To Seduce a Witch's Heart

by Nadine Mutas

  “Wait.” Rhun was in front of her a few seconds later, having dressed in record time. He grabbed her arm and forced her to face him. “Explain to me why we’re going to your house if we’re supposed to find your fugitive father.”

  She rubbed her forehead, closed her eyes for a second. “Let’s discuss this on the drive over there.”

  After a moment, he relented, and they stepped out, got in the car and drove off.

  Rhun, behind the steering wheel again, pinned her with a look brooking no argument as soon as they were on the street. “Now tell me. What’s the deal with your father?”

  Merle peered at her hands, watched as they clenched to fists. “My dad,” she said, her voice much calmer than she felt, “was there that day when my mom and Moira died. He was closer to the spell than Maeve—she was only hit a little bit—but my dad… He survived, but he was…damaged.”

  It was strange, talking about it. The words held no meaning for the pain they stood for.

  “My grandmother tried to fix him, but his mind was injured beyond repair. He’s mostly catatonic, doesn’t respond to any stimuli, doesn’t really seem to recognize anyone.” The more neutral she kept her voice, the better she could hide the cracks inside her, keep them from tearing open even more. “I had to put him in the nursing home after my grandmother died because I couldn’t take care of him properly. Only problem is, every now and then, he has moments of half-clarity and then he…comes home.”

  She felt Rhun’s gaze on her, hot, piercing. “Comes home?”

  “He always runs to the same place. The only place he apparently remembers.” She met his eyes, and the intensity of the heat in them had her tremble. “Our backyard. The lawn. The place where…” Her voice trailed away as the images crashed upon her.

  Singed grass under her feet, green turned black, crumpled, smoldering. The old cherry tree, alight with fire, half-burned down to a stump. Next to it, there were other stumps, charred, still steaming. It wasn’t wood. Burned wood, Merle thought, doesn’t smell like this.

  Her grandmother’s voice broke through the eerie quiet. It had never been so silent.

  “Merle, stop! Don’t come closer! Merle!”

  But Merle had already recognized what the scorched forms on the ground next to the tree had once been. Although reduced to blackened, lifeless, indefinable chunks, she knew them, would have known them both even if all that was left had been ashes on the grass. The residual energy of her mom and Moira lingered in the air, shimmered in the slant light of the afternoon.

  The scream that tore out of her heart rent the sky.

  “Merle.”

  She blinked, sucked in air. Rhun had stopped the car, had half-turned to her with one arm on the back of her seat, his hand grasping the back of her neck, the other on the dashboard. His eyes bore through her, shadows swirling in their depths. Such shadows.

  “Talk to me.” His voice sounded pressed, as if holding too much inside.

  “I’m okay.”

  “You zoned out.”

  “Just. Memories.” She inhaled deeply, her chest aching. “Keep driving.”

  He regarded her for a minute. “Don’t do that again.” His hand stroked up and down her neck, squeezed briefly, before he pulled his arm back and started the car.

  The heat of his touch had revived something inside her, and she took another deep breath, the pain in her chest lessening.

  “So your father was magically injured by Moira’s spell, but he’s not completely gone, hasn’t lost all his memory.” His voice was steady now, matter-of-fact, no pity, no judgment. Somehow, it made it easier for her to answer.

  “Yes. So it seems.” She studied her fingernails, the calm inside her barely holding up. “When he has his moments, he’s clear enough to find his way back to our house, and he always sits down at the spot where it all happened, where the spell hit my mom and Moira and the cherry tree. It burned down, you know. There was so much fire…” She made a pause, flexed her hands a couple of times, took deep breaths, until the ringing in her ears stopped, until her vision didn’t waver anymore. “I could have him restrained in the nursing home, but I just… I don’t have the heart to bury the only part of him that’s still…alive, somehow. Maybe a part of him remembers what happened there. I don’t want to take that away from him.”

  “You think he mourns?”

  She met his eyes. “You don’t?”

