled his horse up to my side, dismounted, and took stock of the situation. I could almost hear the clockwork gears of his mind spinning.

  Wyatt frowned. “Is this your man? I thought you were alone.” His voice deepened. “We had an understanding, Elea.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You demanded that I open my door to you. I never agreed to it, which is what makes you a menace to all women.” I gestured to the cart. “I pity your poor wife.”

  Philippe strode to my side and wrapped his arm possessively around my waist. “Hello, darling. Sorry I’m late.” Before I could think, he planted a gentle kiss on my lips. “Do I need to kill this fool for you?”

  In that moment, I couldn’t remember being happier to see anyone in my life.

  Wyatt gulped. “Kill me? In front of my wife and children?”

  Philippe chuckled. “That’s someone’s family, but not yours. Your brother’s perhaps?”

  “But… I…”

  “Don’t bother to deny it. As I approached, the little boy was pointing in the opposite direction and asking for his da. Clearly, it’s not you.” Philippe pursed his lips. “Or should I ask them if they belong to you? The lady seems like the type who won’t tolerate liars.”

  I glanced over to the woman. Indeed, she was glaring at Wyatt. Clearly, she knew his ways as much as I did. All of a sudden, the morning was looking up. I leaned my head against Philippe’s chest. “Darling, how I’ve missed you.”

  Philippe set his hand on the pommel of his sword and focused on Wyatt. “Here’s what happens next. You walk away and never speak to my woman again. In return, I won’t run you through with my blade. Do we have an agreement?”

  Wyatt mumbled something unintelligible and rushed back to his cart. Within a matter of seconds, he was rolling away. What a beautiful sight.

  I watched the wagon grow smaller down the road and wanted to cheer. “You handled that well.”

  Philippe shrugged. “All in a day’s work of protecting my lady.”

  I stepped away from Philippe’s embrace. “About that.”

  “Please.” Philippe rolled his eyes. “Don’t give me some speech about how we don’t belong together. All I ask is the chance to prove something to you.” A mischievous light danced in his deep blue eyes.

  “And what would that something be?”

  “You’ve been spending months with the King of Gloom. I’ve been carefully waiting for my chance, and at last, it’s here. This is my opportunity to keep you company as you settle into your new life, and if possible, have a torrid love affair at the same time.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “This is your plan, eh?”

  “Brilliant, isn’t it? You need a break from all the overblown seriousness with Genesis Rex. Mindless enjoyment… That’s what I recommend. I’m the perfect man for the job.”

  The offer was tempting. The gods knew I could use the company. I worried my lower lip with my teeth, debating if this was a good idea.

  Philippe stepped closer again. I was weakening and he knew it. “Besides,” he said smoothly. “I’ve already been you naked. We’re halfway there.” He offered me his arm.

  “This is a farm, Philippe. Not a Royal mansion.”

  “Oh, I might even do physical labor if required.”

  “You? Actual work?”

  “I’m quite strong. Although my best muscles don’t show in this outfit.” I knew he was referring to more than his velvet longcoat. Cheeky.

  “That was terrible.” I still couldn’t help smiling, though. “Tell me, do your charms work on other women?”

  “Inevitably. Still, why not find out for yourself?” He wagged his elbow in my direction.

  I shifted my weight from foot to foot. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  Philippe lowered his voice. “In all seriousness, Elea. You need a friend. Let me make you smile.”

  Those words made my decision clear. I did need a good smile from time to time. “All right.” I wrapped my hand around his forearm and together, we walked up the hill toward Braddock Farm. I gave Philippe’s arm a gentle squeeze. “Thank you for finding me, by the way.”

  “I could say the same to you, you know.”

  “You could?” Philippe seemed to be getting awfully serious, all of a sudden.

  “That’s a conversation for another day. Come, let’s enjoy a pleasant stroll in the sunshine.”

  I glanced about. Philippe was right. The sun had fully risen and burned off the last of the clouds. I’d been so concerned with Wyatt, I hadn’t even noticed. Now, the forest’s leaves gleamed like emeralds under a sapphire-blue sky. This was the life I remembered: my farm, a lovely landscape, and the chance to make something grow.

  I was coming home. At last.

  —The End—

  The adventure continues with CHERISHED, Book 3 in the Beholder series. Read on for a sample chapter!

  Also By Christina Bauer

  CHERISHED

  The adventure continues with CHERISHED, Book 3 in the Beholder Series.

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  The kick-ass paranormal romance with more than 1 million copies sold!

