Sage’s eyelids had grown heavy, and his shoulder and knee hurt like the devil. He wanted nothing more than to sleep and wake refreshed in the morning, prepared to start a new day.
Marianne entered the cottage behind him, slowly taking in her new surroundings. While she perused their lodgings for the night, he found a bit of kindling and stashed it in the dusty hearth, lighting it with his hand.
As the fire caught hold of the kindling, Sage closed his eyes and concentrated on extinguishing the fire in his hand. When he opened them, he was dismayed to find the flames still burning brightly on his skin. He squatted beside the hearth.
“What’s wrong?”
“I have trouble controlling it,” he explained. “It won’t extinguish.”
“How did you do it before?”
“I don’t know,” he said, anger sparking heat to his words. If he knew what he did before, he’d do it again. It was a daft question.
Sage blinked, his frustration mounting. He shouldn’t snap at her because of it.
He took a deep breath before he answered honestly.
“Before…I was embarrassed when I realized what I’d nearly done. I was horrified you witnessed it.” He wouldn’t voice the thoughts of killing the man, although he was certain she knew.
“Well, I wouldn’t wish for you to feel that way every moment you used magic such as this.”
“I bloody well am horrified,” he growled. “This is the only magic I have left.”
“What do you mean?”
“Every spell I attempt goes uncontrollably wrong.” Sage turned to Marianne as she walked forward to inspect his hand. “Casting spells a child might use and yet this fire appears.”
Marianne’s eyes widened the slightest bit. She looked away, hoping he wouldn’t notice her trepidation, but he did.
“This must be a temporary condition,” she suggested. Her gaze reconnected with his. Anything else she planned to say died away.
“It’s been long enough. I don’t think it’s temporary.”
She had nothing else to offer. Instead, she frowned and looked again at the flames. Her expression changed. Something new flickered in her gaze, an unspoken query. Slowly, she raised her arm, reaching out to his hand, cupping her fingers against the heat on his palm.
“What are you doing?” He drew back. Did she wish to burn? The flames did no damage to his skin, but he was enchanted. Marianne had no protection against the fire.
“No, don’t,” she whispered. He hesitated, wondering what she meant to do.
At first he thought he imagined the chill as she neared. The flames danced and flickered when her hand grew closer, then orange and yellow wavered. Slowly, she lowered her hand closer to his, watching in equal amazement as the flames grew smaller and shorter. When at last, her fingers grasped his palm, a shiver rippled along his arms. The flames died away leaving nothing between his hand and hers.
Her hand was like ice.
Cold.
Like death.
“Marianne?”
The rest of his question went unspoken when she looked up, tearing her gaze away from his hand to stare into his eyes.
“I’m chilled. My body hasn’t warmed at all. I thought I might grow warm as the night wore on, but it hasn’t happened yet.”
“Perhaps by morning?”
“I’m not weary either. As a spirit, my energy did not weaken day or night. There was no reason to rest nor sleep. I assumed once I regained my body I would grow tired again. But even after all of this walking tonight, I’m not weary at all. I feel the same as I have all evening.”
“But I can feel you.” Sage emphasized the point by squeezing her hand. Warmth blossomed in his chest at the contact even cold as it was to touch. “This is your body. You are back with us.”
Marianne shook her head. The sadness on her face wrenched his heart. After all of this time existing in spirit form, she did not believe her good fortune.
“Julia and Father had lived at Blackmoor for some time. Do you recall?”
“Yes, that’s when you came to live at Merriweather Manor.”
Marianne nodded. “Father had promised Drake that he would help him search for a cure for Susanna. She was so sick. Drake would do anything to save his wife. Father helped him in his laboratory while Julia tended to Susanna. After she died, Drake went mad. He and Father had been working on a potion that would keep Susanna’s body alive, even after her spirit departed. He said it would give him more time to find a cure. But Father stopped him from administering the potion at the last moment. He said the magic was dark, and it would blacken his soul, not to mention the horror Susanna’s spirit might suffer…A ghost in limbo, unable to step into the ever-after, to rejoin our ancestors.”
Marianne paused, biting her lip.
Sage reached for her hand, squeezing it.
“Drake vowed revenge. Not long after, Father died mysteriously. We have no proof, but Julia is convinced Drake killed him.”
Sage’s brother…a murderer. It didn’t sit well. His brother had gone to university to learn medicine to help people, not hurt them. But after the madness took him, who was to say how that altered his mind?
“I did not believe it. Not Drake. So last summer, I visited Blackmoor. I merely wished to ease Julia’s grief that our father was not murdered.” Marianne’s voice softened, as she gazed into the fireplace. Sage wondered if she saw the past in those flames.
“We drank tea,” she said. “It was spicy, but delicious. I asked for more. Drake obliged, happily. We chatted. I faltered at approaching the subject of Susanna and my father. Before I gathered enough courage to speak, my stomach pained me. Awful spasms of pain. I dropped the tea, splashing it on his carpet. I remember wanting to apologize for that…”
Her voice trailed off. She was trapped there, in that room with his brother, drinking and enjoying the very tea that contained the potion that Drake used to curse her. Sage had heard a shortened version of this story before, from Julia and Basil.
