Autumn Thorns (28 page)

“Do you want me there? Do you want all of me there?” His voice was rough and harsh with the crazed hunger that was fueling us both.

Aching, but wanting more—wanting him to explore every inch of my body—I nodded, almost crying. “Yes, please . . . yes.”

He slid out of my pussy, and I heard something. I glanced around to see him lubing up the condom with gel. Another moment and he had hold of my hips and I braced, gritting
my teeth as he began to work the head of his penis into my ass. Slowly, not in any rush, he inched it forward, holding me steady when I began to squirm. He eased it in as he grunted low with pleasure.

Every inch of my body was feeling stretched, and I was ready for the pain, but none came as he gently eased into me until suddenly, he was full in my ass, up to the hilt, his balls bouncing against the back of my legs. With a slow sigh, he eased back and then gave one long, sliding thrust, and then another, and another until I couldn't help it, but had to reach down, to rub my clit furiously as the tension built again. I moaned, falling into the sex haze, feeling the tension mount again, driving me up until there was nowhere to go.

Forced into a corner, the ache grew and then, with one last long plunge into my ass, Bryan let go. He cried out so loud that it echoed through the room. His pleasure mingled with mine and I pinched my clit hard, and once more, the orgasm raced through my body, shaking me to the core as I tumbled into the darkness of pleasure, coming harder than I'd ever come in my life.

W
e were back in the kitchen five minutes before Peggin arrived, gun in hand and dressed for business. She promptly took control of the remote, the living room, and the fridge, and—after warning her not to turn off any of the lights or night lights—Bryan and I headed toward my car.

“Hold on one sec. I'll be right back.” Bryan dashed toward his house as I warmed the car.

In Lila's Shadow Journal, she had detailed the preliminary ritual for someone who had been taken by the Lady, when their body hadn't surfaced. Apparently, this was common enough, and it was also common knowledge that if the Lady of Crescent Lake claimed you, chances were your family would never see your remains again. I had everything I needed in the doctor's bag.

When Bryan reappeared, he was carrying a sheathed short sword.

I stared at the weapon as he climbed in the front seat. “You know how to use that?”

“Yes. Remember, I was born before modern weapons. I learned how to fire a rifle, sure . . . and a revolver, but I also
learned how to use one of these. I can gut an opponent before he knows what's happening.” The cool tone in his voice made me shiver.

Softly— “Have you ever?”

A slight nod. “Yes. I've had more than one occasion to bring this out.” He paused. “After seeing my father murdered, I swore no one would ever take me by surprise. No one would ever hurt another person I loved. And I've made it my business through the years to learn every method I could for preventing that. Kerris, I'm a natural-born marksman, with both bow and gun; I can wield a blade, I can use my body to take down a man twice my size without a blink. If anybody's cut out to be your guardian, that would be me.” He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of my head.

There was nothing else to say. I kept quiet until we reached Ellia's. She was waiting out in the street for us, violin in hand. How the woman braved the chill nights, I did not understand, but she seemed unfazed by the cold weather.

As she settled in the backseat, she paused, then let out a little laugh. “You two have chosen to become a mated pair, then?”

I blinked. “How did you know?”

“The energy around you is thick as thieves. Thick as my grandmother's gravy was. And believe me, that was a gravy you could stand your spoon up in.” She settled back in the seat.

I decided it was time to address my concerns. I couldn't have the question lingering over us, or I would never be able to work with her at the level of trust required for our interaction. “Ellia, I need to know this, and I need the truth. Your mother—Magda. What's her story? Why would she be part of a club that is dedicated to an enemy of the Morrígan?”

She let out a sharp breath. “You know, then . . .”

“I know she belongs to Cú Chulainn's Hounds. I know they consider themselves enemies of the Morrígan, and therefore of me. I know my grandfather belonged to it, and so did—do—the men he hung out with. And your mother belongs to it, as well.” I suddenly realized that my voice had risen. I was angry. I wanted to know who had killed my
mother and father. And I wanted to know why Ellia's mother was aligned with the enemy. As I heard my thoughts, I cringed. I had enemies now. Scary, murderous enemies.

