Druid cursed, p.14
Druid Cursed, page 14
What a disappointment. But she could still admire the book itself.
Carefully, she flipped through a few pages, and as she did, the words became progressively blurred, the ink smudged. Maybe the preservation powers of Kellen’s tower diminished outside the castle’s stone walls—but then her breath caught. The author had switched from Gaelic to English.
Maggie leaned forward, reading.
Long have I waited for your return, my cherished poppet, and yet when we pass on the street, you pretend as though you know me not. I smile your way and receive naught but coldness for my warmth. Were your kisses transitory, your passion so fleeting? I cannot believe ’tis so. I will await your return, for your love to burn anew. I will not live without you.
She closed the book, feeling like she’d invaded someone’s privacy. Kellen had said it wasn’t his, but he’d referred to the tower room as “his chambers,” so who had left it there? It reminded her too much of her years with Darren. Besides the waiting for him part. She was completely over that, but the words transitory and fleeting hit too close to home. She’d always imagined she’d have one wedding, one marriage, one lifetime love.
“Come, child.” The fortune teller bent near and pressed an apple into Maggie’s hand. “Join your friend. Surely it would do no harm to learn the initial of your future love?”
“Already know it. Z. As in zero.”
The woman’s dark eyes sparkled. “Then confirm it.” She handed Maggie a paring knife, handle first. “Skin the apple slowly, creating a single peel. When finished, throw the peel over your left shoulder and read the shape. Harmless, aye?”
Maggie hesitated. Maybe it was harmless. Maybe not. After Aunt Maeve, even something so simple as peeling an apple was suspect.
“So you’re telling me you’re good with exploring crumbling castles but are too scared to peel an apple?” Cara arched an eyebrow. “What a grand adventurer you are.”
“Fine.” As two other guests entered the tent, Maggie swiped the knife from the fortune teller and carefully set about carving the peel from the apple. The red skin coiled, growing longer with each rotation, releasing a sweet scent. In a couple minutes, the peel dropped to the pillow, free.
“Go outside.” The fortune teller waved her and Cara out as she settled her next victims into chairs. “Remember, throw over your left shoulder.”
“This is so dumb.” Maggie stood beside Cara in an empty nook between a rosebush and a faun statue, the apple peel dangling between her pinched fingers.
“Just throw it.” Cara tossed hers over her shoulder and looked expectantly at Maggie.
Rolling her eyes on principle, she followed suit.
“Well, look at that.” Cara leaned over the peels. “S. Always knew Sam Heughan and I were meant to be. And yours?” She gasped, her eyes going wide. “I didn’t know an apple peel could even make that shape.”
Maggie hadn’t intended to look, didn’t want to. “Z isn’t that different than S.”
“Which is why it’s so remarkable.”
She turned, unable to deny curiosity. The peel had fallen into the rosebush. By some fluke, part of the peel had curled in different directions around a branch, the ends impossibly snagged on several thorns, a red ribbon pinned among the leaves. A perfect, cursive letter K. She ignored the fine tremor that zipped through her veins. Didn’t mean anything.
“I may be mistaken, but isn’t Kellen spelled with a K? Or is it a C?” The sparkle in Cara’s dark eyes was decidedly mischievous.
“C.” Maggie plucked the peel free and tossed it under the rosebush, out of sight. “Definitely a C.”
A smile started on Cara’s face and slowly spread. “Quite certain it’s a K. And he did seem to be interested in your welfare as we walked back from the castle. One might say…overly interested? Maybe even fascinated?”
“Making me not like you again.” She summoned a scowl even Kellen could appreciate, but Cara kept smiling, unaffected. “Let’s move on, shall we?” Maggie insisted.
After the apple-peel business, an unfortunate game of apple-cider pong that Maggie and Cara lost to Patrick and his gloating partner, and a slice of barmbrack cake that she nearly broke a tooth on, thanks to the golden ring hidden inside, Maggie was out. She told Cara at the create-your-own-curse tent that she was going back to her room, then slipped out of the conservatory to freedom.
