Dark Enchantment

by Anya Bast

  “All right.” He plunged his hands into his pockets. “Anyway, that’s how I know this won’t kill you. We have done this before—”

  “With the fae,” she practically spat out. God, all of a sudden she felt as if she didn’t know herself at all. She’d never felt like she’d known her mother, but before now she’d never been more divorced from her memory.

  “With the fae.” Kieran’s eyes went hard. “You’re one of us, Charlotte. If only a little.”

  “Only a little. Little enough that the assassin last night wasn’t at all worried about being collected by the Wild Hunt if he killed me.”

  Kieran blinked slowly at her. “You’re fae enough for this. I would never allow it if I thought it was dangerous.”

  Did he expect her to trust him? She folded her arms over her chest and made a scoffing sound. This, coming from the man who’d melted someone and barely blinked an eyelash.

  Risa stood. “Are you ready?” She held out a narrow snow-white hand. “Maybe what we’re about to do will give you some answers. I assume you’ve been searching for them for some time, regarding your mother.”

  “No. I stopped searching long ago.” She’d simply accepted what had happened, but not without bitterness.

  Risa’s smile was touched with sadness. “Will you do it anyway?”

  “Well, it’s not like I can say no, can I? Somehow I don’t think you would let me walk out of here.” Not taking Risa’s hand, she followed the woman across the room and lay down on a fainting couch. Just like being at the shrink’s, but with magick.

  Risa pulled up a chair next to the couch, turned so she was facing her. “This should be quite painless, Charlotte, as long as you don’t fight me.”

  Emmaline brought a steaming cup over and gave it to Risa.

  Risa held the cup out to Charlotte. “This will help you let go a little, okay?”

  Charlotte eyed it. “Do I have to drink that?”

  “No, but I highly recommend that you do. I suspect, at least for the first time, this won’t be as pleasant if you don’t.”

  She hesitated a moment, then reached out and took the cup. “Fine. Whatever.” The beverage was warm and sugary, not bad tasting at all. She downed it and immediately felt a sweet lethargy steal over her limbs, a little like taking a tranquilizer.

  Risa’s soothing voice washed over her, telling her to relax and open her mind. Charlotte let her eyes drift closed as whatever magick Risa was mojoing threaded through her. She floated in a place of absolute peace and silence, a relaxing state of mind that she could remember experiencing only a few notable times in her life. Her body went numb, but her mind stayed awake. Yet even though she was aware of the room and everyone in it, her concerns and cares were something that existed far from her.

  Magickally, Risa knocked on the door of her deepest consciousness and Charlotte let her in.

  Images of her life flitted through her mind’s eye, like a movie on rewind. The beautiful glen that Kieran had taken her to. Lillian’s face. Falling into the ravine in the Boundary Lands. Opening the door and seeing Kieran’s face for the first time. Gideon at Phaendir Headquarters. The plane ride and snatches of the bonding dream. Her father’s craggy visage. It went back and back, through getting the job at Yancy and Tate, buying her first house, graduating college. Her high school prom. Her sixteenth birthday. Running through a sprinkler with a neighborhood friend.

  Her mother’s funeral.

  The nightmares. Images of her waking night after night, pale-faced and screaming, crowded her mind. Emotion filled her, choking her throat with the memory of crying for her mother but her father coming instead. Disappointment. Fear. Deep grief.

  The images slowed when they got to her mother when she’d still been alive, and for the first time Charlotte saw that Risa was controlling the speed of the memories.

  Anguish bubbled up from the depths of her. Tears she was only vaguely aware of trickled out of her closed eyes and down her cheeks. She could barely ever think of her mother and not cry. Involuntarily, she tried to turn away and avoid the painfulness of seeing her mother’s face, but she didn’t have control of her mind now, Risa did. Charlotte chafed at that control, trying to push Risa from her head, trying to avoid the pain.

  Risa buckled down on her, like a rider attempting to control a wild horse. It gave her the sensation of having a huge man pin her to the ground so she couldn’t move—except it wasn’t her body held hostage, it was her mind.

