Chapter 2 #3
“You look much better than the last time I saw you, Darro McKeran.” Dimples appeared in her pretty cheeks as she added, “Thank you for rescuing me.” She gingerly touched her mouth, and then frowned. “I could have sworn I split my lip trying to kill that spider, but it doesn’t even hurt now.”
Everyone started talking at the same time, and Darro saw how it confused her. He cleared his throat and gave the laird a direct look before he said, “Mayhap we should permit the healer attend to the lady before we speak on other matters.”
Esme gave him a grateful look, and then yelped as she saw the clan’s tall, lanky healer walk through one of the arches. “Benedict Miller, M.D., missing for two years. Does everyone who died or disappeared in the castle come here?”
“If they walk through the same hall you did, they do,” Ava said wryly. “Dr. Miller, meet Esme Martinez, journalist and newcomer. According to Chieftain Darro she had an encounter with a gold spider that could possibly be another enchanted bug.”
“You have more enchanted bugs?” Esme asked, looking intrigued.
Darro saw that he was wrong about her being frightened. The wee beauty now looked as if she wished to talk to everyone in the stronghold.
“Ms. Martinez.” Ben clasped her hand as he looked into her eyes. “Did the spider bite you?”
“It tried to with its huge red fangs, but I squashed it before it could. Twice. It kept coming back to life. It was right here.” She shook as if chilled as she pulled up her sleeve to show him her forearm, prompting Darro to remove his tartan and drape it around her. “Thanks, homeboy.”
When she looked at him with fear lingering in her eyes, Darro wanted to snatch her up in his arms and take her to his chamber.
The impulse startled him so much he immediately took a step back.
He never had such whims, and he certainly didn’t wish to claim Esme as his.
He was the laird’s second, and all of his loyalty belonged to his brother.
As he watched the healer check her for bites, however, his hands curled tightly at his sides.
Ben had to touch the lady in order to assure she had no other wounds, Darro knew that, and yet he wanted to shove the other man away from her.
The wee beauty had wheedled her way into his heart already.
No, I’m but weary from lack of sleep. I shall ask the laird to spare me from my duties on the morrow so I may rest. He looked at Esme, thought of the golden spider and how it had crawled into a wall crack, and knotted his fist. First I shall find that facking thing.
He beckoned to two guards, and then said to Ava, “I need return to the spell trap entry, my lady, so I may hunt that spider.”
“You better be careful,” Esme told him. “It jumps, and nothing seems to hurt it, even after you try to squash it.”
“Take care, Brother,” Tasgall told him, “and make sure it doesnae escape.”
Darro nodded. “Lady Ava, please stay with Mistress Martinez until I return.”
“Of course.” She looked almost as worried as Esme now. “Be careful, Chieftain.”
“Did you get a final head count?” Renard Beaumont asked as his chief security guard came out of the castle and closed the entry doors.
“Seventy-one left, just as you said, sir,” the mortal told him. “We must have miscounted them on the way in.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He gave him a benevolent smile. “What about the one I told you to keep back?”
The man nodded toward his Mercedes. “We put him in the car for you, sir.”
“Excellent.” He wiped the man’s memories before he said, “Your duties are complete, so you and the others may go.”
Once the mortal had departed, he glanced at the Mercedes, which was rocking slightly, and then shed his Beaumont guise before he made his way back inside.
Trotting downstairs, he walked through the illusion of a stone wall to the room he used to monitor the spell trap.
There waited the enchanted spiders he had his guards plant as badges on all of the journalists attending the one-night opening.
After he counted them Bodach grinned; there were seventy-one spiders left.
Seventy-two journalists had gone into the castle, each one wearing the enchanted badges, so someone had definitely wandered into the spell trap.
He hoped it was one of the more persistent idiots who had called him constantly, sometimes leaving messages meant to intimidate him.
Don’t you want to clear the air about all the dead people connected to your property, Mr. Beaumont?
I read about the FBI agent who died while on her way to the castle. Do you think someone helped her drive off that cliff?
