Spell of the Highlander (24 page)

Jessi sucked in a breath. “Oh, God—I read about the Tuatha Dé Danaan in the Book of Invasions! They were one of the mythical races, along with the Fir Bolg and the Nemedians. Supposedly they came down from the sky in a cloud of mist and fog. You’re telling me they’re real? That they actually did invade Ireland?”

“Aye. They’re real, though they didn’t invade Ireland—initially they were welcomed there amongst her people,” Dageus said. “It wasn’t until much later that bitter dissension arose. They arrived long before the Book of Invasions purports. And here they remain, though they are now hidden from us. The Tuatha Dé is divided into two courts. The Seelie are the Court of the Light Fae—the ones whom we Keltar serve. The Unseelie are the Court of the Dark—to be given wide berth. Though separate, they are inseparably bound. Some say the Seelie created the Unseelie, others say that the Seelie themselves mutated over time. No one knows for certain. Indeed, ’tis rumored they may not even be of the same race. But all the legends agree that where goes one, so must the other. That they are like the Roman Janus heads of yore—two faces, sharing a single skull.”

“So they came to our world—oh, that’s just so weird!—and brought these Dark Hallows with them?” Jessi asked.

Dageus nodded. “The Unseelie brought the Dark Ones. The Seelie brought the Light Hallows. Both courts have their own relics of power. According to ancient lore, long ago in their past, the horrific Unseelie were somehow ‘contained’ by the Seelie. Though they are here with us, in a manner of speaking, sharing our world, as are the Seelie, the Unseelie cannot leave wherever it is they are being held. ’Tis written in ancient scrolls that shortly after the Tuatha Dé’s arrival on our world there was an uprising and some of the Unseelie nearly broke free. In the skirmish, their Hallows, including the Dark Book, were lost. Men and Fae alike have been searching for these relics of power for thousands of years. Allegedly, the Dark Glass was originally used to keep one of the Unseelie’s mortal mistresses imprisoned. Over time, it has transformed, as many Unseelie things do, into something else. A thing with multiple purposes, or so ’tis said. See that band of black that rims the perimeter?”

Jessi nodded.

“‘Tis said that one day, if enough tithes are paid, the Dark Glass will go full dark, and on that day it will become a different thing entirely, a sentient thing.”

Jessi shivered. She looked at Cian. “Did you know that?”

He shook his head. “Nay. But ’tis yet another reason to prevent the tithe.”

“No kidding. How creepy!”

“All the Unseelie Hallows are, as you say, ‘creepy,’ lass,” Cian said. “‘Tis their darkness, the chill of them.”

“Is it cold inside the mirror?” she asked, recalling how icy the blackness at the edge was.

He shrugged one powerful shoulder. “Aye, lass. At times I feel it more than others. ’Tis naught to fash yourself over.” Directing a concerned gaze toward the twins, he said, “Lucan managed to get his hands on three of the Dark Hallows. The thief stole the amulet and box, as well, along with my mirror. I doona ken if Lucan has been able to recover them yet. They may still be out there.”

“
Och, Christ,” Drustan swore softly. “And in some unsuspecting fool’s hands!”

“Exactly,” Cian said.

“So what’s in this Dark Book?” Jessi asked. “What makes it so dangerous?”

“According to what the Draghar knew of it,” Dageus said, “it contains spells to open realms, spells to harness time, spells even to unmake worlds. Worse yet, in addition to every manner of Dark enchantment, allegedly therein are also the True Names of the most powerful of the Fae—the Seelie and Unseelie royalty.”

“I thought you said ’twas not easy to sort through all the memories the Draghar left in you,” Drustan said carefully, searching Dageus’s eyes.

Dageus said dryly, “‘Tis not. It’s like having thirteen thousand-chapter books in my head. In there somewhere is a memory of every last time one of them took a piss. I know of the Dark Book because they wanted me to hunt for it while I was hunting for other tomes in my efforts to escape them. ’Twas much in their minds.” His lips curved in a mocking smile. “‘Twas not I alone who sought my freedom; they wished greatly to escape
me. Among other desires they had.”

“What about the True Names is so scary?” Jessi asked. How bizarre to think that Dageus had the memories of thirteen other people in his head. She wondered if it ever gave him a headache.

“He who knows a Tuatha Dé’s True Name,” Cian said from within the mirror, “can command that Fae, even unto its own destruction.”

