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6

The next night

Walking to the grove of old oaks between their home and the Wiccan manor, Gwyn's steps slowed as she took in the huge bonfire in front of her, the orange flames flickering through the dense bushes and casting an eerie glow around everyone already gathered in the small field. The coven members had arrived early to prepare the circle for tonight’s events.

Feeling guilty for deceiving her sister, she stepped over the black protection candles along the tree line. They agreed to wait until something else happened before going to the coven, but Rhona beat them to it, requesting Gwyn’s attendance for a special ceremony. Alone.

Gwyn waited until Morgan fell asleep and snuck out of the house. There would be hell to pay later, but Gwyn had to know more about the family curse—and how to break it. Somehow, she knew Rhona would have the answers she needed.

No one with intelligence took Rhona's coven for granted, nor did they discredit the woman's powers if they were intelligent. While Gwyn doubted the rest of the coven, Rhona and her stepsister were the real deal.

Stepping up to the fire’s edge, the voices around Gwyn died to a whisper. Her heart beat faster, and she kept her eyes glued to her feet, the toes of her shoes almost touching the pebble-filled outline of the surrounding circle. For the hundredth time that day, she prayed Rhona's power was strong enough to summon the answers she and Morgan needed.

Since their last rescue, more and more dogs and cats seemed to have disappeared from Tournai inside and outside the town. Beloved pets or strays, it didn't seem to make a difference to whoever was taking them. Their bodies would then reappear, emaciated and starved, looking more like mummified remains than the healthy animals they had been only days before.

Even more concerning was that no matter what they tried, magic or old-fashioned sleuthing, they couldn’t stop, much less figure out who was behind the thefts. As each day passed, fewer people came to their store, and yesterday, the bank called asking why they were behind two months on their mortgage. Gwyn realized things were tight, but she was furious with Morgan for not telling her things were as bad as they were.

Gwyn's steady gaze rested on the only person who could help them. Rhona stood on the other side of the fire, her white hair hanging over one shoulder in its usual messy braid. Too-large jeans were bunched at her waist, and a wide leather belt hung at an angle over her hips. The tucked-in, green flannel shirt made her look larger than she was. Gwyn saw the youthful beauty that had once been when Rhona’s kohl-lined eyes closed, and her weathered face relaxed.

Without warning, Rhona began the service in a soft monotone: “Let us prepare.” Although firm, her voice was quiet, but it somehow filled the clearing. The druidess opened her eyes, glanced at her sister, Lysandra, who stood off to her right, and nodded. With a wave of her hand, Rhona blessed the circle of women and the small bonfire at their center, while Lysandra positioned the elemental points.

Rhona closed her eyes when the small bowl of salt touched the northern point of the circle’s rocky enclosure. "This represents beauty and Earth's bounty,” she chanted. Lysandra then placed a smoldering yellow incense at the eastern point.

"This symbolizes air, the intellect and awareness around us,” Rhona said, her gaze following her sister’s fluid movements as she placed a dark red candle at the southern position and lit it. "Fire epitomizes desire and the spark of passion burning inside us all,” Rhona's low voice intoned.

Lastly, Lysandra stopped at the western position and placed a bowl of water at her feet. "Water is within us,” Rhona’s soft voice lowered, almost singing the next part of the chant. “Subjecting us to its ebb and flow, associating with emotion and intuition."

The coven's leader stepped forward, raising her palms to the dark sky. "We invite Morrigan and her sisters, Macha and Nemain. Goddesses of war and death, the deciders of the fate of battles and those who fight in them." Rhona met Gwyn's gaze and gave her a subtle nod. With a quick prick to her fingertip, Gwyn allowed a single drop of blood to fall into the circle, fulfilling Rhona's earlier request.

Rhona's shadowed gaze swept across the coven, glancing at each member's face as she evaluated them for hesitation or doubt. “I, along with those present, invite you so that our union of power may be achieved."

Gwyn couldn't help but shiver with excitement. Fascinated, the moonlight shimmered on Rhona's white hair, casting an ethereal glow around her. As she stepped closer to the circle, the flames drew an eerie shadow across the leader’s short body. She motioned for everyone to sit while she and Gwyn remained standing.

Again, with arms raised and palms upturned, she began her litany in a strong, melodic voice. "We ask the Morrigan to grant us wisdom so we may discover the evil surrounding Tournai. Combine our strengths so we have the power to destroy it. Guide our strategy as we fight our war."

The flames from the bonfire turned bluish-red and shot upward, plummeting Gwyn’s body temperature. She held her hands over the tiny baby bump but knew her daughter was fine. From how she bounced inside, she seemed to enjoy the ritual. Gwyn frowned down at her clasped fingers. Well, that doesn't bode well.