Ellia cleared her throat. “All right, I'll tell you what I know. I would have tomorrow night at the meeting, anyway. You'll learn a lot more there.”

Feeling slightly mollified, I let my breath out slowly. “All right. I'm ready.”

She deflated then, and I could hear the pain enter her voice, like when you rip open a scab you thought you'd finally forgotten and been able to tuck into the past. “Magda—my mother—joined the group many years ago. So many that I lost count. While she's not devoted to their particular cause, she is devoted to their general nature. I told you that there are spirit shamans worldwide, by different names, serving different gods?”

“Right.”

“In Russia—I'm no more Irish than I am a potato—they are called дух мастер . . .
spirit masters
, roughly translated. The goddess who rules over them is Morena. She's very much like the Morrígan. One of her nemeses is Baba Volkov—Mother Wolf Witch, a dark crone from the forest who possesses great power over the shadows. She can summon the dead and make them do her bidding, but not like you. She doesn't drive them back to the grave. She enslaves them. She can create form out of shadow. She is a dangerous enemy, and all the women in our family have been pledged to her service and that's where we got our last name. My mother is a powerful witch, dedicated to Baba Volkov.”

I caught my breath. “So . . . she would befriend an enemy of the Morrígan because the Morrígan is much like her own deity's enemy. But, how then did you become a lament singer?”

Ellia paused, then nodded. “I don't really know how it happened, but I was born with the ability. I was also born with the dark magic of Baba Volkov. My mother was furious when she found out that I wanted to sing the dead to sleep instead of learn how to use them. By the time I was thirteen, I had become a prodigy on the violin. Mother said it was
time for me to set that aside and begin learning the craft of my ancestors.”

Oh, this couldn't have a happy ending.

“I refused. I insisted I was going to become a lament singer—I told her my hands were filled with music. She . . . she said that if I insisted on cavorting with the dead instead of using their powers, my hands would be filled with madness, as well. She grabbed my hands and there was a searing pain. To this day I can still remember the agony. And after that, any time I touched anybody, it sent them into a dark pit of aching madness. The day after she cursed me, I put on my first pair of gloves. I found out what happened when I touched my dog.”

Her voice filled with pain and I wished I'd never asked her; even though we needed to know, it wasn't worth putting someone through this kind of memory.

I sighed. “I thought maybe it was a power that went with that of lament singing.”

“No. My mother cursed me to drive anyone to madness if I touched them with my hands. I can touch them with my lips, with any part of my body except my fingers, and nothing happens. But if I shake hands, stroke a face . . . pet a dog . . . without my gloves? They are consigned to agony. And I cannot live with myself if I were to do that, so that's why I always wear gloves. Except . . . I cannot wear them when I play, so I never get near enough to touch someone during those times. The only thing I've felt under my fingers since I was thirteen is the feel of a bow, and of material.” Tears trailed down her cheeks. “Magda killed Penelope, my sister. I barely knew who she was before she was found dead, and a horrendous death it was, too. But Magda didn't count on Penelope becoming a Gatekeeper.”

“Why did she kill your sister?”

“Because she, too, refused to learn the art of Baba Volkov. We both failed our mother's wishes . . . and so she set out to destroy us.”

As I took a right onto Hydrangea Way, and then another right onto Whipwillow Lane, I thought over what she had told us. Magda had chosen to focus her anger where she
could do the most damage and get back at her wayward daughters at the same time. Morena, Morrígan, I doubted whether the names made a difference. It was the energy behind the name that counted.

“In your mother's eyes, you both betrayed her and went over to the enemy, then.”

“That's about right.”

“How old is your mother?”

“How old is Magda?” Ellia paused. “She was born in 1900, so she's almost one hundred and fifteen years old.”

“That's what the records say. But she's human, isn't she? Aren't you? Not a shapeshifter like Bryan?”

Ellia shrugged, leaning forward to peer over my shoulder. “Not all humans are of the same stock. My lineage goes back for hundreds of years and is steeped in magic and sorcery. The legends I grew up on were gruesome and dark, and Baba Volkov a harsh taskmistress. The spells her followers—including my family—work with are dangerous and incredibly powerful.”

“That would answer where some of the magic is coming from, like the toxic mist in my garden.” I told Ellia what had happened the night before.

