Daughter of the Spellcaster (28 page)

Bahru was out cold—perhaps dead—lying near the wall. Molly Dunbar lay still, eyes open, unseeing, skin already turning blue.

She was dead. Lena knew it and thought it was for the best. How could she have lived with knowing she had murdered her own husband while under the power of some mad spirit?

Nurse Eloise crawled on hands and knees toward her. “Doc, we have to start CPR.”

“We can’t. She signed a DNR in my office not a month ago,” he said softly. “It’s almost like she knew.” He rose from the floor, then helped the nurse up, and the two of them moved to where Bahru lay and began checking his vitals.

Selma returned, placing little Eleanora into Lena’s arms. The baby was all cleaned up, diapered, dressed in a pretty T-shirt with a matching little cap that had moons and stars in yellow and blue. She was bundled in a fresh, clean blanket, and her face was scrunching up comically.

Ryan, who was sitting on the edge of the bed with one arm around Lena, smiled down at their daughter, then looked back up at Lena. “I can’t...believe it. Look at her.”

“Eleanora,” Lena whispered.

“Eleanora Sarah,” he said.

Lena smiled. “After your mother. Eleanora Sarah...Dunkirk? Or McNally?”

He met her eyes, and his were moist. “It would be kind of silly to call her Dunkirk, wouldn’t it? She’d have a different name than her dad—and her mom.”

Lena blinked.

“I remember,” he whispered. “I more than remember, Lena. I loved you so much it damn near killed me to lose you back then.” His voice went tight, his throat choked with tears. “And I love you just as much now. I’ve loved you the whole damn time, I was just in denial, walling it up inside me. I love you, wildly, passionately, madly, insanely. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Epilogue

L
ena was rocking week-old Ellie in front of the fire. Her mother and Bahru were in the kitchen, arguing over how much mint to put into the latest batch of her newest tea blend. Ryan was reading one of her
Lena and the Prince
stories to Ellie as she nursed. It was yet another construction-paper creation, but they would soon have hardcover versions. He was having them all printed, so Ellie could keep them forever and hand them down to her own children one day. They were working together on the illustrations.

The cat was lying on the hearth, purring to her heart’s content.

Molly had died. Her husband’s body had been found, and the medical examiner—Dr. Patrick Cartwright—had determined that she had suffered a mental breakdown due to a brain aneurism, shot him, then died a few hours later. And most of that was even true. She
had
died of a brain aneurism. The stress of what had happened in Lena’s bedroom had probably been what caused it to rupture, but that part didn’t go into the report. No one would have believed the truth anyway.

Doc Cartwright didn’t know what had really happened, either. Neither he nor Nurse Eloise, who—once she was released from Demetrius’s control—turned out to be a wonderful woman with a wicked sense of humor, had any memory of the past few weeks. As for Bahru...well, Lena thought he
did
. And she thought he was ashamed that he hadn’t been strong enough to resist Demetrius’s power.

None of them had any idea what had become of the house ghost, which they now knew had been the long-tormented Demetrius. Lena hoped he had found peace. A body, maybe, or release of some kind. It didn’t matter which.

Her part in his story was done, Lena thought. Her bond to that past life was broken. Her life was her own now, hers to live in the present, with no more ancient spells or curses allowed to interfere.

All she had now was peace, serenity and absolute bliss. Her dreams had come true.

“‘And then,’” Ryan read, “‘the royal prince rode his mighty stallion through the desert sands and saved the beautiful harem girl. And the tiny princess inside her, as well. But what surprised him the most was that those beautiful witches saved him right back.’”

“‘And then they lived happily ever after,’” Lena said.

He met her eyes, leaned in and kissed her slowly. “And ever after, and even ever after that.” A knock at the door interrupted them, and he whispered, “I’ll get it.”

He went to open the door, and Lena watched from his mother’s rocking chair, which had been delivered the day before, as two people stepped inside. A gorgeous, stylish blonde with the most killer boots Lena had ever seen, and a darkly handsome man who looked to be Hispanic.

“We had a message on our machine,” said the woman. “It said you’d found our cat?”

“Oh, the cat!” Lena nodded at the feline in question, who hadn’t even bothered to lift her head, though she was blinking her green eyes slowly at her mistress.

The blonde smiled. “That’s her all right.”

Lena got to her feet, laying the baby in her nearby bassinet, and scooped up the cat. Stroking the animal, she said, “We’re going to miss you around here.”

“We only live a little further around the lake, or up the trail through the woods if you don’t mind a hike,” the blonde said as Lena carried the cat over to her.

