Dark Mirror 2 - Dark Passage (13 page)

“That would be lovely, Mrs. Rainford.” Cynthia removed her bonnet and cloak and hung them on the pegs by the door. There was no footman to take the garments in a farmhouse kitchen.

So why did she feel more welcome here than anywhere else in her life?

Once Cynthia was settled in a cushioned Windsor chair by the fire with tea and delicious cakes beside her, Lily Rainford said, “You’ve probably learned much of this in the Labyrinth, so forgive me if I go over what you know.”

“Please start at the beginning,” Cynthia said, not wanting to say that she’d never paid attention to hearth-witch lessons since she’d considered them beneath her. But she’d had enough of being cold. “I want to know everything.”

“Hearth witchery is the most ancient and basic of magics,” Lily explained. “It deals with temperature and the elements around us. Water, fire, air. The primal powers that helped our ancestors survive.”

She gestured at the fireplace. Flames leaped a yard high. With a snap of her fingers, the flames curled into a circle of dancing light. Cynthia caught her breath in delight.

Releasing the fire, Lily continued, “Traditionally, hearth witchery is more of a woman’s power, though most mages have at least a little of the talent. It comes from a different, deeper place in the spirit than other magical abilities.” She hesitated. “The quickest way for me to teach this is if you’ll allow me to enter into your mind.”

Cynthia stiffened. “Read my thoughts? I should think not!”

“Not that,” Lily said soothingly. “The power to read thoughts is extremely rare, and I don’t have it. For this, I would only take your hand. You would feel a sense of my presence, no more. Once there, I will guide you to whatever hearth-witch magic you have. Once you know the path, you will be able to call it up whenever you wish. Though practice will help, of course.”

“Very well.” Cynthia was instinctively wary, but Lily inspired trust. She extended her hand.

The older woman’s clasp was gentle and secure. “Close your eyes and relax,” she said softly, her mind an unthreatening warmth that slowly grew in Cynthia’s awareness. “Different people see their power in different images. Accept what your mind offers.”

Cynthia nodded, relaxing under the touch of the older woman’s words and power.

“Down and down and down and down,” Lily murmured. “Travel to the deepest center of your power.”

Cynthia closed her eyes, feeling as if she were sinking into a feather bed. And—she was not alone. Lily wasn’t intrusive, simply there the way Cynthia’s mother had been when Cynthia was little.

She felt a curious duality. Part of her was aware that she was sitting by the fire and holding hands in the real world. But in her mind, the two of them were sinking into a mysterious, shifting sphere of magical power.

They passed dark places she didn’t want to explore, but also veins of light. She recognized a swirling torrent of weather power as Lily guided her into darker, deeper passages.

Down and down and
down
until they reached a dark chamber. In the center was a dancing flame of welcoming warmth. Voice sounding very distant, Lily said, “Reach into your power, Lady Cynthia. It won’t hurt you.”

Hesitantly Cynthia obeyed, stretching one hand toward the fire. Even when she warily touched flames, they didn’t burn. Instead welcome heat rushed through every fiber of her body, warming places that had been cold so long she’d forgotten they existed. Laughing with delight, she lunged both hands into the magical flames. “I like this!”

Lily laughed with her. “Take your time. Play with the power. Become one with it so you’ll always be able to draw this warmth into yourself and your surroundings.”

Cynthia obeyed, pouring flame from one hand to another, tossing blazing balls up and catching them again. She understood now why Lily said hearth witchery was so ancient. Fire was the power that sustained life, and a hearth witch could bend that power to her will.

She grew the magic into a bonfire and dived into it like a playful otter. Again and again she danced through the light until she heard Lily say, “Ready to return?”

Cynthia nodded, withdrawing from the magic with reluctance.

“Float up like a bubble,” Lily murmured.

Cynthia rose through the depths toward Lily’s voice. As she did, she realized that a silver thread now connected her to the ancient hearth magic. It was part of her now and could be summoned at need. She emerged seamlessly in the Rainford kitchen.

When she opened her eyes, Lily released her hand. “How do you feel?”

“Splendid,” Cynthia said, surprised. “As if I had a good night’s sleep, but I was awake. At least, I think I was.”

