The Phoenix Charm (5 page)

Michael stared off into the darkness, suddenly adrift in a world where he no longer knew himself or his brother. Or the father who’d just tipped his world arse about face.

“Think of your gifts, lad: glamour, silver tongue, the ability to read people.” He paused and waited for Michael’s bemused gaze to find him. “These powers you inherited from me.”

Michael stared at his feet half submerged in mud, his mind in free fall. “You were always so proud of Niall,” he said, his voice sounding lost.

“Of course. Niall accomplished everything through strength of spirit. For you, life will be much easier and much harder.”

Troy withdrew a jewel-handled dagger from his knotted hair, releasing the golden cascade of strands onto his shoulders. He palmed the blade and held out the ornate hilt to Michael. “When you reach Wales, you must go before the Ennead, the council of nine. Reveal this blade to Master Devin. He willtell you how to proceed.”

Michael wrapped his hand around the intricately worked gold handle and stared at the huge rainbow-hued gem in the pommel. “Is the stone magic?”

With a small shake of his head, Troy pressed Michael’s hand around the dagger and pushed it down to Michael’s side. “This is the end of an era, lad.” He pulled Michael into
a fierce embrace, then drew back with a sigh. “Don’t think badly of me, son.”

“Why would I think badly of you?”

“When you understand my legacy, you will have every right to hate me.”

Michael sat at the desk in Niall’s office at Trevelion Manor. Although Troy had arranged for the Master of the Darkling Road to guard Fin, Michael and Cordelia had also organized a roster of pisky men to keep watch. The piskies might not be able to reach the lad, but at least he wasn’t alone.

He stared at Troy’s dagger, which rested in the middle of the oak desk. The metal blade glinted darkly beneath the lamp, while the multicolored jewel in the handle cast rainbows across the ceiling. During his childhood, he’d seen the decorative cross in Troy’s hair on numerous occasions and thought it nothing more than an elaborate hair ornament.

Cordelia sat on the other side of the desk, hollow eyed and pale. Her hands absently stroked the cat on her lap. “Are we agreed, then?” she asked, her voice flat with fatigue. “We’ll leave for Wales immediately and call Niall when we can?”

Michael gripped the back of his neck. Since the Teg gatekeepers had arrived, he’d done nothing but make mistakes. Niall would have died rather than let them take his son from Trevelion Manor. Yet Michael had carried the boy out to the ruddy car. Niall would have stepped up and offered his blood to appease Gwyn ap Nudd, not tried to talk his way out of responsibility. Michael hadn’t even stopped to think. Now Finian had paid the price.

“Blood and fury.” Michael slammed his fist on the desk, making the blade jump with a metallic clunk. Ye gods, he needed a cigarette. He’d glibly agreed to give up smoking when Rose was expecting the babies—a pledge proving harder to keep than he’d expected.

The door creaked open, and Thorn and Nightshade came
in. Thorn rushed to comfort Cordelia. Nightshade strode past the desk and threw his arm over Michael’s shoulders. “What happened to Fin wasn’t your fault,” he said.

Michael lurched to his feet, shrugging away Nightshade’s arm. He paced to the window and stared at the pale light of dusk creeping across the horizon. “I’m not wanting understanding.” He seethed with frustration at his own stupidity.

The reflection of Nightshade’s shocked face in the glass made him grip the windowsill until his fingernails bit into the wood. He didn’t want to hurt his friend—but everything had changed this night. He’d never let Nightshade bite him again. The frivolous pleasure of dallying with death had lost its appeal. And for some reason, he hated the thought that Cordelia would disapprove.

He ran his hands back through his hair. “We’ll have to decide what we’re going to do. I can’t speak to Niall yet to get his advice.” After all that had happened, he could hardly believe Niall was still in midflight.

An idea struck him—a good one for once. He was amazed Cordelia hadn’t suggested it. “Will you take a reading of the future for us, Cordelia? Tell us what’s going to be happening.”

She blinked at him tiredly. “Umm, yes. I can certainly try.”

Try?

According to Niall, she was an expert at foretelling. “Why the uncertainty?”

“We’ll discuss it in my room.” She looked down to brush the creases from her clean dress as she rose.

