Love Spell in London

by Shereen Vedam

  A tired smile twisted Grace’s lip. What convinced you to finally act sensibly? That was at the crux of her mother’s question. “Not for this one mission, Mama. I have given them back to him permanently.”

  Her mother’s eyes widened. “Explain.”

  “They are his to command from this day forward.”

  Her mother’s surprise changed to suspicion.

  No wonder. Grace had staunchly refused to return the hounds to their owner, so to simply give him total control now probably seemed uncharacteristic. Especially since, after he dealt with the hornets, her gift meant he would no longer have to ingratiate himself to any of them.

  “He needs those hounds more than I ever suspected, Mama. They can give him unconditional love and loyalty.”

  Her mother’s frown grew more defined on her forehead. “How did you come to that conclusion? I shall set aside a hellhound’s love for anyone. Nothing Burns said this day was news. We all assumed Dewer’s childhood must have been lonely, yet you never felt this need to return his hounds.”

  “I believed he led a lonely life, yes, but not a tortuous one. Not that he once possessed a tender heart. Or was being groomed to shut out all semblance of love in his life.”

  As they walked, her mother’s gown shed dirt and moisture and a large parasol spread open overhead, suspended without a natural means of support, protecting them from the pattering rain. A luxury her mother could now afford to spend. “Grace, he was brought up in the underworld. What did you think his life was like among its unholy denizens?”

  Grace stopped the flow of her objection to that presupposition. Must everyone who lived in the underworld be considered evil? Were not all living things the Creator’s creatures? She halted her racing thoughts. Who am I? She shook off that perplexing question and focused on Dewer. “Mama, we knew his mother was overprotective. Not that she would have treated him so foully.”

  “She did what she did to safeguard him,” her mother said with a small smile that hinted at admiration for Burns caring enough to want to protect her child.

  Was her mother defending Burns’s actions? Grace crossed her arms. “Irrelevant.”

  “Apparently,” her mother conceded, “since her teachings have not taken root, if he is interested in you.”

  “Do you think he is?” She cringed at how needy that sounded.

  “Do you doubt it?” her mother asked in a scoffing tone. “Everyone saw the way he brushed your cheek.”

  “Everyone?”

  “Except Lady Westerly. Dewer pierced through our shield to reach you. His magic thrummed so loud I am surprised the countess, too, did not sense its presence.” Her mother drew them to a halt and studied Grace with a questioning frown. “Not that I approve of this match, Grace, but unlike my other girls, you have never doubted your appeal to men. Why do you now question it with Dewer?”

  She touched her cheek, remembering his caress, and a warm glow lit in her tired heart. “This time it is different.”

  “How so?”

  “This time I want him to want me, Mama.”

  Her mother brushed Grace’s bonnet and dirt flew off. She then lifted Grace’s gown at her shoulders and the filth and water weighing it down fell away, while a pleasant lavender fragrance rose up. “An unwise wish.”

  Grace shut her eyelids before tears gave way. Her emotions were too raw and she was too weary to hold back much longer.

  Her mother’s arms embraced her then and waves of strength flowed into Grace. As she had accepted her mother’s elbow to climb up the side of the road, she now leaned into her hold, reveling in the warm reviving energy her mother so generously shared. Finally, she felt stronger and more resilient.

  “Getting back to the hellhounds,” her mother said, pulling away, “I remain confused. I grant that Dewer might be in need of affection, but how does returning the hellhounds help that cause? Better to give him a real puppy. Though it would not last long once he returned to his mother’s kingdom.”

  Grace spilled what she had been suspecting for most of this day, since she first entered her drawing room this morning and spotted Dewer petting Farfur’s forehead. “I believe Farfur and Dewer have bonded. As master and familiar.”

  “Impossible.” Her mother shook her head. “Even if Dewer knew how to bond with a familiar, which is debatable-”

  “Why is that in doubt?” Grace asked.

  “Because Wyhcan boys come into the ability to bond with a familiar around eight years of age. Dewer is four and twenty and to my knowledge, he has never bonded with an animal. Also, if Farfur was Dewer’s familiar, he would have never given him up, no matter how miserable he felt.”