  He held her gaze for a moment before focusing back on the traffic. “Maybe he remembers something else that happened there.” At her frown, he added, “Didn’t he and your mother get married under that tree?”

  Her heart stopped for a second, and she stared at him, open-mouthed. “Yes. Yes, they did.” Why hadn’t she remembered that? It was a tiny spark of warmth, that thought, a little light against the dark of the more prevalent memories of death. How less painful to assume it was this joyful event that her dad remembered, this occasion he came back to reminisce about. She regarded Rhun with curious eyes. “How do you know that?”

  Shrugging one shoulder, he said, “Rowan got married at the same spot. It’s the traditional venue for all the MacKenna weddings, isn’t it?”

  She nodded, gazing at him in ponderous silence. A beep of her phone broke the bonds of the quiet.

  “It’s Lily,” she said after checking the text message. “She says we’re good to go.”

  “And you trust her.” The look he slanted at her spoke of what he thought of that.

  “Yes.” She gritted her teeth and stood her ground. “Completely.”

  To her great surprise, Rhun didn’t argue the point further, just drove on until they reached the house. While the car rolled up toward the Victorian, both Merle and Rhun threw anxious glimpses around. Everything lay quiet, seemed deserted. No other car was parked at the end of the driveway, no sign of movement in the house.

  As soon as the vehicle stopped, Merle opened her door and jogged around the veranda to the backyard. There, among grass which had once been blackened by fire, had long since regrown, sat the lonely figure of a broken man. Merle slowed to a walk, careful not to come up at him behind his back. Instead she made a wide circle, approached him from the side so he would see her coming.

  “Dad.”

  He didn’t stir. He never did. Just stared at the charred tree stump in front of him, looking into a past long gone. His face was haggard, gray whiskers growing on his cheeks, and his once light brown hair was now a shade of ash. Like the bodies of his wife and daughter.

  Merle pushed that thought away, sat down beside him on the grass, still a bit wet from the most recent rain shower. They didn’t have much time, but this moment, she had to grant him. Swallowing past the lump in her throat trying to choke her, she took his hand and squeezed it.

  “Mom always said,” she whispered, “that it rained cats and dogs on the day you got married here, but she didn’t mind. She said you both beamed with so much joy, the sun hid in shame behind the clouds because it could never compare.”

  He blinked, his eyes vacant, showing nothing of the man he used to be. The man who used to tell her stories of brave princesses who saved their Prince Charmings from dragons. Merle didn’t know if her words reached him, if somehow, somewhere, they touched down on the part of him that made him come out here. But still, she spoke to him as if he could hear her, because if she stopped doing that, she’d give up on him.

  “When I was younger, I wanted to get married here, too,” she went on softly, “and I wanted it to rain.” A small smile, tinged with so much sadness, snuck onto her lips as she remembered. “I thought that would be the ultimate blessing, you know? If it rains on your wedding day, it must mean you’re so happy as to make the sun and the heavens envious.”

  His hand twitched by the slightest fraction.

  Merle held her breath. But he didn’t show any other signs of having understood her words. He remained as distant as ever.

  Her heart broken for the father she’d never get back, she gazed at the tree st
ump for a moment, then said quietly, “We have to go, Dad.” She got to her feet, still holding his hand, tugging a little. “Come. Let’s go back, okay?”

  It was the nature of his enigmatic behavior that he always complied. He never fought her, always came along when she told him to. And yet, he remained silent, his eyes dull.

  Only when they’d both stood up and turned around did Merle notice Rhun had been standing a few feet away, watching her with an unreadable expression on his face. When she led her father past him, Rhun inclined his head toward him.

  “Frank.”

  Her father made no sign as to acknowledge anyone’s presence, let alone Rhun’s, but at the mention of his name, Merle stopped and stared.

  Rhun’s eyes met her own, pale blue-green depths that seemed to know her just as deeply. “I met him once. Before…” His voice trailed away, his gaze flicking to the burnt cherry tree.

  She nodded, her heart tight, and walked on, steering her unresponsive father to the car. After she put him in the back seat and secured him, she got in the passenger seat. Rhun was already behind the wheel, scanning the surroundings with cautious glances again.

