Veil of Thorns

by Gwen Mitchell

  Hasn’t it done that already?

  She growled at herself, disturbed by how often Lucas was popping into her thoughts. It was a small blessing she hadn’t dreamt about him tonight. Though she wasn’t sure if she liked the alternative any better.

  At least this musical mystery would be easy to solve.

  She trudged across the sodden yard and ducked through a gap in the wooden fence. Probably some local kids playing a prank. She’d become the island’s resident crazy since she’d moved back. There had been rumors about a curse on her family since her mother drowned. Ce-Ce and Tara’s deaths had confirmed it for the townsfolk. The slew of accidental deaths upon Bri’s return was more fuel for the rumor mill. Most especially Kean’s. He had been a highly revered coven and community member. He could have challenged Gawain for coven Sigma and people would have been glad to follow him, the hometown hero. But as far as the members of the North Wake coven knew, Kean was dead. Thanks to her.

  She’d earned their animosity, even if she was doing everything within her power to fix it. Even if it was a demon that had been hunting her and not a curse. She’d given up trying to convince people she was harmless and had instead embraced the infamy. It meant she had fewer people nosing into her business, a feat in a small town like Evergreen Cove.

  The music was coming from the back of the property, which meant she had to stalk through knee-high grass and regretted not grabbing her rain boots. She would have turned back, except the song was making her curious now. Aside from the piano, the violin was her favorite instrument, but she didn’t recognize the tune or style at all. It was played with such precision and finesse–it had to be someone famous.

  The air thickened as she entered the trees. Insulated by the canopy and the soft cushion of pine needles, the song became clearer.

  She froze, all the tiny hairs along her neck standing on end.

  That’s not a recording.

  Bri had been a musician all her life. Her ear could decipher the difference between a speaker and a live instrument. She could feel the difference.

  Another ten paces, and she would be at the edge of her property and the protection of her family’s blood wards.

  She took five steps and halted, sweeping her flashlight in a wide arc. “Who’s there?”

  The music ceased.

  “Show yourself. This is private property.” She kept the light trained directly where she guessed the music had come from.

  There was a tree to the right, and the shadows against the trunk deepened. She flicked the light directly at the cloud of black mist as it coalesced into a solid form. A tall, slender, male form. He was dressed head to toe in black and holding a violin to block the light from his face.

  “There’s no need to be frightened, love,” said a silky voice in an overdone accent she recognized immediately.

  They had met once before. He’d been sent to retrieve her the night she’d lost her father and Kean.

  Her spine stiffened with alarm. “What do you want?”

  When he didn’t answer, she aimed the beam of light at his black boots. The Hohlwen lowered his arm and strode toward her, casually walking right over the border of the blood wards. His shoulder-length sable hair was tied back now, but she recognized the sharp nose and high cheekbones, the thick, arched brows and angelic mouth that could have been carved by one of the masters. He was beautiful by any standard, inhumanly so. Every line of his perfectly hewn features invited the eye to trace, to linger.

  Bri tore her gaze away and shook her head to clear it. “That’s close enough.”

  He stopped a few feet back, watching her with abysmal black eyes that seemed to swallow even the deepest of the forest shadows. “I mean you no harm.”

  Said the spider to the fly.

  She was a meal to him, and nothing more. Unless…

  “Did the council send you?”

  He tucked the violin under his arm in an oddly human gesture. “I’m not here in an official capacity.”

  Her patience for being stirred from her bed and forced to hike through the mud in the middle of the night evaporated. Just like that. “Then why are you here?”

  “I’ve come to—”

  A twig snapped, and Bri glanced left to catch a blur of fur and glowing eyes right before the wolf lunged at the Hohlwen and toppled him to the sodden ground.

  She dropped the flashlight and jumped back, a scream lodged in her throat.

  A low growl that made the base of Bri’s spine tingle rumbled through the dark.

  “Shit.” Heart hammering, she picked up the light and trained it on the Hohlwen again, now sprawled on the ground with a three-hundred-pound wolf straddling his chest, wickedly curved fangs inches from his perfectly sculpted face.

