Veil of Thorns

by Gwen Mitchell

  He looked thoughtful for a moment. “The wraith might have actually done you a favor. Before, you would have returned after mysteriously disappearing—suspicious. Now, there is evidence to suggest you were taken against your will. It could work to our advantage.”

  She mulled that over as Lucas looped her arm through his and they started down the winding road. “Okay, maybe so. But how does it work to his advantage?”

  “Now you’re thinking like an immortal,” he answered. “I don’t know yet, but I will figure it out.”

  Lucas guided them directly to the center of the village, right to the doorstep of a bustling tavern. Warm light and raucous laughter flooded through the leaded windows onto the rutted cobble street. Inside, it smelled of roasted meat and garlic and ale. It reminded Bri of Astrid’s pub, and a sharp pang twisted her heart.

  What if you never see her again?

  She yanked back on the stampede of what ifs that wanted to follow that one over the cliff and focused on the present.

  Most of the tavern’s patrons paid them no mind, but when Lucas shouldered his way toward the bar, a stocky woman with a blunt haircut and stern brow cornered them against the wall and interrogated him in shrill Romanian.

  Lucas answered back with native fluidity, his voice taking on a relaxed, dulcet tone that instantly softened the harpy’s features. They conversed back and forth, him finally coaxing a smile out of her. Then she waved them over to the register and took his money.

  They were settled in a quaint room above the tavern that was ridiculously small but clean and lovingly tended to. Lucas sat in the rocking chair by the window and pulled off his boots. A bottle of scotch and two glasses appeared on the table beside him.

  Bri slid out of her coat and perched on the end of the bed with her glass. The scotch was rich and earthy and didn’t burn at all. She welcomed the warmth that spread through her belly, chasing away the chill of their hike and calming her churning thoughts. Reality sank in a little deeper with each sip.

  You knew the risks.

  “Done is done.” She held up her glass and tossed back the rest.

  Lucas stared at her face, his a careful mask. “Regrets already?”

  “Not yet.” She was surprised that she meant it. Lucas was right. They were ahead of schedule. If they didn’t hit any other unexpected snags, the plan was still on track. Now they just had to survive the White Wood long enough to get to Hedvika.

  “But do you think we can trust Ryder at all?”

  “He cannot openly lie to us if we are careful in how things are worded. I was sloppy with that part of the plan. I underestimated his commitment to this, but I won’t make that mistake again.”

  “You couldn’t have predicted he would derail things like that.”

  “No, I couldn’t have.” Lucas finished his drink and watched her expectantly.

  A bubble of guilt caught in her throat, and for a moment she wanted to confess that her powers were weak and unreliable, but something–some instinct born of having one of the people closest to her murder all the rest–held her back. “I can’t control what I see.”

  “Don’t worry, you will be able to in time.”

  He sounded so sure of that, it did give her some comfort. Kean was usually the eternal optimist to counter her worry wart. It felt odd coming from Lucas of all people.

  But I suppose he wouldn’t be here if he weren’t an optimist.

  She supposed she had been an optimist too. Once.

  “If we survive the White Wood,” he added gruffly.

  She downgraded him to realist. “Don’t sugar coat it on my account.”

  He chuckled and poured himself another glass.

  She held hers out for a refill.

  A smile played at the corner of Lucas’s lips, and she had an impulse to try and coax it out more, but the fact that she had that impulse made her feel sullen. “What if Hedvika kills us on sight?”

  “She won’t.” When she gestured for him to elaborate, he added, “Ancients are bored. She’s isolated. She’ll at least play with us before she kills us.”

  This time she leveled a glare at him. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re kind of an ass?”

  “Once or twice.” He winked and clinked their drinks together.

  That cursed involuntary warmth seeped through her core as she watched his sensuous lips kiss the edge of the glass. The memory of those lips closed in on her. Not the dozens of kisses she’d experienced in her regressions—those had been Vivianne’s kisses—but the one.

