The Silver Rose (17 page)

The gate to Clematis Cottage swung silently open and shut without her having to touch it. It was bespelled to recognize each of the sister's auras. She wanted to open the front door the same way, but respect for Beth's privacy had her knocking.

No reply.

Where was she? Rosa unlocked the door with another spell and proceeded to check each room. A trace of Alanna's spicy perfume redolent with sandalwood and mimosa lingered in the air. Candles burned on the coffee table, and the remains of supper lay discarded on the bench.

An unfinished tapestry lay amongst the crumbs of food. Hairs on her arms prickled, rising to stand on end. She shivered involuntarily. Beth treated her skill as a Spell Weaver with care. Always. This casual rejection of her work was out of character.

Rosa picked the piece up and smoothed it out with the palm of her hand. A tapestry barely begun. Embroidered in the center, two half-complete gold rings were marred by a fresh stain. Closing her eyes, Rosa merged her mind with the tapestry and saw an image of Beth pricking her finger and a large drop of blood spilling onto the material. Rosa witnessed Beth's bewilderment and resultant horror as she dropped the piece to the floor. In a mirror imitation, the tapestry slipped from Rosa's nerveless fingers, and she covered her mouth with trembling hands. A cry of concern escaped her lips.

Blood on a tapestry.

Witches' Ruin.

Whatever secret ate away at Beth was far more alarming than Rosa had believed. Alanna was definitely mixed up in this, and Rosa knew it did not bode well. Stubborn, wayward Alanna did not understand the meaning of the word no. But Beth — she had never thought Beth would play with something she was not equipped to handle.

A thick cloud of deception hung in the air. Rosa searched the room, wondering what had changed, when a furious blast of wind flung the front door back against the wall, bringing with it conspiracy. Her sisters were up to no good.

Galvanized into action, she yelled, “Alanna,” and rushed out into the night, knowing where she would find her sisters. “You promised!”

• • •

Aden's hands moved tirelessly, smoothing, polishing, and shaping a large piece of silver. He focused his concentration, shutting out outside stimuli as he worked, melding and bending the metal into shape, working the magic through his hands.

It would be a masterpiece, a silver bowl for Rosa. He had known immediately that the bowl Rosa had dropped had been her scrying bowl. He had felt the magic escape and recognized his father's signature in the spells. Aden felt responsible. If he had not snuck through her wards and startled her, she never would have broken it.

Work on the bowl was balm to his tired and perplexed soul. It was his way of shutting out the ache in his belly whenever he thought of Rosa's responsive lips, which, as it turned out, was practically all the time. Absently, he clicked his fingers and the lights switched on. Eyes tired from the strain of close work and an aching back from hunching over the half-completed bowl, he eventually surfaced.

Witching hour approached. Good. He would send a message through Albert to his apprentice without having to release any obvious power. He required more silver mined and stored by magicians. However, as he made mental plans, something knocked at the edge of his awareness and the air grew heavy and potent.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

With a swift, savage movement, he surged from his chair. It rocked violently on its back legs before tipping and crashing to the floor. Aden strode to the French doors and flung them wide open.

“Albert,” he called with urgency. “Come to me?” Silence. He whipped his hand out to avoid the door swinging back on him, but a strong gust whipped it out of his hands. It banged back against the wall and the glass inserts shattered.

“What the … ” Aden said, but he never finished his sentence. A blast of magic rent the air, hitting him full force, and then Albert winked out of nowhere and alighted on his shoulder.

“The witches make magic,” Albert hissed. A small flame shot from his nostrils and the heat seared Aden's cheek. “Bad. Very bad. Not good. Not good at all!”

• • •

Beth screamed and Alanna, not easily shocked, gasped, “Who are you?”

A man stood before them. No, not a man. A warlock. With shoulders so broad he blocked the moon behind him, his dark silhouette surrounded by an eerie aura. He looked down his arrogant nose at them both but remained silent, his eyes watchful, his demeanour stern, his presence powerful.

“Silly question,” Alanna muttered to herself.

Beth crossed her wrists, fists clenched protectively over her sternum. “It worked!”

The warlock blinked. “Apparently so.”