  These memories were from when Charlotte was probably about five, a year before mother’s death. Her mother had been so loving with her, brushing her long black hair out at night—the same hair she herself had possessed. Charlotte could see her mother’s reflection next to her—same eyes, same nose, same hair. It made a knot form in her stomach.

  Her mind riffled through memories that she hadn’t even known she’d had—going swimming at a community pool and sharing an ice cream cone with her laughing mother, a birthday party with a big yellow cake, her mom reading to her before bed and then tucking her in. In all the memories warm love shone in her mother’s eyes. Charlotte had edited that loving light out over the years to fit the image of her mother that her father had presented.

  That was the most jarring thing. The impression her father had given her was nothing like the memories that Risa was digging up from the recesses of her mind. Which was the reality?

  Suddenly the memories began to rewind again, going faster and faster until they were a blur. Charlotte caught snippets of her mother when she’d been much younger . . . then even younger. Charlotte cried out in her head for Risa to please slow down so she could see them, but the rewind continued unabated.

  The memories grew more frenetic and fast. They began to bounce all over the timeline of Charlotte’s life. It was almost as if Risa was looking for a doorway somewhere and couldn’t find one. She skipped into the memories Charlotte had of being told her mother had died and the pain-filled days that followed.

  Then Risa lost control and her personal line of memory drove smack into a brick wall. Pain ripped through her head and everything went black.

  TWELVE

  “CHARLOTTE?” Kieran’s voice flowed over her.

  She moved her head from side to side, pain throbbing dully in her temples. She could hear a woman moaning not far away. Risa?

  “Charlotte?” Kieran asked again.

  His arms were around her and she verified she was half in his lap. Her eyelids fluttered open and her gaze caught his. His dark eyes widened, the pupils dilating. His arms were strong and warm around her. She liked it.

  Except . . . She winced. “My head hurts.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure it does.”

  She took stock of her surroundings by glancing around. “What happened? Why are you touching me?” She was much more concerned about that second thing than the first.

  “Risa entered your memories and looked for a way into the record of your maternal line, but she couldn’t find one. In fact, she hit a pretty big wall. Sent you both reeling.”

  His voice rumbled through her and the scent of him ignited nerves in her body that had nothing to do with pain. She touched her head. “Yeah, I remember that. All of it. You can let go of me now.”

  “Just don’t do anything dumb like bolt to your feet, okay?”

  “Like I could.”

  He eased away from her.

  She pushed slowly to a sitting position and looked at Risa. “It was like having my mind pinned down and riffled through like a trunk of old things in an attic.”

  Holding her head and wincing, Risa glanced at her. “That’s not a bad analogy.”

  “Some memories are buried for a reason.” Charlotte choked on the words, emotion rising into her throat.

  “I’m sorry I have to go there, Charlotte,” said Risa. “I can feel how much you don’t want to remember these things.” She paused. “Although at the end, when I went faster, trying to find a way into your mother’s ancestral memory . . . I had the
sense you did want to remember some of that and you wanted me to go slower. Did you?”

  Charlotte cleared through throat. “You went into memories of my mother when I was a very small child. I don’t remember any of that consciously. I’m ambivalent about recalling that part of my life, but, yes, I do want to see it.” She pressed her lips together, torn between needing to make them understand and wanting to keep her pain secret. “I want to know.”

  “Know what?”

  Charlotte swallowed hard and looked away from both of them. “Whether or not she really loved me.”

  Risa dropped her hand into her lap, her face going softer. “I experienced all those memories, too, Charlotte, and I saw quite clearly that she loved you. It was all over her face whenever she looked at you. It was in the way she touched you and talked to you.” She paused. “Your mother loved you very much.”

  Charlotte hugged herself. “I never knew that. My father told me . . .” She shook her head. “This hurts and it’s confusing. All of it.”