A glance at her phone showed it was almost midnight. She’d waited for Kellen too long already and was through waiting on any man, no matter how dark and delicious he may be…or how an apple peel managed to miraculously form his initial. The sooner she went to the library and found this clue, the faster Wendy would be back to reassure her that absolutely nothing was wrong.
Keeping her steps soft, she slipped through the hallways, on a lookout for Jeeves. The butler undoubtedly had all sorts of duties with the pajama party going on, but she hadn’t spotted him once. He was as absent as Wendy.
The manor itself felt empty, not counting the shadows crowding every corner. Once again, Ravenwood Estate had kicked off the electricity and went old school. As she borrowed one of the fat candles lighting the way, a sweet lavender scent infused the air, easing the ominous aura.
Amid the gloating, Patrick’s partner had mentioned the library, and Maggie had sucked it up and asked for directions. If Cara hadn’t been with her, he would have blown her off for sure. But the contemptuous sniff and a snide comment had been worth it. She got what she wanted, saving precious time.
Past the dining hall, through a corridor to the left, last door ahead at the dead end of a cemetery-silent hall. It would have been easy enough to find from her room. The conservatory? Not so much. But after a few wrong turns, Maggie found herself in familiar territory once again, with no babysitting butler in sight. She ignored the sense that invisible eyes watched her every move and she’d stepped into a B-rate Gothic flick.
At last, she slipped between the library’s double doors, turned, and slowly closed them behind her. The last thing she wanted was to let the doors bang shut and announce her arrival to the rest of the world.
Releasing a long breath, she faced the library darkness. Only an armlength away, someone in white whirled, so fast the breeze blew out Maggie’s candle.
She wasn’t the only one sneaking into the library.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
The silken swish, dark flash of hair, and draft of expensive perfume gave Cara away, but that didn’t stop Maggie from squeaking as her candle fluttered out.
“Gah!” Cara gasped, lifting her lantern high, then her shoulders dropped. “I thought you were going back to your room.”
“And I thought I left you at the build-a-hex workshop.” Maggie arched an eyebrow, her heart rate slowing back to normal.
She sniffed. “What are you doing here?”
Maggie hesitated, but Wendy hadn’t said the scavenger hunt was a secret to be kept. “I’m on a quest. What are you doing here?”
“Same.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” Cara cocked a hip, looking insulted. “Do I honestly seem to be the type of person who wanders about in the woods with rabid creatures or sneaks about shadowed libraries without a good reason? I only made an appearance at the pajama party so no one would get suspicious and ask where I was.”
“Were you given a scavenger hunt, too?”
She paused half a second too long to be believable. “Exactly.”
Maggie narrowed her eyes. So, not a scavenger hunt, but a personal quest. “For your ill grandmother?”
The tightening of Cara’s mouth told her she’d guessed right. Then her nod confirmed it.
“Maybe we can help each other.”
Cara paused, looking unsure. She then cleared her throat and said in a small, hushed voice, “I’d like that. Let’s find your item first. What book are you looking for?”
“Not a book—a key.”
Her eyebrows went up. She opened the lantern, relit Maggie’s candle, and handed it back to her. “Sounds like you need more help than I do.”
“I get that a lot.”
“You start your search. After I find the book I need, I’ll help you…find a key.” Cara snorted softly and headed deeper into the darkness. “In a library that’s bigger than a museum. Shouldn’t take longer than a week.” The glow from her lantern vanished as she turned a corner.
“Thanks for the pep talk.”
“Welcome.”
The library, even draped in shadows and only surrendering glimpses in the candlelight, was epic. The glow from Maggie’s candle couldn’t hope to reach the vaulted ceilings. Shelves filled every wall, made of artistically carved dark wood. She trailed her finger along the bas relief design in vines and flowers as she drifted deeper in.
