Riftkeepers: Pursuit

by Carrie Whitethorne

  Ferne was glaring at her. “What?” she asked, shuffling her seat round and filling her mug.

  “When did, my weedy little mate turn into Xena?”

  “When I started hanging around with dangerous older men,” she laughed.

  It was almost eight when Dagda arrived with Alayna and Enya. Ferne coaxed him upstairs to talk to him before anyone else managed to drag him away.

  “Where's Zander?” Enya asked, a worried look on her face.

  “Asleep on the sofa. He's had a busy night baby. He'll be up soon. Have you had breakfast?”

  Enya joined her, clearing a large plate before she asked, “What's wrong with your arm?”

  You don't miss much…

  “I hurt it getting Zander. I'm okay, Aunty Alayna will have a look at it later. Are you feeling better now?”

  “Yeah, I can feel him again. I felt him when I woke up,” she grinned.

  “Enya, Zander was hurt last night. He's got a cut on his head. It'll heal up, but don't be too upset when you see it, okay? Aunty Alayna can sort it. Anton cleaned it up and its fine.”

  Enya's eyes widened. “What happened?”

  Don't lie. She'll know and she deserves the truth.

  “Miss Brown was a bad lady and she tried to hurt him. Daddy and I stopped her, with help from Uncle Dagda, Dane and the others, and brought him home.”

  Enya nodded, “Can I sit with him until he wakes up?”

  Smiling, she said, “He's on the sofa. Snuggle in but try not to wake him, okay? He needs a lot of rest.”

  With Enya, busy with her vigil, Charlotte poured more tea and went to find Callan, Dane and Alayna.

  She found them in the study, Callan in a high-backed leather desk chair, Dane and Alayna perched on a desk. Callan looked exhausted. “Callan, are you hungry?”

  “No, thank you, I'm fine,” he shook a bottle of water. “We're just filling Alayna in.”

  “I was coming to fix your collar bone,” she said with a frown.

  “There's no rush. How's Dagda?”

  “We can't really tell,” she said. “He's doing what he always does. Did Ferne take him upstairs?”

  “Yeah, she wanted to speak to him. I told her everything, warned her he might be away for a while. I didn't expect him here so early, if at all.”

  “Everything?” Alayna asked, shocked. “Is Enya with Zander? Is he okay?”

  “Yeah. I'm tired of the lies, and she's already familiar with Dagda's powers,” she shrugged. “Zander's fine. A bit battered, that cut is nasty, but he's sleeping it off. He'll be okay.”

  “I'll heal his head as soon as he's awake,” Alayna promised.

  “What are we to do today then?” she asked with a sigh.

  I'm tired. I'm sick of this whole mess.

  “Not much. Carlie's being looked after at the palace. I'll return her to her family this afternoon with Dagda,” Callan said, rubbing a finger along his brow.

  “Okay,” she said quietly. “I know you're all shattered but I really need some sleep. Is it okay if I go upstairs?”

  Callan took her hand and said, “We're fine. You go, I'll wait for Zander to wake up. When he does, I'll send him to you.”

  “I'll fix your shoulder, you'll sleep better,” Alayna smiled, offering her hand.

  Grateful for not having to climb the stairs, Charlotte took it.

  “Standing or flat?” she asked.

  “If you can lie on the bed, that would be easiest, I think,” Alayna said softly. “Let me help.”

  With just her hoody removed, she moved pillows with her good arm and shuffled onto the bed.

  “I'll need to move it around to make sure its lined up correctly, then a quick snap, it'll feel hot and we're done,” Alayna explained.

  Charlotte nodded and prepared herself for the pain. Alayna whispered apologies as she pressed her fingers along the bone, bringing her shoulder up, then down, applying gentle pressure where necessary. Charlotte screwed her eyes shut and stifled the screams caught in her throat. Then, a soothing heat spread through her upper body and the pain was gone, the only evidence of the injury the faint black lines that Dane had worked on earlier.

  “Thanks,” she sighed as relief flooded her.

