by Sandy Wright
"I won't lie to you, Samantha. Here's the second rule: Stop taking things which don't belong to you." He gave my shoulders another, harder, squeeze. It drove a small moan out of me, but I didn't dare try and get away. "It irritates me. Sometimes I do things I regret when I'm irritated."
So he knew I had the grimoire. "I'm sorry, I should have asked you."
"Yes, you should have." He took his hand from my shoulder and picked up the wreath. "It makes me wonder if there are other things you haven't told me." He rubbed his temples. "But we have all evening to talk. Right now I need some food to get rid of this headache."
* * * * *
I sat at the kitchen table, trying to imitate a mouse and be invisible, while Nicholas banged around the pantry and stove. He dumped a large bowl of freshly diced vegetables into a pot of liquid and put it over a lit burner. Then he stuck a foil-wrapped loaf of bread into the oven.
By the time the kitchen had filled with the aroma of hot bread, his tense jaw muscles had relaxed. "I apologize for the drama. Sometimes I'm an ass when irritated."
"No, I baited you and I'm sorry." Despite my fear, it was nice to know he had weapons in his magical arsenal. Frankly, I had begun to doubt him. "Can you teach me to do the fire thing with your hands?"
He filled our soup bowls and ignored my question. "I wanted to get into the mood of Yule. The soup is made from vegetables traditionally harvested and stored for this time of year."
Right. If he wanted to talk around the subject, I would call a truce for the evening and play along with the conversation. "Mom always made soup and a loaf of bread for Christmas Eve."
Nicholas nodded. "Traditional Christmas celebrations mimic the ancient customs of Yule. It's an Old Norse word which literally means 'wheel,' and the Sabbat was often referred to as Hwe-olor-tid, the 'turning time'. Many cultures see this darkest time of year as the birth of the god of light, so the Christian church moved the celebration of Jesus' birthday closer to the solstice."
"Were a lot of the Christian traditions for this time of year borrowed from the Norse?"
Nicholas pointed to the mistletoe over the doorframe.
"In the Norse traditions, mistletoe wood was the weapon used to slay Balder, the Norse sun god, signaling the start of world's end. His mother decreed forever more the herb would only be used in acts of love, which started the tradition of kissing under the mistletoe."
"Mistletoe is poisonous?" I grabbed another slice of warm bread. "Is it tasteless? Could you slip it into a soup? How much would you need?"
"Why, Miss Danroe, it appears you have not yet completed the 'M's' in your Materia Magicka research."
I snapped my mouth shut abruptly. Guilty.
"But herbal study is another lesson entirely." Nicholas said. "Close your eyes and think back to your happiest Christmas memories. Start with the smells in your house. What are they?"
"Cinnamon," I said immediately.
"Pumpkin pie spices." I grimaced. "At least they used to be. Oh, and banana nut bread with nutmeg. Mom gave loaves to the babysitter, her boss, even the piano teacher. The freezer was always full of bread."
"You lived like a pagan! Bayberry, cinnamon, pine, clove, nutmeg, those are all the herbs of Yule celebration, representing the woodland nature of the god." Nicholas laughed. "Frankincense and myrrh, those precious spices the three kings brought to baby Jesus? They trace back to the Druids."
"Do I still decorate a tree?"
"Yes, decorate it with images of things you want the coming year to bring. Hearts for love, nuts for fertility, coins for wealth. You can still use elves, angels, and a star on top. Don't forget to put pinecone treats out for the animals and bells in the trees for the fairies!"
"Don't tell me you believe in fairies?" I eyed him skeptically.
"I'm not saying I do." He pointed his finger at me with a stern expression. "But I am not taking any chances."
"Do we still exchange gifts?"
"Absolutely. But put more emphasis on natural and handmade items. And give the gift in memory of someone special in your life."
"What about caroling?"
"We might change some of the words." He spread his arms theatrically and sang a quick, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Solstice." He thought a moment. "We could sing 'Deck the Halls' without changes. It is pagan, not Christian."
