Page 10 of Druid Cursed

CHAPTER

Kellen breathed in the rich scent of soil and damp.

The subtle imbalance in the land remained, his birthright magic slower than usual to awake in remembrance.

Bare boughs and limbs green with pine needles stretched over the path in a canopy, whispering a homecoming song that his heart answered with every beat.

Where once an ancient copse of hemlocks stood, now saplings and scrub formed a thicket, their predecessors fallen and rotted into the earth.

In other places, lichen and pine needles overtook grass and ivy.

Much had changed in his absence, and yet the spirit of the woods remained the same—mysterious and untamed.

“Wendy isn’t much for nature hikes.” Maggie ran her fingers along the shining leaves of a black alder, one low branch straying into the path as if seeking aid. “I doubt she ventured this far from the luxuries of the mansion.”

“Perhaps. But there are other luxuries to be discovered out here. See you that hedge?” He pointed at the thicket ahead clotted with brambles and holly between two great cedars.

“Ummmmhuh.” Maggie drew out the word, looking at him askance.

“That was previously a hollow, and when the sun rose, quite suitable for dozing and close enough to the woods to slip away from strict tutors who came searching.” His mouth twitched at the memories.

It was the one place while growing up that he’d found peace, an escape from the harsh hand of his master.

A place where he’d wept in solitude, gathered his courage, and then returned to his fate.

“When Caedmon and I were boys, we tussled among the clouds of ferns and cyclamen that used to grow there.”

“Who usually won?”

He lifted his chin, insulted. “I did, of course.”

“Think Caedmon would agree?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief, far preferable to the suspicion of before.

“Doubtful, but his memory is neither as long nor as sharp as mine.” He resisted the need to reach for her hand.

Truly, being amid the primeval trees with Maggie beside him was a fantasy he dared not allow himself to ponder overmuch.

He had to remain on guard even while keeping her close.

Perchance talking would help keep his mind from wandering.

“Do you have brothers?” he asked. “Sisters?”

She shook her head. “I’m an only child. My mom left when I was a few years old.

I hardly remember her.” Yet her wistful tone told another tale, one of lasting pain, a wound that had never healed.

“My dad raised me…and he passed five years ago.” Her slender shoulders lifted, fell, and she toyed with the delicate bracelet on her wrist. An heirloom, perhaps.

“Luckily, I’ve got Wendy, my sister b y choice. She’s all the family I need.”

“Bonds of the soul are equally as important as those of blood.” Still, his heart hurt for her, that she had no remaining kin left to remind her of familial roots and legacy. “How did you come to be such close friends?”

“I didn’t get out much while I was married. Wendy and I met in an online book club and instantly bonded over The Lord of the Rings . She decided that I was her person, the Gimli to her Legolas.” She shook her head, smiling. “Resistance was futile. I didn’t stand a chance.”

“We will find her, I vow it.” He glanced up the trail and into the surrounding woodland, releasing a thread of magic and deepening his senses.

The land itself thrummed slightly off-key, as if attempting to add a wrong note in a familiar melody, and yet its inhabitants seemed at peace.

A bead of dew shimmered on a blade of grass, diamond-bright in a slanting shaft of sun.

The wind teased him, whispering and caressing his skin with cool fingers but revealing not its secrets.

Fallen leaves, black with moisture, left skeletal imprints in the soil.

Whatever recent memories the land kept remained hidden from him.

A moth fluttered desperately in a spider’s web shimmering in the bracken, one gray wing captured.

Kellen paused. Generally, he did not interfere with the cycle of life and death.

His duties as a druid were to balance the land and its magic, protect it.

Though he wished no pain upon any creature, the spider had an equal need to live as the moth.

But the web was tattered, its weaver long gone.

The moth’s death would be prolonged and not serve the trap’s purpose.

He cupped the frantic moth in his hand and drew her gently from the web. With a flick of his fingers and a muttered word, soft, silver light briefly gleamed, cleansing all sticky residue from her wing. He opened his hands in invitation.

The moth paused in his palm, a moment of gratitude, before taking flight. He turned and found Maggie watching him rather than the moth, her eyes bright, wearing a smile to match his own. His compassion had pleased her, and the fact it did so filled his chest with warmth.

Such a pleasant feeling for her was dangerous, though, a feeling he dared not allow.

