Bewitched

by Sandra Schwab

  The land of elm trees where men worked in the belly of the earth, and where in secluded valleys magic was wrought. But that no longer frightened him. The only thing he dreaded now was the bony step of the Grim Reaper, out to steal his heart’s delight.

  And this is why I sojourn here,

  Alone and palely loitering…

  His heart thudded once, twice, as he stared at the cozy house before him: Three Elms, where Amy had been brought, according to Cyril. He took a deep breath, then urged his horse on, up the drive to the front steps of the house. When he slid out of the saddle, his knees buckled with exhaustion, but gripping the saddle and gritting his teeth, he forced himself upright. Another deep breath, then he clumped up the stairs to the entrance door. He reached for the heavy, lion-headed knocker and let it fall back against the dark wooden door.

  A few moments later it was opened by a pinch-faced butler, and a blast of warm air hit Fox. “Good afternoon”—the barest of hesitations as he looked Fox, with his muddy clothes and wind-chafed face, up and down—“sir.”

  Fox blinked. The warm air made him dizzy, and he had to lean his hand against the doorframe to prevent himself from falling flat on his face at the man’s feet. He ran his tongue across his cracked lips. “I am…” He blinked again.

  The man eyed him quizzically. “I am afraid the family is not receiving at this time, sir,” he said politely.

  Fox shook his head. “Miss Bourne… Amy,” he croaked. “I need to see her.”

  The man’s expression closed up. “This, sir, is impossible. Perhaps you ought better retire to the inn in the village below.”

  He made as if to close the door, but with a last burst of strength, Fox’s hand shot out to keep it open. “I am…” His voice cracked. He shook his head, tried again. “Stapleton. Sebastian… Stapleton. Her… betrothed.”

  The other’s lips compressed. For a moment he regarded Fox silently, then seemed to come to a decision. “In that case, sir,” he said in frigid tones, “you had better come in.” He opened the door wider and stepped aside to let Fox pass. “I will tell one of the footmen to make sure that your horse is looked after. Fred! Your coat and hat, sir?” He took both, as well as Fox’s grimy gloves, then indicated one of the chairs standing in the entrance hall. “If you wish to wait here…”

  Not in some salon or drawing room. But Fox didn’t care, didn’t care at all. If only they let him see Amy…

  He sank down onto one of the indicated chairs, while the butler quietly conversed with a liveried young man for a few moments. The latter then went outside and the former upstairs. Fox rubbed an unsteady hand across his cheek. After the cold and wind had numbed him, his skin now burned as if devoured by the flames of hell. And, sweet heavens, surely he would be in hell if he were too late.

  He swallowed.

  Suddenly there was a loud bang somewhere in the house, the sound of raised voices; then, on the stairs, hurried footsteps. Somebody came hurtling down the steps. And farther up: “Flann! Stop it!”

  More footsteps, the high-pitched voice of a young boy, “No! I will get that bastard, that—”

  “Flann!”

  Inexorably the sound of footsteps came nearer, and then a young boy hurled himself from the stairs into the entrance hall. With curly, black hair, eyes flashing, and his face dark with fury, he came to a skittering halt in front of Fox. “You!” His small chest heaved, his eyes narrowed.

  “Flann!”

  The boy took a step toward Fox. “You, it’s you! How dare you show your face here? I’ll—” He raised his hand, murmured something Fox didn’t catch, and suddenly, there was a ball of blue light growing in the boy’s palm.

  “Flann!”

  An unholy light glowed in the boy’s eyes, Fox saw with detached interest. Were they blue like that glowing sphere?

  Fox blinked.

  “No! Flann, no!” A dark-haired young man raced across the entrance hall and, with a curse, tackled the boy. The ball of light dissolved into lightning, which shot toward the ceiling and left a dark, scorched spot in the gleaming wood.

  Stupefied, Fox could only sit and gape at the blackened spot. Dimly, he was aware that the young man shook Flann.

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  “It’s him!” the boy yelled hysterically. “He’s got no right to be here!”

