The Cursing Stones

by Sonya Bateman

  The library looked no less daunting. A huge circular room with a twenty-foot ceiling and shelves reaching up to it all the way around, it was packed with a haphazard flurry of books, scrolls, papers, and random objects. Centuries of dust covered everything except the rough circle on the floor, which she’d cleared the last time she was here to perform a Finding spell.

  With Kincaid’s help, of course. Because she kind of sucked at magic.

  This time she’d try the spell herself. But she decided to start working first, and hopefully make some kind of dent in this mess. After all, she was being paid a mind-boggling amount of money to sort through things in here.

  With a project this size, she’d need some kind of system to keep track of everything. The basic categories were clear enough — books, scrolls, loose papers, and non-library items. But if she were really going to organize everything, there would have to be more specific categories. Subjects, dates if she could find them, and sub-categories within those subjects. It was all a bit overwhelming.

  So she’d begin by creating a workspace.

  Her Da’ always said that the best advantage you could have in any pursuit was a dedicated workspace. Keep it clean and organized, and you could accomplish a lot. The four tables in the middle of the library would be perfect, but they were currently stuffed with piles of materials and other accumulations.

  She approached the first one, making a mental note to bring cleaning supplies next time, and started in.

  It took nearly an hour to clear one of the tables. She placed everything it held on shelves, trying to group them with similar things, and left a few items that seemed to belong with the table. An ink stand with a quill pen, wooden boxes filled with small blank sheets of paper, a stamping pad. She hadn’t found any stamps to go with it, but they might be on another table.

  By then it was fairly late. She’d do the Finding spell, and head out once she knew everything she could learn about curse banshees.

  Kincaid had taught her how to cast a circle without tools. She used the old broom she’d found last time to sweep the spot on the floor again for purification, then stood in the center to envision white light. It came easier this time, filling her with a calmness that was almost confident.

  She pointed and turned clockwise three times to cast the circle, and then focused her thoughts on banshees of the cursed variety. Anything related to the subject would appear to glow with the same light she’d summoned.

  Not a moment later, she spotted a slim book that pulsed with light.

  She removed one of her shoes to leave inside the circle so the spell wouldn’t be broken, and then went to retrieve the book. It was bound in pressed paper, the cover plain black with white lettering that read DEATH OMENS.

  With a slight shudder, she returned to the circle and closed it, and then settled in a chair to read.

  There was a section on banshees right in the front. She read through it quickly, but found nothing she didn’t already know. The text talked about ordinary banshees that wailed three times to announce impending death. It mentioned that banshees were not malevolent, and many considered them helpful. There were a few paragraphs on the bean-sidhe, an alternate version of a banshee that could be seen on riverbanks, washing bloodstains from the clothing of the soon-to-be-deceased. The book also said that many believed banshees to be a type of faerie.

  The word ‘curse’ appeared nowhere in the text.

  Frowning, she flipped through the rest of the thin volume. There were mentions of spectral huntsmen, black dogs, a headless horseman called the Dullahan that sounded particularly gruesome. But no curse banshees.

  “Must’ve done the spell wrong,” she muttered aloud. Or maybe there was no information on curse banshees — she still thought it sounded made up. She decided to read through the banshee section one more time, in case she’d missed something.

  This time she noticed the handwritten notes scrawled on the inside margins.

  She turned the book sideways and read: The cursèd banshee, wrought by mine enemy. Destroy the apparition, destroy the curse. Strike with a weapon of iron ne’er shaped by forge or flame, and tempered in the smoke of sacred purple betony. The stone reveals the source.

  Her heart beat faster. She wasn’t quite sure what some of that meant, but her father would know. She took out her phone and snapped a photo of the margin notes, and then decided it might not be clear enough. So she opened the notepad app and started transcribing it.

  Just as she finished tapping the last few words in, her phone buzzed.

  She answered the call without looking at the number. “Hello?”