“You were in a light trance, not asleep. That let you see the world in different ways.” Lily grinned impishly, looking too young to have two well-grown offspring. “Now to see what you can do with your power. Mrs. Brewster, do you need any water heated?”

“That would be right handy for the washing up.” The cook brought over a sizable pot of cool water and set it on the hearth in front of Cynthia.

“Put your hand in and see if you can warm it up,” Lily ordered.

Cynthia dipped her hand into the pot, then visualized heat from that deep power flowing into the water.…

With a small shriek, she yanked her hand back as the water began boiling around her. She rubbed at her reddened fingers. “I could have burned my hand off!”

“A few burns are part of the learning process.” Lily regarded the steaming water thoughtfully. “You certainly mastered heat faster than any hearth witch I’ve ever taught. There is much more to learn, of course, but that’s enough for one day.”

Cynthia flicked her fingers at the fire, imagining the flames leaping higher. They increased in size a little, but nothing like what Lily Rainford had done. “This is a really useful power. Why do mages usually speak of hearth witchery so dismissively?”

“Because it’s usually women’s magic, and what women do is never taken so seriously,” Lily said dryly.

Sadly true. If Cynthia had been born male, she would be a marquess like Allarde and she might have been able to escape Lackland. “Tell me more about the different forms of hearth witchery. Can I heat large amounts of air? Or the water in a hip bath?”

“Perhaps. It will take time and practice to learn the extent of your ability.” Lily smiled reminiscently. “When I was first married, I would heat a small pond in the woods so my husband and I could swim by moonlight.”

“Is Jack like his father?” Cynthia asked hesitantly.

“Very.” Lily gave a small shake of her head and returned to her teaching. “To heat air, imagine walls of invisible energy around what you want to heat. Then fill the area inside with warmth.”

Cynthia visualized a sphere a foot in width on her lap. When it was clear in her mind, she filled the interior with heat. Too hot for comfort! She hastily cooled it down to a more comfortable temperature. “I never have to have cold feet again! You do this with your house, don’t you?”

Lily nodded. “When I first came here as a bride, I created an energy domain the size and shape of Swallow Grange. Within, I can adjust the temperature as I wish. Warm in winter, cool in the heat of summer. I never have to think about it because it became an automatic process that runs even when I’m sleeping.”

Cynthia pursed her lips. “I wonder if I can do that with my room at the school?”

“It will take far more power there because of the suppression spell,” Lily warned. “Experiment. You probably can’t warm the whole room without using more energy than you can afford, but you should be able to warm your bed.”

A cat appeared at Cynthia’s feet. Naturally it was an ugly cat, a battle-scarred ginger tom with half his tail missing. The cat gave her a fixed stare before abruptly leaping onto Cynthia’s lap in the middle of the ball of warmth.

She stiffened, tempted to shove the ugly thing off her lap, but it had large, strong claws. Dogs were all very well, but she’d never touched a cat in her life.

Lily laughed. “Cats are rather magical, I think. They often come when Rachel or I create warm spots. Caesar here is the ruler of all the Swallow Grange cats and gets first choice of all the best places.”

Hoping he’d go away, Cynthia released the ball of warmth. It vanished like a small puff of warm wind. Caesar, alas, remained. Warily she stroked his neck and back.

The cat began to purr with rumbling intensity. The thick orange fur was very soft and pleasant to touch. She scratched his neck lightly. He purred even louder.

“Caesar likes you. He’s a very good lap warmer, and you won’t have to use any of your magic.” Lily studied Cynthia. “When we were seeking your hearth magic, I sensed that you also have an automatic process running like the one I use on this house. I couldn’t determine the nature. Perhaps something to do with your appearance?”

The faint lift in her voice made it a question. Cynthia felt the blood drain from her face. She stood so abruptly that Caesar had to jump for the floor. He gave her an irritated glance, then stalked off. “Jack said something about having luncheon here? I’m very hungry after all that magic.”

“Sorry, I should have realized that you’d be ravenous after burning so much energy,” Lily said apologetically. “I’ll get you some bread and cheese. Would you like oxtail soup as well? That’s good for rebuilding strength.”

