Love Spell in London

by Shereen Vedam

  That glimpse of Jack lying prone and helpless, some of his limbs pointed in entirely the wrong direction, gave birth to a fresh thirst for vengeance. These humans and witches were under his protection. That should have ensured no one dared attack them. He had thought the greatest danger lay within the carriage, not without. A mistake, for which Jack was paying a painful price.

  His fury burned as he dismounted. Dewer’s behind still smarted as he strode toward that shimmering shield, which promised a second wallop if he attempted to cross it. He welcomed the hurt. He raised his arm and his staff swooped into his grip.

  “Where are you going?” his mother asked, arms linked with the witches. A curiously endearing picture. She never worked with anyone. Not even him. Would this day get any saner or was it doomed to spin into a fantasy world?

  “Devil!” His mother’s imperative tone ordered him to halt.

  Was there a tinge of worry there, too? Did she believe he was incapable of defeating Adramelech? His past action in choosing to stay in Adramelech’s custody had probably fortified that false assumption. Finally, he had a chance to correct her misimpression. “I go to resolve what you started, Mother.”

  A spell tingled on his tongue, his staff vibrated in his grip and the two bristling hellhounds were tight by his heels. The barrier shivered as he and the hellhounds stepped through, but this time, it did not sting.

  So, the baroness approved of his decision to attend to this demon. A proud smile lurked beneath his grim determination to end this fight.

  “None of these demon spawn can be allowed to leave here alive,” Dewer said to the hounds. “Understood?”

  The hellhounds growled and flashed their fangs.

  At their advance, the four remaining monster hornets retreated higher.

  Dewer twirled his staff and lightning sprang from it toward the two hounds. Leathery wings sprouted along their backs. Dewer, too, had painful protrusions extending from his back, a transformation he had performed many times in the underworld. In this upper world, however, where magic was restrained and only flew along certain channels, the eruptions on his back stung like Lady Mandell’s electric smack.

  A couple of hornets, perhaps sensing their imminent demise, broke away and fled in opposite directions.

  “Get them,” he ordered the hounds.

  “Do not hurt them.” Miss Adair’s distracted voice rose over the embankment. The hellhounds milled at his feet, whining with uncertainty as they glanced toward their new mistress. This was why he needed to wrest these two animals from her. They would be useless in London if they spent any more time in her caring company. He needed ruthless beasts, not soft-hearted puppies.

  “Finish them, Devil!” His mother’s counsel eerily echoed her years of teaching and his current plans. “Or they will wreak havoc here and Orlagh will banish me forever.”

  An intriguing outcome, but at what cost to this world?

  “She is right.” Lady Mandell’s hard voice shockingly matched his mother’s grim tone. “I am sorry, Grace, but human safety trumps your sentimentality.”

  No one was on the fair Miss Adair’s side on this matter. Tendrils of sympathy swirled in his chest. He quelled their influence even as they tried to sap his thirst to annihilate.

  The remaining pair of hornets took advantage of his distraction to dive for Farfur, giant stingers extended.

  Dewer instinctively aimed his staff and a bolt of energy ripped the hornet into pieces, splattering the hounds and him with bug entrails. Farfur whined, shaking himself. The last hornet zoomed toward the clouds, giving up the fight.

  “Come.” Dewer’s muscles bunched, ready for the hunt.

  At his signal, the hounds rose into the air with him, wings flapping. No hesitation this time. So, Miss Adair had given them permission to obey Dewer. He squirreled away that warm acceptance of her trust into a lonely part of his heart for later study.

  For now, he had three overgrown insects to find and squash - the two who had escaped earlier and that last one disappearing into the cloud cover. Gaze trained on that hornet’s stinger, he and the hounds sped upwards.

  A spray of water zipped passed him, misting his face.

  Chapter 6

  ALFRED, ONE OF DEATH’S envoys, was normally scheduled for work in the underworld. Today, a frantic summons from Ethel, one of his upper world counterparts, had brought him on this rare outing to Britain to collect five deceased souls.

