Lyra accepted the small book. “Oh. Thank you. I’m sure this will help.” She paged through, skimming a few entries. Many dealt with what it felt like to learn that she possessed magic. Lyra wanted to pour over these entries. For so long, she’d wondered why unusual things happened to her. At least with this, she could feel less alone with her experiences.
“Well, I’m going to go feed those barn cats before their mewing drives me crazy. Feel free to have a look around.”
As Lyra rocked and read, the screen of her mind filled with reenactments of scenes from Brigid’s life.
Cullen leaned against her shoulder, reading along and occasionally remarking at what he envisioned through their mental transfer.
“All right.” Vickie reappeared in the doorway. “I think we can pay Raylene a visit now. If you want to take that chair with you, you sure may.”
Cullen nodded. “Yes. She would. She’s been wanting to learn more about her family.”
Vickie took a few steps toward their car. “Great. How big is your backseat?”
“It will easily fit. We’ll get it before we leave town,” Cullen called, waving her back to the barn.
“Then let’s head over to Raylene’s. Cullen, I’m thinking that you should stay here. It would be safer for everyone.”
“I want to remain in contact with Lyra in case she needs me. I’ll keep a distance though.”
Vickie nodded and they piled into her pick-up to drive the quarter-mile to the neighboring house. “This used to be all one property, a family homestead. Now, our land divides at the edge of that forest,” she said as they rode. Before she turned into the long drive, she slowed and looked at Cullen. “You gotta get out here. Don’t come onto the lawn unless either Lyra or I call to you. You hear?”
Cullen nodded but didn’t say anymore to rile Lyra’s cousin. He positioned himself at the end of the lane, in view of the house.
Vickie parked near the back porch and quickly scooted down from the cab. As she climbed the warped stair treads, she glanced over her shoulder at Lyra. “Let me do most of the talking.”
Lyra stayed close and looked around while Vickie knocked. Daylight revealed more wear to the property. The place looked more neglected and less dangerous than the night before. A modern mower sat at the end of the drive with its engine case open—explaining the uncut lawn. Bushes engulfed edges of the porch while an overgrown network of vines claimed one side of the house. Overturned plastic lawn chairs and empty beer bottles cluttered the usable area of the back stoop. But taking a closer look, incongruities outside the possibilities of country charm struck Lyra. Fishing knives had been stabbed through the fibrous brown stems of last summer’s hollyhocks. Deformed hens tripped over long combs as they pecked their way through the yard.
The squeak of the screen door startled Lyra from her exploration. A skinny slip of a young woman, no more than twenty-five, stepped out. “Vickie. Good to see you.” Raylene greeted her cousin, but her gray eyes held fast to Lyra.
“This is Lyra, my third cousin on my dad’s side, a distant cousin to you too. When we were kids, her family visited.”
“Never heard of you, but I might have been too young to remember.” Raylene sized up Lyra from head to toe. “You have strong witchcraft, don’t you? I can smell it sharp in the air. Ain’t smooth like mine or Grandma’s.”
“I have powers like Brigid that I inherited through the family,” Lyra replied.
The younger woman ran her fingers through her dishwater blonde hair. “Around midnight, Ed from the filling station called and told me a woman asked about bee keepers near Vickie’s. You were here last night. The honey tree acted up, welcoming kin. What are you wanting here?”
Vickie waved toward Lyra. “She’s here to gather information for a genealogy project.”
“I think there’s a book that Brigid placed in that honey tree for safekeeping. The book contains information I can use to finish the magic Brigid started.” Every inch of Lyra’s skin prickled uncomfortably. Although, like Vickie said, Raylene wasn’t a strong witch, she possessed some skills.
The young woman leaned the wide part of her pear-shaped hip against the door frame. “Grandma Draora chanted her warning and called to me for help. Vickie knows you as family, and I can tell you have our witchcraft.” Raylene tilted her head. “Why did Draora act out and my dog chase after you?”
“I had a friend with me, my fiancé.”
“Is he a witch too?”
Lyra nodded. “From a different clan.”
“That explains it. Draora is strict about keeping to our own, not sharing family secrets and spells. She’s on guard since we had someone here poking around just a couple nights ago.”