  “Charlotte.” Risa’s brow knit. “You know that you’ll soon be privy to all your mother’s memories. Not only will you have access to your memories of her, you’ll have access to your mother’s memories of you, your mother’s memories of your father, of her life.” She paused. “There’s no way to avoid it. You should prepare yourself because it’s inevitable.”

  Charlotte swallowed hard. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

  “No matter how you feel, it will happen. We’ll go through your mother, then your grandmother, and so on. But I will go quickly since we have to get through thousands of years of your genetic line to the ancestor whom we suspect had a part in hiding the third piece of the bosca fabdh.”

  “Thousands of years?”

  Risa nodded. “The process is slow through the relatives you have conscious memory of—your mother, grandmother, maybe your great-grandmother. After that the memories will go so fast as to be a blur.”

  Charlotte frowned. “Why the wall? If we hadn’t run into that, maybe we’d be done with this whole mess and I could be on my way home.”

  “Kieran was right to ask for time to get you acclimated to us. The wall is from your fear of the fae.”

  “No. I want to help you. Really. Because I know that the sooner I help you, the sooner I get my life back.”

  “It’s a subconscious block, Charlotte. You might not think it’s there, but believe me”—she put a hand to her head and grimaced—“we ran head-on into it.”

  “Is the queen any closer to discovering who attacked Charlotte last night?” asked Emmaline, perched on the armrest of Kieran’s couch.

  Kieran shook his head. “She set up a meeting with the Summer Queen for this afternoon, but, of course, Caoilainn isn’t very forthcoming.”

  Emmaline nodded. “Well, you know I can defend myself and Charlotte, if needed.”

  Kieran raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, so what’s your point?”

  “Let us have a girl’s day out.” Emmaline smiled at Charlotte.

  Kieran glanced between the two women. “I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “It’s a good idea and you know it.” Emmaline gave him a hard look, narrowing her eyes.

  He gave her a slow blink, clearly annoyed. “No. I really don’t think it is.”

  Emmaline tilted her head to the side and grinned at him. “Aw, that’s so sweet. You’re growing so attached to her that already you can’t let her out of your sight.”

  A muscle in Kieran’s jaw worked. “Fine. When?”

  Despite her irritation with Kieran and her raw emotions as a result of the memory rehash, Charlotte had to stifle a snicker at the easy way Emmaline had manipulated him with reverse psychology. She’d have to remember that trick for the future.

  Emmaline gave him a winning smile. “How about tomorrow afternoon, right before the Ostara Ball? I would think your physical absence but the presence of your gold card should do nicely.”

  “Wait a minute.” Charlotte held up her hand. “Ostara Ball? A real ball? Like music, dancing, big fancy dresses?”

  Emmaline nodded. “I can’t believe Kieran didn’t tell you.”

  Kieran’s voice came out a dangerous growl. “I didn’t think it was relevant information considering the situation.”

  Emmaline waved a dismissive hand at him. “Men.” She turned her attention back to Charlotte. “There are balls at the Rose Tower almost nightly, but the Unseelie only have them rarely. Usually just on the solstices and equinoxes.”

  Risa broke in. “Tomorrow is the celebration of the spring equinox. Yule, Samhain, and Beltaine are our biggest fetes, but Ostara is very important, too. I’m so happy you’ll be able to attend.”

  “I never said she could,” Kieran ground out.

  “Oh, come on, Kieran.” Emmaline slapped her hands on her jean-clad thighs. “It’s a once in a lifetime chance for her.”

  “I don’t know if it’s safe.” Kieran eyed her.

  Charlotte remained silent on the matter. The fanciest event she’d ever been to was her high school prom. She couldn’t even dance. Although the prospect of attending an actual, real, live faery ball was a little seductive.

  “I don’t know.” Risa shrugged. “I think it’s a good idea if she goes, Kieran. It might help tear down that block we just ran into.”

  “Anyway,” Emmaline broke in, “she wasn’t safe in your apartment. She might not be safe anywhere.”