  FAIRY TALES OF THE MAGICORUM

  Don’t miss these modern fairy tales with sass, action, and romance that USA Today calls a ‘must-read!’

  DIMENSION DRIFT

  DIVERGENT meets OCEAN’S EIGHT in this dystopia
n adventure!

  CHERISHED Sample Chapter

  In the last three months, I hadn’t raised the dead, animated any skeletons, or cast a single kill spell. For me, that was an achievement. After all, I was a Grand Mistress Necromancer turned farm girl…And I loved my new life.

  Mostly.

  Sometimes.

  All right. In complete honesty, I was dying to cast a silencer spell right now. The reason was simple—Gail and Lizzie Dunkel had joined me for a wagon ride into town.

  “Who do you think we’ll meet in the village?” asked Lizzie brightly. She and her twin sister flanked me on the driver’s bench. The pair both had big blue eyes, tanned skin, long blonde hair, and curvy figures. They even wore matching green gowns. I was their opposite: long dark hair, brown eyes, porcelain complexion, and slim build.

  “Perhaps the widow Feyer or the Hartmann boys,” replied Gail. The two went on to list other farm families we might encounter. Their chatter was high-pitched and soothing, like a pair of happy birds. Still, I ached to cast my spell. Why? Without it, the sisters would eventually ask me to join their conversation.

  In my life, magick came easily. But small talk? Not at all.

  My horse Smokey took a familiar turn into an orchard. Bright morning sunlight gleamed off the trees.

  “What beautiful apples,” sighed Lizzie.

  “They look delicious,” added Gail. She rubbed her stomach. “How I’d love to stop and try one.” She stared at me pointedly. After all, I was holding the reins to Smokey.

  Even so, we weren’t stopping. The fruit looked too waxy and perfect, which meant this orchard had been hit with freeze blight. Sure, the apples looked gorgeous. But once you bit in, you’d find the colorful shell was filled with foul white goop. Yes, there was still an apple in the milky slop, but it wasn’t anything you’d want to eat—more of a small, gray and disgusting lump. Most decidedly not delicious. I gently flicked my reins so Smokey would move a little faster.

  Lizzie fluttered her lashes at me. “Can’t we please stop, Elea?”

  I pretended not to hear her question.

  Gail nudged me in the ribs. “You do talk, don’t you?”

  I straightened my spine. What was I afraid of, exactly? Not so long ago, I rode through far more dangerous woods than these, all in the hopes that bandits would attack me. Plus, I raised thousands of Necromancers from the dead. I even exiled none other than Viktor, a fearsome mage who could wield the hybrid magick of both Creation Casters and Necromancers. Back then, I feared no one—I was a Grand Mistress Necromancer on a mission. Now, I was merely an ex-mage trying to chitchat with some other farm girls.

  Small talk. How hard could that be?

  “We aren’t stopping.” I nodded to the trees. “Those are covered in freeze blight.”

  The girls began gasping and waving their arms in panic.

  I ground my back teeth. As it turned out, small talk was rather hard.

  “Freeze blight,” cried Lizzie. “Oh, no! It couldn’t have hit our shire.”

  “This is terrible,” added Gail. “There will be no food this winter. We’re all going to die.”

  Lizzie gripped my upper arm. “You’re just teasing…Aren’t you?”

  A long pause followed in which I silently cursed my friend Philippe. This had all been his idea. He’d urged me to transport the Dunkel sisters in what he called his Elea Stops Frightening The Locals plan. I’d tried to argue my way out of it, but for some reason, it was impossible to win a verbal battle with Philippe. Now, I was stuck answering Lizzie’s question.

  I kept my features carefully level. My Necromancer training taught me to mask my emotions. “I’m sure we’ll all be fine.” Mostly I said this because I could always cast spells that would kill the blight and speed the harvest. But I’d only do that if things got really dire. One rotten orchard wasn’t enough to break my vow against magick.

  Here was my issue. My parents left me Braddock Farm. It was all I had to remember them by. I wanted to honor their legacy and become a farm girl once more. My best chance to do that was in giving up on magick altogether. “Perhaps we should talk about something else?” I asked.

  “I love this idea,” said Lizzie. “How delightful that you wish to join our conversation.” Lizzie looked so please, I almost felt guilty for not wanting to chat with her. Almost.

  “Let me think.” Gail tapped her tiny pointed chin. “Ah, I have it. Elea, what’s your favorite way to bake a barley loaf?”

  Barley loaf? That’s a thing?

  “I don’t bake.”

  Lizzie stared me, slack jawed. “Surely you’ve made apple tarts?”

