The Cauldron Effect, page 69
Joy, Grace’s staff, checked with concern over her mistress’s shoulder into the other room where the water god had gone to speak to the deliciously scrumptious Dewer. The two men appeared to be arguing more than chit-chatting. “Olivia, what do you suppose has those two so hot under the collar about?”
Olivia, Grace’s witch’s hat and shield, refused to look away from the hooded stranger conversing with her mistress. “Did you hear that? He just mentioned Jonas, Grace’s cousin. The boy was murdered by Dewer’s mother ages ago. Why bring that boy up of all people?”
A jessamine branch sprouted from Joy’s top end and she used it to point toward the air-breathing room. “Look over there, Olivia! The water god has taken hold of Dewer. I think he’s trying to rip off the warlock’s forearm.”
“What?” Olivia swiveled to check on the room at her back. “Grace just saved the water god’s life. Why would he harm the warlock who accompanied her? Also, Joy, why do you keep sprouting those scented vines?”
“Never mind that.” Joy squashed her worry about the unsettling effect of her spellcasting with Grace’s grandmother. “We should tell the mistress about what is happening in that other chamber.”
Olivia sent a quick message. “Done.”
Grace instantly left Death to swim to where the water goddess was crossing the room’s barrier. Their mistress rolled into the air-filled room and once on her feet, she shook herself dry and knelt beside Dewer. The warlock was flat on his back before the water god. “What have you done?”
Joy leaned over for a closer look and the vine from her top end brushed Dewer’s nose.
Grace impatiently flicked that strand away and checked on Dewer’s breathing and then his pulse.
Joy cut off her dangling vine and it dropped to loop tenderly around Dewer’s right ear. “The mistress is terribly worried. I told you she was falling in love with him.”
“Is he still alive?” Olivia whispered. “No good being in love with a corpse.”
“His pulse thrums at his neck beneath the mistress’s fingers.” Grace’s rising anxiety churned up Joy’s power level. “She is preparing to strike at the water god.”
“Oh, no!” Olivia spread a swift shield over Grace. “His children are here. Even if he is still weak, we will not win if they decide to defend their father.”
“Have you noticed how silent Kemp is? As his staff, he should be defending his master. If the water god had wrapped his slithering tentacle around Grace’s arm, I would instantly have struck him down.”
“I agree that Kemp’s inertia is troubling,” Olivia said. “See if you can jolt him awake.”
Joy sent a shot of energy at Dewer’s staff.
“Ow!” Kemp flared. “Why did you do that?”
“Your master is in trouble and we thought you might want to help,” Joy said with deep sarcasm.
“Where is he?” Kemp asked.
“You are in his grip.” Joy gave Olivia a worried look.
“Where is my master?” Kemp repeated. “Where is Dewer? What have they done with him?”
“Well, that bodes ill,” Olivia said.
DEWER WANTED TO CHASE after Grace but the glass separating them refused to shimmer to let him through. He speared the water god with an accusatory glance.
The deity met his gaze and shook his head, attesting he had indeed barred Dewer’s entry into his chamber.
The water god knew Grace had gone off into the shadows with a suspiciously cloaked stranger. He banged on the glass and it shivered beneath the energy he pumped into it, Farfur’s power backing up his anger. One, possibly two more thumps and he was sure it would break.
Suddenly the water god was before him, sending Dewer stumbling backward. No longer a squid creature with tentacles, he was a man standing a head taller.
Dewer seethed at the unnecessary increase in height that spoke about a need to dominate. He was tempted to grow taller himself but that would be giving into his opponent’s petty masculine posturing. Instead, he demanded, “Let me pass. She needs me.”
“She is safe. Death will not harm your lady. He asked and gained my permission before approaching the Healer. He was surprisingly talkative for one of Death’s minions, who are normally a taciturn lot.”
“That was a soul taker?” Dewer’s terror spiked and he shifted the water god aside and banged on the glass wall. This time, a shiver of cracks raced across it, startling Llyn and Llyr on the other side. They leaped back as if expecting the wall to splinter apart.
