Eternity: Immortal Witches Book 1 (The Immortal Witches) (35 page)

“And you think my father is one of these...these Dark Ones?"

I nodded. “I’m a powerful witch, Duncan. He wants that power for his own, and each time I’ve thwarted him he’s become more determined to have it.” I lowered my head. “But it’s not just the power. He hates me because he blames me for coming between you and him three hundred years ago. And here I am, doing it all over again.”

He shook his head. “It’s so far-fetched.”

“But you’re starting to wonder, aren’t you?”

He looked at me, saying nothing. “I called a lawyer this morning, after we talked. Asked him to find out any details he could about the car accident that killed my birth parents.’’

I nodded, trying not to show him how deeply those words touched me, moved me. He was trying to believe me...or maybe trying to prove me wrong, but at least giving me the benefit of the doubt. “Thank you for that.”

He nodded, drew a breath, lifted his eyes to mine. “Don’t go after my father, Raven. Please, for my sake. Not yet. Give me some time to find out what the hell this is about. Time to understand.”

I lowered my head. Was he giving me the benefit of the doubt after all? Or just trying to distract me, to protect his father?

“Please. I don’t believe he’s this evil being you think he is. Raven, if you knew what he told me tonight, how he wants to make peace with you, you’d–”

The bedroom door flung open, and the old man stood there, dagger clenched in his fist, black satin robe held around his rail-thin, beanpole of a body with a sash. In a half crouch, just as I had been, he lunged into the room.

I flew forward to meet him, quickly putting myself between Nathanial and Duncan. And though we faced each other, blades at the ready light and nimble in our hands, the old man still tried to feign innocence.

“What is she doing here?” he asked. “Did she try to hurt you, Duncan?”

“You know I’d sooner die than hurt him,” I answered before Duncan could.

“If you insist,” he rasped, and he lunged at me, swinging the blade in a deadly arc.

“Stop!”

Duncan’s cry pierced my mind, but I didn’t straighten or take my eyes from his father. I knew better than to glance away, even for an instant, from a cold-blooded snake poised to strike.

“Dad, come on, this is insane. Raven, if you ever cared for me. . .”

Nathanial lunged again, but I dodged his blade with easy grace.

“Father, tell her about the little kettle. Give her the damn kettle. You said you wanted to mend fences with her. Go on, go get the pot and—”

“That cauldron is worth nine hundred dollars,” he muttered.

“But you said–”

“He lied, Duncan,” I whispered. “He’s been lying to you all along.”

“Shut up and fight me, wench,” Nathanial snarled.

“No, Raven,” Duncan said softly. “If you love me, please, Raven, don’t. He’s an old man.”

“He’s an old man, all right. Centuries old, how many, even I don’t know.” I lunged, feinted, dodged. “You killed my mother, you son of a bitch, and now you’ve stolen Duncan from me. You will pay. But not tonight.”

Again, my blade flashed out, easily slicing the sash that held his robe together. I leaped past the man, dodging his returning slash, hooking the robe with my blade and tugging it back. Far enough. “There, Duncan!” I cried, knowing full well that crescent was in full view, if only for a moment. And then I landed in the hall. One hand on the rail, I vaulted over, landing on the floor of the foyer below, and then I spun around even as Nathanial’s footsteps pounded into the hall after me.

There. My mother’s cauldron sat on a shelf. Looking up, I saw Nathanial leaning over the rail, hatred blazing from his eyes. I gathered the cauldron in one arm. “Thanks for the token of friendship, Dearborne!” I cried. “Unfortunately, it was never yours to give.”

And as he raced for the stairs, I left the building by the front door and vanished into the shadows where I knew Arianna would be waiting.

Chapter 19

It was there. The mark Raven had told him about was there, just as she’d said it would be. Dark, blood red, on his father’s left hip.

But that didn’t mean....

God, how long was he going to keep denying it? Everything she’d shown him, everything she’d said–the flashes and dreams that kept haunting him. This feeling that he knew her, that he loved her, there had to be some reason for all of it.

Just not the reason she’d said.

He raced into the hall, down the stairs, catching his father at the door, and gripping the man’s arms from behind. “Stop! I’m not going to let you go after her!”

The ease with which Nathanial broke Duncan’s grip was shocking. He was old. He had no business being so strong. But he didn’t run off in pursuit of Raven. Instead he turned, eyes as cold as ice.

“I suppose you’d rather I wait for her to sneak back in here. To kill me in my sleep. Is that what you want?”

“Of course not!” Duncan pushed both hands through his hair, sighing. “Look, she didn’t hurt you, didn’t even try. Because I asked her not to.” And he knew that much, at least, was true. “She’s not going to come back here tonight.”

Nathanial’s eyes narrowed. “She stole my blasted pot. I should call the police—”

“You were going to give it to her anyway.”

“Mmmph.” It was a growl, not an affirmation. “I changed my mind when I saw her in your room with her blade.”

“Yes.” Duncan moved past his father, closed the door, then turned to face the old man again. “It’s just like yours, her blade.”

Nathanial’s head came up slowly. “It’s similar.”

“And so is the mark on your hip.”

“Seen that much of her, have you?”

Duncan looked away. He wasn’t going to answer that. “She knows you, knew you before you came here. You lied to me when you denied that.”

Nathanial thrust his small blade into the sheath at his hip, turned away, muttering under his breath.

“God, you even wear that thing to bed?”

“I wear it everywhere,” his father replied without facing him.

“It’s time for you to tell me what this is all about. I want to know. And I mean everything.”

