by Bonnie Vanak
“I like coming here,” he mused. “At times when I feel my ego has grown too large and I need to pull away to remind myself of who I am, I come here to hike, sit, and listen to the forest.”
Then he winced and rubbed his head.
“Another memory and another headache?” she asked.
At his nod, seeing the dull glaze of pain in his gray-blue eyes, she rubbed his temples. Sighing, he leaned into her touch.
Fat flakes drifted into the blue-black of his hair, glinting in the sun before they melted. The crystals tipping each strand of his shoulder-length hair glistened in the sunlight, taunting her.
“Try not to remember. I hate seeing you in pain,” she told him when she finished.
He shook his head. “I must get my memory back. It’s very important. I remember this. I remember coming here when I needed to remind myself there are things greater than I am and I am part of the whole,” he said, gazing up at the mountain.
Then he winced again, as if the pain of remembering spiked another terrible headache.
Ciara’s heart skipped a beat. Safer for her to keep him ignorant of his true identity, but what of those who sought his protection?
“You are a person of duty and power.” She picked up his hand, feeling the strength in his long fingers, seeing the veins ridging his skin. “It matters to those you serve.”
Blinking, he looked awash in confusion again. Then he withdrew his hand and shrugged again. “If I am, then why do I have no memory of it? What kind of powerful entity that created me with such power would have deserted me like this?”
Ciara had no answers. But her conscience tugged at her. Once Xavier remembered who he was, and what she had done, she was toast.
But already, she had seen the terrifying results of what happened when there was no Crystal Wizard to deliver justice and keep order.
Xavier put his hand on her arm.
“Look,” he whispered.
In the middle of the lake, a bear walked, its nose pressed into the water as if looking for plants. Speechless, she watched the giant animal. Xavier slid his arm around her, and she curled her body into his.
The quiet pierced her, only the wind whistling through the mountain and the gurgle of the nearby stream.
Awe filled her. This was her mother’s land, her mother’s home, and yet she had explored little of it, so busy was she trying to fit into the colony and find acceptance.
Who needed acceptance when one had the wide, open outdoors, the glittering peaks, and the wild? Her cougar nature stirred, eager to rush over the hills and through the evergreens and hunt.
But while the cougar beast inside her enjoyed solitude, the nymph and witch inside her craved acceptance and family. She could not bear to live apart any longer.
The bear lifted its head and began stalking toward them.
“Time to go.” Xavier withdrew his arm and tugged her hand. “Leave it be.”
They walked over the bridge to the parking lot and sat at a picnic table that overlooked the flat plateau where snow melt formed glacial streams. Ciara studied the sweep of verdant trees marching up the mountains.
And then hairs rose on the nape of her neck.
Xavier went still. Suddenly he leapt off the picnic bunch and turned at the same time she did.
The bear had followed them to the picnic table. All her instincts screamed a warning.
The bear lifted its head and regarded her with dark, knowing eyes.
Xavier leapt in front of her. “Leave her alone,” he said in a deep, commanding voice.
The bear shook its mighty head. “Xavier, why are you hiding from us? Your people have great need of you. There is a blight upon the land caused by one you should judge.”
Xavier rocked back on the heels of his hiking boots. “What are you?”
“A shifter who has walked these parts for many long years.” The bear lifted his head and gazed at the mountains. “Sent by a friend, one forbidden from contact with you because of the goddess. But Tristan bids you well.”
And then the bear walked away and vanished into the forest.
Xavier stared at the giant beast.
Then he glanced at Ciara. “Stay here. If anything comes after you, yell for me, and I shall be at your side.”
And then he tore off, a tall wizard with a scowl on his face and the terrible ability to turn creatures like the bear into ash.
Ciara shivered. If the creature was a shifter, she hoped for his sake he would not provoke Xavier.
How dare the creature threaten Ciara?
He had no fear of the bear, for he had powers. But Ciara had no such protection.
The bear knew him. Knew what he was.
Xavier tore off into the forest, following the bear tracks.
