Page 7 of Farlan (Immortal Highlander Clan McKeran #3)
She gave him a teary-eyed look of love before she climbed in and drove away down the road.
He watched her go, amused yet again by her slavish devotion.
Life had ruined her so beautifully that he almost admired her eagerness for more of the same.
Of course she could love him all she wished; her puny mortal emotions made no difference to him.
The fact that she enjoyed being abused and humiliated made her the perfect servant.
He intended to use her until she no longer served a purpose, when he would feed her to the ravenous vampiric red Fae crystals that empowered him.
No doubt they would enjoy her as much as he did.
Bodach returned to his Mercedes and drove to his property.
Since he’d closed McKeran’s Castle to the public and emptied it of its furnishings only dusty cobwebs and dead insects occupied its passages.
In the dungeons, the entrance to which was disguised by the illusion of a stone wall, Bodach had set up a watch post where he could monitor what was happening inside the spell trap.
Using a blank Fae viewing scroll, he invoked the spell that allowed him to look past the enchantment into the trap where the McKeran Clan and their vassals existed out of time.
There he had cursed them to forever relive the events of the year before they were torn from the real world.
For four seasons the king’s mormaer, Turo MacBren, had tormented and attacked the clan, until his untimely end, for which the McKeran had been blamed.
Dooming Tasgall McKeran and his halfling Fae brothers to relive that year for eternity had given Bodach a great deal of satisfaction.
In the process, however, he had inadvertently sealed away with them the treasure he’d been pursuing.
Only with that treasure could he take vengeance against the Fae for what they had done to him.
Since his magic had created the spell trap it would not permit Bodach to easily come inside.
He’d learned that he could wear a chain mail glove to push his hand through, or that he could assume some diminutive form and encase himself with metal.
Using the viewing scroll, he could monitor the recent and puzzling changes that had occurred with the enchantment .
“Show me the entry to the trap,” he commanded the viewing scroll.
The image that first appeared on the bespelled parchment appeared too dark to make out any details, but gradually lightened.
Bodach could see a man and woman embracing like lovers beside a huge pile of collapsed stone and wall fill.
The woman’s elegant figure and shining gold hair made him swear under his breath.
Since the spell trap would soon reset, and the rubble would vanish as the stronghold repaired itself, the couple would be freed.
“Grace Johansen,” he muttered under his breath. As if she’d heard him she turned her head, and her lovely eyes seemed to meet his. “You should have met me for dinner.”
Bodach never should have let the beauty escape him so easily; she would have proven far more satisfying than Rona as a love slave.
It annoyed him that she had slipped through his fingers, especially considering how quickly she’d cuddled up with one of the McKeran Clan.
He eyed the male, trying to recall his name, but could not.
He knew the man served as seneschal to the laird, and had an odd aversion to wood.
Lucky bastard.
A strange glitter swept over the walls of the partially collapsed passage, making Bodach frown.
The enchantment that held the stronghold and all its occupants imprisoned was one he’d cast with the help of melia magic, which had proven somewhat unpredictable lately.
Grace Johansen might be stunning to look at, but she was only a mortal.
The highlander with her could not wield any manner of magic, thanks to his half-human blood.
If those two had done nothing, then who—or what—had altered the enchantment?
Bodach closed the viewing scroll and returned upstairs, strolling back and forth as he considered who besides himself could have accessed the crystals embedded in the stone of Dun Talamh. “That old mage Aosda may know.”
Bodach generally avoided other immortals who had been exiled like him, but Aosda was neither Fae nor human.
He came from a time and race older than anyone knew, and currently dwelled in a remote corner of Los Padres National Forest. Bodach had heard of how effective the repellant spells that warded the boundaries had proven over the centuries; all mortals who came within sight of it immediately turned around and fled the area.
Although Aosda despised mortals, he was somewhat receptive to other immortals—as long as they had something to trade for whatever they wanted from him .
After shifting into his guise as Renard Beaumont, Bodach stopped at an antique shop before he drove up the coastal roads that led to the old mage’s territory.
He had to walk in, for the wards also wouldn’t allow any sort of vehicle to pass, which always annoyed him.
