by Sarah Hegger
Stronger now, compelling and undeniable, the presence called her deeper still. “We are here.”
The further she walked, the denser the forest got. Towering oak, rowan, hazel, holly, elder, alder, ash and birch surrounded her. Ivy twined its way up their thick trunks. Tree trunks grew so close she could barely move through them. The weight of so many thousands of spirits pulling at her made her heavy.
“Come.”
She pushed into a clearing. Willow and reeds ringed a pool of dark water.
“Maeve.” A woman dressed in a red gown stepped into the clearing. “It is good that you are come.”
“Tahra.” Maeve named the ancient guardian witch.
She was lovely with night-black hair floating and swirling around her head. Her eyes were a blue so deep it appeared indigo. Tahra stopped and cocked her head. A slow smile spread over her generous mouth. “Roderick.” She stepped closer to Maeve and drew in a long breath. “I sense his bond with you.”
“Yes, Ancient.” Maeve was overawed.
“Sister.” A second woman entered the clearing and demanded her naming.
Maeve let lily and orange swell and tell her what she needed to know, to draw from the sigils the identity of the new phantom. Another of the first four. “Brenna?”
A tall woman with brown hair and eerily opaque green eyes, Brenna had been the first seer.
Maeve’s skin prickled with the power of another spirit. She almost couldn’t believe it as her magic identified the third member of the first. The original healer Deidre joined the other two.
“Deirdre.” Maeve bowed to them, the venerable witches whose names had been taught to every acolyte, the first witches called into service and the source from which the order of cré-witches had sprung.
“You must act,” Brenna said. “The coven is in danger. The lost one has revealed herself at last.”
Fear lanced through Maeve. This was what she’d come to discover. “You’re sure it’s her?”
“She grows in power,” Tahra said.
The drain of having moved this far back in time wore on Maeve, making her feel insubstantial and ungrounded. She drew more strength from her anchoring crystal. Her mind grappled with what they said. “She has power?”
“Aye.” Her sadness materialized into a gray mist that enveloped Deidre. The mist made Maeve want to weep for the lost ancient, filled as it was with the bottomless sadness of the remaining three.
“She has found a way to draw power,” Brenna said, and anger leaked dirty green into the air about Maeve. Brenna wanted to strike out at something, and that fury now filled Maeve. “She’s using blood magic.”
Horror made her lightheaded and Maeve almost retched. “Are you certain?”
“We have seen it and we feel it.” Brenna shook her head. “She strikes at the coven.”
“How?” Maeve’s feet sunk into the grass. Ivy twined around her ankles and tugged her deeper. She had used a lot of power to walk this deep. She was losing her connection with her anchoring crystal.
“This we can’t see clearly,” Deidre said. Her gaze sharpened on Maeve. “You have been here too long. You must go back.”
Everything in Maeve rose in opposition to that idea. She loved it here. It was so peaceful here.
The desire to sink into the grass crept through her. The trees spread their branches toward her and surrounded her. Leaves brushed against her cheek. She could stay. She need never go back.
A pulse shot through her, strong and sure like a sun-warmed rock. No, she couldn’t stay. She needed to get back. The pulse strengthened into a steady tug, like a rope fastened about her waist pulling her back.
Tahra smiled. “Ah, Roderick.” She reached out as if she could stroke the link. “Mine…and now yours.”
“You must stop the lost one.” Brenna’s eyes grew emerald and piercing. “She must be stopped, or the cré-witches are doomed. She’s the one who will bring about the end. I have seen it.”
Deidre floated closer. “She attacks the wards. We can feel her blood magic within them, befouling them.”
Maeve sank into the grass. Tree branches twined around her.
Strong, demanding, implacable, her bond with Roderick wrapped around her and yanked. The trees blurred as he pulled her back. Faster and faster she went until everything swirled into a gray mist rushing past her. With the speed she shot past, spirits lashed her skin.