  “Let’s roll,” he said, and they drove off.

  When they arrived at the nursing home without being ambushed by the Elders, Merle breathed a sigh of utmost relief. This had been close, so close. But for once, Murphy’s Law had not caught up with her. Maybe her luck was turning? Oh, wishful thinking…

  As soon as they entered the small home, Sarah rushed toward them.

  “Oh, thank goodness, you found him so fast!” She hugged Merle, squeezed Frank’s hand, and beamed at Rhun, instantly mesmerized by him. “Hi.”

  “Hey there,” he said, returning her smile.

  Sarah couldn’t possibly look any more dazzled.

  Glaring at Rhun, her chest clenched tight with unbidden possessiveness, Merle cleared her throat. “Let’s put him back in his room, shall we? I’m afraid we can’t stay long this time.”

  “Oh, okay.” Sarah wrenched her gaze away from Rhun.

  Together, she and Merle led her dad down the hall with Rhun trailing in their wake. Her own personal demon looked around curiously, peering into open doors here and there, waving every now and then at someone.

  “Do you know anyone here?” Merle couldn’t help asking, glancing at him over her shoulder.

  He shrugged. “No. Just thought I’d act friendly.”

  Merle missed a step. Rhun’s chuckle followed her as she walked on.

  They reached her dad’s room and sat him down in his armchair, facing the window. He used to watch birds in their backyard before the incident, so Merle had figured he might enjoy the view of the nursing home’s small rose garden with the birdbath outside his room. Not that he ever showed it if he still did like it.

  Laying one hand on his shoulder, Merle bent down and kissed his cheek. His scent was still as she remembered it from another lifetime, careless childhood days of joy.

  “I have to leave now, Dad. I love you.”

  Gently squeezing his shoulder, she was about to straighten up again, when he lifted his head. His eyes met hers, and her heart stopped at the clarity in them. His face, it wasn’t dull and emotionless anymore, it now held warmth, a silent kind of joy, almost as if… Merle’s pulse sped up with fluttering hope, her chest aching with the need for her dad to see her, to recognize her, and she held her breath as he opened his mouth to speak.

  But when he did, it broke her heart.

  “Maeve?” her dad asked, his eyes searching her face.

  She swallowed hard, forced herself to hold his gaze, so clear for once—though not clear enough.

  “I’m sorry, Dad. It’s me—Merle. Maeve is not with me right now.” She didn’t know how she made the words sound so steady, what with everything crumbling inside her. “She’ll come along next time, okay?”

  But Frank MacKenna’s eyes had already turned dull again, his expression oblivious. Once more, nothing reached him.

  Straightening up, Merle turned to Sarah.

  “I’ll take it from here,” the nurse said, her face wrought with compassion. “You sure you still don’t want him restrained? Sedated, maybe?”

  Instantly, Merle shook her head. “Never,” she whispered. If this was the only remnant of her dad’s spirit, the only part not yet lost to numbness and nothing, she’d rather chew off her own hand than take that from him.

  “All right, honey.” Sarah squeezed her arm and gave her a small smile. “Take care.”

  “Thanks.”

  And with one last look at the man who used to be her father, she left the room, walked past Rhun, who’d watched from the doorway. She kept on walking until she stood outside the entrance to the nursing home, on the pristine lawn framed by flowerbeds, the afternoon sun streaming through the clouds overhead, glistening on the raindrops that had collected on the leaves. When the front door closed and Rhun’s body heat brushed her back, she didn’t turn around.

  “He only ever recognizes Maeve,” she said, uncertain why she told him that. The words just tore out of her. “Never me. His moments of clarity, they’re so rare, and when he gets them, he sees her. Sometimes they can even exchange a few words. He’s the reason Maeve stayed in the city when she moved out. So she could visit him.” She huffed. “I’ve been taking care of him along with my grandmother since I was ten, but it’s Maeve he recognizes. Funny, isn’t it?”

  Silence.