  It had happened so fast. Almost over by the time she realized what was happening. She’d been distraught, her emotions already in chaos. All she remembered was a crackle of magic, like lightning slicing through the scorched landscape of her heart. For that flash of a second, she’d been lit up.

  The echo of that feeling surged again, a wildfire catching. Bri hopped to her feet and set her glass on the table so hard some whiskey sloshed out. Her stomach grumbled. “I need some food and a shower. Can I have some money?”

  Lucas rose from the rocking chair, crowding her in the tight confines of their room.

  Their room. That they were sharing. Alone.

  She made to step back, but he caught her loosely by the wrist, his thumb brushing over her pulse. Her heartbeat doubled its pace in answer, and she held her breath, unable to look away.

  His eyes shone with a subtle halo of golden fire, and his pupils shrank to pinpricks. His gaze fastened to her mouth. He leaned in, tugging at her arm in a way that angled her body toward his. She could have broken out of his hold any time—it was barely more than a caress—but she was a prisoner to it.

  “We can keep playing this game of pretend for as long as you like, Briana, but you should know your heartbeat betrays you. And you’re going to pass out if you don’t breathe soon.”

  She clenched her jaw and exhaled loudly through her nose, slowly extricating her arm from his grip as she gave him a warning glare.

  He waved his hand, and a stack of thick white towels appeared on the bed. He was smart enough not to say anything else as she staggered back, struggling to keep her breathing steady.

  “Shower. I will order a meal to be ready when you are finished.”

  “Thanks,” Bri muttered, not looking at him. She grabbed the armful of cotton and hurried out the door and down the hall to the community bathroom.

  The hot water eased some of the tension in her muscles, and she was thankful for the time alone to gather her frenetic thoughts.

  If this was what he was going to be like, she was glad they had shaved a few days off their journey. It had been too much to expect Lucas would back off.

  Kean’s told you so echoed in the back of her mind. He would have told her so.

  “If you were here, none of this would be happening!” she said, choking back a scream as she pounded her fist on the tile.

  If only she’d been able to get a clear glimpse of their future when they first set their plan into motion, she could check now to see if it had been altered. Of course, if her sight actually worked, she might not have set off down this path at all. What if it ended in certain death?

  No. That you would see.

  Death omens. It was her only gift to surface so far, rare even among Oracles. Her visions of death always came true. And whenever people she cared for died, she saw it first. It was a small comfort, but she was making a steady diet of slim hopes lately, so, why not?

  Kean would have locked her in a cell to keep her from doing this. Maybe he would have been right to.

  Yet… she had the oddest feeling of destiny.

  Wasn’t it simply a law of nature that she would seek out another Skydancer? That she would not trust the Synod—who had labeled her kind anathema—to tell her the truth of what she was?

  Maybe it would have been under different circumstances or for different reasons, but it did seem too uncanny for mere coincidence that the very person to possess exactly what she needed was also a Skydancer.
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  She’d read in a Zyne text that there were many mysteries in the workings of magic—in the wheel of life and death and the currents of souls—that did not reveal themselves even to Oracles. Sometimes the currents of Fate conspired to align certain powers. It felt as if those currents were culminating now. The cosmic cauldron was bubbling.

  But what will emerge? A revelation? Or a monstrosity?

  She had to trust her heart to guide her.

  Kean.

  She was doing this for Kean. She was doing this for love. If she could get him back, everything would make sense again. She and Kean and Astrid would finally have their celebratory dinner after vanquishing the Soul Eater. Kean would take over the North Wake coven. The Zyne community would finally accept her, and the Synod would be content with her attending twice weekly lessons and pretending she didn’t know a lick of magic.

  She could have her family back. Maybe even start one of her own.

  Aren’t you forgetting someone?

  She grimaced as she wiped the fog away from the mirror and jumped, stifling a scream.

  A giant white bear was stood right behind her in the reflection.

  She turned and found herself alone in the steamy bathroom.