Freestanding bookcases lined up like towering soldiers on either side of her, and not all the shelves possessed books. There was the odd framed insect or butterfly, sculptures in marble or iron, baskets and pottery, artifacts that looked like they came from ages past. She smiled. This was a playground for her. She couldn’t wait to find the suit of armor and sword on display. And if Kellen was as old as he claimed, maybe this was his personal collection.
A centuries-old druid. Right.
The gentle glow of another candle flickered around the corner of a bookshelf. Was someone else here besides Cara? An awkward conversation with one of the other guests was definitely not on her slither-into-the-library-after-midnight agenda. Tucking the candle behind her back, she crept forward to the edge.
The bookshelves opened into a small space with a two-person table and chairs. A single candle burned low, as if it had been there for some time, waiting for its owner to return. A closed book sat on the table beside the candle.
“Cara?” she called, not overly loud. No one answered. Cara must be farther in, unable to hear her. Maybe whoever had left their candle had forgotten about it.
Maggie approached and held her candle over the book, reading the title etched into the leather cover. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. Kellen’s favorite childhood book. A thrill of excitement shivered through her. Had he left it here for her? Or was the clue Wendy wanted her to find hidden inside it?
“You called?” Cara stepped from behind a bookshelf. “Did you find your key?”
“Nope. But I found a book.”
“In a library? How odd.” Cara stepped near, lifting her lantern for a better look.
Maggie opened the cover and couldn’t stop a smile at the scrawling, charcoal image of a knight with a sword, clearly drawn by an adolescent hand. It wasn’t hard to imagine that this was the same book Kellen had read growing up, dreaming of adventures. Maybe, in a moment of nostalgia after telling her about it, he’d pulled it out to read later. Just thinking about him holding the book in his long fingers, his stern features relaxed, made her heart swell, feeling warm and fuzzy.
Good grief. He wasn’t even here and still affected her concentration.
“Not the one I’m looking for, unfortunately.” Cara lowered her lantern.
“But check this beauty out.” Setting her own candle on the table, Maggie carefully turned the page. The vellum was soft and worn, the handwritten words in Old English faded. She felt as though she’d found a long-lost treasure attuned solely to her. The book reflected everything she loved about writings in the medieval age—the artful care taken with each letter, the antiquated words themselves, the intricate illustrations in vibrant colors and romantic designs nestled within the letters and margins. “Each page is a masterpiece.”
“I guess if you’re into exotic alphabets and twisted animal illustrations.”
“Definitely. It’s a shame books aren’t created with such painstaking attention anymore, each facet connected to the other, every pen stroke important to the pattern as a whole, the balance planned and precise.” Maggie couldn’t keep the wistfulness from her voice. “I wish I could be even a sliver of such artwork, where I’m an important part of a grand blueprint far bigger than myself, and if I was gone, I’d be missed because my tiny contribution matters.”
“That’s…a beautiful thought.” Cara wiped at her eye and turned away in a swish of silk, too late to hide the shine of a tear. “I’m headed to the upper level and probably won’t be able to hear you. I’ll let you know if I run across a random key.” And she was gone again.
Maggie’s long exhale made the candle flame flutter. Ravenwood and all its weirdness was making her gushy.
She turned the next page and went still, goose bumps peppering her arms. The body of a serpent made up the knotwork borders surrounding the paragraph. Its open maw and fangs curled and flowed into the first, detailed letter. Intricate brambles represented its scales in every shade of green, metallic and shining beneath the candlelight. In the gloom, the reflection made it seem as if the snake moved.
Lightly, she traced the outline, from the tip of its barbed tail, around the curve of its body at the bottom of the page, marveling at the craftsmanship, the rich colors, the…
Key.
At the base of the snake’s skull, a black, sharp-edged key nestled within the calligraphy design, drawn with such detail that it appeared almost real. A web of translucent threads, thin and delicate as spider silk, covered the key. The threads shimmered, too realistic to be ink, and she watched, fascinated, as they unraveled and the key faded.
