Sorceress Awakening (19 page)

She might have spent half the day listening
had his deep rumble of pleasure not startled her into releasing her hold. She
stepped back just as he turned to face her, his eyes full of dark heat.

Apparently she wasn’t the only one
remembering last night. She couldn’t maintain his gaze and stared at her hands.

“Thank you for everything you did last
night.” His voice still held a heated quality to it. “I’m glad the Sorceress
will one day love her gargoyle again.” A finger under her jaw guided her head
up.

“Shit. I thought you were asleep,” she
growled.

“I can still hear and understand while I’m
in a light sleep.”

“Not fair. You’re like Super Gargoyle.
You’re wings are even cape-like.”

He laughed, the deep tone raising
gooseflesh. “And you are a strange little dryad.”

“Thanks, I love you too.” She hoped
gargoyles understood sarcasm.

“I know.” Gregory shifted back to his true
form with a blur of light and shadow, then rested his muzzle on her head.

So much for sarcasm. Her mind switched to
more pressing topics. “Why has the Council come?”

“They must make a decision.”

“About?”

“Us,” he rumbled into her hair.

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

* * *

Lillian stood in the meadow’s center, her redwood
towering at her back. She idly petted the soft needles of her hamadryad while
she waited. Gran had directed the Council to meet at the center of the maze,
saying some of the shier members would feel more at home protected by the maze
and sheltered by the trees. More likely Gran chose the spot for the gargoyle’s
sake. The shadows could hide him without him having to go invisible and break
his promise to Lillian. She had never met such a creature of opposites.
Fearless yet shy, soft spoken but brazen. She found his core personality
intriguing, and could overlook some of his quirks, such as his aggressive,
overprotective tendencies. A grin tugged at her lips.

She and Gregory had arrived early because
he wanted to check the wards on the grove, again. While the gargoyle worked his
magic, she decided to try her hand at some dryad magic she’d overheard Sable
and Kayla discussing.

With her bare toes digging into damp earth
and embraced on either side by low spreading branches of her hamadryad, Lillian
closed her eyes and sought the forest lurking beyond the manicured gardens of
her grandmother’s home. Magic answered her wish, and the presence of the land
touched her mind.

It was there, waiting to reclaim the
cultivated grounds and return them to a natural state. The forest called to
her, wanting her to merge with its vast expanses. She focused her mind and, on
closer examination, found the spirit of the forest was connected by water, like
blood vessels within a body. Creeks meandered into streams, and her mind
followed those subsidiaries as they made their way into fens and rivers, then
finally to lakes. She flowed south with the water, toward Haliburton Forest.
While not tame, that forest lacked the size and wild abandon her heart craved.
She sought east and north, to where the smaller track of woodland butted
against the mighty Algonquin.

We are here,
the trees whispered.
Join us. Be one.

“Lillian, it’s time to come back.”

The voice intruded upon her link with the
land and she tried to push it away.

“My Sorceress, return to me.”

A tongue slathered her cheek and Lillian
returned to herself with a sputtered exclamation. “Ugh.”

Gregory was holding her upright—her own
legs felt like rubber. He nuzzled her again, licking at her neck.

“Gregory have mercy.” She pushed at his
shoulders, attempting to look serious, but the effect was spoiled when he
licked her cheek again. She burst into giggles. She got herself under control a
moment later. “Okay, what happened?”

“You do not have the training you need,
that is what happened.” Each word came out clipped.

Not good. He sounded pissed, which meant he
was scared.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I overheard
Sable and Kayla talking yesterday while I was getting ready for the Hunt. Dryad
magic sounded so easy and natural. I’m tired of knowing nothing. . . .”

“We will talk of this later.” Gregory’s
ears swiveled toward the entrance of the maze. “I hear the others coming.
Please, do not call on magic until I have time to teach you some basic rules.”