“Who are you?” Beth mimicked Alanna's question.

“Goran Thoreaux. Dragon's apprentice.” He inclined his head a fraction at his introduction. “Who, might I ask, are you?”

Beth stuttered, “Don't you know?”

An eyebrow lifted. “I know. But do you?”

Alanna spoke without thought. “A witty warlock.”

“An astonished warlock. Your combined skills are powerful to Call any warlock down, let alone one from Marylebone Coven.”

“We didn't Call you down,” Beth informed him, stifling the sudden apprehension at his words. “You were sent.”

Goran shook his head, and his eyes flashed a sparkle of gold as if the idea intrigued and amused him. “I was not sent.”

The corner of Beth's mouth developed a twitch. “Not sent?”

“I was definitely Called.”

“Rubbish!” Alanna exclaimed. “As if we would.”

“What have we done?” Beth clasped her arms about her body and bowed her head in shame.

“Stop being so melodramatic,” Alanna retorted. “We completed the spell correctly.”

The warlock focused all his attention on Alanna. “Why would I lie?” He spoke softly, his voice tinged with steely strength. His golden eyes glinted eerily in the night. “I was Called down.”

“Not by us.” Alanna was adamant.

An eyebrow arched and Goran chuckled. “Then it must be magic.”

“Funny, ha, ha,” Alanna drawled, but she was perplexed, and it showed in her expression as she studied the warlock before them. “We didn't Call you down,” she reiterated more forcefully.

“Not intentionally, but here I stand, evidence of your misdeed. Your powerful but extremely stupid misdeed.”

“We are not stupid!” Alanna's voice dripped with irritation.

He shrugged and huffed out a breath. “There's another word I could use.” He stood in judgment, silent, tall, and powerful. Raising a hand, he snatched at the air, closed his hand into a tight fist, and then spread his fingers wide. Several flames of fire danced in mid-air, scrambling to form a word. With a dramatic flourish, he underlined it.

Foolish!

Goran smiled, obviously satisfied with his choice; however, it was not the kind of smile to reach his eyes or contain any warmth. “Extremely foolish.”

Unsure whether the heat came from the burning letters or from the angry warlock, Alanna unconsciously took a step back and cursed her show of timidity. Not many people scared her, but this warlock did. Oh, what had she done?

“We'll send him back,” Alanna said to Beth. “There must be someone better than this impostor! He can't be from Marylebone!”

Beth gasped. “Alanna! Shut your mouth or I'll be inclined to agree with his assessment of your intelligence.”

“My intelligence? Where was yours, then?”

“Absent,” Beth admitted. “Otherwise I wouldn't have listened to you in the first place.”

“I didn't twist your arm.”

“Someone had to watch out for you. If you'd done this by yourself, who knows what might have happened?”

“I don't think it can get any worse,” Alanna stated heatedly. “Do you?”

“Witches!” Goran's voice cut through their argument. “Enough with the histrionics.”

“Histrionics?” The word fueled Alanna's fighting spirit. “We're not hysterical.”

“You should be. Rule seven of the Conduct of Marylebone Coven states that Marylebone Calls you. Not the other way around. Have neither of you no fear as to what your punishment will be?”

“Please believe us,” Beth implored. “We didn't Call you down. Not deliberately.” Her teeth chattered from the current of cold air swirling about them, and she looked uneasily at her sister. “I would never Call someone against their will.”

The powerful, all-too-knowing warlock stared intently at Beth for several long seconds, and it was if he searched her soul. Unable to deny her guilt, she opened her aura and allowed him to see everything. The Fates had warned her with blood on the tapestry, but she had ignored the signs. Oh, yes. Foolish was the right word.

Then, without uttering anything to her, he turned an imperious head to Alanna. “Then it must be you.”

“Not guilty!” Alanna shook her head. “Nuh uh! I held the veil open. That's all. I didn't utter a single peep.”

“The thoughts in that empty head where your brain should reside were broadcasting loud and clear. You've acted without regard for others and put magic in motion that cannot be altered. Working with the Marylebone Veil requires one who is honest, wise, and impartial. It appears you do not possess any of these qualities.”

“It's selfless to help someone,” Alanna protested as the implications of his accusation sunk in.