“I thought the Faery were supposed to be immortal,” she protested.

“Mostly they are, lass,” Cian told her. “‘Tis rare for one to die, nigh impossible to slay one, but it can be done. The Fae possess unfathomable power. In the hands of the wrong man, the Dark Book could be used to harness that power. An unscrupulous man could unleash complete chaos, destroy not merely this world but countless others. Though the Dark Book is written in complex ciphers, and though ’tis rumored these ciphers actually change from opening to opening of the Book, Lucan broke several of the codes in the past when he obtained rubbings. It took him many long years, but he managed it. I’ve no doubt he can do so again.”

“Where do you think the Dark Book has been all this time?” Chloe asked Cian. “Hasn’t it been missing for thousands and thousands of years?”

“Aye. Lucan and I believed that a clan was either appointed or stumbled across it long ago and appointed themselves its guardian, much as the Keltar guard the lore,” Cian said, his gaze dark. “‘Twould seem that recently, something happened to these guardians, because the person Lucan spoke with told him the Book had surfaced for a brief time and been glimpsed by several people, all of them now dead. This person—who was also killed a few weeks before the mirror was stolen—had been able to obtain a rubbing of the cover and a few of the pages therein before it vanished again.”

“So, people have actually
seen the Book recently!” Chloe exclaimed.

“Aye.”

“Do we know for sure it really was the Dark Book? The real thing?” Gwen asked.

Cian nodded. “I glimpsed the rubbings of the pages. Lucan was free with what he did in his study. I think in part because he hoped to incite my interest and elicit my aid, for I was always the better sorc—er . . .
Druid.”

“And who ended up stuck in a mirror?” Dageus murmured.

Cian bristled, eyes narrowed, nostrils flared.

Dageus shrugged. “I was merely saying.”

Cian and Dageus glowered at each other. Then Cian snorted dismissively and continued. “The Book itself is supposedly so potent that continued exposure to it alters a man, and not for the better. Even the mere rubbings of the pages pulsed with Dark power. Those were no normal sheets of parchment. There is no doubt in my mind ’twas the real thing. There is also no doubt in my mind ’tis inevitable that Lucan will get his hands on it, and sooner rather than later. Obtaining the Dark Book has always been Lucan’s ultimate goal, and he will stop at nothing to attain it. I’ve watched his power and knowledge of Dark Magyck grow over the centuries. He adheres to no rules. He has no sense of honor. I ken the way his mind works. I am the only who can stop him.”

“There are two other Keltar Druids here, kinsman,” Drustan said stiffly. “I’m fair certain we may be of some aid.”

“You’ve no bloody idea what you’re talking about. The mirror makes Lucan immortal, unkillable by your means. You would be of no use. Or are you ready to begin tattooing yourself, kinsman?” Cian said silkily.

Drustan gave him a scornful look.

“I thought not.” The look Cian shot back at him was just as scornful. “A man does what he must. Or he’s no man.”

“What he ‘must’ is debatable. ’Twould not necessarily come to that,” Drustan replied icily.

“Och, aye, it would, you bloody fool. Leave Lucan to me. Stay out of it.”

“I cannot believe this Trevayne is so much more powerful than we.”

Cian’s smile dripped dark amusement. “Ah—and
there’s the vaunted Keltar ego! I wondered when I’d see it. I made the same mistake. Believed I was so much more powerful. And I was. Yet here I am. And I didn’t see it coming. I will deal with Lucan. You’ve but to grant us sanctuary here until the Feast of All Saints. I will need to lay additional wards when next I am free. Permit that. ’Tis all I ask.”

Dageus had remained silent while his brother and Cian argued. But now he cocked his head, his golden eyes shimmering strangely. “Now I understand,” he said. “So that’s why you plan to do it. It made no sense to me. Especially after last eve.”

Was it her imagination, or had Cian suddenly gone tense? Jessi eyed him intently.

Her Highland lover’s shrug seemed a bit overdone when he said, “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Aye, you do.”

“You can’t deep-listen to me, not with my guards up, and I’ve not let them down since we met. You’re good, but you’re not that good.”

“
Yet. And I doona need to be. I understand this tithing business.”

“Mayhap the knowledge you acquired from those evil Draghar of yours is inaccurate, Druid,” Cian said coolly. “I’m sure even they made the occasional error.”