She went to the door with her neat, precise steps, the cat trotting at her heels. Thorn moved to follow, and Michael shook his head. He passed the lad a note he’d made of some useful references he wanted to take with them. “You two find these and bring around the car. We’ll not take long with this foretelling.”

He caught up with her in the hall and followed her to the
medieval wing of the house. He’d assumed her bedroom was upstairs, but she ignored the stairs and took a side hall. “I have my own suite of rooms.” She halted before a door and unlocked it with a key from her pocket.

Once inside, she showed him into a small, cozy room. The cat jumped on a sagging floral armchair in the corner, circled, and curled up on a hairy crocheted cushion. Streaks of morning sun penetrated the windows, painting strokes of light across the granite fireplace. A faded tapestry adorned the wall, and a multitude of shelves and tables filled every space. Each was crowded with ornaments: pearly shells, pinecones, china, and colorful knickknacks of all sorts.

She pulled out a leaf on a table by a pair of glass doors and then moved a straight-backed chair so he could sit there. With another key from her pocket, she unlocked the narrow double doors. A gentle breeze carried the fragrance of a summer’s morning in from the garden: cool dew, the scent of sweet peas climbing a crumbling pillar, the tang of salt from the Atlantic. Michael sat, entranced, and looked up at dangling threads of pink and yellow shells jingling in time to the lazy hiss of the sea.

He’d never understood people who liked to be alone in quiet places. He loved crowds, noise, and music. But with his mind in turmoil, the peace was soothing.

Cordelia sat opposite him and folded her hands on the lacy tablecloth. “I can’t read my own future, Michael. No one with the gift of foretelling can.”

He nodded, linked his fingers, matched her pose. “Fair enough, lass. Read for meself.”

A hint of pink crept into her cheeks. She looked down and twisted the silver ring on her little finger. “I doubt I can read for you either.”

Michael pressed his fingers to his eyes. The deep empty well of loss inside him, which had eased for a few minutes, ached anew. “Just give it a try, lass. Anything we discover that helps us rescue Fin is good, for sure.”

Her cheeks grew pinker. “I’m sorry, I don’t think…” Her words trailed away and she bit her bottom lip.

He reached for the water-filled dish with the three white candles floating on the surface and dragged it in front of her. “Have a go,” he said, a touch of irritation in his voice. He knew seers were not able to divine for themselves. But there was no reason why she shouldn’t read for him. Unless she was scared of what she’d see, scared what his reaction might be. He tensed his shoulders, let them relax. He covered her slender hands with one of his. “ ’Tis all right, lass. I’m only asking you do your best.”

She gazed at his hand silently, the tightly buttoned bodice of her dress rising and falling a little faster than usual. Then she looked up, but not at him, at her cat. The creature stared back with solemn gray eyes very similar to Cordelia’s. The moment stretched. He had the sense she was drawing strength or inspiration from Tamsy. He wondered if the cat were more than a pet.

Finally, she looked at him. “I’ll try if you promise you’ll stay seated.”

“Anything you say.” He’d agree to stand on his head if she’d get on with the reading. His heart thundered as she struck a match and lit the three floating candles. The squat white stumps bobbed in the water while she repositioned the dish. When all three candles were producing thick ribbons of smoke, she sketched a symbol in the air and whispered some words. The smoke spread, then appeared to freeze in place, a golden glaze coating the surface. Michael slid his chair to the side, curious to watch, but she shook her head. “Stay opposite me or I won’t continue.”

With a sigh, he moved his chair back and angled his head to see her around the side of her strange scrying mirror. She had a cute little nose, which she wrinkled up when she concentrated.

As the minutes ticked by, his attention wandered to the window. Seagulls wheeled over the cliffs at the bottom of
the garden, screeching to each other. A blackbird landed on the flagstones outside the door and peered at him.

“See anything?” he asked after what felt like an hour.

“Shh. I’m concentrating.” She narrowed her eyes. Slowly, she tilted her head to the side. “Oh. Oh my goodness.” Her hand flew to her throat. Her cheeks turned scarlet.

So she could see his future, after all. Michael was out of his chair and around the table in an instant. He leaned in beside her, searching the mirrored surface, desperate to know what would happen when they arrived in Wales.

