Hedge Witch Diaries Complete Series Boxed Set, page 32
“No!” I cried out, realizing his intent.
But it was too late. Evander hurled the iron orb at the siren with practiced aim. It struck her shoulder, sizzling on contact. She howled in agony, thrashing in the water. The pungent smell of burning flesh filled the air.
I rushed forward. “Stop it! You’re hurting her!”
Evander ignored me, stalking toward the flailing siren. Behind him, Lilith began tracing an intricate design in the air.
In the chaos, Gareth slipped away. Balzac wheeled around and shouted an incantation, trying to prevent his escape. A burst of blue light shot from his fingers but missed its mark as Gareth dematerialized.
“No! What are you doing?” Balzac yelled at the Sharpes. “You don’t understand what you’re dealing with!”
His warning fell on deaf ears. With a final gesture from Lilith, the transportation spell activated. The siren’s screams cut short as she was sucked into the glowing portal, imprisoned by the Sharpes’ magic.
Then, in a flash of light, the Sharpes were gone.
I stood at the water’s edge, stunned and horrified. What had they done? What did they want with my mother, with the siren? Did they truly hope to reverse the betrothal as Gareth feared? Around me, the spirit animals howled their displeasure. Balzac cursed vehemently. But the damage was already done.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The lake was still now that Gareth and the Sharpes were gone. The only movement was the gentle lapping of water against the shore. My heart pounded as I stared at Balzac, his face etched with anger. Gareth’s escape left a bitter taste in my mouth.
“The Sharpes had no right to trap that siren,” Balzac seethed, his words clipped and tense. “I don’t know what they’re playing at, but they’ve overstepped.”
I hesitated, unsure if I could trust him. But we needed allies. “I think they’re trying to break my betrothal to Dorian.” The words tumbled out in a rush.
Balzac’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You and Gareth were betrothed, no?”
“No.” I shook my head firmly. “My father secretly arranged my marriage to Dorian before he died. He deceived the Sharpes.”
Understanding dawned on Balzac’s face. He nodded slowly. “If Evander and Lilith know this, it could explain everything. Gareth thought you belonged to him. In pursuing you, he violated the true betrothal.” His jaw tightened, hands clenching into fists at his sides.
My stomach churned with anxiety. We needed Balzac’s help to stop Gareth and the Sharpes, but could we trust the leader of the Grand Coven? All I knew was having him on our side was better than him working against us. His motives were still unclear. I could only lay our cards on the table and hope he’d play fair.
“We can’t let the Sharpes undo my betrothal to Dorian,” I insisted, my voice low but firm.
Balzac regarded me skeptically. “You’re only concerned about what will happen to Dorian if the Sharpes succeed.”
I swallowed. He had a point, but more was at stake here.
“I know it’s risky,” I admitted. “Gareth’s curse is holding him back. The pain is too great, even when he’s full of dark magic. He’s retreating to the cave precisely because he can’t bear it. If the betrothal is undone, there will be nothing preventing Gareth from unleashing the worst of his dark power.”
Dorian stepped forward, his jaw set stubbornly. “Briar’s right. My curse is what it is, and when Briar’s father betrothed us, unbeknownst to me, it removed the pangs of the curse. That’s all beside the point. Gareth grows more dangerous. The cave he’s hiding in to shield himself from the pangs of the curse is also suppressing his dark power, but only during the daytime. At night, he’s unleashed, but the pain drives him back to the cave every time. It’s the only place he can go where he isn’t in agony.”
Balzac considered us both, his expression unreadable. When he finally spoke, his words were measured and calm.
“I appreciate you sharing this with me now. Had I known the full story earlier, we could have spared much effort.” He sighed, running a hand over his bald head. “You’re right, of course. Gareth’s power has grown beyond what I anticipated. I will need help to contain him.” Balzac’s eyes speared mine, ancient and knowing. “Will you stand with me against this threat?”
I hesitated, glancing at Dorian. His face was stony, resolute. I knew he would side with me, no matter my choice.