“The cabin?” Lena asked. “The one that belonged to a priest?”

The other woman nodded with a wry glance at her husband. “We’ve been away, and Pyewacket here ran away from her sitters.”

She met Lena’s eyes, and it felt to Lena as if the blonde was looking deep inside her. “I’m surprised we haven’t met before,” Lena said.

“Like I said, we’ve been away. Out of the country, in fact. Honeymoon.” She smiled up at the man beside her, then returned to her steady perusal of Lena and offered a hand.

“We’re the Petrosas. This is Tomas, and I’m Indira. Indy for short.” She clasped Lena’s hand as she spoke, and Lena felt as if an electric buzz passed between their palms.

“Indira?” Lena asked, disbelieving.

The other woman blinked, nodded.

“I’m Magdalena. Um, Lena for short.”

The blonde’s eyes widened. “Oh, my Goddess,” she whispered. “Oh, my Goddess, it’s
you
.” She threw her arms around Lena, then turned to her husband. “It’s her, Tomas. It’s Magdalena!” When she stood back and looked at Lena, there were tears in her eyes. “Man, do we ever need to talk,” she said.

“I guess we do.” Lena looked back at her sleeping baby, her beloved Ryan, the comfy fire crackling in the hearth. She’d thought this was over, but maybe she’d been wrong.

Indira put a hand on her shoulder. “Not now, though,” she said as Lena faced her again. “We haven’t even unpacked, and you—”

“I need some time. We’ve...we’ve been through a lot in the past week.”

“I can only imagine.”

Lena nodded. “Tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow,” Indira agreed with a nod. “I have so much to tell you.” She hugged Lena, and Lena hugged her back, feeling a rush of affection for the woman she’d only just met and knowing they were not strangers. They were sisters.

Sisters. Imagine that.

The couple left with their cat, and Lena watched them all the way to their ancient-looking off-white Volvo, then down the drive and out of sight. Ryan came up behind her, reached past her to close the door, then turned her to face him and wrapped his arms around her.

“I thought this was over,” she whispered against his shirt. “Oh, Ryan, I’m not ready for any more. I don’t know if I ever can be.”

“It’s gonna be okay,” he told her. “We’ve already proven that we can get through anything as long as we’re together. We’ve got the most powerful force in the world on our side, Lena. Perfect trust and—”

“Perfect love,” she said with him. “It
is
perfect, isn’t it?”

He nodded, turning her in his arms and walking her to the bassinet, where they gazed adoringly at their sleeping daughter. “It’s beyond perfect,” he whispered. “It’s a miracle.”

And then he kissed her, and she knew they could face anything as long as they were together.

* * * * *

Look for BLOOD OF THE SORCERESS,

the final volume of “THE PORTAL,”

by New York Times bestselling author Maggie Shayne,

coming in February 2013 from Harlequin MIRA

AUTHOR’S NOTE

The Great Rite mentioned throughout this book is actually better called the Symbolic Great Rite or The Great Rite in Token. It’s symbolic of ritual sex. The “Actual” Great Rite, ritualized intercourse for magical purposes, has been practiced throughout history. In many ancient cultures the High Priestess would offer her body to be used by the Goddess and engage in ritual sex with the chosen king, who was the earthly representative of the Gods. This act served as the king’s anointment and ensured that his reign would be blessed by the Gods, and his lands and people would be fertile, fruitful and productive. The entire idea is based on the understanding that form and force equal life. Form is female energy, the womb. Force is male energy, the seed. The two combined create all life. And this is why Witches today honor that knowledge by recreating the Great Rite symbolically at the beginning of most of their magical workings, through the use of the chalice and the blade.

Also, you may notice that I did not capitalize the word
Witch
in this book. Normally I would, but in fiction there would have too many instances where the copy editor would have had to figure out whether the word was being used to identify a follower of a given path or with a more general meaning, which would change whether it should be capped. We opted to simplify by using lowercase throughout. Likewise, my use of the word
magic,
as it pertains to Witchcraft, would normally (among practitioners, at least) be spelled
magick
to differentiate the kind practiced in the Craft from the kind performed by stage magicians. However,
magick
is not a word many people know, and it was going to drive the copy editors mad, so we used the mundane spelling.

For more information on Witchcraft and magick, visit:
www.ThePortalBooks.com/online-book-shadows
.

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ISBN: 9781459248922

DAUGHTER OF THE SPELLCASTER

Copyright © 2012 by Margaret Benson

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