I sang the song under my breath. "You're right! It has Yule references throughout. What about baking cookies?"
"Use stars, bells, crescent moons, snowflakes. Or bake a Yule log cake." He slid a pen across the table to me. "Chocolate raspberry is my favorite. You should take note."
I laughed. "Not fruitcake?"
He nodded. "Fruitcake is fine."
I shuddered. "Not fine. Maybe fruitcake is poisonous. It could certainly mask another ingredient." I began to feel more comfortable with Nicholas. He seemed much more relaxed and less judgmental. I had simply pushed him too far and too soon.
"You going to help cut the Yule tree for Maya's party?" I asked.
"I hadn't thought about it."
"If you'd like, we could go together."
He looked surprised, but pleased. "Yes, let's." He reached an arm around me to pick up my empty soup bowl and stayed there, his head next to mine. I turned my face slightly toward him and could feel his sharp intake of breath. We stayed together for several heartbeats, head to head.
Slowly, he set the bowl back on the table and put his arms around me, resting his lips against my temple. I waited, silently willing him to move his mouth lower and kiss me. His lips felt warm against my face. I wanted those lips on mine, that body hard against me.
He took a shallow breath, let out a sigh and moved his lips away. "You can be a lovely girl, Samantha, but personal involvements are difficult for me. Especially since we will be working together for the next few months." Shaking his head, he picked up our bowls and took them to the sink.
A shiver of desire rolled over me. I released a shaky breath, my throat tight.
Nicholas returned from the kitchen carrying a thick candle in a bowl. "I think a change of subject would be good," he said. "I'd like to try something with you. An exercise."
Coward, I thought. You're as attracted to me as I am to you. Quit resisting. I'd be happy to—delighted to—exercise with you. Any position you like. I yawned to release the tension in my clenched jaws and hoped I looked bored.
He sat on the floor, put the candle in front of him and lit it, then gestured for me to sit across from him.
I sat and crossed my legs, sliding so close our knees touched. He looked down at my knees, then into my eyes, but didn't move away. "The exercise is called a no mind meditation. It is just as it sounds. You calm your mind, so you can direct your thoughts. Then you can change anything you concentrate on."
We stared silently at the candle flame for several minutes.
"You've heard the saying mind over matter?"
I nodded.
"It's true. Everything in the world is made of tiny particles of energy. The candle flame," he looked down at our knees, "our bodies. People stir up energy and it travels around in space. Most energy is unrestrained. What you want to do is direct it to an intended target."
I imagined our sexual tension as energy pulsing around us. Imagined my throbbing, unfulfilled energy joining with his. Intertwining. Thrusting.
"Samantha!" His voice sounded strained.
"Hmm?"
"Oh, you are wicked." He exhaled a shaky breath. "All right, we'll do this your way." He put his hand on my knee. "Don't look at me. Concentrate on the flame."
Slowly, lightly, he trailed his fingers across my thigh, and began stroking them in circles.
My heartrate spiked.
He moved his hand to rest two fingers on the pulse point on my wrist. I cursed my telltale heart for giving my feelings away so readily. I glared at him and moved back enough so my knees didn't touch his.
Nicholas met my eyes, a kno
wing expression on his face. "Okay, your heart rate is up. Now try to forget about me and focus on your breath. With each exhale, slow your heartbeat. Can you do it?"
"Manipulative bastard," I muttered silently.
"You started it, my dear. Now let's see how well you can control yourself."
I closed my eyes and concentrated on my breathing, pretending my heart beat in time to Sinclair's drum. It took me a dozen breaths, but finally my pulse quit racing. I continued to calm my body with my breath, breathing out slowly and feeling my heart slow in response.
"No matter the circumstances," Nicholas's quiet, soothing voice droned in the background of my mind, "whether you're frightened, angry, or aroused. You have the advantage if you can control your body's reaction. If you concentrate on slowing your heartbeat, it will slow. If you are running a fever, visualize cool images and your body temperature will lower. The ability to focus, to concentrate, is something we will work on continuously. Focus is of utmost importance."
