Her hand shot out as Urien came at her. “Death isn’t good enough for you, brother.”
Urien thrashed against her but they both knew she had the stronger magic now.
She reached out and tried to pull his soul from his body.
“No, you won’t have my son!” Orla screamed as she burst back through the doorway.
Edward came in after her, knocked the demon aside and in one swift move, thrust his sword through Urien’s chest. Urien screeched as Ann ripped his soul from his body and it exploded in the first of blue light.
Urien’s body slumped to the ground, lifeless.
Ann sank to her knees beside her father, all her strength gone.
Ann didn’t remember much as the Black swarmed in. The palace had been overrun with Orla’s forces, so the Black had taken Ann and the bodies of the other Valeran’s away.
Ed held her whilst she wept. She didn’t say or do anything on the ride away from the palace.
To her amazement, Xander woke up. Ann had no idea how such a thing was possible and guessed her father must’ve done something. It didn’t matter as long as she had Xander with her.
She’d broken down when Ed had taken her in his arms and forced her to let go of her father’s hand. There they buried Darius and Deanna’s bodies in a secret tomb.
Urien was gone too but he wasn’t dead. She’d taken his soul from his body but one day he would find his way back. That much she did know.
Ann watched as the first rays of sunlight broke over the horizon.
“Ann, we have to go.” Ed squeezed her hand.
“Go where?” she asked.
“To Trin. Your grandmother is there waiting for us.”
“Orla has control of Caselhelm, doesn’t she?” The nightmare didn’t seem real.
Ed nodded. “Most of the Black are probably gone too.”
She looked up at Reevus. “My father knew this would happen.”
Reevus seemed to have aged overnight. “You are the archdruid now, Lady Rhiannon. You…”
She shook her head. “No, Rhiannon is dead now too. I’m not the druid’s daughter anymore. But that doesn’t make me the archdruid. I don’t know what I am,” Ann said. “I do know one thing. Whatever happens, I’ll make sure Orla and the power behind her is stopped. One way or another.”
Ann and Ed barely escaped from the demon queen, Orla, with their lives. Now Orla sits on the archdruid’s throne, and she will stop to find them and take what she wants most—the power of the archdruid for herself. Get Wayward Magic to find out what happens next.
About the Author
Tiffany Shand is the author of urban and epic fantasy short stories and books. She spends most of her time defending her desk from her two feline demons—cats—and battling with her dragon who writes books for her. In the real world, she works as a copy editor and copywriter, helping other authors to get their books ready for publication. When she’s not busy working on books, she enjoys spending time with her family and indulging her love of photography.
Check out her books at tiffanyshand.com. Don't forget to grab your copy of Wayward Magic for more adventures.
The Amethyst Window
Leah W. Van Dinther
This story is about an elderly woman who can talk with the spirits of the dead, particularly those anchored in/on old objects. She will encounter a "villain" who is not quite villainous, and learn about old magic that she has never encountered before. I wrote this story as a tribute to my Mother, may she rest in peace, who is represented by the main character. Her stories deserve to be told and enjoyed.
Leah W. Van Dinther
Carol had always "known" things... Secret things... Hidden things... Things about old objects, so it was only natural that she should become an antique-dealer. But one day, she encounters a man who makes the souls around her shudder in fear…
In the center of Philadelphia is an area of well-to-do shops, condominiums, and art conservancies known as Rittenhouse Square, named after the little-known, but brilliant physicist, surveyor, and watchmaker, David Rittenhouse. It was here where Carol Conley often found some of the most unique, antique pieces of jewelry.
O’Katy’s was twenty floors up in one of the old, gothic-styled high-rises at 20th and Locust. Carol looked up as she approached the building; up the smooth, granite sides; up to the carved, gargoyled rain-spouts. She smiled. When she was just a child, she had waved to those figures, and had imagined their grotesque grins were just for her. She walked up to the doorman.
“Hello, Mrs. Conley,” he said and dipped his black-hatted head as he opened the polished, glass door for her.
