by Nora Roberts
Hoyt descended the stairs. He tried not to mourn what was changed, what was gone. He would get back, back to his true home, back to his family, and his life.
He would see the torches flaming on the walls again, smell his mother’s roses in the garden. And he would walk the cliffs beyond his own cottage in Chiarrai again, and know the world was free of the vermin that sought to destroy it.
He’d needed rest, that was all. Rest and solitude in a place he knew and understood. Now he would work, and he would plan. He was done with this sensation of being swept away into what he couldn’t understand.
Darkness had fallen, and those lights—those strange, harsh lights that came from electricity rather than fire—illuminated the house.
It irritated him that he found no one about, and could scent no supper cooking from the direction of the kitchen. It was time to be busy, and time the rest understood it was necessary to take the next steps.
A sound made him pause, then hiss out a breath. He followed the sound of clashing steel at a run. Then he swung toward where a doorway had been and cursed when he found sheer wall. He sprinted around it, and burst into the library where he saw his brother slashing a sword toward Glenna.
He didn’t think; didn’t hesitate. He punched his power toward Cian, and sent his sword spinning away to clatter on the floor. With her forward motion unblocked, Glenna sliced Cian’s shoulder.
“Well, shit.” Cian flicked a hand at the sword even as Glenna pulled it back in horror.
“Oh God! Oh my God. Is it bad? How bad?” She dropped her sword to rush forward.
“Back!” With another sweep of power, Hoyt had Glenna tumbling back and landing on her ass. “You want blood?” Hoyt plucked up Glenna’s discarded sword. “Come then, get mine.”
King grabbed a sword from the wall, slapped the blade against Hoyt’s. “Back off, magic boy. Now.”
“Don’t interfere,” Cian said to King. “Step away.” Slowly, Cian picked up his own sword, met Hoyt’s eyes. “You tempt me.”
“Stop it! Stop it this minute. What the hell’s wrong with you?” Regardless of the blades, Glenna pushed between the brothers. “I’ve stabbed him, for God’s sake. Let me see.”
“He attacked you.”
“He did not. He was giving me a lesson.”
“It’s nothing.” With his gaze still burning into Hoyt’s, Cian nudged Glenna aside. “Shirt’s ruined, and it’s the second I’ve trashed on your account. If I’d wanted her blood, I wouldn’t take it with a sword, waste it. But for yours, I could make an exception.”
Glenna’s breath wanted to heave, the words wanted to babble. But if she knew anything about men, she knew it would take only a flick of a finger to have these two spilling each other’s blood.
Instead she spoke sharply—annoyed female to foolish boys. “It was a mistake, an accident on all sides. I appreciate you coming to the rescue,” she said to Hoyt. “But I didn’t, and don’t need the white horse. And you—” She jabbed a finger at Cian. “You know very well what it must have looked like to him, so take it down a little. And you.” She rounded on King. “You can just stop standing over there adding to it.”
“Hey! All I did was—”
“Add more trouble,” she interrupted. “Now go, get some bandages.”
“I don’t need them.” Cian walked back to replace his sword. “I heal quickly, which is something you need to bear in mind.” He held out a hand for King’s sword. The glance Cian gave him might have been affectionate, Glenna thought. Or proud. “Unlike our irritated witch, I appreciate the gesture.”
“No big.” King handed Cian the sword, then sent Glenna a kind of sheepish shrug.
Unarmed now, Cian turned back to his brother. “You couldn’t beat me with a sword when I was human. You damn well couldn’t take me now.”
Glenna put a hand on Hoyt’s arm, felt the muscles quiver. “Put it down,” she said quietly. “This needs to stop.” She ran her hand down his arm to his wrist, then took the sword.
“The blade needs cleaning,” Cian commented.
“I’ll take care of it.” King stepped away from the wall. “I’ll toss something together for dinner while I’m at it. Got my appetite worked up.”
Even after he walked out, Glenna thought there was so much testosterone in the room she couldn’t have hacked through it with one of Cian’s battle-axes.