I felt him put two fingers to my wrist again to take my pulse. Then they moved to the side of my neck. A short muttered, "Bloody hell, Samantha." Then a long breath and, "Very good. Very good indeed."
He paused for a beat. I smelled smoke and guessed he had pinched out the candle. Presently he said, "Focus on the candle flame. Do you remember the flame?"
I nodded, and he said, "Restart it."
I focused my mind on the smoking candlewick and formed a flame image in my mind. Pushing my intention toward the candle, I thought fire. I peeked through one eye. Nothing happened. I closed my eye, blocked out my surroundings, focusing again on the sound of Sinclair's drumming. Da da dah. Da da dah. The air around me smelled of pinon and hot dry dust. A small bonfire burned between us, the dancing flames reflected on the drum skin. Da da dah. Flame! I thought. Bring it here.
The candle flared alight, gave a muffled pop, and fell over.
I struggled to keep the smirk off my face, while Nicholas grabbed the burning candle and righted it again in its holder.
"Excellent. Much better than I expected on your first try," Nicholas said. "We will work on elemental magic a little bit each lesson. I don't want to over tire you. Just remember focus. It's the first step in any kind of magic. And it is an ability which could save your life. Because your enemies will surely try to use any weakness they discover."
"Enemies?" I spluttered, my self-satisfaction gone. "I don't have any enemies!"
I broke off abruptly. Of course I did. He would see you dead before the blood moon.
Nicholas pinioned me with his dark eyes, searching my face. I felt dizzy and put one hand on the floor to steady myself. I'd been thinking about the séance, and then my thoughts stuttered to a halt, tangled into confusion.
"Samantha, is there something you want to tell me?"
I sensed an intrusion and instinctively tried to block it. It seemed he could push those long, slender fingers into my brain and pull out my thoughts as he pleased.
"No. I don't have anything to tell you because I haven't yet identified my enemies." I swallowed. "What about you?"
Nicholas gave a sarcastic laugh. "We won't tell tales, until we can both tell some." Leaning closer, he narrowed his eyes. "Let me ask you again. Are you sure you don't know your enemy?"
"I honestly don't know. Someone wants me dead." I met his suspicious eyes directly. "At this rate, we may not discover who until it's too late." If I die and you refused to help me, it will be your fault. And believe me, I will haunt you to the end of your days. Of course, I didn't have the nerve to say it to him out loud.
Nicholas settled back and rubbed the stubble on his chin, thinking. Immediately, I felt the pressure in my head abate. "Not a clue?"
I shook my head
"You didn't see any image when you read the message itself?"
"Uh, no," I said uncertainly. "Touching it didn't trigger any images at all."
"Do you still have the paper?"
I was puzzled. "What good would it do now?"
"Maybe I could pick up something from it." He paced back and forth, stepping around the candle with each pass. "I wish I'd been at the séance, to probe a bit more."
In retrospect, I wished he had been there also. But at the time my feelings about Nicholas had been too raw, too wounded, to have him involved.
I picked up the candle, rolling it between my palms, and stared at him sullenly. "How about your enemies? What do they have planned for you?"
He made an impatient gesture, cutting me off, and stopped pacing. "What else happened during the séance? Didn't one of your friends get another message?"
"You mean Standing Bear?"
"Yes, him."
I thought about my subsequent visit to the shaman, and his tale of the old woman guarding Sedona. I realized Nicholas knew nothing of the conversation.
"He saw me on a mountaintop, with an Indian medicine woman."
I gave him the abbreviated version, while he paced and raked his fingers through his hair. "So, our family prophecy is true."
"What prophecy?" Already, I didn't like the way this conversation was going.
"It seems Gran and her friends were considered Watchers," he said. "In the older days, back in her home country, they would have been Druids perhaps. Seers. They were in touch with the elements of earth. And because the earth was ever aware of man-kind, these women knew when something was wrong – anywhere – before anyone else. Like birds before a storm." He stopped pacing and stood facing me. "We knew the same story of the old medicine woman, except we called her the Witch of the Stones."
