Love Spell in London

by Shereen Vedam

  The queen warned him the day she brought him to this home that he was never to leave her house and its surroundings on pain of death. Everything he needed, food and water, he could find within this home and its gardens.

  This will be your new home, she’d said, and so it had been.

  Why did he suddenly crave another home? He scratched at his itching neck. One he’d never visited yet he could clearly see in his mind’s eye. Odd, but he could picture the boy the witch showed him earlier walking in this other place, as if that was where he lived. Could this be part of the spell she wove?

  ONCE HE ESCAPED FROM Adramelech’s walled complex, Dewer rushed to his mother’s house, anxious to know if Grace was all right, only stopping to ensure the perimeter protections were up. They were. He had given Ifan the key to lowering them in order to bring Grace inside.

  Not finding her in any of the rooms, he arrived in the courtyard and spotted her speaking to his pet bird perched in a tree. A wave of happiness swept through him at the sight of her inside his underworld home with that bird, where Dewer had spent his best days of childhood.

  He never wanted to leave Grace’s side again, to feel this anxious about her safety, to not know where she was. If she was alive or dead. He hadn’t spoken to Farfur since their arrival in the underworld and so hadn’t been able to check on how they all fared. Then Grace spotted him and rendered him once more speechless.

  By his next breath, she was before him, raining kisses on his face and neck. Between each kiss, she whispered, “You’re here!”

  Her effusive show of affection left him stunned. Had she truly missed him that much?

  This wonderful woman’s passionate kisses made him feel as if she truly cared. If she did, if such a miracle had happened, then all of the outlandish plans he had been spinning on the way here might just be possible. If Jonas was anywhere near this house, he would find him for Merryn, and for Grace.

  With a groan, the urgency of their current situation returned, and he set her back on her feet and realized they were in the middle of his mother’s audience chamber. He leaned back and said, “Let’s talk about Jonas. Did you see any clues of him being here?”

  That seemed to stop her rush.

  “Didn’t you miss me?”

  Of course, he did. Dewer realized he had not yet made his intentions to this woman clear. Not to her. Not to her family. Not even to his mother.

  All the way to this house, he had been repeating to himself that he must safeguard Grace as strictly as her mother would, if she were with them. It was the only way he could ever prove to Lady Mandell that he was worthy of receiving her daughter’s hand in marriage. He wanted to marry Grace. A quick fling would not be nearly enough. He wanted a lifetime of her kissing him like this.

  Fact: He stopped that familiar thought process at inception. Facts were not carved in stone. He was wrong in thinking that way. Facts could change. If both parties involved wanted to change them.

  “You, too, want us to spend our lives together?” Grace asked, as if she needed reassurance that he desired her. He adored her. He could not imagine living his life without her by his side.

  He kissed her worried frown. “I would be honored if you want what I want. To be with you in the most intimate way possible, with nothing between us, our hearts beating as one. My dear love, I want even more than that.”

  Grace’s gray-green eyes widened as if in shock. With a trembling finger, she traced his cheekbone. “Truly?”

  How could she not sense what his heart yearned?

  His armband burned hot and the water god’s exasperated voice blared in his head. Tell her that you want her, you dolt. For now, and forever.

  The order was so strident, he was sure Grace must have heard it. Apparently, she had not. Perhaps he did need some fatherly advice, after all.

  In the center of his mother’s vast audience chamber, Dewer dropped to one knee and took hold of Grace’s soft hands. “I want you, Grace Elizabeth Adair. For now, and forever. To be my wife, my lover and my guiding star.”

  The mark on his arm cooled as if satisfied. Dewer had more he wished to say, but the words clogged in his throat, as the memory of Merryn’s numerous painful rejections crowded close, like a forest of thorns surrounding his voice box. Fiercely determined to declare his desire to bind with this witch before his courage deserted him, he cut through his restraints. “Grace, will you marry me?”

  Tears welled in her eyes. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

  He shouted in joy, jumping up to twirl her in his arms. Once he set her on her feet, he realized he needed a symbol to mark this moment.

