Page 8 of Druid Cursed

CHAPTER

The predawn silence was only broken by the swish of Kellen’s boots on grass that glistened with dew.

Even Caedmon had been unnaturally quiet this morn, a phantom ahead of him in the mist, leading the way to the outer wards.

Despite Kellen’s hours spent in the private family garden, communing with his ancestral land and recharging his druid magic, his brother had insisted on accompanying him whi lst checking the wards.

Truthfully, after meeting Maggie yestereve, Kellen had required additional time to find enough peace to meditate.

He drew a long, cleansing breath of brisk air, taking the rich scents of earth, moisture, and home deep into his soul before releasing it, his breath clouding white.

Soft, gray light filmed the mighty trunk and branches of the ancient yew tree marking the ward stone.

The heart of the land stirred sluggishly beneath his feet, as if trapped in slumber, a pulse drumming painfully slow, not the joyful welcome he was accustomed to. Why?

He unfurled a ribbon of magic and widened his senses to the world around him, searching for an answer.

Time seemed to stretch, endless, as the frond of a fern unfolded into new life.

The soil, warm and seething, feasted on the remains of a toppled oak.

The scuff of ants crossing pine needles made no less sound than the cackle of a crow in the boughs above.

The inhabitants of the land seemed oblivious to any shift in the deep.

Mayhap ’twas all in his mind, a product of his worry.

At the tree, Caedmon stopped and knelt. “I hate to admit this out loud so soon after you’re back, but you were right.”

A chill scampered down Kellen’s back as Caedmon looked over his shoulder and met his gaze, his visage uncharacteristically grim in the gloom. “I suspect I will not relish this particular incident of being correct.”

Caedmon lifted his hand as Kellen drew near. Ash smeared on his fingertips. “The ley line and outer ward have been tampered with.”

Sorcha . Kellen clenched his teeth as he crouched.

The ward stone, which was squat, quartz, and nearly equal to him in width and length, had cracked jaggedly in two, parts of it pulverized to powder.

Every rune had been scratched out as if by dragon claws.

The ley line, usually a bright, humming force, stuttered and spat, its energy muffled beneath a thick layer of residue.

“ Cacamas. ” Kellen trailed his fingers over the stone, finding not a hint of his magic left behind. Sorcha had breached his first ward, and he had not even felt when it happened. “Her dark magic has strengthened in my absence. Even the ley line protests her deeds.”

“The good news is the protective spells surrounding the main grounds and the mansion itself remain undisturbed. At least as of half an hour ago.” Caedmon slowly followed the ley line, his gaze on the ground.

“She still has two more wards to tackle if she wants to get through—unpassable for a witch blowing her magic around like it’s nothing. ”

True. It had taken a considerable amount of power to shatter his ward, to erase his essence from the very stone itself, and interfere with the ley line, the land’s vein of power. Even the ash itself retained a taste of Sorcha, as if polluted by her very presence.

Her triumphant words rattled in his head, of a trap already sprung.

Never before had she appeared before Samhain.

Never before had she impacted the ley line and broken his ward.

Nay, not broken—shattered as if it had been no more than a novice druid’s first spell.

How, where had she gained such strength?

And now that Sorcha had broken through the first ward, infiltrated Ravenwood land, she could be lurking anywhere within the vast acreage of the forest, conducting any manner of wicked deeds.

Caedmon snorted. “Looks like she conducted a ritual and left the remnants as a little screw you for us to find. You’d think she might lose the dramatics after all this time.”

“What type of ritual?” Kellen growled the words as he joined his brother.

“Blood and bone.”

A stone bowl, blackened with old blood, lay nestled crookedly in the moss directly over the ley line.

It stunk of burnt hair and flesh. Among the ashes, a shard of bone gleamed white.

A breeze hissed through the leaves and tugged at Kellen’s cloak, cautioning.

Dark magic, the blood representing life, the bone flesh, usually directed at the lineage of the one performing the rite, which could only be…

Maggie .

His mouth went parchment dry. If Maggie had already been under Sorcha’s influence in any manner, no blood-and-bone ritual would be required.

Sorcha would never cast a spell against her own minion, so the fact she did so against Maggie eliminated any doubt that Maggie was Sorcha’s accomplice.

Which suggested that her companion, Wendy, would be the most likely to be influenced by the witch.