  In his rush to comply, he skipped fashioning a body before posting here riding a horse. Then his silly mare had bucked, sending him tumbling to the ground because a pythos’s spirit crossed their path. One they had been expecting, too!

  He sent the skittish mare off with an annoyed flick of his wrist and retreated up here to this cumulus cloud to await the other four spirits. Below, rolling green hills were dotted white with sheep, the land cut in two by a lonely road. A carriage had stopped, and behind it, a battle raged between a warlock, two hellhounds and a swarm of monster hornets. Alfred sighed with pleasure. He loved a good fight in a pastoral setting.

  He shifted to ease his aching tailbone and retrieved his stone tablet from his satchel. Instantly, he spotted the new crack, stretching like a fault line after a terrible earthquake.

  He bit back a bitter oath. This was his third tablet and had been in his possession for less than a month. It still had that freshly minted scent and this new version had an hourglass that could tell time to the second a soul separated from its earthly vessel. A week ago, Ethel, who was centuries older, had bragged she still used her first tablet.

  At Alfred’s last request for a replacement, the inventory clerk at Death’s demesne had flashed him such a grim stare. Next time, Alfred was certain he would be told to record his notes on a pad of paper. It would be like being sent back to the Dark Ages. He shuddered, remembering that hectic time.

  “Dewer does not deserve his mother’s love.” Colin, the pythos that had scared Alfred’s mare, slithered to the cloud’s edge. The snake man seemed oblivious to the misfortune he had caused. “She cares dearly for her son’s welfare, yet he does naught but use and abuse us, her babies.”

  Resting his weary forehead against his scythe’s staff, Alfred gave his new little companion a long-suffering glance. “You know this from experience, I take it?”

  “He killed me, did he not, without a second’s hesitation? Once he told my friend Samuel that Adramelech tastes like baked potatoes sprinkled with sweetened coconut. Who lies like that? Where do you suppose Samuel is now?”

  “In a better place?” Alfred remembered that chubby little pythos. He checked his tablet and it flashed alarmingly, but then gave the required information. Twelve years ago, Adramelech had beheaded Samuel and a dozen of his brethren when they attempted to rescue Dewer. “Samuel is looking forward to your visit.”

  “Really?” The first sign of happiness suffused Colin’s cross little human face. “What are we waiting for?”

  “Four others are to join us.” Ethel had asked that Jack, a human, be delivered directly to her before Alfred ferried the others off.

  A torn piece of bloody hornet flew at them and Alfred jerked aside. The appendage missed him and landed on Colin.

  “Ew!” Colin shook himself and the offending orange limb slid off and through the cloud cover. “What was that?”

  “My right foreleg.” A hornet twice as tall as Alfred and ten times Colin’s length, fluttered his spiritual wings as he settled to their right. Two others like him joined them, stirring a breeze.

  “Heard your father abandoned you lot.” Colin’s lips twisted with contempt. “My mother would never do that.”

  “Not wise to throw stones, Colin,” Alfred said in gentle reprimand. He did not care for show-offs, and pythos were as notorious for boasting, as they were for their unholy appetites.

  “Our father did not wish to harm the boy.” The first giant hornet to land said, sounding offended. “That is why he left us.”

  “He began this fight,�
�� Colin said, but in a gentler tone.

  “He was invited here,” the hornet corrected and then leaned closer to whisper, “by the lad’s mother.”

  “To kill her son?” Alfred asked, confused. That was pretty low, even for a dark fae.

  “Capture, sir, not kill. We were to keep him safe. His prison is all comfy and tidy. I swept it myself this morning. Over the years, Dewer’s mother has been ever so grateful for our father’s tutelage of the brat on matters of survival.” He consulted with the other hornets, buzzing fiercely. Then he turned back to Alfred. “The boys agree. Father is probably strategizing right this minute on how to ensure Dewer is not killed while he attempts to reach London.”

  “Ah!” Alfred said. Trouble was definitely brewing in Town then, which explained why Ethel had called him in.

  The cloud before them parted and a water goddess zipped through and came to a startled, misty, halt.