Pine trees resembling tall, green pipe cleaners clogged his path. Frustrated, he closed his eyes and imagined he was a ball of pure light. No, a shining, crystal ball, floating through the air.
A rush of power filled him, breath leaving his lungs in a loud whoosh, and his body pinching. And then he was the globe of pure, white crystal, bobbing in the air, able to see all. The floating sensation thrilled him. No pull of gravity. Just freedom.
He put a single thought into his mind. Find that talking bear.
Xavier zipped and zagged through the forest until coming upon a swampy glade, where glacial runoff had formed a soggy marsh. Pussy willows and brush peppered the swamp.
The bear was in the middle of the bog, feeding from the twigs. He bobbed over to the beast and then directed a thought to assume his human/Skin form.
Xavier stood on his feet, shivering violently. He was nude.
The bear lifted its head and sighed. “Please. Clothing, Xavier. The sight of a naked man is most disconcerting.”
Xavier closed his eyes and imagined he wore thick boots, jeans, and a heavy, burgundy sweater. When he opened his eyes, the clothing covered his body.
Clenching his fists to conceal their trembling with excitement, he stared at the bear. The bear was the second Other to identify him as Xavier. “Who are you?”
“You don’t know?”
“Stop playing with me! Who are you?!”
The bear blinked and vanished. In his place was a tall, intense man. Lanky, with a build like a long distance runner, he wore jeans and a blue, checked shirt and had ash-brown hair.
“I’m Gregory,” the bear shifter said. “I have lived in these parts many, many long years.”
A shifter. “Alone?” Perhaps there were others more willing to talk, share knowledge.
“Alone. Tristan comes to visit from time to time.”
Xavier frowned. “Tristan? Another bear?”
Gregory grinned. “He would be most insulted if you called him that, but yes, he can be a bear at times.”
“Who is this Tristan?”
The bear shifter looked sad. “He was your friend, once. Now, I don’t know what he is because I don’t know what you’ve become, Xavier. All I know is the evil infiltrating this land has increased and we need your help. Last week, two Trolls were found murdered in a nearby lake. I believe they had little ones, but we can’t find the girls.”
“We?” He rubbed his aching temples.
“The other shifters and myself. We all band together to fight whatever darkness is killing Others here.” Gregory shook his head. “We need you back, Xavier. The other wizards are far too busy to help us. I’ve called upon them, but they don’t answer.”
Wizard? “Then I am a wizard? Who am I? And this time, answer me!”
Gregory started to speak, when suddenly the whites of his eyes flared. His body tensed, and he seemed in a trance as an odd, white glow surrounded him.
Xavier instinctively stepped back from the pulse of pure power.
“I am forbidden from telling you,” Gregory said in a monotone voice. “You must discover who you are in your own way, and a great sacrifice will be required.”
Then the bear shifter’s mouth closed, and Gregory co
llapsed upon the ground. Rushing to his side, Xavier examined him. Normal pulse, heartbeat fine.
The bear opened his eyes. Xavier helped Gregory sit up.
“Damn.” Gregory rubbed his head. “What happened?”
“I suspect whoever took my memory does not want you telling me who I am. He, or she, is playing games with me.”
The bear continued to rub his head. “That really hurts.”
In sympathy, Xavier rested his hand upon the bear’s shoulder. And then he closed his eyes, directing a healing current of energy into the shifter’s body.
When he opened his eyes, Gregory looked pleased. “Thanks, Xavier. You may have lost your memory, but you still have your powers. Wish you could heal this land as you did me.”
Gazing at the jagged, snowcapped mountains and the tall evergreens, he couldn’t help the nagging feeling that he must do something to abate the terrible gathering of evil in this land.
But he didn’t know how or what to do.
18
A great and terrible darkness had gathered in the region, and Xavier wasn’t there to fight it.
Deeply disturbed, Gideon, the Crimson Wizard, materialized inside the national park near Xavier’s home. The stench of acrid smoke and burning tar assaulted all his senses, and he winced.