“Yes, that would be right up her alley. My mother could toss off a mist like that without even a moment's notice. And she would have no compunction about doing so.”

Bryan cleared his throat. “Most people don't realize that there are differing lineages of humanity, and nobody has clocked every single strand of DNA on this planet. And the life spans? Those born of magical blood tend to live longer and heal faster. Kerris, your grandmother Lila would have probably lived strong into her fifteenth decade, had she not been killed. Her mother . . . I'm not sure how your great-grandmother died, but chances are, it wasn't natural.”

“Mae supposedly died of a heart attack, when she was in perfect health.” I blinked. I was heading into uncharted territory here.

“My mother could engineer a heart attack, as well.”

“Or my grandfather could have colluded with Doc
Benson to take her out. I wouldn't be surprised by anything at this point.” I let out a long sigh. “But I no more believe Mae died a natural death than I believe Whisper Hollow is the sunshine capital of the world.”

As I veered onto Snowstar Avenue, we were nearing the place where Tawny was seen going off the road. She had plunged into the water right before the bridge that ran over Juniper Creek, which flowed into the lake. The road was very, very close to the lakeshore there, and it was easy to swerve too close to the guardrails. And if the Lady was calling?
Through them.

“So, Magda saw hooking up with Cú Chulainn's Hounds as a way to get back at you and your sister. At all of us who walk this path. She's on a vendetta.”

Ellia pointed to a turnout ahead. “Park there.” As I pulled over, she continued. “Yes, but there's more to it than that. Whisper Hollow never really welcomed her in. She fits the energy of this place, of these woods. Baba Volkov would be as much at home up on Timber Peak as she was in the forests of Russia, but there, people respect her as well as fear her. Here? In town, Magda was laughed at for her folkish ways, and while there are a few other Slavic and Russian families here, the Irish tend to rule Whisper Hollow.” A faint laughter filled her voice. “But you're right on one thing. The use of the word
vendetta
? Most appropriate for Magda's nature. She never gives up a grudge. Our family still holds blood feuds against others from the old country that have been waged for centuries. Magda hated this town when I was young, and so I wouldn't limit her designs on revenge to just the spirit shamans.”

I glanced over at her. “You said a force was coming out of the woods, aimed at the town. You were referring to her, weren't you?”

“Yes. My mother and her followers. I have no doubt that she's made Cú Chulainn's Hounds reliant on her by now.

Another thought crossed my mind. “You said she can work with shadows? Create beings out of them?”

“If you're thinking she's responsible for the Shadow Man
in your house, you may be right.” Ellia shrugged. “She's capable of that and so much more. Now I wish I had learned about some of my heritage, because I might be better suited to help us against her. But I have no Shadow Journals to read up on, unfortunately.”

“Magda can probably perform the rites to summon the Ankou. I'm sure the Hounds have provided her with plenty of options. I wonder, though, if Cú Chulainn's Hounds know how she feels about the town itself? If not, they might see her as a power supply without realizing they are also in danger. Which means she could manipulate them into actions that were far beyond what they originally planned.”

Ellia readied her violin and then climbed out of the backseat as we slipped out of the front. “Magda is a master of manipulation. I know they have no clue of just what she's up to. If so, she'd be off their rolls and quite possibly dead, if they could manage it.”

“Do you know how she got involved with them in the first place?”

Ellia remained silent. “You'll find out that at the meeting. I'd rather not go over it twice. Come now, we have to prepare the ritual.”

By the tone of her voice, I realized I would get no further until the meeting, so I opened my bag and pulled out my wand. I also had prepared a packet of Follow Me powder, which I found in the secret room. “I'm ready. I memorized what I'm supposed to do, but this is the first time I'll have tried out one of her rituals, so be . . . prepared, I guess. I have no idea what's supposed to happen.”

Ellia laughed. “Well, I know this much: After we perform the ritual, we should see a fog rise from the lake—a glowing fog—where Tawny's car was last seen. It will shimmer and then head for the graveyard. We drive back to the cemetery then, and finish binding the spirit within the confines. Then, when they perform the memorial service, regardless of whether the body has been recovered, we will ease Tawny into the Veil. Penelope will take over then.”