Toren turned to the drenched woman still in her underwear under his twenty-first-century jacket. “Dress yerself, milady,” he said, his burr thicker than she’d ever heard. “Ye’re about to meet Elizabeth.”
Kat swallowed. “Elizabeth who?” she squeaked.
The double doors began to open and a loud voice proclaimed. “Laird Toren MacCallum of Loch Melfort to see Queen Elizabeth, Sovereign of all England and Scotland.”
Kat’s mouth dropped open. Who? What? Where were they? When were they? How were they? The questions banged into one another in her mind like crazed bumper cars.
“Clothe yerself.” Toren’s voice broke through the mental fog. Kat instantly poured magic around her and Toren, covering them in Elizabethan court clothing. So her degree was of use despite what Roger at the bank said.
Kat leaned into Toren and touched his arm. Her nails dug in enough to catch his eye and she tried to keep the panic out of her voice. “As long as I touch you, they see you dressed also in Elizabethan clothing.”
“We canna be separated?”
As the doors began to swing inward, Kat spoke low over the heart hammering in her ears. “Not unless you want them to see how evil rainstorms trash Armani suits.” How utterly impossible that she was still able to joke in a moment like this. She’d just been sent back in time. Ridiculous, she must be dreaming. She’d had the melting, twisting-into-thread nightmare since she was a kid, but she’d never ended up at Queen Elizabeth’s court. Maybe a tree branch had struck her head and she was unconscious. She would play along until the Yellow Brick Road appeared and she’d skip her way to the Emerald City.
Praise for Heather McCollum
“MAGICK is a well-written, well-paced story, I enjoyed the read.”
~Heather Osborn, Tor Publishing
“PROPHECY is engaging and very well written. I totally enjoyed reading it.”
~Nancy Knight, co-owner, Belle Books
“The title is good, the writing excellent, the story line works, and you have a strong voice.”
~Rita Herron, author of Demonborn
“PROPHECY is one of the best books I read this year. Your writing skills are so strong, the complex plot, the characterizations, and the settings are seamlessly blended into a terrific story. Not only did you do all the above, you began this series without overwhelming the reader with characters and back story. Count me as a fan.”
~Susan Ralph, author of Brompton Manor and Starting from Scratch
MASQUERADE
The Dragonfly Chronicles
Book Three
by
Heather McCollum
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2011 by Heather McCollum
Originally published by Wild Rose Press
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by AmazonEncore, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and AmazonEncore are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
eISBN: 9781503916746
Cover Designer: Tamra Westberry
This title was previously published by Wild Rose Press; this version has been reproduced from Wild Rose Press archive files.
Dedication
To Skye, Logan, and Kyrra.
May you each find someone who loves you
for who you truly are.
And may butterflies always guard your backs.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
A word about the author...
Prologue
On the Border of Alba and Strathclyde
On the Western Sea of Scotland
1005 A.D.
“Katell, come to me. I must send ye!” Gilla, the great Wiccan Priestess of the Western Mountains, Keeper of the Earth Mother’s magic, tugged her three-year-old daughter from behind her twin.
Her tiny, little girl’s body flinched as another tree shook the house.
“Now! Ye must go now!” Gilla hugged the child in weakening arms and pushed a blue moonstone into her small palm. Katell trembled, making Gilla’s stomach twist. Protect them! I must protect my babes! “My wards are falling,” she whispered, forcing herself to breathe. Soft words blew gently across her daughter’s strawberry blond curls. She watched thatching rain down from the ceiling of their once warm cottage. “I’ve sent two of ye, already. I still have ye to save,” she said, eyes level with the other twin waiting bravely in silence. Gilla pulled Katell back by her shoulders and kissed her cheek, sticky with tears.
“Mama, come hide with me!” Katell pleaded.
Gilla yanked the yellow sash from her waist. The cloth’s soft folds were embroidered with golden butterflies weaving and dancing along its length. She tied it around her daughter’s palm, wrapping the stone against skin so it couldn’t be lost. “Nay, my dear heart, I must stay.” Tears ran freely down Gilla’s cheeks. This was too hard. She was too weak. What does a mother say to her little girl when she knows she won’t see her ever again? How does she explain that sending her away will keep her alive? Her two eldest girls may have understood, but to a three-year-old, this was abandonment.
Gilla brushed at Katell’s tears with a thumb, wishing so hard it hurt, that she could brush away the fear in her baby’s eyes. “As long as ye go and hide away, dear heart, as long as ye are safe and alive, then so am I.” Gilla grabbed the precious girl to her chest, gasping at the pain that swelled in her heart. “Even if ye don’t see me, I am always with ye, loving ye with all my heart.”
Katell sobbed, pressing into the folds of Gilla’s luminescent gown as if trying to crawl back into her womb.
Gilla breathed deeply to refocus her will, reinforce her strength. Her remaining magic held the demons outside the stone sentries standing in a circle around their cottage. She must keep the demons out.