What he saw stunned him. Naked, he lay tangled with an equally naked woman in a very imaginative position. Despite his somber mood, heat flared in his belly. The woman in the mirror threw back her head and moaned, the sound from the image filling Cordelia’s small room. She dragged a hand through her hair, lifting the strands off her face. For a disbelieving moment Michael stared, then he whispered, “Sweet bejesus, Cordelia. That ’s you .”

Cordelia nearly knocked the table flying when she shot to her feet. She had to put space between herself and Michael
now.
She tripped on her hem as she stumbled out the French window to the garden.

The warm swirling feeling in her belly spread, tingling in her thighs, across her ribs, into her breasts.

“No!”

She ran down the neatly manicured lawn to the lichencovered wall dividing the garden from the sheer cliffs that dropped to the ocean. She stopped, fists crumpling her skirt, and let the cool wind whipping up off the water dull the sensations. Her allure churned so wildly, she feared it would break out of the containing wards painted on her body and drive Michael to madness.

“Cordelia?” The question in Michael’s voice sent a chill through her that quelled the flow of sensation more effectively than the coldest wind. She dropped her face into her
hands, wishing fervently that he would disappear, that this was all a nightmare. But she sensed him moving closer, the warm beat of his presence strong and fierce in her chest. A constant reminder of her vulnerability to him.

“Don’t use your glamour on me,” she snapped.

“I’m not , lass ,” he replied, sounding baffled.

“Oh rats’ tails.” If she felt like this when he wasn’t using glamour, eventually her allure
would
grow too strong for the wards to control. Once they’d rescued Fin, she must keep away from Michael. Niall would probably banish her anyway after what had happened to his son. Tears welled in her eyes. She brushed them away with her knuckles, hoping Michael wouldn’t notice.

“Is that image in your divination mirror what you’re expecting to happen in Wales?” he asked.

“Gods save us, no,” she said on a rush of breath. “Absolutely not.”

She glanced over her shoulder to find his eyebrows raised. For the first time since they’d lost Fin, Michael’s lips twitched, almost making it into a smile. “The timing is undoubtedly bad, but the foretelling did not look that terrible to me, lass.”

Turning to face him, she scraped back the loose wisps of hair fluttering in her eyes. “There’s no way anything like that can happen between us, Michael. Ever.”

“I thought you foretold the future.”

“Possible futures. Or in the case of that ridiculous image”—she jabbed a finger toward her room—“an impossible future.”

He frowned. “So you’re sure that’s not likely to happen in Wales?”

She drew a shaky breath, released it slowly. “That image has nothing to do with Wales.” She’d learned as a child that she must remain neutral during a reading or she could summon a false image. She feared the image of herself with Michael was nothing more than a representation of her desire.

Silently, she begged him not to ask any more questions. She’d rather jump off the cliff than admit she liked to watch him making love.

He rubbed the back of his neck and stared out to sea. “I’m thinking you’ll not be able to give us any clues how to free Fin.”

The wind ruffled the chestnut waves of hair around his blue eyes and dark, unshaven jaw. In the low morning sun, his gaze glittered with pain, bright as the jewel in Troy’s dagger.

She was beyond selfish worrying about her own longings when all that mattered now was rescuing Fin. “Do you think Troy’s knife is magic?”

Michael’s eyes fixed on her again. He seemed to take a second to focus. “Don’t know, lass. Troy said to take the blade to Wales and show it to someone called Master Devin.”

“ You’ll just do as he bid?”

“Aye, lass. There’ll be a good reason, to be sure.”

“You trust your father? I thought Niall had issues with him?” And after her experience with Troy, she wasn’t sure
she
trusted him.

Michael laughed, a hollow, lost sound that brought tears to her eyes anew. “I cannot deny you have a point. Me father’s thrown me off kilter. What I do know is we must leave for Wales as soon as possible. ’Tis down to us to rescue Fin before the protective shield Troy spun around the lad disintegrates.”

Nightshade slouched sideways on the backseat of the Range Rover, his wings bent uncomfortably as the car shot along the motorway toward Wales. Michael slept beside him, head propped on a cushion against the door. Although Michael’s face was serene in sleep, Nightshade kept remembering Michael’s angry expression earlier when he’d rejected Nightshade’s comforting touch.

