by Jana Oliver
“Headache?” MacTavish asked.
“Sort of. I have this hum in my brain all the time now. It’s hard to think.”
“When did it start?”
“Ah ... a couple days ago. It’s just jet lag.”
MacTavish’s brow furrowed. “Aye, that’s probably it.”
She needed to change the subject. “How is Bess’s daughter? Is she still really sick?”
He nodded. “Kepler thinks she’s dyin’ because she’s been bespelled.”
“What? Why would someone do that to a kid?” Then it made sense. “Because it made her mom agree to kidnap me, to get me to that graveyard as demon bait.”
“That’s what we think.”
“Whoever did this is evil.”
“Aye.” He rose, watching her carefully. “I have only one more question; if Beck had asked ya ta marry him at the graveyard, would ya have said aye?”
“Of course,” she replied, without thinking. Riley began twisting the ring on her right hand with her thumb. “I love him so very much.”
“But not now.”
“I don’t know,” she replied, more confused than ever.
“Who knows, perhaps he’ll ask ya again.”
“He won’t,” she said, feeling the certainty of those words and how bitter they tasted. “Den has his pride, and I’ve hurt him ... badly.”
“Well, at least ya see that. I’ll leave ya ta it then. I hope ya find our house peaceful, Ms. Blackthorne.”
Grand Master MacTavish departed, quietly closing the door behind him. As if by magic, Riley’s eyes strayed to the section of forbidden books. Then she shook her head.
Not going there.
After thumbing through the binder’s contents, she read about her father, how he’d come from a long line of English trappers and how he’d been recruited by Master Angus Stewart. Some of that she knew, other parts provided revelations. There were a few notes about Riley’s mom and then details about her dad’s most notable demon captures. One, in particular, proved difficult to read; the night her father had tangled with an Archfiend and lost his soul. That revelation had been slotted in on an extra page, because at the time no one had known he’d made a deal with Hell.
“All for me.” Such deep love was almost more than she could bear.
The longer she read about her dad and the Blackthornes, the words seemed to calm the buzz in her mind. Unfortunately, they did nothing for the void in her heart. Only Beck could fill that.
As time passed, the silence of the library did bring that peace the masters spoke of. Reluctantly, Riley re-shelved the binder and then returned to the fire, the room chillier than she would have liked.
“Why did everything go wrong?” she muttered. Now that she thought it through, her attitude toward Beck had changed when she’d arrived at the hotel. Before that, she was fine, but once she was in that room, she’d gone from relief that he’d been at her side, to wanting him gone.
The why proved elusive. A current heart check told her she still loved him, despite his recent behavior, and that her distrust of him was minimal. Did it have something to do with the manor house? Their wards?
If Bess’s daughter had been bespelled, why not her? No, that didn’t track. Like she’d told Kepler, she hadn’t been near a necromancer since the graveyard.
Feeling frustrated, Riley’s attention wandered to the forbidden books and she eyed them much like a kid in a candy shop. It was tempting as the titles promised hidden knowledge in necromancy, demonology and arcane magic. Maybe the answer is in one of those book, and if she found it...
“No.” She just couldn’t go there, not after all the grand masters had done for her and Beck.
She headed toward a computer tucked in a corner on a small oak table. When she jiggled the mouse, the monitor lit up and promptly asked for a password. She frowned, then remembered she’d seen it on a sticky note on Beck’s desk. Fortunately it was memorable enough that she typed it in.
It took some time to compose the e-mail to Mort, mostly because it was full of heartbreak. If she hadn’t known him so well, she wouldn’t be exposing herself like this. Once she’d covered the horrific details, she moved into the questions.
What are the ways a summoner can put a spell on a person? Can the spell be done long distance? If so, how would they keep it going? Is it possible someone has cast a spell on me to make me so paranoid?
I swear, I would never have turned down Beck’s proposal if I’d been home in Atlanta.
PLEASE HELP ME!