“Did you see the person?” Lyra asked, too curious to contain her questions.
“I saw the shape of a man. Draora told me he had dark witchcraft.”
Lyra bit her lip, uncertain how much to explain to her cousins.
Raylene lifted away from her place at the doorway, took hold of Lyra’s hand, and led her off the porch toward the back of the yard. “I trust you, and Draora won’t let you take anything from the keep unless you’re kin.”
Lyra glanced over her shoulder and saw Cullen hanging at the mailbox.
The Doberman brushed against her side, and she spun around, checking the dog. He trotted with his mouth open and tongue dangling.
The small plot of graves looked peaceful with the tall brown grass switching around the headstones and markers, but the gnarled tree whipped its limbs as if caught in a whirlwind. The bee skeps tossed in the wind, but if bees were present, they remained calm inside.
Raylene, still holding Lyra by the hand, passed through the rusty gate of the iron fence that surrounded both the graveyard and honey tree. She touched their joined hands to the trunk. Bark had grown over an old carving, but the fissures still followed the pattern of the sigil in Brigid’s book and on Ivri’s tree.
Vibrations channeled down Lyra’s arm, similar to when she touched other magic-imbued family objects. A vertical crack formed from the fork and split downward to where the two women stood.
“Put your other hand in there and feel for what you’re looking for,” Raylene said, pushing her fine hair from her face.
Lyra slid her hand into the fissure. There were many objects she identified by shape: a small wooden chest, a tall tin canister, a smooth globe, and a leather pouch with a what felt like a book inside. The moment her fingers contacted the sack, a jolt of energy shot through her arm. Her aura expanded from where she normally contained it in her mind and heart. It filled her whole body and pushed at the surface of her skin with an electric hum that overpowered all other sensations. The fifth and final book promised an untold amount of power that she intended for the Guardians of the Alliance, not herself.
Raylene dropped Lyra’s other hand. “My hand! It burned touching you.”
Lyra took a breath to steady herself. Her task needed to be completed. She slowly drew out the pouch, having just enough space to remove it through the narrow crack. Pulling back the leather covering, her heart pounded. The faded gilt letters read, Book of Dragonspeir, authored by Sorcha Resdale. She opened the front cover to be certain the text matched the cover, then slipped it back into the protective bag.
The whipping boughs of the honey tree spun faster and created a whistling sound. From above that note, the same rough female voice called, “Use it well, Lyra. Use it well.”
Raylene and Vickie directed their cousin along the path between the grave markers and out the gate.
Draora’s voice and the honey tree quieted as the cousins walked arm in arm through the tall grass. Lyra smiled and her body reverberated with the feeling of the women in her family tied together from centuries ago to present day.
A sudden wave of energy split this peace and caused a rush of pain through Lyra’s skull. Bees swarmed around the trio. A bolt of purple light shot from the woods at the side of the property. Its strike hit precisely on the leath
er pouch in Lyra’s left hand and yanked it from her grasp.
“Lyra!” Cullen screamed as he ran along the driveway and Kenzo shot through the air toward her.
Chapter Twenty-five: Bloodswear Bonds
The pouch whipped through the air into the woods. No form was visible, but Lyra detected a massive force of Dark Realm energy. She didn’t trust herself to form powerballs any better than she ever could. A misfire with her newly expanded aura might destroy a home or spark a forest fire.
The dark vibrations drew closer.
Draora let out a blood-curdling screech.
Cullen reached the edge of the yard and didn’t stop.
In response, her honey bees swarming around the cousins doubled in number. The Doberman snarled and circled the group.
When Kenzo met the huge vortex of unfamiliar energy from the ghost witch, he hung suspended in its eye.
Raylene held out her arms to the gravesite, and Vickie dropped to her knees on the ground.
Lyra ran to meet Cullen. “Your staff. I can power it.”
He yanked the diminished tool from his pack. “Cresco!” It expanded in his hand. He planted its base and aimed the crystals at the forest.
Lyra clasped below his hands and channeled her power, instantly heating the cool metal.
