Fay turned back to watch the scenery through the windscreen. The curving, narrow road had slowed Gordon’s speed. She considered the point about a were’s sensory experience.
Uncle had said that dream essences were the sum of the important things a person encountered in their day. What if weres’ dream essences were stronger because their sensory experience of the world was more vivid and varied?
“Barbara’s place in two minutes,” Gordon said.
“Don’t pull into her driveway. Stop down the road a bit. Steve and I will walk up.”
“This is the place.” Ahead and to the left was an older house, a timber cottage, painted white and green with a white picket fence separating its deep front garden from the road. The garden rioted with color. Flowers abounded in an old-fashioned cottage garden. The gate was closed, but behind it the driveway continued past the cottage to the just visible edge of a vegetable garden and orchard where fruit tree blossom littered the grass. Chickens pecked through the scene.
“This is Red Riding Hood’s cottage, not a wolf’s,” Fay said. The homestead appeared idyllic.
“Barbara likes an older style of living. She’s aiming for self-sufficiency.”
A wind turbine and solar panels showed that she hadn’t abandoned modern life.
“Is that her?” Steve asked.
Fay stared again at the house. She hadn’t seen anyone.
“By the roses,” Gordon said, heavily. He sighed and switched off the car’s engine. The silence was profound. “I hoped you were wrong, but you weren’t. Any vehicle’s an intrusion, here, but she knows this one. It’s not mine. It’s Saul’s, my son’s. She ought to have come to meet us.”
“The wolf’s need to defend its territory is even stronger in the packless ones,” Steve said. “Barbara hasn’t looked up from her weeding. Although that’s not something we can rely on. Gordon, no matter what happens, stay in the car.”
“Okay.” Impatient, gruff, but agreement.
Fay opened her door. Steve fell in step with her as they crossed the road. Standing on the grass outside the white picket fence, Fay tested for magic and a sense of boundaries. She lacked a were’s senses, but her magic could detect another mage’s wards. She trusted Steve to protect her from a physical attack by the bespelled were.
“Nothing,” she murmured.
“Territorially, the boundary is strong,” Steve responded.
Barbara continued to ignore them, but her shoulders were stiff as she pulled weeds, crawling between rose bushes just beginning to flower and almost vanishing into her garden. She wasn’t initiating a confrontation, but if her territorial boundary was strong, crossing it could trigger an incalculable response.
Fay stayed on the far side of the gate and scanned for magic, on the principle of dealing with one threat at a time. Her scan pulsed out like sonar, but faded without encountering magic—except around the rosebushes. Around Barbara. She, or rather the magic clouding her, was a discordant smudge. Otherwise, the homestead was devoid of magic. Not even a country charm against mice or insect pests.
“Any traps?” Steve asked, his attention on Barbara who’d crawled around so that she now faced them, peering through the thorns and new leaves of her plants.
Disheveled but clean hair hung either side of her face which was one of character rather than classic beauty. Feverish blue eyes regarded them with wary uncertainty. The knees of her jeans were dirty and her feet bare. The red nail polish on her toenails matched her t-shirt color, but was chipped.
Fay winced at the discordant magic writhing around the woman, and forced her attention away for a second, visual scan of the environment, alert for the faint shimmer of magic that intense concentration could discern. The last thing they needed was to discover the rogue mage had left an enchantment that would scoop up the dream essences of others weres. Weres like Steve.
She shook her fingers loose, feeling magic tingle, ready to act. “It’s safe to enter.”
Chapter 7
Fay expected Steve to push open the gate.
Instead, he paused with a hand on the latch. “Barbara Winnet, may we enter?”
The wolf-were stood slowly amid her neatly tended roses. Average height, unthreatening.
Fay glanced at Steve and saw him frowning, too.
Weres usually had an edge to them, a physical arrogance that proclaimed their toughness and their readiness to defend their own. Weres were seldom victims. Barbara stood with the defeated caution of someone who’d been badly beaten, whose body was healing the physical wounds, but whose mind and spirit remained violated.