She hit Send. “Come on, Mort. Tell me what’s really going on. Tell me I’m not going crazy.”
Riley logged out and leaned back in the chair, her arms crossed over her chest. A lengthy yawn told her give it up and go have a nap. Maybe by the time she awoke Mort would have replied with something that helped her make sense of her screwed up life.
A fresh bottle of Holy Water sat in front of her door, courtesy of Brennan. Once inside, she set the bottle on the floor and booted up her computer. When she went to check her e-mail, just in case Mort had already replied, the password didn’t work.
Muttering her breath, she tapped on the door that led to Beck’s room and that got her a gruff “Yeah?”
Riley creaked the door open and peered inside. Beck was at his desk, books open all around him, but he appeared distracted.
“The password’s not working. Is there a new one now?”
He nodded and fished around in the top drawer for a piece of paper. “It changes every day at three in the afternoon, for security.”
Their fingers touched when he handed over the paper and she found herself peering down into pair of exhausted brown eyes.
“Are we okay?” she asked.
A half-hearted shrug was his reply as a slight frown creased his forehead. “Not sure. How are you doin’?”
When she hesitated, he rose, stepping closer. “Don’t lie. Just tell me how you feel. Happy? Sad? What?”
“I’m empty inside, like I’ve lost something important.” You.
Beck cocked his head. “Same here. What’s goin’ on between us doesn’t feel right. I mean ... it’s not like us.”
“Like me, you mean. I’m the one who suddenly went bizarre.”
Beck nodded, then opened up his arms. Without hesitation, she walked into them, surrendering to the embrace, wondering how she could ever live without this guy.
“That’s better,” he murmured near her ear. “You’ve been too distant the last couple of days.”
She laid her head on his chest. “I wrote Mort and asked him to help us. I need to know what’s happening with me. I want things the way they used to be.” The way they should be.
“Same here,” he said.
He raised her head and then gently kissed her. Warmth spread through her body.
“I should let you study,” she murmured after the second kiss.
“Yeah,” he replied, bending in for another.
Finally, she broke away, unsure of going any further than just kissing. Too much was in flux right now.
“Oh, we got a supper thing going on tonight. You’ll need to dress up. It’s kinda fancy,” he said.
“Okay.” There really wasn’t much else she could say.
“So you know, it’s not just us tonight.” Beck looked away, as if he was about to tell her something she wouldn’t like. “Summoner Fayne will be here — she’s one of the mid-level necros, from what I hear. Monsignor Lang and Archdruid Scrimshaw will be here too.”
“After what happened to me, they invited a summoner to dinner? Are they crazy?” she demanded.
“It’s a MacTavish thing,” Beck replied. “He likes to keep an eye on folks. Figures the best way to do that is to talk to them every now and then. Who knows, maybe we’ll learn something by havin’ one of their kind here for chow.”
Riley drew back. “Well, that whole idea just sucks. Do I really have to be there?”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
She swore under
her breath. “Then do me a favor — keep the necro away from me. I don’t want to lose it front of everyone.”
Beck grinned. “Now that’s the Riley I remember. Dinner’s at seven.”
“Good. I need a nap.” Maybe that way she’d be less inclined to commit necro-cide over dessert.
Chapter Eight
The shower brought Riley back to life, and after mussing with her hair and makeup, she tugged on a pair of heavy tights, then her new dress from the secondhand shop. It was soft emerald green wool and its hem ended just a few inches above her knees. Its long sleeves were a prudent choice as the manor was drafty. Even better, it fit her perfectly, its color doing lovely things for her complexion. Riley tugged the zipper up and adjusted the neckline and then put the earrings Beck had bought her in Edinburgh.
She did a twirl in front of the mirror. Hey, look at me!
Now it was time to show her off new outfit.
“Den... ?” she asked, walking into his room unannounced. “What do you think? Will this be okay?”
Beck stuck his head out of the bathroom, nervously adjusting a black bow tie. His eyes widened as he took her in. “You look so pretty.”