  He seemed… amused. “Fancy seeing you here, Moncrieffe.”

  The wolf growled again, even more menacing, if that was possible. Yet his presence put Bri instantly at ease.

  “But you wouldn’t let your prize out of sight for long, would you?” the Hohlwen taunted.

  She sighed as she retrieved the violin and discarded bow from the ground. She brushed a few clumps of mud and pine needles from the polished wood. It was old, but lovingly cared for. She felt a twinge of guilt for the state of her grandmother’s piano.

  “Lucas, please let him up. He couldn’t cross the wards if he was going to hurt me.”

  With a smirk, the Hohlwen evaporated into shadow and reappeared beside her, bowing his head as he gently took the violin, careful not to touch her. “Now, as I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted, I’ve come to offer you a bargain.”

  It was moments like these—serving tea at three in the morning to not one, but two immortals—that sometimes slapped Bri upside the head with how unrecognizable her life had become from her old mundane one. She’d spent most of the last ten years hiding from her past and medicating her memories and visions away, just to end up here.

  Maybe it is all up to Fate.

  If so, Fate had a sick sense of humor, and she had several bones to pick.

  Lucas had changed back into his human form, fully clothed in a button-down dress shirt and slacks that fit him unfairly well. But Italian silk and leather loafers couldn’t mask the aura of menace and power swirling around him. He built a fire while she made the tea.

  Ryder, as he’d introduced himself, skulked through her living room, investigating each photograph and knick-knack as if they held some special fascination to him.

  Bri cleared her throat as she set the tray on the sofa table, then flopped onto the couch.

  Lucas turned, his eyes still the burnished gold of the wolf as he stalked toward her.

  Her mind flashed to another image… those glowing sickle moons above her in the nighttime forest. Her throat went dry. She took too big of a gulp of tea and scalded her tongue. She swallowed the rest with effort as Lucas sat next to her, not at the other end, but right on the middle cushion. The possessiveness in the gesture irked her, but she had to choose her battles, or they would be there until sunrise.

  Ryder glanced up from the sheet music on the piano and gave her a coy smile that said he knew a secret. The firelight never seemed to touch the Hohlwen’s pearlescent skin. He stayed pale as the moon, lit with his own cold internal glow. The reflection of the flames danced in his black eyes, making them impossible to read. He became smoke and shadow, then was perched in the armchair across from them with his legs casually crossed. “I bet you’re wondering what I could possibly have to offer.”

  Since it wasn’t a question, Bri sipped her tea.

  Lucas grunted in half-hearted agreement.

  “After I tasted you…” Stars popped in his onyx gaze, chasing the reflection of the flames away.

  Lucas went bowstring tight beside her. “Choose your next words carefully, leech.”

  Bri crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back to keep from reaching out to soothe him.

  Ryder watched her, and she suddenly felt like a bug under a micros
cope. What did he read in their dynamic? Did he see her internal turmoil over every small interaction?

  “Forgive my crudeness.” Ryder held his hands up in an innocent gesture. “What I meant to say was, since that night, I have known what you are.”

  “It’s no big secret,” Bri replied. There had been scores of council members and guards in the chamber during her interrogation.

  Ryder blinked, and the pinpricks of light in his eyes dimmed until they were a flat, empty black. “Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, love. The Synod is keeping your situation very hush-hush. They don’t even have a clue what you truly are. It’s quite amusing. And it presents a unique opportunity for us.”

  “Us?”

  “Yes. I’m in possession of information you desperately want, and I’m also in need of your assistance. I suggest a trade.”

  Bri sighed. It didn’t take any amazing powers of deduction to recognize that she was fumbling around in the dark in the Zyne world. Of course she needed information. She glanced at Lucas.

  He stirred extra honey into his tea, looking bored.

  “Okay, I’ll bite. What information do you have?”

