by T. M. Cromer
“I don’t know, Al.” Preston’s continued guilt at leaving behind their remaining family was a cancer in his gut. “The rest decided to stay behind when I offered to bring them back. Days have passed for them since I’ve been here.”
Aurora set down her fork and clasped Alastair’s hand in hers. “When I returned to my body from my stasis, part of my soul was lost to the Otherworld. Are you suffering the same? Alastair has a way to help.”
“No, Rorie, but thank you.” Preston gave the group a cursory glance as he explained. “When a body is left behind on the earthly plane and the soul crosses from one side to the other then back again, it fractures. Our return…” He indicated Evie and Selene with his nod. “… wasn’t the standard run of the mill. We were essentially resurrected by the Goddess with one of her spells. It’s not the same as returning to a comatose body or a body that has been recently departed. We are soul whole.”
“Excellent.” Aurora cleared her throat. “That’s excellent.”
A pang of sadness struck him. It had taken Alastair four attempts to heal her spirit, and there would always be a piece missing. Preston hated her discomfort with the subject, but appreciated she was the first to want to help them should they be experiencing the same.
“Nathanial relayed to me the conversation he had with Sabrina in the holding area after the showdown with Isolde.” Preston gave the girl a soft smile. “Was Isolde’s necklace destroyed?”
“I made sure of it,” Damian said with a nod.
Using her fork, Sabrina began to viciously stab her pastry. “I brought the Evil.”
“No.” Her father moved the plate and tipped her chin up to meet her gaze. “No, you didn’t. The Evil was here long before you, my love. You will not take this on your shoulders.”
“But if Grandma didn’t die and if I didn’t tell you to smash the stone, it wouldn’t be free.” A single tear trailed down her pale cheek, and Preston thought it the most tragic sight he’d ever seen. This small girl was shouldering the blame for a circumstance that was no fault of her own.
“Sabrina.”
She looked Preston’s way, and her lip trembled.
“You must understand this isn’t on you, child. Promise me you won’t take on such a heavy burden of guilt from something not of your own making.”
“But if I hadn’t gone with her—”
Mackenzie jumped up and hugged Sabrina. “No, kid. I was there. It was my body your grandmother possessed. You lured her away to save Baz, Evie, and Ryker. You were a hero that day, darling.” She gave the young girl a stern look. “The Evil is a centuries-old darkness. I felt its malevolent tentacles trying to feed on my magic. You stopped it, Sabrina. You did,” she insisted when the girl looked like she would argue the point.
“But it’s going to hurt Papa,” she cried.
Damian looked pale and shaken but resolute. He lifted his daughter into his arms and strode with her from the room. Amid her harsh sobs, his low rumble could be heard, although not the exact words. Preston assumed he was trying to soothe and reassure her, as a father was wont to do.
Alastair met Preston’s gaze across the table. If Damian could be hurt by the Evil, they had a bigger problem on their hands than they’d imagined, and they both knew it.
Sebastian scrubbed his hands over his face and let out a weary sigh. “The peace was fun while it lasted.”
Mackenzie snorted and crossed to the swinging chair holding Delaney. “I think it’s time to call the family. We’re going to need all the brainpower we can get to stop this thing. I’ve felt it, and it’s relentless.”
Chapter 5
Sabrina had Damian’s neck in a death grip. Whatever she’d seen with her random visions had traumatized her to the point of hysteria. Her hot tears seared the skin. Not because they were toxic, but because each one represented her terror and he didn’t know how to ease her fears in a way she’d believe.
All he could do was continue to walk the garden and rub her back, talking soothing nonsense as he went. Finally, when her sobs tapered off to the occasional hiccup, he eased down on a stone bench and hugged her close.
“There, there, my sweet beastie,” he murmured. “It’s going to be all right. I promise.”
“You can’t promise, Papa,” she cried raggedly. Sabrina drew back and ducked her head, playing with the top button of his shirt. “You have to eat the Evil to save them all.”