“What does he want with Grace?” Dewer gathered his energy for the next strike and silently ordered, “Farfur, get ready.”
“That he did not indicate,” the water god said and touched the glass. The crack instantly sealed as if it had never existed.
Seeing all his work come to naught, made Dewer’s breath whoosh out in disappointment.
“He was indeed sent here to collect me, but he seemed unconcerned, thrilled even, that I had been spared. Said his name is Alfred. Odd fellow.”
In the far recess of the adjoining aquatic chamber, Dewer caught a glimpse of the back of Grace’s gown. At least she was on her feet and still in this realm.
“The entire time he was in my presence,” the water god said, “Alfred’s hollow gaze seemed trained on my Llyn, rather than your healer. It made me wonder if my daughter is marked for death.”
Ah! He was worried about his daughter. “She is fine,” Dewer said. “She was gravely injured earlier because of an encounter with an underworld demon, but Miss Adair healed her of that ailment.”
“What was Llyn doing in the underworld? Going there means certain death to our kind.”
“It is a long story. Suffice it to say, she is perfectly healthy now.”
“Then why was Death so fascinated by my Llyn?”
Now here was an opening that could work in his favor. “Shall we go and ask him, my lord?”
The water god met Dewer’s calculating gaze and his smile grew. “You are a clever one, fae/warlock. I agree. Though my time has been extended, it is fast diminishing and I would see my children safeguarded. I lost too many years already because of my foolishness toward Llyr’s rebellion.” He laid a hand on Dewer’s forearm. “You have given me an idea. Will you promise me something?”
Dewer knew better than to agree to anything without knowing the specifics of a bargain. After what happened with Llyn when he made a deal with her, his alarms rang loud and clear. In fact, his brand heated beneath her father’s touch, as if to remind Dewer to be wary of dealing with this deity.
The water god chuckled, his hand clenching around Dewer’s forearm. “This is one of Llyn’s creations, and born of Llyr’s imagination.” He nodded. “Yes, it will do very well.”
Dewer snatched his arm free. “Will do what very well?”
“Miss Adair has agreed to go on a mission on my behalf. If she is to succeed, she needs a protector.”
The water god’s thoughtful gaze swerved toward his son and Dewer’s back instantly went up “She has me. She needs no one else.”
“Then you agree?” the water god said, his attention returned to Dewer and he realized he had been played.
Before he could argue that he had not agreed to anything, the water god pointed to Dewer’s arm and a tentacle shot out to slither under Dewer’s coat and shirt to grip his forearm.
The heat that seared him was ten times worse than what Llyn had done. His right arm felt as if it was being severed in two. He was afraid to pull away, in case he left half his limb behind.
His blood bubbled and his heart pounded in terror. Dewer’s sight began to dim and just when he thought he might die, the attack stopped. His lower limbs buckled, and he would have fallen but for the water god catching him in his arms.
“My apologies, warlock,” the water god whispered, “but this is the only way I could think of to assist you.”
Dewer, kneeling on the floor, wondered how the water god managed to speak without moving his lips.
Llyn rushed past the barrier to his side, looking concerned. “What did you do to him, Father? He helped me.”
“Now he is going to help me,” her father replied, but the words sounded distant as if the world faded. Dewer’s last coherent thought was, I failed Grace.
SIX HOURS AFTER LEAVING the water god’s demesne, Grace, deeply troubled, was headed back toward London in Llyn’s company. Due to the logistics of transporting an unconscious Dewer, they were in a dorey, a small shallow boat that should have required at least two rowers, but with Llyn at the helm, it propelled itself. Alongside them, Hollis, the eel that had come to request Grace’s assistance with his friend, Hudson, swam, never tiring. Occasionally, Grace shot him a burst of energy. She worried that by the time they reached the Thames, it would be far too late to help Hudson.