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. Suddenly too jumpy to sit still, I got up, went into the kitchen, and ran water into the kettle to heat for tea. It was late, and the wind outside made the drafty kitchen chilly. I picked up the blanket I'd been sitting on and wrapped it around my shoulders. "Was your family prophecy the same?"
Nicholas leaned in the doorway. "In our family stories, the woman also spoke of dark times coming to the world and told a trusted few how to recognize the signs of, I guess you would say, impending doom. Supposedly, three of those who knew the prophecy would die in close succession. Their deaths would be a sign the dark days were imminent and it was time for the survivors to take action."
We carried our tea mugs into the library and Nicholas lit a fire.
"Has it happened? Did three of the women die?" I asked.
"The prophecy passed down through each generation. The female children of those original seven women continued to be Watchers," he said slowly, his eyes on the fire. "There have been some deaths. But until now it didn't fit."
Now I paced, as I reviewed what I knew of Nicholas's family history, ticking off the events on my fingers. "First, your grandmother was a descendant of one of the original cabal?"
"Yes."
"And when she died, it was passed down to your mother."
He nodded.
"Then your mother was murdered. Oh God!" My stomach lurched, and I sat down again abruptly. "Their deaths." I put my hand on his arm, and he looked at me, anguished. "They're the first two."
We sat in silence for a moment. A gust of wind rattled down the chimney and sent up a shower of sparks.
I shook Nicholas' arm with sudden urgency. "We should go to the police."
"And tell them what, Sam? Someone – I have no idea who – is killing my relatives because of a centuries-old prophecy?" He gave a bitter laugh. "No, my family handles its own problems in its own way."
"What are you going to do?"
He shrugged. "I've been looking for the coven records, to see if there is any mention of dark times and who or what to watch for. The book you took? I'm hoping those records might include information about the deaths, some kind of clue."
My shoulders jerked in a guilty start. I tried to cover my reaction by stretching. "Don't you know what to look for?" Didn't your grandmother teach you?"
Nicholas shook his head
. "No the cabal was all women and they were bound to secrecy." He was silent for a long moment, studying me. "The book, was it warded?"
"Warded?"
"Locked. Yes, of course it would be," he said slowly, still watching me.
"Y-y-yes," I stammered. "It was in the attic."
Nicholas narrowed his eyes.
"Shadow showed it to me, and I brought it down to the bedroom. I was drawn to it. Plus, the cat seemed to want me to have it. It sounds strange, I know, but he communicates," I said in a rush. "It got mixed in with all the other books, because now I have it at home…" I trailed off in misery. "Nicholas, I'm sorry, I had no idea it was so important."
"No permanent harm done," he replied in a cold voice.
"Now I know where it is, and it is warded, after all. Correct?"
I had to look away. I had the coven record and had been able to circumvent the wards, twice, even though I wasn't a member of the family. Did acceptance by the book also give me permission to read it? I doubted Nicholas would agree. I needed his help. If he turned away from me now, I would be alone, unarmed, unprepared.
"I'll have the grimoire for you the very next time we see each other," I said, mentally crossing my fingers under the table. I will finish copying it before then. But discussing the grimoire brought up another question.
"Aren't there any other relatives you can ask to help you with information?"
He slanted me another dark look. "Aunt Bella hasn't been around much, as you can see."
"Do you think she's…I mean…do you think the prophecy has been fulfilled? Was she the third one sacrificed?"
Nicholas stared at the fire for a long minute, the flickering flames reflected on his pupils. "No, I don't think so," he said finally. "I sort of…knew…when it happened with the other two." He looked up at me, a pained expression on his face. "I dreamed about them. I knew for sure they had passed out of this life."
Last year, if someone had told me this, I'd have argued. I would have found a psychological foundation for a person dreaming his loved one's death as it happened. But I saw my own mother's ghost, and it spoke to me. I talked to a book, and it replied. I'd felt what people were thinking just by watching them. And I lit a candle and raised a whole swarm of ancient spirits with nothing but my mind.
