Love Spell in London

by Shereen Vedam

  Grace was rejoicing at his standing up for her right to be in his life when a wave of the queen’s hand plucked her out of Dewer’s hold and hauled her straight up until she was face-to-face with a purple-faced monkey man. She screamed and it snarled. Grace’s arms were jerked upward and cold manacles encircled her wrists, leaving her swinging off the ceiling like the monkeys. Just not voluntarily. She dangled, the tight cuffs painfully pinching her wrists, as if they had been maliciously cast a size too shy to fit.

  Joy! she called to her staff.

  Below, the door to the courtyard slammed shut, leaving Joy beating frantically, uselessly, against the window panes.

  “Mother, stop it!” With a gesture Dewer removed Grace from the manacles and dropped her onto her feet, leaving her dizzy, her knees trembling and Dewer’s hand gripping her wrist as tightly as his mother’s shackles.

  “Both of you stop it!” Grace’s temper rose, stamping out her fear. She pulled herself free and rubbed at her abused wrists. “I am not a toy to be flung about.”

  She swiped her arms down and her shield settled around her like a translucent dome, preventing anyone from moving her about further without permission. If the queen thought shutting those doors would keep her from her staff, she was sadly misinformed about a witch’s capabilities.

  Grace held out her arm and Joy blinked out of the courtyard and settled into her grip. Satisfaction coursed through her. Good. Her magic here was as strong as in the upper world. That old witches’ tale that their magic died at the gate to the underworld was obviously false.

  If anything, her magic felt more powerful down here. Perhaps because like mind magic that relied on insidiously subverting a being’s willpower, down here, lying and deceit were as natural as breathing was in the upper world. Whatever the reason, it felt wonderful to shunt her full unhindered magical ability through her staff, building up power in anticipation of a strike.

  Feeling more in control, Grace faced the queen, determined not to be cowed. She may not be as strong as her cousin, Merryn, but neither was she as helpless as a human.

  She also took comfort in Dewer’s ring warmly circling her finger. Winning Queen Eolonde’s favor, however, was a challenge that loomed like Mount Olympus. This queen had not considered her cousin, who was a Coven Protectress and the strongest witch in all of England, good enough for her son. So, brute force and magical ability would not be enough to sway her toward Grace’s eligibility.

  How could she get through to this over-protective mother? She wished her mother was here to advise her, but if she was, she would likely tell Grace to give up and come home.

  “You should have raised your shields the moment you set foot on my world, you foolish girl,” the queen said in a derogatory tone.

  Grace's shoulders grew heavy with acceptance of that criticism. She should have kept her shields up. She had just not expected the queen to clap her in chains. Not really. Not with Dewer standing beside her. It was not in Grace’s nature to be ever suspicious and vigilant. If that was the type of person the queen wanted for Dewer, no wonder she was disappointed at his choice of mate. She was likely to continue to be dissatisfied.

  Unlike her sister, Anna, Grace was not good at pretending to be someone she was not simply to keep the man she loved. If Queen Eolonde was to accept her, it must be for who Grace was. A witch. A healer. Someone who deeply empathized with those who were weak or mired in suffering.

  Yes, she was too trusting. Too much so, according to Grace’s mother. The baroness sometimes saw her daughter’s empathy with others as a weakness. Obviously, so did Queen Eolonde. Even when that trust was offered toward herself.

  The queen had a low view of her, but what about Dewer? He desired her. Thought her beautiful. She was well aware of her attraction to the opposite sex. She would have to be blind, deaf and dull to remain unaware of men’s reactions to her presence. However, after Dewer’s experience with Merryn, rumor said he hated all witches. To overcome that objection, more than her physical appeal drew and held his interest.

  He would not have professed to love her if he was truly critical of her character.

  She absently twisted her new ring and it warmed beneath her touch, sending waves of Dewer’s love washing over her. She gasped at that instant connection to his heart, and was unable to contain her delighted smile.

  “You find this situation amusing?” his mother asked.

  “I love him.” She spoke, honestly, from her heart.