  Ryder’s human mask slid for a split-second, revealing the jaws of the beast right before they snap closed. “Only a way to break your lover’s curse.”

  She could not have been more surprised if he had punched into her chest, yanked out her beating heart, and served it to her on a silver platter.

  Lie, her inner pragmatist whispered. It had to be.

  But that same desperate, wretched heart shoved the next words from her mouth without permission. “Tell me.”

  No, it’s a trap.

  But now she had to hear more.

  Lucas laughed and settled back into the cushions, their shoulders brushing. He waved his hand like a king bidding a subject to speak. “By all means, let’s hear this.”

  Ryder’s grin took on self-satisfied twist that made Bri want to squirm like a fish on a hook.

  “In northern Romania, there is a nest of mountains that do not appear on any map,” Ryder began. “The nearest civilization to these mountains is a quaint and thriving village called Somnisor. They receive the occasional lost traveler, but they rarely permit visitors to stay more than a night. Ask any of the villagers why that is, why the town has remained such a secret, how they do not seek trade and yet always have just enough to sustain their quiet community, and they will tell you it is because of the White Wood.”

  Bri glanced at Lucas again, but his expression told her nothing.

  “Do you mind if I smoke?” Ryder asked, drawing her attention back to him.

  “Yes,” she said with a tired sigh, “I mind.”

  He rolled his eyes and continued. “The legend of the White Wood has been passed down through generations of Somnisor’s people. They believe the forest nestled in the center of those unnamed and unmapped mountains is the home of the town’s guardian saint. A mercurial spirit that heaps blessings—or curses, as the case may be—upon them. They never enter the mountain pass and are inhospitable to strangers because they do not want anyone to happen upon the White Wood and risk the spirit’s ire. Those who do seldom return.”

  Ryder spun an entertaining tale, but Bri was anxious to hear how any of this could help Kean. He was clearly intent on a slow reveal, so she poured more tea and tucked her legs under her, hoping the caffeine would bolster her patience. “And what is actually hidden in the mountains?”

  Ryder’s Cupid’s bow lips curled with mischief. “Clever girl. The White Wood is indeed real.”

  “And the spirit?” Lucas asked.

  “Not a spirit, but an enchantress.” He paused for dramatic effect.

  Bri set her tea aside and rubbed her bleary eyes. “Sorry, is that supposed to mean something to me?”

  “An enchantress is a very powerful Summoner,” Lucas answered.

  Ryder tilted his head, considering Lucas for a beat. “Not quite right, old dog. An enchantress is a Summoner mage who has mastered at least three of the four elements. Hedvika can control water, fire, and earth. She has also accumulated an arsenal of combative and defensive spells over the centuries. She’s the most skilled caster I’ve ever seen. I have seen her cast a curse like the one on your Ward.”

  Bri shook her head. “Wait, did you say centuries?”

  Ryder nodded, his tone slightly amused. “Have you guessed the game yet, love?”

  “Another Skydancer,” Lucas intoned, setting his own teacup aside.

  “I believed she was the last of her kind, until you fell into my path.” Ryder splayed his arms out and tilted his head back the ceiling as if enraptured. “Like a gift from the heavens.”

  Lucas’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t budge otherwise.

  Bri shook off the dread creeping up her spine and stood to pace—the motion steadying her as her mind whirled with questions. “What makes you think this other Skydancer will help me?”

  “I never said she’d help you.”

  “You can’t trust the shadows,” Lucas muttered.

  Ryder’s eyes narrowed to slits and he drummed his fingers on the arms of the chair. “We cannot lie. I said I know of one who has cast curses like the one on her precious lover.”

  Lucas growled, and Ryder turned to her with a satisfied smirk.

  She had the feeling he was playing them both.

  But what if it were true?

  “Hedvika possesses an ancient divan—that’s a book,” Ryder added for Bri’s benefit, “of immense magical power. I believe the spell you seek is within it. But she will not part with the book willingly.”

