This room had something else as well as prettiness. It had an aura that was magical. I could feel Lyla’s hand. She had created a room for me that would make me feel as though I had stepped into the pages of a beautiful fairytale, where I was a princess about to meet her prince.
That feeling stopped abruptly.
Tingling sensations swept through my body, raising the hairs at the back of my neck. An eerie feeling rippled through me, and all at once I knew what it was.
Foreign magic—darkly shaded magic—reverberated in the air. Magic where it had no business being. Not Lyla’s magic. Not mine.
My first instinct was fear. Had Dreede somehow found me? Impossible! Not so soon. He couldn’t have, could he?
Lyla had always marveled over my witch senses. She said they were extraordinary. Probably because I am not human. Most witches are, after all.
It wasn’t just that I had picked up on an aura of dark magic; it was something else. I slowly turned in place, extending my arms out. Serious magic floated in the atmosphere of my room, and it wasn’t familiar in any way.
This time, however, I felt as though it was white magic. What the heck was this? I was no longer sure just what kind of magic it was. It seemed my senses had picked up on both.
As I stood in place puzzling over this, all at once, as though it had never been, the residue strong magic creates simply vanished.
What?
I took Ebony out of my big bag and circled the air with her pointing up and then down as I chanted, “Trouble is as trouble does.” It was a simple chant Lyla had taught me long ago, a demand for magic to display itself.
A blue mist formed in the middle of the room. Blue! Now that was unusual. Magic most often displayed itself as white-hot or red, sometimes a burst of gold. Blue was not the norm.
I reached out, and my hand became covered with mist, a mist that was ice cold. Oddly enough, something about it—about the blue, about the cold—was familiar.
Out of the corner of my eye, a mirror full with twinkling blue lights made me turn, and I walked its way.
I looked at it full on. Just a mirror much like any other. Were the twinkling blue lights I had seen in it just an optical illusion?
Ha! I knew better.
I stood back from it, cautiously pointed my Ebony, and chanted another spell, one that was mine, not Lyla’s, not the coven’s. “Mirror, mirror, long and bright, show me what is in your sight.”
I got a glimpse of a man … a naked, dripping wet man, like he had just stepped out of a shower. Holy shitsky, what a body! Then the mirror went blank and was just a mirror with my reflection looking back at me.
What the hell was going on?
Had he seen me? Had he cloaked himself so that I couldn’t continue to see him?
If so, he must have realized I was magical. Had he expected me?
Who was he? Where was he? Was he a ghost? A ghost in the mirror. That made me giggle. Supernatural things don’t scare me, as I am also supernatural. They do, however, intrigue me.
I tried again, repeating the chant, but whatever cloaking spell he was using on the other side—assuming that’s what had happened—had shut me out.
Great. This was just great.
And then it occurred to me that this mirror had not been in my room when I was here last. Had it been one of the things Lyla had brought down from the attic? She had told me she found some things there and decorated my room with them. Had she known the mirror was a magical artifact?
Well, I had lamented about having to keep to myself, having to spend the next two months basically alone. Once again, things were not what I was expecting.
Alone? Not so much, apparently.
Chapter Two
I WAITED AND THEN chanted the spells Lyla had taught me that might be able to open a magical portal, which I concluded the mirror had to be. Nothing.
My own reflection just stared right back at me.
I was tired, and my body was really travel-weary. I plopped onto my bed, and when I punched the pretty mauve and blue pillow into shape, out popped an envelope addressed to me. Another note? Oh, I had forgotten to read the note Lyla had shoved into my hands. What was wrong with me? It was as though I were trapped in a daze of denial.
I recognized the handwriting on the envelope. It was from Lyla. I tore it open, almost expecting her to pop out and tell me she wasn’t dead, that it was all just a nightmare. That, of course, didn’t happen, and I read:
Dearest Callie,
Look to your mirror. I believe it holds the key.
