Witchful Thinking (4 page)

As we entered the cobbled courtyard, I looked around and drank in the beauty of the fae. The flowers surrounding the courtyard were as tall as I was—in hues of vibrant yellow, pink, red, blue, and violet. A canopy of tree branches stood even taller, enveloping us in a lush hug. The sun’s rays leaked through the branches, warming my skin and making me wish they could heat the
coldness in my soul. But not even the beauty of the fae sun could vanquish the emptiness there.

“Lass!”

It was Odran, and although he was far from my favorite person in the world, he had such warmth in his smile that it chipped away at the ice inside me, ate at the knot of worry in my stomach. It’s funny what being on the brink of death will do to you—it makes you happy to see just about anyone.

Odran broke away from a crowd of fae women who’d no doubt all been clamoring to hear his battle stories. Then, like the great leader he was, he ambled toward Rand and me, his extreme height and expansive build impressive by anyone’s calculations.

Physically, Odran is very striking. The first thing you notice about him is that he’s built like a bull, exuding strength with not even an ounce of fat—nope, just rock-hard muscle. Next you might notice his long mane of slightly wavy, golden hair that trails to his butt. Then you would probably notice that his facial features resemble those of a lion—solid, angular planes with a strong jaw. His eyes are deep set and wide, the color of amber. He’s definitely a sight to behold, but he’s also a complete and utter man whore.

“Odran! Congratulations!” I said with a heartfelt smile.

Odran smiled broadly, reaching out to envelop me in his beefy arms. As if a hug wasn’t enough, he spun me around in the air.

“I thought ye were dead,” he said, bringing me back to the ground and pulling me against his massive chest. I felt like I was hugging a wall.

I eyed Rand, a little worried he might not be taking Odran’s familiar greeting very well. Rand never trusted Odran and always tended to be overprotective where I was concerned. But not today. Today there was a smile etched on his face that I didn’t imagine anything or anyone
could remove. Well, scratch that—the vampire Sinjin probably could have wiped the grin right off his face.

Thinking of Sinjin, I had to swallow my sense of foreboding. Sinjin had been there on the battlefield—he’d watched Gwynn run me through with her blade, and then he’d destroyed her. When I subsequently died from the mortal wound, Sinjin vanished, and I hadn’t seen or heard from him since.

And that bothered me, because complicated though it was and as much as I didn’t want to admit it to myself, I cared about Sinjin—a lot.

“Jolie?” Rand asked, seeming to realize that I’d completely zoned out, my thoughts consumed with Sinjin Sinclair.

“Sorry?”

“Do you know where Mercedes is?” Rand asked with an arched eyebrow.

What, pray tell, is on your mind, Miss Wilkins?
His voice entered my head, and I faced him with surprise, not sure which question to answer first.

“I don’t know where she is but I imagine she’s here somewhere,” I replied, glancing between Rand and Odran. “Mercedes brought me to my room this morning.”

“I wouldna like ta miss an introdooction to the prophetess,” Odran said in his thick brogue and then winked at me. Hmm, it appeared Odran was back to lusting after me again. For a while there he’d been pretty freaked out over the fact that by touching him, I’d been able to see glimpses of his future—of him on the battlefield. But now it seemed as if that fear had been replaced with his inexhaustible need to rut. Just great.

I took a step closer to Rand, who clasped his hand in mine, which was fine by me … anything to curtail the sexual interests of the King. “I’ll make sure to introduce you.”

Are you going to answer my question?

I faced Rand and smiled.
There’s really nothing to say—and since when do you call me Miss Wilkins?

The Rand of 1878 had referred to me as Miss Wilkins in the first week or so of our acquaintance, when he’d wanted nothing more than for me to leave Pelham Manor. Rand, both now and in the past, was suspicious as well as protective of those he loved. In this case, he had thought he was protecting Pelham from me, a gold digger. In the end, though, 1878 Rand’s tune had changed as far as I was concerned—but it’s not like it had been an easy task. It had taken a spell from Mathilda to allow 1878 Rand to have the same feelings for me that modern-day Rand felt. That’s when he’d warmed up to me, considerably. That’s also when we had sex and bonded. Sigh.