Two seats had been removed from the dorey’s center to make room for her and Dewer. She sat with her limbs stretched out while Dewer’s head and shoulders rested on her lap. It was odd to look at him so vulnerable and still. While she had waited for Dewer to come and fetch his hellhounds, he had often frequented Grace’s dreams. On each of those occasions, he had appeared vibrant, alive, and full of hot, riled up emotions. Even in her dreams, she had not dared to touch him without permission.
Now she tenderly stroked Dewer’s forehead as they sailed over lakes and sped along rivers. When land blocked the path forward, the dorey would rise up and fly. During those moments, with a little help from Grace, Hollis, encased in water, flew beside them, his bulging eyes making him look as startled as he probably felt at that unusual form of travel. Thanks to Llyn’s water magic, all around them, people in England’s countryside carried on with their lives, unaware of the dorey’s passage other than as a particularly bright spray of mist.
They sped toward London in the company of a still unconscious Dewer. The longer he remained in his motionless state, the more worried Grace became. She had wanted to question the water god about what started the altercation between them but he had vanished. Both Llyr and Llyn had apologized profusely on their father’s behalf, but their assurances that Dewer would recover soon did little to pacify Grace. Especially because, a day later, Dewer had yet to awake.
She had sent probe after probe into Dewer’s mind and body and discovered much about a warlock’s physiology, especially this prime specimen. There was not a single thing wrong with him. He was delightfully fit, utterly sexy and undeniably desirable.
Her mother would say Grace was allowing her emotions to distract her healing energy but she had been acutely focused. Even as her fingers were tempted to stroke instead of tend, she had been diligently on the hunt for what ailed Dewer. She found nothing out of harmony in his makeup other than an odd sense of heaviness.
“His color is good,” Llyn said as they sped along a river in High Wycombe in the County of Buckingham that she said would connect them to the Thames.
“Everything about him is wonderful,” Grace said.
Llyn flashed the first smile she had shown since they discovered her father bent over Dewer. “You like this warlock.”
“Too much, my mother says.”
“You? What do you say?”
Grace ran a finger along his hair line until his silky black locks fell over her hand. “He is a warlock, and a dark fae.” Her finger reached his right ear where that odd jessamine branch fell off Joy and struck him. She glanced at Llyn. “His home is in the underworld.”
Llyn’s lips curled down in disgust. “You are not a water being, Miss Adair. You can travel into that dismal realm without fear of being steamed alive.”
“I am a healer,” Grace said, “with a newly acquired affliction to do no harm to any being. That may be my witch’s code but we were taught the precept had its limits. However, the Laneast well may have cursed, or blessed me, for now I feel compelled to follow that code to the letter.”
“That well is said to be in favor with the Creator, so I would say you have received a blessing, not a curse, though such contacts are often difficult to distinguish as good or bad. Is that why you wished the demon hornets to be saved?” At Grace’s nod, Llyn speared Dewer with a considering glance. “He spared them for you.”
“He cannot do so every time,” Grace said with deep regret. His wish to please her had almost resulted in Llyn’s death. The reminder sent a painful prick into Grace’s heart. The matter was worse than Llyn realized. Especially if what she had learned from Death’s envoy, Alfred, proved to be true. Yet, why would he lie about such an incredible tale?
According to Alfred, Jonas Pendravan – Grace’s cousin and Merryn’s older brother – was not dead at all, as her family had presumed for the past decade. He was still alive and held a prisoner in the underworld. The news had been shocking. She remembered playing with Jonas when they were all children. He was a little older than her. If this news was true, what a horror of a life he must have led.
Once they learned what really happened to Jonas, Grace’s family, and especially Merryn, would attempt to smash through the gates of Hell itself to rescue him. It would mean full scale war, where many would die in the attempt. She shuddered at the vision forming in her mind of that fight. Perhaps even Grace’s mother and sisters, and most certainly Merryn might die. The Coven Protectress had been blaming Dewer, his mother and herself for her parents and brother’s demise for years. This news would certainly devastate Grace’s coven, which was finally beginning to recover after the fae attack at Callington.