He never spoke of it to Marianne. She had never been forthcoming with talk of the night Drake cursed her. If he referred to it, she’d nod and carry on with the conversation, never embellishing the details of that night as she was now.
“When I woke, I lay crumpled on the floor of his parlor. I was alone. I didn’t realized what had occurred until I reached for the handle of the door. My hand passed through the wood.”
“Marianne…” The pain in her voice tugged at his heart. He could not imagine the horror she had suffered when she realized what Drake had done.
“He sent word to Julia. She arrived a day later. I’ll never forget the look on her face when she saw my body on that bed. I could have killed Drake myself for what he did to my sister. The grief she suffered, losing Father and then me. He blackmailed her, promising that if she helped him find the spell to bring back his wife’s spirit into another body, he’d release me. He’d give her the spell that would save me. She had no choice but to agree.
“Of course, Basil returned, ruining her chances for bargaining with Drake. But it turned out well enough in the end. You found my body, returned it to Merriweather Manor. And now here I am…” She lifted her arms, looking at her hands. “I have a body again. But…it does not feel the same, Sage. Something is wrong. I know it.”
“Marianne.” He leaned forward, pulling her closer. Now that the fire was gone from his hand, he felt no compunction in embracing her. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her chilled body. Her fingers curled around the lapel of his shirt. “We’ll get through this. I promise you.”
Her head tilted up until her face was a mere breath away from his own. She stared into his eyes, and he felt as if she searched his soul. Not certain what she searched for, he returned her gaze until he noticed something else in her eyes. Something he glimpsed on the road earlier this night.
Suddenly he was aware of every part of her body touching his. Every curve brushed against him in a way he never recalled.
Marianne was a dear friend, but in this moment she was something much, much more.
Sage’s breath caught when he recognized the sudden heat in her eyes. Her gaze flickered innocently to his lips. His heart pounded at the sight of her mouth opening just the barest bit, as if she thought to speak but failed to find the words.
He brushed his lips against her mouth. At first, he hadn’t realized he’d moved. His head bent toward her as if drawn by some unknown power.
He kissed her, and it felt right to do so.
Marianne’s hand slid from his lapel to his shoulder, where she gripped him tightly. Her fingers clenched onto his wound sending agony ripping through him until he broke apart from the kiss with a groan of pain.
“Oh!” Marianne jumped. “I’m sorry! I did not mean to… I did not realize…”
“It’s quite all right, Marianne.” Sage attempted a reassuring smile. It felt more like a grimace.
“It’s not. Here, let us see the damage. I hope I didn’t make it worse.” She tugged at his shirt to expose the wound to view. He looked away. Anger and embarrassment warred within him.
Had he just kissed Marianne? More importantly…had she responded in kind?
Marianne’s gasp drew him away from his thoughts.
“What?” He prepared for grim news. It was too early to tell if infection had set in, but he was also aware if he did not clean and bandage it soon, chances of infection were great.
“It’s healing.”
The wonder and disbelief in her voice drew his attention more than her actual words. He looked at his shoulder. The bleeding had stopped, leaving reddish brown streaks dried on his skin, but the wound itself appeared smaller than it had previously.
“Are you certain?”
“Indeed, I am. Do you note the edges? They’ve mended. The wound was far larger than this.”
He agreed.
“How does it feel? Does it hurt?”
“Like the devil,” he said. It was true. His shoulder ached and throbbed, the pain only lessening a degree if he remained incredibly still.
“Did you use some spell to mend it?”
“No. I cannot. If I attempt any spell, the fire…”
“Yes,” Marianne said, nodding. “Well, in any case, it seems to be healing. We’ll keep a watch on it.”
Sage agreed, then sat back. He raised his arms to the fire burning in the hearth, welcoming the warmth that soon filled the room.
The memory of their kiss filled Sage’s mind. He didn’t look at Marianne for fear of the loathing he might see in her eyes. He was like a brother to her. What must she be thinking of him? What had possessed him to kiss her, even something as light as brushing their lips together? Did it qualify as a kiss? In fact, he’d never experienced such an innocent encounter as that brief contact.
As he pondered the kiss and how to explain it to Marianne, his eyelids grew heavy. Soon, his head started tilting forward.
Marianne’s cold fingers gently guided his head down onto her lap. He rested on the cottage floor and slept.
****
As Marianne watched him sleep, she thought of their shared kiss.
With one hand, she carefully brushed her fingers through his short, dark hair, enjoying the feel of the silky strands against her skin. The other hand she used to touch her lips, trying to imitate the feel of him caressing her.
Chills coursed through her at the memory.
Stuff and nonsense. It must be. He was only being kind, trying to comfort her when she was so uncertain of her future.
A friendly kiss, nothing more. Men and women shared friendly kisses, did they not?
Truly, Marianne did not know. She never had close friends other than the Merriweathers, and thoughts of kissing them had never struck her mind. The men were much older than her own twenty years. Sage was in fact the youngest Merriweather male, and he was not more than six years her senior. Most of the girls were closer to her own age, Lillian, Melora and Senna. Hyacinth was older but still close enough that they all had great fun as children.
