Page 56 of Druid Cursed

CHAPTER

Silence swam in Maggie’s ears. It took everything she had to push herself up and gauge the damage.

The standing stones had been reduced to a circle of rubble.

Every inch of earth inside the stones was cracked and scorched, dry and black as death.

The storm had vanished into twilight, leaving behind a clear sky, as if mocking the past hours as nothing.

A groan came from Wendy, who lay sprawled in the wreckage. She sat up, swept her hair from her eyes, and squinted. “Mags?”

“Wendy!” Maggie stumbled to her friend, dropped to her knees, and threw her arms around Wendy. “You’re alive!”

“Seriously bruised and battered, seriously in need of a shower, and seriously pissed off, but yeah. Alive.” Wendy hugged her back fiercely.

Maggie eased back and studied her friend. The electric sparks in her green eyes were beautifully born of fury, completely unmagical. She wiped a smudge of grime off Wendy’s cheek. “Are you really okay?”

A shadow slipped into her features, erasing the confident, unflappable woman she knew. A fine tremor rolled through her slender body. “Such hate,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. “The things she made me do—”

Wendy blew out a shaky breath and straightened.

She tugged a random leaf from her matted hair and ripped it apart.

“I don’t know whose ass I want to kick first—your psycho great-granny or that snake Caedmon.

If all else failed, he would have sacrificed you, drained you of blood to free his brother, even if you hadn’t agreed to it, did you know that? ”

“Nah, he wouldn’t have.” Maggie swallowed hard, suddenly unsure.

“Yes, he would have. I have half a mind to kick your ass, too, for going along with his reckless plan.” She tore off Sorcha’s stained, tattered cloak and tossed it into the bonfire that still burned. “Good riddance to them both.”

“But Kellen…” The knot of grief in her throat strangled her voice. Her heart throbbed, as if an axe split it, over and over.

“I’m so sorry, Mags.” Wendy’s expression softened. She slung an arm around her shoulder and touched their foreheads together. “You deserve a happily ever after. I would’ve played virginal sacrifice or annoyed and raging bystander to your wicked witch gran if it meant you’d be happy.”

Maggie swiped her sleeve across her wet eyes. “So it’s okay for you to sacrifice yourself, but I can’t?”

“We pinkie-swore, remember?” Wendy arched an eyebrow. “No man will ever affect our friendship, no matter his charm. A vengeful, power-hungry witch doesn’t count.”

“You keeping Sorcha going would have definitely made a negative impact on our friendship.” Maggie leaned her head on Wendy’s shoulder and let the tears go, too exhausted to even think about moving. Or leaving the spot Kellen had vanished. Or tomorrow.

“At least Kellen wasn’t the one with the cauldron.” Wendy waved a hand at the stone bowl Caedmon had left close to the fire.

“But he has a sword and a castle.” She sobbed. “What am I going to do?”

Wendy let her cry until her tears turned to hiccups, rubbing her back in comforting circles. The sun slowly sank toward the trees. Late October chilled the air when Maggie finally sighed, spent.

“We need to go.” Wendy gently tucked a curl behind Maggie’s ear and helped her up. They leaned on each other, both unsteady. “Hanging around here in the rain is a bad idea, and we’re catching the first flight back home. I don’t know what the future may bring, but Mags?”

Maggie lifted her gaze, her eyes tired from weeping, her soul weary from loss. Wendy looked like she could crash for a week. Even though Wendy had just been through her own trauma, she set it aside and focused on Maggie’s loss. Best friend ever.

“You survived being married to Darren and beat a real-life wicked witch. You’ll survive this, too.” Wendy held out her little finger. “Pinkie swear.”

“I love you, Wen.” Maggie hooked their fingers together and squeezed.

“Of course you do.” Wendy sniffed. “What’s not to love?”

As Wendy guided her back to the manor, Maggie took a final glance over her shoulder at the barren space where Kellen had vanished, taking half of her soul with him.

…

The next hours passed in a zombie-like blur.

Maggie numbly trailed Wendy from their room and through the shadowed corridor, her suitcase in one hand, Kellen’s dagger and her spindle in the other.

Using her superpowers of persuasion and charm, Wendy had managed to book a red-eye flight home, refusing to wait for the reservations Caedmon had already booked at a more reasonable hour.

Apparently, the wee hours after Halloween night weren’t a busy travel time.

