Lessons After Dark (25 page)

The demon was gone, the gate was closed, and everyone was alive. Gareth would feel drained soon, and cold. Already his leg was beginning to hurt, but none of that mattered at the moment. He pulled Olivia into his arms and kissed her, holding her to him for a moment that didn't last nearly long enough.

Consciousness of their situation and of his duty intruded far too soon, and Gareth pulled away enough to speak. “I should try to wake Fitzpatrick,” he said, sighing, “and then we should leave.”

Olivia nodded and stepped away. “They're probably panicking up at the house.” She moved about the circle quickly, picking up Fitzpatrick's implements and her own, while Gareth unearthed a handkerchief. “Do you know,” she added thoughtfully and with a little uncertainty, “I think we just did something like what Brother Anthony spoke of. Being the guardians of this place, I mean.”

“I…suppose it is. Repairing, at least.” Gareth eyed the remaining water in the pool doubtfully. Since Fitzpatrick had likely poured it out of the pitcher, he'd probably used it to open the gate. He didn't know if some enchantment still lingered. He would rather not test the theory, but he wanted some water to wake Fitzpatrick up.

Olivia stopped in front of him and passed over the flask Waite had been carrying. “I think we've made ourselves part of this place tonight,” she said, “or made it part of us. We'd probably learn to make the place stronger too, in time.” She coughed and looked away. “If it would be something you wanted, that is. Learning more magic, staying here as much as you'd have to, for as long as you'd have to…I don't know if you'd want that.”

Gareth didn't even have to think before he answered. “With you? Yes.”

Her answering smile banished all the chill from the night air.

Gareth made himself turn away and kneel by Fitzpatrick. He bathed the boy's face and neck until Fitzpatrick woke gasping, squirming—and then freezing in place when he saw where he was and who was there. “Sir?”

“Fitzpatrick.” Gareth kept his voice quiet, kind but not too gentle. Too much gentleness would make the boy suspect something was badly wrong. “How are you feeling?”

“I…all right, sir. Ma'am,” he added, half a question as he saw Olivia. “Confused.”

“I'm not surprised,” Olivia said. “What was the last thing you remember?”

“Sitting in my room. I'd been in…oh, some kind of funk,” Fitzpatrick admitted, looking away from Gareth and Olivia, “and I didn't want to be around anyone. I was an absolute beast to Waite about it too. Strange, but I don't feel any of that anymore.”

“When did that start?” Olivia asked.

“I'd been in a mood for a while, ever since…ever since Waite and I tried the summoning, you know. But it got really bad only the day we all went outside. I tried to pet some stray cat, make myself feel better. It scratched me, and…” Fitzpatrick looked around. “Ever since then, I felt rotten. Only it wasn't just a bad mood, was it?”

Olivia drew a breath, looked at Gareth, and then shook her head. “No. It was the demon. I think you managed to fight it off for a day or two, which is longer than most, but it took you over completely in the end.”

“Oh,” said Fitzpatrick, and his eyes were wide and scared. He looked very young. “Did I hurt anyone?”

“Not badly,” said Gareth. “You hit Waite, but you didn't do any real damage.”

“I'm lucky, then. And lucky you came after me.”

Gareth nodded. “Luckier still you'd learned something about magic,” he said, remembering Olivia's classes before he'd stopped going. “Mrs. Brightmore gave you the chance to resist as long as you did, I'd say.”

“Thank you, then, ma'am,” said Fitzpatrick, who still looked dazed.

In that moment, so did Olivia. “Catch your breath for a few minutes,” she said. “Then we'll start back.”

***

There wasn't much either of them could do about the pool, but there were still circles to wipe away. If Olivia had ever been careless about wild places, she certainly wasn't going to be so here, not even to the extent of waiting until morning. She cleaned while William recovered, leaning against a rock, since he seemed inclined to avoid the trees as much as possible.

Despite his obvious exhaustion, Gareth insisted on helping once Olivia admitted the process took no particular magical skill. “It's hardly pulling stumps,” he said brusquely, handing her the brass pitcher. As she took it, he caught her hand and lowered his voice. “Besides, there are some advantages to your company.”

After a brief glance to make sure William had his eyes closed, Olivia gladly allowed Gareth to pull her into his arms—arm, rather, as he was leaning on the rowan staff, but that one arm held her tightly, and his chest was solid and warm. She rested her head against him and closed her eyes.

Gareth bent and brushed his lips across the top of her head. Knowledge followed the tender gesture, sinking into Olivia's mind. Now she thought of everything that had happened, how close their escape had been, how blindly she'd gone into the situation, and how thoroughly Gareth had trusted her at the last. She drew a breath, ragged now, and stepped away from him a little. “I can't,” she said quietly, “not now. I'll start shaking or weeping or…I don't know.”

“It'll probably do you good,” said Gareth, his arm still around her waist.

“Not bad for you either,” Olivia said dryly, tilting her head back to look up at him and regaining a little of her composure through pride. “Just not now, for either of us.” She leaned forward, pressed a kiss to his jawline, and then slipped back to her tasks.

***

When they left the clearing, the owl had disappeared. Apparently not even Charlotte's persuasions could keep a hunting bird in place for almost an hour, which was how long Olivia thought it had taken to close the rift and recover afterward, though she couldn't be sure. Gareth's pocket watch said the time was a little past two in the morning, but it wasn't as if either he or she had checked it before entering the clearing.

It wasn't as if it mattered, anyway.