  “Enough!” a new voice bellowed. The man who stepped down the last few stairs was a good few inches shorter than Fox, but with his weather-beaten face and the gray, short-cropped hair, he looked as if he could easily have commanded whole regiments. He strode across the hall, followed by the now anxious-looking butler and a horde of more black-haired boys and young men.

  “Devlin,” he continued more quietly, “bring Flann to his room and see that he stays there.”

  “But—” Flann started to protest.

  “No. I don’t want to hear it.”

  “He’s got no right, he—”

  “This is quite enough, Flann. Devlin, bring your brother upstairs.” While young Flann was dragged away, the older man turned his attention to Fox. “Bourne. You’re Stapleton?” His voice was sharp.

  Belatedly, Fox remembered he should maybe stand, and stumbled to his feet. “I’m here to see Amy.”

  At that, the younger boys started to mutter—until their father raised his hand. Abruptly, they fell silent.

  “Please,” Fox said. “I didn’t know…” Another bout of dizziness assaulted him. What if they didn’t let him see her? Desperately, he repeated, “I’m here to see Amy.”

  Her uncle only stared at him. With disgust, Fox thought.

  “Please.” He would beg, he would even go down on his knees if necessary. If only they let—

  “It might help,” one of the young men offered.

  After another while, Bourne finally nodded his head. “Very well,” he said. “Surely nothing else has helped so far.”

  Such immense relief flooded Fox that he felt lightheaded with it. Yet in the next moment, the meaning of the man’s words sunk fully in. Nothing else has helped so far.

  His voice hoarse, Fox asked, “Does that mean…?”

  “Come and see for yourself.” Bourne turned back to the stairs. Fox followed him. The man’s various sons followed Fox. To wait for a chance to throw another ball of lightning at him?

  Nonetheless, Fox stumbled on.

  Up the stairs. Down a hallway. Beyond a door. Two women were there. They looked up when the door was opened, but Fox took no notice of them. He only had eyes for the motionless figure which lay in the half-tester bed. So still. He lurched forwards.

  “Amy?” he whispered.

  Her skin was porcelain white and so translucent that he could see the fine web of blue veins beneath. The blood roared in his ears. Almost imperceptibly, her chest lifted with shallow breaths. Not dead, no, not dead yet, but… He reached for her hand. Cold and lifeless, it lay in his.

  “Amy?”

  There was no answer.

  “She can no longer hear you,” said a woman he took to be her aunt.

  Once again, Fox’s knees buckled; he didn’t have any strength left to keep himself upright. He sank down beside Amy’s bed, lowered his forehead onto the white linen, and cried.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was a long time until he composed himself. When he had cried all the tears he had and Amy’s hand still remained cold and lifeless in his, her uncle led him to the study and pressed a glass of brandy into his hand. “Drink,” he said roughly.

  Fox wiped the sleeve of his frock coat across his face. Shortly it crossed his mind that he must look a fright with his dirty clothes and his now no doubt blotchy face, but just as quickly, the thought was swept away by the memory of Amy, his Amy, lying on that bed. Dying.

  He downed the brandy.

  “Is there nothing that can be done?” he asked hoarsely.

  The other spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “Nothing. If we knew what was wrong with her, perhaps. But we don’t. At
first we thought she was simply drained of energy. It would have been logical: after all, she not only had to thrust through the spell I put on her—and it was a powerful one…” He grimaced, as if now feeling sorry about how powerful he had made his spell. A moment later he shook his head and continued, “No, she also had to break that other fellow’s guard. But if she had simply drained her energy, she would have either died straight away or would have improved by now. Instead…” He had to clear his throat. “The opposite is the case: her condition has only worsened.” Mr. Bourne gave Fox a sad smile. “If I’m not mistaken, the housekeeper has had a room prepared and a change of clothes brought for you. So, why don’t you take advantage of those? Afterwards you can sit with Amy, if you like.”

