Page 2 of Druid Cursed

Kellen turned to the window overlooking the gardens beyond, where fading sunlight frosted the trees into a shimmering wonderland.

He could no longer remember how it felt to lift his face to the sun whenever he wished and bask in its warm caress.

To stroll beneath the fragrant boughs of fir, his steps silenced by moss and pine needles, absent from the heavy burden of finite seconds.

True freedom was a dream he dared not hope for, and yet it remained his sole savior while despair wormed ever closer, year after year, patiently awaiting his surrender.

If he returned to his prison again, this week would be his last taste of what it felt like to live .

“Here. Drink this.” Caedmon handed him a silver flask. “Lighten up.”

Instead of growling, he took a swig. The liquid burned a fiery trail down his throat to his gullet. He savored the sensation, starved for the simple human luxuries of heat and taste.

His brother swiped the flask from him, set it down on a side table, and said to the air, “Lights, dim.” The lamps immediately dimmed, obeying his command.

“What— How—”

“Lights, off.” The room fell into darkness.

“Lights, on.” The lamps burned anew. “Welcome to the twenty-first century, brother. Just say what you need. You and I have the same voice, so everything should work for you. Except the sage sconces in the corridors, of course. Those are real flames you’d have to snuff out manually. ”

Kellen resisted a sigh of annoyance at his brother’s smirk.

Modern technology . The last time he’d awakened had been in the 1970s when Caedmon’s hair had been at a more agreeable length, and he’d carried a device the size of a brick that could magically convey conversations from afar with the living, not the dead.

Before that, ’twas the 1920s, a simpler era but still advanced to him.

In the last century, technology seemed to have increased at a rapid rate that he could not possibly keep abreast of.

And wasting efforts to learn it all in a mere seven days was a fool’s errand.

Caedmon’s smirk faded, then, shifting into an intensity that made Kellen’s pulse quicken. “As I said before, I finally figured it out, the missing ingredient to breaking the curse for good.”

Kellen held his breath, hardly daring to hope. While he could do naught to interfere with the curse lest he be dragged back to prison immediately, the counter-spell destroyed, his brother had no such limits. Caedmon had spent centuries searching for a method to end his sentence.

“You also said I would not like what I must do. What is it?”

“Sorcha’s last living descendant…”

The liquor in his belly boiled. Sorcha, the witch who’d cursed him all those centuries ago. “She is the key? How?”

“Her blood,” Caedmon said. “We have to sacrifice her.”

He was in his brother’s face before he even thought to move. “Another must die so that I might live? Nay, I cannot—”

“You can, and you will . The world will be better off with all traces of that wicked witch finally erased. The trade could be a lot worse, and you know it. We’ve tried everything else, and my research has led me to this.

It’s the only way. Our last hope.” He gripped Kellen’s shoulders. “It will work, trust me.”

He did trust his brother. He had no other choice. “You were correct. I like it not.”

“You don’t like being imprisoned, either.”

Kellen scowled and turned away. He could not argue with such logic.

“This is your final chance, Kel.” His voice lowered. “Everyone must make sacrifices in life. You’re no exception. So ask yourself, what are you willing to sacrifice for your freedom?”

Anything. Everything. But this… He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fie.”

Caedmon grinned. “Good choice. I carefully hand-selected the competitors from the guests in attendance this week. With any luck, each one possesses enough energy power-up to give us the final, extra flood of magic I’ll need to break the curse on Samhain night.

Their required participation in rituals will ensure it.

More importantly, Sorcha’s last-known relative will be here as the selected wildcard entrant.

I made the reward cash impossible to resist, more than any previous year. ”

Kellen cared not about the money lost. Other matters were far more important.

Every year at Samhain, when the veil between worlds thinned, Sorcha strove to sabotage the three Ravenwood wards and make his prison permanent. Thus far, Caedmon had thwarted her while relentlessly hunting for a remedy, but he’d never found one.

Until now.

His brother’s timely victory felt too much like trickery. That some element had altered enough to reveal the cure and allow Caedmon to find Sorcha’s kin on precisely the same year as his final respite could be no coincidence. The immortal harridan would be near, watching, waiting to strike.

“Sorcha’s descendant,” he said, “what is her name?”

“Maggie O’Malley.” Caedmon tucked the flask into his breast pocket. “New moon’s on Samhain. All we have to do is keep her here until then.”

“Aye. And then sacrifice her.” It gave him no pleasure to kill someone, let alone a woman, but she was Sorcha’s descendant. While not all witches were evil, she was most likely akin to her ancestor and determined to only harm.

“Sugar-coating, Kel. You should try it sometime.” Caedmon winked and headed for the exit.

“Guests will arrive at the welcome dinner soon. Relax and enjoy yourself tonight. Sorcha has never shown until Samhain evening, so put on your party face. Practice your smile, and I don’t mean the sinister one. ”

His brother left, and the bedroom door clicked shut behind him, leaving a silence reminiscent of his usual tomb. Kellen blew out a breath and closed his eyes. Seven days until the new moon’s surplus power. Seven days to prevent Sorcha’s schemes.

Seven days to either true freedom or eternal imprisonment.

As much as he wished for his twin’s certainty, Sorcha was too powerful an enemy to dismiss so easily. He would be a fool to relax, as Caedmon suggested, and yet spending his meager freedom twisted in uneasiness created a different manner of prison.

The back of his neck prickled with awareness, and he opened his eyes.

Beyond the window, at the edge of the boundary wards, leaves the color of gold, earth, and fire spun, brought to life by a northern wind.

Twilight glittered in the colors as they writhed in lovely formation, rising from the ground like clay beneath a potter’s hand.

Slowly, the leaves took shape—of a woman.

Cold crept through Kellen’s veins as the leaves settled into Sorcha’s familiar features.

“Beware, druid…” Her raspy voice slithered through walls and windows, no more than a whisper from an unseen crypt.

The wards around the estate should impede her from reaching him, but he could not prevent tightening his fists, every part of him preparing to fight.

“My victory is nigh, the jaws of my trap already sprung. There is no escape.”

The foliage churned away on the wind, taking her form with it.

Kellen slowly unclenched his fists. Caedmon’s statement that Sorcha never showed before Samhain had been true—until now.

Announcing her presence early, splurging her power with harmless parlor tricks that could slip past their wards, hinted that she knew full well who had entered Ravenwood halls, how close they were to shattering her curse.

’Twas a bold move, tipping her hand, a demonstration of utter confidence.

As if she had already sealed her triumph.

He’d have to maintain careful watch over Sorcha’s descendant, once he met her, whilst avoiding whatever snares the witch plotted. For, wards or not, she would do everything in her power to destroy their plans and drag him back to his prison. Forever.

Cacamas. He would find little peace or rest in these next seven days of freedom.