“Dear Earth Mother,” Gilla prayed out loud to the cold, dirt strewn room. “Give me the strength to save my children, to save the world,” she ended on a whisper barely heard above the dark howl that thrashed around the eaves. She kissed Katell’s small head.
“Tha gaol agam ort, dear heart.”
“I love ye too, Mama,” Katell’s muffled answer choked on another sob.
Gilla smiled and stroked her blond curls. “My skittish foal, ye’ve always liked to hide. I will gift ye with my water magic.” She pulled Katell’s bound hand and brushed it against her lips.
“I freely gift ye with my power to hide, to change shape. On the currents of my blood, on the currents of my love, on the currents of my power given by the Earth Mother, send her now within my thread of glamour.”
Gilla blew out the power that lay within, blew it steadily out in a thin stream. If the stone had been uncovered, Gilla would have seen the coils of power snake within, flooding the stone and her daughter’s small body with magic. The sudden weakness at the loss of another magic thread made Gilla sway, but she caught herself. Must stay strong.
Katell ga
sped softly and looked down. “Rock hot, Mama.”
Gilla nodded. “That’s a good thing, dear heart. Always keep my moonstone close to ye.” Katell formed a little fist around the stone, clutching it with both hands, even though Gilla had tied it. “Go now.” Gilla kissed her cheek that melted away into energy beneath her lips.
“Mama?” Katell called, fear pinching her young voice. The child’s gaze darted to her twin, standing alone, waiting. “Goodbye.”
Her twin twisted her hands in front of her. “Love ye, Katell.”
“Ye will be just fine, dear heart,” Gilla called as she watched her three-year-old thin out into a thread of blue energy. The thread elongated, darting upward toward a hole in the once-resilient roof that Gilla’s husband, Druce, had built for them.
“Mama!” She heard the echo as the thread shot through the evil wind.
Gilla rubbed her tear-streaked face. “Druce,” she whispered, remembering her husband. He was dead, seduced and killed by the demons that now used his magic against his own family. Gilla looked to her last daughter. “Come, Sweetheart.” She opened arms as the little girl rushed to her. “Let’s send ye away from this terror,” she whispered and withdrew another stone from her pocket. Once she sent the last of her magic away, Gilla would be powerless against the demons. Her wards would fall and she would die. At least the pain would stop.
****
January 1983 AD
Raleigh, North Carolina
Drakkina floated in the shadows near the old stone building with its mighty cross. Her ethereal shape ignored the wind of the North Carolina night. Dragonflies flitted about her silver hair that hung loose.
“There,” she said out loud, though no natural human could hear. She watched as a glimmering blue thread coiled up in the sky, swelling silently into the shape of a young girl who fell gently to the stone steps of the abbey. “Saint Mary’s Catholic Home for Children,” Drakkina read from the carved letters above the door where the little girl stood, eyes round, arms clasped around herself. A doe-eyed sculpture of the revered mother looked down at the child as if she would scoop her up.
“Mama?” the girl cried, gaze darting into the darkness. Drakkina floated out of the shadows. Something in the little voice beckoned, a pain that caught Drakkina’s breath. Drakkina wanted to help her. How odd.
“Daughter of Gilla, you will be safe here.” The child’s large eyes tracked Drakkina as she floated toward the tall doors.
“Are ye a demon?” She rubbed at the birthmark Drakkina knew sat upon her upper arm. It was Drakkina’s mark, the mark of the dragonfly. Each of Katell’s siblings had one, like a homing beacon. The ancient magic of the dragonfly sat at the heart of Gilla’s powers, Drakkina’s too.
Drakkina reached out, but pulled back when the child shrank in panic. “No, child. I was a friend of your mother’s. I taught her all about magic.”
The child still didn’t move towards her.
It wouldn’t matter anyway. It would require a huge amount of Drakkina’s power to make herself feel corporeal enough to touch the girl, to give her physical comfort. Instead she smiled, though it wasn’t a natural feel on her ancient face.
“You will live here.” Drakkina looked back at the dark windows of the orphanage. “I will train you to defend against the demons when you are older.” The child was still so young that she probably wouldn’t remember this night as anything more than a nightmare. “They won’t find you here,” Drakkina murmured more to herself than to the child. “Their God will protect you here,” she said, feeling the low vibration of holy magic about the place.
Drakkina threaded her powers and scanned the slumbering building. Youth hummed along the four stories of stone and steel. Depictions of ancient heroes and martyrs stared out from stained glass windows near the pinnacle, just under a simple cross. Feelings of tradition, of holy love, and comfort overrode the vibes of loneliness and loss that undoubtedly affected the young tenants. This was a good place. Gilla had aimed well.
Katell shivered and rubbed her bare arms. Of course the child was cold; it was winter. Even in the more southern states of North America it was cold in the winter. Drakkina’s consciousness didn’t feel heat or cold. She frowned. Nor hugs or hand holding.
“Time to get you indoors.” Drakkina willed her powers toward a window on the third floor. Fourth one to the right. Tap, tap, tap. She heard as the small pebble she hoisted hit the glass. Tap, tap, tap. It rang sporadically until a face appeared behind the glass. Drakkina focused on the streetlamp, bending the downward ray of light from its path until it fell across Katell.