  “Miss Finlay.” She didn’t quite recognize the uncertain voice. “Ye asked me to call if anything should happen.”

  It was John Brannon. “Yes,” she said. “Is Mary all right?”

  “She’s taken a turn.” His voice was strained, grating. “The banshee … it came back.”

  “Oh, no,” she whispered. “The protections didn’t work.”

  “They did. The thing couldn’t get inside the house. It kept banging against the walls outside, over and over.” John paused to draw a shuddering breath. “It finally gave up, but it screamed anyway. Stood outside Mary’s window and screamed bloody murder.”

  Rain swallowed hard. “All right, listen,” she said. “I’ve just found a way to break the curse. Your wife’s going to make it, but you’ll have to get through one more day.”

  “That’s all she’s got,” John said in a horrified whisper. “One more wail and my Mary’s done for.”

  “I know. We’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  He hesitated a long moment, and finally said. “All right, then. Please … anything ye can do for her, I’ll appreciate it.”

  “I won’t let her die,” Rain said. “I have to go now, but I’ll be there tomorrow at dusk.”

  “Thank ye, Miss.”

  She hung up and headed for the call bell system to ring for Tehgan. It was a risk waiting until the banshee made its final appearance to strike — but she knew of no other way to find it. They’d just have to work fast.

  And like it or not, her father was going to have to cooperate.

  Chapter 23

  Aislinn Castle – Control Room

  Duncan waited quite a while before he returned to the center of operations, where his companions were waiting. Probably to interrogate him about the girl. He had to pull himself together first, because her effect on him had been much stronger this time.

  She was no longer Guinevere. She remembered nothing of her past lives, and she’d lost even the faint echoes of his queen that her mother, Regina Tavish, had displayed. Yet still, his soul called to hers.

  He supposed he would have to be a bit more careful around her. But she was still harmless, even if Merlin insisted otherwise.

  The cool, climate-controlled room he entered had been modified drastically, and was completely out of place in this ancient castle. It was filled with electronic equipment — computers and servers, row upon row of monitors, a massive control board that looked straight from NASA, an organization he’d taken a keen interest in since they managed to put humans on the moon.

  Duncan believed in keeping up with the times, even if he maintained an outward appearance of the old ways.

  The man who’d taken the name Bastien Loch sat before the control board, pulling up an image on one of the screens. Some kind of diagnostic scheme for a complex piece of equipment. To his right stood Emory Darach, what Merlin was calling himself this time — not a man, but giving every appearance of one.

  Emory hadn’t been pleased with the decision to rely on technology for monitoring the search, but Duncan had other needs for the magician’s powers.

  “How are we doing?” Duncan said when neither appeared to notice his entrance.

  Bastien was the first to look over. “I can’t believe you brought her back.”

  “Well, I did mean the equipment. Not the girl.” Duncan smiled a bit. �
�But since you’re so concerned, don’t be. She’s only interested in the library, you know.”

  “Too interested,” Emory said. “She’s scrying in there again. And she’s better this time.”

  “She’s a druid, Merlin.” He’d decided to drop the pretense when no outsiders were around. The others were more comfortable using their actual names … especially Tehgan, who looked like he’d bitten into horse manure every time he said Duncan. “One might expect her to use a bit of magic now and then.”

  “Yes, but not from the source she’s tapping,” he said. “The light she’s using, it’s—”

  “I know,” he said firmly. “And again, it’s not unexpected.”

  “I’m warning you, Arthur. She’ll cause nothing but trouble for all of us.”

  “I’ve been so warned, then.” He gave Emory a cool stare, and then turned to Bastien. “How close are we to accessing full surveillance? We have less than two weeks before the new moon.”

  “We’re close.” He tapped a few keys and zoomed in on the schematics. “The satellite link is live, but the positioning is slow. I’d say we have around two-thirds of the island mapped and ready now. The rest within the week, maybe sooner.”

  “All right, then. We monitor what we can, for now. Have you spotted him?”