“You must stop her,” Brenna’s faint whisper followed her.
And even fainter, Tahra said, “Take care of Roderick for me. His spirit craves love.”
The tunnel lurched around her and threw her out. The sigils wailed her loss in a sharp, bright clamor.
Maeve stumbled and would have fallen but strong arms caught her.
Her stomach rebelled against the sudden return to her now, and she nearly threw up. Breathing deep, she clung to Roderick.
The cavern floor came into clearer view and the sigils stopped ringing in her ears.
Low and deep, Roderick’s voice provided another anchor. “Are you well?”
She nodded and stood.
He looked down at her and smiled. “You have immense power, little spirit walker. The caverns crackled with it.”
“Not so little.” Maeve drew herself up to her full five feet and nothing.
“A veritable tower.” Roderick almost smiled. “What did you discover?”
“The trouble I’ve been warned about.” Foreboding enveloped her and her strength drained out of her. “It’s already here.”
Chapter 8
Maeve woke in the hushed still of early dawn. The moment before the sun crested the horizon, in which the world held its breath for the appearance of the new day. A lone dove gurgled from the rooftop nearby. Wild streaks of coral and rose rouged the eastern sky.
Memories of the day before crashed into her and banished her appreciation of the morning.
She had a vague memory of Roderick carrying her to her chamber and putting her abed. And abed was where she wanted to stay. Until the horror of yesterday, and the fear of what was to come all went away.
A shadowy form stirred beside the fire and Roderick stepped into the light. “Good, you’re awake.” Taking hold of her blankets, he ripped them off her. “We need to let the coven know what you discovered.”
“Roderick!” Maeve shrieked and snatched at the blanket. “Get away from me.”
Straight faced, Roderick kept it out of her grasp. “You’ve been asleep for hours.”
“And you’re an evil, evil man.” But as it didn’t look like she was getting her warm blankets back anytime soon, she slid out of bed. “I don’t want to speak to Fiona.”
“I understand that, and I empathize.” Roderick frowned. “But this is bigger than either of us wants. Baile is under a slow and concentrated attack of her wards.”
“Could she know about the lost one? Would Baile know if it was her?” Maeve would never be comfortable uttering that name.
“It’s possible. She knows me because I built her, but Rhiannon created the original wards. They are linked.” He held a dress out to her. “Put this on. We meet with Fiona and Edana in five minutes.”
He must have arranged the meeting while she slept. As much as she recognized she was being unreasonable, his assumption that she would fall into line annoyed her. Bitterness leaked into her tone. “Do you think Fiona will care about this?”
Roderick’s expression softened infinitesimally, but she more sensed his understanding through the bond than read it on his face. “I’m not sure.” He tilted her chin up to face him. “Will you trust me in this?”
Their bond was so new, and she really didn’t know him. Alone had become habitual. Safe. Now she was intrinsically connected to another person, and she hadn’t quite caught up with the change. Her anger against Fiona hadn’t faded, but the lost o
ne was amongst them, and if she didn’t warn the coven, more deaths could follow. “I need to dress.”
“Get on with it then.” He folded his arms.
The man had taken leave of his senses. “You need to leave so I can get dressed.”
“Really, Maeve.” He gave a very male huff of exasperation. “There is nothing you have that I have not seen before.”
The entire coven knew how much he’d seen. “Well, you haven’t seen mine.”
“God’s balls.” He studied her from top to toe. “I’ll stand outside, but no going back to bed. You have three minutes.”
No, she sodding well didn’t. “Boor,” she whispered at his departing back.
Not for a king’s ransom would she meet with Edana feeling like she’d been dragged through a hedge backward.
Maeve dressed in her best gown, nothing like Edana’s gold gown, but the blue went well with her eyes, and it displayed her neat waist and hugged her bosom. She braided her hair and joined Roderick outside her chamber.
He straightened from where he had been leaning on the wall. “We’re late.”