Halloween. Her heart ached, empty, an open wound that would never heal. Samhain, the deadline. Time to leave Ravenwood with all its darkness and magic, beautiful and tragic memories, and return to the real world. There was nothing left for her here but grief.

Sage-scented candles burned in evenly spaced sconces, small reminders of the day they’d arrived, innocent to what awaited.

Distant laughter and strains of music floated up from downstairs, where the Ravenwood Samhain finale was in full swing after the ancestral bonfire.

She had no idea who had won the cash at the final ritual or if the guests were simply set free to celebrate however they wished.

No one else seemed to notice that both Caedmon and Kellen were gone.

How could they not notice? The gloom seemed darker, heavier, the spaces between walls and floors empty. Ravenwood was less without them. The world wasn’t right, off-kilter, like a needle stuck on a scratched vinyl record repeating the same, sad phrase.

At the bottom of the stairs, Maggie paused before the portrait of Kellen.

Somber and grim, his image stared down at her.

When she’d first seen it, what seemed eons ago, she’d assumed the person posing was a Ravenwood ancestor.

Now, she knew the truth—it was Kellen. All she had left of him were a handful of memories and remnants he’d left behind from centuries long before her time.

She’d had only a week with him, the rest of her life without him.

Tears watered her vision, blurring his face.

She’d given it her all, even defeated a witch and ghost daughter, and still lost him. How was she supposed to deal with that?

The gash in her heart ripped wider, and she sucked in a breath.

“Mags, you all right?” Wendy pivoted and gave her a concerned look.

Her curls had been carefully straightened, her makeup perfectly applied.

Wearing her usual high heels and a flouncy skirt that matched her coat, she was every ounce the diva best friend she knew and loved.

The only trace left behind from her nightmare with Sorcha was a perfectly round mark on her palm from the sphere that had freed her from the witch’s spirit.

Wendy seemed determined to scrub the entire week permanently from her memory.

Vow you will not forget, Maggie.

She wouldn’t forget him. Ever. He was a permanent resident of her soul, etched on her heart like the vines on his dagger.

Instead of lying, she slouched onward toward the entrance. It was only her imagination, the sense that Kellen’s portrait watched her go, a lingering presence soon to fade.

With every inch closer to the door, her heart pounded harder, faster.

Her boots seemed to stick to the expensive rug, each step heavier and slower than the last. The wheels of her suitcase twisted and squeaked, making it difficult to pull.

Leaving felt the same as deserting something precious and irreplaceable, but she had no reason to stay.

“Miss O’Malley, I have a delivery for you.”

She was too numb to flinch at Jeeves’s unexpected voice behind her.

Parking her suitcase, she faced him. When they’d returned to the manor after the disastrous encounter with Sorcha, Jeeves had seemed neither surprised nor distressed that Caedmon and Kellen were gone.

Unflappable, he projected business as usual until Samhain was over and the guests gone.

He pushed an envelope gently into her hand. “Your winnings.”

“Winnings?” She stared at the thick envelope with the red Ravenwood seal.

“You alone participated in the final ritual, much to the chagrin of the others. The cash prize is yours.”

The final ritual, a battle to the end. No amount of money could possibly replace what she’d lost. She clenched her fist, and the envelope crackled as she met the butler’s gaze. “Are you going to be okay, Jeeves?”

A glimmer passed through his eyes, a thread of quicksilver, there and gone. If she didn’t know better, she might say it was surprise. “Always, my lady. It has been a pleasure serving you this week.” He studied her, unblinking. “Is there aught else you wish to attend to before your departure?”

What else could there possibly be left to do that wouldn’t crack her soul wider open?

Even with the cash prize and Caedmon’s pay-off money planted in her suitcase, enough to get her house back and fund Books, Brews, and Bygones for years, her future was a long, empty road. Nothing behind her, nothing ahead.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Tears tightened her throat like a noose, and she shook her head. “A cab is meeting us at the front gate in a few minutes. We can manage.” She bit her wobbling bottom lip. “Goodbye, Jeeves.”

He bowed. “Farewell, Miss O’Malley.” As she resumed her trek to the manor entrance, he added, “Be careful not to stray from the path. ’Tis but a few moments from midnight on Samhain, after all, when the veil between worlds is at its very thinnest.”

A chill swept down her arms, and she froze, mid-step.

When the veil between worlds is at its thinnest.

The reminder couldn’t be a coincidence, not from an ancient fae posing as an incomparable butler.

Holding the front door open expectantly, Wendy lifted her eyebrows. “Coming?”