At the sound of t
The now-familiar pungency of Wolf Brittlebum seared his nostrils, and .
. . and . . . Gods-damn it, hadn’t he just done this?
Collapsed in a faint only to be woken by this nasty smell?
Or had he accidentally entered some kind of time-loop and landed himself back out in the cottage yard, moments after portal-traveling?
Well, that wouldn’t be so bad if so. While it might mean that he’d have to propose to, marry, and romance his wife all over again, those were tasks he was perfectly happy to retackle with tremendous vim, possibly making fewer mistakes this time around.
And, speaking of mistakes . . . he could make certain they left Tealeaf Cottage before . . . before . . .
A burst of images appeared through the wooly darkness in his head. Images of cowled figures in the yard, knives held to aged throats, Luna’s terrified face upturned to his, bathed in the shadows of the Dire.
Nigel’s eyes flared wide. His muscles spasmed, and he sat bolt upright, gasped, and arched heavily forward, choking on a burning mouthful of tea.
For a moment, his head felt too heavy, bowing his shoulders and spine, and he feared he wouldn’t be able to lift it.
With a summoning of sheer will, he managed to straighten up a little, however, and cast his gaze about, trying to make sense of his surroundings.
He wasn’t back in the cottage yard. No time-loop then, no chance to amend his mistakes.
His rump was planted on the nobbled hardness of the flagstone kitchen floor, and his head was throbbing like the dickens, having taken rather a beating over the last twelve hours or so.
He planted his hands, tried to rise, but the world pivoted around him, and his vision tunneled.
No! No, no, no, he couldn’t black out again!
He must get up, get moving, get out into the yard.
Stop Luna before she handed herself over to the Brotherhood, stop her before—
“There, dear boy, don’t try to move too quickly. A bit more Brittlebum will fix you up a treat, and you’re going to need your strength.”
At the sound of that sweet-as-sugar voice in his ear, Nigel turned his head slowly. He was met by Auntie Arabella’s smiling face. No sign of fear, no sign of trauma. No sign that the last he’d glimpsed her, she’d been standing at knifepoint, in the clutches of a crazed Dark Sorceress-wannabe.
“Wh—what are you doing here?” Nigel blurted.
“Giving you tea, of course,” she replied and held the cup to his lips once more.
Stunned, Nigel took an obedient sip. Then, shuddering, he turned away, because he didn’t have time for her damned teas!
Pressing his palms to the floor once more, he made another attempt to rise, but the room pivoted wildly around him, and he nearly keeled over.
He sank back onto his rump, closing his eyes. “Where’s Luna?” he rasped.
Auntie Aurora’s voice intoned from overhead, “He who cannot master his impatience will never master himself.”
“Yes, Rory, thank you,” Arabella replied with a sniff. But she turned to Nigel and added, “She does have a point, you know. You need to take your nice Brittlebum, and when you’re through, you’ll be feeling much better. Then we’ll all set off together to rescue Luna, all right, dearie?”
“Rescue Luna?” Nigel felt all the blood drain from his face. Which didn’t help with the dizziness at all. His heart jolted, and he turned to face Arabella again. “They took her.”
It wasn’t a question. He simply knew. Because, of course, that’s how it had to be.
He’d fought so hard, risked so much, and just when he’d thought triumph was at hand .
. . it was over. Gods, it wasn’t even three hours since he’d made that solemn vow to defend her!
And yet, he’d already catastrophically failed her.
The room tilted, spun. He groaned, burying his face in his hand.
“Go on, drink it,” Arabella persisted, her voice almost stern but not quite. “It’s the only thing that’s going to counteract that severmist in your system. You’re going to need some pretty strong magic for what’s coming, you know.”
“What’s coming?” Nigel repeated, then choked, sputtered, but otherwise managed to gulp down the mouthful of tea she tipped between his lips.
“Of course!” Arabella chirruped. “Why Apolonia scried it all ages ago, rest her soul. She told us all the signs to watch for. Like your wedding, for instance! She warned us most sternly to clear out and give you two the cottage, and she mentioned that the Brotherhood would be waiting to take us captive the minute the vicar’s automagic mobile pulled into town. ”
Nigel stared into her cheery little face. He couldn’t say if he was furious or flabbergasted. At the moment, the conflicting sensations seemed to cancel each other out, leaving him a strange blank.