  He had no ring! How could he have forgotten to fashion a ring? He was about to do that when the mark on his arm warmed, sending a suggestion that left him astounded. The water god offered to allow Dewer to take control of the brand he so resented being imposed on his flesh? He agreed quickly before the deity changed his mind. Pushing his sleeve back to display the mark, he focused on the waving black lines, commanding them to respond.

  The vines shivered to life, sending a spine-tingling sensation shooting along his nerve endings. Then the water god’s magic began to respond and follow Dewer’s compulsion. It was a peculiar sensation as the black line slid down his right arm toward his wrist, like being part of a cresting ocean wave. With a delighted laugh, he held out his right hand for Grace.

  She trustingly placed her left hand in his palm. A black line trailed over his wrist, turning golden as it touched Grace’s delicate skin and wound its way to the base of her ring finger.

  “I bind with thee, Grace Elizabeth Adair,” he whispered with reverence.

  GRACE LIFTED HER HAND and turned it over to stare with awe at the thick golden circle forming on her ring finger. It stretched up to the first knuckle. Blue and green undulating vines were carved into the gold as if they rippled underwater. The ring’s tip narrowed as it curved over her first knuckle. The ring heated and cooled, and then settled snugly around her finger.

  “How beautiful,” she whispered, then quickly added, “I willingly bind with thee, Devlin Chase Dewer.”

  She kissed him, no longer a doubt in her heart that he was hers, now and forever.

  “Grace,” Dewer said, as their lips parted. “I have another favor to ask.”

  “I will grant you anything you wish,” she said.

  “This will not be easy.” His gaze trailed across the ostentatious audience chamber as if he was searching for the right words. “All of this, the gilt, the glitter, is a reflection of the falsehood of my life in the underworld.”

  “It suits your mother,” Grace said. “I can easily picture the woman I witnessed in my mother’s garden sitting on that throne.”

  He shook his head. “No. You are mistaken about her. That is the facade she presents to the world. Even though she clothes herself in the guise you saw then, she does not care for the finer comforts of life. She plays an elaborate game, but one I have never been able to fathom. In fact, the first moment I saw my mother in the disguise of that drab creature, Burns, the countess’s maid, I had a startling impression that my mother had revealed who she really was.”

  “As Burns?” Grace asked, shocked. “More than as a queen?”

  “When I was young, our castle in Wales was subdued in its décor. A reflection of my parents’ quiet tastes.”

  Grace thought back to the moving landscapes on the entry wall. They had indeed been simple and peacefully pastoral. She had assumed his mother had hung them there for Dewer’s sake. To remind him of his childhood in Wales. Could they be for Burns’s sake, too?

  “Grace, when the water god invaded me, he settled into my memory of my father’s library. I hadn’t thought of that room in years. At first, I was so cross, all I wanted was to get him out of my head. Since then, a memory has surfaced.”

  “Tell me,” she said in a soft voice. Sensing his struggle, she firmly took hold of both his cold hands. “I love you, Dewer.” Please confide in me.

  “I love
you, too, Grace,” he said.

  At his heartfelt confession, her knees weakened and her blood soared. She hugged him, afraid without him holding her, she might swoon with glee.

  He stroked her hair and spoke in a thoughtful tone, as if unaware of what a momentous confession he had just made. “In his diary, my father wrote his biggest regret was that in coming to Earth, the Wyhcan people lost our link to who we once were.”

  His words poured out in a rush, as if, once having completely invited her into his heart, he could no longer conceal his thoughts, his concerns, his dreams.

  Enraptured, she stepped back and listened. His eyes had lit up and he waved an arm in emphasis. “Warlocks refusing to accept this new life as adequate recompense for the one they lost, have become recluses.”

  “We witches try so hard to assimilate into human society, we sometimes lose sight of who we are,” Grace said, thinking of Anna, who had given up her magic to fit into her human husband’s life. How could her sister truly belong anywhere if she was not being honest about who she was? Not to her husband, not even to herself. Anna was a witch, no amount of denying it would ever change that.