Looking at the sustaining beauty of her homestead, her creation, just made the violent wrongness of what had been done to her more vivid.
“Stay away.” Barbara’s voice was low, rough with what sounded like disuse, and unemotional, holding neither threat nor warning.
“Gordon Forde brought us here,” Steve said.
Barbara’s gaze didn’t even flicker to the vehicle, reportedly that of her lover.
“You’re not well, Barbara.” Steve sank conviction, along with reassurance, into his voice. It rang with authority. “When did you start feeling sick?”
Fay squinted. The smudge of magic around Barbara was actually a tangle of threads, like a kitten had been in a yarn basket. Fay murmured a spell, one that could pierce a cloaking spell. The threads clarified to her mage sight. Shades of purple and brown, but still recklessly tangled.
Any trainee mage knew better than to tangle spells like this. It choked their effectiveness, compromising it. In draining the wolf-were’s dream essence this way, the rogue mage had to be losing nearly half of it to sheer inefficiency.
Which wasn’t to say that the tangle of spell threads couldn’t create a nasty burn for any other mage who meddled with them—like Fay.
The rogue mage was either poorly trained or the Ancient Egyptian spell he’d used—or based his own spell on—had exceeded his abilities; hence, the fracturing into multiple, tangled threads. Yet, Barbara was obviously still ensorcelled, so something had to be maintaining the spell. Grounding it.
“Not sick. Tired.” Barbara managed to answer Steve. She looked around her garden, at the cottage, and back to her hands. Palms down, her hands swept in from waist level and up towards her face, before falling away. She stood a fraction sturdier.
Fay noted it, but maintained her focus. The Ancient Egyptian spell had been primitive magic, nature-based and ruthless. Could the rogue mage have tied his spell to Barbara by leaving something of himself? Hair, saliva or blood were all possibilities.
“I think we’re dealing with an amateur,” Fay said quietly to Steve. “The magic worked is clumsy. I assumed that the knowledge and power required to find the original Egyptian spell that Uncle showed us meant that the rogue mage was highly skilled and experienced, but I can’t see any reason for leaving the mess that surrounds Barbara unless the he couldn’t do any better. He’s only syphoning perhaps half her dream essence. The remainder is being burned up in the shambles of magic.”
Barbara walked closer. “I’m safe in my home.” Her voice was clearer, but the lack of inflection persisted.
“Not indefinitely,” Fay said.
The wolf-were halted. “Safe.”
Fay placed her hand over Steve’s on the gate latch. The familiar contact both strengthened her and reminded her how much she had to lose if this went wrong; if Steve was enslaved.
Just how much personality was lost when a were’s dream essence was stolen? Who was Barbara when she was fully herself?
Fay looked at the homestead that showed the result of years of passionate tending. From the white and green house, its paint just weathered enough not to look new, to the tidy outbuildings and productive garden and orchard behind it, the homestead was part of Barbara. And now, all that she had given it, fed and sustained her. Fay was sure of it. As the rogue mage stole Barbara’s dream essence, the homestead supplied her with its energy. In a sense, Barbara’s own lovin
g work now sustained her.
No wonder they’d found her in the garden, weeding. By instinct, she’d sought to strengthen the bond that held her identity.
“May we enter the safety of your home?” Fay asked.
The wolf-were locked eyes with her.
As Fay waited for permission, she saw the magic ensnaring Barbara heave. The threads wove and re-wove, loosened and jerked tight. “Let me help you,” she said impulsively, suddenly certain that Barbara fought to reject the spell; fought to be completely herself.
“Come in,” Barbara said.
Steve pushed open the gate. “Are you sure?” he asked Fay under her breath.
“Yes. This is a vile thing.”
“What’s the risk of touching the spell for you?”
She gave him a tight grin. “Should be nothing. But we’ll find out.”
Steve hated the helplessness that came with magic-related missions involving Fay. Without Fay, he simply trusted in his were immunity to magic, acted with caution, but acted. However, when Fay was involved, he had to stand by, about as much help as a mewling cub, and let her do her thing.