  Dewer seemed startled by her admission. Worried even.

  “Irrelevant,” his mother said. “Why are you here?”

  “I came to fetch my cousin, Jonas.”

  Dewer let out a hissing breath.

  A warning to be careful? Then it was time not only for his mother to accept her for who she was, but also Dewer.

  “Your cousin is dead,” the queen said. “You have come on a useless journey.”

  “Alfred, Death’s envoy, disagrees, Your Majesty,” Grace said in a gentle but firm tone. “He told me that you hold Jonas somewhere near here.” She pointed across the room to the doorway where Ifan and the hellhounds now watched them warily. The black bird was on the dark stallion’s back. “I believe the bird is Jonas.”

  “Grace!” Dewer’s warning was crystal clear now.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I appreciate you wishing to win her approval, but take care. She may be my mother, but as a queen in this underworld, she cannot be trusted.” He speared his mother with a punishing glare. “Not even by me.”

  “Dewer, if that is Jonas, your mother knows it.” She then held out her left arm, presenting his wonderful ring for the queen’s inspection. A sign of his commitment to Grace. “Your son has asked me to marry him. That now makes us family.”

  Chapter 14

  WHEN THE QUEEN APPEARED in the audience chamber, Farfur yelped in surprise. Beside him, Bartos slunk backwards, trying to appear tiny.

  “What is she doing here?” Farfur hissed.

  “This is her home,” Bartos whispered back, now half squished under a chair positioned on the far side of the wall.

  Queen Eolonde had eyes only for the Witch-who-heals as she berated her sharply for invading this home.

  Farfur was on tenterhooks, wanting to rush in to defend his master, but too petrified of the queen to move any closer.

  Even Ifan had looked up from where he had been gorging himself on the master’s basket of fruit.

  Do not move, Farfur silently ordered the foolish horse. Do not draw her attention.

  The master shifted his stance to hide the Witch-who-heals, reminding his mother that this was his home, too.

  The queen considered his objection and then regally inclined her head.

  The Witch-who-heals bravely stepped out of the master’s shadow and curtsied.

  Before she had risen, the queen clapped once and hundreds of pythos slithered across the floor toward them.

  Farfur barred his teeth and growled. He hated snakes.

  A score of hellhounds landed by the queen’s feet, crouching, fangs bared. Above their heads, frightening monkey men swung off the ceiling beams and chandeliers, howling and screeching obscenities.

  Ifan whinnied, stomping the ground as ravenous pythos circled him to reach the basket of upper world fruit. Then the monkey men descended to steal the food from the slower moving pythos. In moments the basket was empty, the fruit either consumed or carried off to the chamber’s high reaches. With their free meal gone, the pythos switched their avaricious sights to the black stallion.

  Discarding all caution, Farfur raced to Ifan’s side, lunging at any snake man that dared approach his friend. Bartos was right there, too, on the other side of Ifan, defending their four-hoofed idiot companion.

  The black bird flew over and landed on Ifan’s back.

  The horse neighed and nodded his head, as if acknowledging a command. “The master wants us to safeguard the boy.”

  “What boy?” Bartos asked and bit
the head off a pythos than was foolish enough to come too close.

  The other snake men quickly scavenged the head and body, before retreating to greedily consume every bit of their fallen comrade.

  Ifan curled his lips in distaste and began a quick trot toward the inner doorway. Both hellhounds flanked him, keeping the monsters at bay.

  “The master believes this bird might be the warlock child we came to rescue,” Ifan said. “Until he can be sure, he wants us to keep him safe.”

  Bartos’s worried gaze met Farfur’s through the space between the horse’s legs. “If the bird belongs to the queen,” Bartos whispered, “she will never allow us to leave with him.”

  Farfur bristled at his master commanding them through Ifan rather than speaking to him directly. In fact, his master had not spoken to him since they entered the underworld. This lack of communication deeply bothered Farfur. “With or without the bird, I will not leave without the master,” he said with finality.

