Visions of Magic

by Regan Hastings

  And that small part of her that longed to do it all again grew stronger.

  “Shea!”

  Mairi’s voice brought her up out of her thoughts, but some of them must have lingered in her eyes because her aunt’s features instantly filled with concern. “What is it? What are you remembering?”

  “Too much,” Shea admitted, as a powerful tendril of fear snaked through her system.

  Chapter 45

  Cora Sterling paced the Oval Office, her thoughts moving too quickly to allow her to sit behind her desk. “What do you think, Parker?” she asked, sending a quick look at her chief of staff.

  Parker Stevens was an old hand at Washington politics. He knew the ins and outs better than anyone else. Who to trust. Who to buy. Who to bury. Cora couldn’t imagine doing without his advice.

  Or his skills in the bedroom.

  “Madam President,” he said, “I think it’s time you called the prime minister and told him that our escaped witch is in Britain.”

  She stopped and looked at him from across the room. Impeccably groomed, Parker had steel gray hair, piercing blue eyes and a hard jaw that was, at the moment, locked into an expression of distaste.

  “You can’t be serious,” she said.

  “I am. We want Shea Jameson back home, where she can be the figurehead for your reforms.” He walked toward her with measured steps. “Our informants tell us she’s in England somewhere and unless we get the help of their government, we’re going to be hard-pressed to find her.”

  Cora didn’t like that one bit. Turning, she stared out the wide window at the lawn and gardens, looking chill and dank on a late-September day. Summer was finally over and autumn was sneaking in, heralding the coming of winter. Cora felt a like sense of cold creeping over her.

  “I don’t want to owe Graham any favors,” she muttered. “The last time he was here, he put up such a fuss about international internment camps, the press had a field day.”

  “I know,” Parker said, coming up behind her and, showing her a rare touch of affection outside her bedroom, laid both hands on her shoulders. “But we need him. We’ll find a way to leverage his help without bowing to the international internment camps.”

  “You think so?” She looked up at him, unsure until she met his steady gaze.

  “I know it. Make the call, Cora. You’ll still be in charge. I’ll see to it personally.”

  For one brief moment, Cora allowed herself to react like a woman, and not the president. Leaning into her lover’s embrace, she lifted her face for his kiss and then gave herself up to the sensual treats he was so damn good at.

  When she finally broke free again, she tugged at the hem of her gray silk shirt and smoothed her hair back. “Parker,” she said with a smile, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  He chucked her chin, then took both a figurative and a literal step back, once more becoming her most trusted aide. “Madam President, you’ll never have to find out.”

  “Shea, I know you’re feeling overwhelmed—”

  “You could say that,” she said, cutting her aunt off as she turned to stare at her. “First, Torin told me I was the first Awakened witch. But how can that be if you’ve been here ten years?”

  Mairi smiled, hooked her arm through Shea’s and led her across the great hall. As they walked, she said, “I’m the High Priestess—or I was, long ago. The keeper of the flames. The watcher. A guardian of sorts, of our coven. Of our sisters and traditions.”

  “High Priestess?” Shea echoed.

  “Sounds lofty, doesn’t it?” Mairi asked with a small chuckle. “But all it means is that I was once responsible for our coven. It was my duty to see that we learned and grew, and that our coven served its purpose by serving the goddess Danu.” She stopped and tears filled her eyes. “I failed. Not only myself, but all of you as well. I surrendered to the same greed and arrogance that the rest of you embraced. It was my responsibility to see that our sisters were given guidance. Helped along the path. I turned my back on all that we were.”

  “Mairi—” Shea heard the pain in her aunt’s voice and all of her own fears and resentments faded away in her need to offer comfort.

  “No, I should have filled my sisters’ hearts with my love and spiritual guidance. Instead, I left them open to the darkness and then I joined them there.” She sighed and a solitary tear spilled down her cheek. “I have much to atone for. As do we all.”