I’ve lost him.

The thought circled in his brain, cutting and slicing and ripping until his heart stuttered with the pain.

His fangs ached in his gums at the musky fragrance of Michael’s skin. Yet he would never taste him again unless he took him by force. The thought of Michael fighting him off cracked his heart.

Nightshade shifted to ease the ache in his shoulder from sitting sideways. Sometimes he hated his wings. They forever marked him out as a peculiarity, not only among humans, but also among The Good People.

The noisy silence in the vehicle oppressed him, the hum of the tires on the road maddening. Thorn drove, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music from his headphones. Cordelia slept in the front passenger seat, her head lolling to the side. He hoped she woke with a stiff neck. Michael hadn’t taken his eyes off her legs since she’d walked out to the car wearing fitted trousers.

The cat uncurled from its spot on Cordelia’s lap,
stretched, and hopped between the front seats into the back. The creature paused and looked at him with enigmatic eyes. “Hello, cat.” He did not want to like the creature because it belonged to Cordelia. The cat blinked at him, then stepped softly onto Michael’s lap. After circling, it settled in a furry ball, a cheek pressed against his zipper.

Despite his mood, Nightshade laughed. The creature had waited until Cordelia slept, then swapped allegiance. Even the cat wanted a piece of Michael. For some reason, the thought made Nightshade feel better. He wouldn’t give Michael up without a fight.

Cordelia woke to the emotionless voice of the satellite navigation system:
in one hundred yards, turn left; turn left.

Michael was now driving. His hair shone lustrous as ever but his face was pale, with tiny lines of tension around his mouth instead of his usual smile. She hoped he’d caught some sleep before he took over the driving from Thorn.

“Where are we?” She massaged her tight neck muscles and admired the misty mountains in the distance.

“Would you believe Wales, the Neath Valley?” he asked dryly.

He glanced at her, his gaze flicking to her legs before moving back to the windshield. Nerves sparked beneath her skin. Was he remembering the image in her divining mirror of them making love? Maybe she shouldn’t have worn trousers. With her legs on show, she felt vulnerable.

“Only a few more miles to Craig-y-Ddinas car park, then we’l l hoof it ,” he added.

As Cordelia drank from her water bottle, she realized Tamsy wasn’t on her lap. She glanced back, expecting her cat to be with Thorn. Her heart jolted when she saw the traitorous creature resting her chin on Nightshade’s knee while he stroked her face.

Cordelia jerked her gaze away, stared out the window at the narrow road threading its way among stunted oak trees.
She pushed out her consciousness to meld with Tamsy and released shock and disapproval into the cat’s mind. Tamsy gave a lazy mew, radiating pleasure. Why wasn’t she frightened of Nightshade? Being confined in the car with him set Cordelia’s nerves on edge. She had only been able to sleep because she was exhausted.

She could hardly reach back and grab her cat, so she sat stiffly, jaw clenched, while Michael maneuvered the car into the parking lot. He stopped in the middle, the engine idling. They all stared around at the numerous walkers in weatherproof jackets with backpacks. A little girl ran in front of their car wearing a pink My Little Pony anorak and matching cap.

Nightshade was the first to speak: “Shit!”

Cordelia wouldn’t have vocalized her feelings in quite that way, but he summed up her sentiment exactly.

“This wasn’t how I imagined the entry to the Underworld,” Thorn said.

Michael laughed, short and sharp and very un-Michael-like. “We’ll have to walk to the Sgwd yr Eira waterfall to find the way into Gwyn’s demesne.”

“Oh, that’s all right then,” Thorn said.

Michael pinched the bridge of his nose and Nightshade groaned.

“Thorn, sweetheart,” Cordelia said, turning to look at him, “why do you think all these humans are here?”

“Don’t call me sweetheart.” A telltale hint of pink crept into his cheeks.

“They’re all going to walk to the ruddy waterfall, you dunderhead.” Nightshade punched Thorn playfully on the arm. Cordelia bit her tongue and turned away. Tamsy scooted onto her lap to escape the roughhousing. The two men wrestled on the backseat until Nightshade had Thorn in a headlock.

“What’re we going to do?” She glanced at Michael.