“You said that’s what my mother did. Was that before she went crazy?” Although he needed to know the truth, he didn’t want it. One hundred and ninety-three years after he’d written off his mother as a horrible bitch for giving in to her desire for more power, he was forced to question what had really happened to her. If he hadn’t been filled with resentment, might he have helped her find a way to be free of the demons possessing her sooner?
“Do you want to see?” Sabrina’s large rounded eyes held trepidation, and Damian hated the misgivings he saw there.
“I suppose I need to, don’t I?”
She simply watched him.
A child her age should never be forced to carry this kind of weight on her shoulders. She should be laughing and playing with her friends whenever possible. If he could’ve given her that gift, he would’ve, but their cursed bloodline made them grow up much too soon.
As he geared himself for the vision she would share, another thought occurred to him. “Beastie, how far back do you see as the Oracle? Is it just our family’s history?”
“I can see back to when the Goddess was in her temple.”
“That far, huh?” He forced a teasing grin.
His daughter didn’t smile.
“Do you know when the Evil came to be, Sabrina? Was it as Mack said, and it’s been here forever?”
“It’s been here since magic.”
“Since magic? As in, when Isis granted power to humans, or before, when the gods and goddesses were born?”
“The first witches. There were…” She paused and looked at her hands as if they held her answer. “…seven.”
Seven? He knew of five: Air, Earth, Fire, Metal, and Water. “What are the other two?”
“Electricity and Aether.”
“Of course.” He nodded and looked toward the secret garden where his mother had previously been entombed. He’d never considered himself as an Elemental witch, but he supposed he should’ve. His bloodline manipulated all the elements and had been originally known as the Force. “Electricity isn’t a common elemental today. I can’t think of any witches or warlocks who have that power.”
“There is still one, Papa.”
“Who?”
“The Traveler.”
The only remaining Traveler was Alastair’s son-in-law Quentin Buchanan. Was he an electricity elemental? Damian had never heard that he was. Like Oracles, Travelers were rare, and they didn’t all share the same ability. The last one he’d known had been killed in the war between their kind and the anti-witch faction known as the Désorcelers.
Castor.
Damian hadn’t thought of his best friend for years. The pain of his loss was too great.
“Who was Castor, Papa?”
“I can’t have a private thought with you around, can I, beastie?” He laughed at her sheepish expression. Until she was older, she’d have a hard time controlling the impulse to eavesdrop on another person’s internal dialogue. Most times he could block her from his own, but he’d let down his guard when she broke down earlier and never put it back up.
“Alexander Castor. He was a great man and my dear friend. He died about a quarter century ago or more. It’s hard to remember exact dates at my age.”
She patted his cheek. “He’s not dead.”
“What?” An icy wave of shock crashed over him.
“He lives in the trees by Alastair’s house.”
It wasn’t often Damian was overcome by fury. He couldn’t afford to be. If he let his temper reign supreme, he could decimate an entire city within minutes. But the itchy,
bubbling sensation growing inside him was the telltale sign he was about to “lose his shit” as Mack would say. That bloody bastard Castor had let Damian believe he was dead. Who does that? They’d been best friends for over fifty years!
The wind around them picked up, and the branches of the mighty oaks standing vigil over the estate began to sway. The green leached from the lush grass lawn as the blades flattened against the earth, and the water in a nearby fountain began to steam.
When he found Castor again, he was going to beat him bloody!
“Don’t be cross, Papa.”
Damian was startled from his tumultuous thoughts by the hand Sabrina placed at the center of his chest. The tendrils of her healing magic wrapped around his heart, stroking and soothing the inferno raging inside him. It took an effort, but he shoved aside his hurt and the awful sense of betrayal. He still might plant Castor a facer when he saw him again, but Sabrina didn’t need to know that.
“Thank you, beastie.” He grimaced when he saw the state of the gardens. “I suppose I need to clean this mess up, huh?”