  Her next words sounded light, but they were honed in fire, hardened like the shell she’d cased her pain in, the only thing standing between her and an abyss of sadness so great, it would swallow her whole. “Go ahead. Make a joke. Say something taunting. You must be itching to mock me right now, so why don’t you. I can take it.” And she meant it, she wanted it, craved the anger it would bring. It would harden the shell further, keep it from breaking.

  Rhun didn’t say anything, just silently walked around her until she faced him, and then, his eyes burning with a quiet fire, he hugged her. Her heart stuttered. She stiffened.

  “Merle.” His deep voice in her ear, a caress so soft she shivered. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. Just let go. Be weak. Cry. Break down if you need to.”

  His hold was powerful yet far from crushing, an embrace of strength that could intimidate—but right now, it felt strangely reassuring. Something inside Merle cracked, a fissure in her composure, and she tensed.

  “Cry.” A gentle command, and it eroded part of her resistance. But it was what he said next that tore her apart on the inside, opened up the cracks she’d tried to mend. “I’ve got you, little witch.”

  The sob broke from her even as her eyes started tearing up.

  “Don’t keep it bottled up,” he murmured, stroking her back. “Let it out.”

  And she did. Merle gave in, broke down on a sob, and cried like she hadn’t since her family had been ripped in half. Rhun held her, unwaveringly, while she came apart in his arms. Sixteen years’ worth of pain, hurt, disappointment, helplessness, anger and despair tore out of her as if a dam had burst.

  She’d been afraid of falling into the abyss once she allowed it all out, afraid of disintegrating under the pressure of it all if she let it touch her. The pain, she’d thought, would take her over, shatter her if she admitted it.

  It didn’t.

  The walls of her world didn’t crumble, and while everything she’d buried inside flowed free, liberating her in a way she hadn’t thought possible, she didn’t fall apart—because the arms holding her wouldn’t allow her to. Rhun’s presence was a quiet force, a source of strength, and he never let her go, even as her knees buckled and she almost sank to the ground. He simply picked her up and carried her to the front steps of the nursing home, where he sat down with her on his lap, cradled in his arms. And he waited for the storm inside her to pass.

  It did, eventually. Her sobs subsided, her sniveling eased, and she felt as if all the layers of herself had been unraveled and bared before him,
vulnerable as never before.

  Rhun angled his head so his face was buried in her hair, and Merle held her breath, waiting for him to speak. He could hurt her so easily now. All it would take was one wrong word, and it would cut like a razor, straight through to her heart.

  “I had a sister once,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “and I couldn’t help her when she was killed in front of me.”

  This, it stopped her world.

  Chapter 15

  At his words, Merle had grown still in his embrace, so quiet she didn’t even breathe. Once again, Rhun cursed his dull daytime senses, which left him guessing at her feelings in a vacuum. He had no idea how his revelation had affected her when she was withdrawn like this, whether he’d inadvertently broken the fragility he held in his arms.

  She’d seemed so deeply vulnerable after she’d cried, so brittle as to crumble at the slightest misplaced touch, that he’d known, instinctively, he could crush her with one careless word. And that, he’d realized with surprise, would crush him as well.

  So, in a visceral response to this vulnerability in her that cut right through him, he’d decided to share with her the most painful part of his past, of himself, something he’d never spoken of to anyone else. Not even Bahram, whom he considered the closest friend he had, knew how Rhun’s sister had died, let alone that he’d had one to begin with. He’d locked that information away in the darkest corner of his heart, never to talk about, not even to think about, until now.

  Until Merle.

  Out of all the people he’d met in his life, she was the only one he’d felt the need to give this piece of himself to—maybe because she, too, knew what it meant to lose a sister.

  She was still so silent in his arms, as if waiting for him to go on, and he decided to do so, anxious for a reaction from her.

  “Her name was Siani,” he said, and by speaking it out loud, a thousand bittersweet memories burst through the seal he’d put on them.

  A small hand clasping his own. Wide eyes, the same color as his, looking up at him as if he was the center of the universe.