He kept his gaze on Barbara.
The wolf-were ruffled his fur. Her passivity was unnatural, and worse, when he looked into her eyes, he could swear he saw a flickering expression of the desperate resignation of a trapped wolf. He had to force away images of his own mom or sister trapped this way. So he put up no resistance to Fay de-spelling the woman. Whatever warning that gave the rogue mage, so be it. He couldn’t stomach the thought of Barbara hurting this way any longer.
Fay leant into him fractionally, her arm against his. “I need you to cast for a scent or other sense of the rogue mage. I think he used something of himself to ground this mess of a spell. If he did, breaking the spell may destroy that trace, but it just might flare stronger in the instant before it vanishes.”
He nodded.
She raised her voice, although Barbara would have heard all of their discussion. Wolf hearing. Gordon was undoubtedly listening from the car. “Barbara, you’re wrapped in magic and I need to peel it away from you. Can you hold still? Don’t move, no matter what you feel.”
“There is no magic,” Barbara said.
“Yes, there is,” Fay contradicted calmly. “And when this is over, I’m going to ward your home so that it can’t return. Honestly.” Impatience crept into her tone. “Avoiding magic because it doesn’t affect weres is all very well, but it’s not just other weres that you need to worry about. You should ward your homes. I’ll do yours when we return, Steve.”
But even as she spoke, she was obviously concentrating on her magic, and he got the tingling sensation of power rising. He split his concentration: Fay wanted him to try and sense the rogue mage’s identity; and, he needed to be sure Barbara wouldn’t attack her.
The wolf-were dropped to the ground.
“Good, that’s good,” Fay said. “Let your home hold you.”
Barbara’s fingernails shifted to claws and plunged into the ground. She dragged them through it.
Steve smelled the wolf scent of her. The fresh dirt from her weeding gained a new clarity. Wind whirled in a tight spiral, the garden bending and whipping with it.
“Now, Steve,” Fay said, and clapped her hands together.
The wind vanished. Barbara collapsed onto the dirt, claws re-forming into dirty, torn fingernails.
Fay strode forward. “Steve?”
“I’ve got it.” He growled. “Or should I say, them?”
“Two?” Fay stared at him, retracting the hand she’d extended towards Barbara. “I only sensed a single mage.”
“One mage.” On the ground, Barbara retreated at his harsh tone, her bare toes scuffing the ground to get away from him. He softened his voice. “I smelled a woman. She must be your mage. But I also smelled a were.” He crouched. “You’re safe, Barbara.”
“Who are you?”
He smiled. The woman’s voice had been monotone. Now, even if her intonation held fear, she was alert and alive; responsive. “I’m Steve Jekyll and this is my mate, Fay Olwen. Gordon Forde brought us here.”
Barbara looked across the road, focusing on the vehicle. “He…I…” Her gaze swung to Fay. “What did you do to me? Why do I feel like this?”
“How do you feel?” Fay crouched as Barbara pushed herself up.
The wolf-were knelt back on her heels, one hand steadying herself on the ground. “Like I’ve had the flu for a year.” Her gaze brushed Steve and returned to Fay. “I feel weak.”
“That will pass,” Fay promised. “May I touch you?”
A brief nod gave her permission.
Fay pushed back the hair covering Barbara’s left ear.
A silver circle surrounded a hole in her earlobe, just large enough for a twist of two hairs to thread through it; one black and the other red.
“Two.” Fay pulled the hairs out and held them in her left palm for Barbara to see. “Someone managed a rare trick. They ensorcelled you, a were. Do you remember placing these through your ear? A stranger who did so?”
Barbara shook her head. “I don’t…I don’t remember.” She was shaky, her world rocked; probably at the new reality of her vulnerability. Wolf-weres, and especially the loners, were tough.
Steve turned his head and called, “Gordon.” The wolf alpha was out of the car and beside them in seconds. “Help Barbara inside. We need to talk.”
Fay liked the inside of Barbara’s home as much as she liked the outside. A narrow hallway opened up to a bright kitchen and living area with large windows overlooking the vegetable garden and orchard with a sensational view of the mountains beyond as a bonus.