  “I did not say Farfur was always his familiar, Mama, I am saying he is now. This is a recent occurrence. While Farfur was in my custody.”

  “That, too, is nonsense. Such bonds involve a melding of body, mind and spirit, and needs the assistance of an older warlock learned in the ways of forming such intricate links. Dewer has been with us for less than a day and Farfur and Bartos have been with you the whole while. Also, all of that aside, Dewer would never choose Farfur for his familiar.”

  “Why not? Farfur is a perfectly wonderful hound.”

  “Hellhound, Grace. Legend says Lilith, Lucifer’s consort, created such killing beasts as her companions, and they have flourished in the underworld ever since, often commandeered by demons and dark fae during forays into the upper world. Hellhounds, and all such creatures born of the dark, lack a spirit with which a warlock could link.”

  “Yet, the bond has happened,” Grace said, with tight-lipped stubbornness. She was no longer certain about this witches’ theory that hellhounds lacked spirit. Grace sensed there was something more to Bartos and Farfur than flesh and bones, and if so, why not in those hornets, too?

  Convincing her mother of that possibility would be difficult, so she retreated to where she had firmer footing. “I believe this bond is connected to our splashing at Laneast. The well water healed Bartos,” changed me, “and I am now certain it bonded Farfur to Dewer.”

  “Grace...”

  “It felt like a baptism, Mama. Aside from being wet – an everyday occurrence – that dousing left me refreshed.” She now cringed from killing anything.

  “With no pastor present to perform the blessing?” Her mother rolled her eyes. “I begin to suspect you slept through all of your church services. What is the purpose of baptism?”

  “Forgiveness of sin,” Grace murmured.

  “Exactly. Animals do not need baptisms because they have nothing to be forgiven. They are not subject to the original sin.” Her eyes widened as understanding dawned.

  “Yes, Mama, I believe the two hellhounds may have been forgiven their conception in the underworld. What is more, the intent of that Laneast splashing may not have been to merely heal Bartos, as I requested, but also to enable Farfur to bond with his master.”

  “Why?” her mother whispered. “Why would binding Dewer to this hellhound be so important?”

  “Who knows what the Creator has in mind for any of us, but I do know that the Laneast well is occasionally gifted with special powers. Bartos was healed.” She admitted the recent change in her. “I feel more connected to all living things. Else I would not have objected to Dewer killing those demon hornets. Even I have more sense than to save every living thing, or I used to. As for Farfur, have you not noticed how inordinately fond he seems of Dewer?”

  “As are you,” her mother said. “Are you saying . . .”

  “Not me.” Grace then confessed what she had refused to admit even to herself. “Truth be told, Mama, my attachment to Dewer began the moment I set eyes on him.”

  “Does he know? About Farfur?”

  “I doubt it. Since he was brought up in the underworld without any warlock influence, he might not even know what it feels to be bonded with an animal.”

  “But why?” her mother’s tone was skeptical as she searched the sky for the hellhounds. Heaven was layered with
dark clouds that hid all signs of the hounds, Dewer, and the hornets they tracked. Her worried gaze returned to Grace. “Do you plan to share your theory with Dewer?”

  “Yes, but he may not be amenable to the concept. While I healed his footman, Joy mentioned that underworld creatures have been spotted in London and the Warlock Council is sending Dewer there to help quell that crisis. He plans to use the hounds as his weapons. If, in that battle, Farfur is killed, and if the two are linked, that abruptly broken connection might irreversibly harm Dewer.”

  “That cannot be allowed to happen,” Burns said in a harsh voice from directly behind them.

  DEVLIN CHASE DEWER broke through the cloud cover and found two of Adramelech’s three hornets huddled together.

  “Farfur, locate the missing one,” he said. “Bartos,” he added, when the second hound followed Farfur, “stay.”

  The two hornets spotted him and split up, flying in opposite directions.

  “Take that one.” He pointed for Bartos and then chased after the other.