  When she looked in the mirror again, there was only the chipped paint and crumbling tile of the shower.

  Bri hitched her robe tight and scuttled back down the hall. Their room was empty of any sign of Lucas except a tray of food and pot of tea on the table. There was a note tucked beside it, written in his elegant scrawl.

  Get some rest. I’ll keep watch nearby.

  Relief washed through her that he was giving her some space. Even though it was probably motivated by self-preservation. She had every right to be upset. He shouldn’t manhandle her like that, for one. Or be all domineering and taunting.

  And kissable.

  She huffed, unable to stir up any more indignation. He wasn’t wrong. Her body responded to him, and there was no way to disguise that. But she needed clarify that it was just from a physical need and her confused emotions over the compounding memories of him.

  No, she couldn’t tell him about the memories.

  I wonder how different I am from her?

  He was gifted at knowing exactly how to press her without going too far. As if he knew her. Exhibit A: in two simple sentences, he’d met her unspoken need for solitude and highlighted the fact that he was on this journey as a service to her. How could she stay angry? Maybe there was an unspoken apology in there too.

  Bri sank to the rocking chair and dug into the food. It was bland, but hot and filling. Further knots of tension eased. Though it was only early afternoon Pacific time, when she climbed between the sheets and turned off the lamp, sleep was quick to drag her away.

  Late in the night, when the tavern below had gone quiet and the moon was high in the sky, she felt a cold nose nuzzle her hand. She smelled leather and spice and the damp pine needles of the forest. She reached out to bury her fingers in the thick, silky fur of the wolf’s neck.

  He licked her hand and laid down beside the bed with a loud thump.

  A few heartbeats later, she whispered into the dark, “I think we’re going to have to get good at forgiving each other.”

  Chapter Ten

  Ryder relished his first night of freedom in over three hundred years. With the stone in his possession, he could flit across the globe tirelessly. Go without feeding for months, maybe years if he remained mostly in shadow. Just a taste of the stone’s power was enough to ignite his hunger for more. And along with it, his rage.

  At Vika. At the Synod. At the Zyne.

  The soulstone was an intoxicating piece of what he and his brethren had lost. In his grasp, he held the wings of a wraith, forever clipped. Twisted into a magic to be used and bartered among witches. But the thread of shadow in its heart was not all the stone contained. It was saturated in other spells too, and no doubt being tracked.

  To cover his trail, he wove a complicated web of jumps across the Asian continent, never lingering more than a few minutes. He buried the stone in the heart of a volcano in New Zealand and rode the deepest hours of midnight back to Romania.

  Though he’d drawn deeply of the stone before laying it to rest, as soon as he was in the sky above Somnisor, he felt the pull of White Wood. A high, shining note that sung to the aching hole in the center of him.

  His lip curled.

  How can you still long for her, after what she did? What she stole from you?

  Could she feel him too somehow?

  If so, would she take his bait, or lay her own trap in turn?

  Vika had obsessed over obtaining the sight for as long as he’d known her. She’d spent a millennium harvesting Oracles for her magical experiments. What if she had somehow succeeded in the centuries since he’d left? Not only would she have no use for Briana, she may even see him coming.

  Let’s find out, shall we?

  He arrowed through the icy air, past the mountain peaks, into the crescent valley. He circled for several minutes over the tall pines, the familiar scent of roses, pine sap, and lightning drawing him ever closer.

  No owl sentinel came to meet him in airborne combat.

  Drifting lower, he searched for any signs of a trap. Flares of power, warnings from the shadows. Finally, He landed in a clearing of snow drifts at the edge of Vika’s wards.

  The black thorns that served as her living surveillance system coiled through the feet of the silver trees, half frozen and dusted with snow, as if they hadn’t budged in a century.

  He slipped a sinew of darkness through the shadows between the vines and wound deeper, seeking a hollow or some underground burrow to hide in.

  The vines shivered slightly, and he drew back.