  “I cannot bring my father back, Grace,” Dewer said in earnest, drawing her back to the present, to this moment with this amazing man. He reclaimed her hands. “I dearly want to avenge his death, but you have given me an idea for something else that might please him more.”

  “What?” she asked, bemused and delighted that she was the muse behind his new wish.

  “I want our binding to be done in the old Wyhcan tradition.”

  Grace gasped, and then regretfully shook her head. “For that we would need our people, both warlocks and witches, to come together. There is too much pain, too much distrust for that to ever happen.”

  “We are a witch and a warlock coming together. I refuse to accept a future lived in the dark, hiding our children for fear they will be taken to be reared in the ‘correct way’ according to witches or warlocks. I want our binding to represent the time when the tide changed for our people. Grace, we are no longer the frightened travelers who fled to this planet. We are part of human society, and fae, too. Our binding ceremony must reflect that transformation.”

  “Something to make your father proud,” Grace whispered, thinking Dewer wanted to achieve what his father had been unable to do in his lifetime. Perhaps find a way to honor his life and his dreams. A noble quest. One she wanted to help bring to fruition. “How can we accomplish this? We cannot do it alone.”

  “No, not alone.” He gestured to his staff leaning by the doorway where Ifan stood watching them. Hers lay on the courtyard floor beyond, where she had dropped it when she ran into Dewer’s arms. “The water god will have to bring his influence to bear on this world’s Creator, so Wyhcans and our mind magic will no longer be considered anathema on Earth.”

  “According to Merryn, we might already be on that path,” Grace said in a thoughtful tone. “She has successfully cast mind spells on animals and the fae, without repercussions. If we find a way to cleanse Lleland’s waters, I am certain he will grant us any boon.”

  Dewer nodded. Tipping her chin up, he kissed her gently. “I must also earn your mother’s trust that her beloved daughter is safe in my care.”

  Grace snuggled close to him, resting her head on his shoulder. There were so many obstacles in their path. “I must prove to your mother that I will fight for your needs as ferociously as I would my own.”

  “That last might prove to be our most difficult challenge,” Dewer said, ruefully, holding her close. “I am still cogitating on how to achieve that near-impossible feat. I have an idea, but the outcome is chancy.”

  “What is it?” she asked, leaning back.

  He shook his head. “Let me think on it some more. As for our people, Braden has gained influence among both witches and warlocks. He can bring them together. Once we are married, Grace, once we begin to make love, I promise you, we will never stop.”

  She pictured their every touch, every glance from that first moment of coupling forward as a precursor to the next, and the one after that. Until their days came to an end. Perhaps even beyond that. It was a poignant dream, one she had longed for all of her life. This was the passionate life she craved.

  Nevertheless, she had to add a note of caution. “How do we achieve the near-impossible?”

  “If we can convince our mothers to trust in us, I have faith this future will come to be. That will begin when we find and return Jonas home.”

  “Oh, there is something I must tell you about him. When you lived here as a child, did you ever encounter a black bird with a red collar?”

  “Yes,” he said, his smile turning soft. “I saw you talking to him earlier. My mother gifted me that fellow as recompense for killing my best friend.”

  Grace looked at him gravely. “Dewer, I do not believe he is just a bird.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She explained how the bird had responded to the name Jonas, about his oddly familiar head tilt and that vanishing red collar. When she reached the bit about hungry Ifan eating the last piece of orange, Dewer released her and strode toward the door, whistling.

  Grace followed him, surprised by how similar his whistle sounded to the whoop-whoop-whoop call Jonas used.

  Within one breath and the next, the black bird flew into the room and landed on Dewer’s outstretched arm.

  A wave of his free arm, and a basket of fruit appeared at his feet. Ifan gave a happy neigh and trotted over, passing the two hellhounds still sitting on the other side of an inner doorway, too fearful to step foot inside the audience chamber.