  “Isn’t that why we’re here?” Shea asked quietly, patting her aunt’s hand in a gesture of love and solidarity.

  “Yes, you’re right,” Mairi answered, smiling through her tears. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you, Shea. To have you here now is a gift beyond measure. And imagine,” she added with a grin, “you’re the first to come home.”

  Shea laid one hand on her aunt’s arm. “There’s another witch who claims to be one of us.”

  “What?” Confusion was etched on Mairi’s features.

  “Her name is Kellyn. Torin and Rune broke her out of an internment camp in California when they were looking for me. She says she’s an Awakened witch.”

  “Kellyn’s Awakening has begun? But that shouldn’t be possible,” Mairi murmured. “You were the first, Shea. Kellyn wasn’t to come along until later.”

  “Well, somebody should have told her that,” Shea snapped, then instantly regretted it. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired. And scared and worried.”

  “I know you are, honey,” Mairi said, “and I’ll do all I can to find out about Kellyn. But until then, come with me. I want to show you something important.”

  On the far side of the hall, they stopped again and Shea could only stare openmouthed. There was an arched niche carved into the stones and in that arch rested three cages—shaped like old-fashioned birdcages, but they were made of fire. Living flames, shifting colors from green to red to yellow and blue, danced with abandon across the silver wires that made up the cages.

  A memory flickered in the back of her mind and Shea grabbed hold of it. “These are for the Artifact.”

  “Yes,” Mairi said, visibly pleased that her memories were coming back so completely. “Each shard that is returned to Haven will be stored here for safety. Until all of the pieces have been gathered. Then we’ll rebuild the Artifact and destroy it magically.”

  Shea stared at the living flames and felt the enormity of the task ahead of them all. The shards of the Artifact had been hidden all over the world. Each witch was going to have to complete her own quest to retrieve that mystical slice of black silver. And as Shea had already discovered, that wouldn’t be easy.

  “Do you know where your hiding place is?”

  “No,” Shea admitted, wondering why that piece of the puzzle was still hidden from her. Why her mind hadn’t provided the one link she needed above all others.

  “It will come,” Mairi assured her, pulling her into a hard, fierce hug. “Here at Haven you’ll rest. Gather your strength and your memories will arise.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Shea said softly. “Like you said before, we’re almost out of time.”

  In their chamber, Torin stretched out on the bed and watched as his witch stood naked before a mirror. Blood rushed to his groin and desire pumped through him, hot and fresh. He would never have enough of this woman, this witch, he thought. Eternity wouldn’t be enough time to sate himself with her.

  Her every breath was a seduction. Her touch was fire and passion to the point of madness. Her power shone around her, glistening in a pale yellow aura that throbbed with the beat of her heart.

  Soon, he thought, his own heart would finally beat in tune with hers. Soon, they would be linked forever. Joined as they were meant to be joined.

  Shea ran her fingers lightly across the mating tattoo on her breast and Torin hissed in a breath, feeling her touch on his own skin. She smiled into the mirror and waved one hand in front of her. In a flash of movement, she was dressed in the traditional garb of a mated witch.

/>   Her left breast was bare, his brand on her skin glowing with a fiery red light. She looked like a princess of old, both demure and erotic, and Torin’s body hungered for her.

  “I didn’t think I’d be able to wear this robe,” she said thoughtfully, first watching her own reflection and then meeting his gaze in the glass. “But now, it seems right, somehow. To be here, to be wearing this. To have you with me. It’s all . . . right.”

  “Come to me, Shea,” he said, lifting one hand and stretching it out to her. He dissolved his clothing with a thought and nearly groaned aloud at the relief his body felt, being freed from its tight confines.

  She turned and walked around the bed to sit on the mattress beside him. Torin lifted one hand to cup her bare breast and she closed her eyes on a sigh as his thumb stroked across the tattoo and her hardened nipple.