Gideon headed to a blackened and stubby pine tree. In assuming Xavier’s duties while the Crystal Wizard served out his punishment, he had been told about the horrid deaths of two innocent Trolls.
Gideon went to the place where they’d died. The bodies had been removed and buried, but the taint was still upon the land.
What he saw worried him deeply. The dead trees and brush and the blackened earth might look like evidence of a forest fire to Skins, but he knew better.
Gideon rested his palm upon the pine tree and felt its inner scream.
This was not witchcraft or Earther magick gone astray. His palm tingled.
Fae magick, tinged with something sinister.
Dark Fae magick wasn’t evil, only powerful. He knew. Before dying in his mortal life and becoming the immortal Crimson Wizard, Gideon had been a Dark Fae prince in the Unseelie Court.
Scanning the barren ground, he knew his powers could blind him to the truth. It was like using a telescope to examine an ant. He had honed his wizard powers to search for evil, but Fae magick had clever ways of deceiving even wizards.
This job required finesse and attention to detail. He tuned in to his Dark Fae powers, magick he had not used for many centuries. If Fae magick was involved, the symbol would be cast.
Gideon closed his eyes, centered his inner self. Wind brushed at his long, blond hair, tickling his pointed ears. The heart of him was Fae, but setting aside his wizard powers took enormous concentration, for centuries ago, he’d vowed never to be powerless again.
No one would ever again make him their prisoner.
Eyes still closed, he tapped into the deviant darkness always lingering inside him. It pulsed like a heart, beating faster and faster.
He let it rise, feeling the sensual beast howl with anticipation, the predator who thrived on sensory arousal, the sharp bite of an apple, the crisp scent of woodsmoke, the softness of a woman’s plump thigh…
Gideon opened his eyes. The forest earth no longer appeared blackened but riddled with dark red runes. He paid no heed to them, for all Fae used runes. If his people, the Unseelie, had done this atrocity, the symbol would be present on a tree or a rock.
The Unseelie did love to leave calling cards.
The tips of his ears tingled, as if someone brushed them with electricity. He turned, inhaling the air, and nearly gagged.
Dark magick. Searching with all his senses, he followed the red runes to a flat boulder stained rust red.
His Dark Fae senses saw the red was mixed with a black, tarry substance. He bent down and sniffed, nearly choking.
Ancient, dark magick, a rasp of claws skittering across a metal floor, the stink of rot that made even his eyes water. This was not Unseelie, but something much more powerful.
Gideon forced himself to concentrate and carefully looked over the rock, where the sacrifice had taken place. A few minutes later, a small symbol caught his eye.
The sigil of a silver dragonfly set within a four-pointed star, the symbol of the Unseelie Court. Dragonflies were the harbingers of death in the Winter Court.
Gideon isolated the various smells around the symbol and shut them out, exclusively centering on the symbol itself.
Sorting through the various odors, he identified the fragrance of his people—woodsmoke, brown sugar, and cinnamon, the bite of ice and snow, and hot almonds.
He touched the symbol again, ignoring the current rippling against his skin like an electrical shock. Gideon allowed his Crimson Wizard powers to fully surge. Whoever left this mark could not entirely mask it from him.
There.
He opened his eyes. The faintest tendril of sweet jasmine on a warm summer night. Unmistakable. Only one kind of Fae carried that smell. It was reserved for royalty.
The Summer King, ruler of the Seelie Court.
Gideon’s control nearly snapped, as his dominating Dark Fae self clashed with the cold, collected Crimson Wizard who ruled over both courts and was their ultimate judge. The Dark Fae wanted to destroy and eradicate this threat to innocents.
The cool-minded wizard knew he must take a more subtle approach, for the delicate truce between both courts, a truce he’d negotiated nearly one thousand years ago, must hold.
Diplomacy was required. The faint scent of royalty warned him that the Summer King might not have done this foul deed, but someone in his court close to him definitely did.
Gideon stood, waved a hand over the ruined land, banishing any trace of evil. Trees snapped and popped as they blossomed to life once more, and the earth healed beneath the good light of his Crimson Wizard magick.