“We’ll help you,” I agreed, meeting Balzac’s gaze. “If you promise not to banish Gareth or summon a Valkyrie against him. There must be another way.”
Balzac’s brows furrowed, his eyes flashing with annoyance. “You ask much. We cannot easily purge the darkness within him. Restraining him will prove nearly impossible.”
“Maybe so,” I conceded. “But if we attack Gareth, it will only drive the darkness deeper. He was once good. Conflicted and a bit of a dick, but he meant well. We have to save him.”
Dorian nodded. “She’s right. I speak from experience. When the coven turned against me all those centuries ago, their attacks only fueled my darkness, entrenching me further in my rage.”
Before Balzac could argue, Sydney spoke up, her voice unusually forceful.
“I’m with them. Gareth was my mentor. I won’t help you unless you swear not to harm him.” Her lips pressed into a thin line, jaw set.
Balzac studied each of us in turn, his ancient eyes betraying nothing. Finally, he inclined his head.
“Your convictions do you credit. Very well, we will seek another way. But we must act swiftly. The Sharpes’ treachery has unleashed a dire threat.” His gaze bored into mine.
I averted my eyes. “What do you think they’ll do to my mother? I mean, the siren with my mother inside her somehow. How will they force her to undo the betrothal?”
Balzac sighed. “The only thing they could do to force her hand. They’ll threaten you, Briar.”
I swallowed hard as his words sank in. The Sharpes would come for me, and my mother would have no choice but to comply or see me harmed.
“We have to stop them.” My voice was quiet but steely.
Balzac nodded. “Indeed, but it will not be easy. The Grand Coven has not turned on its own in centuries. What you ask goes against our highest laws.”
Dorian scoffed. “Oh, yes. I’m well aware of the Coven’s laws and how easily they’re bent when it suits you.”
I turned to him, eyebrows raised. “What do you mean?”
Dorian’s jaw worked, his eyes flashing. “I was once part of the Grand Coven centuries ago. When I was cursed, when the darkness took hold, they turned against me. Hunted me like an animal.” He paused, shaking his head ruefully. “Had they tried to help me instead of subdue me, things may have been different. I may have overcome it sooner.”
I stared at him, stunned. In all our time together, he’d never told me this.
Balzac inclined his head gravely. “What you say is true. It was before my time, but the Coven did what they thought they had to do.” His tone softened slightly. “I suspect their actions are why you refuse to join us still, Dorian.”
Dorian’s lip curled in a bitter smile. “I won’t join any coven, not even a Grand one.”
I snorted and stared at Dorian. “Wait. You have a standing invitation to join the Grand freaking Coven?”
Dorian shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s an invitation. More like a seat abandoned that’s never since been filled. It doesn’t matter. I’m not interested. You know the reasons.”
Balzac continued. “That’s a matter to negotiate at a later date. If what you say is true, if their attacks fueled your darkness, the opposite is also true. Your friend’s dark power could wane, given the chance.”
I glanced between them, mind racing. Maybe Gareth could be saved. We only had to find a way.
I scratched my head, thinking back to everything I’d seen of Gareth’s power.
“His magic seems weaker during the day,” I mused. “Like whatever’s in that cave dampens it while the sun’s up. Is there a way we could recreate that effect? Make it work on him all the time, not only when he’s down there?”
Dorian and Balzac exchanged a look.
“It’s possible,” Dorian stated. “We’d need to know precisely why that cave dampens him, then find a way to mimic it.”
I nodded eagerly. “We should go back and investigate it. There must be something special about it if the cave suppresses his power.”
Balzac stroked his beard. “Agreed. It merits looking into.” He eyed me shrewdly. “You truly wish to save him? After everything he’s done?”
I met his gaze unflinchingly. “I do. He was Sydney’s mentor. She cares for him. And…” I faltered, thinking of my mother’s spirit trapped in the Sharpes’ siren. “He doesn’t deserve to suffer like this. If we can free him of the darkness, we have to try.”
Dorian squeezed my hand, pride in his eyes. Balzac regarded me thoughtfully before inclining his head.