Heavy magical use did create a fierce appetite. But even more than food, Cynthia wanted to escape the topic of automatic magical processes and appearance.

CHAPTER 14

By the time Cynthia and Jack started back to the abbey along the cliffs, the storm was blowing in from the sea in short, fierce gusts. No rain fell on them, but power danced along her skin, speaking to her in the language of wind and rain.

“I love these winter gales,” Jack said as he gazed out over the channel. “So much weather energy to enjoy.”

Cynthia glanced at the clouds racing overhead. “You’re keeping the rain away from us, aren’t you?”

“It would be a pity to ruin that pretty riding habit of yours,” he explained.

Cynthia smoothed a hand over the heavy blue fabric of her skirt. “Your mother said that she’d teach me the hearth-witch tricks of cleaning fabrics later, but for now, it’s easier to prevent damage in the first place.”

“She told me that you’re the most powerful student she’s ever had for hearth magic. Coming from my mum, that’s high praise.”

“She’s a good teacher.” Cynthia would have liked to say more, such as the fact that Lily Rainford was also a good woman and lovely to be around, but the words seemed too sentimental, so she held her tongue. “The waves are really crashing down there.”

Jack grinned. “Perfect for a new trick that I’ve learned. Would you like to see it?”

“Weather magic?” Cynthia asked with interest. She’d learned a great deal from Jack during their Dunkirk days, and was ready to learn more.

He nodded. “We should dismount for this. We can tether the horses in that stone shed on the headland so they won’t get chilled.”

Cynthia nodded, in no hurry to get back to the school. Jack was good company today. Her friend, no more and no less. Just the way she liked him.

The shed was open on one side, but the sturdy stone walls provided protection for the horses, who were less enthusiastic about the stormy weather than the weather mages. Catching up her skirts so they wouldn’t trail on the ground, Cynthia followed Jack out onto the headland.

Pitching his voice above the wind, he said, “If you hadn’t tied the strings tightly, your bonnet would be halfway to Dover!”

She grinned back. “Show me your newest trick, weather mage. I’m not easy to impress.”

“I’ve noticed!” They halted above a small cove. The famous white cliffs of the Kentish coast were only medium high here, but the headland still loomed well above the clashing waves.

Jack gestured at a path that slanted down to a narrow beach. “In summer, this is a good place to swim and fish. I keep a small boat in a cave. But today, weather magic.”

Cynthia waited with anticipation. Was Jack going to part the clouds and surround them with sunshine? That wasn’t really new and exciting, but under these conditions, it would be a major challenge. This smashing gale had Arctic power behind it.

Jack extended a hand toward the sea, his brow furrowed with concentration. “Watch this.”

Cynthia watched. To her amazement, after Jack had concentrated for several minutes, the water at the mouth of the cove began to rise in a column while a tendril of cloud spun down from overhead.

“A waterspout!” she exclaimed as the top of the column rose to the height of their headland. “I’ve only heard of them. You’re drawing the energy from the storm?”

He nodded, his brow furrowed with effort. “It gets easier with practice, but a lot of power is required. Try it.”

She concentrated on the churning waves.
Draw the waves up, pull energy from the wind, from the clouds. Raise the sea.…

Slowly, a smaller column wavered out of the water not far from Jack’s. Though not as tall as his, she thought it quite decent for a first attempt.

“Well done, Cynthia!” Jack exclaimed, forgetting her title in his enthusiasm. “Can we run them together and make an even bigger waterspout?”

“We can try.” Cynthia frowned as she moved her column of water sideways toward Jack’s. This was tiring work.

The columns came together. Instead of making a larger column, both collapsed into huge roiling waves. Jack laughed. “Better luck next time. That’s enough for one day. I need to get you back to the abbey.”

Cynthia was about to turn away when something caught her attention in the churning gray seas. She narrowed her eyes to see better. “Dear God, Jack! Is that a boat out there?”

He followed her gaze. His gasp of horror matched hers. “A sailboat! It must have been caught up in the waterspouts and crashed on the rocks outside the cove.”

Cynthia squinted through the gray storm light as she tried to see how much damage the small boat had sustained. It was jammed onto a jutting rock with waves battering the hull. Dark shapes clung to the wreckage as the sea tried to tear them away.