My heart was suddenly even heavier and I felt like I needed to sit down—like I couldn’t carry it around anymore, lest it fall right out of my chest and shatter into a million pieces at my feet. But I couldn’t sit down because we were still standing at the mouth of the courtyard, caught up in a conversation that prevented me from leaving.

We never got to finish our discussion about you traveling back in time
, Rand’s voice in my head pointed out.

I glanced at Odran and was suddenly relieved by the fact that I had a diversion—that this celebration wouldn’t allow for a detailed conversation.

We’ll find time
, I answered simply.

“The legion will want ta see ya, lass,” Odran said and turned toward the great expanse of open courtyard, facing our throng of soldiers, who stood huddled in small groups, laughing and patting one another’s backs with obvious pride. The surviving members of our legion filled the courtyard of the smallish fae village, and the more I observed them, the more I realized their attention kept
working its way back to our small circle as they smiled and laughed, raising their cups of ale in toasts to us.

These people, for lack of a better word, were my family now. Prior to Rand walking through my door and changing my life forever, the only family I had was a mother whom I rarely saw and Christa, my best friend. Luckily, Christa had moved to England with me so I still counted her among my family members. On the other hand, I found myself growing steadily distant from my mother. She was a very religious woman and, as such, had no idea who and what I was. I was able to keep our conversations limited to trivialities—the weather and the latest television shows. It wasn’t an ideal situation but it was better than nothing.

So now the Underworld had become my family and I was proud of them—proud of the fact that we had risked everything to fight against the tyranny of Bella and won.

“Ready?” Rand asked, smiling down at me.

I nodded. Flanked by Odran and Rand, I entered the courtyard while the soldiers cleared the way for us as if we were royalty. I felt a few pats on the back and heard lots of whispering over the fact that I wasn’t dead along with more conjecture over who would be reanimated and in what order.

Once we’d made our way through the crowd, Rand stood before our soldiers and held up his hands to quiet everyone.

“In honor of our victory,” he began, but he was drowned out by cheers and hollering. He managed to get everyone under control again and continued. “I invite you to celebrate—eat, drink, and relish the fact that you are free—that you fought for your freedom and you deserve this victory! Bella’s power has been quashed, and none of us will ever call her monarch!”

Another round of cheers while Rand smiled and
waited for everyone to quiet down again. “I have heard much talk concerning whether or not Jolie Wilkins died,” he said, turning to me. “Well, as you can see, she is very much alive.” He held up my hand, which was firmly clasped in his. The crowd broke into raucous laughs and claps. I just smiled, my eyes cast down.

“We heard she died,” someone from the audience yelled.

“Yes, she did.” Rand nodded. “But as you can see, that is no longer the case.”

“How is that possible?” shouted someone else.

“Jordans said he heard there was a prophetess?” called out an old man right in front of us, wobbling with his cane like he was about to keel over right then and there.

Rand glanced at me with eyes that echoed the same doubts rampaging through my mind. Where was Mercedes? It hadn’t really dawned on me to look for her—I’d just figured she’d show up at the celebration. When she left me in my room, I hadn’t been in the mood for a long-winded conversation about her itinerary.

“There is a prophetess,” I began, but I was apparently too quiet because there were a few “what did she say”s going through the crowd. “Mercedes Berg is the prophetess,” I shouted.

There was momentary silence and then hushed whispers as people expressed their shock. The prophetess had always been a legend according to most people—sort of like the Underworld version of Santa Claus, only Mercedes didn’t pack a bag full of presents and I wouldn’t exactly describe her as jolly.

“Where is she?” asked the old man in front of us with a look of impatience in his eyes.

I swallowed. “I don’t know.” Hey, I wasn’t her keeper.

“She is here.”

I recognized Mercedes’ voice and turned to my right,
finding her standing before me—that is, before us. She moved forward and the crowd seemed to double back on itself, almost as if they were afraid of her. I couldn’t blame them—there was definitely a part of me deep down that shared their fear. That little voice reminded me that no one knew what Mercedes was truly capable of … that she was incredibly powerful.