Which was exactly what she’d hoped he say.
Riley gave him a huge smile, which faltered the instant he stepped out of the bathroom. Besides the bow tie, he was wearing a fancy dress shirt and black waistcoat, topped by a black Bonnie Prince Charlie jacket. The kind Stewart wore on special occasions. But that wasn’t all.
He was wearing a kilt.
Her mouth dropped open in astonishment.
The kilt was made of fine red and black wool and he had the little extras to complete the outfit: the sporran, the flashes, and the sgian dubh, the short knife stuck in one of his knee-highs. His black shoes were highly polished.
Beck turned toward her, his expression worried. “What do you think? Do I look stupid?”
“Oh wow, I mean... ” Riley said. “You’re...” So hot.
“I look like a dork, don’t I? I was afraid of that,” Beck said, nervously tugging on the jacket now.
“You do not look like a dork,” Riley replied, moving closer. “You’re...” She took a deep breath to keep her mind from veering off into some seriously steamy fantasies, all of which involved them missing supper entirely.
Riley cupped his face, inhaling his aftershave. “I thought you were awesome before, but now you’re just...” She sighed. “You are sooo handsome, Den.”
He blinked in surprise, as if the idea had never crossed his mind. “Yer sure? I can wear somethin’ else.”
“No! You’re wearing that kilt. You are totally hot.” Scorching even. “Do we really have to go downstairs?”
“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “I know, but we have no choice. MacTavish wants our guests to meet me. And you, too.”
“Ohhhkay. Hold on, your tie’s crooked. Let me fix it for you.”
As she adjusted it, he relaxed even further.
“The tartan is from the Macpherson clan,” he explained. “Figured I should honor my gran’s people.”
Riley touched his cheek again. “You’re a really cool guy.”
“You know, maybe I shoulda worn this up on Arthur’s Seat,” he said. “Might have got a different answer.”
She winced and stepped back, putting distance between them. Whether it was on purpose or not, he’d ruined the moment with a reminder of just how bad she’d hurt him. Even if they did get married some day, would he always hold that one mistake over her head?
“We should be going,” she said, turning away, trying not to let the hurt show on her face.
“Riley,” he began, catching her arm. “God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Then why did you?
~ - ~ - ~
The druid was a middle-aged woman with bright red hair and a big smile. When Mrs. Scrimshaw took hold of Riley hand, it felt like the lady had offloaded a bunch of “feel good” pheromones.
“I’m so pleased to meet you,” Scrimshaw said, her accent neither English or Scottish. At Riley’s puzzled look, she added, “I’m Canadian.”
“Ah, got it. I hated to ask, you know?”
“I get that all the time.” Mrs. Scrimshaw turned to Beck, took in the full kilted package and beamed. “Well, grand masters are looking better every day. I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Beck.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Monsignor Lang greeted Riley politely, but he skipped the handshake. Besides that standard clerical garb, he had a luxuriant moustache and solemn brown eyes.
Did he know that she’d been grilled by the Vatican’s Demon Hunters? Or her involvement with a certain Fallen angel? There was no good way to ask those questions, so Riley just smiled in return.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Blackthorne,” Lang said. “I recently spoke with a friend of yours, a young man named Simon Adler.”
“Simon?” she said, surprised, looking over at Beck and then back to the priest. “He’s here in Scotland?” Lang nodded. “How is he? I haven’t gotten an e-mail from him for a while.” Which wasn’t unusual for her ex-boyfriend, so she hadn’t been terribly worried.
“He’s doing fairly well. I spoke with him about a month ago. He indicated that a period of contemplative prayer will be beneficial, so I made arrangements for him to go to Pluscarden Abbey, for a retreat. It’s a Benedictine monastery in northern Scotland. From what I gather, he’s still there.”
“Good, he’ll like that. I’m glad for him,” she said, meaning every word. “How did you meet him?” And why did he mention me?
