The Phoenix Charm (15 page)

Michael stood on a green hill surrounded by the purple glow of the Irish Wicklow Mountains and stared down into a sheltered vale.

Excited shouts heralded the arrival of two small boys who burst from a cave mouth into the sunny valley below. A short, dark-skinned leprechaun woman followed them out and plopped her plump behind on a hillock to watch them play.

The two boys were identical in not only their brown shorts and shirts, but also their dark springy waves of hair and cheeky faces.

The quieter one set an empty bottle on a rock and gathered a heap of pebbles for target practice. The other boy waited for his brother to prepare his game, then swooped in, arms wide like a bird, and knocked the bottle off its perch.

“Mick, ’tis not fair.”

“Michael,” the leprechaun woman shouted. “Stand Niall’s target up for him again, you rascal.”

With a grin, the naughty boy plucked up the bottle and scampered away. The other boy’s face set with determination and he gave chase. They tumbled across the cropped grass, arms and legs tangled, cursing, and thumping each other.

“Oh, you lads have the devil in you.” The leprechaun sprang up and pulled them apart, hanging on to their collars. Michael burst into noisy tears and buried his face in the woman’s dress. Niall stood stoically rubbing his bruises.

A memory.

One from the depths of his mind, long forgotten?

“I’m surprised,” a quiet voice said behind him. Michael turned to find Troy standing a short distance away, his flamboyant attire glowing and sparkling in the sunlight while he stared at the little drama in the vale below. “This is your fondest memory?”

“I don’t think…“ Michael turned back to the scene below, but no one was there.

What was he doing here? He struggled to backtrack. Odd thoughts and feelings jumbled together inside his head: Niall holding a baby, a woman with a cat, a nightstalker biting him.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“You’re dead, son.”

Michael’s hand went to his chest. He remembered the glitter of a gem in the hilt of a dagger, the smell of dogs, the soft feel of a woman’s body in his arms.

In a flash, he remembered the scenario that had recently played out in the council chamber. The strength drained from him. He clutched a nearby rock and sat down.

“I’m in the Underworld?” He blinked at his father.

“Not quite. Your mind has taken you back to the time you were happiest.”

“So I’m in a dream?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Then why are you here?”

Troy glanced down at the silent vale, a whisper of sadness crossing his face. “Not because I have a place in your fondest memory.”

Michael rubbed his face. When he gathered his thoughts, anger blossomed in his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me what the dagger was for?”

“The time wasn’t right.”

Michael surged to his feet, indignation feeding his strength. All his life he’d admired his father, yearned for his approval. For the first time, he questioned Troy’s motives.

“You sent me to Wales to be killed?”

“I sent you to Wales to be reborn.”

“Don’t try to make this sound as though you were doing me a favor.” Turning his back on Troy, Michael strode to a rocky outcrop overlooking the valley and filled his lungs with calming mountain air.

Michael glanced over his shoulder while Troy smoothed the lace at his wrists. “You manipulated me,” Michael said.

Troy raised his eyes, his expression uncompromising, no hint of remorse.

“You’re not even sorry?” Michael swung back to face his father, fists clenched in frustration. “You should have explained and let me make me own decision.”

“Would you have come to Wales to rescue Finian if you knew you would face death?”

“Shit. Shit.” Michael closed his eyes and banged a fist on his brow. How did his father always tie him up in knots? He wanted to say that of course he would choose to give his life for Finian, but deep in a shadowy private place, he doubted his courage.

Stepping forward, Troy reached a comforting hand toward Michael, but the touch passed through him as though he was a shadow.

Michael stared at his insubstantial arm, the reality of his death twisting hot and cold in his gut.

“Don’t worry, lad. Your mind and spirit will soon return to your body,” Troy said, his voice silky and soothing.

Hurt that his father would try to dispel his grievance with a close of silver tongue, Michael flared with resentment as Troy continued talking in his irritatingly calm and patient tone.

“To achieve your full potential, you need to die and be reborn. The first time you must willingly sacrifice your life for a worthy cause. There is no worthier cause than giving your life to save another.”

“So you saved someone the first time you died, did you?” Michael snapped back.

Troy dropped his head forward so fast, golden strands pulled loose from the diamond-studded spike securing his hair.