“I’m not late,” she said, but part of her knew she was taking her anxiety at seeing Fiona and Edana out on him. She hated that she had to have this meeting. “Because I didn’t set the time.”
“Blessed!” He grabbed her arm and stopped her. “We can’t be at odds, you and I.”
“Coimhdeacht!” She looked up to meet his gaze. “Then you need to discuss things with me and not decide them on my behalf.”
“Fine.” He gritted his teeth. “Now, come along. What you discovered won’t wait.”
He led her to Fiona’s quarters.
Edana must have moved in because she lounged in the sitting room beside the fire. She rose in a graceful movement that Maeve could spend her lifetime practicing and still blunder through and held her hands to Roderick. She smiled up at him and batted her lashes “Roderick.”
“Edana.” He took her hands, for no longer than politeness dictated, and dropped them again.
The way Edana looked at him set Maeve’s teeth on edge. Given her way, Edana would gobble him up. “I’m here to see Fiona.”
“You’re late.” Edana raked Maeve with a harsh glare. Maeve was suddenly aware how short she was, and how her mouth was a tad too large for beauty, and of the eighteen freckles over the bridge of her nose.
“Your pardon, Blessed.” Roderick drew Edana’s attention back to him. “I was detained, and the fault is mine.”
Maeve almost forgave him the crack about her having nothing he hadn’t seen before.
Sniffing, Edana strode to the door at the end that led into the office. “She does not have much time for you. There is more trouble.”
“From the village?” Maeve’s gut tightened. She prayed no more deaths.
Edana frowned at her. “I can’t share coven business with just any witch.”
“Maeve lost three friends yesterday.” Roderick’s harsh tone stopped Edana in her tracks. “More than anyone, she deserves to know if she will lose more before something is done.”
“Of course, she does,” Edana simpered and laid a hand on his arm. “Forgive me. This awful business has none of us thinking straight.”
Maeve suppressed a snort. “The village?”
Edana spoke to Roderick. “The village has sent a list of what it calls devil worship and acts against God. It has given us five days to respond.”
“What will Fiona do?” Roderick asked for both of them.
Edana shrugged. “What can she do? We are witches, but we don’t worship the devil. To them those two things are one and the same.” She lifted her chin. “They can send all the nasty missives they want, however, because those won’t get them past the wards.”
Maeve glanced at Roderick. She didn’t share Edana’s blithe confidence, especially not after her spirit walk last night. “We need to see her.”
“I said you could, and you will. Do you think you’re the only sister who wishes to speak with Fiona?” Edana drew herself up, her beautiful face cold and disdainful. “I’m only allowing you to speak to her as a favor to Roderick.”
Goddess led the cré-witches, not Fiona and certainly not Edana. “As a sister, it’s my right to see Fiona when I need to.”
“Really?” Edana didn’t look so pretty with her face all screwed up in a nasty grimace. “Now that you have him, I see you have grown a backbone.”
“I don’t have him.” Maeve’s cheeks heated. “He bonded me.”
“He was supposed to bond me.”
“Edana.” Roderick stepped between them. “I have no say in who I bond, and Maeve’s news must not wait.”
“You bonded Tahra, and she was your lover.” Edana looked on the verge of tears.
Roderick flushed and averted his gaze from her. “Being lovers had nothing to do with it.”
“You should have bonded me.” Edana glared at Maeve, as if she had somehow done something to make Roderick bond with her.
Maeve smirked, girl enough to enjoy her moment of triumph.
Fiona opened her office door. “Maeve. And Roderick. Come in.”
She shut the door on a gawking Edana.
“Maeve.” Fiona winced. “You must hold me to blame for the death of your friends.” Tears filled Fiona’s large brown eyes. “In truth, I hold myself to blame as much as if I had driven a dagger into their hearts.”
The words were right, as was Fiona’s expression. Maeve couldn’t account for the faint metallic tang on her tongue, or her skin prickling. The words she should have spoken stuck in her throat.
