Magical Weddings (23 page)

Drayhome. Hear me. Help me.

Like stumbling across a hidden spring, power burbled up into his hands at his cry. Power from the well flooded in and flooded him, drowning him in it until the boundary between he and the source blurred and he ceased being just Ax. Instead, someone else, something else, stood in his boots. He felt that combined entity push outward from the core of him, grow and grow until they could hold no more, be no more.

Now
, they whispered to each other.

Ax threw down his hands, commanding the Earth.

Bursting through the skin of the land came the wall. Stone upon stone, some the size of small boulders, others no bigger than a man’s heart, thrust upward out of the depths, fitting and puzzling themselves to erect the structure. Grinding. Messy. Spine jarring. Trees older than the house, shifted aside to make room; the river altered its course to accommodate what he built. Of everyone standing at Drayhome’s property line, Ramsay Wise included, Ax was the sole warlock who didn’t lunge for something or someone to grab onto to keep him upright. Ax trusted the ground giving birth to his power, and the talent that until now had little reason for existing. This was his day, his war, his gift and he would give it.

In under a minute, four miles of rock ten feet tall and two feet thick surrounded Drayhome. Great iron gates forged by enchantment from iron deposits deep underneath Breens slammed shut behind him and safely enclosed the estate.

“From this day onward Drayhome is protected,” he looked toward Ramsay Wise and said. “No one who means harm to any within its walls will make it through these gates. The barrier you see is impenetrable, unscalable by humans, machines, or magic.

“
That
…” He spoke to the three warlocks sprawled at his feet. “…is my gift.”

Dirt and sand and bits of crumbled granite continued to pour off the newly manifested wall into the road. Runyon and the other two moved crabwise away from Ax scrambled to their feet and backed toward their vehicle.

Never having fallen, The Priest released the car door that had supported him throughout the quaking. Slamming it shut, he bared his teeth in something not quite a smile.

“My, my…” that old voice coming from a young man began.

Ax tensed, waiting for Wise to complete his sentence, a tirade no doubt.

The attack caught him completely off guard.

Light and heat flared and tongued him. His dazed brain equated it with a coronal mass ejection spit out by the sun. Ax winced, feeling the side of his face singe. He lifted fingers to his cheek. Blistered skin bled watery blood. A full two seconds passed before his nerves registered the full extent of the damage, and agony blindsided him. By then he’d lowered his arm enough to see steam
rising
off the back of his hand. The Priest’s power had completely burned through his clóca, which immediately came to his defense, but was no match for the warlock’s superior gift.

Ax went into instant shock.

Moments earlier he’d raised a rampart to safeguard Drayhome. Now, suddenly, he struggled to stand. He’d known he’d be vulnerable after such a massive expenditure of energy. A warlock could only hold onto power that great for so long before it ate up everything in him, and left him a depleted husk. He’d need hours to recover, if he weren’t also injured.

The High Priest strolled closer.

“You really don’t know what’s good for you, do you? We–” He included Runyon and the other two warlocks with a broad gesture, “–on the conclave, have already voted to abandon Drayhome, human interference or no. That decision is final, no matter how many pretty garden structures you put up to decorate it. All these years dutifully serving us, the lawful decision makers here in Breens, did it not occur to you why we, why
I
hold the position I do, and you merely follow orders? It’s because you are nothing to be feared, Terry. You? You’re a one trick pony.”

Casually, The Priest raised his fist hand and turned it over.

“Look at you now,” he said, “swaying on your feet. I bet you would topple right now.”

His fingers opened on an ugly wad of molten gas, pulsing in the palm of his hand.

“At the merest tap.”

Ax had come out here alone. Guests inside the house were likely just picking themselves up off the floor and asking each other what had happened. If anyone inside even looked this way, The Priest, still standing closer to the Jag than the gates would be fortuitously concealed. The warlock could end him without anyone learning he’d done it.

Ax pulled himself up as straight as he could without an ounce of strength left, prided himself in not flinching as The Priest flexed his forearm, preparing to–

“I wouldn’t advise it, Ramsay,” someone said.

The calm warning came from only feet away.