Also, I found an artifact in the attic but left it there for you, should you need it at some point. I am not sure what it does, but I think you will know it as soon as it is in your hands.
If you are reading this, then, I sadly am not with you.
I was hoping the cancer would go back into remission. It hasn’t yet, but the doctors tell me it still could.
At any rate, what you need to know is that there is something ‘magical’ about the mirror. I think it is a portal to another world.
It was no accident that we came to Tullfont Abbey. I was told to do so … many years ago, when you were just six or seven years old. The message came to me in a dream.
I am sure the mirror plays an important role in your future.
What that role is, I haven’t a clue. I had it hung for you in your room. Instinct told me you will need it.
Don’t forget to read the note I know I will give you before I die. It was always meant for your eyes, but I was told to keep it until you reached your majority.
I love you, Callie. You have always been, from the moment I found you, my daughter.
I read and re-read this and burst into body-shaking sobs.
The wound of fresh grief slashed across my heart, which was still in so much pain. I had lost her. Lyla was really gone. The finality of it was like being slapped over and over until you knew, until it was impossible to deny, the truth: your loved one would never return to you.
The loneliness of not having her to share my future with was still so raw that physical pain shot through my head and squeezed my lungs till I could barely breathe.
I gasped through the sobs until finally, absolutely exhausted, I just turned over and quietly cried myself to sleep.
I don’t know how long it was that I dozed, but suddenly I felt someone touching me.
I sat up, and through the late-afternoon light streaming in the window, I saw him.
He stood back from the bed.
His muscular arms were folded across his naked, slightly tattooed chest, his legs (now in leather pants) were spread apart, and his feet were covered in dark leather sandals.
I blinked. Who? What? Was I dreaming?
He wasn’t solid but transparent, and his aura twinkled blue.
Ah, he was a ghost.
The atmosphere glistened with blue ice. I had always heard that ghosts carry cold in their aura. I had never met a ghost before, never believed or disbelieved in them.
Then he moved, and his movement gave me the impression of a solid form. No, not a ghostly form after all. I blinked and realized it was the blue mist that seemed a barrier of sorts between us. So definitely not a ghost … I think. What, then?
My mind worked furiously, and I wanted to speak, but nothing, absolutely nothing other than a squeak, came out of my mouth. I managed to say, “Ah …?”
I couldn’t move, and I obviously couldn’t form a sentence.
He said in a voice that was low and masculine and accented much like an Irishman’s, “Who are ye, woman?”
That got my juices flowing. What did he mean, who are you?
I scrambled off the bed, as he had taken a step closer to it, and moved away from him as I said, “Wait, who are you? This is my home, my bedroom …” I nodded towards the mirror. “My mirror. So who are you, and what the hell are you doing here?”
He grinned and said, “Territorial, are ye?”
The same thoughts kept reverberating t
hrough my head: Was this a demon in blue working for Warren Dreede? Had Warren sent him to abduct me?
“Why don’t you just answer the question? Who are you, and what are you doing here?” I demanded.
“Those are two questions,” he said.
“Answer two questions then.” My hand waved about in the air because I wasn’t sure if I should run or wait and hear the answers.
“Ye’re frightened. Don’t be, lass. I mean ye no harm,” he said gently and inched towards me in his glitter of blue.
“Yeah, well, then answer my questions. What is your name, and what are you doing here, in my bedroom, dressed in blue glitter?”
He laughed.
I blinked.
Ghosty hunk in blue laughed. It was a nice laugh.
“I am Prince Brodie of Morelake, from the Land of Morelake,” he said and inclined his head. “The blue is because of yer mirror—it is a Nether Blue portal—but what ye are doing with it, I don’t know.”
“Nether Blue?” I repeated. “Meaning …?” I urged, hoping he would explain.
“Meaning what? I’m not sure what more I can tell ye. So, now it is yer turn, wee sad beauty.”
“Sad? How do you know I’m sad?”