  “Nor I without the Witch-who-heals,” Bartos said. “I am swearing fealty to her.”

  Farfur gave him a startled look and then nodded in agreement.

  THE QUEEN’S GAZE WAS glued to Grace’s ring. Was there acceptance there? Then she noted the lady’s left hand curl, forming a tight fist. No, Queen Eolonde was preparing to fight.

  Dewer’s shoulders tightened as he, too, noted the white-knuckled fist.

  Her heart shuddered at his pain and a startling realization came that this valley of deception and distrust separating him from his mother must be partially responsible for Dewer’s wish for a traditional Wyhcan binding. As much as he may want to make his father proud by uniting warlocks and witches, Dewer must also want his mother to be present at that ceremony, giving her blessing to his union with Grace. He may no longer need her oversight, but he still wanted her love.

  Grace wanted to shout that by her behavior Queen Eolonde was pushing away the son she so loved. How was she to get through to this woman?

  Dewer stepped up and opened his mouth to speak. He is about to break with his mother. For me.

  Grace rushed in first to save his dream of Queen Eolonde blessing them at their binding ceremony. “My mother says that if people believe we will lie to them, they will be unable to give us their trust.” She walked up and put a restraining hand on his shoulder. Wait. Do not give up on her yet. “Dewer loves you, your majesty. I love him. As such, please believe me when I say that I would never betray him, what he desires, or those whom he treasures.”

  The resultant silence resonated in the audience chamber.

  The queen began to chuckle and then broke into a heartfelt full-blown laugh. “This is the woman you wish to marry, Devil? Do you seriously think she is capable of buttressing you when you need assistance? Someone who has such little self-worth, she puts everyone else’s needs ahead of herself? The monsters will eat her up the moment she steps off of these grounds.”

  Her snake men abandoned their hostility toward Ifan and the hellhounds and, instead, slithered closer to Grace and snickered. Above them, the monkey men howled in enjoyment, swinging across the ceiling.

  Beside her, Dewer took Grace’s hand. “We are leaving. With Jonas.”

  Grace sensed his hurt and squeezed his hand in comfort. It was over.

  The queen’s humor faded as if she, too, sensed the end of this discussion, and her looming loss. She sat back, crossing arms and legs.

  They reached the doorway where Ifan stood waiting before the queen spoke again, this time in a placating tone.

  “If you want this girl, so be it. My prediction of her future survival as your consort will be proven soon enough. As for that boy, I do not understand why you are so upset, Devil. You wanted to be with your friend. I brought him closer. I have always given you everything you desired.”

  “Everyone assumed I had killed Jonas,” Dewer said, swinging back to his mother.

  “Witches and warlocks?” she asked in a scornful tone. “Who cares what they think. They did not respect your father for choosing me, so I do not respect them. Besides, you had all of this.” She spread her arms. “Jonas cannot betray you now. You did not realize it back then, but his parents were preparing to baptize the boy. That would have hindered your ability to access his magic. You would have lost him forever. I saved him for you.”

  “I no longer need your help, mother, or Jonas as a mentee,” Dewer said. “A water god has offered me his assistance to strengthen my magic. Release the boy.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” Grace asked, frustrated by this fae’s continued stubbornness.

  Queen Eolonde leaned forward. “Allow the Coven Protectress who rejected my son to win? Never!”

  “Is this a family squabble or can anyone join in?” a voice asked from the doorway to the courtyard

  That door had swung open so quietly Grace had not noticed. In the entrance, a hefty horned demon confidently strode inside. He was clothed in golden silks and the horns on his forehead were small in contrast to his long curling tusks, which looked as if they were crafted for goring. His red eyes glowed and his giant leathery wings were half-open, as if he had just landed.

  “ADRAMELECH,” DEWER ground out under his breath and pushed Grace behind him. His primed his staff, planning to end this demon’s meddling in his affairs once and for all. He hoped Grace wouldn’t interfere. Sometimes death was the best option.

  Behind him Bartos and Farfur growled.