She couldn’t ask for better friends than the Merriweathers. Having any of them, even Sage who was in her mind the most handsome, as anything more than simple friends was inconceivable.
After all, she had David to think about.
David!
With all the excitement with the carriage, the highwaymen and then her regaining her body, she had all but forgotten what it might mean for her.
Now she could marry David.
She looked at the sleeping Sage, and a curious emotion stirred within her chest. What was it?
It was odd, whatever it might be.
And strangely, she did not wish to think of David. Instead, she was content to sit on the dusty floor of the abandoned cottage, holding Sage’s head in her lap and watch him sleep.
After a few hours of sitting in the same position, Marianne’s stomach began to feel strange. Queasy. She had never felt such a queer sensation.
With gentle care, she removed Sage’s head from her lap, lowering him onto the floor. Quietly, she stood. The world wobbled for a bit. When it righted itself again, she searched for a chair to sit upon. A dusty one sat in the corner, but she, with no care for dirt, sat.
The queasiness subsided.
Strange. Since she couldn’t understand why she’d be struck with such stomach disturbance, she sat for a bit longer for fear it might return. After staying still several long minutes, noticing the symptoms did not return, she began to rest easy.
Her attention returned to Sage snoring softly on the floor. He looked so young while he slept. Like an innocent boy instead of the rakish man he had become. Since she was so much younger, she had never known Sage when he was a small child, so she couldn’t compare his features now to the lad of his youth. In her imagination, he looked as he did now.
Dark eyelashes swept over his pale cheeks. The skin around his eyes and brow were softened from the tension she recently noticed stretched there at all times. And his mouth curved into a lax smile of contentment, again something she had not seen in quite a while.
A noise from outside tore her attention from her sleeping companion. Marianne’s breath stilled in her chest as she strained to listen.
There it was again.
The crunch of footsteps, like someone walking outside the cottage. She glanced at the windows which were shuttered tight against the outside elements. Not knowing how secure they were made her uneasy.
Who might be wandering the country at this time of night? Could those highwaymen have returned to exact revenge?
She glanced at Sage, but decided not to wake him. Yet. Perhaps it was merely the wind blowing branches against the house or her wild imagination conjuring assumptions out of nothing. Whatever it might be, she did not wish to wake Sage until she knew for certain if any danger was present. In his weakened state, he needed sleep to recover from his ordeal.
Marianne stood and crept closer to the door. Not thinking they might be approached by ruffians during the night, they hadn’t latched it when they entered the cottage. Their thoughts had been elsewhere.
She pulled open the door, wincing at the soft groan of rusted hinges. When she had enough space to peer out, she searched the inky darkness for any sign of movement. Nothing alerted her.
Again she strained to listen for any noise to indicate someone outside, but she heard none.
Not assured of their safety, Marianne took a bold step out of the cottage, preparing a scream to awaken Sage at the first sign of any movement. Again, she wondered if it had been her imagination.
Just to be certain, she walked into the darkness to search around the cottage.
Chapter Eight
He dreamed of that night.
In all his days, nothing had prepared Sage for the night he met a demon in his brother’s castle.
It had been impulsiveness on Basil’s part, throwing himself into the mirror when Julia disappeared. Neither Basil nor Sage knew where the mirror had transported her, bu
t it did not matter. The fact that Julia Grey faced danger was enough for Basil to go after her, with every intention of rescuing her.
As soon as Basil vanished into the mirror, the glass wavered and flexed, like water in a pond that had been disturbed.
Sage had seconds to decide what must be done. He could go for help, but what good would it do for Basil and Julia if he knew not where they were? The mirror passage could take them anywhere another mirror stood. Granted, mirrors were not a common item in every household in all the world, but enough so to make it impossible to perform a thorough search. Once the portal closed, he might never find them again.
Only one option remained.
He turned to Marianne. Her face was one of shock as she stared at the mirror that had just consumed her sister.
“Stay here.” His voice snapped her attention to him.
“Sage!” The alarm in her voice matched the horror blossoming on her face. He tried not to allow her fear to sway him to reconsider. His brother and her sister were in danger. He must help.
“You will stay and await our return, do you understand?” Sage told her in the only authoritative voice he could muster, not one he often had occasion to use. But he had to be certain she would not follow. He had enough worry with Basil and Julia. When she didn’t respond, simply stared at him, he repeated loudly, “Understand?”
“Y-yes,” Marianne said, nodding her head violently.
She was shaking. For a moment Sage wished to comfort her, reassure her that all would be well, and he would return with her sister, but he could promise no such thing. Since he could not touch her anyway, the urge was moot.
Without another word, Sage stepped into the mirror.
The liquid glass wrapped around him like a cloak. He instinctively held his breath, though he knew from prior experience his lungs would still function. As soon as the glass slid along his back, fully consuming him, the disorientation began in full. His body stretched across great distances and in doing so he felt pulled apart. His arms yanked from his shoulders, his legs were dragged behind. Although it was a peculiar and slightly uncomfortable sensation, it did not hurt. It felt as if a great time had lapsed, but it was mere seconds later when he stumbled through the opposite mirror, arriving at his destination in one piece and unharmed.
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