Love Spell in London

by Shereen Vedam

  “He cannot do so every time,” Grace said with deep regret. His wish to please her had almost resulted in Llyn’s death. The reminder sent a painful prick into Grace’s heart. The matter was worse than Llyn realized. Especially if what she had learned from Death’s envoy, Alfred, proved to be true. Yet, why would he lie about such an incredible tale?

  According to Alfred, Jonas Pendravan – Grace’s cousin and Merryn’s older brother – was not dead at all, as her family had presumed for the past decade. He was still alive and held a prisoner in the underworld. The news had been shocking. She remembered playing with Jonas when they were all children. He was a little older than her. If this news was true, what a horror of a life he must have led.

  Once they learned what really happened to Jonas, Grace’s family, and especially Merryn, would attempt to smash through the gates of Hell itself to rescue him. It would mean full scale war, where many would die in the attempt. She shuddered at the vision forming in her mind of that fight. Perhaps even Grace’s mother and sisters, and most certainly Merryn might die. The Coven Protectress had been blaming Dewer, his mother and herself for her parents and brother’s demise for years. This news would certainly devastate Grace’s coven, which was finally beginning to recover after the fae attack at Callington.

  In her current state, after the Laneast well’s interference, Grace could not countenance setting such carnage in motion. This was why she had not immediately sent news to her mother about this intelligence. For the past day, as they travelled in this dorey and Dewer lay asleep on her lap, Grace had been forming one plan after another about what she should do, and discarded all but one. That one refused to release its fierce grip on her scruff. If Jonas was indeed alive, there was really only one option open. Grace must find the lad herself and return him to Merryn and Aunt Morwena.

  Once she settled to that conclusion, plans on how she could affect that outcome had been swirling in her mind. The trouble was, she might need help and the perfect person to ask for that assistance now lay unconscious on her lap. Except if Dewer learned of her plans, he might try to stop her, or worse, go on the rescue mission himself.

  After all, he had a bone in this fight. What better way to finally win back Merryn’s favor than by retrieving the brother she had loved and lost, especially since she blamed Dewer for that loss. The moment he crossed into the underworld in search of Jonas, Grace was sure that his mother would know. What if she moved Jonas from where Alfred had said he was being held?

  No, this must be a stealth mission. Get in and get out without anyone being the wiser. Could she achieve that?

  Without Dewer’s help, Grace’s first obstacle would be to find a way to cross the dangerous threshold to the underworld. In the last few minutes, a bold idea had been forming to address that delicate problem. If what the water god had said about creatures from that dark realm crossing over into his waters was accurate, perhaps there lay the very opening Grace needed.

  She absently stroked Dewer’s forehead. She needed to discuss what she was planning with someone. If she failed, then a second assault would need to be made to rescue Jonas, even if that meant a full-scale war with the underworld. Her cousin must not be left to suffer down there any longer.

  In lieu of speaking with her mother, or Dewer, about Jonas’s rescue, Grace glanced at Llyn. As an opening gambit to the difficult discussion, she said, “I suspect Alfred cares about you.”

  “Alfred who?” Llyn asked.

  “Death’s envoy, the one I spoke to in your father’s chamber. His name was Alfred. He seemed quite nice. Quite taken with you.”

  Llyn stared at her in silence and then looked off into the watery horizon, a small smile playing about her lips.

  “You knew,” Grace said, surprised.

  “Not his name. He has never introduced himself. I have sensed him watching me.” She glanced at Grace with troubled eyes. “Father would never allow me to form a tendre for one in the underworld. My father can be quite severe. He had my brother conscripted to serve a Druid for centuries simply because Llyr disobeyed him once.”

  “Still, you must like Alfred. You remember him.”

  “He is silly. Clumsy. Shy. Also, thoroughly adorable.” Llyn’s merry glance met Grace’s and then her humor died. “My recent trip to the underworld proved how unsuitable he would be for me. As that fae/warlock is for you.”

  Here was her opening. She stroked Dewer’s hair. “Dewer might be more unsuitable than even I had surmised.”