Lillian concluded Gregory didn’t lie very
well. Yes, the others were coming, but that’s not why he didn’t want to talk
about magic. Every time she wanted answers about magic, he evaded her
questions. “Okay. I won’t use magic again.”

She lied better than her gargoyle.

* * *

From her position under the shade of her redwood,
Lillian surveyed each of the Council members as they emerged from the maze. Two
young girls arrived with Gran, one to each side. Gran led them to the picnic
tables next to the stream.

On closer inspection, Lillian realized
these were not children, but delicate four-foot-tall women. Each wore a simple,
but elegant cream robe tied at the waist with golden rope. The taller of the
two had mottled brown-and-white hair, not from age—this was a pattern. The
brown-and-white layers ran horizontal. The other women had the same style hair,
but tan and brown. They gazed around the meadow, their jewel-bright eyes
immediately drawn to the redwood at meadow’s center. At the sight of the
majestic tree, the taller one made a soft cry, and what Lillian had thought
were bangs lifted from her forehead into a short spiky ruff.

Gran gestured at the food laid out on the
tables and then headed in Lillian’s direction.

When she reached Lillian’s side, she smiled
and nodded toward the others arriving. “I figured I’d tell you a little about
each member as they arrive.”

Lillian nodded absently as she studied the
next person to enter the maze. He was the man she’d seen leading the Hunt the
night before. “Okay, they’re getting ahead of you. The two short women, who are
they?”

“Hyrand and Goswin are sprites. They are
mother and daughter and represent the lesser elementals of the Clan. Both have
been members of the Council for decades. All the Council members are allies,
but some are less dangerous than others. You can trust Hyrand and Goswin.” Then
Gran nodded to the taller silver-haired man who stood looking at the tables
with distain. “That is the sidhe lord, Whitethorn. I doubt that’s his real
name. I’ve known him for a number of years, but he doesn’t trust easily.” Gran
gave a little shrug. “Even in this realm he is powerful and holds the Clan and
the Coven together by sheer strength of will. Do not offend him, or challenge
him in any way. While he and I may not share an unending attachment, in the
past we have always gotten past our differences of opinion. At the very least,
he deserves respect. He has given up much of his power to protect our people.”

“Got it. Don’t piss off the big, pale one.”

While they’d been conversing, a small,
black horse eased out of the maze’s shadows and into the light. At first,
Lillian wondered if this was the sidhe lord’s steed. Then it turned to look at her
with glowing yellow eyes, like they burned with an internal flame.

“Ah, the pooka has arrived. Good.”

Lillian studied him a moment more.
Something about him caused a shiver to race down her back. “I can already tell
this isn’t one of the friendly types.”

“Like many of the old ones, the pooka took
the greatest joy in the Hunt when it was untamed. He will not even gift us with
a name we can call him by, so we call him the pooka. Though, he likes the
naiads and the dryads more than some of the other species, so you might get him
to open up.”

“I don’t think I’ll be striking up a
conversation with him anytime soon.”

“Ah, here comes Greenborrow.”

Lillian tore her eyes away from the pooka
and noticed an older-looking man hovering in the shadows of the cedar walls.
With one hand he was petting the maze, in the other he held a massive club. A
raven perched on his shoulder, and a giant wolf walked at his heels.

“I hope he’s friendly. What’s he doing to
my maze?”

“Oh, likely admiring the thickness. A
little pride on his part. He planted this hedge for you many years ago.
Greenborrow is a leshii: a forest lord—another of the old powerful ones—much
diminished now, but don’t let on.”

The leshii ignored the others gathered
around the picnic tables and made straight for Gran. His taupe-colored tunic
was without a belt, like he’d lost it at some point and couldn’t be bothered to
find another. Bare feet covered with dust and grass stains added to the
newcomer’s wild-man look.

“Well, so this is our fine young dryad. I
saw you and the gargoyle at the Hunt last night,” Greenborrow said, then
slapped his thigh. “I’ve never seen such power. Magnificent. Your gargoyle,
he’s here?”