In the key’s place, a picture formed, and her pulse skipped in recognition. The doors with the black raven leading into Kellen’s castle came into focus, only it was in black and white, like an old-time movie coming to life. She couldn’t look away as the image shifted, heading through the doors and into the great room. Warning prickles ran along her nerves. Something terrible was going to appear in the moving picture behind the web, and she couldn’t. Look. Away.
Look away! Her body refused the desperate command.
The air in the library seemed to drop a dozen degrees. Her breath made a fleeting cloud above the page, briefly disrupting her view of the castle. With a gasp, she squeezed her eyes shut and closed the book before she gave in to the urge to look again. She hated scary movies. So why hadn’t she been able to tear her gaze from whatever horror waited around the corner of Kellen’s castle?
Maggie pulled her sweater closer, her heart thudding viciously on her breastbone, all her senses on overdrive. Air cold enough to see her breath. No lights. A creepy-crawly sense that she wasn’t alone anymore, and it had nothing to do with Cara elsewhere in the library.
Taking her candle, she eased behind a tall bookcase and blew out the flame. As much as she hated the idea of being alone in the dark, the need to eliminate any hint of her presence was stronger. Maggie inched backward, until she was completely beyond the glow cast by the candle remaining on the table, and wrapped her arms around herself, her hands icy. Maybe this was all Ravenwood Halloween theatrics, but she wasn’t going to hang around waiting for something scary to find her.
A gap between two books offered a window to see whatever wicked thing came her way. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see what—no, who—it might be, but like a spider in her bedroom, it was better to know the exact location of the danger than to guess.
Movement stirred in the thick shadows at the end of the hallway, followed by the tempo of soft steps approaching.
Maggie held her breath as the owner of the steps moved into the candlelight. Definitely not Cara in her white silk robe. Someone wearing a hooded black cloak stopped at the table. Darkness hid their face, but the hood tilted to the side, as if whoever examined the cover of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight found it fascinating. Hands—thankfully human—slipped from the overlong sleeves. Long, pale fingers slowly removed the cowl.
Wendy! Maggie’s breath left her in a relieved whoosh. Thank God she was really okay.
Before she could call out to her friend, a large hand covered her mouth. A muscled arm snared her waist, pulling her back against the solid heat of a male body.
“Quiet.” Kellen’s immediate whisper in her ear and his familiar, lemon-licorice scent were the only things that prevented her from going into panic mode. She relaxed against him. He released her mouth and put a finger to his own.
Maggie nodded a confirmation.
“Watch.” He gestured toward Wendy.
She had freed her hair from its messy bun and had clearly chosen to ignore her flat iron. Her hair curled into the natural waves that she normally hated with a passion. A glimpse of her True Blood T-shirt peeked from beneath the witchy-looking cloak, proof she still hadn’t changed out of her pajamas. It had been days now. But it was her shoes that made Maggie do a double take. Wendy wasn’t wearing any of the four-inch stilettos she’d packed for the trip, but she wore boots. Muddy, laced-up crap-kickers.
First chanting in her sleep, and now a complete malfunction in the Wendy wardrobe selection? Unease coiled in her gut, tight and tense. Something was definitely wrong. If Wendy still rendezvoused with her gorgeous hunk of a businessman, she wouldn’t be caught dead looking anything less than perfect.
Wendy opened the book. Pages crackled softly as she flipped through them, searching for something. She paused, canted her head, and lifted her gaze. For a moment, she seemed to look straight at Maggie and Kellen, as if she could pierce the layers of darkness, wood, and books.
A bone-cold chill swept through Maggie. By a trick of candlelight and shadows, Wendy’s vibrant green eyes looked dark, too dark, and what gazed through them felt ancient, powerful, and malignant. This was Wendy, but she wasn’t herself.
She returned her attention to the book, and Maggie could suddenly breathe again. From within the folds of her cloak, Wendy pulled out what looked like a sprig of some herb. She fisted her hand, muttered a few words beneath her breath, and opened her fingers. Fragments scattered over the pages like sand, and a flowery scent feathered the air.
