Descension (23 page)

She looked at the oversized porch swing, and her mind’s eye pictured her mom and dad sitting there, so happy and so in love as they watched their baby play on the pristine lawn.

So, this was the life she’d missed.

Her eyes swam with guilty tears, tears that were unfair to Katherine, who’d given everything she had to give. Yet Layla stood there wishing for something different. None of it was fair.

Quin gave her shoulders a supportive squeeze, and by focusing on the cosmetic details of the house, she was able to strengthen her heart and weaken the hurt.

“It’s pretty,” she whispered.

“Your parents designed and built it,” Quin revealed.

For reasons Layla didn’t understand, this made perfect sense. “The garden’s amazing,” she noted, gazing over the vast sea of roses.

“Morrigan takes good care of it,” he explained, “the garden and the house. Are you ready to see the inside?”

Layla took a deep breath, letting it out with a firm nod. “Yes.”

She was surprised by how easily her feet carried her forward, like they knew right where they were going and were eager to get there. But when she reached the walkway parting the roses, she came to a sudden halt.

Quin furrowed his eyebrows, following her alarmed gaze to the porch. “Damn it, Bann,” he sighed. “What are you doing here?”

Layla recovered from her shock and examined Banning’s aura, which wasn’t as magnificent as Quin’s, but by the way it flowed, it gave the impression of happiness and youth—attributes pleasing to the eye as well as the soul.

The haze pulsed as Banning shrugged. “I wanted to welcome Layla with a start off my spearmint plant,” he said, holding up a clay pot. “I was bored out of my mind sitting in my room, so I decided to sit here. Good timing, I guess.”

“You should have waited,” Quin scorned. “You’re making a liar out of me.”

“Oh,” Banning mumbled, nervously watching Quin’s aura. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean any harm. It’s tradition to welcome new members with a sprig of mint, and I didn’t want her missing out.”

“It could have waited,” Quin countered. “And I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”

“It’s okay,” Layla cut in, squeezing Quin’s hand. “I’m okay.”

Quin scanned her face then narrowed his eyes on Banning. “Go home, before your mom figures out you’re here. She won’t be as forgiving as Layla.”

Banning’s shoulders sagged as he dropped his head. “Right. Sorry, Layla. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay,” she assured. “You just surprised me, but I’m fine, really.” And she was. Banning was obviously harmless, and his enthusiasm amused her. “So… mint?”

“Spearmint,” he confirmed, setting the pot next to the door. “They say it’s for warmth and welcoming, but its uses go beyond symbolism.” His aura had brightened, but when he glanced at Quin, the colors muted. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” he said. Then he took two large steps to the north, vaulted the railing, and disappeared behind the house next door.

Quin sighed, rubbing his jaw as he led Layla onto the porch.

“You didn’t have to be so hard on him,” she said, examining her new plant. “He brought me a present.”

“He knew what was coming,” Quin replied, picking up the clay pot. “And I have to respect him for showing up anyway. I’m sure he expected worse.”

“You should apologize,” Layla pressed.

Quin paused with his hand on the doorknob, grinning as he searched her aura. “He’ll laugh in return, but if it makes you feel better, I’ll tell him tomorrow.”

“Why would he laugh?”

“Because it’s already water under the bridge. Banning’s my brother in every way but blood. There will be no grudges held over this.”

“Oh,” she mumbled. “That’s good, because I don’t want to alienate my family before getting to know them.”

“I doubt you could alienate anyone,” he replied, opening the door, “least of all this coven.”

Layla stepped inside as Quin flipped a light on, illuminating a large living room. Its main elements were pristine and white—the carpet, the oversized couch and padded armchairs, the marble fireplace embedded with sparkling quartz. Even the walls were white, but a much warmer shade and decorated with colorful art pieces, gemstone scattered shelves, and framed photos.

Layla’s gaze froze on the biggest photograph, and the next thing she knew she was right in front of it, unable to remember her trek across the room.

The frame was about three feet tall, made of polished silver, and engraved with a vine of roses, each rosebud encasing a cluster of green and blue gemstones. Layla knew the picture well. She’d stared at it for hours at a time on several occasions.

She shrugged her backpack off her shoulders, pulling out the photo of her parents on their wedding day. Then she held it beside the one on the wall. They were identical, but the larger photo was impeccably clear with colors so vivid, the subjects looked real. They stared right at her. No… right through her. Her parents would never look at her that way. Salty moisture blurred her vision as she wondered why. What had ripped their family apart? Now that she was there, where she should have always been, she ached to know why.

She didn’t realize Quin had moved beside her until he pulled a tear from her cheek, transforming it into a dark blue rose petal. When he tentatively pulled her into a hug, she gladly tucked into his chest.

“I know this must be hell on you,” he whispered. “I’m sorry you’re hurting.”

“I just don’t understand,” she returned. “I need to know why.”

“The answer to that will hurt as well.”

“Probably, but now that I’ve seen where I came from, where I should have been this whole time, I have to know why I wasn’t.”

He sighed and leaned back. “The box is in the master bedroom.”

“It’s already here?” she asked, her wounded heart beating faster.

“Yes. Serafin brought it over before we got here.”

She wondered how her grandfather had known to put it there. Then she realized she didn’t care. “Where’s the bedroom?”

Quin led her down a wide corridor, stopping at the first door on the right. Then he reached inside and flipped a switch, illuminating a crystal chandelier.

Like the living room, the bedroom was huge. Unlike the living room, it was bathed in color, multiple shades of blue and green bursting from linens and walls. But it wasn’t tacky or overwhelming. It was impossibly perfect, simultaneously soothing and romantic.