“Who did you save?” Michael pressed, sensing his father’s hesitation. “A child like Fin, a brother?” He snapped
his fingers. “I have it! You saved a beautiful damsel in distress. I bet there were damsels in distress around every bloody corner when you were young.”

Silence stretched between them and for the first time in his life, Michael heard his father’s breath catch as though he was struggling for control. Just as Michael started to feel uneasy, Troy raised his head, his eyes glacial and remote. “I didn’t save anyone, Michael. But you will.”

Thinking of damsels in distress brought a woman’s sad gray eyes to mind. Cordelia was waiting for him. She would call him back to life.

He blinked, concentrated on how she’d felt, the warm swirl of comfort in his middle when she was near, but he couldn’t sense her.

He huffed in frustration.

“Remember you’re here for Finian,” Troysaid gently.

Michael’s urgency to rescue his nephew returned. How had he become sidetracked?“Where is he?”

“Safe. Someone is watching him until we arrive. But we need to enter the Underworld. We won’t have long before the wise woman calls you back.” Troy circled his arm, stirring the air. The verdant valley faded to murky tones, shadows falling.

Michael glanced around. “We’re still in the same place.”

“We create our own Underworld, Michael, just as we create our own dreams.”

A dark track opened before them, winding between the hills.

“If you have permission from the Master of the Darkling Road, you can use the safe routes,” Troy said. “But always remember the Underworld is treacherous. Stray from the road, and you’ll forget who you are and wander through the shadows for eternity.”

Cordelia counted off the minutes in her head until the shutters in the council chamber were opened, and she could revive
Michael. Nightshade stood like a silent sentry at her side. Unbelievably, his presence felt reassuring rather than threatening. The old adage, my enemy’s enemy is my friend, was true.

Her fingers ached from clutching the Phoenix Dagger. She’d hoped the councilors would all leave the chamber so there would be no one to see her resurrect Michael, but Mawgan and the two seers were still there, along with the ten huntsmen below with the hounds. Despite Devin’s assurances that no one would interfere when she went to Michael, she wanted Nightshade protecting her back.

After she’d counted off twelve minutes, she touched Nightshade’s arm. “Let’s start making our way down to Michael.” They’d just reached the top of the gallery steps when the council chamber door crashed open. Silhouetted against the light in the doorway stood a tall man wearing a top hat.

Shock spilled through her. Gwyn?

How had he escaped from his tower? Would he interfere when she went to Michael? What had happened to Thorn? She hoped he hadn’t come. She didn’t want him to see Michael like this.

The hounds barked excitedly, surging against the restraint of the huntsmen until three broke loose and bounded up the steps to greet the man in the doorway.

After sitting somberly through the proceedings so far, Mawgan surged to his feet. “How did you get out?”

Gwyn stepped forward into the lamplight and alarm spurted through Cordelia. A hiss of surprise rose from the three seers. Gwyn’s face was now pale and his eyes translucent blue.

Arian followed Gwyn into the chamber and kneeled at his feet, pressing his forehead to the floor. “My king.”

Gwyn’s hand hovered over Arian’s head, and he smiled with satisfaction. “Don’t look so shocked, Mawgan. Arian took Michael O’Connor’s life in my name. You’ve grown careless, old man.”

His pale blue gaze scanned the chamber. Cordelia and Nightshade stepped back into the shadows, but there was no hiding from him. He ascended the steps to the gallery, Arian on his heels, the three hounds following.

Cordelia hid the dagger behind her back when Gwyn halted at the top of the stairs, his black shoes mirror polished, reflecting the lamplight. “Well, well. The pisky wise woman and the nightstalker.” He grinned darkly.

“What have you done with Thorn?”

“He’s keeping Brian company. I like him. Maybe I’ll keep him as a pet.”

As Gwyn walked closer, Nightshade stepped in front of her, his wings slightly extended, his arms held ready to protect her.

She backed up toward the wall, hugging her cat bag across her chest with her free arm. Gwyn halted and scanned Nightshade from head to toe. “I’m afraid I don’t have time to humor you at the moment.”