He ran his fingers back through his hair. “Park and take a jaunt to the waterfall, with every tourist in Wales, by the looks of things. ’Tis bound to take us a while to find the door. Let ’s be hopingthis lot have gone home by then.”

He squeezed the Range Rover into a space and they all piled out. Nightshade wore a long coat and a hat, which looked like something from the 1940s and did nothing to make him blend in. Michael wore the same as usual, adding a leather jacket to his jeans and T-shirt. Cordelia slipped on her serviceable blue jacket over her roll-neck jumper and put on boots with nonslip soles. Some of the paths were bound to be steep and slippery. Thorn stood watching them prepare. “Coat, Thorn,” Cordelia said as she hitched her tapestry cat-carrying bag over her shoulder and settled Tamsy inside.

“I haven’t got one.”

She glanced up and frowned.

“ It ’s the middle of summer,” he said defensively.

“We’re in Wales. There are mountains.” She pointed through the trees to the purple peaks in the distance. “The nights get cold.”

He shrugged away her concern. “I’ll be fine.”

Then she looked at his feet. Michael and Nightshade both wore stout leather boots. Thorn was wearing blue plastic shoes that would have been ideal for the beach.

Before she could say any more, he scowled. “Stop treating me like a kid.”

With a sigh, she went back to settling Tamsy, who’d got her claw caught in the bag’s stitching. Thorn was right. She had to let him grow up. She was overprotective because he’d been an abandoned child. Letting go was difficult when he was all she had.

“Ready?” Michael asked, glancing between them. “Better be making a move. We seem to be attracting attention.”

The family groups walking past were all staring at Nightshade,
a few of them even detouring around the far side of the parked cars to keep their distance. Cordelia sympathized with them.

They started out, Michael setting a brisk pace up the steep path that rose between the rocks and the river Mellte. Cordelia was soon puffing, but she refused to be the one to ask him to slow down. She hugged her precious bundle of fur in the bag at her side, smiling every time Tamsy poked her head out to look around. They passed the entrance to some old silica mines, then tramped across an area of soggy moorland to a gate. Michael stopped and rested his elbows on the gate’s top rung, waiting for Thorn and Nightshade to catch up.

He pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number. “Best I try Niall again now. ’Tis unlikely there’ll be reception in the river valley.” Cordelia twisted her hands together, dreading the call to the pisky king. Michael had already tried to reach him twice on the journey to Wales, but got no answer. After a few anxious moments, Michael snapped the phone shut. “Maybe ’tis best me brother doesn’t know about his lad’s plight when he can’t do anything to help.”

With a guilty flash of relief, Cordelia turned to gaze across acres of rough grassland dotted with ragged clumps of reeds. The falling sun hung low in the sky, painting a golden streak above the trees. “By the time we get to the waterfall, all the human tourists should be headed back. They need time to reach their cars before dusk.”

Michael nodded and stepped aside as a man and woman came through the gate and took the path back to the car park. “ ’Tis a fair old clip to the falls. Farther than I expected,” Michael said.

The sun gilded each wave of Michael’s hair with gold. He leaned forward, gripped the top of the gate, his hands strong, capable. The muscles in his thighs and backside tensed beneath the soft denim of his jeans. Finian’s fate had kept her mind occupied; now Michael’s nearness swamped her senses.
His earth elemental nature gave her an anchor. The beat of his psychic presence close to her heart was warm, strong, and reassuringly solid.

Simmering behind his earthy nature, she sensed a hint of a power she couldn’t categorize. That unusual part of him must come from his father. Frustration pricked every time she remembered her brush with Troy. What strange type of being was he?

Thorn stumbled up, folded his arms on top of the gate, and rested his head on them. “How much farther? My feet are killing me.”

Cordelia and Michael exchanged a knowing look. For a second, mirth sparkled in his blue eyes, before it faded to be replaced by an ache of concern that echoed in her own heart. Instinctively, she reached to touch his hand, draw out his pain, heal in the way she’d been born to do.

Before she could touch him, Nightshade stepped between them. He slapped his own hand on top of the gate beside Michael’s, making her step back. He angled his head toward her, long black hair whipping around his face in the breeze. The wicked white points of his fangs flashed beneath his top lip and his eyes narrowed to cruel silver slits.

