Chapter 3 #2
Seeing the trust in his bright blue eyes almost changed her mind.
The big man was the youngest of Keran’s sons, and curiously still behaved like a boy in many ways.
She guessed that his awkwardness came from a combination of his mortal weakness and being isolated from other people for most of his early life.
Ava never wanted to trouble him, yet after helping to heal the victims of the last assault on the clan, she couldn’t turn her back on this new ability she had.
It was one that Rory shared through their bloodline, which ran from his time in the twelfth century to hers in the twenty-first. It was also very dangerous, and she cared about preserving her own life, of course.
Yet using her power to break spells might make the difference between saving the people she loved and losing everyone that mattered to her.
“You know that I used my druid magic when the bats attacked us.” Ava leaned back against his worktable.
“Once I finished restoring everyone to their real size, I came down with a fever. That’s why I spent a few days resting after we got rid of those critters.
Being sick like that, it’s part of the consequences of messing with magic that you told me about, isn’t it? ”
“You didnae heal immediately?” When she shook her head he pulled off his apron before he reached for her, and then stopped just before touching her face. “If I may read your power, my lady?”
She nodded, and stood still as he pressed his big hands on either side of her face.
A faint flare of dark green appeared around his wrists and forearms, which she knew came from her side of things.
It wasn’t personal at all, and yet his touch made something move restlessly inside her, which she guessed was in response to his power.
It made her think of strong magnets, first tugging at each other and then pushing away, depending on which side they were on when they met.
Fortunately for her they were both on the right side of things.
Rory closed his eyes for a long moment before he stepped back.
“Aye, your fever, ’twas caused by backlash from restoring the victims.” He sounded almost angry.
“You broke the spell wielded by the bats. When shattered, all magic demands a price, resulting in your illness. The enchantment that holds us here cannae save you from such. I did warn you more than once, my lady.”
“I know, and it’s on me, not you. What I need to know is: if I try that again, what happens?
” She caught his arm when he tried to turn away.
“Rory, I’m not thumbing my nose at your very good advice.
I need to understand how bad the consequences may be if I’m to make the right choices in the future. ”
The armorer was definitely the most secretive member of the clan. Yet because they shared the same blood she knew he trusted her enough to confide in her. She also hated pressing him to talk about the part of his life that he had kept concealed from everyone, as it seemed to be painful for him.
“The backlash depends on the power used to cast the spell, no’ your own magic,” he finally said.
“After being shattered, small enchantments inflict illness or injury that heal over time, such as your fever. You may also acquire some scars that dinnae fade. Greater magic, ’tis much more dangerous to break, and the cost is often grievous and enormous. ”
“Do you mean that breaking spells can cripple or kill me?” she said, and when he nodded she rubbed the back of her neck. That sounded more dangerous than she’d expected. “Can anything else happen?”
“Much, depending on the nature and age of the spell.” His mouth flattened. “If ’tis strong and old enough, the backlash, ’twill inflict perpetual torment. My lady màthair said ’tisnae lethal, only ’twill make you wish for death for all eternity.”
“Like burning in Hell,” Ava murmured. “We have myths about what happens to folks who lead evil lives. After they die, they end up being tormented in a terrible place forever.”
“Aye, ’tis much the same.” He looked into her eyes. “Shall that stop you from using your power again?”
“I don’t know.” She thought of her husband, and how the love they had found together had changed them both. She couldn’t live without him. She also knew she couldn’t stand by and do nothing if there was a chance to save his or someone else’s life. “Push comes to shove, I kinda doubt it.”
“Then I may only pray that the Gods never force you make such a choice.” Rory went to a cabinet, from which he took one of his etched spell stones, which he handed to her.
“Carry this with you for now. I’ve warded it to provide you with some protection from backlash.
’Twill divert the broken spell’s power into the soil. ”
Ava saw the stone was the one she’d seen him most often use.
“You usually carry this.” She tried to put it back in his hand, but he shook his head. “What do you think is going to happen to me, sir?”