“As you say. We will do what we can for him.” He glanced between Dorian and me. “With your help, of course.”
I exhaled in relief. If we could save Gareth, it would be worth it.
Determination steeled my spine as I turned to Balzac. “When can we investigate the cave?”
He considered. “No time like the present. I can transport us there swiftly.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
The dank cave air clung to my skin as we entered the narrow passage. I shivered, the memory of our last encounter with Gareth still fresh.
Balzac huffed, his bald head glinting in the dim light. “I wish you had told me about this place beforehand. We could have avoided that nasty business.”
I stared at the ground, a knot in my stomach. Dorian stepped forward, eyes hard. “I have reason not to trust the Grand Coven.”
“Your quarrel is not with me, but with my predecessors.”
Dorian grunted. “Is there a difference?”
“It’s my fault,” I blurted, trying to diffuse the swelling tension. “I feel for Gareth. He didn’t choose this.” I pictured his contorted face, consumed by rage. “If there’s any way we can save him, we have to try.”
Balzac raised an eyebrow. “Naïve words from a novice witch. But perhaps, given the magic in this cave, there is hope.” He glanced around. “Now, where did you see him last?”
I led them deeper into the winding tunnel, my nerves sparking. Sydney trailed behind the three of us. We had to crouch to enter the small cavern where Gareth had hidden.
Balzac’s eyes narrowed, his mind churning behind that inscrutable façade. For the first time, I felt a true glimmer of possibility take root.
“I’ve searched every inch of this cave.” Dorian’s voice echoed off the damp walls. “If there was anything magical here, I would know it.”
Balzac chuckled, the sound low and condescending. “No disrespect intended, warlock, but your skills are limited. There are methods you haven’t tried.”
Dorian’s jaw tightened, annoyance flashing in his eyes. I touched his arm gently. There was no love lost between these two powerful men.
“There’s a chamber below where Gareth hid before,” I mentioned, hoping to diffuse the tension. “That’s where his powers were suppressed.”
Balzac’s interest piqued. “Show me.”
I led Balzac to the small tunnel Dorian and I belly-crawled through before. “We’ll have to crawl.” I glanced at Balzac. “Watch your head.”
He laughed, rubbing his bald pate. “No padding here to cushion the blow. But I have other ways to aid our passage.”
Balzac placed his hands on the tunnel walls. With delicate motions, he traced unseen sigils into the stone. The tunnel trembled, loose pebbles raining down. Before our eyes, the narrow space expanded, the rock reshaping itself to Balzac’s will.
He turned, grinning. “Unlike you, Dorian, I have an affinity with earth spirits. I can manipulate stone.”
Dorian’s jaw clenched. No doubt the barb about his inferior skills rankled.
“Meddling with the cave’s structure could disturb whatever magic is binding Gareth,” Dorian warned.
Balzac dismissed this with a sniff. “Had there been any enchantment here, I would have sensed it. My spell craft had no effect.”
I glimpsed Dorian’s hands, balling into fists. The patronizing tone seemed to grate on him. Still, he held his tongue as we followed Balzac’s lead through the widened tunnel.
The Grand Coven’s “Sorcerer Supreme” was certainly powerful, but his arrogance bordered on hubris. Dorian’s skills were nothing to scoff at. I hoped Balzac’s confidence didn’t exceed his wisdom. Gareth’s fate, and possibly our own, hung precariously in the balance.
We reached the ledge we’d had to jump down previously. This time, Balzac splayed his palm upon the floor. The stone rippled, reshaping into a makeshift staircase.
I couldn’t help an impressed chuckle. “Nice trick.”
Balzac preened. “A trifle, really.”
Beside me, Dorian huffed. I hoped he wouldn’t let it get to him too much. The male ego could be so fragile.
We descended the conjured steps into Gareth’s lair. The embers of his fire still glowed faintly. Balzac paced the chamber, inhaling deeply. Dorian and I hung back, watching the Grand Coven leader work.
“So full of himself,” Dorian muttered.