  Stay, Dewer ordered Farfur. Guard Jonas, and if this encounter goes south, escort Grace to Alfred, Death’s envoy. He will see her safely home.

  He expected Farfur’s immediate affirmative response but instead was greeted by silence. Dewer had no time to ponder the normally effusive hound’s reticence.

  His mother had risen to meet Adramelech.

  “Your Grace,” she said with the ingratiating tone and posture she always used with this arch demon. It grated on Dewer’s already raw nerves. “What an unexpected pleasure. I seem to be inundated with visitors today. What brings you by?”

  “I heard about this upstart’s invasion of our realm.” The demon casually nodded in Dewer and Grace’s direction.

  He means Grace! Not me. The alarming thought raced through Dewer’s body like a lightning strike.

  His mother moved closer to Adramelech, her flowing gown blocking Dewer’s view of his enemy and fouling his aim. He was about to step around her but Grace held him back.

  “She shields you,” she whispered, “as you tried to block me from your mother’s ire. She truly loves you.”

  She sounded surprised.

  This was not news to Dewer. He knew his mother loved him. Unfortunately, it was to an obsessive degree that resulted in harm to anyone to whom he showed the least affection. Case in point: Jonas, Merryn and now Grace. His mother’s love blinded her to the fact that he was no longer a child in need of her protection.

  After she was booted out of the upper world by her sister, she escaped to the underworld, claimed a portion as her own and struggled to govern her stolen piece of this hostile realm. He had been a sad little waif in need of guarding when his mother brought him here after his father died. When condemned to survive along with the very demons that had destroyed their lives, his mother’s overpowering concern for Dewer had not felt smothering.

  “Grace, she has taught me well. Why can she not understand that I am now more than capable of defending myself?”

  “You will always be her child,” Grace whispered. “My grandmother says that is the bane of all parents.”

  “The girl is a minor inconvenience,” his mother was saying. “I have this matter well in hand. She will not remain in this realm much longer.”

  “Unfortunately, my lord insists I deal with her since it was through my doorway that she entered. Also, her leaving here is not an option.”

  Dewer broke out of Grace’s hold and firmly stepped forward. “She came here under my protection and will leave the same way.”

  Adra
melech shook his head as if in regret. “The boy is as foolish as his father. Never learned to stay out of the way.”

  Mention of Dewer’s father stilled his rising fist. In all the time he had been searching for a hint of Adramelech’s hand in his father’s murder – for Dewer remembered hearing buzzing that horrible day inside his father’s castle – this was the second time the arch demon had hinted at knowing Dewer’s father. Another slip? He was never that careless. Unless something had happened to discompose him.

  Dewer half-lowered his eyelids and allowed his inner sight to see his enemy. His leathery wings were singed at the edges. His left leg was bent awkwardly. That hot spot on his right chest looked like an unhealed wound. Not from his hornets after Dewer blasted them. No, Adramelech could protect himself against his beasts. This wound had been inflicted by a more lethal opponent.

  He snapped his eyes open, pulse racing with shock. Adramelech was not here in yet another of his numerous attempts to merely appease his master. No, this time, Lucifer must have been furious to inflict such hurt on his pet demon. Adramelech was here to win back his master’s favor. Perhaps even fight for his continued right to live.

  What had Adramelech done wrong? In all the time Dewer lived in the underworld, the Lucifer and his arch demon were like master and thrall. This arch demon always did exactly as his master bid. The answer became starkly clear. For some reason, Lucifer did not want Grace in the underworld, and she had entered through his underling’s gate.

  Why would the lord of the underworld care about a witch’s presence here? Unusual, yes, but hardly threatening to a powerful fallen angel who had successfully wrested complete control of this realm and everything in it.

  “I wasn’t aware that you were acquainted with my late husband,” his mother said. The note of steel beneath her cordial tone sent Dewer’s nerves roaring into a higher pitch.

  Adramelech apparently missed that change in inflection, for his proud smile never wavered. “You were young when you married that upstart warlock, my queen. Understandable that you were blinded by your affection, enough to miss his many weaknesses.”