Ice crystals formed around everyone's eyes and mouths. At the fire's core, the outer pieces of wood disintegrated, while the center chunks twisted into weird shapes and turned black. Gwyn leaned in, mesmerized at what she was seeing. Squinting into the blazing glare, she stared into the small space between the wood and saw the faint outlines of a dark room. The faces of three women came into focus—beautiful beyond anything she'd ever seen, and she had no doubt but that they were Fae.

Sharp prickles raised the hair on the back of Gwyn's neck as the three women turned to face her instead of Rhona. Their brows rose in recognition. The tallest of the three stepped forward, her hair as black as a raven, and her blue eyes sparkled...like Morgan's when she was mad. Shock coursed through Gwyn as she recognized her as the woman from the picture in their library back home. Excitement swirled through her. "Who are you?"

The woman smiled. "I am Morrigan, my child, but you may call me Grandmother ."

Gwyn's eyes widened. "What?” She shook her head. “I—this can’t be true… Mama was telling the truth?"

Morrigan raised one brow, her mouth curled in a knowing grin. “Yes, my dear, she was telling the truth. But you have known me your entire life. I used to tuck you and Morgan into bed when you were little. Don't you remember the stories I told you about faraway lands, heroes rescuing their true loves, and the dying race of magical people?"

Gwyn nodded, trying to see the woman's face in her memories as she sat on the side of her twin bed, but it remained indistinct like a cloud covered her features. "I think I remember... Everything’s so blurry, and when I try to remember the details, I immediately doubt myself and think about something else.”

Morrigan's head tilted to one side, her gaze never leaving Gwyn's face. She raised her hand and cupped her palm underneath her mouth. "Remember," she whispered, then blew an icy breath into Gwyn's face.

Gwyn stuttered as her senses chilled. She blinked, pulling warm air into her frozen lungs as childhood memories flooded her mind, bits and pieces changing until her past was complete. She saw Morrigan smiling down at her and Morgan as they held each other in the middle of their bed.

Another memory showed her standing beside their mother, who could have been Morrigan's twin sister. Tears filled her eyes as she stared at her mother's beautiful face. A new face appeared, and Gwyn recognized the woman standing to Morrigan's left. She, too, used to visit. She would play strange yet exhilarating games with them.

"I...I remember you," Gwyn whispered and turned to the third woman on Morrigan’s right. "And you..."

“My sister, Nemain." Morrigan smiled at the woman to her left. Then, glancing at the annoyed woman on her right, she said, "That sourpuss is Macha. We are sisters—thankfully, not triplets. Who would want Macha's constant scowl?" Gwyn smiled when the woman in question growled.

"Yet, when you need me in battle, sister , you're grateful for my scowl, are you not?"

"Oh shush, Macha. You know I love you and only speak in jest. It wouldn't hurt for you to try to smile occasionally.” Macha crossed her arms over her chest, exhaling loudly before rolling her eyes.

Morrigan turned her gaze back to Gwyn. "I'm afraid my actions have endangered you and your sister, my dear." Gwyn was surprised to see the Fae's blue eyes fill with tears. "And your mother...her death lies at my feet as well."

Gwyn's brows drew together, a painful ache beginning between them the harder she frowned. "What?" she whispered. "What did you do?"

"It was not by my hand that my daughter died, Gwyn. There are many things in Tír na nOg—where the Tuatha dé Danann now live—that you do not understand. My people, too, are both good and bad, as is the human race. The greatest difference between our races, though, is magic.

The Tuatha dé have powers you can only imagine. Even more so if they have traveled to the Unseelie Court. There is one of us—a very powerful, evil Fae who has vowed vengeance for something I did many, many years ago. Long before we were sent into the world where we now live.”

Gwyn struggled to hold back the many questions as Morrigan continued. “Fer-Diorich was seduced by black magic. He then became obsessed with a fair maiden named Sadhbh, but when she refused him, he cursed her and changed her into a deer. Sadhbh was my friend, and I couldn't let her stay that way, to be killed by a hunter's bow, so I told her how she could break the enchantment. Before she could follow through with my instructions, she was rescued by a handsome king. They fell in love, and the curse was broken, but unfortunately, Fer-Diorich took her captive again."

"I remember this story, but what does that have to do with Morgan or me? How did my mother die?"

The slight tightening of Morrigan's lips told Gwyn she might have overstepped her place, but she didn't care. She had to know who killed her parents.