  “You are magnificent,” he whispered, rising up to claim that nipple with his mouth. His tongue and teeth toyed with her sensitive skin, hitching her breath, making her shiver with need, with an all-consuming desire.

  He suckled her and she held his head to her breast. Her fingers slid through his hair and he felt each of her fingertips as he would have a match flame against his skin. Burning into him, searing him with the fires they created together. He drew and pulled at her nipple until he felt her body quiver in his grasp. Only then did he release her long enough to grab her at the waist and swing her atop him.

  She tugged at the hem of her long white skirt until it was up past her thighs. She wore nothing beneath the traditional robe and Torin reached to stroke her center. Rubbing his thumb across her core in a circular motion, he watched as she knelt over him, rocking her hips in a rhythm he set.

  “Take me inside you, Shea,” he ordered, his voice thick with the need pressing down on him, strangling him.

  Smiling down at him, she did just that, lowering herself, inch by tantalizing inch, to sheathe him inside her body. Damp heat surrounded him and his mind blanked out. All he could do was feel the sensations she aroused in him. Lightning arced between them, sizzling in the air, charging them both with magic, as rich and pure as anything he had ever felt before.

  Making love here in Haven, where centuries of magic had lived and thrived, seemed to magnify what lay between them. As they joined, power sang in the air. He looked up at Shea, her branded breast bare, her head thrown back, her long, silky hair lifting in the rush of magic. Her arms swung wide as if accepting a gift being handed to her.

  She rode him, rocking her hips to his, engulfing him, taking all that he was inside her—and when her first release crashed down on her, he experienced that torrent of sensation right along with her. Her sheath fisted around him, holding him tight, squeezing him until at last Torin gave himself over to the undeniable force of the last stages of the mating ritual.

  The next few days passed in a blur of awakened memories and gathering magics. Shea worked with her aunt, practicing the ancient rituals, reacquainting herself with the witch she had once been. But it was more than magic and the ability to wield it. She fought to become a warrior witch, training with both Torin and Damyn. Her aunt’s Eternal was strong and patient and between him and Torin, they managed to give Shea the rudiments of self-defense in an extremely short amount of time.

  And through it all, Shea grew and expanded. Her mind, her heart, her soul, all responded to being within Haven’s walls again. It was as if she was reconnecting, not only with her former self but with her sister witches. The women who had gone on before her.

  Etched into the passageway walls that snaked throughout Haven in a dizzying maze of corridors and rooms were images of long-dead witches. Their features carved into stone and outlined in silver, they seemed to look out on the present from the mists of the past. Their gazes were fixed and compassionate. When she recognized her own features from past incarnations carved into the wall, Shea felt a sense of continuity. She had been here before and now she had returned. This time, she thought as she looked into those faces of the past, the coven would redeem itself. This time, the memories they made would be of pride and fulfillment.

  There was safety here in Haven, she thought, sitting near the fire in the chamber she shared with her lover—her mate. Tradition. There was a peace that called to Shea even as she prepared to leave to complete her quest. And there was Torin.

  Above and beyond all else she was feeling, there was her connection to her Eternal. This man for whom she would risk anything. This man from whom she was hiding her darkest fears.

  “Shea,” Torin whispered in the firelit darkness, “you should be sleeping.”

  “My dreams woke me up,” she said, not adding that it was the dark thrill that had called to her soul, had shot her from a dream-filled sleep into a guilt-induced terror.

  He left the bed, came to her and knelt at her side. “A dream? Tell me.”

  Shea reached for his hand and clung to the hard, solid strength of him. Her fears ratcheted in her chest until drawing a simple breath became a fierce act of will.

  “You know,” he said, firelight playing across his features. “You know where we must go.”

  “Yes,” she said, meeting his gaze and hoping he couldn’t see the dark edge of hunger shining in her eyes. “I know where I hid the Artifact.”

  “Then we go. First thing in the morning.” He stood, drawing her to her feet, to lead her back to bed.