“If it goes against the express wishes of that someone — ” their inquisitor looked first to Beth and then more intently at Alanna, “ — what then would you call it?”

Neither witch had an answer.

Aden moved with stealth beneath the canopy of trees. He could see the faint outline of Rosa in front of him as she too, it seemed, made her way to the circle. With care, he followed, far enough behind to avoid detection. That was until Albert lit the night like a beacon with flame belching from his nostrils.

Rosa stopped in her tracks and spun back to look in his direction.

“Albert!” he whispered a warning. “No fire or you'll have to go!” But it was too late. She had seen his familiar. Had she seen him? If she did, he was certain she would only see a silhouette. This would complicate matters, but there was no time to work out the how and why. He shoved indecision to one side and concentrated on the problem at hand.

“No fire.” Albert nodded his head. “Quiet, too.” The tiny dragon tucked himself right up into the crook of Aden's neck as they both peered out through the branches.

Aden saw Rosa's detection spell flying swiftly toward him, but he had already created a counter spell in case. Her spell went straight through both him and Albert instead of coalescing about them, as it should have done to illuminate their presence, but all the same he felt it crackle and spark as it sped on through the forest, searching until it weakened and died out.

That was too close. He held his spell strong, sensing another bolt of magic coming in his direction, this time stronger and unstable. Without time to warn Albert, Aden quickly strengthened his shield and steeled himself for the blow as the spell sped toward them.

Fire was Albert's element, and he reveled in the warmth as it flooded through him. Sparks escaped his nostrils and burned Aden's skin. Aden winced, squeezing his eyes against the pain his familiar unwittingly caused. But another danger had him damping down spots on his body as Rosa's magic scorched his clothes and singed his hair.

It took every ounce of control to not react, cry out, or call upon additional power to protect himself. And when the spell had passed by, he was left shaking, sweat on his brow and knowing he'd come very, very close to losing control.

Thankfully Rosa turned and resumed her journey through the woods. Knowing he was close to the circle, he navigated away, searching for a vantage point where he and Albert could observe undetected.

When Albert would have sealed the burn on Aden's neck, Aden stopped him. “Later, my friend,” he whispered. “When we are clear of the forest and no one is near.”

“What do you see?” Albert whispered.

“The same as you.” Aden touched a finger to Alberts mouth to silence his familiar. But it was like trying to contain an over-excited puppy. The little dragon bounced up and down on Aden's shoulder when he immediately recognized someone familiar in the circle. “Goran is good. Albert likes Goran.”

“He doesn't appear to be happy at present.”

“Witches break protocol,” Albert whispered knowingly. “Very bad magic.”

“Enough talk.” Aden whispered. “I've an errand for you. Go to Marylebone. Tell Anton that Aden is aware of the Greenwood sisters' indiscretion and will investigate further.”

“Over and out,” Albert declared excitedly and disappeared in a twinkle of starbursts, forgetting completely about hiding or being heard. An instant later, and with fewer dramatics, Aden also vanished lest he be discovered. He had seen enough to know what would happen next.

• • •

It was clear to Rosa that if her sisters had been more observant, they would have seen the little dragon's departure. They also would have sensed Rosa approaching. Anger caused her eyes to flare, glowing emerald in the night as she walked towards them and the stranger in their midst.

Both sisters looked down at their feet, clearly guilty and afraid. As they should be.

The warlock — there could be no doubt it was a warlock from his aura, glowing in the night brighter than the moon — quirked a sardonic eyebrow and bowed with a flourish in an old-fashioned greeting.

“Ah! The reason I'm here, I believe. Allow me to introduce myself.” And from his fingertips he wrote his name in the air. “Goran Thoreaux, apprentice Dragon to Marylebone Coven at your service.”

A Dragon!
Rosa shut her eyes and sighed with a heaviness of heart. Saving her disappointment in her sisters for a later discussion, she opened her eyes and acknowledged his theatrical introduction with an incline of her head.
Think, Rosa. Think!
This warlock deserved their respect and had, as far as she could discern, received none so far. “Rosa Greenwood, and, much as I loathe to admit it, elder sister to these two.”