“Can we move on?” she said briskly. “I thought we could use the library for our war room. And considering the weapons in here, and the books on magic, warfare, vampires and demons, it seems appropriate. I’ve got some ideas—”
“I bet you do,” Cian mumbled.
“The first…” She moved to the table, picked up her crystal ball.
“Did you learn nothing the first time?” Hoyt demanded.
“I don’t want to look for her. We know where she is. Or was.” She wanted to change the mood. If there had to be tension, she thought, at least they could use it constructively.
“Others are coming, that’s what we keep being told. There will be others. I think it’s time we find some of them.”
He’d planned to do exactly that, but could hardly say so now without looking foolish. “Put that down. It’s too soon to use it after the last time.”
“I’ve cleansed and recharged it.”
“Regardless.” He turned to the fire. “We’ll do this my way.”
“A familiar refrain.” Cian stepped over to a cabinet, took out a heavy decanter. “Have at it then, the pair of you. I’m having a brandy. Elsewhere.”
“Please stay.” Glenna offered a smile, and there was both apology and cajolery in it. “If we find someone, you should be here to see. We need to decide what to do. All of us need to decide. In fact, I should go get King, so the four of us can do this.”
Hoyt ignored them, but found it wasn’t quite as simple to ignore the little prick that might have been jealousy. Teaching her swordplay and her fretting over the slightest scratch.
He spread his hands and began to focus on the fire, using his annoyance to mix the heat.
“A nice thought.” Cian nodded toward Hoyt. “But it seems he’s already started.”
“Well, for—All right then, all right. But we should cast a circle.”
“I don’t need one for this. Witches are forever casting circles, spinning rhymes. That’s why true sorcery eludes them.”
When Glenna’s mouth dropped open, Cian grinned at her, added a wink. “Always been full of himself. Brandy?”
“No.” Glenna set down her ball, folded her arms. “Thank you.”
The fire snapped, rose higher and began to eat greedily at the logs.
He used his own tongue, the language of his birth and blood to draw the fire into a dance. Some part of him knew he was showing off, drawing out the moment and the drama.
With a billow of smoke, a hiss of flame, the images began to form in the flames. Shadows and movement, shapes and silhouettes. Now he forgot all but the magic and the purpose, all but the need and the power.
He felt Glenna move closer—in body and in mind. In magic.
In the flames, the shapes and silhouettes became.
A woman on horseback, her hair in a long braid down her back, a quiver of arrows over her shoulder. The horse was gold and sleek, and moved at a powerful, even reckless gallop through the dark forest. There was fear on the woman’s face, and a steely determination along with it as she rode low, one hand clutched in the flying mane.
The man that wasn’t a man leaped out of the forest and was struck away. More took shape, sliding out of the dark, moving to surround.
The horse quivered, and in a sudden shimmer of light was a man, tall and lean and young. He and the woman stood back-to-back, blades drawn. And the vampires came for them.
“It’s the road leading to the Dance.” Cian sprang toward the weapons, grabbed a sword and a two-headed ax. “Go in with King,” he ordered Glenna as he raced for the window. “Stay here. Let no one in. No one a
nd nothing.”
“But—”
He threw up the window and seemed…seemed to fly out of it.
“Hoyt—”
But he was already grabbing a sword, a dagger. “Do as he says.”
He was out the window himself, nearly as quickly as his brother. Glenna didn’t hesitate. She followed.
He made for the stables, throwing his power ahead of him to open the doors. When the stallion charged out, Hoyt held up his hands to stop him. It was no time for niceties.
“Go back,” he shouted at Glenna.
“I’m going with you. Don’t waste time arguing. I’m in this, too.” When he grabbed a handful of mane and sprang onto the horse’s back, she tossed back her head. “I’ll follow on foot.”
He cursed her, but held down his hand for her to grip. The horse reared as King charged the stables. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Trouble,” Glenna shouted back. “On the road to the Dance.” When the horse reared again, she wrapped her arms tight around Hoyt. “Go!”