  “Torin, wait.” She leaned into him, wrapped her arms around his middle and burrowed in close. “Just hold on to me for a minute, will you?”

  “For eternity,” he pledged, his arms closing around her.

  She hoped so, Shea thought, closing her eyes, only to see again the dark images that had awakened her.

  Shea saw herself holding her shard of the Artifact high, moonlight glinting off its dark surface. She felt the push of the black silver as it crept along her skin, sinking into her heart, her very bones. She watched helplessly as her eyes and hair turned black.

  As her mouth curved into a smile and her hand reached out to strike Torin down.

  Chapter 46

  The blackened ruins of a long-dead castle stood on a cliff overlooking an angry sea.

  Torin had drawn on the magic and in a long series of jumps had flashed them all the way to southeastern Scotland. The trip had taken two days, since they’d rested to ensure that both of their energies weren’t overly drained. It would have been too risky to be close to the black silver in a weakened condition—not to mention the fact that they had no idea if their pursuers would once more ambush them.

  Shea had worked spells and used astral projection, but she hadn’t seen any trouble coming. Only long days and one long night spent in Torin’s embrace. The mating sex was richer, deeper now, as if each of their souls had claimed a slice of the other, bonding them so completely that there was no Shea without Torin. No Torin without Shea. As it was meant to be. Their minds were attuned. They didn’t need to speak their thoughts to be heard. And still the mating connection continued, incomplete yet overwhelming.

  The wind moaned as it ran through the knee-high grasses and across the rocks. A sudden slash of sunlight spilled out from behind a cloud and the baaing of sheep in the fields made the scene seem like a painting come to life.

  Only ten miles from St. Andrews and the tourists who streamed through Scotland, this cliffside ruin might as well have been on another planet.

  Shea stepped out of Torin’s arms and took a deep breath of the cold Scottish air. The scent was familiar, teasing a series of vignettes to spring to life in her mind. A blazing forge with a blacksmith bent over the fire. A maid hurrying down long hallways with fresh linen. A kitchen boy stealing a cookie and dodging a slap from the cook. Tiny things all, taken separately, were no more than a blink’s worth of time. Taken together, they were, simply, a lifetime.

  “It’s still here,” she whispered, her gaze taking in both the castle and the cliffs beyond. “I was worried that maybe erosion would have sent the castle sliding into the sea
.”

  Torin stepped up behind her, laid one hand on her shoulder and asked, “The shard is here?”

  “Yes,” she said, speaking quietly enough that she wouldn’t disturb the ghosts still going about their daily business. Even though she couldn’t see them, she felt them. Spirits who either couldn’t or wouldn’t move on, but instead clung tenaciously to the familiar. “It’s on the chapel wall.”

  “A church?” Torin turned her in his arms and looked into her eyes. “You put a shard of the Artifact that Lucifer himself was after in a chapel?”

  She smiled and lifted one hand to cup his cheek. “Hate to use a cliché, but as I recall, it seemed like a good idea at the time.” Shea turned to look at the castle again. “I was scared, Torin. After that battle with the demons, we’d literally had the hell scared out of us. We each knew how potent the black silver was and how important it was to hide it where it would be safely kept for eight hundred years.”

  “And you chose this place.” His gaze lifted to sweep the surrounding area, searching, as always, for a potential threat. “Why?”

  Shea looked up at him. “Now it’s you who doesn’t remember.”

  He frowned and shook his head. “Remember what?”

  “This castle.” She swung one hand out to encompass the hulking skeleton of a once-fortified, lovely place. “The Mackay built it for one of his daughters, Nessa. We came to her wedding here one spring. And it was here we first—”

  A slow smile curved his mouth as he ran one hand up and down her arm. “I remember now. It was the first time you came to my bed.”

  “Yes, but it was more than that, Torin—it was the first time I felt completely safe. In your arms, I didn’t think about witchcraft or power or knowledge. There was only you.”