“Hello, George. Would you tell Katherine I’m here?”
“Of course, Mrs. Conley. She’s expecting you. Go right on up.”
Carol smiled.
“Thanks, George. Is she busy today?”
“No, Ma’am.”
Carol stepped into the small elevator and pressed the button for the 20th floor. The ride was smooth, but slow. These old buildings had converted to modernism fairly well, but elevator space was minimal, and the mechanics were tricky to fit, so they were all small and slow. Carol didn’t mind. She waited patiently, examining her reflection in the polished brass, and fixing her greying hair until the doors opened right into the shop, and she walked into O’Katy’s.
It was a simple, square room with glass counters, display cases along the walls, wooden curio cabinets on the counters, and a small, black safe set into the back wall behind the register. There was also an open doorway in the back wall, leading into a small, white-walled office. Katherine O’Katy (Katie O’Katy, as her customers often liked to joke), was a woman of medium build, with medium brown hair of medium length, and eyes of a nondescript brown that looked out from behind medium-sized, cat’s-eye glasses. She beamed a smile, which turned her otherwise unremarkable face into a work of glory to rival any DaVinci or Vermeer.
“Mrs. Conley! It’s so good to see you, how have you been? I have some lovely pieces for you to see today. Now, I have another customer coming in just a little while, I hope you don’t mind?” Katie smoothed the front of her black dress.
“No worry, my dear,” Carol replied. “I’ll just poke around while you two talk.”
Usually, this was against store policy. O’Katy’s had a rule about only allowing one customer into the store at a time. Something about proprietary-rights to some of the pieces they occasionally offered. Carol didn’t mind though, as she was just here to “poke around,” as she had said.
Katie brought a black, velvet-covered tray out from the backroom (the “Office”, as Katie called it) and set it down before her.
“Now, these are just the pieces I thought you’d really like. These two, in particular.” She gestured to two black, velvet sacks on the tray as she carried it over to a table, and sat down on the far side of it from Carol. Carol walked over and sat down in the chair on her side. She looked at the tray. Besides the velvet sacks, there was a pearl necklace, a delicate, silver-filigree watch, a carved signet ring, and a plain, gold bangle.
Carol picked up the pearls. They were graduated in size, with the largest in the middle being about 10 millimeters across. The box-clasp was interesting, with dark, faceted stones set into it.
“Marcasite?” Carol asked, with one eyebrow raised.
“Black Sapphire....” Katie replied with a sly smile and a wink.
“Hmm...,” Carol mused, “Interesting. I’ll think about these.” She picked up the signet ring next. When she touched it, she felt the familiar hum at the back of her skull. The room... washed out; became translucent in texture and color... and over it she saw a face, male, with closely cropped, dark hair and a square jaw. Not a soft face, but one with a penetrating gaze under lowered brows. A militaristic song was drumming in the background, but it was nothing Carol recognized. He looked right at her and mouthed the words:
“He’s coming!”
Carol came to with a jolt. She looked up at Katherine, wh
o had seen this kind of thing happen with her once, or maybe twice, before.
“Mrs. Conley... are you okay? I thought I’d lost you for a second there.” She had a worried expression on her face.
Carol looked down at the ring. It was plain gold, hollow on the underside, with a large, square, flat hematite set into it, so it was not an actual signet ring, just styled like one. The stone was carved with the profile of Hermes. This one had to go with her. She glanced back up with a smirk.
“Oh, you know me.... This one... this one speaks to me though. Put this one on my bill.”
“Alright.” Katie picked up one of the sacks. “Now, you really should see this....” She opened the sack and pulled out a large, golden cuff, handing it to Carol. It had dual hinges, and the clasp was delicate and tiny. It was about an inch and a half wide, and on the surface was a bas-relief of an ancient, Assyrian hunt-scene.
Carol peered closely. The detail was exquisite: the spokes on the wheels of the chariot were sculpted, the men’s costumes had folds and ripples, and she could even see the beadwork on the horses’ bridles. All was sculpted in gold, all was small enough to fit on the cuff without protruding.