In the clearing, Moira fought, but no longer for her life. There were too many, and they were too strong. She believed she would die here. She fought for time, each precious moment of breath.
There was no room or time for her bow, but she had her short sword. She could hurt them, did hurt them. If her blade pierced flesh, they shrieked, and some fell back. But they rose again and came again.
She couldn’t count them, no longer knew how many Larkin battled. But she knew if she fell, they would have him. So she fought to stand, fought just to hold on.
Two came at her, and with her breath sobbing out she hacked at one. His blood gushed out in a horrible scream as those red eyes rolled back to white. To her horror one of his fellows fell on him and began to drink. But still another got past her guard and sent her flying. It pounced on her like a mad dog with greedy fangs and red eyes.
She heard Larkin shout her name, heard the terror in it as she struggled. Those fangs grazed her throat, and the burn was beyond belief.
Something came out of the night, some dark warrior with sword and ax. What was on her was hurled away. Her dazed eyes watched him cleave the ax down, behead the thing. It screamed and flashed, and turned to dust.
“Take their head,” the warrior shouted to Larkin, then turned burning blue eyes on her. “Use your arrows. Wood through the heart.”
Then his sword began to sing and slice.
She gained her feet, yanked an arrow out of her quiver. Tried to steady her blood-slicked hand to notch it on the bow. Rider coming, she thought dimly when she heard the thunder of hoofbeats.
Another came for her, a girl younger than herself. Moira shifted, but there was no time to shoot. The girl leaped, and the arrow impaled her. There was nothing left but dust.
The horseman jumped down, sword already swinging.
They would not die, Moira thought as sweat dripped into her eyes. They would not die tonight. She notched an arrow, let it fly.
The three men had formed a triangle, and were beating the things back. One slithered through, crouched to charge the horse where a woman sat watching the battle. Moira scrambled forward, trying to find a clear shot, but could only call out a warning.
The second warrior spun around, sword raised as he prepared to attack. But the woman reared back the horse, so its hooves flashed out to strike the thing down.
When the sword sliced through its neck, there was nothing left but blood and dust.
In the silence, Moira sank to her knees, fighting for breath and against a terrible sickness. Larkin dropped down beside her, running his hands over her body, her face. “You’re hurt. You’re bleeding.”
“Not bad. Not bad.” Her first battle, she thought. And she was alive. “You?”
“Nicks, scratches. Can you get up? I’ll carry you.”
“I can get up, yes, and no, you won’t carry me.” Still kneeling, she looked up at the man who’d come out of the dark. “You saved my life. Thank you. I think we’ve come to find you, but I’m grateful you found us instead. I’m Moira, and we’ve come through the Dance from Geall.”
He simply looked at her for what seemed like the longest moment. “We need to get back, and inside. It isn’t safe here.”
“Larkin is my name.” He held out a hand. “You fight like a demon.”
“True enough.” Cian clasped hands briefly. “Let’s get them back,” he said to Hoyt, and glanced toward Glenna. “The two of you helped yourself to my horse. Good thinking as it turned out. She can ride up with Glenna.”
“I can walk,” Moira began, only to find herself lifted off her feet and onto the horse.
“We need to move,” Cian said briskly. “Hoyt, take point, and you stay beside the women. I’m behind you.”
Hoyt laid a hand on the stallion’s neck as he passed, and glanced up at Glenna. “You’ve a steady seat.”
“I’ve been riding since I was four. Don’t think about trying to leave me behind again.” Then she turned on the horse to look over her shoulder at Moira. “I’m Glenna. Nice to meet you.”
“It’s the pure truth I can’t think of anyone in my life it’s been nicer to meet.” As the horse moved forward, Moira risked a look back. She couldn’t see the warrior. He seemed to have melted into the dark.
“What is his name? The one who came on foot?”
“That would be Cian. Hoyt’s up ahead. They’re brothers, and there’s a great deal to explain on all sides. But one thing’s for damn sure, we just survived our first battle. And we kicked some vampire ass.”