  “No problem. I'd have come to you earlier but I didn't want to leave Enya.” She looked away, pushing a finger beneath her eye. When she turned back, Charlotte saw her eyes welled with tears, “Thank you, Charlotte. For all you've done for us, and for bringing my brothers and Dane home safely.”

  With what she hoped was a kind smile, she said, “They didn't need me, have you seen them fight? They kept me safe, they got me and Zander home. You've nothing to thank me for, Alayna.”

  Her sister in law shook her head slowly, “I've seen you fight, Charlotte. Dane showed me. If you hadn't blocked those Daeva they'd have been torn apart. You kept them safe, you took him on and made sure he didn't hurt anyone. I don't know many people who could have faced that the way you did.” She took a shaky breath, stroking her thumb over Charlottes forehead, and said, “You need to rest. We'll send Zander up when he wakes.”

  Before she could answer, she felt Alayna's hand on her arm and slipped into a warm and comfortable sleep.

  Whispered voices disturbed her, small giggles and the shifting of bodies on the bed.

  “Mummy?”

  “I'm up, I'm up,” she groaned, rubbing her hand over her eyes. Gingerly rolling her shoulder, she remembered that Alayna had tended it before she fell asleep and sat up. “Hello.”

  Zander barreled into her, knocking her back. She held him tightly while Enya crawled up to sit on the opposite pillow. “Everyone's eating dinner. Daddy said we should come and see if you wanted some,” she explained.

  “Thank you,” she smiled. “Are you okay, baby?” she asked Zander as he clung to her.

  He nodded and mumbled, “My head's better now. Dane took us out for nuggets while Daddy and Uncle Dagda went out. We just got back.”

  “Okay, five minutes and we'll go down, okay?” With a change of position, Enya snuggled into her other side and they lay quietly, snuggled together.

  Safe and sound. We all came too close that time. I hope we can settle down to a normal life now. No more danger, no more risk. Just us, watching the kids grow up.

  It seems so long since we had the chance to just lay here like this. Always somewhere to go, someone to see.

  A gentle knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts.

  “I said check, not jump on her until she woke up,” Callan laughed from the open door. “Feeling better?”

  “Much,” she said, smiling. “They're alright, I need to get up anyway. Have you done what you needed to?”

  “Yeah,” he said, his tone grave. “We got back half an hour ago, everyone's downstairs. Are you hungry?”

  “Starving. Come on you two, down we go.”

  They jumped from the bed and ran down stairs. Callan walked around the bed and sat down.

  As if nothing happened. Has Dane had a hand in that?

  “When will…?” She stumbled, funerals were so final and she wasn't fully used to the fact that Carlie was gone.

  “Tomorrow evening, Ferne's offered to watch the children if you want to attend. You don't have to, see how you feel.”

  “I should go, it's only right. Who's here?”

  “Dagda, Ferne, Alayna, Dane, Lukas and Anton. Konrad and Klara have gone back to Houska. If you don't feel up to it, if you need to rest, I can bring you something and you can go back to sleep.”

  “No, no I'll come down. I can't hide up here indefinitely. “Sighing, she heaved herself from the bed and stretched. “It's nice to be able to move without that awful pain in my shoulder. How's Dagda?”

  He shrugged, his eyes searching hers, “Himself. How are you? Really?”

  He knows. It won't ever be over for him because he knows what this is doing to you.

  “I don't know. I'll be fine. If not Dane can help, can't he? Come on, I'll have a glass of w
ine for Carlie.”

  She could tell he wasn't convinced, but, he smiled, laced his fingers through hers, and led her down to their family and friends.

  Chapter 33

  The flames flickered and danced in the hearth, their crackles and snaps the only sound in the room as Charlotte sat and gazed, unseeing toward the fireplace.

  Carlie's funeral had ended less than an hour before, held at the edge of a forest on the island. She'd asked Callan to bring her home before anyone could ask questions of her, before anyone asked her to relive the events in the cave. She then sent him back, to be with Dagda, while Carlie's family and friends celebrated her life.

  Huddled on the sofa, she ran her thumb up and down the stem of her empty wine glass, lost in her thoughts.

  “That pantry is disgusting,” Ferne laughed, placing the fresh bottle of wine on the table.