  Sit with her. Only sit with her, because nothing could be done. Nothing. Once more Fox felt his eyes burn, and all he could manage was a nod.

  A few minutes later he found himself in a cozy guestroom, where two jugs of warm water and somebody else’s clothes were awaiting him. Numbly, he went through the motions of undressing and sponging himself down. He had just put on the fresh trousers and shirt when there was a knock on the door.

  His heart clenched. Amy? Had she taken a turn to the worse? Had she—?

  But no, no! His heart wouldn’t hear such tidings.

  Quickly, he was across the room and pulled the door open. Two of Amy’s cousins stared back at him. Dimly he recognized one of them as Devlin, the young man who had saved him from the blue ball of lightning earlier on.

  “We’ve come to talk,” Devlin said. Both young men must have been in their twenties, a few years younger than Fox himself.

  “Now?”

  “Yes.” They brushed past him.

  Warily, he closed the door. “What is it, then?”

  They exchanged a look. “The matter is this,” Devlin Bourne began. “We’ve been thinking, Coll and I.” He glanced at his brother, who promptly took over.

  “Lord Rawdon told father about the weeks prior to that attack on all of you. How Amy suddenly seemed to be more subdued and no longer went for walks in the gardens with you.”

  Both young men looked at Fox expectantly. He slowly nodded: Yes, he well remembered the misery and confusion of these weeks. In the end he had put her behavior down to attempting to fight against the passion raging between them. And once he’d obtained that sponge, all had seemed well—hadn’t it?

  “The earl also told father about that strange incident on the lake,” Colin Bourne continued. “About the boy breaking through thick ice and the strange creature that was found on the shore a few days later.”

  “We must assume this was another magical attack,” his brother cut in. “So even though our father wouldn’t want to hear of this, we think if Amy knew something was wrong and if she was desperate enough to keep your family safe… well…”

  The brothers exchanged another look, while Devlin’s last sentence echoed ominously in Fox’s head. Desperate enough to keep your family safe… His blood ran cold. How horribly he had misjudged her. He felt as if he were about to be sick. He had horribly, horribly misjudged her.

  Devlin swallowed hard, then turned to Fox and blurted out: “We think she might have used blood magic.”

  “Blood magic.” Fox blinked.

  “Yes,” they said in unison, and with equal expressions of distaste.

  Fox stared at them. Had they been talking Chinese, he could not have been more astounded. Or perplexed. “So…” He frowned. “Why don’t you tell your father?

  “Good Lord, no!” Colin Bourne exclaimed. “He would never accept that Amy knew anything of such matters. It’s not something that a gently bred young lady would do—or even know about!”

  Devlin nodded. “It’s like her walking down St. James’s Street—in her underwear.”

  Fox managed a weak “Oh.” In his experience, gently bred young ladies normally didn’t know about either magic or blood magic, whatever that was supposed to be.

  Colin rubbed his neck. “But Amy always loved rummaging around in the library and reading these old tomes. Goodness knows what she found there! Blood magic is mostly used for”—he hesitated a moment—“darker purposes. It drains a person, so a knowledgeable magician would be careful not to use his own blood.”

  “Oh,” Fox said again. His knees felt decidedly weak. It all sounded so fantastical. Absurd. Surely not something that might happen here in England.

  Devlin cleared his throat. “We think Amy might have used her own blood for a protection spell.”

  “Her own…” Fox had to sit down. Heavens, what had she done? Suddenly a memory sprang up in his mind, brilliantly clear. The day after Pip had almost drowned in the lake—by magic, according to the two young Bournes.

  “I was wondering, ” Amy had said. They had been in the drawing room, and she had been standing at one of the windows that looked out over the lake.

  He had gone to her, slipped his arm around her waist. “Yes?”

  “Are there any old monuments to be found in the vicinity?” She had looked up at him, her eyes very blue. “You know, stone circles and such?”

  Fox gasped. He had thought it an idle question at the time, but now… Wasn’t it said that the Celtic druids had performed their pagan rituals in these circles and henges?