When they reached the kitchen, Barbara shrugged out of Gordon’s supportive hold. He gave her a narrow-eyed look before letting her get on with making coffee and fussing around her kitchen. It visibly steadied her.
The other three sat at the wide pine table that matched the cupboards. The room was old-fashioned. A pottery fruit bowl containing a single apple anchored the center of a blue and white checked tablecloth.
Barbara brought a packet of chocolate cookies to the table with her, along with four mismatched mugs.
Briefly, Fay explained the situation, aware that the wolf-were needed to know what had attacked her. Ignorance slowed healing and planted the seeds of ongoing fear and debility.
Steve, though, prefaced Fay’s explanation with a reminder to keep the information confidential. “A panic won’t help anyone.”
“Believe me, I don’t want to discuss this.” Barbara rubbed her bare arms. She’d scrub her nails clean, but the torn skin around them was mute evidence of her struggle with enslavement. At the end of the story, she looked at Steve. “I didn’t recognize you as the Suzerain’s heir.” She looked from him to Fay and a small smile curved her mouth. “A mage partner.”
“That’ll send some folks into a tailspin,” Gordon said.
“You?” Steve challenged, but not as if it mattered. He lounged on a chair beside Fay, facing the two wolves.
“After seeing what she did here? No.” But Gordon’s glance at Fay held reservations.
Fay leaned forward. “What did you see or sense?”
The wolf alpha’s gaze landed on Barbara. “I didn’t see your magic. I felt the tension and then the release as whatever held Barb let her go. You forced it to.”
“Will it return?” Barbara asked.
“No,” Fay said. “If you give me permission, I’ll ward your homestead. No magic user will be able to cross it.”
“And away from home?” Barbara pursued.
Steve looked at Gordon. “I imagine your protective neighboring alpha will arrange to keep an eye on you till the rogue mage is caught, which won’t be long.”
“You can be damn sure,” Gordon said. “I’ll be calling Saul. He’ll come home and stay with you.”
“He’s on a job,” Barbara protested.
“And you’re more important.”
Barba
ra slumped in her chair, accepting, and perhaps even reassured by, her defeat.
Fay ventured cautiously onto the tricky part of the conversation, the bit where she had to get the wolf-were’s cooperation. “About the earplug the mage inserted in your lobe…”
“I’d forgotten.” Barbara tugged at it. “Gordon?”
The wolf alpha pulled a knife out of an ankle sheathe.
Fay had dealt with medical emergencies on her Collegium missions, but here they were in a clean and tidy house. “That’s not sterile.”
Steve chuckled a low laugh in his chest.
“I could use my claws,” Gordon said.
Barbara laughed, a shaky but real effort. “You’re right, Fay. I wasn’t thinking. Wolves don’t tend to get blood poisoning, but why risk it? That’d be all I need.” She got up and found a clean knife in a drawer.
Two minutes later, she and Gordon returned from the bathroom. She held gauze to her ear and he held out a small metal circle to Fay. The earplug.
“Thanks.” She accepted it without precautions. Whatever enchantment the metal had held had shattered in breaking Barbara’s enslavement. “Can you have it analyzed?” She passed it to Steve. “It’s not silver and I’m curious if it’s an alloy.”
He pocketed it.
Gordon followed the movement. “Aren’t you going to use it to track the rogue mage? To do a finding spell or something?”
“Not from it. The rogue mage’s spell was messy. It…for lack of a better word…combusted when I broke it. Using the remnants of it, like the earplug, would give unreliable results. They’re tainted.”
“So you’re no further forward,” he growled.
Fay shook her head, grateful for Steve’s quiet, watchful presence beside her. The wolves wouldn’t like what she was about to suggest. “We have Barbara. Her dream essence channeled to the rogue mage. She’s not tainted. She’s strong, vital and alive. If I act now, I can rebuild and follow the track her dream essence took.” I think, she added silently.
Djinn Justice (The Collegium Book 2) Page 10