  “Mistress Llyn?” Moisture beings always fascinated Alfred and he could not tear his gaze from this one’s curvy and drizzly form. In fact, he had been following this particular water goddess’s activities for months. His ear holes smoked at seeing her in person instead of illegally spying on her through his tablet. She was supposed to be in Bristol today.

  “Death?” She sounded frazzled. “Why are you here?”

  She saw him as nothing more than a basic reaper. Disappointment sank in. Then Alfred recalled he lacked a body. What a time to get caught naked! He pulled his hood up.

  “Is it time for Papa to meet you?” she asked.

  Britain’s Water God was not his jurisdiction so he consulted his tablet. A million dots of light spotted the surface like a raging snowstorm. His skull burned hot with shame. He frantically shook the tablet. The stone surface went fuzzy, as if a fog had moved in. His ribs rattled in panic, and he envisioned eons writing with a pencil. Llyn would never notice him then.

  Please let it work, he prayed. The tablet cleared, filling with tiny ancient script. He breathed in sheer relief. “Not yet, Mistress. You had best hurry.”

  “Bother!” Without a backward glance, Llyn sped off.

  Alfred’s joy at coming to the upper world evaporated. All he wanted was to go home and crawl under his covers. With his rotten luck, he probably could no longer follow her adventures on his damaged tablet either.

  In the next moment, Dewer, with two hellhounds at his heels, broke through the clouds and sped off in the same direction as Llyn. Alfred’s sigh was green with envy.

  A discreet bell tolled, drawing his attention to his tablet. The hour glass beside Jack’s name flipped over and began counting again. “Our last guest has received a reprieve. Time to leave.”

  He stood, defeat weighing him down until he was ankle-deep in a cloud. A tap of his scythe and he and his party winked out of the upper world.

  The cumulus cloud rumbled, as if annoyed by all the recent intrusions. Rain fell.

  “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?” Grace’s mother asked, sliding down the bank. “Do not hurt them, indeed! Those hornets are dangerous, not only to us but to humans.”

  As if to emphasize her mother’s exasperation, thunder rumbled and the light drizzle turned into a downpour. The blood stains on the soggy green grass became a rosy puddle.

  Her mother’s rapid descent over muddy ground came to a skidding halt on the wet gully beside the roadway. Holding her skirts up, Lady Mandell kept herself from tripping, but her hems were thoroughly muddy and she was soaked through.

  It dawned on Grace then that it was raining, and the water had penetrated the protective shield.

  “What has happened to the barrier?” she asked, though she was more concerned her mother had left her grandmother alone with Burns. As for her patient, her work here was done. All of his wounds were mended, though it would take him days for all of his bruises and torn muscles to properly heal. A bit of rain would not harm him.

  “With Adramelech gone and Dewer chasing the remaining hornets, we deemed it no longer necessary to waste of all our energy keeping it up. Burns is tending to it on her own.”

  We? Our? Her mother sounded as if she trusted Burns in that role. Only this morning she had been raving that she would never countenance that dark fae becoming part of their family. “Where is Grandmamma?”

  “Resting. Grace, do not distract me. Those demon hornets could have killed your precious hellhounds.” Standing arms akimbo, her mother glared. “I thought you were fond of them.”

  Grace quickly checked to see if the humans had heard. Peter’s attention was on his unconscious brother, Jack. The fact her mother openly mentioned hellhounds showed how upset she must be. Then again, while assisting her, Peter had been exposed to more astonishing feats than simply talk of supernatural animals.

  A twinge of regret speared Grace for upsetting her mother. She leaned back on her folded limbs and sighed.

  Luckily, Grace’s work here was done. Jack was finally resting easy, all his limbs properly set, his wounds sealed and his breathing steady.

  Peter, his dripping face wreathed in worry, stroked Jack’s forehead and then slipped a hand over his nose as if to verify he breathed, though Jack’s chest rising and falling steadily attested to that fact.

  “He will be well enough to ride behind the carriage within a week,” Grace promised.