  He licked his lips, cleared his throat. “She asked me…” Cleared his throat again. “Asked me whether I knew of a stone circle in the vicinity.”

  “Stone circle?” both of them echoed—and turned an identical shade of sickly gray.

  “Dear heavens!” Colin Bourne sank down on a chair and, elbows leaning on his knees, rubbed his hands across his face.

  Devlin stared down at his brother’s bent head. “Do you think she really did…” His voice trailed away. If possible, he lost even more color.

  “Of course she did!” Colin snapped, lifting his head. “It all makes a horrible kind of sense now, doesn’t it?”

  His brother’s breath escaped in a sharp hiss.

  Uncomprehendingly, Fox looked from one to the other. Apprehension made the fine hair at his neck tingle. “What does?”

  Yet they didn’t pay him any attention.

  “She joined with the land.” Devlin swayed on his feet.

  “Joined with the land?” Fox echoed. What the devil were they talking about? This all sounded as if taken straight out of a shilling romance where brave knights fought against dragons, ogres and whatever other kinds of monsters they could find.

  “Of course she did,” the other young Bourne said urgently. “If she then used her blood for a protection spell—”

  “It would make for the most powerful protections of all,” Devlin finished. A moment later, though, he shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense, Coll. Why then could that other fellow invade Rawdon Park? Capture them all? Why hasn’t she recovered by now?”

  Brooding, they gazed into space.

  Fox’s patience snapped. “What? What is it? And what do you mean, ‘she joined with the land’? How do you join with the land? What did she do?”

  And then, finally, they told him the most fantastic tale. How a person could bind himself to the land; how the kings in ancient times had done it in order to cement their power, and how they could just as well have dropped dead during the ceremony itself. Amy obviously hadn’t dropped dead, but apparently it had backfired on her. And on top of it, the whole magic thing hadn’t even worked properly.

  Fox groaned. “Do you think she was delusional?”

  “Delusional?” Colin Bourne raised a brow.

  Fox swallowed. It was a terrible thought, really. Terrible enough to make his voice hoarse. “That she went and did such a thing, even though she must have known of the danger.” He shook his head. “It must have been that wretched love potion,” he muttered and shuddered.

  The two young men stared at him as if he were the one who was delusional. “What has the love potion to do with it?” Devlin asked.

  “What? What? Everything!” Prow
ling up and down the room, Fox ran his hands through his hair. “If she hadn’t been under the influence of that dastardly potion, surely she would never have risked her life in such a manner!”

  “Oh,” Colin said in the strangest tone. “That’s it, then.”

  “Yes, yes!” Fox’s hands tightened into fists. He gritted his teeth. “I’m going to kill-”

  Unexpectedly, Colin shook his head. “She must have already known about the potion then.”

  “So?”

  “When found out, these things lose most of their power.” He gave Fox a sad little smile. “So, when my cousin risked her life for your family, she didn’t act under the influence of a love potion.”

  Dumbfounded, Fox ogled them. But that would mean…

  “Perhaps that other chap was simply too powerful for her,” Devlin suggested. “After all, he had already done that thing with the lake, given you the potion—”

  Fox frowned. “Actually—no.” He forced his mind back to the issue at hand.

  “No?”

  “I’d never seen him before.”

  “Never?”

  Fox shook his head. “I’m sure I would have remembered had he given me something to drink.”

  “But then, how—”

  “That day… when Lady Margaret and those men came to Rawdon Park…” Fox gnawed on his lip, tried to remember. Think, Foxy, think. “Amy said…”

  He closed his eyes and pictured the scene: his own shock after he felt the wound in his shoulder close, the edges of flesh merging… Amy walking away from him, her hair loose… Why was her hair loose? It moved as if in the wind—oh yes, and then he had felt it, too, the gust of air that swept through the drawing room. His skin tingled with it. Or perhaps with the sight of the pieces of glass lying scattered outside the empty window frames, trembling and then flying up—white clouds of smashed glass—eventually forming perfect panes once more—and Amy said—