  “Hmm?” Charlotte turned away from the fire.

  “That pantry, there's nothing in there but wine, mead and whisky. What do you eat?”

  “The speed Callan shops at, we get stuff as we need it. We disappear off to the palace a lot too so no point leaving a fridge full,” she shrugged, leaning over to fill her glass. “And I may have developed a bit of a problem recently.” There was none of her usual humor in her tone.

  “I'm not surprised, Chick. I can't believe everything you've been through this year.” She helped herself to a handful of crisps from a bowl on the table.

  “I don't think Callan expected this mess when he met me,” she said, ruefully.

  “None of it's your fault, Lottie. He's worried about you, he doesn't blame you. No-one does.”

  “If I hadn't had that in me, he'd have walked by and not given me a second glance, Fe. All of this is because of what that bastard did.” A tear slipped down her cheek and she rubbed it away angrily.

  It's like some sort of sick joke. I couldn't just meet a nice bloke and be happy. It had to have all this thrown in. The ridiculous, the impossible, the death and hate and twisted evil… Why am I here?

  The kids. It's all worth it for them.

  “What happens now?” Ferne asked, steering Charlotte away from that train of thought.

  “What do you mean? We move on. It's done.”

  Ferne raised her perfectly groomed eyebrows and said, “Really? If it were, you wouldn't be in this state. I saw you handle your mum. You dealt with it. There's more to this, Lottie.”

  “I nearly killed him. Me,” she whispered.

  You have no idea. He isn't dead and I know they won't believe me.

  “Lottie, whatever's going on with you… just, tell Callan. Let him help you,” she sighed.

  “Since when are you all about Callan? You've spent seven years' slagging him off!”

  “Since I got to know him a bit,” she smirked. “And his big brother.”

  “How's that going, anyway?” Charlotte asked, taking full advantage of the opportunity to change the subject. One thing guaranteed to direct Ferne's attention was to talk about her current interest, however cringe inducing.

  “Alright,” she shrugged.

  Oh no, please no, not Dagda.

  “Ferne, you are, aren't you?”

  “I don't know,” she sighed. “I can't get him out of my head. When he isn't here I feel sick. When he comes back… It can't work, I know that.”

  “You have to tell him, Fe,” she said firmly.

  “Why? So, he can run?” she said with a sad laugh, gulping down her wine. “It was meant to be a bit of fun. He can't be himself with me, he can't be around all the time.”

  “He won't run. He'll make it work if he's given the chance. Please, Fe.”

  The man's a pain in my arse but if their account of what Callan went through is anything to go by, it'll kill him if she walks away thinking he doesn't want her. Should I tell him? No, that's out of order. Would Callan? Shit!

  Charlotte filled their glasses and flopped back on the sofa. “When we parted ways, Callan was a mess for years. He couldn't find me, he looked everywhere. Don't do that to Dagda, please Fe. I won't tell him but you really should. They aren't like us…”

  Movement in the kitchen announced their arrival. A dropped glass told her something was off. Listening carefully to their whispered curses and low laughs, she looked at Ferne and groaned, “They're pissed.”

  “Can they?”

  “Oh, yeah. They just don't suffer hangovers, lucky shits.”

  Dagda sauntered into the lounge, flicking on the main lights. Charlotte covered her eyes, hissing, “Dagda! Turn it off!”

  Callan followed him and fiddled with the switches, turning a few spotlights off. Each held a large glass of whisky, ice tinkling as they walked. “Sorry. We meant to be home sooner.”

  “What have you been drinking?” she laughed, watching him negotiate the narrow space between the coffee table and the sofa to sit beside her.

  “Home brew, we're fine. I'm fine,” he slurred.

  She smirked, leaning into him as he put an arm around her.

  Stupid arse. Who gets wasted in two hours?

  Dagda had wasted no time in showing Ferne that he'd missed her.

  “I think I'm going to go to bed,” she said, nudging Callan.

  “It's early!” Dagda mumbled against Ferne's lips, “Have another drink!”

  “You have another. Have a bottle, I'm going to bed,” she laughed, kissing Callan's cheek and leaving her unfinished wine on the table.