“I heard ye crying in yer sleep, lass. I found the portal of yer mirror and have been attempting to get through to yer side, because I heard ye crying. It wasn’t allowing me to enter, and then suddenly it opened for me and I was able to step through. Och aye, but ye were asleep and carrying the weight of the world, it seemed. Sobbing ye were, in yer sleep, and I tried to comfort ye.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond to that so I scrutinized him and changed the subject. “Are you Irish? You sound Irish.”
“No, lass, as I said, I am a prince from Morelake. I am not of yer realm, though I have studied it and often thought I might like to visit it one day—though perhaps not this way.” He raised a brow. “Now, would ye mind telling me who ye are, lass, and why were ye crying so?”
“My name is Calico, and I was crying because I lost the only mother I have ever known a couple of days ago.” Why was I telling him that? Why was I opening up to this total stranger from a foreign realm?
“Ah, it is that sorry I am to hear it,” he said.
“But if you are from another realm, why do you sound so Irish?” I asked.
“Aye, I suppose our languages are similar. Ye, however, do not sound Irish.”
“I’m not,” I answered. “Now you said the blue is Nether Blue. What does that mean?”
“Ah, Calico, I’m not sure just how to explain that. Suffice it to say that it is a part of our realm … in a manner of speaking. Look, lass, I don’t know how much time I have left … and before I go, I mean to do what I have been wanting to do to ye from the first moment I saw yer lovely self,” he said, and the next thing I knew, blue ghosty prince of whatever had me in his arms and was planting the best kiss I’d ever had in my life right smack on my lips.
His tongue teased mine to come out and play, and I discovered that my body had a will all its own. That will overrode good sense. What the hell, I thought as I gave in and allowed my tongue to meet his and dance to his tune. Damn, if it wasn’t game on as one kiss became another.
Rockets of need went flying through my blood, and then, just like that, I was standing all alone, my lips pursed in the air and nothing but air meeting my tongue.
I opened my eyes and spun around.
“In here, lass,” Brodie of Morelake said quietly.
He was back in the mirror.
* * * * *
I hurried over to the mirror and saw only my own reflection. He was gone.
Something was wrong. I felt it, and besides that, my normally gray eyes were sparkling silver glitter back at me. It was a thing that usually happened when that ‘other-worldly’ Calico started to rise inside me and take over. She wasn’t a dark witch, but, damn, she was powerful. Usually the silver glitter eyes phenomenon happened when I was in danger and other-worldly me went into protection mode.
It didn’t happen often, so I was taken aback by it and leery—well, more on edge than anything else.
I studied the mirror but couldn’t find anything threatening, and my glitter eyes dissolved into normal gray once again.
Well, I had something to think about, didn’t I? But all I could think about was the prince’s kiss.
I’ve been kissed enough to know a good kiss from a better one, and Brodie’s kiss had been over the top. Unrateable. His kiss was mind-blowing. I touched my lips to relive that moment.
Once, just once during college, I got close to getting it all from a guy I thought I was hot for, whose kiss had been what I thought, then, was amazing. I was saved by circumstances: just before I had gone flying over to his place, I saw him kissing a friend of mine in the commons. Well, that cooled me off big time.
So, there I was, virgin girl. Weird, I know, so I didn’t advertise it, and only my closest friend and fellow witch, Brenda, knew. She had been in the coven but dropped out soon after Warren took over. Her magic had always been limited, and he either didn’t notice or didn’t care that she had left the coven.
She and I were close before Lyla and I went on the run. She was always telling me to have fun and go for it—just for fun.
But I had made up my mind about it all and told her, “Brenda, I want bells and rockets. I don’t want music—I want a symphony. I want more than a romp in bed. I want to romp through life with one, just one, man who wants just one woman.”
She had slapped my shoulder. “You gotta live, Callie. You are too old to be a …” She paused dramatically and then whispered like it was taboo, “virgin.”