“You have a weakness for insects, Kellen?”

He continued walking, his hands clasped behind his back, forcing himself to focus on facts. “I have an affinity for all Ravenwood life—insects, plants, trees, most especially animals.”

“All animals?”

“Oh, aye. Felines in particular. When I walk through towns, they follow me.”

“So you’re the Ravenwood version of the local lady cat collector?” Maggie laughed, the sound sweet and innocent, and he caught himself plotting more ways to solicit such sounds from her. “Finding my own feline is definitely in my future plans,” she said.

“I had my own, once. Deidre.” She had passed during his first half century of imprisonment, but Caedmon had assured him that he had properly offered her remains to the earth, ensuring the continuation of her sweet, if ofttimes salty, soul in the cycle of life.

“Although she was more wont to scratch than purr, I miss her greatly. Mayhap, like you, my future will hold another cat. I have not had to pluck fur from my cloak for years.”

She laughed again, and he could not resist an answering smile. “May we both find our soul mate kitties soon.”

Soul mate. An unfortunate choice of words, for silken wings fluttered about his heart, coaxing his pulse to follow.

“Oh no…” Maggie paused and crouched, her gaze on the ground, and dread coiled in Kellen’s gut. From the fronds of a fern, she picked up a tiny black hoop with a bead bearing a skull. “This is Wendy’s, one of her favorite Halloween earrings. She’ll be pissed that she almost lost it.”

“Proof she did, indeed, come in this direction.”

“Proof. Right.” Her lovely features determined, Maggie held out her hand. “I need my phone back in case I need to document anything.”

Phone… It took him a moment to understand what she referred to. He fished the contraption from his pocket. “Very well, I shall return it upon one condition.”

She arched an eyebrow.

He held the phone between two fingers. He had not deciphered what use it possessed and had refused to ask Caedmon. His brother was vexing enough when it came to technology. “Vow you will never attack me with this again.”

Maggie drew herself up. “I solemnly pinkie-swear to never attack you with my phone or any other household item.” Her following grin held an edge of mischief. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Unless you deserve it.”

He hid his own smile. Rare was a woman who would stand up to him, unafraid.

She held her hand in the air between them, all but her smallest finger curled inward. It seemed vows were yet another tradition that had altered much during the last few centuries.

Kellen mimicked the gesture, and when she hooked her slender finger around his, he instinctively pulled her closer. The widening of her beautiful eyes, the parting of her perfect lips made his mouth go dry.

“What would you dream of, Maggie?” he asked softl y.

She pulled free and resumed walking. Her gaze swept the path strewn with fallen leaves and flanked by pale mushrooms, clearly searching for another sign of her friend. “We already covered that, remember? Toads and snakes.”

And the axe. He resisted shuddering. “I do not speak of the dreams that come whilst we slumber. What would bring you happiness? What would erase the haunting sadness that emerges in some moments you believe no one watches you?”

She blinked, as if shocked he had noticed. How could he not, when pain that should never be present clouded her eyes?

“What would wipe that scowl from your face?” she countered with a grin. A clear attempt to avoid his question.

“Caedmon tells me ’tis my natural state. I know not how to appear friendly. Your turn, Maggie. I answered your question. Now you can answer mine.”

Her grin faded. “Fine. I’m here for the prize money to get my house out of foreclosure. And open my own boutique—Books, Brews, and Bygones—to sell books and bookish delights, coffee, tea, and the best unique antiques. This contest is my one shot at saving my house and making my dream a reality.”

“Brews…” He stroked his chin. “Have you considered adding potion ingredients?”

“Potions?” she said, her voice losing its spark. “No, I’m not into anything magical.”

Interesting. Yet her ancestor was a witch. “Then perhaps potions that are more of the healing sort,” he suggested.

“Like homeopathic remedies? That’s…actually a great idea.” The flash of surprise in her eyes smote his heart. “Mainly, I want a business that brings some small measure of happiness to other people in a place where it’s perfectly okay to be unapologetically myself.”

“Everyone should always be unapologetically themselves without fear, but I understand exceedingly well how the world can be an unforgiving place.”

“Yes…which is why we really need to find Wendy.” She frowned to where the path vanished into a curve through the trees. “Do you think she went that way?”