With a sweep of Gwyn’s arm, Nightshade flew through the air and crashed in a heap against the wall. Red flashed in Gwyn’s translucent eyes. “Stay out of my way, stalker.” The hounds drew back their lips and growled, drool hanging from their teeth. “Your father is a friend of mine, so I’d rather not kill you, but I will if you get in my way.”

He approached Cordelia and she pressed back against the wall.

Gwyn nodded to Arian, who held out his hand. “Give him the Phoenix Dagger, witch.”

She kept the blade out of sight, her mind racing in useless circles as she tried to think of a way to escape him and reach Michael.

Arian stared at her with an arrogant tilt of his head, nostrils flared derisively. “She’s slow and foolish. Do not expect her to behave with any sense.”

“You’re a murdering, arrogant pig,” she shouted at Arian. “And you’re ugly as well,” she added for good measure.

Gwyn laughed. “As curses go, that is not very imaginative. My loyal gatekeeper is right about you.” He took another step closer and she huddled against the wall.

“Don’t give him the dagger,” Nightshade called, his voice cramped with pain.

“If you don’t hand Arian the Phoenix Dagger now, he’ll throw your cat to the hounds.”

The air grew thick in her lungs; darkness flooded her vision. She had no doubt Arian would smile when he threw Tamsy to the dogs and laugh while she hissed and spat as the huge creatures ripped her to pieces.

If only Devin had stayed. He was the one person she could imagine standing up to Gwyn.

“No,” she choked out, hating the tremble in her voice.

Gwyn’s face hardened to a mask of loathing that froze her heart, and he signaled Arian forward. Summoning her courage, Cordelia clutched her cat bag tighter. She flexed her fingers on the handle of the Phoenix Dagger and held it ready. She had no training with a weapon, but she was armed, and by the gods, she would stand her ground and then get down the stairs to Michael.

Arian strode forward. She swung the blade at him. He dodged aside and caught hold of her wrist, squeezing and twisting until her bones and muscles burned with pain. Bending her arm back, he smashed her hand against the wall. With a cry of despair, her deadened fingers opened and the dagger clattered to the floorboards. The second his grip on her arm relaxed, she jerked away and scrambled around him, reaching for the shining hilt. He laughed and kicked her feet from under her, sending her sprawling while he snatched up the blade with a shout of triumph.

Cordelia lay defeated for a few seconds, hugging her wriggling cat, fighting back her tears. Losing the dagger could mean losing Michael, but she would not give up on him so easily.

“Open the shutters,” Gwyn shouted as he and Arian ran
down the steps and stopped before the tall gold statue just inside the door. Olwyn and Dai’s footsteps hurried across the wooden floor and the shutters snapped back, filling the chamber with daylight.

Massaging her sore hand and wrist, Cordelia pushed to her feet and shuffled forward to see what Gwyn would do with the dagger, ready for any chance to reclaim the blade.

“This blade has taken a life, now it owes a life,” Gwyn crowed. He glanced up at Cordelia with a vindictive smile. “That life will be mine.”

Fear shot through her as his words crushed her hope. Could the dagger only give back one life for each one taken?

Mawgan’s cry of dissent echoed around the chamber as Arian raised the glittering hilt. Gwyn threw back his head and roared while rays of sun penetrated the Phoenix Stone and split into streaks of color, hitting the statue on the nine energy centers.

The figure of Gwyn lost substance and definition, leaving a shadowy silhouette; then he disappeared. The Phoenix Stone flared so brightly, Cordelia had to shield her eyes. When the light faded, she dropped her hand, fearful of what she’d see. In place of the statue now stood an imposing Tylwyth Teg man robed in black, white hair threaded with gold, translucent eyes glittering with red sparks.

He threw back his head and shouted in victory. Scanning the council chamber, he thumped his fist against his chest. “I, Gwyn ap Nudd, return to claim my domain and take my revenge on Troy the Deathless.”

In the silence that followed, everyone in the room fell to his knees except Cordelia and Nightshade.

Gwyn’s arrogant tone reverberated around the chamber, promising death and torment to anyone who crossed him, and especially to Troy and his descendents. The hatred in his voice terrified her. How could Troy have allowed Michael to put himself in such danger?

Cordelia crept back to Nightshade, who was leaning against the wall rubbing his head.

“Let’s escape through the gallery door.” He pointed to their left.