I had laughed, but here is the point: during my heavy make-out sessions with a variety of guys over the years, I’d never felt rockets or heard any bells. A variety to me was four guys—yeah, four. But, in my defense, I was a witch. And not just a witch but also not human, and that put me in a difficult position. I always found it difficult to connect with human guys.
Never mind. The point here is that blue glitter other-worldly hottie had shot off rockets in my head when he kissed me.
I pulled Ebony out of the back pocket of my jeans and got ready to do some magic.
The mirror would be too heavy to lift, and I wanted to examine it. So I pointed and chanted, “bheith ar foluain.” In the language I heard in my ‘other-worldly’ compartment, the one I kept buried while I pretended to be human, it means float.
The mirror hung in the air, and I examined its backing. Nothing unusual. I went on to check out the wall on which it had been hung—also nothing magical there.
I pointed my wand and returned the mirror to its sturdy hook, stuck my wand in at the waistband of my jeans, and folded my arms across my middle as I considered the problem.
That was when I noticed that the little etchings in the mirror’s gold frame were not just rune designs—they formed words!
Unfortunately, the words were written in a language I didn’t know. As I stared, a powerful word came to mind—no doubt from that ‘other-worldly’ compartment. Once again, I had Ebony in hand and pointed as I said, “Drulaie.”
As I said, I was only five when Lyla found me, and I had no clear memories of the people or places in my life before then. However, I did remember a great deal of what must have been my native language. Over the years Lyla had encouraged me to use that language and translate it for her to understand. Drulaie means, loosely, show me. Glitter Calico was definitely up front and center, because immediately the etchings on the frame began to glow in 3-D.
I took a step back.
The glowing 3-D words had a voice, a soft and gentle voice, and they whispered in singsong over and over, “Inghean.”
Daughter? It translated in my mind as daughter. What? What did that mean?
Okay, then, let’s dive into logic, I told myself. The mirror was a magic artifact. No doubt the mirror recognized the witch in me, a daughter of magic, so to speak, right? Was tha
t it? Must be.
I repeated the word drulaie—show me—and began chanting my spell.
Spells that had nothing to do with the coven Lyla and I belonged to were stored in another special compartment in my brain, and over the last few years that compartment had grown. As it expanded, glitter Calico and I had been merging more and more. I didn’t want to lose who I was—or rather who I thought I was—but I was afraid that who I really was, was not who I perceived myself to be. Yeah, I know—it took me a while to untangle it, too. Bottom line, though was this: I was so not human, and I had finally come to realize that it was time for me to just accept it and be who I was—glitter eyes and all.
The mirror began to mist inside itself.
Evidently my spell was working.
Lyla and I had tested my spells. She would chant the words, but none of the incantations would respond to her. Apparently the magic I own is mine alone, and as I stood there in front of that mirror, that magic was on, it was glowing, and it was working.
Once again blue and misty, the mirror began to pulse and hum. Then, it cleared and quieted.
On the other side of the mirror, which evidently worked as a two-way glass, I could see a chamber, large and dank—oh no, a prison chamber? I hadn’t noticed that before. Yeah, ‘cause I was busy looking at a naked hunk. What the hell? Was Prince Brodie in a prison?
He appeared all at once, larger than life, and stalked right up close. I don’t know why, but I backed away.
“Calico,” was all he said, but his tone was soft and full with yearning I could not ignore.
“You got pulled back … but where are you?” I asked him.
“First, ye need to know a bit about me, Calico. Ye need to know that as a royal, I am an accomplished sorcerer, or maybe you prefer the term wizard. Royals are more powerful than all other wizards in our realm, or yers for that matter.”
“Yeah, okay … so what are you doing in a prison? That is a prison cell you’re in, isn’t it?”
Alphas Unwrapped: 21 New Steamy Paranormal Tales of Shifters, Vampires, Werewolves, Dragons, Witches, Angels, Demons, Fey, and More Page 49