She nodded. A second later, she grinned. “Or go to your room without supper. That’s what happens to naughty little witches when they misbehave.”
He squinted his eyes in warning. “Or baby Aethers who think it’s funny to sass their fathers.”
Jumping to the ground, Sabrina clasped his hand. “Come. I’ll help you.”
Damian couldn’t contain his laugh. Many times, after she’d made a proper mess of her room, he’d do the very thing she just did and offer to help her.
“You see? I’m going to be a good big sister to Nate.”
“You really want that brother, don’t you?”
“He sav—”
“Nope!” He held up his free hand to stop her from revealing future events. “No spoilers.”
“It’s not a film, Papa.”
“I suspect, in your mind, it plays like one.” He surveyed the damage to the fountain. A crack ran from the base to the curls on top of the cupid’s head. Water sputtered and spewed from the opening, indicating Damian had ruined the mechanics of the statue. “I’ll take care of that monstrosity while you give the greenery around us a boost of life.”
“Maybe Cousin Baz won’t miss it,” she said with a skeptical look at the chubby cherub.
Damian choked back another laugh. Her humor was a perfect blend of his and Vivian’s. “Go on and take care of the grass and trees. I’ll repair this. Then you can show me what I need to know about my mother.”
They worked in silent harmony until the garden was back in perfect order.
When Sabrina joined him at the fountain, he crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head as he contemplated the ugly design of the piece. “I feel as if he needs a mustache.”
She giggled and flattened her hand over her mouth.
“No?” He heaved a heavy sigh. The time for frivolity was over. “I need to know what happened to my mother now, beastie.”
They crossed to the bench, and Sabrina wordlessly touched his temple.
A kaleidoscope of reverse images took him back to his infancy. Although she looked fresh-faced and innocent as she gazed down at the baby in her arms, Isolde was hundreds of years old at that point. Her sweet, soft voice crooned a lullaby, and she brushed the downy hair from his temple. The glow of the firelight reflected off the strands of her shiny black locks. Love shone from her dark eyes, and she was, in a word, exquisite.
Damian felt his breath hitch. Emotions he thought long buried tried to surface.
His infant self let out a faint mewl and flailed his fist. Damarius Dethridge stepped from the shadows and joined Isolde by the hearth. The firelight caught off his golden hair as he squatted beside her and took Damian’s tiny hand in his.
“Our boy,” he said softly. “He’s fierce.”
Isolde’s face softened as she looked at her husband. “Yes. A true warrior.”
“Like his mother.”
She laughed and readily accepted his kiss. Temple pressed to temple, they returned their attention back to Damian. “Is it possible to love a child too much?” A hint of fear had entered Isolde’s voice. “I worry we won’t be able to protect him from all the evils of our world.”
“Did you not just claim him to be a true warrior?” his father teased.
“He shall be the strongest Aether to exist. I feel it here.” She placed a fist against her heart.
“If you feel it, then so it shall be, my love.” He cradled Damian’s fragile head in one large scarred hand. “Our son will be the best of men. With our combined power and wisdom, he cannot be anything less.”
“I pray to the Goddess your words are true.”
Damian was so deep in the past, he jerked when Sabrina tapped his temple a second time. His mind took a leap and ended up two years after the first scene.
This time, he was a toddler. His arms were extended upward, his hands held within his father’s, and his feet were atop Damarius’s as they stomped across the lawn toward Isolde. About ten feet from her, Damian squealed, and his father released him to run to his mother. She laughingly scooped him up in one arm as she tickled him with the other.
The scene was stunning in its entirety. A perfect family unit.
Sabrina’s finger tapped his temple once again.
The next vision showed five-year-old Damian hiding in the corner of the salon as his father yelled obscenities at his mother. Pain and confusion were on her face, as if she didn’t understand where the ugliness was coming from. Damian’s younger self charged across the room. Anger screwed up his tiny visage, and his fists were balled.