Yes, Mercedes was the poster witch for power. Hers was a power that vibrated from her—you could feel it coming off in rivulets of energy. She was dressed in the color of royalty, wearing a deep purple velvet gown that tickled the ground as she walked. Her brown hair was pulled back into an array of ringlets and purple ribbons that cascaded down her back. When she glanced at me, her stunning green eyes radiated an almost unnatural beauty.

Mercedes is centuries old but you’d never guess it—she looks like she’s thirty-two, tops.

“Way to make an entrance,” I said with a smile.

Mercedes beamed at me and took my hand—the one that wasn’t currently engulfed in Rand’s. She glanced at Rand, who said nothing but continued to watch her placidly. She nodded to him in silent recognition before facing the crowd of soldiers.

“I am Mercedes Berg. Some of you refer to me as the prophetess.”

The crowd was completely silent. They stayed that way for a few seconds until I began to wonder if she had put some sort of charm on them. Then the little old outspoken man in front began to clear his throat.

“And how can we be sure you are who you say you are?”

The creatures of the Underworld are a suspicious bunch.

“I believe every one of you witnessed Jolie and myself
put an end to this war?” Mercedes asked before glancing at me again with a warm smile.

The little old man nodded and stepped back into the crowd, apparently satisfied with her answer. Of course, witnessing the big stunt Mercedes had pulled would have been enough for me. I would never have questioned her in the first place.

“I am the prophetess, yes.” Mercedes’ voice rang out loudly and seemed to broadcast her ancient wisdom. “But I am also the advisor to your Queen, Jolie.”

Rand shifted uncomfortably, and I didn’t dare look at him. The crowd broke out in whispers, seeming to echo his discomfort. They’d all come damn close to having a Queen thrust on them in the form of Bella; I could imagine that having another Queen pushed down their throats wasn’t exactly welcome.

“This is our fate, our destiny,” Mercedes continued. “Jolie Wilkins has powers not even she fully recognizes yet. She will be responsible for reuniting our kind and bringing peace to the Underworld. What she needs now is your allegiance, not your questions and your doubts.”

I had to wonder if Mercedes had been a public speaker at some point in her long career—maybe a politician. She definitely had the gift of persuasion because soon the crowd was nodding in agreement. Or maybe she’d just charmed them into acquiescence.

I glanced at Rand, even though I knew I shouldn’t have. His jaw was tight and he did nothing but stare straight ahead, focusing on the horizon. He didn’t appear to be listening, and it seemed like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

Rand
. I thought the word even though I wasn’t ready to get into this conversation. I still wasn’t convinced I was the right person for the position of Queen. And I could only imagine that the more I talked to Rand, the
more he would try to talk me out of my supposedly destined role.

Let’s not worry about it now
. The tone of his voice was sweet, unconcerned, but underneath the apparent levity was a weighty and serious issue. Now might not be the time to discuss it but that time would come—it was as obvious as the rigidity of his posture.

It’s the elephant in the room
, I argued.

He chuckled and finally looked at me.
There is too much to be thankful for—too much to celebrate. We’ll figure out the details later. For now, I just want to enjoy the fact that the woman I love is standing next to me and … alive
.

I had to swallow the lump in my throat.

The woman he loves
. Me.

I didn’t even know what to say, much less what to think. I didn’t say anything and, instead, squeezed his hand reassuringly and tried to focus on the faces of our legion. I tried not to worry that I might destroy that freely given love as soon as Rand realized I was planning to follow my destiny to become Queen. Well, at the very least, I hadn’t completely abandoned the idea. And if that issue didn’t destroy our chances of being together, I had to imagine the little tidbit about our bonding might do the job just fine.

A few hours and countless tankards of ale later, I felt footloose and fancy-free. The same couldn’t be said for Rand. It seemed the drunker I got, the more serious he became. I’d always known Rand could handle his liquor; now I had to wonder if it was warlock magic that assisted him, because I could have sworn he’d drunk twice as much as I had.

“So you say you were a resident at Pelham Manor in 1878?” Rand questioned Mercedes with narrowed eyes.

“Yes,” she answered simply.

“Then why don’t I remember you?” Rand continued, taking another sip of his ale while eyeing her like a hawk.