“Do you know anything about this piece, Katie-dear?”
“No, Ma’am. The boss brought it in. He didn’t say where it was from. I know nothing about it.”
“I think I have to have that one... just for fun,” Carol said. The cuff went back into the sack, which was placed to the side next to the hematite ring.
“Now here’s an interesting piece,” Katie said. “It’s an amethyst, but the darkest one I’ve ever seen. This is an estate piece....” She opened the second, black bag, and pulled out another ring. She placed it on the tray.
Carol picked up the ring. Yes... here was one too... a woman, a Lady... she wanted to stay with the ring, Carol could feel it; a longing for “home”, and a simultaneous sense of comfort. This ring was a finer gold than the first ring, and of heavier construction, and therefore weight. Set into the ring was an oblong amethyst of the highest, rounded cabochon Carol had ever seen in a gemstone of this quality: the dome of the top crested like the roof of a cathedral. It was also almost black in color. Carol held the ring up to the light and saw a deep purple hue as she looked through the gem like a window... with a woman’s worried, almost frantic, face looking through it back at her. There was no one standing there, of course... but this spirit also seemed afraid. Carol wondered what was going on.
At that moment, the elevator-buzzer sounded. Katie stood and went over to the elevator doors.
“That’s the other client I was telling you about. He’s being vetted today, so it’s good that you are here, Mrs. Conley. You are the best example of a satisfied customer we could hope to have!” She beamed her radiant smile.
The elevator arrived, and in walked a man of average height, balding on top but with a slick, short, grey-streaked ponytail in the back. He wore a blue-striped, seersucker suit with a white, button-down shirt, giving him an appearance of lightness, or grace. He had a wide smile and sparkling, jovial eyes. Carol thought those eyes looked very perceptive like he saw everything in the room with one glance.
“Mr. Archegon! I am pleased to meet you. Welcome to O’Katie’s,” Katherine said, “I’d like you to meet Mrs. Carol Conley. She has been a customer of ours for... how long is it now, Mrs. Conley?”
“Oh, it’s been a couple of decades by now, my dear,” Carol replied, glancing down at her aged, wrinkled hands. “I remember your first day here.”
“Is it that long? Really?” Katherine seemed genuinely surprised. “Well then, you can see, Mr. Archegon, that our customers become life-long, satisfied clients.”
Mr. Archegon turned to Carol and extended his hand.
“Mrs... Conley, is it? Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said with that wide smile. His hand was soft, and Carol noticed that his fingernails were impeccably trimmed. He wore several rings, all silver, and had one small, ornate hoop earring in his left ear, also silver. “Please, call me Freddie; everyone does. So, this is a good place to come to for jewelry? I’m especially interested in... more unique pieces.”
“It is,” Carol answered, “I get my best pieces here. Katie has an exceptional eye for quality.”
“I see.” He was scanning the display cases with his glittering gaze.
Katherine interrupted. “So, Mr. Archegon, I have a few pieces right over here that I thought might showcase the range of items you can expect to see in our showroom at any time. Everything here is, of course, always of excellent quality....” She directed him over to the opposite side of the room from Carol.
As soon as he had moved a few feet away from her, Carol felt a cool weight on her shoulder, and she could smell the scent of thyme and whiskey. Someone wanted to speak with her. She knew, by the way that they were just connecting with her shoulder, that it was one of only two or three possible entities, as they were the only ones to use this “polite” form of request. Carol sat back down at her table and turned her back to Katie and Mr. Archegon, making sure that they could not see her face, then closed her eyes halfway. The room blurred, and Carol heard a voice:
“Lass, ye’ve got to go... now.” It was a male voice, speaking with urgency in an intense, Scottish accent, rough and somber, like dreich weather in rocky crags. “He means ye, and certainly myself, no good, I promise ye.”