“Leave her alone!” he yelled at his father. He’d been ill-prepared for the hand cracking across his cheek, and he stumbled backward. The fullness of his mother’s skirts was the only cushion for his fall.
Isolde rose, a fierce lioness ready to defend her cub. The atmosphere of the room became thick with intent, and a crackling sound filled the air around them. “You dare strike my son?”
Damarius paled.
She flung her arms wide, and he flew across the room. The sound of his skull hitting the scenic mural wall behind him was sickening, and Damian cried out.
“Never touch my child again, or I will smite you from existence.” She stood protectively over him, her fury causing the candle flames to flicker and dance. Furniture rocked back and forth as the window sashes rose up and down, slamming harder with each closing. “Do I make myself clear?”
Damarius’s wary gaze darted to Damian, who knelt on the floor behind her, before flicking back to her. “I swear by the Goddess, I don’t know what came over me, Isolde.” Deep regret was etched on his father’s face. “Forgive me, my love.”
The room settled around them as she crossed to him. “I will forgive you this once, but should you ever hurt him again—in any way—I will kill you.”
A sob from young Damian drew their notice, and Isolde rushed to console him.
“There, there, beastie,” she whispered. “You’re all right.” She hugged him tightly to her breast. “You were a brave boy, defending your mama. Thank you, my darling.”
Damian met his father’s eyes across the room. Even as he watched, a look of hatred flashed across Damarius’s hard face.
The Evil had infected his father first!
“Now you see why she did it, Papa?” Sabrina asked. “She ate the Evil to save the witches.”
Chapter 6
Damian wore a sickly look when he returned to the house, and Preston worried what could have possibly upset the Aether to such a degree.
“Where’s Sabrina?” Mackenzie asked.
“I brought her home to Vivian. The subject matter is a bit heavy for a child. Even a baby Aether, as you call her.” Damian gave her a half-hearted smile.
Sebastian poured two fingers of scotch into a tumbler and handed it off to Damian, who accepted it with a single nod of his head and downed it in one shot.
Damian held out the
glass to his host. “Thank you, Baz.”
“Need another?”
“No. I fear I’ll get lost in the bottom of the bottle if I start.”
“That bad?” Preston asked before taking a sip of his own drink.
“Worse.”
“Do you want to tell us now or wait until the others arrive?” Alastair shoved away from the mantle and crossed to join their group.
Preston noticed his brother often distanced himself when an emotionally fraught situation was happening. He frequently needed to separate from the group so he wouldn’t be overwhelmed.
Alastair paused about three feet away and rubbed his neck. A sure sign he was picking up on the Aether’s deeper, more intense feelings. “I suspect it’s not a pretty tale.”
“The Evil had infected a third of the witch community by the time the Witches’ Council approached my mother with the problem. She and my father were isolated out here on their estate, away from the happenings in the magical world.” Damian scrubbed his face with his hands. “When word came, my father went to discover what the problem was, leaving Mother to care for me. He became infected, too.”
“Am I to understand Isolde didn’t seek the Evil out?” Preston leaned forward. “How did she end up with all of it inside of her?”
“Sabrina was able to show me. It happened when I was approximately five or so. Father was becoming worse in his behavior, more violent in his dealings with Mother and me. I believe she consumed it to protect us both.” He used his thumb and forefinger to rub his eyes. Looking more soul-weary than Preston had ever seen him, Damian gave a small, sad smile. “She loved us. Who knew? She paid for it in unspeakable ways, not the least of which was madness.”
Evie touched his arm. “But she wasn’t innocent. She murdered countless people, my dear boy.”
He lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles, then held it to his cheek. “No. The Evil inside her did that. It destroyed her sanity until she had no choice but to feed it. Nate saved me, Evie. We suspected it, but not to the extent I now know.” Sadness weighed his shoulders down. “Mother would’ve killed me had Nate not stepped in when he had. She had the presence of mind to send me away. To warn me against trusting her. But eventually, she’d have found me to syphon off the power that darkness craved.”