"I rescued Sadhbh from Fer-Diorich's clutches again,” Morrigan continued, ignoring Gwyn’s question. “He swore to kill those I hold dear to my heart." Her chest rose and fell in a deep breath. “At first, I believed he was killing only those who were half-Fae, but I was wrong. He will kill all descendants, no matter who or what they are. Gwyn, you and your sister will die if we can't stop the Dark Fae from escaping the Unseelie Court."

"So my mother died because some whiny-assed Fae threw a temper tantrum because he couldn't make a girl like him?"

Macha chuckled and glanced over at Nemain. "Girl's got fire—I like her."

Morrigan, ignoring her sister's remark, nodded. "That about sums it up."

Gwyn covered her hips with her hands. "So, how do we stop him? I'm not about to let him hurt Morgan or anyone else."

Nemain and Macha stepped closer, flanking their sister. Morrigan clasped their hands in hers and, as one, stepped back into the darkened room, their bodies blending with the swirling blackness growing around them.

"Be ready, little one," Morrigan said. "Watch for the signs I will send..."

"Morrigan?" Gwyn tried to step into the circle, but her feet wouldn't obey. "Grandmother!" She watched as the room swirled, fading into the depths of the dying bonfire, the lonely call of a single crow filling the air. She continued to stare into the flames, aware of the women moving around her as they put out what was left of the candles and picked up the bowls, her only care was for her grandmother to return.

Gwyn shivered, running her hands over the chilled skin on her arms. The grove was now in almost total darkness, except for the slight glow surrounding the simmering ashes of the fire. The Wiccans' nearby conversation finally drew her attention, and she sidled closer to the lingering group.

"I've been to all the old cemeteries, just like you told me to do," said one old hag, bent and withered. "I tore up quite a few graves—even a few mausoleums—but didn't find anything like you described." Her flippant reply was aimed at a small-statured, mousy girl.

The girl cleared her throat and said with a nasty tone, "Well, I went through all the cathedrals and churches and found a possible link to the Book of Taliesin. There was a quick reference to some stone that disappeared during the Scottish-English wars."

"You mean the Stone of Destiny?" Gwyn interrupted.

The girl looked at her with raised brows and nodded with a faint hint of approval on her sour face. "That's right. What was your name again?"

"Gwyn DuBois."

"Oh, I thought you might be a recruit to our circle. You're the reason we're here tonight. However, I fail to see why Rhona bothered. Whatever she tried to do failed." The girl immediately dismissed her and looked back at the old woman while Gwyn's thoughts ping-ponged inside her brain. Had no one seen or heard Morrigan and her talking?

"I told you Rhona's powers are fading," the mousy girl told the other women. "Now, as I was saying, the stone currently displayed in Scotland is only a replica. Through my research, I've narrowed the possible locations to three—a small border castle on the English side, the stone circle at Newgrange, and Aachen."

The old woman scowled. "Aachen? You expect us to believe the Stone of Destiny might be buried with Charlemagne?"

The girl nodded. "Yes, I do."

Gwyn realized she was holding her breath and slowly exhaled. She waited as the women moved down various paths through the surrounding trees. Glancing back at the fire, she noticed Rhona's and Lysandra's silhouettes framed by the glowing embers and walked toward them.

"I will need your help for the next few days," Rhona said to her sister as Gwyn drew closer. "I'm not as young as I once was and preparing for the Beltaine sacrifice at the festival so soon after summoning Morrigan might be difficult. My powers aren't what they used to be."

Lysandra patted her older sister's arm. "Don't worry. The festivities will be as amazing as ever. Per Morrigan's instructions, you must concentrate on finding Taliesan's book."

Gwyn frowned. "You spoke to Morrigan too?"

Rhona smiled, her dark eyes comforting. "As did you, my dear. Aren't you glad you listened to me and attended tonight?"

"To be truthful, I'm not sure yet. What she told me pretty much changed everything, but why should I believe her?"

"If there's one thing I know about Morrigan, she would never lie. Macha, yes. Morrigan, no. I would bet my magic that what she told you was the truth, however hard it is to accept."

Gwyn's mouth rose in a crooked smile. "Thank you, Rhona, for inviting me. It wasn't anything like I expected, but thank you all the same." She turned toward the path, stopping when Rhona called out to her.

"Take heed by what Morrigan told you, child. If she chanced the wrath of her king to talk to you, you must listen to what she had to say. The trials you and your sister are about to embark on are so much more than disappearing animals and losing your store."

Rhona approached her and placed her aged fingers around Gwyn's forearm. "You are strong, Gwyn DuBois, and have the most powerful magic I have felt in a long time. Guard that magic and don't use it unless necessary. Some beings can track you by that power. Protect you and your sister, but believe in yourself because you will have nothing else to rely on when the end comes.”