Carol made a face. This was Ian. Ian was a spirit who had attached himself to Carol when she had been to visit Scotland, years before. She had seen a teddy bear in a shop just outside of Edinburgh, and had had to have it. It was not a soft bear, nor a cuddly bear, but a noble-looking teddy bear, formed in a seated position and clad in Scottish finery of Black Watch plaid. He came with an antique doll’s chair that suited him nicely. When Carol had finally gotten the bear back to her home, she found that he came with a “passenger” of sorts. The spirit of Ian had boisterously proclaimed himself to Carol after she had consumed more wine than she ought to. The spirit had said that his name was Ian and that he had been a Jacobite in the days of the Stuarts. They had discussed “appropriate” behavior. They had talked about Carol’s dead husband and grown children. And, since that night, Ian had followed her about, trying not to make too much of a nuisance of himself.
Carol could not answer him, of course, not in public like this. She put her hand on her shoulder where she could feel Ian’s coldness, laying her hand over his in reassurance, just for a moment, before looking back down at the table and its black velvet trays. She touched the rings. Nothing. The spirits she had sensed before were silent now. Carol thought they might be hiding within their respective foci. She wondered why each of them had been so upset, Ian and the others. They all seemed to be referring to this man, this “Mr. Archegon,” but he certainly seemed nice enough, and he radiated calmness and a pleasant ambiance with his white clothing and his well-groomed appearance. Carol knew that looks could be deceiving, and she kept her ear tuned to the conversation he was having with Katherine.
“... much in silver, Mr. Archegon, but here are some of our better pieces.” Katherine was saying as she laid a second black tray down on the glass countertop before him.
Carol picked up her tray and walked slowly over towards the register. She placed the tray next to it and fished in her purse for her wallet. She was going to try to quietly pay for her things and slip out while this “Freddie Archegon” was busy. She had a growing unease in her belly that crawled unpleasantly up her spine and made the hairs on her arms stand on end. This was too much; it was too intense, like standing at the edge of a high-rise rooftop to look down at the street far, far below. She was going to go home, where it was safe, have a glass of wine, and try to forget all of this. She looked over to where Freddie Archegon was perusing a series of silver rings. He fiddled with one, then another, and another..., and then his glittering gaze landed on one set with a large moonstone. He looked like an eagle at that moment, seeing a rabbit scurrying far below. His eyes focused
on the ring and he reached for it.
“Here it comes....” Ian whispered to her.
Freddie Archegon picked up the moonstone ring.
The room exploded in screaming. No one else could hear it, of course... only Carol. She reeled and had to grab the counter to keep from collapsing to the floor. Everything was spinning; the world was tumbling, over and over and over. She was being tossed from place to place, like a child’s rubber ball. And the fear: the fear was overwhelming, skin-crawling, shrieking, gibbering, surrounding her, and washing over and through her in a sweeping surge!
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it all... stopped. Carol was standing there, clutching the sides of the countertop, gasping for breath, with eyes widened by shock.
Freddie was next to her, his arm around her shoulders, and his tone was filled with genuine concern.
“My good woman, here..., here... I’ve got you.” He said while steering her to a chair. “Now just sit down, my dear. Are you alright? Katherine! Katherine, quick, fetch Mrs. Conley some water.” He waved his hand in a well-practiced gesture; not quite a dismissive one, more of a request. His manicured fingernails flashed dimly in the ambient interior lighting. He sat Carol down gently and chafed her wrists with his soft hands. Carol stared at them. No one had used that chafing-technique in a very long time. A very long time. She looked up at Freddie’s face. He did not look very old: did not even look like he was as old as she was. Carol guessed he was in his early to mid-fifties, but certainly no older than sixty. She was easily a decade, or maybe even two decades, older than him. How did he know about a remedy for fainting that hadn’t been used since her Grandmother’s time? This man was proving to be interesting.
Carol couldn’t hear any “noise” coming from any spirits, not even one voice or feeling... everything looked and seemed like any other, normal day. Even Ian was silent.
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