They must determine if, and to what extent, Sorcha was using Wendy.

Using a willing or unwitting human was the only way the witch could infiltrate Ravenwood wards.

Unless she destroyed them all.

“I must ensure Maggie’s safety. If she is the key to breaking my curse, we cannot allow any harm to come to her.

” The irony wasn’t lost on him, that he would be protecting her only to sacrifice her in a matter of days.

But he trusted Caedmon would find an alternative to bloodshed to ensure his freedom before time ran out.

Kellen spun in the direction of the mansion, his brother on his heels.

“Kel, wait.” Caedmon gripped his elbow and drew him to a stop, despite the impatient snarl rumbling in his throat. “A piece of advice for dealing with women in the twenty-first century—don’t rush to her room, barge in with that scowl, and lock her away wherever you think best.”

He deepened his scowl. “Whyever not? Her safety is what matters most.”

“Breaking through the first boundary ward took a substantial amount of magic. Sorcha will need time to recover before making her next move. Your two inner lines of defense remain intact, and they’re substantially stronger than the outer wards.

So then, Maggie isn’t in any danger at the moment, and if you scare her, manhandle her, or get all up in her business when she doesn’t want you there, she’ll be on a plane home faster than you can say, ‘Druids rock your socks off.’”

“Plane?”

“Flying machine,” his brother explained, not missing a beat. “She’s the key to your freedom, as you said, and if she’s gone before the new moon, you’re screwed. You need to charm her, not go all caveman on her. All right? Relax.”

“I am always relaxed.” He lifted his chin, forced his tensed shoulders downward.

Caedmon laughed, clapped him on the back, and resumed the lead position, leaving Kellen to trail behind.

“The first ritual of the competition is ready to go this morning, and Maggie’s been summoned.

We’ll see what magic our wee sparrow stores and keep tabs on her friend, too.

In the meantime, I’ll make sure all witches in the area understand that Ravenwood isn’t a broom landing zone, no matter how many monkeys tag along. ”

As Kellen followed Caedmon through the mist and trees, he attempted to comprehend his brother’s words. “What do brooms and monkeys have to do with witches?”

Caedmon’s vexing smirk appeared. “If you survive this week, I’ll catch you up. For now, let’s focus on what we need to do to break your curse.”

“Yes, Maggie’s life in exchange for my own. I liked it not even before I met her. Now, even less so.”

“Kel—”

“Listen, brother.” He increased his pace to walk abreast of Caedmon.

“I detected no wickedness in Maggie. ’Tis possible her true nature is shielded, but even were it so, I would surely sense a flaw.

I cannot take her life. And if by some phenomenon your dubious vision proves true…

if she is truly my soul mate…there must be another way. ”

Caedmon’s throat bobbed, and his smile faltered for the briefest moment, quickly replaced by the veneer he used to deceive fools who did not know him. “I’ll work on it with Jeeves, see what we can come up with. But I make no promises.”

Kellen nodded. Either way, he dared not frighten Maggie off. And if he could not tuck her away behind locks, wards, and spells, he would see to her safety personally, do his best to keep her interest on him and staying close, rather than giving her any reason to leave.

Truth be told, there were much, much worse methods of spending his last days of freedom.

…

“White & Nerdy” by “Weird Al” Yankovic blared into the quiet, Wendy’s trademark, wake-the-dead phone alarm.

Maggie pulled the goose-down pillows over her head. “Too early. Kill it.”

The chorus repeated.

And again.

“Gah!” She thrashed free of the blankets and stumbled toward Wendy’s phone on the nightstand miles away. Why did this room have to be bigger than Texas?

She managed to shut the alarm down without stomping on the phone, somewhat of a disappointment. Basking in the silence, she rubbed her eyes and blinked off the haze of rude awakenings. Something felt off…

Wendy’s bed was empty. Icy fingers squeezed her heart. After all the weirdness of last night, this was not the best start to a new day.

“Wen?” she called out into the room, but there was no answer.

She turned to the balcony windows. A thread of sunlight squinted beyond the gardens and trees, silhouetting the horizon. Barely dawn. She shuffled to the bathroom. The door was open, the floor and clawfoot bathtub clear of sick best friends. A note rested on the marble counter beside the sink.

Worry not, Maggie. I shall return for you anon.