Moira bided her time. Under normal circumstances she would have considered herself a guest, and behaved accordingly. But she knew that was far from the case. She and Larkin were soldiers now, in what was a very small army.
It may have been foolish, but she was relieved not to be the only woman.
Inside the manor house, she sat in a wondrous kitchen. A huge man with skin dark as coal worked at a stove, though she didn’t think he was a servant.
He was called King, but she understood this wasn’t his rank. He was a man, like the others. A soldier like her.
“We’ll patch you up,” Glenna told her. “If you want to clean up first, I can show you upstairs.”
“Not until we’re all here.”
Glenna cocked her head. “All right then. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I want a drink.”
“I’d kill for one,” Larkin said with a quick smile. “Actually, it seems I have. I didn’t believe you, not really.” He laid a hand on Moira’s. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right, it’s no matter. We’re alive, and where we’re meant to be. That’s what matters.” She looked up as the door opened. But it was Hoyt who came in, not the one called Cian. Still she got to her feet.
“We haven’t thanked you properly for coming to help us. There were so many. We were losing until you came.”
“We’ve been waiting for you.”
“I know. Morrigan showed you to me. And you,” she said to Glenna. “Is this Ireland?”
“It is, yes.”
“But—”
Moira merely laid a hand on Larkin’s shoulder. “My cousin believes Ireland is a fairy tale, even now. We come from Geall, that which was made by the gods from a handful of Ireland, to grow in peace and to be ruled by the descendent of the great Finn.”
“You’re the scholar.”
“Well, she loves her books, that’s for certain. Now this is fine,” Larkin said after a sip of wine.
“And the one of many shapes,” Hoyt added.
“That’d be me, all right.”
When the door opened again, Moira felt relief rush through her like a tide.
Cian flicked a glance at her, then at Glenna. “She needs tending to.”
“Wouldn’t budge until the gang was all here. Why don’t you finish your wine, Larkin? Moira, come on upstairs with me.”
“I have so many questions.”
“We all do. Let’s talk
over dinner.” Glenna took Moira’s hand, drew her out.
Cian poured himself a drink, dropped down at the table. There was blood soaked through his shirt. “Do you usually bring your woman into strange places?”
Larkin took another gulp of wine. “She wouldn’t be my woman, but my cousin, and fact of it is, she brought me. Had a vision or a dream or something mystical or other—which isn’t that unusual for her. Fanciful sort, she is. But she was bound and determined to do this thing, and I couldn’t have stopped her. Those things out there, some came to Geall. They killed her mother.”
He took another deep drink. “We buried her this morning, if time’s the same here. Ripped her to pieces is what they did. Moira saw it.”
“How did she survive to tell it?”
“She doesn’t know. At least—well, she won’t really speak of it. Not as yet.”
Upstairs, Moira washed in the shower as Glenna had showed her. The sheer pleasure of it helped ease her aches and hurts, and she considered the heat of the water nothing short of miraculous.
When the blood and sweat had been washed away, she put on the robe Glenna left her, then came out to find her new friend waiting in the bedchamber.
“No wonder we speak of Ireland like a fairy tale. It seems like one.”
“You look better. Some color in your cheeks. Let’s have a look at that wound on your neck.”
“It burns, considerable.” Moira touched her fingers to it. “It’s hardly more than a scratch.”
“It’s still a vampire bite.” Examining it closely, Glenna pursed her lips. “Not a puncture though, or just barely, so that’s good. I’ve got something that should help.”
“How did you know where to find us?”
“We saw you in the fire.” Glenna poked into her case for the right balm.
“You’re the witch.”
“Mmm-hmm. Here we are.”
“And the one called Hoyt is the sorcerer.”
“Yes. He’s not from this world either—or not from this time. It looks like they’re getting us from all over hell and back. How does that feel?”
“Cool.” Moira let out a sigh as the balm eased the burn. She raised her eyes to Glenna’s. “Lovely, thanks. And Cian, what manner of man is he?”