  Charlotte scowled at her. “That’s not a very comforting thought.”

  “Sorry, Charlotte.” Emmaline gave her attention to Kieran. “But any enemy of yours would have to be crazy or desperate to pick an Unseelie ball as a location to attack. You’d have too many allies there. So, what do you say?”

  Kieran studied Charlotte and rubbed his chin. “Okay.”

  “Great!” Emmaline clapped her hands together. She swept her gaze down Charlotte, taking in her scuffed boots, sweater, and jeans. “Got anything . . . else to wear?”

  She lifted her brows. “To a ball? Emmaline, not even in my closet at home do I possess anything even remotely worthy of a ball.”

  She pressed her lips together. “This calls for massive amounts of shopping.”

  “With my credit card,” Kieran growled.

  Emmaline gave him an innocent look and echoed Charlotte’s thoughts on the subject. “It’s the least you can do for her.”

  GIDEON parked his car down the street from the Cathedral of the Overseer at a couple of minutes to noon. The city was filled mostly with Phaendir and their families—the small percentage of the brothers who chose to marry, anyway—and small groups of Worshipful Observers. He rarely came into Protection City, having made every inch of his life as close to Phaendir Headquarters and the gates as he could make it.

  Even so, he knew the splendor of the Cathedral of the Overseer. It was the largest church in the United States and every block used in its construction was dedicated to the worship of Labrai. Most humans had not converted to the faith of the Phaendir. That was a pity, of course, and had to be rectified. First things first, however. All his attention had to be on the destruction of the fae. Once the world was free of their threat, Labrai’s power would grow.

  The church rose in the middle of the city on a hill that was terraced by hundreds of white stairs. Three domes rose at the top, the largest center dome being the church itself. At the very top of the middle dome rose a spire that reached all the way into the clouds as if to touch Labrai, Himself.

  Gideon mounted the stairs, scanning the many people visiting the cathedral. Some sat on the stairs and talked, or were eating their lunches. Some were coming or going. Others were clearly tourists, cameras around their necks.

  The thought of a fae on these stairs made him want to kill something.

  He halted and let the rage wash through him. Before he’d come today, he’d done his morning worship with his cat-o’nine-tails, scoring his back deeply and letting the blood run down his skin, purify
ing him, sacrificing for his God, showing Labrai the depth of his love and devotion. Now, in his anger, the wheals burned, broke open. Blood trickled freshly down his skin. He closed his eyes and lifted his face to the warm sun, letting the pain wash through him. It was glorious.

  Feeling someone watching him, he opened his eyes and looked in the direction of the gaze. A tall, slim redhead with skin like a polished pearl stood about ten feet away. Her hands were on her hips in an oddly antagonistic posture. Hatred sat on her pretty face, diminishing her loveliness, like poison in a fine glass of wine.

  Realization rushed through him. He could feel her faeness even from this distance. He frowned. He pointed at her, yelling. “You. You should not be here.”

  She glanced around her, then stalked toward him. “And you need to shut up. My name is Máire.” Like the man on the phone, she had an accent—heavily Irish.

  “What’s to stop me from dragging you to Piefferburg right now and throwing you past the gates, Máire?”

  She smiled, but it was pure venom. “The information I have for you.”

  “Who are you people?” His brow twisted. He genuinely lacked understanding. “Why do fae want to keep other fae down?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “I’m curious. I need to understand my enemy.”

  She jerked her chin at him. “You can go on being curious. And I’m not your enemy, not in this.” She grabbed his upper arm and started guiding him down the stairs. He shuddered at her hand on him. “We need to go somewhere to talk in private.”

  He jerked his arm away. “Don’t touch me.”

  She leered at him. “Are you sure you don’t want me to touch you? We know you have a weakness for redheads.” She paused and smiled. “Fae ones.”

  “Listen, bitch—”

  She rolled her eyes and hurried down the stairs in front of him. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Gideon,” she threw over her shoulder. “Believe me, you’re not my type.”