  Dewer smoothly closed in on his prey, whispering a spell of confinement.

  The hornet swung around, terror clear in its gaze as if it sensed the invisible net Dewer closed around it.

  A cloud overhead shifted, forming into a funnel directly above the hornet. Then, with a swooshing sound, it sucked the hornet up and Dewer’s shimmering net closed over nothing.

  The funnel opening then sealed to form an impenetrable barrier firmly trapping the hornet within. A terrified keen came from inside the cloud funnel. The sides of the cloud bumped out in different spots as if the prisoner within frantically attempted to escape, only to have each try thwarted.

  He pointed his staff at the funnel cloud and let loose a thunderbolt. The cloud formed a hole and his shot of energy sailed through harmlessly. The hole sealed up. The funnel cloud then began to advance toward Bartos. That hellhound had been effectively herding the other hornet toward Dewer. The audacious funnel was after a second stolen prize.

  Dewer flew to block its path and fired a series of flaming arrows at this fluffy white target. Most of his arsenal sailed through the elusive cloud but one shot seared the bottom edge of the white barrier.

  The funnel screeched in indignation in a feminine voice as two blue eyes blazed in its midst. “Stand down, sir!”

  “Then release my quarry.” Dewer’s wand thrummed, as he loaded it to deliver a fresh pounding.

  “Why? So that you can kill it as you did the others?”

  “What business is that to you?” he countered.

  “I require this one and the other two alive to win a witch’s favor,” the cloud replied.

  That set him back. He lowered his staff, allowing its energy to thrum quietly and asked, “Would this witch whose favor you court be Miss Grace Elizabeth Adair?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  The coy question confirmed Dewer’s guess. With a sigh of resignation, he admitted to his folly. “Because then we would be on the same mission, my lady cloud. As such, may I beg an introduction?”

  The funnel swelled to twice its size. “I am Llyn Gwel Annwn, Water Goddess of Wales.”

  “And I am. . .”

  “A rude warlock who dares to kill innocent hornets that Miss Adair treasures.”

  At that far-fetched portrayal of his character, he had to chuckle. Just when he had been attempting to do the opposite, too. “I doubt she treasures them since they were trying to kill her hellhounds.”

  “She clearly ordered you not harm the hornets, and yet, here you are, bent on that very task.”

  “I plan to capture and then return them to the underworld.”

  “Oh,” she said in a mollified tone, her size diminishing along with her ire. Now she had thinned, the hornet inside her became visible, buzzing around as it tried to escape. Watching how effectively she held that hornet trapped, gave Dewer an idea.

  He extinguished the last remaining energy in his staff and said, “Since we are on a similar mission, perhaps we can assist each other.”

  “You could order your hellhounds to give me the other two hornets.”

  “I might, if you help me to dispose of them.”

  “I will not kill them!”

  “If I were to open a gate to the underworld, could you plug the hole and shoot them through in the same way you suctioned them up? To ensure nothing from the other side has a chance to escape while I hold the door open.”

  This was a better plan than the one he had come up with earlier - enlisting his mother’s aid in the transfer. The problem with that was, like any fae, his mother never did a favor, not even for her son, without bartering a prize in return. Then he would have to live with her carping about the foolishness of wanting to please another witch.

  Llyn went still as she considered his offer. In her cloud form, she could have been a painting instead of the real thing. Then she shifted and said, “This seems to be a one-sided deal. If I agree, you win the witch’s favor, not I. What do I gain through this exchange?”

  Now she considered saving the hornets was only his cause! Typical fae misdirection. However, if a better bargain was what she wanted, he did have something to offer.

  Fact: One must be crystal clear when bargaining with a fae.

  Or, in this case, a deity. According to his mother, gods were trickier and more ruthless than fae.

  “How about in exchange for an introduction to Miss Adair?” he asked.

  “Agreed!” Among the cloud, Llyn’s lips appeared, tilting up in a smile. Then, a puff of white transformed into a blue undulating limb that extended toward him.