In her current state, after the Laneast well’s interference, Grace could not countenance setting such carnage in motion. This was why she had not immediately sent news to her mother about this intelligence. For the past day, as they travelled in this dorey and Dewer lay asleep on her lap, Grace had been forming one plan after another about what she should do, and discarded all but one. That one refused to release its fierce grip on her scruff. If Jonas was indeed alive, there was really only one option open. Grace must find the lad herself and return him to Merryn and Aunt Morwena.
Once she settled to that conclusion, plans on how she could affect that outcome had been swirling in her mind. The trouble was, she might need help and the perfect person to ask for that assistance now lay unconscious on her lap. Except if Dewer learned of her plans, he might try to stop her, or worse, go on the rescue mission himself.
After all, he had a bone in this fight. What better way to finally win back Merryn’s favor than by retrieving the brother she had loved and lost, especially since she blamed Dewer for that loss. The moment he crossed into the underworld in search of Jonas, Grace was sure that his mother would know. What if she moved Jonas from where Alfred had said he was being held?
No, this must be a stealth mission. Get in and get out without anyone being the wiser. Could she achieve that?
Without Dewer’s help, Grace’s first obstacle would be to find a way to cross the dangerous threshold to the underworld. In the last few minutes, a bold idea had been forming to address that delicate problem. If what the water god had said about creatures from that dark realm crossing over into his waters was accurate, perhaps there lay the very opening Grace needed.
She absently stroked Dewer’s forehead. She needed to discuss what she was planning with someone. If she failed, then a second assault would need to be made to rescue Jonas, even if that meant a full-scale war with the underworld. Her cousin must not be left to suffer down there any longer.
In lieu of speaking with her mother, or Dewer, about Jonas’s rescue, Grace glanced at Llyn. As an opening gambit to the difficult discussion, she said, “I suspect Alfred cares about you.”
“Alfred who?” Llyn asked.
“Death’s envoy, the one I spoke to in your father’s chamber. His name was Alfred. He seemed quite nice. Quite taken with you.”
Llyn stared at her in silence and then looked off into the watery horizon, a small smile playing about her lips.
“You knew,” Grace said, surprised.
“Not his name. He has never introduced himself. I have sensed him watching me.” She glanced at Grace with troubled eyes. “Father would never allow me to form a tendre for one in the underworld. My father can be quite severe. He had my brother conscripted to serve a Druid for centuries simply because Llyr disobeyed him once.”
“Still, you must like Alfred. You remember him.”
“He is silly. Clumsy. Shy. Also, thoroughly adorable.” Llyn’s merry glance met Grace’s and then her humor died. “My recent trip to the underworld proved how unsuitable he would be for me. As that fae/warlock is for you.”
Here was her opening. She stroked Dewer’s hair. “Dewer might be more unsuitable than even I had surmised.”
“How so?” Llyn asked.
“Alfred knew you would feel indebted to me for saving your father’s life, and he wished to free you of that obligation by revealing a secret that would assist me.”
“That was unnecessary,” Llyn said with a frown. “What you have done for my father can never be repaid. Both Llyr and I will be indebted to you for life. As will my father. No bit of news from the underworld can make up for what you have done for our family.”
“This did,” Grace said. “You can consider our slate clean. Alfred brought news that my cousin is still alive, and being held captive in the underworld by Dewer’s mother.”
“No!”
Dewer stirred on Grace’s lap.
Thrilled to see him recover, Grace nevertheless, placed a finger to her lips to warn Llyn to keep silent.
Looking thoroughly shaken, the water goddess nodded.
With a relieved sigh, Grace turned her attention to Dewer. “Are you well, Mr. Dewer?” she asked gently.
He blinked his unbelievably lush eyelashes and his black eyes focused on her. They instantly softened, melting her insides and sending tingles shooting down to her toes.
Where earlier she had not thought twice about cradling his head on her lap during the whole day’s journey, now she was profoundly aware of his intimately close and enormously large presence, along with his wonderfully masculine fragrance. When he sat up, likely unconsciously, he braced himself by resting his right hand on her knee!