  In the darkness of her bedroom, she listened to the low rumble of Dagda's voice as it drifted through the house. Ferne giggled, Callan laughed, and she lay alone. She picked up her phone and put it down again.

  No, don't bother Dane. He can't help you any more than Callan can. They've done enough, let them go back to their lives, Charlotte. Go back to your own.

  She turned over and huddled under the thick duvet, willing herself to fall asleep.

  He didn't die, he was taken. You saw it. Whoever that was, they're as dangerous as he is. Vampire? Can they just disappear like that? It can't have been a fairy. They hate warlocks.

  Her dreams came in flashes that night, no image lasting any more than a few seconds before it melted away and reformed as another. There was no time to process them, no way to make sense of them. She woke more exhausted than she'd been when she fell asleep.

  Callan had managed to come to bed, his steady breathing a comfort in the pitch black of the room. Judging by the sickly-sweet smell of whisky coming from him, he hadn't been in bed long.

  Glancing at the clock on his side of the bed, she saw it was only just four.

  With a sigh, she pushed back the duvet and left the bed, carefully replacing the covers. Wrapping her dressing gown around her, she made her way down stairs.

  The lights were still on in the lounge, glasses left empty on the coffee table and the fire had burned low. She threw another log into the grate and cleared away the glasses.

  With a glass of water, she returned to the lounge and dimmed the lights, choosing to sit on the floor by the fire. Listening to the hollow cracking of the log that was now caught in bright orange flame, she sat hunched over the glass with her thoughts.

  What am I supposed to do? How do I tell them without them thinking I've cracked? Ferne seems to think Callan will be okay, like she's suddenly his best mate. I saw it. I felt it. I heard that voice and it wasn't from my own head.

  He isn't dead. I know he isn't dead. It didn't feel like death. It felt like relief. He didn't want to die, he wanted more. More power. More control.

  But if that's true, why didn't he fight back? Did Dane mess with his head? Did he think better of it after we destroyed his filthy little army of demons?

  That voice… whose? Or just a memory? A comfort from his own mind as he passed?

  Sick of the riddles!

  Her foot had gone to sleep, the low ache reaching her ankle before she thought to move it. Flicking her leg out, she caught the glass, spilling water all over the floor. The glass rolled, clink
ing on the stone of the hearth before splintering. It kept its form.

  “Shit,” she breathed, picking it up and examining it. The crack ran the length of the carved crystal. “Well, that's had it now,” she muttered as she placed it on the hearth and lay back, flat on the floor.

  Think, charlotte. What did you really see? It isn't like Seeing, that's just flashes, you can see what's there, what's really happening.

  She lay silent, listening to the crackle of the fire.

  “How long have you been there?” she mumbled.

  “I heard the glass fall, why are you here on your own?” He left the doorway and sat on the arm of the arm of the sofa behind her.

  “You should be asleep. You had a rough day and a late night. Don't worry about me, Callan. I'm fine.”

  “No, you aren't,” he said sadly. “You haven't been since the mountain came down. Up until that point you were. What happened?”

  Tell him. Tell him everything

  “You won't believe me.”

  “Yes, I will. I believe in everything you say, why wouldn't I? You're my wife, Charlotte. I trust you, believe you above anyone.” He spoke with such heartfelt sincerity she almost felt guilty for not trusting him.

  “Robert isn't dead,” she blurted. As though saying it quickly would make her feel less foolish.

  “Why would you believe that?”

  “I was curious so I tapped into his mind before… and well, he was still stuck to the wall, not moving. The cave was crumbling and then there was a voice, in his head. It was quiet, distant, but I heard it. 'I'm coming, I can help,' it said. Then there was someone there. It was dark, your fire had died out, but there was a shadow. The daggers were pulled out, I felt it, and then he was gone.”

  He watched her for a few, long moments, considering what she'd said. Weighing the information and carefully crafting a response.

  “You don't believe me.”

  “I do believe you,” he said, fixing his gaze on her. “Can you show me?”

  “I can try,” she shrugged, searching for her shadow. She hadn't had to look for it for weeks now, the feeling was strange. She stayed where she was, on the floor.