“Coven leader.” Roderick stepped between them and took Fiona’s hands. His voice deepened like warm, rich cream. “To be a leader sometimes demands difficult decisions. My bondmate still mourns the loss of her dear friends, but she will come to see that you acted out of the best interests of the coven.”
Like bloody hell she would.
Roderick shot a repressive pulse of emotion through the bond. He followed that with a blanketing wave of reassurance. He was asking her to keep her tongue and trust him. As she certainly didn’t trust Fiona farther than she could toss her, she kept silent.
Fiona’s voice shook. “Thank you, Roderick. But the death of those three women is mine to bear, as is Maeve’s anger.”
“Fiona.” Maeve dredged up a conciliatory tone. She must have leached it from Roderick, because she wasn’t feeling that way at all. “We must put that aside. We have a bigger problem.”
Eyes wide, Fiona turned to her. “What can you mean?”
“The spirits are disturbed and last night I made contact with the first.” Even with the door shut, Maeve lowered her voice. “It’s the lost one.” Saying it aloud made her shiver. Rhiannon, the lost witch, the dark witch. “They say she’s back.”
“You know—” Fiona started. “What did they say?”
“The ancients have seen her.” Dread crept through Maeve. “They say she rises in power and she’s using blood magic.”
“Blood magic?” Fiona paled. “How would the ancients know? Are they sure? Are you sure?”
Yes, to all of Fiona’s questions. “I am.”
“And the ancients are sure it’s her? You’re sure you’re not mistaken in this?”
Fiona’s response bothered her, but she couldn’t put her finger on why. As spirit walker, Maeve had access to all the knowledge of witches past and future. She could walk amongst souls not on this physical plane. Why would Fiona doubt she or the witches passed spoke the truth? “I walked with them, all three of them. They can feel her blood magic and it terrifies them. Deidre told me she attacks the wards.”
“Oh, my!” Fiona blinked at them. “This is most unexpected.”
“They have urged me to act,” Maeve said.
Fiona glanced from Maeve to Roderick and
sighed. “Very well! Thank you for telling me this, Sister. You did well to bring it to me.”
“Will you tell the wardens to strengthen the wards?” Maeve followed Fiona to the door. “They should be able to pick up the blood magic.”
“I need to think on it.” Fiona took Maeve’s hand and squeezed it. “I must ask you not to say anything to our coven sisters about any of this. We wouldn’t want them to worry.”
“Shouldn’t we all be worried?” Blessed didn’t keep secrets from each other. If her sisters’ lives were threatened, they deserved to know.
Fiona frowned. “Of course you’re right. But there is only so much bad news one can deal with at once.” She rubbed her temple. “I only ask you to keep this to yourself for a day or two. Until I can think what must be done.”
“But I—”
“Of course, Blessed.” Roderick took Maeve’s elbow. When she opened her mouth to argue further, he tightened his grip and said, “We’ll say nothing until you do. Like you, I think it wise not to cause panic.”
He all but dragged Maeve out of the office and through the small sitting area. A party of healers stood with Edana, and they looked distressed.
When they were almost back to her bedchamber, Maeve wrenched her arm free. “Why did you do that?”
Roderick raised his hand and opened her door. He ushered her in and shut the door before he spoke again. “What I’m doing is irrelevant. The better question, Blessed, is why do I suspect that Fiona already knew about Rhiannon?”
Chapter 9
The next morning, Roderick charged into her chamber when her eyes were barely open. “The amount of time you spend in that bed makes me think you want me to join you there.”
“Really?” She had countless years ahead of being woken similarly. Oh, the unrestrained joy! “Or is that not perhaps because you spend so much time leaping from bed to bed that this is where your thoughts take you?”
He grinned. “Get dressed. You missed breakfast and the furor in the hall.”
Missing breakfast was normal for her. Dead witches didn’t care what time of day or night it was; when they wanted her attention, they made sure she knew it. “What furor?”
