Belmary House Book Three (5 page)

Piper’s husband fought valiantly against the hexes and managed to raise his axe above his head, but it seemed like he moved in slow motion, as if he had all the time in the world, much slower than the time it would take for Solomon’s bullet to lodge in Matilda’s heart.

Matilda’s heart was as his own, Ashford thought, and the same cold fury rose in his chest. He couldn’t allow her to be hurt.

This time he knew what was going to happen and didn’t try to stop it, even though he knew he had no control over it if he did. At the same time Solomon leveled his gun, Ashford threw out his hands, and once again the white light flared brightly, brighter than before. He was blinded by it, and thrown backwards by its force. He heard Matilda scream again, right before his head hit the wall and everything went silent.

It was only another hour’s ride until Kostya Povest saw his childhood home again. As grim as he felt, he had to admit to himself he was a little excited to see the village where he ran as a youngster, perhaps see some of his old playmates or second and third cousins. It had to be the impossibly lovely weather that put him in the odd mood, almost hopeful, almost without concern. He knew he was going to have plenty to be concerned about as soon as they arrived. His unprecedented cheerful mood was probably only denial of what he was in for.

First of all, his grandmother and her council of cronies was most certainly going to give him an earful for letting his wife run amok the way she had. Desecrating a church and murdering half a village, or rather creating an unholy aberration then allowing it to eat half the village, were things that his family frowned on.

They’d liked the once peaceful port town in France where they held their infrequent meetings with other covens around Europe, and now it was lost to them. He’d have to pay for all of that, and that was just Camilla’s doing. They’d make him pay for running away in the first place, even though they had allowed it in the end, going so far as to lie about lifting his lifelong curse so he could marry Camilla in exchange for her family’s grimoire. The book in itself was extremely valuable, probably priceless, with many original spells, but his family had wanted it more so her family couldn’t have it than because they needed its content.

The Povest coven had been the most powerful family for hundreds of years, and they kept it that way by keeping power out of the hands of others, and punishing those who tried to do things without their permission.

Kostya glanced over at his cousin Sorin, who’d been unusually quiet for the last few hours. His uncle Bogdan rode far ahead of them, grouchy from rheumatism he wasn’t allowed to heal until he saw the prodigal son safely home. His and Sorin’s lengthy reminiscences about their childhood antics put him in a worse mood and he’d kept his distance from them most of the journey. Which was fine with them, because it gave them more time to discuss their true plans.

“I must be as mad as you, because I actually feel eager to see the old stomping grounds,” he said.

Sorin turned and gave him a sour look, probably sick of being in the saddle so long, sleeping on cold hard ground and eating his father’s poorly cooked camp food.

“Hopefully they won’t stomp on you too badly,” he said, then changed his tune when he saw Kostya begin to retreat back into his shell of despair. “Actually, I think they’re going to spin it as a good thing, you returning. There might even be a feast.” Sorin rubbed his stomach and gazed up at the cloudless blue sky. “I’d love some pork. It’s been ages.”

Kostya didn’t think he’d ever be hungry again after the things he’d been through, but after the last week of hard travel and meager meals, he wouldn’t mind some well cooked meat himself. A small surge of guilt hit him square in the chest, that he should continue on and even deign to be in a good mood when his wife was dead, and Serena was left behind to worry about him.

He wondered if his brother-in-law Ashford had told her what was in store for her if he didn’t have his curse lifted. Surely Ashford wouldn’t be that dense. It was better that Serena think he was visiting to take care of unfinished business, than to be tormented with fear for their unborn child.

He wanted to take his mind off it. There was nothing he could do for her, except what he was doing now. Going home to Scotland and living as if a noose wasn’t hanging over their heads wasn’t an option. He’d have the curse lifted or die trying. He laughed at that thought, wondering if that was even possible, his entire curse based on his inability to die. He’d soon find out, he supposed.

He wanted to urge his cousin to talk more about his wild dreams to overthrow the current regime. Sorin didn’t seem to have a firm plan, only saying it would be possible now that Kostya was returning home. As farfetched as it was, talking about it gave him the drive that he needed to keep living. But Sorin was as gloomy as the weather was bright, and no amount of urging could get him to start on one of his prattling chains of thought.

Kostya realized it was being so close to the end of their journey that put his cousin in a pensive mood. He’d been gone for years, out from under the ruthless thumb of their grandmother, and the old, bad memories were blurry and distant to him. Here he was thinking fondly of the place not a few minutes ago, when to Sorin, it had been an unrelenting lifetime of cruelty and fear. No wonder he didn’t want to go back.

It gave him the much needed burst of energy he usually got listening to Sorin speak about how different things would be when his grandmother was no longer in power. He wanted everyone in his old coven to feel the same kind of happiness he had during the years he’d spent free in Scotland. He’d chosen not to live their life, but it was in his blood, there was nothing he could do about that. If he and Sorin could really make a difference, really improve his people’s lot in life, then he was going to give it his all. He’d originally agreed to come home for his own purpose: to have his curse lifted. But thinking he could change things, free the others from their day to day curse of being born into the Povest coven, then so much the better.

It was still full daylight when they passed through the hilly ravine that led to their remote village. He marveled at how it looked exactly the same as the day he left, riding out with Camilla and her mother and brother. They’d ridden fast, worried his grandmother would call him back, possibly with force, but he’d been allowed to leave. Or so he’d thought. If what Sorin said was true, they’d been using him all along anyway, and his freedom had been an illusion.

The closer they got, the more apprehensive he felt, finding himself dropping back to move as slowly as Sorin, finally getting yelled at by Uncle Bogdan to hurry themselves along.