Memories she’d hidden deep beneath layers of remorse and shame swarmed up: fangs, pain, the metallic stink of blood, so much blood, hot, sticky. A cry clawed at her throat but she clenched her teeth and bit the sound back. Cordelia lurched away. Vaguely aware of treading on Thorn’s foot, she pushed past him to put some distance between herself and the vampire.

“What’s the matter, lass?” Michael strode toward her, confusion creasing his forehead.

He was about to put his arms around her, comfort her; she read the intent on his face. If he embraced her while her defenses were weak, she’d melt into his arms. She stepped away, pressed her back to the fence, and held up a restraining palm. “No, don’t. Just—” She glanced from Michael to
Nightshade, noted the stalker’s tight lips, clenched jaw. “—just leave me alone.” Her hand found the soft tapestry bag at her side, pushed inside to reach the comforting warmth of Tamsy’s sleeping body.

Michael halted and turned, scanning the area, a puzzled look on his face. “There’s nothing to be scared of yet.” Cordelia shivered. If he’d met Nightshade’s father, he’d understand her fear of nightstalkers.

After a few minutes, the tension eased from her shoulders sufficiently for her to move away from the fence. Her heart still raced, but she was in control again. Thorn watched her, squinting with concern while he rubbed his foot. “All right, Dee?”

She wished he hadn’t talked her into letting him come. His only power, weak glamour, wouldn’t protect him from harm.

“Let’s get a move on,” Nightshade said, giving his words a critical edge.

Michael touched his hand to his forehead in an exaggerated salute, then pointed along the path. “Onward and upward. Nightshade first, Thorn second, Cordelia third. I’ll bring up the rear. I don’t want to leave you two behind again.”

“Huh!” Nightshade turned on his heel and stomped off through the gate. Thorn waited for Cordelia to reach him, then pulled her into a hug. She returned the embrace, proud of the young man he’d become, yet also sad he was no longer her little boy.

As they made their way along a path between the prickly pine-scented branches, they met five groups of walkers coming toward them. Finally, she heard the rushing of water. After the path descended to the river’s edge, they walked beside the water for a short distance, then the white tumble of Sgwd yr Eira falls appeared through the trees.

Michael paused as they approached the cascading waterfall, a tremor of anticipation running through him. He’d only felt half alive since Fin was trapped. Now he was one hidden door away from entering Gwyn ap Nudd’s realm and getting his nephew released.

“Sgwd yr Eira falls,” he said under his breath, scanning the area for humans. “Now the work begins.” He snapped his fingers at Thorn. “Give me the instructions you photocopied from
A Thief’s Guide to Unlocking Magical Doors.
”

Cordelia’s eyebrows shot up when Thorn dug in his back pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. She stepped closer and peered over Michael’s arm when he took the page and started reading. “The door should be behind the falls.”

All four of them looked up together. A sheet of bubbly green water pelted down onto a stepped rocky ledge before thundering into the pool below.

“How the heck do we get behind it ?” Thorn asked.

“There’s a path behind the cascade. ’Tis obviously not visible from this angle.” Michael took a step forward and paused for Cordelia to move aside so he could squeeze past on the slippery rocks. Her cat poked its head out of her bag, whiskers twitching, eyes wide with curiosity.

“Shame you’re not a sniffer dog, fur ball.” He rubbed a knuckle behind Tamsy’s ear. “You could sniff out the door for us.”

“She’s not frightened of water like ordinary cats. I’ll ask her to take a look.” Cordelia crouched, scooped the cat out of the bag, and gently set the creature on its feet. After a delicate shake, the cat turned to lick the fur on its shoulder. Michael waited, curious to see how Cordelia would give the cat instructions. She crouched and rested her hand lightly on its back. Then she straightened and watched the cat pick its way along the path toward the falls.

In profile, Cordelia’s small nose tilted up at the tip. Her lips glimmered temptingly with a trace of pearly lip gloss.
She watched her cat, her tongue pressed to the corner of her mouth in concentration.

Whenever he saw her at Trevelion Manor, she gave the impression of being self-contained, aloof. Yet when she let her guard down, she was warm, vulnerable, and strangely alluring. Something about the quality of her touch mystified him: soothing, yet arousing at the same time.