  “How so?” Llyn asked.

  “Alfred knew you would feel indebted to me for saving your father’s life, and he wished to free you of that obligation by revealing a secret that would assist me.”

  “That was unnecessary,” Llyn said with a frown. “What you have done for my father can never be repaid. Both Llyr and I will be indebted to you for life. As will my father. No bit of news from the underworld can make up for what you have done for our family.”

  “This did,” Grace said. “You can consider our slate clean. Alfred brought news that my cousin is still alive, and being held captive in the underworld by Dewer’s mother.”

  “No!”

  Dewer stirred on Grace’s lap.

  Thrilled to see him recover, Grace nevertheless, placed a finger to her lips to warn Llyn to keep silent.

  Looking thoroughly shaken, the water goddess nodded.

  With a relieved sigh, Grace turned her attention to Dewer. “Are you well, Mr. Dewer?” she asked gently.

  He blinked his unbelievably lush eyelashes and his black eyes focused on her. They instantly softened, melting her insides and sending tingles shooting down to her toes.

  Where earlier she had not thought twice about cradling his head on her lap during the whole day’s journey, now she was profoundly aware of his intimately close and enormously large presence, along with his wonderfully masculine fragrance. When he sat up, likely unconsciously, he braced himself by resting his right hand on her knee!

  DEWER AWOKE TO FIND himself within kissing distance of the delectable Grace Adair, in time to see her withdraw her finger from her full lips. His heart was thundering and it took him a moment to realize why. It wasn’t their close proximity, but that his clasp on Miss Adair’s knee was – its own accord –inching upward. He swiftly removed his recalcitrant hand and promptly lost his balance, falling forward over her until his face was planted squarely over her soft bosom.

  “My apologies,” he muttered into her wonderfully rose-scented flesh. Mortified at so flagrant a violation of her person, he rapidly distanced himself. The boat tipped backward along with him and he would have fallen overboard if she had not wrapped her arms around his midriff and hugged him closer.

  “Careful!” she said.

  “Hold on, we are entering the Thames,” the water goddess said. Their dorey’s speed increased and they were swept into the faster moving river.

  By the time the vessel settled into a steady flow in a vastly more populated waterway, Dewer was sitting on the bottom of the boat with a sexy witch on his lap, making him wish they were alone in a bedroom under warm sheets.

  A wave of cold water came over the side and drenched the two of them.

  “Sorry,” the water goddess said. Her mischievous grin suggested the splash had been well-aimed and perfectly timed.

  Still, it was a drenching he desperately needed. He bit back an oath and mouthed a Thank you to the water goddess.

  Miss Adair disappeared from within his arms and the weight of the boat tilted backwards. Then from behind, she said, “I am so glad you are awake, sir.”

  He turned to discover her seated a respectable three rows behind, looking dry and properly covered in a fresh new cornflower-blue pelisse that draped her from head to toe. Or it would have been respectable if the top half were not so tight it looked like a second skin, delineating her every delectable curve. The lady might be proper, but she was not shy.

  With a flick of his hands he dried himself and his clothing, and then se
arched for his staff. No sooner did he think about Kemp than it appeared in his hand. It felt different though, lighter, smoother in appearance as if it had lain underwater for a couple of centuries. “What happened to this?”

  “Your staff?” Miss Adair asked. “Why, nothing. It was you we were worried about since you have been unconscious for the past twenty-four hours.”

  Dewer digested that troublesome news while he turned his alder staff around and noted new markings along its surface. The curves and vines looked oddly familiar, and then he recalled the branding Llyn had given him. These lines were a perfect match to the designs now adorning his right forearm. An arm that no longer pained him as if the water god were trying to dismember Dewer. That foul experience had felt akin to Adramelech’s pets’ stings.

  “Perhaps whatever the water god did to you, transferred to your staff?” Miss Adair said with a frown.

  Dewer glanced at the water goddess for confirmation but that lady simply shrugged. “I do not know what my father did to you or your staff, sir. Both my brother and I have tried to contact him to inquire about his intentions but he refuses to answer.” She pointed to Dewer’s right arm. “I have also tried to remove my link to you, but the markings now appear permanent and no longer just of my making. I am so sorry for the trouble I and my family have imposed on you.”