  Dewer had to force himself to not retreat from what looked more like a squid’s glistening tentacle than a feminine limb. Finally, bemused, he shifted his staff to his left hand and extended his right to seal their deal. Would that flap at the end of the tentacle feel as slimy as it seemed?

  Instead of slipping into his outstretched hand, she whipped her tentacle under his sleeve, wrapping it around his forearm and held tight in a punishing grip. Energy shot up his arm and into his neck, then flared out like a lightning strike through the rest of his body and head.

  A trick?

  As quickly as her touch connected, she withdrew, as if this water goddess found contact with him as unsettling as her silky wet grip had been to him. His staff vibrated, spitting sparks. He rolled up his sleeve to check his forearm and found that where that tentacle had momentarily gripped his upper forearm, his skin was pale, and then blue lines appeared, forming an intricate pattern, like a painted bracelet just below his elbow. The design pulsed, tingling along his skin and sparking his nerve ends.

  “What is that?” he demanded, suspicion rife.

  “A trick my brother taught me, to link to a human, so we may remain tied for the duration of a transaction.”

  “I’m not human!”

  “Oh, right. I forgot.”

  As insults went, that one was as punishing as her hold had been. “Our bargain ends as soon as this lot is returned to the underworld,” Dewer said, “and I have introduced you to Miss Adair. That hardly necessitates a branding.”

  “Such a transaction might require more than one conversation.” The goddess’s coy tone was back in full force.

  He had meant only one swift introduction. However, an agreement had been made. He flexed his arm, which prickled where that bracelet had been seared into his skin. Damping down his unease at what now appeared to be a protracted agreement, he nodded acceptance, and rolled down his sleeve, hoping he had not landed himself and Miss Adair in more trouble than either could handle.

  He mentally ordered the hellhounds to shepherd the two remaining hornets this way. “You will need to expand to the size of your opening to ensure nothing escapes while we shunt the hornets through to the underworld.”

  Llyn swooped around him and sucked up the two hornets. Then she returned to his side, with Farfur and Bartos winging their way behind her. “I am ready.”

  “Guard,”
Dewer said to the hellhounds. “No one must escape out to the upper world.” If something did escape past the funnel cloud, the hellhounds must deal with it until after he closed the gate and was free to offer assistance. Dread hammered in his chest and perspiration beaded his forehead as he began the ritual to open a forbidden gateway into his mother’s world.

  The air shimmered and in the distance, thunder rumbled.

  Chapter 7

  “LET ME OUT!” GAIRN, one of Adramelech’s hornets, shouted. He zigzagged inside the cloud, looking for an escape route. “I promise to behave.”

  The bottom of the cloud suddenly elongated downward and at the far end of that tunnel, the cloud spread apart, forming a thinning layer where the blue sky became visible.

  “Oh, thank you!” He flew toward that slim escape hatch. “You will not regret this mercy.”

  The air swirled about him the closer he came to the tempting opening, finally pushing him backward until he was flung away. Just as he regained his balance and made another try, a second hornet was sucked inside and slammed into him.

  “Ouch.” Gair pushed the new invader back. “Bryce, it is me, you idiot. Stop stinging me.”

  “What happened?” Bryce asked, flying off in different directions. “Where are we? Why can I not get out?”

  “We are inside a bloody-minded cloud with a terrible sense of humor,” Gair muttered, and stretched his delicate wings wide to unkink them from Bryce bowling into him.

  “I feel dizzy.”

  “You are acting as if you lack a grain of sense,” Gair said. “We must strategize a way out of here.”

  Air continued to stream inward, sweeping a third hornet toward them. Bryce and Gair fled to the side as Euan zipped by, and then the funnel’s opening shut.

  “This bodes ill, Gair,” Bryce said.

  “Truly, Bryce?” Gair asked with deep sarcasm.

  “Yes, because Dewer’s hellhounds had both Euan and myself trapped. He would never have given us up to this cloud without a fight unless he thought this cloud would kill us for him. He has hated us ever since we played stinger-tag with him and he swelled up like a full bladder–”