  “Not yet.” Bastien sighed heavily and looked at him. “Arthur, she has the sword.”

  His faint smile fell away. “How do you know that?”

  “I tracked her the other night. After she left the castle.”

  “So you’re spying on her now?”

  “We can’t afford to ignore her,” he said. “You know what happened the last time.”

  Duncan closed his eyes for a moment. “I know how difficult this is for you, Lancelot,” he said. “I realize that you loved her as much as I did. But Rain Finlay is not Guinevere.”

  “She is Guinevere,” Bastien said forcefully. “Memories or not, she is the queen reborn. And if she awakens — here and now, with him so close to returning — you know what could happen.”

  “All right.” He looked at each of them in turn. “Will you both be happy if I allow this spying to continue?”

  “Yes,” Bastien said, while Emory merely nodded.

  “Fine. Spy away, then.” He frowned up at the monitors, which showed various sections of the castle as well as aerial views of parts of the island. “But I don’t want to hear another word about inviting her here,” he said. “So stop doing your best to scare her away, and try a bit harder to make her feel welcome. This was her home, after all.”

  He left the room before his feelings could betray him.

  Chapter 24

  Druid Encampment – Finlay Cabin

  Lachlan had calmed himself down by the time Rain returned. She took the time to reassure him that she wasn’t getting involved with Duncan, but he barely reacted to that one way or the other. In fact, he seemed so subdued that she half suspected he’d self-medicated with something herbal and potent.

  But he perked up a bit when she showed him the photo of the margin notes.

  “I did tell ye there was such a thing as a curse banshee,” he said, turning the phone sideways. He frowned when the image automatically flipped its orientation. “What’s with this contraption?” he said. “I can barely read the bloody thing the other way. Now it’s smaller. Didn’t ye say this phone was smart?”

  She smiled, took the phone, and opened the notepad app. “Here,” she said. “I took notes.”

  “That’s better.” He read silently, and then raised a shaggy eyebrow. “So that’s how ye take one down,” he said. “Makes sense. Them Devonshire druids never did defeat the one they come across. Curse victim died.”

  “Okay. First of all, why didn’t you mention the whole dying thing? And second, how does that make sense? It’s four sentences of nonsense.”

  “Cold iron.”

  “What?”

  “Ye don’t remember that either?” He shook his head. “Banshees are faerie, and cold iron’s poison to the Folk. Iron that’s never been melted — ne’er shaped by forge or flame. So ye burn wood betony and bless yer cold iron weapon in the smoke. Then ye kill the banshee with it.”

  “Oh. Right.” She actually did remember something like that, vaguely. Her brain had skipped over most of that faerie stuff. “So where do we get a cold iron weapon?”

  “Ye’ve got one already, girl. Yer mother’s … that sword of yers.” He dropped his gaze to the table, and his jaw clenched briefly. “It’s a faerie weapon. Said to belong to Prince Nuada.”

  With the state he was in, she opted to tamp down the skepticism for now. Though she didn’t believe for a second that the sword had belonged to a faerie prince. “All right,” she said. “What about the betony? Do you have any?”

  “No, but I’m sure Master Nolan does. He’ll be up and about yet.”

  “Okay, I’ll call him.” She picked her phone up and read through the notes again. “So, this last part,” she said. “The stone reveals the source. Any ideas?”

  He gave a careful shrug. “The first sentence claims that curse banshees are controlled by someone,” he said. “Might explain what you told me earlier, about the spirit speaking to Mary Brannon. So the source’d likely be whoever spelled the banshee. But I’ve no idea where the stone comes in.”

  “Well, maybe we’ll figure it out.” She closed the note, and said, “Hey, Da’? You never answered my first question. Why didn’t you mention that the Devonshire victim died?”

  He looked at her. “Didn’t want ye givin’ up before ye got started,” he said. “I may be harsh on ye about learning yer knowledge, but yer smarter than any Devonshire druid. Thought ye might figure something they didn’t.”