Time to pay a visit. He had not been to the Seelie Court in many decades.
Not needing an invitation—he was the Crimson Wizard—Gideon dematerialized to the Summer Court, the mystic land hidden within the world of Skins.
Disguising himself with Fae glamor, he materialized inside the great hall, where King Oren presided over the court, the gentried Seelie Fae in attendance. White, fluted columns of marble lined the hall, carved with gold. The domed ceiling was gold as well, a flourish of gilded artwork he found too ornate for his taste. Courtiers milled around, their elegant coats of blue and gold velvet for the men, with hose of gold, and sweeping, silk skirts for the women. Diamonds and gold adorned the women’s hair, and ceremonial daggers displayed sparkling sapphires, emeralds, or rubies. From experience, he knew the daggers were dull blades, not honed as his own. Resisting the temptation to touch the hilt of his own jeweled dagger, he leaned against a column and waited, crossing his arms over his chest.
In the midst of the throng, he supposed he appeared an ordinary Fae warrior, in his crimson velvet tunic, red leggings, and soft, doeskin boots. All he lacked was the quiver filled with arrows and a trusty bow.
I have more power than a simple bow, he thought in amusement. Still, the finest flutter touched his belly. Gideon detested this court and came here only as needed.
Allowing his senses to explore, he scanned the crowd, the brightly colored gowns and foppish waistcoats. Seelie Fae favored wilder colors, not the darker dress of the Winter Court. He walked closer to the golden dais where King Oren sat on his jewel-encrusted throne, clutching his golden scepter.
His ten wives were not present, but a few of Oren’s offspring were on the dais with him. The crown prince, Maurico, sat on a much smaller gold throne, looking bored. Beside him was Alia, the king’s younger daughter of a lesser wife.
Lacing his hands behind his back to control his emotions, Gideon studied the girl. Not a girl, he corrected. A woman in the flush of youth with rich sable hair spilling down her backside, eyes blue as a summer sky, and a mouth sweet and pink as a blushing rose.
A
white wool gown covered her body, draping over her curves, the generous breasts and hips, the slender waist. A prize for certain, for any Fae. His blood tingled as he caressed her with his gaze, his very male and very Dark Fae senses surging naturally and responding to such feminine grace.
Alia’s pink lips parted as she stared at him, not in bold invitation as the other women but in frank awe. Among all the people here, even with the glamor of an ordinary Fae, she saw directly through him.
Alia knew who he was, and fear showed in her wide, blue eyes.
He saw himself, the cynical, cold Crimson Wizard, a being of tremendous power and indifference, who could slay every person in the court with the flick of a finger. The image should please him, for he’d worked hard to cultivate such a presence in order to remain impartial and hold influence without having to display his magick. Yet it troubled him.
For a singular, wild moment, he wanted her to see the real man inside, the Dark Fae with bright, burning passions, who sacrificed his mortal life to bring peace between both courts. The Fae whose legendary skills as a lover even now rippled through the female courtiers, who stared at him and moistened their red mouths.
The Fae who’d longed for a simple touch, a caress to know someone cared about him as a man, not an image…
Gideon shook free of his fantasy. He had not taken a Fae lover in hundreds of years and did not dare exercise his darker, deviant desires on anyone from this court, let alone an innocent.
Dropping the glamour, he allowed his powers to surge, the soft crimson-and-gold glow of his aura pulsing like a lighthouse beacon. Several gasps sounded, and hushed murmurs of “Crimson Wizard” followed the gasps.
“My Lord Gideon,” King Oren called out. “We are honored by your presence.”
The entire court bowed low before him. All but King Oren, who merely nodded.
And Alia. Amused, Gideon watched her lovely, blue eyes narrow, as if she detested such homage.
King Oren raised his hands, and a current of golden fire cut through the air, slamming into Alia, who collapsed to her knees. “Bow, girl,” the king hissed. “Do you wish to offend the Crimson Wizard?”