“He’s not so bad,” I whispered back.
Dorian only snorted, clearly unconvinced. I stifled a sigh.
Sydney nudged my arm. “The testosterone levels in this cave are reaching toxic levels. I need some fresh air.”
I chuckled. “Tell me about it.”
Balzac continued his witchy sniffing as his brow furrowed in concentration. Whatever magic he sensed here, it wasn’t obvious to my fledgling powers. I had to trust the Grand Coven’s leader knew what he was doing.
Balzac halted, nodding to himself. He reached into his robes and retrieved a small totem. It was an unremarkable stone figure, an insect. A beetle, if I had to guess.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“A Canaanite relic. It functions similarly to a dowsing rod, helping me detect unique sources of power.” He turned the statuette in his hands. “This cave’s magic is beyond standard witchcraft. I believe my little friend here can unravel its secrets.”
I glanced at Dorian. He grimaced, eyebrows lowered. Uh-oh. I could already see where this was headed.
“Messing with Canaanite magic often leads down perilous paths,” Dorian stated evenly. “Their practices tend to flirt with darkness.”
Balzac waved a dismissive hand. “Yes, I’m aware of your people’s prejudices. Coptic witches always assume their way is the only way.” He tucked the relic back into his robes. “I, however, keep an open mind. All mystical arts have their place.”
Dorian’s eyes flashed. I quickly moved between the two men before this dissolved into a magical pissing contest.
“Hey, let’s focus on the goal here,” I suggested gently. “Helping Gareth. We need to work together.”
Dorian’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. “You’re right. My apologies.” He shot Balzac a tight smile. “By all means, use whatever tools you need.”
Balzac inclined his head. “I assure you, I intend no disrespect. I only wish to understand this cave’s power so we can save the boy. If possible.”
Crisis averted. I breathed a little easier. As long as these two hotheads could keep it civil, we might figure this thing out.
Balzac withdrew the stone beetle, held it on a palm, and raised his hand. With a flick of his wrist, the relic unfurled metallic wings and buzzed into the air. The thing darted around the cavern like an oversized horsefly.
It circled the rocky walls, probed nooks and crannies, then made a beeline for Balzac. He didn’t flinch as it flew directly into his ear.
Balzac’s eyes drifted shut as if listening to some faint melody. After a moment, they snapped open wide.
“Well?” I asked. “What did you find?”
“The magic here. It’s astonishing,” Balzac murmured. “A siren’s song, woven subtly throughout the water in these tunnels.”
I blinked in surprise. “My mother’s doing?”
“It would seem she has more influence over the siren than I realized.” Balzac stroked his chin. “Why would she wish to protect the boy? What is her motive?”
I hesitated, thinking back to my father’s letter. The one explaining how he had arranged our betrothal without telling anyone.
Including poor Gareth, who’d assumed they betrothed him to me. We’d unintentionally cursed him as a result.
“She feels responsible,” I surmised. “For what happened to him.”
Balzac’s eyes lit up. “Well, if her song can pacify his darkness, perhaps we can bind that power to a totem. Regain the siren first, of course.” He clapped his hands together. “Now we have hope!”
I released a tense breath. If Mother could temper Gareth’s rages…
Yet the grim fact remained that the Sharpes had my mom bound to their strange prison, and they had other plans.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The moon hung low in the sky, a pale sliver that did little to pierce the darkness of the woods. Leaves and twigs crunched under my boots as we trudged along the overgrown path, following the bobbing light cast by Balzac’s witchfire.
“We should head back to Morai headquarters.” Balzac’s voice cut through the stillness of the night. “The Sharpes might have returned there after the incident with the siren.”
I glanced at Dorian, curious if he shared Balzac’s thinking. The shadows played across his face, but his expression was unreadable as always.
“I doubt it,” Dorian replied after a moment. “The Sharpes know you’re displeased. Going back now would be foolish, even for them.”
“Perhaps, but we must be thorough,” Balzac insisted. “No point searching the countryside when they could be hiding in plain sight.”