  “Wow,” she said with a smile. “I think that’s the first compliment you’ve given me in … ever.”

  “Aye, well, yer hell-bent on helping them fools down the village,” he said. “Figured ye could use any advantage, even if it’s just inflating yer ego.”

  She smirked. “There’s my Da’.”

  “Go on with ye, now,” he said, flapping a hand at her. “I’ve got work to do, and ye’ve got a sword to temper.”

  “Right.”

  She headed for her bedroom to grab a light jacket for the chill that had settled in the outside air, dialing Kincaid as she went. “Hey there,” she said when he answered on the second ring. “Can you spare a cup of wood betony for your neighbor?”

  “Neighbor, are you?” Kincaid laughed. “Well, truth be told, I’m pretty low on the stuff. Used most of it at the Brannons’ earlier. But I was just now heading out to the moors to collect some, and a few other things, so I’ll gather extra for you.”

  “I’ll go with you,” she said.

  “Are you sure? I’ll have to push the bike pretty fast. And that ghost might be out there somewhere.”

  She shivered a bit. Kincaid had told her about the ghost on the moors when she first arrived, and she’d actually seen it briefly on the night they fought the duin’alla. Him, she corrected silently. The ghost was very definitely male. She hadn’t told anyone about the encounter, or what the ghost had whispered to her: I know your soul.

  But she wasn’t going to let a ghost dictate her choices. Not even a gorgeous, practically naked ghost with vivid green eyes and a stare that still haunted her.

  “I’m sure,” she said. “I might need a lot of it, so I’d rather get it myself than make you do it.”

  “Really. And what might you be needing a lot of wood betony for?”

  She smiled. “To kill a banshee, of course.”

  Chapter 25

  Isle of Parthas – The Moors

  Somehow Kincaid managed to push the bike even faster than the last time, and there weren’t even any lives at stake. At least, not tonight. Rain didn’t dare look around until the pace slowed and the engine cycled down.

  She peered over his shoulder cautiously. Just ahead, the headlight illuminated a patchwork sprawl of purple stalk flow
ers with dark green, spiny leaves. All the wood betony she’d need and more.

  Kincaid rolled to a stop on a bare patch of stony ground and cut the engine. “We’ve got the lantern, but I’m going to leave a flashlight or two for you,” he said. “Moon’s less than half, so it’ll be dark when I’m gone. You’re sure you’ll be all right here alone?”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said as she dismounted. He’d mentioned needing to make a run to the cemetery at the border of the moorlands, to collect a few darker components. So they were splitting up to make things faster. “You be careful out there, too,” she said. “Watch out for ghosts.”

  “In a cemetery? Never.” He grinned beneath the helmet. “Like I said, I’ve got no problem with run-of-the-mill ghosties and ghoulies. “But spider-beasts and curse banshees?” He grimaced. “Them I could do without.”

  “Couldn’t we all,” she said.

  “Aye. Lucky you’re here to save us from them.” His smile went crooked as he reached back and unzipped the saddlebag. “So, how’s working with my sister going?”

  “In a word? Awful.” Rain rummaged through the side pouch and took out the battery-powered lantern, a flashlight, a pair of sharp scissors, and the large canvas bag they’d brought for the plants. “She despises me.”

  “You’re in good company, then. Brigid despises everyone who isn’t herself.”

  “I got that impression.” She made a face. “What was it like growing up with her?”

  “In a word? Hell.” He grinned again as she stepped back from the bike. “You’re all set, then?”

  “Good to go.”

  “All right. Back in a jif.” He snapped the faceplate down and gave a little wave, then gunned the engine to life and roared away.

  Rain switched the lantern on before the headlight faded too much. The light cast a stark blue-white circle for about three feet, and then another foot or so of pale glow before it tapered off into shadows and unbroken darkness. When the sound of the bike faded, she was left with the constant low hum of night insects and the distant rush of the surf, crashing against the rocky crags at the eastern shore.