“I cannae say. ’Tis but a sense of foreboding of late.” He stepped back and bowed. “Take good care, my lady. Now that you’ve used your power, the temptation to do so again, ’twill grow.”
“You make it sound like some kind of addiction,” Ava said, frowning. “That didn’t happen to you, did it?”
“No, for I’m half-Fae, and my sire’s blood renders me immune to such.
” His mouth hitched. “You’re wholly mortal.
Think on those bad people you named your kin in the outside world, and how poorly they lived.
Never did they attempt change for the better, I’ll guess.
’Tis what happens to those who cannae resist the darkness of our bloodline. ”
She hadn’t expected him to say that, but it made sense.
Every member of her family that she knew of had been bad people who usually ended up dead or in prison.
Her own parents had been thieving drunkards who had treated her very badly before causing their own fiery death. “Are you immune to the darkness?”
“I cannae tell you.” Rory’s expression grew distant. “My lady màthair attempted to live with me as other mortals do, and did thus for a long time. In the end, anger drove her to turn to the darkness she had so long resisted. Mayhap none of us may escape our bloodline.”
“I did, and so did you,” she reminded him. “And if I see you slipping over the line, I’ll haul your butt back on the right side. Will you do the same for me, Big Brother?”
He smiled. “Aye, Wee Sister.”
Esme wandered around the guest chamber, poking here and there at the odd medieval things she didn’t recognize.
A couple of lamps and a dozen candles with honeycomb designs provided the light.
It took looking closer to realize that the candle designs were from thin slices of real honeycomb that had been rolled around the wicks.
The fireplace was big enough for her to sleep in it, and warmed the entire room with its strong blaze.
Beside it, rough split logs had been neatly stacked in something that looked like an oversize iron magazine rack.
All the textiles in the room had been hand-sewn, and from the airy irregular weave of the fabrics, no doubt hand woven.
The place smelled like a campfire, beeswax from the candles, and fresh herbs from the bits of fresh chopped greenery someone had tossed around on the floor.
She’d watched plenty of videos and television shows about the medieval world, but being dropped in the middle of one had her completely mystified.
Going to bed or just sitting down seemed impossible now.
She had stepped inside the dream story of her career, and she couldn’t do a thing to report what she’d discovered.
There were other things she could do, like eat something.
The food and drink delivered by one of the clan’s maids sat on the table by the fire, and another girl had filled the washstand’s jug with hot water.
Neither one had tried to speak to her, and when she had started asking questions they simply curtseyed and rushed out of the room like she was paparazzi.
She hoped she hadn’t scared them. She’d already noticed the lack of brown-skinned people here. Was that why they’d stuck her here, and no one wanted to talk to her? Did she look that scary to them? Was that even possible in this day and age?
But it’s not this day and age, remember?
She had evidently walked through something that had whisked her off to this alternate dimension, if the not-dead FBI agent was to be believed.
Other than the racial imbalance and the staff avoiding her, everything about Dun Talamh appeared to support Ava’s story.
The castle itself seemed newer compared to the one in Esme’s time, as if there was never any bad weather in the spell trap—or maybe it couldn’t age in this place.
The laird’s wife hadn’t explained all the mechanics of being caught in a time loop that kept a city-size castle and all its people imprisoned for eternity.
It really didn’t matter; everywhere Esme looked she saw a reproduction display of artifacts in a museum, just more authentic.
That put a lot of pluses on the not-being-hustled side of the equation.
No way could they con me this much.
Meeting Ava, the supposedly dead supermodel, and members of a clan that disappeared in the twelfth century had certainly been the most bizarre aspect, but the explanation of the curse that had tossed everyone in this place made perfect sense of it.
Thanks to a college seminar on quantum mechanics, Esme had a rough understanding of the theory of parallel worlds.
She believed there could be multiverses with different versions of reality that existed side by side with each other, or even occupied the same space on different levels.
She wasn’t so sure about the Fae magic part of this, which she would have to accept for all the other details to work, but she was almost there.