“A representative of the Vatican asked if I could help Mr. Adler while he was here.”
The Vatican? Now that was interesting.
“Thanks for helping him. Simon’s a good guy.”
“Yeah, he is,” Beck said softly. “Hell was really hard on him.”
“It is on all of us,” the monsignor replied. His eyes moved back to Riley. “Some more than most.”
Riley intended to follow up on that comment, but was interrupted by someone calling out her name. She gritted her teeth. Not willing to risk offending the grand masters in any way, she reluctantly turned toward the approaching necromancer.
Fayne was in her mid-fifties, with dark hair and full lips, wearing a dark brown robe. She frankly assessed Riley like a jeweler would a rare diamond.
Biting the inside of her lip, Riley put on her “I’m here only because I have to be, so don’t push your luck” expression.
When the summoner offered to shake her hand, Beck intervened.
“Good to meet you, ma’am,” he said, intercepting the woman’s handshake. “I’m Denver Beck.”
“The new grand master?” she asked, studying him closely.
“Not yet, ma’am. I’m still workin’ toward that. It’s a long haul.”
“You actually killed an angel?” the woman asked, skepticism overlaying each word.
Her tone made Riley’s hackles rise.
“It was either that or it’d kill me,” Beck replied.
Fayne’s attention moved back to Riley and she stretched out her hand again.
Riley ignored it. Before it became even more awkward, Kepler interceded, guiding Fayne across the room to meet the druid. From the look on the necro’s face, she wasn’t pleased by the interruption.
“If it wasn’t for Mort, I’d never talk to another summoner again,” Riley murmured.
“Same here,” Beck agreed. “Since Simon’s in Scotland, I’ll try to catch up with him if I can. Buy him a beer. See how things are goin’.”
“If you do talk to him, tell him I’m thinking of him,” she replied.
“I will. Funny thing, down the line I’ll be spending some time at that monastery too.”
Riley blinked. “Why?”
“It’s during the last few weeks of a grand master’s trainin’. Kepler says that by then I’ll need some quiet time to work things out in my head.”
&nbs
p; “You? In a monastery? That outta be fun,” she said, rolling her eyes.
Beck frowned back. “A few months ago, I wouldn’t have done it. Now?” He nodded more to himself than her. “I think I’ll like it. It’ll be straightforward. So much of my life isn’t that way anymore.”
“You really have changed,” she said, looking up at him.
“Not so much on the outside,” he said.
She pointed at the kilt and he shrugged in acceptance.
“Well, maybe so.” Then his eyes slowly rose to meet hers. “Do you ... like ... the new me?”
There was so much turbulent emotion behind the question it drowned out everything around them.
“It’s taking a bit to get used to, but I do like the new Beck. I’m so proud of you,” she said.
He took her hand and kissed it. “Then there is still a chance for us?”
“I think so, if I can get my head straightened out.”
“Good.” He dropped a kiss on her cheek and then smiled. “Then let’s get this supper over with, so it’s just us two, okay?”
Riley’s cheeks warmed at what his husky tone implied.
After more social chitchat among the guests, which carefully avoided the twin minefields of politics and religion, the group headed for the formal dining room. It was spacious, and sported two fireplaces, one on each end of the long room. Unfortunately the majority of the heat headed directly toward the high ceiling and Riley’s feet and ankles didn’t like that.
As she gazed around, she realized the dining room sent two opposing messages: the long table was set with expensive bone china, elegant crystal and silverware, a fine welcome to any guest. In contrast, the walls were lined with swords and other implements of war, many arrayed in intricate fan shapes. It was a not-so-subtle reminder that their hosts could easily shift from hospitable, to lethal, if the situation warranted.
Walk softly and carry a really big sword.
She shot a look at Beck and he nodded ever so slightly to indicate he’d gotten the message as well. Since this evening, they’d been on the same wavelength, more like they had been in Atlanta. Riley prayed that would continue.