  He was out of practice.

  But the earth did not rumble, and ice shards did not shoot up in a cage around him.

  He would find his way in. Once he had a path through the wards, he could come and go at will.

  And as long as the wolf keeps his word…

  Ryder grimaced at that. Until they entered the wood, Lucas had all the power. But after Bri and her wolf crossed into the White Wood, they would be at his mercy.

  Or we will all be at hers.

  He shored up his concentration and cast dozens of tendrils into the thicket of vines at once, probing, tasting. As he reached deeper, he felt an ancient awareness stirring.

  The shadows of her land remembered him.

  It felt oddly like coming home.

  Chapter Eleven

  Bri woke the next morning to the sound of hushed voices in the hall. Lucas had left her suitcase at the foot of the bed so she could dress. Once presentable, she opened the door and invited them both into the cramped room for a team meeting. Lucas strode in, but Ryder simply bowed his head and stepped back into the shadows with a little wave of his fingers.

  She closed the door and scrubbed her hands over her face. She needed strong coffee.

  “There is a cart road that leads to an old mine about ten miles north of here. That’s where we’ll make camp tonight.” Her suitcase vanished, and Lucas took her duffle and slung it over his shoulder. “I told the tavern owner we are meeting a tow truck at our car. We’ll walk back to the cemetery, cut into the woods there, and follow the river north to where it meets the cart road.”

  She didn’t know what she’d expected things between them to be like after last night, but this new all-business Lucas wasn’t it. She wasn’t sure she liked it, either. But that could have been the lack of coffee.

  Since he’d already mapped out their day, she simply nodded, yanked on her coat, and followed him down the stairs and outside.

  The sleepy town was just rousing as they passed through. The main street was lined with carts and booths of the local farmers and craftsmen—a real life town market. It was a picture from another century, if not for the glum teenagers sitting behind the booths, bleary eyes glued to glowing phone screens.

  Despite Ryde
r’s tales, the townsfolk hadn’t tried to run them out of town with pitchforks, and apparently accepted deliveries and even had cell service. Perhaps no amount of magic or legend could stop the march of technology. Or maybe Hedvika’s power over the villagers was slipping.

  In the steel grey morning light, mist filled the bowl of the valley and spilled over the rolling hills like steam frothing from a boiling cauldron. All signs of civilization disappeared. Was that an element of Vika’s spells at work, or just really creepy weather?

  When they crested the hilltop next to the cemetery, they cut into the woods, walking in silence for several minutes. Lucas stopped when they reached the river.

  The duffle vanished, and a small backpack with a stack of clothing and a pair of boots appeared by Bri’s feet.

  “I’ll wait for you behind the bend,” he said, pointing up ahead.

  She dutifully donned the clothes he provided. Warm athletic leggings, a sports bra, shirt, hoody, and lightweight two-layer jacket that fit her perfectly. Her pack was light, but fully equipped with everything she could possibly need. The thick socks felt decadent, and the boots even had gel insoles.

  He put a lot of thought into this.

  Lucas was waiting as promised, also re-outfitted in hiker chic, head bowed over his phone. She chuckled, reminded of the teenagers in town.

  He looked up and met her eyes, his shining like rain-covered slate. “What’s funny?”

  “You and your gadgets.” She peeked at the screen to see some sort of GPS app open and teased, “Can’t you just follow your nose?”

  He led her along an overgrown trail beside the river. “If I was tracking a scent, yes, but I have no idea what an enchantress smells like.”

  “I’ve never seen this side of you.”

  He cocked his head. “What side is that?”

  “The soldier on a mission side.” Even when he was on duty at the Synod, he’d been so casual and familiar with her, since their very first encounter.

  “Is it good or bad?”

  She shrugged. She should be glad he’d decided to lay off with the touching and charming, but a part of her mourned the idea of losing their playful volleys. She’d come to rely on them to keep her distracted from her darker thoughts. It had been a lot less complicated over text.