“It wouldn’t be…
Wise
.”

Ax stumbled sideways a couple of steps, then slowly turned to look.

One of Breen’s two remaining elementals stood just inside the gates. He was fully in command of winds that swirled restlessly around him. Currents whipped at his hair, sent gales into his clóca like the billowing canvas from a ship’s mast. Pure magic in his grasp begged to be let free.

Air. It was Air who had spoken on his behalf.

He wasn’t alone. Beside him, stood Earth, feet rooted to the ground, hands at his sides but facing downward, primed to summon his element.

“Nice little shaker just now, Ax,” Earth, as large in size as Ax, smiled and said. “Impressive.”

Nor were those two unaccompanied. Behind them, Lysée, Shelley, Mia and close to a hundred, every witch and warlock in Breens, each in clóca and ready for battle, had their backs.

Out front of them all, even the two elementals, Colleen took point, radiant and mad as hell. Concern for his safety flickered toward him. He had just a glimpse of the warrior witch he’d never realized lived inside, and then she refocused on The Priest. Hands clenched, she looked eager to rip a section from his jugular.

“You can’t evict Colleen. Or any of us from this place,” Earth said. “Drayhome is in the hands of The Rede and it’s going to stay that way as long as I’m alive.”

“And I,” Air said.

“And I,” said Lysée.

“And I,” Shelley said.

Mia standing firm. “And I.”

Echoing through the crowd, the declarations formed an unassailable spell.

And I
…
And I…And I...And I....

Only one person among them had yet to speak. Colleen. Her fury for and interest in The Priest died, her expression softened when she looked to Ax and their gazes finally met.

“And I,” she said.

Colleen squatted down next to Ax in the guest bath off the front reception room, where Earth, shouldering most of Ax’s weight from the gates to the house, had eased him down onto a dainty, tufted chair. Other than the toilet, it was the only place to sit in the small room. Ax’s huge frame dwarfed the Empire Era antique, which held up admirably under his weight.

Gently, her fingers soothed the nearer, uninjured side of his face.

“Why?” she said and pulled back her hand, fisted it over her heart. “Do you know what it did to me when I figured out you meant to die?” Ghosts of her earlier anger with him revived. It would take a lifetime to get over the scare he’d just put her through. “Why would you do such a stupid,
selfish
thing?”

His eyes widened in mock affront.

“Selfish? I thought it was rather noble, if I do say so myself.”

“Do you now?” Colleen said. “And when you were gone, who do you suppose would be left to put those damn carriage doors back on their tracks?”

His facial wounds, no longer bleeding or raw, but still inflamed and swollen, puckered when he tried to smile, rendering one-half of that smile endearingly lopsided.

“You would just rally an army again,” he said.

His eyes told her how proud he was of her, for having broken through the emotional block that had always kept her from reaching out to others.

Colleen glanced up gratefully at Lysée, who watched from the open doorway.

“Thank you.”

A second after Colleen had confided in her, informing Lysée of Ramsay Wise’s machinations and the plot to give up Drayhome, the other had sprung into action. She instantly recruited Mia and Shelley to spread the news through the crowd, informing everyone in attendance. Thus the group action to save Ax had been born.

“Thank you for putting your trust in me,
mon cher
,” Lysée said. “Now that I know both of you are safely being cared for, I must go. The quake…”

“I know,” Colleen said. “Go. Go. I’ll be with you in a moment to help fix things.”

Lysée slipped away.

Chloe, the healer attending Ax, finished with bandaging his hand. “Your clóca concentrated most of its efforts on protecting your face and head,” she told him and then, including Colleen in the discussion addressed them both. “I’ve done what I can. He’ll suffer deep fatigue for a couple of days. Make sure he gets rest until his natural reserves of magic return.”

“Salves? Ointments?” Colleen asked. “Anything we’ll need to do to care for the burns?”

Chloe shook her head. “He’s going to have some scarring on his hand. There’s nothing I can do about that, though his face should come through better than you’d expect for an injury that severe. He’s healing nicely now. You’ll be able to remove the dressing on his hand by morning.”