They walked back slowly and carefully, William between them. He
could
walk on his own, to Olivia's relief, and his steps became steadier as he kept going, but he was still pale and silent. She and Gareth felt it better to keep him surrounded as much as they could. He seemed to appreciate the company as well, glancing back every so often as if to make sure Gareth was still bringing up the rear. Olivia also looked back frequently, to be sure the men were still all right. They must have looked like a regular troop of owls.

Even Gareth cast a glance or two behind him. At first Olivia wasn't sure why, since nobody was supposed to be following him…

And then she realized: nobody was
supposed
to be following him.

She gulped. As far as she could make out from Gareth's expression, he didn't look alarmed after any of his quick inspections, and Olivia couldn't make out either shape or movement on the dark path, so there was nothing to be alarmed about. It was important to remember that.

It was also difficult. The immediate situation was much less intimidating now, but the forest was only slightly less so. Even without a rift, reality was thinner here. Even though Olivia was part of it, in some manner she didn't really understand, she
didn't really understand
, which was unsettling in itself. And the forest was still the place where men had seen colored lightning and odd animals.

It was still the place where children had disappeared.

She and Gareth would come back. They would talk to Brother Jonathan and learn the art of guarding the forest. One day, they might even bring their children here. Olivia thought they'd do all of those things in daytime, though. She couldn't imagine entering the forest at night. Not willingly.

Shadows pressed around them. Some of them waved in the wind, and when it picked up, making the tree branches above them caper in the broken moonlight, Olivia had to look away. Behind her, William made an inarticulate sound in his throat.

“Nothing to worry about,” she said, her voice full of brisk energy she didn't feel at all. It would be a long time before any of them could look unflinchingly at something as ordinary as trees in the wind. Longer, probably, for William. He'd seen more of the world beyond the gate, but he'd had no part in the final triumph. Poor boy. Even if he had nearly gotten them all killed. “We'll be home before long. Hot tea all around, I think.”

“Good luck finding anything to make it at this hour,” Gareth said. “I've never managed.”

“You haven't looked hard enough.” Olivia didn't mention the household would probably be up. No point alarming William further. When she looked over her shoulder, she thought he seemed a little more at ease.

So she spoke of inconsequential things, of how good it was to have fresh cream these days. How she'd bought a set of teacups once only to find—in the midst of a visit—the handles were prone to falling off at the slightest provocation. Of mishaps in the kitchen and the scullery when she'd been young. She let her words become a thread that rolled before them, leading them out of the forest. Gareth's voice joined hers occasionally, telling his own stories. His sister's early attempts at cooking, and rushed and comical moments of domesticity during wartime.

The forest was still dark around them, but the darkness stayed a little farther away now.

Then suddenly, they were out. The trees retreated from them, and they were standing at the base of the hill below Englefield. The dormitory rose above them, an empty shell, but the house in the distance was solid and strong, and light poured out of the windows.

A figure rushed toward them, silhouetted against the light. For a moment, Olivia couldn't make out who it was, and her throat tightened. But then she got a better view, and she recognized Mrs. Grenville. A very
odd
-looking Mrs. Grenville, granted. She wore men's clothing in some tight black fabric, her hair was braided back, and there was a long knife stuck into her belt. That knife didn't look like it had come from the scullery.

Olivia wasn't inclined to ask questions. She suspected she'd have plenty to answer before long.

For now, Mrs. Grenville asked only one. She looked over the three of them, then out toward the forest. “Everything all right?”

“Yes,” Olivia said and couldn't help turning toward Gareth as she did. Despite everything, a smile touched her lips. “And I believe it's going to be.”

“Right, then,” said Mrs. Grenville. “You all look dead. Let's get back inside.” She turned and started walking. To Olivia's considerable surprise, William was the first to follow her. He went quickly, caught up, and said something to Joan in a low voice. Joan stopped for a second. Then she nodded, and the two drew ahead, speaking quietly.

Without the necessity of being bright and cheerful for William, Olivia felt a great weariness descend on her, turning her feet to lead. There was satisfaction in it, though. She'd done a hard and a dangerous day's work, bed waited up ahead, and she suspected she wouldn't be alone when she got there.

Drawing closer to Gareth, she reached out one of her hands. There was nothing dramatic about the gesture this time: no anchor, no power, no task. Simply the desire to touch—the desire for connection. Nonetheless, Gareth linked his fingers through hers as eagerly as he'd done out in the forest.

Hand in hand, with darkness behind them and light ahead, they went back to the house.

I'd like to thank Professor Robert Mathiesen for information about occult weirdness, in general, and Victorian occultism, in particular, and for much support and encouragement. As always, many thanks to my family and friends, to the editorial and marketing geniuses at Sourcebooks who make my writing presentable, and to my readers, past and future.

The Lord of Illusion

by Kathryne Kennedy

He'll do anything to save her…

Rebel Lord Drystan Hawkes dreams of fighting for England's freedom. He gets his chance when he finds a clue to opening the magical portal to Elfhame, and he must race to find the slave girl who holds the key to the mystery. But even as Drystan rescues Camille Ashton from the palace of Lord Roden, it becomes unclear exactly who is saving whom…

For the fate of humankind lies with Camille…

Enslaved for years in a realm where illusion and glamour reign, Camille has learned to trust nothing and no one. But she's truly spellbound when she meets Drystan, a man different from any she's ever known, and the force of their passion may yet be strong enough to banish the elven lords from this world forever…

Praise for Kathryne Kennedy:

“Enthralling…a passionate love story.” —
RT Book Reviews
, 4½ stars

For more Kathryne Kennedy, visit:

www.sourcebooks.com