Grace Johansen’s agency is demanding a reinvestigation of her disappearance. What’s your opinion on whether she could have gone into your castle? She might have been looking for that grandmother of hers who vanished while on the tour back in the fifties, and met the same fate.
I hope you’ve got a good lawyer, pal, because I’m smelling class action lawsuit.
Bodach could have turned his back on the castle and relocated to a safer spot in the mortal realm, where he could live as anyone he chose to, except for one problem.
Since cursing the McKeran Clan in the twelfth century, he had been trying in vain to retrieve the one treasure that had been his motive for getting rid of the half-Fae highlanders: Torra MacBren, the latest incarnation of a powerful druidess whose magic allowed her to possess at will and live in any body she desired, including that of an immortal.
Once Bodach stole her life essence he would also possess her ancient magic, and then could use it to return to Elphyne, eliminate all of his enemies, and rule both the light and dark courts as King of All Fae.
Unfortunately Torra had been hiding inside the stronghold when he had cast the melia spell that had imprisoned the McKeran, their vassals and the castle outside the mortal realm.
Because Bodach had not named her upon creating the spell trap, her body had been destroyed, leaving her spirit to remain forever imprisoned along with the clan.
Forcing the McKeran to relive the same year of horrors over and over had been amusing, but the continual enchantment would not permit Bodach to stay long every time he attempted to enter and search the spell trap.
Since his own magic could not affect him, it threw him out every time.
Bodach had also become aware of the strange changes happening inside the pocket universe that held the clan imprisoned.
The cycle of time, which should have repeated the same year over and again in the exact same manner, had increased in speed.
What had taken months to play out for the last nine centuries now took only a few weeks.
The creatures he had been using to try and neutralize the clan so he could search the stronghold had also behaved oddly, and all had grown to monstrous sizes.
He suspected the spell he had used to create the trap might be reacting to the enchanted insects he had been sending inside, but he wasn’t sure.
The peculiarities of melia magic eluded him as much as the spirit of Torra MacBren.
During his last attempt, fire had broken out in the stronghold, killing the clan’s chatelaine.
Whatever the cause of these disturbing new developments, he suspected he needed to act quickly now.
If his new scheme worked he would soon be able to both freely access and remove whatever he wished from the other side of the enchantment.
The passage appeared empty, as it always did, but as it was now night, it was at its weakest. He pulled on his chain mail glove before pressing his palm against the magical distortion, which opened like a transparent portal.
“Come out and greet me, my little servant,” Bodach murmured as he sent a flick of his power through the opening.
From a crack between two wall stones a golden spider emerged, skittering down to the floor and moving to the center of the passage. It appeared slightly battered, but even as Bodach watched, the dents in its metallic carapace slowly filled out and vanished.
“Very good.” He crouched down to look in the arachnid’s shiny black eyes. “Did you kill the intruder?”
The spider could only communicate crudely, but the blurry images it showed Bodach made it clear the reporter had escaped its poisonous bite. It seemed to be a dark-haired female, perhaps one of those silly podcasters he’d invited.
“I have no doubt you will have ample opportunities to correct your mistake in the days ahead,” he assured his creature as he stood. “Now, spin your web and toss it to me.”
His success with insects infiltrating the spell trap had come after centuries of failed experiments. Although of limited use, he had learned to capitalize on the tiny creature’s inherent abilities. There was no guarantee that this new tactic would work, but it had to be tried.
The spider reared up, its spinnerets producing hair-thin red-gold threads that it caught with its legs and wove into a thicker cable.
Once it was long enough it hurled the braid of webbing at the distortion, through which it passed.
Bodach caught the length of it with his fingers, and as the spider wove more, he fastened it to the bottom of a torch sconce.
He had sent the spider into the spell trap for the purpose of creating a stable doorway that would not be noticed by the clan.
Through it Bodach would be able to come and go freely, but since the enchantment held everyone inside Dun Talamh prisoner, they could not do the same.
Since the creature’s web had been made of red crystal-infused gold, he might also wrap some around himself before he crossed over to prevent triggering the enchantment.
“Make more web, enough for me to affix to all sides of the passage,” he instructed the spider. “That should keep the way between the two universes open. Then you may fashion me a shroud.”