  “Is this what you two were discussing when I awoke?” he asked, remembering Miss Adair’s forefinger pressed to her oh-so-kissable lips.

  At the resultant silence, he glanced from one female to the next. Miss Adair refused to meet his gaze and the water goddess looked tight-lipped and guilty. With a heavy sigh, he shifted to sit with his back to the side so he could gain a clearer view of the two ladies.

  “Trust is a difficult commodity,” Dewer said in a soft tone that belied his dread that history was repeating itself. “In fact, I doubt anyone of my acquaintance fully trusts me. Not my mother. Not even my servants, Peter and Jack, even though we have known each other since we were children and they are unquestionably loyal to me.” Definitely not Merryn Pendraven. Not after his mother stole and killed the Coven Protectress’s brother in a bid to nip Dewer’s burgeoning fascination with the young witch. Merryn’s parents even died trying to protect their boy. His mother’s malicious and thoughtless acts had transformed his faint fascination with Merryn into an obsession, to the detriment of all three of them.

  He shook off that sad episode from his young life and speared Miss Adair with a grim look, daring her to be different than everyone else in his life.

  Fact: Chasing after someone who did not wish to be caught was a colossal waste of time and energy.

  Which brought up the elusive question: did Miss Adair wish to be caught, or was her flirting simply as a game? “I trust you, Miss Adair. Will you show me the same courtesy?”

  A faint blush spread across her beautiful cheeks and she pressed her lips tight as if afraid to speak. The silence drew on.

  “You need help,” the water goddess said in a gentle voice. “If you mean to do as you say, who better than Mr. Dewer to assist you?”

  She was planning something foolhardy. Dewer’s heart squeezed in terror that this young witch was about to get herself killed and he would not be there to save her. He wanted to shout, I will watch your back, just give me a chance, but the words clogged his throat like roiling serpents.

  Trust me!

  The silence in the dorey stretched so tautly, it vibrated.

  Disappointed leached into Dewer. It shocked him how badly he had wanted her to rely on him. To want him. Why?

  Instantly, Farfur appeared in his mind’s eye, wagging his tail and gazing at Miss Adair like a love-sick puppy instead of the full-grown lethal hellhound that he was.

  Where have you been? Dewer snapped silently, realizing that he had missed the hound.

  Farfur looked back toward him but his searching glance skimmed blindly past Dewer before returning his attention to Miss Adair. Then with a soft confused whine, he vanished.

  Fear overtook Dewer’s regret about Miss Adair’s distrust, as pieces of this puzzle fit into place. His memory loss about events after the water god’s attack. Kemp appearing physically changed. Farfur not seeing him. The latter hurt as if Dewer’s arm had indeed been sliced off. Yet, the hound had come looking for him. He and Farfur must still be tied, but something interfered with their connection.

  Dewer was about to call the hound again when Miss Adair distracted him by raising her beautiful slim arms high above her head. A glowing sheet rose from the water, scattering droplets as it sealed into a dome overhead, cocooning their boat and the eel swimming beside them from the outside world.

  She met his worried gaze with worry. “No one can be privy to what we are about to discuss, sir, not my family or yours. You cannot share any of what we are about to discuss with your mother.”

  “My mother is not my keeper.” Dewer said, but a delighted smile built in his gut that she was about to confide in him. She was unique after all. If she were still sitting on his lap, he would have kissed her. That reminded him of another odd piece of this day’s puzzle. When he awoke, his hand had been inching up Miss Adair’s leg.

  Though he certainly wished to explore her delectable body, he would never presume to do so without her permission. If not his, then whose intention had prompted his hand to caress her knee, and then skim upward? Like Kemp and Farfur, was he, too, not entirely himself? If he were not, then perhaps Miss Adair was right to hesitate in placing her trust in him.

  When she would have spoken, he raised a hand in warning. “We may not be alone.”

  “No one can hear us from outside my shield,” she said.