With his good hand, Ax fingered the ragged, powdery edges of his clóca. Gaping holes in the garment showed where The Priest’s power had burnt through the semi-sentient fabric. Dejection hooded his eyes. Poor soul, she knew now why he always entered through Drayhome’s front door. Pride. He believed he had so little to be proud of he sought out those few things that made him feel less like a powerless servant and more like a warlock in charge of his own destiny.

So wrong, Ax,
Colleen thought.
You’ve always been your own person. Always
.

Even without the wall and the sacrifice he’d been willing to make, she’d always considered him the strongest, most capable person she knew.

Earth thumped Ax heartily on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. Clócas are more resilient than you think. It’ll mend itself. Eventually,” he said with a devilish smirk. It was decidedly unelemental. “Five, six years. A decade tops.”

Ax grumbled low in his throat at the obvious teasing.

Colleen stiffened. Alarm stroked her spine. Her connection to Drayhome strong as ever, the house alerted her to the enemy’s presence. She rushed to her feet.

“What is it?” Ax said. “What’s wrong?”

His muscled bunched to get him up, on guard. Earth, looking equally concerned, nevertheless pushed him back down into the chair. Ax tried shrugging off the other warlock’s well-meaning gesture, but Earth kept him there easily.

Colleen took a step around Chloe, moving for the bathroom door when it opened.

Air popped his head inside. The elemental saw and correctly interpreted her distress. “Sorry. Came to warn you. Couldn’t keep him out.”

“Who?” Ax said.

“Wise.”

“But…” Colleen stuttered. “How did he get in?”

“Ax? It’s your wall,” Air said.

Ax sighed, unhappy, though he knew the answer.

“It
wouldn’t
let him in. That part of the magic is absolute. Not unless he intends no harm to anyone inside.”

“I’d say, then, he’s decided to cut his losses,” Air said. “For the moment,” he added, not looking too pleased with the situation either.

“And the other members of the conclave with him?” Earth asked.

Colleen searched for their presence on the estate. “Two are inside with The Priest, but Runyon–”

“Is walking the perimeter on Wise’s orders,” Air said. “He’s a memory talent. Someone had to plant some memory spells along the property lines to trigger when the locals pass by. Can’t have people wondering where four miles of stone fortifications came from overnight.”

****

They walked the second floor corridor alone.

Though grateful to Ax for saving Drayhome, she worried about the estate’s future. Had he saved it for her, only to watch her a week from now? A month? She couldn’t deny it any longer. Drayhome was too much for her. Coping alone was beyond her capabilities. She had to be honest with others, but most of all herself. She’d flirted with total breakdown for too long, exhaustion wearing her to a nub.

“It’s too much,” she said.

“What is?” he said.

“Drayhome was built by an elemental. It needs an elemental to care for it.”

“Which is why you’ve run it beautifully for thirty years.”

“No. Haven’t you noticed how many things I’ve let go? I haven’t done this place justice. Ever. I’m nothing but a glorified vestal virgin, tending the flames.”

“Well, I can help with the virgin part.”

“Be serious.”

“I was.”

“Virginity already handled, thank you.”

“Gee, you take all the suspense out of things.”

Time to get back to work. Time for him to get some rest. She’d select a bedroom and shove him in it, and then go back downstairs to help clean up the minor disaster the tremors had made of the wedding.

“Sorry about the mess in the ballroom,” Ax said.

“Not your fault the table tops now resemble Picasso murals,” she said.

“Place settings a tad askew?” he asked.

“Mmm. Let’s call them…” She paused in the middle of the wide hallway. “…
deconstructed
.”

She tried to remember which room in this wing had the largest bed. “I think–”

Before she knew what was happening, she’d backed several hurried steps toward the nearest door. Ax paced toward her. Playfulness warred with seduction in his eyes. Each stride, his forward, hers back, closed the gap between them, upped the tension in the air. Their bodies pulled on each other like magnets.

“I have to go find more wine goblets,” she said.

“Screw the goblets,” he said.

Lust was a perfume she rarely wore, but it fit now. It fit.

“They’ll need more plates,” she said.