To the right sat a large bed with an ornate, four poster frame stained dark to match the bench at its end, the two nightstands, the dresser, and the armoire and coffee table across the room. The table held a bouquet of emerald green and sea blue roses, and two blue armchairs were arranged on one side, facing a large window hidden by emerald green velvet. Had the drapes been drawn, the view would hold the porch and lawn. These walls were also decorated in art and photos, but of a much different sort. Many of the pieces were erotic, but they were so beautiful, exuding passion rather than sex, that Layla wasn’t the least bit embarrassed by their explicit nature.

Her eyes went back to the bed, falling on a box carved from dark reddish-brown wood.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Quin asked, leading her closer.

“No,” she confessed, heartbeat erratic, lungs insufficient. “But I have to know.”

Despite her burning curiosity, she didn’t move to take the box. She just stared at it with wide eyes.

“Do you want me to leave?” Quin asked.

“No,” she blurted, tightening her grip.

He reached over, stroking her tense wrist. “It’s okay,” he assured. “I won’t go unless you ask me to. You can relax.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, loosening her grip.

“Don’t be,” he insisted.

Layla stared at the box for another long moment, running her gaze over the long stemmed rose carved into the lid. Then she kicked off her shoes and hoisted herself onto the tall bed, sitting with her legs dangling over the edge.

“Will you look inside and tell me if there’s anything in there besides the ring?” she asked.

“I can’t,” Quin refused, sitting next to her. “It’s sealed with magic only you can break.”

“Oh yeah,” she whispered. Then she sighed and scooted to the center of the bed.

Once she sat cross-legged in front of the box, she took a deep breath and opened the lid, finding a lonely ring glittering from within the soft folds of emerald green velvet.

Layla stared at it for several seconds, too nervous to take in the details. Then she met Quin’s stare. “You really have no idea what’s going to happen when I put this on?”

“I know some things that will happen,” he answered, moving to the spot beside her.

“Like what?”

“Well, you won’t be aware of what’s happening here, in real time, until the memories are complete. And you probably won’t be aware of your body. You’ll be seeing things through your parents’ perspective, not your own.”

“Anything else?” she asked, plucking the ring from the velvet.

“I know what led to your adoption,” he confessed, “but it’s not my story to tell. It wouldn’t be fair for you to hear a secondhand account of your past.”

“I see,” she mumbled, fidgeting with the heirloom.

When her aura shifted, Quin knew she was gearing up for the dive and offered one more pitiful piece of advice. “You should lie down and get comfortable before putting it on. Like I said, you won’t be aware of your body.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” she said, slipping out of her sweater. Then she moved the box to the foot of the bed and uncrossed her legs, lying back on the heap of pillows.

Quin ran his gaze from her head to her toes, trying to steady his heart and lungs. A difficult task when so exposed to her curves. He cursed his suddenly inadequate restraint and looked to her face, finding her staring up at him.

“What will you do?” she asked.

“What do you want me to do?” he returned.

After a moment’s hesitation, she took his hand and pulled him down beside her. “I want you to stay with me,” she whispered.

“Then that’s what I’ll do,” he agreed.

“Thank you.”

He reached over, touching a forefinger to her blushing cheek. “You don’t have to thank me for this. I want to be here for you when it’s over.”

Layla anxiously held his gaze for several seconds. Then she looked at the ring, swallowing an all too familiar lump. After filling her lungs with oxygen, she slipped the wedding band on the third finger of her right hand.

She gasped as her muscles trembled. Then her body faded away as her mind tumbled through a blur of color, landing in an entirely different time and place.

March 1988—Virginia

The moist grass reflected the sunlight filtering through a partly cloudy sky, and Aedan lounged on his coven’s lawn, celebrating his nineteenth birthday. He was surrounded by family, friends and the woman he’d been dating—Medea Blair of the Blair/Casey community, located about two hundred miles away.

A pretty witch with a sociable personality, Medea was used to attention from men, and she’d held Aedan’s for two dates, both of which ended with a polite kiss on her hand. Most wizards would have sealed the deal at that point, if not sooner, but Aedan was restless when it came to women and only stopped to savor them on occasion, usually finding they weren’t the flavor he was looking for.

No, he didn’t intend to ask Medea out a third time, let alone seal the deal, so when she invited herself to his birthday party, he only agreed out of politeness. As he watched her cozy up to his family, he regretted his consent. It was time to cut her loose.

He scanned the straw colored highlights in her shoulder-length brown hair then slid his gaze down her slender cheeks, watching her defined lips chat with one of his friends. Her eyes were like warm honey—amber in the dark, yellow in the light. And it was that alone that led to their first date. Aedan was confident it would lead her to another, but with a different wizard.

When Medea caught Aedan watching her, she beamed, apparently misjudging his stare for one of fondness. “Are you enjoying your party?” she asked, scooting closer.

“Yes,” he answered, looking away. “You?”

“I always enjoy myself when I’m with you.”

Aedan’s stomach churned and tightened. “I’m glad you’re having a good time.”

“We should fly to the beach when the party ends,” she suggested. “Just you and me.”

Aedan watched a bird soar through the clearing as he considered his response. “I doubt we’ll have time. You know how these things go. It could be dawn before the last man falls over.”

“Yeah,” she laughed. “I guess you’re right. How about tomorrow? I could stay the night.”

Aedan hated lying, but unless he wanted to cause a scene, there was no way around it. Hopefully his aura wouldn’t give him away. “I’m busy tomorrow.”

Medea’s expression fell then brightened. “How about Sunday?”