  Bri watched Ryder carefully for any sign of malice, but he was as unreadable as a blank chalkboard. Instincts warred within her. On the one hand, don’t trust the monsters. On the other… her heart pounded at the thought of a chance to save Kean.

  At what cost?

  “You’ve told us what you can offer, but that’s only half a bargain,” she said. “What do you want in return?”

  Ryder’s smirk slid away as he leveled a stare at Lucas. “The enchantress stole something from me long ago, and I want it back. But I cannot move against her alone. Her Familiar is ancient and strong. Kill him, and I will help you get the book.”

  “Hold on, I thought your bargain was with me.”

  “He’s your Familiar,” Ryder replied, “if you command him to, he will kill for you.”

  “He’s my Familiar,” the word still felt strange to her, as did calling Lucas her anything, “not my slave. And no one is killing anybody.”

  “If you leave Maxxim alive, I cannot help you. As soon as I show my face, he will end me.”

  “I can sympathize,” Lucas deadpanned.

  Bri shot him a quick, reprimanding look, then asked, “Then, what if I went on my own?”

  Lucas’s gaze snapped from Ryder and he stared at her as if she’d sprouted horns. “You’re not actually considering this?”

  “I’m not not considering it.”

  Lucas’s mouth snapped shut. He got up from the couch and prowled into the kitchen. She heard the cupboards open and close, ice clinking into a glass. When he returned a moment later with a whiskey in hand, he said, very calmly, “You are not going anywhere without me.”

  “Fine,” Bri said, internally relieved. “Suppose we go on our own. What then?”

  Ryder shifted into a cloud of shadows and reappeared by the back window, gazing out into the dreary pre-dawn. “A life for a life. That is my trade.”

  “There must be something else I can offer.”

  “Bri, you cannot bargain with shadows,” Lucas intoned from the doorway. “He will lead you into the monster’s den and force my hand to get what he wants anyway. If you do not take the bait, I’m sure he has a threat or blackmail as backup.”

  Ryder feigned innocence with a sorry-not-sorry shrug.

  “I doubt there’s even any spell to break the curse. It’s a fool’s errand,” Lucas added and emptied his glass of whiskey.
>
  Ryder whirled from the window with a sneer, his movements a cyclone of shadows for a blink. “We. Cannot. Lie.”

  “Is that true?” Bri asked Lucas.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Technically. They cannot utter a direct falsehood, but they can omit, twist words and meanings, find other ways to deceive. He only said he believes the spell is in the book, not that it is.”

  “But that means he does believe it.” And it meant the rest of his story about Hedvika must be true, and the book was real. The chance was real.

  Lucas blinked, a pall of neutrality settling over his features. “And you believe him.”

  Bri bit her lip.

  It was an immensely unfair thing to ask of Lucas. Taking the word of an immortal that may lead to a book that may contain a spell that may free Kean was foolhardy at best and quite possibly a suicide mission, if Ryder betrayed them. If they got into trouble, she was not a fighter by any stretch. She didn’t have any combative or defensive magic. Just one immortal warrior who had sworn to protect her.

  Kean needs me.

  That was all she could think when she considered turning her back on this chance. Even a small chance. She remembered the defeat on Kean’s face, the desperation in his kisses, his fingers gripping her tightly.

  She closed her eyes. “I believe him.”

  Or her heart did, at least. Despite all the wreckage it had been dragged through, the

  Chapter Seven

  Three days later, most of the elements of their plan were in place. Ryder had detailed what he knew of the White Wood and the spells and traps protecting it. He’d profiled Hedvika’s weapons, tactics, and blind spots. Bri had spent hours preparing, which mostly consisted of Ryder lecturing her into the wee hours of the night and critiquing her answers to his questions until she could barely hold her head upright.

  Ryder had also informed them—at no additional cost—that she was under the Synod’s near constant surveillance whenever she left her house. The Council was aware of everyone she spoke to. They didn’t have the technology to tap her cellphone, but her bank accounts were being monitored. They’d given the impression of nonchalance about her Skydancer status, but they were still being cautious.