Aurora spoke again in her doleful tones.
“We saw the vision ourselves this morning over tea. We knew the time Apolonia foretold was upon us. The will of the goddess must indeed transpire before this day is through, and the world shall be rid of a Great Evil.” She trained her stern dark eyes on Nigel.
“The Green Mother has chosen you to be her instrument of victory. You and our niece.”
Nigel opened his mouth to say something, whether in question or protest, he couldn’t say. Instead, he found another mouthful of Wolf Brittlebum poured through his lips and was too busy choking it down to speak.
“Now,” Arabella said, swirling the last of the tea in the cup, “Aurora isn’t going to tell you this, because it isn’t very godly, but someone needs to.
” Reaching out with one hand, she took Nigel by the chin and turned him to face her.
She gazed deeply into his eyes, tilting her head toward him with great earnestness.
“You know what mistake you made last time?”
Nigel blinked. There were so many mistakes. Across so many last times. He hardly knew where to begin. “Erm,” he said.
“Well, don’t make that same mistake this time. You need to be certain the world is well and truly rid of that monster and her soul. Do you understand?”
One would have thought, since the blood had already drained from his face earlier, it couldn’t very well drain again.
And yet, Nigel experienced another dizzying rush of blood from his head, leaving him strangely cold and almost as dizzy as when he first awakened, despite the invigorating effects of the Brittlebum.
He knew what it was Arabella asked of him.
Jastira.
The last time, when he’d destroyed her body, he’d banished her soul to the Dire Dimensions.
Because he couldn’t bear to banish it where it belonged.
He couldn’t bear to send her to hell. To do so would be to bind his own soul to hell as well.
That was the nature of Infernus Magic, the dark link between that power and those who sought to work it.
True, hell might not claim him immediately.
He might go on living in this world for many years longer, an unnatural span of time of thriving prosperity.
But the Mark of Hell would seep through, infecting his life, infecting all those nearest to him. Infecting those he loved.
“I swear to you, Luna,” he’d told her only last night, “I would do everything in my power to make our family a happy one.”
If he did this—if he bound his soul to hell for the sake of banishing Jastira once and for all—he would poison that promise.
The dark cost of Infernus Magic would taint and warp him, and everything he touched would eventually be tainted and warped as well.
Even as he accumulated wealth, power, fame, acclaim, all those things he once sought, all the good in his life would wither and rot.
He would hurt his children. He would hurt Luna.
He would learn to despise them, to see them as lesser than himself, and, in so doing, he would destroy their tender hearts.
He could see it all. Much too clearly.
Turning from Arabella, Nigel sought Auntie Aurora’s face instead.
She was so pious, she could not possibly think this was the right course of action.
But Aurora would not look at him. Instead, her gaze was trained steadily out the window, as though something in the yard interested her.
Swallowing hard, Nigel addressed Arabella again. “I . . . I don’t know if I can do it.”
She shrugged easily. “It’s the only way, dear. We’ve seen it, you know. What you must do. If you are to save our Luna and save the world, it is the sacrifice you must make.”
A shudder seemed to run through his very soul. On impulse, Nigel reached out and took the teacup from Arabella’s hands, staring down at the last few sips. He gave it a little swirl, as though he could somehow force an image to appear, a revelation to guide him. But there was nothing. Only dregs.
He closed his eyes. If this is what he must do, so be it, but .
. . he wouldn’t let the shadow of hell taint Luna.
He would give up his right to a life with her, their dream of a family together.
He would give it all up rather than poison the goodness and glory of what might have been.
If damned he must be, then let him be damned with Jastira today.
He would go with her. Bound to her, even as she always said he would be. Fated. Doomed.
Bracing himself, he drained the last of the Wolf Brittlebum, wincing against the nasty sensation of tea leaves sliding down his throat.
Then, searching inside himself, he felt around for the severmist influence.
It was still present. Not as strong as it was, but he certainly wasn’t back to full power.
Well, that shouldn’t matter, as long as he had enough to work the Infernus spell.
He’d just have to be judicious with his spellcasting up until then.