The ferocity of the mage’s magic sizzled against Bodach’s enveloping glamour, but once he had crossed the boundary the spell melted away from him.
He waded through weeds and overgrowth until he came in sight of the giant redwood that acted as a doorway to the place where the mage dwelled.
He stopped, for now all he had to do was wait until Aosda decided to emerge.
Once a half hour had passed with no show of the mage, Bodach sighed heavily and removed from his jacket pocket his purchase from the antique shop: a light brown flocked tin mouse with a barbell in its paws.
He wound it up with a small key in the back and placed it on the ground, where it whirled in circles as it lifted the barbell up and down.
“Do you believe you can tempt me with such things, goblin spawn?” a big voice boomed in the silence.
“Of course not. I only wished to amuse you with a tribute.” He picked up the toy and frowned at it. “No matter. It’s pre-war and quite rare, so I can sell it for a tidy sum on eBay. Enjoy your solitude. ”
The redwood became suffused with light, and then a doorway appeared in the trunk.
Through it stepped a small, dark being who had limbs and a torso that only vaguely resembled that of a mortal.
His robe had been woven from long fronds of thin sequoia leaves splotched with lichen and tiny patches of mushrooms, and on his feet he wore sandals fashioned from braided seagrass.
On his head perched a hat he had fashioned out of crumpled, yellowed newspaper.
He smelled of a far more ancient forest; one in which huge reptiles had long ago roamed.
Aosda regarded him with eyes so deep and black they seemed to bore holes through Bodach and into another dimension. “You stink of mortal lust, you unwelcome brat. Where do you linger, brothels?”
“A minion of mine needed to be taught a lesson,” Bodach said. “Shall I give you the details? You may find them quite amusing.”
“I do not find you entertaining in the least.” The mage stretched out a gnarled hand. “Give it to me and begone.”
“When you answer a query of mine, I will.” Bodach held it just out of his reach. “What could cause red granite from the Scottish highlands to shimmer with power inside an active enchantment?”
Aosda uttered an acerbic chuckle. “Still playing house with that Scots clan you cursed? You are beyond foolish to allow it to go on so long. In the end it shall backlash on you.”
“No doubt at such time I will suffer greatly and meet an unpleasant end. Oh, no, I won’t, as nothing can end me.” Really, these old beings could be such insufferable finger-waggers. “Will you answer, or should I leave with my rare and adorable mouse?”
The antediluvian being scowled, making the thin green shoots that served as his brows stab through the brim of his newspaper hat. “The crystals in the red granite are of the mortal realm. You bespelled them with a melia enchantment to restore your trap and all its particulars every dawn.”
“Yes, yes, I know that much.” He made an impatient gesture. “Why would they alight long before dawn?”
“Close proximity to something with equal or more power.” Aosda snatched the mouse toy from his hand and cradled it against his chest. “Someone or something occupies your trap that possesses power to rival that of your curse, goblin.”
“That is impossible.” Yet it would explain much of what had occurred lately, and he certainly wasn’t the only formidable dark Fae in the mortal realm. “This intruder, can it wield Fae magic?”
The old mage laughed. “You’ve never given mortals the credit they are due. But no, the magic has naught to do with the Fae. It comes from my kindred.”
“I thought you were the only one in this country,” he muttered. “Can’t you persuade them to leave my spell trap? Do that, and I will bring you all the toys you desire.”
“I said my kindred, not my kind.” He grinned, showing his small, pointed teeth. “This is what happens when you trifle with lesser-evolved beings, you know. Just as I’m doing by speaking with you.”
Bodach forced a smile. “I will be eternally grateful for the gift of your wisdom, oh great and fearful mage, and promise to learn from it. Now tell me, how do I get rid of them?”
Aosda shrugged. “I have no idea, Goblin. That lot never revealed their secrets to those outside the first tribe.”
“The first tribe of what?” he echoed, perplexed.
“The draoithe . The magic folk. Immortals with mortal bodies.” The old mage sighed. “It seems that your prison has been infested by the very oldest of druid kind.”