The face in the window disappeared, and a light snapped on somewhere within.
Drakkina smiled. “Sister Mary will love you, Daughter of Gilla.”
“Are ye leaving me?”
Drakkina faded from the child’s sight as one of the large doors swung inward and a young lady in a terry cloth robe stepped out.
“Child? Where have you come from?” she asked, looking up and down the deserted street where the winter wind blew brittle leaves between car tires. “Where is your mother?”
Tears washed down Katell’s rosy cheeks. “Far away.”
The young nun removed her robe and draped it around Katell, but continued to stare into the darkness. “Well, we will find her.”
“Are ye Sister Mary?”
The nun’s gaze flew back to her. “Yes, I am. How…?” She let the question hang there.
“Ye will love me?” Katell asked desperately.
The nun looked a bit stunned, but then as if waking up, she smiled, lips a strong line on a wise-beyond-her-years face.
Good, she is also intelligent, Drakkina thought. She wouldn’t spend time looking for a mother who could never be found.
“Of course I will love you, little one,” the young nun promised. “Let’s go inside now and get you some hot cocoa.”
“Hot co…coa?” Katell repeated.
“Now tell me,” Sister Mary said, as she guided Katell through the heavy door. “Do you have a name?”
Drakkina couldn’t hear the child’s small voice but watched from the shadows as a dozen butterflies flitted through the night to follow Katell, stopping only when the door shut them out. Drakkina smiled. “Gilla’s love will always follow you, Katell.”
Chapter 1
June, Current Day
Raleigh, North Carolina
“Rich, sexy as hell, definitely not gay.” Lisa Gibson slapped the front page of the News and Observer Life section down in front of Kat as she fell into the kitchen chair.
“Exactly how sexy is hell?” Kat quipped and sipped the hot cocoa in the cheery morning sunlight beaming through the window of the small breakfast nook. Hot cocoa and sun, she needed all the calming influences she could muster before reading the latest letter from the mortgage department of the First Carolina Bank. She closed her eyes as she pulled in a hot swallow, nearly hot enough to burn, but not quite. Just as she liked it. As the chocolate warmed the center of her belly, she smiled. Several butterflies circled the window outside. She waved at them.
“And he’s single.” Lisa stabbed her finger at the picture under the headline Artifact Collector Showcases Priceless Scottish Pieces.
That got Kat’s attention. She pulled the paper closer.
“Why can’t I meet a man like that?” Lisa lamented. She grabbed a buttery croissant from Kat’s plate and bit into it.
Kat glanced at the pixilated black and white picture of the man. He stared right out from the paper as if looking into her. She shivered. There was the barest hint of a grin that did not reach those dangerous eyes, as if the photographer had begged him for a smile and he had conceded. His hair looked dark and pulled back. Kat squinted at the hazy image.
“He’s got a ponytail?”
“Yeah, like Adrian Paul in the old Highlander television series,” Lisa said.
Kat rolled her eyes. “Great. An immortal wanna-be.”
Lisa grinned and waggled her eye
brows. “Bet he’s got a huge sword, too.”
Kat shook her head and looked back down at the man. He was gorgeous in a wild, dangerous way. Like a beautiful lion before it ate someone. Kat ran her finger down the side of his face. Definitely gorgeous, but different, coarse, not a classical playboy type at all. Rough around the edges, like he had a story but would never tell it.
“He looks like some knight from long ago.” Lisa sighed dramatically. “All he needs is a scar.”
Kat pulled light auburn hair over to cover the side of her face. Even though she used glamour magic to smooth the scars from her childhood burns, the old habit of hiding them remained.
“He’s probably a pampered arse who talks down to women and kicks small animals for thrills,” Kat answered, frowning at her empty plate. She turned her attention back to the details in the article. “And you can meet Mr. Sexy As Hell,” she said, pointing to the location of the exhibit. “The Manning House, the one on Lake Jordan.”
“His name is Toren MacCallum,” Lisa said, and stood to turn on the hot water for her instant mocha infusion.
Exhibit open from 9 AM to 5 PM this week, the article read. “Why don’t you go introduce yourself to Laird MacCallum,” Kat mumbled, as her mind raced through her commitments. Could she work in a heist at the exhibit? How much money could she make off an artifact? If she found the right collector, plenty.
She fingered the letter under the newspaper. The last letter had mentioned lawyers if they didn’t make up the mortgage payments for the last two months. Orphanage or not, those blackhearted bankers would close their doors and the children would be split up. The kids also needed shoes, twenty-three pairs, before school started. And then there was the bus that wouldn’t start. They needed the money. She’d make time to stop by the Manning House.
“Hmmm…” Lisa pondered. “I think I’ll stop by to peruse the artifacts right after my pedicure and all-day shopping trip.” Lisa paused. “Exactly when would I have time to go for an excursion?”
Masquerade (The Dragonfly Chronicles Book 3) Page 1