Cullen fired at a hazy cloud of purple aura near the edge of the tree cover. A hefty limb crashed to the ground from the hit.
A wide bolt of purple cut the air, missing the couple by only a foot. “Now that I can see to aim, I might improve on that shot,” a familiar male voice called out.
At the sound, Cullen held fire.
The hem of a black cloak, tendrils swishing in all directions, gracefully swept around brush. The eyes of a skull fastened to the top of a staff glowed red. At the edge of the lawn stood the alchemist of the Dark Realm—Tarom.
Lyra’s stomach churned. She felt Cullen’s hands shake and regrip the shaft.
Clutched together, Vickie screamed while Raylene eased them closer to the graveyard.
Looking at their attacker, Lyra remembered how, last winter, Tarom had secretly taught her his master skills of the fascination craft in order to help her save Cullen’s life. Yet, she had also seen Cullen and Tarom fight like enemies in the Black Dragon’s lair. Years before Tarom turned to the Dark Realm, the two men had served together as brothers on a bloodswear quest for the Alliance. Their rivalry was as great as their enormous talents, ever since the days of their apprenticeships over a century ago in the Alliance.
Cullen fired at his old colleague and friend, setting his cloak on fire.
With a flick of his fingers, Tarom doused the flames.
Don’t let go, Cullen said in Lyra’s mind. He shot a rapid fire of pinpoint blue lasers, which vaporized Tarom’s fingers on his right hand.
The alchemist dropped his own staff and yelled in pain. “You bastard! More ruthless than I expected—you know my strengths.” He cradled his injured hand into the other fist and crouched low to the ground, his long black hair falling over his face. Even with his non-dominant hand, he made a swift motion and lifted his staff. The eyes of the skull shot a laser that pierced the air.
The beam hit Lyra’s right shoulder, and she dropped to the ground, trembling with sharp pain coursing up her neck.
“And I know yours,” the alchemist called out as he stepped closer. “Sire Drake, your aura is reportedly a bit ragged from the many travels you’ve made out of the Alliance of late. Like in old times when we sparred, let’s raise the stakes. Fight me on your own, or I’ll kill Lyra.”
“You wouldn’t kill her and let the scribal aura die with her. Your ally, Eburscon, covets it too much for you to do that,” Cullen replied, moving away from Lyra.
“Eburscon isn’t here. Nor is the Black Dragon,” Tarom spat the words. “And you well know I work better alone. This lost book will serve me fine.”
Lyra flinched, but her cousins held her down. Tarom seemed so certain he could kill her. New power, gained from the few moments she touched Sorcha’s book, whipped in her mind like the whirlwind surrounding them. It tingled at the tips of her fingers and begged to be used. He wasn’t aware of how Lyra’s power had advanced after gaining the lost volumes. Despite her injury, she might be able to overpower him, but wanted the ghost witch fighting with her. With every ounce of Lyra’s aura, she kept both sources of magic empowered and ready to strike.
“Lyra, focus on the honey tree. Keep Draora with us. I’ll tend your shoulder.” Raylene helped Lyra move her neck, stiffened by convulsing muscles, to look in that direction. She pressed her palms hard onto Lyra’s wounded shoulder. A mild magic pulsed through her hands. The bleeding slowed, and the stabbing pain eased to a throb. Lyra was grateful for that much.
Raylene also seemed in tune with her grandmother’s magic. Lyra longed to see Cullen, but fought to keep her gaze on the keep.
Vickie knelt beside them. “What can I do?”
“No matter what happens, do whatever you can to help Lyra focus her witchcraft onto that tree,” she whispered.
A purple beam sailed through the air, and Cullen yelled.
Lyra jerked hard against her cousins’ arms. “Let me go! I need to give him my power.”
A volley of violet lasers peppered the ground around the three women. Vickie whimpered, but Raylene didn’t let up her pressure on the wound.
After the shots, Lyra felt the tell-tale buzz of Tarom’s energy probing her mind, but only in the outer layers of her aura.
“Don’t think I can’t see your eyes well enough to use fascination, my dear,” Tarom called. “This is between me and Cullen. I’m very fond of you and don’t want to have to kill you or your mortal cousins.”