“Nay,” Dageus said just as coolly. “This I learned from our tomes in the underground chamber while searching for a way to be rid of the thirteen. And I know you’ve read them too.”

“What?” Jessi said, staring from one to the other, sensing the deadly undertow in the ocean of things they weren’t saying. “What are you two talking about?”

“Doona do it, kinsman,” Cian said abruptly, low and intense. “Leave it. Man to man.”

“Nay, ’tis too big a thing to continue speaking around. She has the right to know.”

“‘Tis not your decision to make.”

“I wouldn’t
have to make it if you hadn’t made the wrong one by not telling her.”

“‘Not telling her’ what?” Jessi demanded.

“‘Tis naught of your concern. Stay the bloody hell out of it,” Cian snarled at Dageus.

“Nay. Not after what transpired between the two of you last eve. She has a right to know. Either you tell her, or I will. ’Tis the only mercy I’ll grant.”

“Cian?” Jessi implored questioningly.

He gazed at her a long silent moment. A muscle in his jaw leapt. He turned abruptly in the mirror.

And disappeared into the silver. It rippled behind him and went flat.

Jessi stared at the looking glass in disbelief. What could be so terrible that, after the incredible intimacy they’d just shared, he would turn his back on her and walk away?

“What’s going on?” She turned a plaintive gaze on Dageus. There was a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, and she knew, just knew, she was about to hear something that was going to make her wish she’d cut her ears off instead.

When Jessi heard Cian murmur a short chant, she knew what was coming and a cry of alarm escaped her. The jeweled blade that had slain the room-service assassin whipped out of the glass and lodged in a wall—behind and a hairsbreadth to the left of Dageus’s temple.

“Doona answer her, you bastard,” came the savage growl from the silvery glass.

“Harm any of mine and I’ll break your blethering mirror,” Drustan said very, very quietly. “Were I not certain you missed deliberately, I’d have done it already.”

Another savage sound rumbled within the mirror, rattling the glass in its frame.

“What?” Jessi repeated weakly. “Tell me what?”

Dageus sighed, his chiseled features grim. “All Tuatha Dé bindings, lass—whether Seelie compacts or Unseelie indentures—must be periodically reaffirmed by gold. The Keltar Compact, for example, was forged in purest gold, and need only be reaffirmed if something within it is changed, or if ’tis violated by a party to the agreement. But Dark Arts run counter to the nature of things and require higher and more frequent tithes. As Cian said, the Dark Glass must be paid every one hundred years, on the anniversary of the original date of binding, at midnight.”

Sorrowful gold eyes locked with hers, and that sinking sensation became a pit of acid in her stomach.

“Cian was bound on Samhain, lass. If the tithe is not paid by he who initiated the indenture—in this instance, Lucan—at precisely midnight on October thirty-first, the indenture will be violated, and all the years that Cian and Lucan have lived that were not theirs to live, will be called due. At once. In a single moment.”

Silence blanketed the room. It lay there, heavy, suffocating.

“Wh-what are you s-saying?” Jessi stammered.

“You know what I’m saying, Jessica,” Dageus said gently. “Cian came back to Scotland for one reason: to die. That’s his vengeance. That’s his way of keeping Lucan from getting the Dark Book and ending things for once and for all. When the tithe is not paid, they will both die. It’s all over. The immortal sorcerer will be slain, without so much as a drop of blood spilled. All Cian must do is stay out of Lucan’s hands until twelve-oh-one on November first. And he’s right, ’tis truly the simplest, most effective way to end it. Quite tidy, indeed. Drustan and I can then track down the Dark Book and attempt to either restore it to its guardians or protect it ourselves.”

Jessi gaped at Dageus. Abruptly, everything Cian had told her since they’d met—and she now realized it was precious little—tumbled through her mind, and she apprehended it all in a vastly different light. She shook her head, pressing a hand to her mouth.

Now that she knew the truth, it fit together so neatly that she was stunned that she’d not guessed at it before.

Not once had he ever spoken of any moment beyond his “deadline.” Not even when she’d asked what he intended to do once the spell was broken. There’d never been a “God, it’ll be so good to be free again!” There’d never been any mention of something he might like to do once he’d killed Lucan—maybe see a movie, have a feast, travel the world and stretch his legs a bit. In fact, there’d never even been any mention of him killing Lucan at all. And why would there have been? He’d never planned to actually physically “kill” him.