A man Kostya didn’t recognize stood by the tall wooden gate leading to the village, waiting for them to pass so he could close it up tight again, not as if anyone would want to visit. The gates were hexed to make one believe nothing interesting lay beyond them. If anyone who didn’t belong ventured on, they’d suddenly remember something pressing that needed attending and turn back.

They left their horses at the small public house and set off on foot. No matter how bad things were, he always recalled the village sparkling and bright, but the vibrant green forest that surrounded it now looked grey, the blue sky dulled to a sickly white. The sun looked tired trying to make itself known through the haze. The lovely day vanished as soon as they were through the gates. The tiny gingerbread style houses from his memory, usually hung with flower garlands or wreaths made with freshly gathered leaves and berries, now looked like nothing more than sad, unadorned huts. Had things been better when he was young, or had people stopped pretending, giving up the outward appearance that their lives weren’t controlled by a mad old woman?

This is depressing, he thought, certain up until now that he couldn’t sink any lower.

His faint good mood was gone. He thought of the farm in Scotland that he’d left behind, of Serena’s shining smiles. He had to cling to that or he’d sink into a despair so deep he’d never get out, never be of any use to anyone.

The muddy ground squished under his boots and he looked down to see rivulets of brown water running past in the street. Everyone seemed to be wearing dull shades of brown or grey, blending in with their surroundings as if they didn’t want to be noticed. All except for a small girl wearing a bright red kerchief over her dusty blonde hair, who ran up to them and threw her arms around Sorin’s legs. Kostya felt as if he was whisked back in time. She looked so much like his old childhood playmate they could have been the same girl. Sorin leaned over and scooped her up, twirling her in the air before setting her back down.

“How did you fare while I was gone, dear Seraphim?” he asked.

“Mother is fine but father is grumpier than usual. He’ll be better now that you’re home safe.” She turned to Kostya. “Is that him?” she asked in a low voice, looking him up and down. “You’re very handsome.”

She said it the same way she’d point out that a turnip was a turnip, so he almost didn’t feel he could accept it as a compliment. He merely nodded and looked to Sorin for an explanation of who this child was. He introduced her and Kostya studied her as she unabashedly stared up at him.

“Irina’s child?” he asked, amazed at the similarities in the girl’s face, seeing his old friend in her nose and shape of her jaw.

She looked as angelic as her name implied, with the same hint of mischief in her eyes that his old childhood companion had once had. He was hit by a pang of longing for his own child, long since gone, and his resolve strengthened as Seraphim continued to inspect him.

“That’s my mother,” she said. She couldn’t have been more than eight or nine, and was small for her age at that, much smaller than his Lucy had been at the same age. The age she’d been torn from him. “Do you know her?”

“I knew her once a long time ago, and hope to know her again,” he said, smiling down at her.

“Run and tell them we’ve arrived,” Sorin said, waving her away. She grinned up at him one last time before trotting off, her long braid slapping against her back as she ran.

He nudged Kostya further along, getting all the way to the end of the main village lane before turning off onto a smaller, bleaker road. They stopped at a crumbling stone cottage and Sorin smiled widely before gesturing for him to follow. He swung open the door, and stepped inside, sighing deeply.

Kostya followed him, surprised that the inside was much warmer and sturdier than the outside led him to believe. For a moment he’d been outraged that his cousin lived in such a derelict house. The windows were tightly shuttered and he swung them open to let in light and fresh air. The house felt peaceful and lived in, with a dining table and two chairs, a kettle hung over the tiny fireplace, and a large bed that took up most of the one room.

“Are you married now, or is that wishful thinking?” Kostya asked, nodding to the second chair and large bed.

Sorin laughed, happy to be in his own surroundings. He’d clearly worked hard to keep any outside influences out, and to give the place its inviting aura.

“Wishful thinking for now, though I do have someone in mind.” He frowned. “You don’t know her, as she’s not strictly one of us.”

“How did that happen?” he asked. “Imported from another coven? Widow?”

Sorin nodded. “She was brought in for our second cousin, Octavian. Remember how he used to throw rocks at us when we went to the fields to work? He continued to be a right bastard up until he left this earth, and I don’t think she wants to remarry quite yet, though I’m fairly sure she likes me. Grandmother won’t let her stay single for much longer though, so I’m going to make my move soon. Natalia doesn’t know about our plans, but I hope she’ll be amenable.”

“Can we speak of that?” he said, worried about his grandmother’s reach.

He didn’t know how his cousin and his group had managed to keep their plot secret this long, and felt certain now that he was back, her all-seeing eyes would be so focused on him that it wasn’t safe to speak openly.

“In here we can,” Sorin said. “Or at least somewhat. I hope you won’t think too ill of me when you see me around them. They never had much hope for me from the beginning but I’m afraid I’ve developed quite a reputation for myself as being completely useless.”

Kostya wished him good luck, pleased to see his cousin had fallen in love, and assured him he couldn’t think poorly of him for doing whatever it took to survive. It was clear by the comforting and shielding wards he’d placed on his cottage that he was anything but useless.

“I don’t want to stay here with you in the meantime, though,” he said, having grown used to the vast estate in Scotland.

Listening to Sorin snorting and scratching all through the night was more than he thought he could endure, especially if he was about to have to put up with whatever his grandmother had in store for him.

“Don’t worry about that,” he said, giving him a long look. “Your old house was kept available, even after your parents passed.” He laughed ruefully. “She always knew you’d be back, one way or the other.”

“That’s much too big for just me,” Kostya said, not wanting the memories that were sure to barrage him in having to return to his childhood home. “Since you’re about to wed, you and your bride take it. I’ll move here.”

“Never happen,” said Sorin. “You may as well reconcile yourself to it. I’ll take you there now, and then we can arrange a meeting with our group later this evening. They’ve been eager to meet you at last.”