  Peter’s earnest gaze met hers with profound gratitude. He had been as tense as she during that procedure to straighten mangled limbs and repair lungs that gurgled.

  The warmth of his thankfulness worked its way into Grace’s cold stiff body.

  “Time to move him into the carriage,” Grace said, rising to her feet. “Lay him on the empty seat across from Lady Westerly.”

  “Yes, miss.” Peter eagerly lifted Jack in his arms.

  She stepped out of his way, finally noting her state of disrepair. She was as filthy with blood stains and dirt as the groom and her patient.

  She was too drained to lift a finger to fix her appearance, even if that meant presenting a dismal picture to Dewer. What was the point, after all? As her mother had rightfully intimated earlier with her scornful, “What were you thinking?”

  A defeated sigh escaped her lips at her sorry state. Her pitiful plea to Dewer to not kill those hornets should have totally damned her in his eyes, as any kind of suitable mate for him. No self-respecting warlock brought up in the underworld, and tutored by Burns, would countenance a wife who was squeamish about killing.

  She wanted to scream that she was not that woman. At least, she had not been, once. Yes, she healed the sick, but as a child she had never cringed from stomping on spiders that intruded into her room, swatting flies that threatened to sip her soup, or use wriggling worms as bait for trout or pilchard before gleefully handing her catch to Cook to dress for dinner.

  When had she changed into a woman who healed injured fish, felt sorrow for unhappy eels and defended demon spawn?

  In a flash, she remembered the moment her life had been altered.

  Earlier this spring, the waters of the Laneast wishing well had splashed her. Ever since that instant, she had begun to care about all life forms to an extraordinary degree. Warmth flooded at the memory, at its implication, and its consequence. At the same moment, all of her hopes of stealing Dewer’s love away from Merryn withered.

  As she was now, she would never fit into Dewer and his mother’s brutal world, where life was expendable. She faced her mother, her body shivering. Shock set in, as much from fatigue as from the cold rain and this new revelation.

  “You are exhausted.” Her mother’s tone softened with compassion and she extended an elbow.

  Grace accepted her offer in silence, out of words to excuse her conduct and needing her mother’s help if she hoped to make it up that wet, slippery slope to the roadway.

  Once they reached the gravelly path, her mother’s gaze was drawn toward Grace’s grandmother, who was slumped on the ground. Next to the older witch, Burns’s attention remained on the shield for which she was now so
lely responsible.

  “I have given Dewer back his hounds, Mama, so there is no more need to scold me.” Grace released her arm, giving her mother tacit permission to attend to Grace’s grandmother.

  “You and I must speak of this hellhound business.”

  They were beside the carriage where Lady Westerly’s avid attention was divided between Jack, whom Peter carried inside, and Grace and her mother’s presence outside the open carriage door.

  Since their vehicle had stopped, not one word of protest had come from this normally talkative countess. Now Grace thought on it, neither had Peter questioned her actions to mend his brother’s broken body.

  A sweep of her mother’s arm and the carriage door began to swing shut. The countess’s hand shot out and stopped that attempt to close her in, excluding her from supernatural matters. With a determined set to her lips, the lady ordered Peter to help her outside.

  “Best if you stay within, Lady Westerly,” Grace’s mother said in a patient but firm tone.

  “You obviously wish to speak with your daughter,” Countess Westerly said with a proud tilt of her head as she stepped down. “Just as obvious is that your brave mother needs someone to support her after her extraordinary efforts to protect us. I shall see to that.”

  The countess went over to Grace’s grandmother and, with a bit of assistance from the groom, sat and draped an arm around the elderly witch.

  Burns frowned at them but then returned her focus to the sky, scanning for signs that Adramelech or his hornets might be returning.

  Grace’s mother steered her toward the back of the carriage and out of ear shot of those who were magically-impaired. “Remember last year when we learned humans in Callington were more attuned to fae and Wyhcan activities than any witch ever suspected?” her mother whispered. “That might be the case along this south-western stretch of England, too. Now, tell me what convinced you to release the hounds to Dewer. Just so he could deal with those overgrown hornets?”