  “No.”

  “Bran muffins?”

  “No.”

  “Spiced pie?”

  “No.” How many things did most farm girls bake? For my part, I ate whatever Mabel and Sam had ready. The pair had been watching over my farm while I was out adventuring this past year. They’d stayed on after I returned, mostly because they were excellent farmers. Mabel kept a perpetual pot of stew over the hearth.

  “What about porridge?” asked Gail.

  Relief washed through me. I was about to answer that, Yes, I know how to make porridge, when Lizzie elbowed her sister in the rib cage. “Hush, Gail. Everyone knows how to make porridge.” She leaned forward on the driver’s bench in order to catch my eye. “What do you make that’s special?”

  “Nothing you’d like to hear about, I’m afraid.” I was trying to keep my stories about Necromancer spells to a minimum. My tales tended to frighten everyone except Philippe.

  “Please,” said Gail. “We know you aren’t a witch these days.”

  “I’ve never been a witch,” I said slowly. “I’m a Grand Mistress Necromancer.”

  “Right,” said Lizzie. She and Gail shared a long look. I got the feeling I’d made a social blunder somewhere along the line, but I couldn’t think where. No self-respecting Necromancer tolerated being called a witch. Witches were hacks who performed black magick at travelling faires. Mages like me spent years mastering our skills, and we never used our powers for evil.

  “Well,” said Gail. “Tell us what things you made as a Necromancer.”

  My mood lifted. Fine. If they want the truth, they’ll get it.

  “I’m quite good at animating skulls.”

  Lizzie popped her hand over her mouth. “Skulls.”

  The shocked look on her face was just too precious. “That’s right. And I always cover mine with gemstones. It makes for a nice effect, especially when the eye sockets glow while they’re talking.”

  More silence. I may have pushed that too far. It was all part of my Zuchtlos nature, which was what Necromancers called someone who was impetuous. I decided to steer the conversation onto safer ground. “Philippe said nice things about both of you, by the way. I’m so glad he suggested we spend time together.”

  Another long and meaningful stare passed between the sisters. I almost wanted to offer to let them sit side by side. After all, they had to lean forward to gawk around me.

  Lizzie’s eyes narrowed. “Do you fancy Philippe? Is he courting you?”

  I should have seen that question coming and been prepared for it. But I didn’t and I wasn’t, so I blurted out the truth. “I don’t fancy Philippe and we aren’t courting.”

  “Are you certain?” asked Gail. “He’s awfully sweet on you.”

  Gail wasn’t exaggerating. Philippe often proclaimed his undying affection for me, but I had other suspicions. Namely, I thought Philippe would rather be living with his sister, Amelia. However, Amelia had recently been reunited with her lost friend Veronique, a woman that Philippe detested. So he was hiding out nearby until Veronique took off.

  “Believe me,” I said. “I have no designs on Philippe as anything other than as a friend.”

  “If you say so.” Gail giggled, and it reminded me how she and Lizzie were nineteen, which wasn’t much younger than my twenty-two years. Still, our ages felt centuries apart. I hadn’
t giggled in years.

  Lizzie fanned her face dramatically. “Most girls would die for a chance at that man.”

  “You’re not wrong,” I said. In fact, Philippe was exactly the kind of fellow that I should fancy. He was handsome, charming, and kind. Unfortunately, my heart was still set on Rowan, the man who was engaged to Philippe’s sister.

  What a disaster.

  I decided to close out this topic. “If you doubt me, we can settle the issue once we get to the village. I’ll stop by the tavern where Philippe is staying. He can explain things directly.”

  Gail squirmed. “Visit Philippe alone? But we’ve no chaperones to protect our reputations.”

  “Don’t worry. I can kill almost anything, including Philippe.”

  Lizzie and Gail stared at me yet again, wide eyed. I was going for some kind of record here: Most Social Mistakes By A Necromancer.

  “Wh-what?” asked Lizzie.

  Obviously, I needed to change the subject once more. I cleared my throat. “But that’s enough about Philippe. Do you have any news about this weekend’s faire?”

  The Dunkel faire was an annual tradition. It always took place on the fields behind their main house, and the next celebration was this Saturday. This was yet another potential social catastrophe which Philippe had manipulated me into.

  Gail beamed. “Oh, the preparations for the faire are coming along quite well. We already have set up the tables and—”

  All of a sudden, a wave of energy coursed over me, caressing my skin into gooseflesh. The rest of Gail’s words were lost to my consciousness.

  Someone is casting magick nearby.