Where were his eyes? Lyra squirmed her neck and grit her teeth against the pain rushing along her upper back. Rolling her eyes in their sockets, she found the view she needed. She grabbed a huge mass of her aura and sent it into the alchemist’s mind.
He let out a scream and writhed out of her limited range of sight.
From the corner of her eye, she saw a single blue laser fire.
Tarom yelped again and responded with a frenzy of violet fire.
Cullen moaned and scuffled in the dry grass behind Lyra.
“No!” Raylene cried out. “Lyra, focus all you have on that honey tree. Do it!”
Lyra’s body shook uncontrollably, but she clenched her jaw and forced her aura at the tree. Her own golden light visibly coursed from her eyes for the first time, another of Sorcha’s gifts. Her fingers dug into the earth as Vickie clamped hard against her straining muscles.
The family keep crackled and sent jags of electricity in all directions.
The Doberman barked wildly.
“More power, Lyra!” Raylene exclaimed. “All you have.”
Lyra grounded her pelvis and contracted her abdomen, forcing all she could from deep within her heart. The urgency of Sorcha’s energy unleashed.
Draora screamed. From one of the graves, a white mist lifted, shimmering in the golden light of Lyra’s aura.
The ghost witch lifted her arms to her tree, and thousands more bees poured from skeps throughout its boughs. Her vaporous form wafted in the direction of the alchemist.
Kenzo regained control and led the swirling mass of bees after her.
The dog’s fur raised. He growled and joined their chase.
Draora spun into a funnel, and the trees in the forest above Tarom followed her lead. Heavy boughs crashed down.
Tarom cried out, “Stop! Please, stop.” He moaned and begged, but the noise of Draora’s attack persisted.
Lyra wanted to see what happened, but didn’t dare let her power waver. Her strength empowered the ghost witch.
“Here! Here is the book. Let me go,” Tarom pleaded.
“Vickie, go pick it up,” Raylene directed.
After their cousin returned with the pouch and checked the contents, Lyra dropped her connection to the family keep.
Kenzo accept
ed the bag into his talons and landed directly beside Lyra with the book contacting her.
Her blood covered Raylene’s hands and jeans.
With some help from her older cousin, Lyra managed to face Cullen. If she tried to lift her torso up, the enormous pain in her shoulder sent waves of nausea through her stomach.
Cullen sat on the ground, his right leg bleeding badly. His staff lay on the ground next to him.
“Help me over to him. I need to heal him,” Lyra begged.
Draora’s ghost returned to its resting place, although her spirit continued to howl with the wind of the honey tree. The forest and her bees quieted.
Released from his torment, Tarom rushed up with his staff aimed at Cullen. “Give me the book or he dies.”
“Don’t give it to him!” Cullen cried. He didn’t pick up his staff, but kept his eyes riveted on Tarom’s face.
As Lyra watched the two men, every muscle in her body tensed. Her pulse pounded in the wound at her shoulder and down her arm. When she noticed her hand, she started. Her palm glowed with a dense golden powerball, and Draora’s bees swarmed to it. Sorcha’s magic had gifted her with tight, external command of her power—the skill she sorely lacked.
Tarom stared at Lyra’s display for at least a minute. Sweat beaded on his brow and rolled down one side of his face. The skull at the apex of the alchemist’s staff pulsed violet, now fully charged. He shook his head and mumbled, “I should have known—gifts from your ancestors.” Suddenly, he dropped his staff to the ground, the purple light dissipating. He looked squarely at Cullen. “I cannot win against her…or against you alone. Symar said you couldn’t kill me, and neither can I kill you.”
“Give me your hand,” Cullen replied, holding out his own.
Tarom took a step forward and extended the uninjured one.
“The other one.”
Cullen took the alchemist’s blood-soaked right hand, missing all but the digit of his index finger bearing his ringed bloodswear scar. The wizard held the injured hand, tracing the charred stubs of each finger. “I’m slow, lacking full power.”
Tarom crouched, the bloodied toes of his boots grazing Cullen’s wounded right leg. “You don’t need to—”
Enchanted Bookstore Legends (5-book complete epic fantasy romance box set) Page 82