  “I brought enough from the upper world for both Ifan and Jonas,” Dewer said. “I, too, thought it might come in handy once we found our elusive quarry. However, I can assure you, Grace, that this bird is not your cousin. He responded to the name Jonas because it’s what I’ve called him all of his life. I named him that to remind my mother that I would never forget what she had done.”

  “What about the vanishing collar?” she asked.

  “It’s my mother’s magical protection over him,” Dewer said, “else he would never have survived in this realm for all these years. Besides, why would she do that?”

  “Do what?” Grace asked.

  Dewer gently stroked the bird. “Make me think my friend was dead. Let everyone believe I had killed him. Let me think she had done so.” He glanced at her with troubled eyes. “She loves me.”

  “Yes, she does,” Grace said, remembering with sorrow the conversation in the carriage with Burns. “Like all mothers, she also believes she must protect you. Even when that protection proves painful.”

  He blinked once, twice and then resignation settled deep in his eyes. He snapped a finger and a strawberry from the fruit basket whisked up to settle in his hand. He extended that upper-world food to Jonas.

  “Do not feed that fruit to the bird,” his mother said.

  Dewer jerked in shock at hearing her voice and glanced around to where his mother reclined on her throne.

  Before Jonas could have a single nibble, the strawberry flew across the room and into the queen’s outstretched hand. She slowly raised it to her mouth, daring her son to argue the point. “Did you truly think I would not notice an intruder in my home?”

  Queen Eolonde speared Grace with a cold look and bit the purloined strawberry in two.

  Grace snatched her hand from Dewer’s grasp, her fingers twitching with guilt.

  He shifted to block his mother’s view of Grace. “This is my home, too, mother.”

  “I was speaking to the chit.”

  “She has a name.” His rising temper laced his words with sparks.

  Weary of staying on the sidelines of this argument, Grace stepped forward and curtsied.

  When she rose and glanced up, the queen’s glare had Grace wanting to slink back behind Dewer, but she stood her ground, ordering her wavering knees to brace up. This was her fight to win or lose. The
loss might mean not only getting thrown out of the underworld, or killed, but her losing Dewer, or Dewer losing his mother. None of those options appealed.

  His mother regally inclined her head. “Grace Elizabeth Adair, healing witch extraordinaire. Welcome to my abode.”

  She might have meant to imply, welcome to my home, but her manner suggested, Welcome to Hell!

  With sincerity, Grace said, “You have a beautiful house, Your Majesty.”

  “You sound surprised, Miss Adair.”

  A protesting scream from a pythos across the room raised the hairs on Grace’s arms. After a quick glimpse at a monstrously distorted human face, she shuddered, bringing her focus back to the queen observing her with an equally keen expression. The hellhounds by her feet looked as if they could easily take out Farfur and Bartos, even without the help of the other monsters in the room.

  “This house felt peaceful on entry,” Grace said, glad her voice sounded steady. “From your reputation, I had expected to be welcomed by a sea of flames, or at the very least, prisoners in chains. Not enchanting flowers in the front garden or this lovely chamber.”

  Queen Eolonde sat back to consider Grace’s words and an enigmatic smile stole across her face, making her even more breathtaking.

  Fear scurried up Grace’s spine in response.

  “Be assured, Miss Adair, I shall soon have a prisoner in chains.”

  She means me. The impression was as clear as the queen’s words were deceptive. She spoke so fluently in lies, it left Grace alarmingly impressed. Was Dewer as versed in this illusory dialect?

  His arm encircled her waist, imbuing a warm sense of possessiveness. “She is here as my guest.”

  She treasured his open claim. No, Dewer might wish to impress his mother, but he was his own man. Grace’s man.

  “Why bring her to my home?” His mother’s curt tone suggested that his hold on Grace had not gone unnoticed. “If you value her so highly, why bring her into the underworld at all? I am surprised she has survived this long.”

  “Then you underestimate Grace, Mother. I have chosen her as my life mate. Refuse to accept her and risk losing both of us.”