“Yes,” Lillian paused, realizing Gregory
had drifted off somewhere. “. . . He was just here.”

“Oh, never mind dear. He’s over by the
pooka.” Greenborrow pointed behind her.

Lillian turned. Her breath hissed out in
surprise. The pooka was behind them, less than ten feet away. Gregory stood on
all fours, his wings mantled in aggression as he faced off against the black
horse.

A streak of white blurred between the tree
trunks and the unicorn skidded to a halt next to the gargoyle. Both equines
eyed each other with disdain.

“I don’t think they like each other,”
Lillian remarked.

“No,” Gran replied. “Two stallions seldom
get along. And Gregory, well, he doesn’t trust anyone, and the pooka has a
nasty enough history it sets alarms a-ringing in his head, I imagine.”

“To put it mildly,” Greenborrow added, his
accompanying laugh echoed across the meadow. Both stallions turned toward him.
The leshii inclined his head to the unicorn and the pooka. “If you two
misbehave, I’ll see what I can do to discipline the both of you.” He ran his
hand along his club, caressing the wood. “Anyway, I wish to talk with Hyrand
and Goswin. It’s been entirely too long since I’ve last spoken with the lovely
sprites. Good day, ladies.” He bowed and then wandered away.

“I like him,” Lillian declared.

“Old Greenborrow is a good sort, but like
all his kind, he has a dual nature. Be certain to always be on his ‘good’
side.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. By what I’ve seen
of the Clan and the Coven so far, I don’t think I want to witness his bad
side.”

Gran smiled. “If he had a bit of ambition,
he’d be the Clan’s leader. But he doesn’t. Though he has the loyalty of more
people than Lord Whitethorn, Greenborrow is loyal to the sidhe lord so it all
works out, for now.”

“Is the wolf at Greenborrow’s side a dire
wolf? They seem smaller in the daylight.”

“No, it’s just a wolf. Last night the dire
wolves lost their alpha female. The Pack will remain in seclusion until a new
alpha pair is chosen.”

Lillian barely had time to nod before Gran
launched into her next introductions.

“Ah, here comes Mardina.” Gran gestured at
the woman entering the meadow.

The one called Mardina was of medium
height, and with her alabaster skin and white-blond hair that flowed passed her
shoulders, she drew the eye. Her hair was held back out of her face by two
long, silver combs. She ran a hand through the locks, smoothing the wind-tossed
strands back into order. If it hadn’t been for the deep gray under her eyes and
her strange robes, she would have been beautiful. Gray and sea-foam white, the
robes were flimsy and frayed, and looked more like a ragged bank of fog than
clothing. They floated and swayed around her body like they were caught in some
unfelt breeze.

“Mardina is a banshee.”

“Oh.” Lillian’s mouth dropped open, but she
snapped it closed in the next. “Is she friend or foe?”

“Mostly friendly, depending on how pure
one’s soul is. Now”—Gran cleared her throat and chuckled evilly—“if she were to
run across a murderer or rapist . . . then she might not be so nice.”

More movement at the entrance caught
Lillian’s eye. Sable entered with Lillian’s uncle.

Uncle Alan held a metal toolbox at arm’s
length, like it might bite. He went directly to the picnic tables without a
word of greeting to anyone. After he placed the box on the center table, he
tossed back the lid and frowned down at the contents. One by one, the others
gathered around the table came to look within the box. No one reached to touch
whatever was inside. By their expressions, Lillian envisioned a severed limb or
a mummified cat stuffed within the confines of the toolbox.

“It’s here. We should begin.” Without
glancing at Lillian, Gran marched over to the picnic tables and seated herself
at the center table.

Gregory appeared at Lillian’s shoulder and
she instantly felt stronger, if not braver. “Guess it’s our turn,” Lillian
muttered as discomfort enveloped her in a nervous sweat. Gregory shadowed her
steps. Briefly, she wondered what they looked like to others—two very different
beings moving as one across the dew-dampened grass.