  “Unless he is already within it.”

  “What do you mean?” the water goddess asked sounding worried as she glanced around the dome.

  “I suspect your father,” —the letch— “might be lodged inside me.”

  “That is why you felt so heavy!” Miss Adair said and then blushed becomingly. “I was probing you, sir, to discover what ailed you and felt an unaccountable bulk to your substance.”

  “Llyr only told me about the arm-binding to communicate with another, not about moving right into a person like a hermit crab.” The water goddess sounded impressed.

  “We must know for certain,” Miss Adair rubbed a hand along her right knee as if she, too, remembered that bold touch. “Mr. Dewer, see if you can communicate with the water god. If he is inside you, ask him his purpose in attaching himself like this.”

  First a hellhound and now a water god breezed into him as if he were an open tavern? The idea was entirely unacceptable. Dewer prided himself on his independence. He had fought his whole life to build an inviolable spaced around himself, especially from his mother’s incursions. While he might make an exception for Farfur’s intrusion, the water god must go.

  Besides, how could he ever hope to touch Miss Adair again if he could never be sure he was the one doing the stroking? He refused to facilitate another man, or god, to lay intimate hands on his lady. That thought set him back. He gave Miss Adair a quick side glance, and realized that in his heart, he had already claimed her. It was a startling discovery. It meant he was no longer alone. Gentle warmth infused him and was just as quickly doused with an icy reminder of the challenges facing them.

  His mother would definitely try to kill Grace. Grace, he savored the name like a sweet, delicious comfit. She could never enter his home in the underworld, for she would not survive there for an instant. Then his current problem reared; the water god was a squatter inside him. Any romantic development he wished to pursue with Grace must remain on hold until he was entirely himself. The restriction irked so much he instantly shut his eyes and went water-god hunting. “I shall return shortly.”

  “Be firm,” Miss Adair advised.

  “But kind,” the water goddess added.

  Dewer ignored them both as he sought out his center and found it water logged, proving the miscreant was indeed trespassi
ng.

  Chapter 10

  BARTOS LAY FLAT ON the wet pavement outside the Adairs’ Mayfair townhouse trying to ignore the pattering rain. It had been drizzling all day. After travelling for miles, he was soaked and famished.

  Since their master left them to guard the two witches, Dewer’s mother, the dark fae queen, had been giving the two hellhounds nasty looks, as if she sensed they preferred her son’s rule to hers. Every time the elder Witch-Who-Teases fed them, as soon as she looked away, the queen would vindictively whisk away their food. Bartos suspected that she was trying to break their loyalty to Dewer.

  Returning to her service was the last thing Bartos wanted. He was actually at a loose end. He no longer felt a compulsion to serve Dewer or the queen. He only obeyed his old master because the Witch-Who-Heals seemed to want him to do so. Bartos had been pondering for days what he had done to displease her enough to make her give him away.

  Farfur, on the other hand, was firmly bonded to Dewer. He now sat as still as a statue beside Bartos as he once again tried to contact their master. Then his friend’s eyes snapped open, red pupils glowing with grave concern. “He is not there!”

  Tethered to a railing nearby, Ifan, who used to be a hare before Dewer needed a horse, stomped a front hoof. “Are you sure?” he asked, proving he was still, indeed, hare-brained.

  This scene was like a reoccurring nightmare. Farfur always came awake with the same bad news, and idiot Ifan would respond with a variation of the same inane question.

  Bartos sat up and waited for the inevitable argument to surge between these two combatants.

  “Of course, I am sure,” Farfur said. “I would know my master anywhere!”

  “Apparently not,” Ifan said. “Else you would not have lost track of him.”

  “Let the lad be, Ifan.” Bartos gave Farfur a sympathetic glance. His young friend had not slept in days. “He is unhappy enough as it is.”

  “We all want to find our master,” Ifan said, in a conciliatory tone and then ruined it with, “only Farfur kept saying he was especially close to Dewer.” Ifan gave a snort and flicked his tail, showing his lingering jealousy at Farfur’s special bond with their master.