His back still to Duncan, his father kept walking. “No, you don’t.” Then he paused. “And even if you do, it’s not your business, Duncan. This is between her and me, and will remain that way.”

“For how long? Until one of you is dead?”

A long sigh emerged from his father’s lips. A raspy one. But he said nothing. And a moment later he kept walking, up the stairs, to his room. He closed the door firmly.

Duncan sank to the floor, holding his head in his hands. He didn’t know what to think, what to do, who to believe. It was obvious there was a fierce enmity between Nathanial and Raven. They had a past, those two. A violent one. Raven was all too willing to tell him all about it. But the things she told him surpassed belief and even the most distant realms of possibility. His father, on the other hand, would tell him nothing. And Raven’s version of things was looking more and more like the truth.

He knew one thing. There would be no killing, no dagger wielding, no bloodletting tonight. Not tonight. He’d make sure of it.

He couldn’t sleep anyway, so he played the part of sentry. And long after dawn, while his father still slept, he called the lawyer he’d contacted the day before. He called the man at home–woke him up, judging by the thickness of Jack Cohen’s voice.

“What did you find out?” Duncan asked without preamble.

It took a moment for Jack to identify him, another for him to figure out what it was Duncan wanted. They were acquaintances, not friends. Jack had done some work for Duncan’s restoration business, helped out with contracts periodically over the last several years, and Duncan had his home number. For emergencies only, Jack had told him when he’d scrawled it on the back of a business card.

Hell, if this wasn’t an emergency, Duncan didn’t know what was.

“I have office hours, you know,” Jack finally said.

“This is too important to wait. What did you find out about the accident that killed my birth parents?”

Jack sighed, hesitated. “It was easier than I expected to check into it. You had their names and everything, so–”

“What did you find out?” Duncan asked again.

Jack cleared his throat. “This isn’t the kind of thing I like to tell someone over the phone,” he said. “But, ah, there was no car accident. Your parents were murdered, Duncan.”

His throat closed off. He closed his eyes, drew a breath. “How?”

“A mugging. Wallet stolen. The cops figured they must have resisted, tried to fight back.”

Opening his eyes, Duncan whispered, “Shot?” Please, please, please say yes.

“No. No, it was...it was a knife.”

A knife. Or maybe an antique dagger with a jeweled handle.

“Did they get the guy?”

Another sigh. “The case is still unsolved. I’m sorry, Duncan, I wish the news had been better.”

“So do I,” Duncan said. “So do I.” He put the phone down and turned to see his father coming down the stairs.

Nathanial paused, frowning. “You’re up early!”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Duncan reached for his coat, hanging on an antique tree near the door.

“You’re leaving? But what about breakfast? We really do need to talk, Duncan.”

“We can talk later.” Duncan pulled the coat on, then eyed the old man. “When you’re ready to tell me the truth. Right now there’s something I have to do.”

Lowering his brows, Nathanial said, “You’re going to see her, aren’t you?”

“Yes. So don’t bother charging out there to confront her, because I’ll be there to prevent it.”

He disliked the harsh, condemning tone of his own voice, and the way his father flinched and paled slightly at every word. Even though things looked bad, he had to remember his father might not be guilty of a damn thing. All of this could be....

His chin fell. Could be what? Coincidence? Some elaborate con? Bullshit. It was none of those things and he knew it.

Still, his tone gentled, almost as if there was still some part of him, some fatherless child inside, who wanted to believe the old man innocent. “I'll be back later on.”

“She’s crazy, you know. She’ll try to turn you against me, Duncan. Don’t let her.”

“Look, all I want to do is fix this, make it all right, get at the truth. And I will.”

His rather shook his head slowly. “I only wish you could. Make it all right, I mean. But you can’t, Duncan. You’re dealing with things you don’t understand. The way things are is the way they’ve always been. It can’t be changed.”

“Anything can be changed.”

His father lowered his head tiredly. “I wish that were true. I’m tired. You’ve no idea how tired.”

Narrowing his eyes, searching his father’s face, Duncan took a step closer. “Tired of what?”

When Nathanial looked up again, his skin seemed pale, and dark circles seemed to have appeared beneath his eyes overnight. “Death. Life. All of it. I’m an old man, Duncan, and I ought to know it. I ought to just let go, but I can’t. I can’t. Maybe she’ll be the one to end it. Maybe it’s time someone did.”

“Father, what the hell are you talking about?”

Nathanial shook his head. “Nothing. I sound as crazy as she does, now, don’t I?” He smiled softy. “Go on, go to her. Do what you have to do, Duncan. We never know how much time we have left. We ought to spend it doing what we want.”

“You’ll be all right?”

“Fine. I promise. Go on, go.”

Sighing, suddenly uncertain his father should be left alone just now–but even more certain than before that he had to see Raven, he finally nodded, and left. He walked the two miles to Raven’s house. A pleasant walk, or it would have been if there hadn’t been so many unanswered questions swamping his brain. He walked along the Coast Road with the sea crashing to the shore below, giving him slight goose bumps and making him walk as far to the left of the road as possible. Raven’s story about him having been tossed from these very cliffs kept creeping into his mind, but he pushed it away. Still, it was sunny. The air held a brisk chill that invigorated, but no real wind. And the sound of the waves was pleasing, even if looking down on them did make him dizzy.

He paused once, near those very cliffs she’d pointed out to him–the place where she claimed he had died. Swallowing a lump of foreboding, he stepped closer to the edge, stared down at the froth and rocks below, expecting the slight dizziness that still hit him from time to time when he looked down from on high.

It didn’t come. Instead, there was a flash. Darkness, moonlight. Dancing red-orange torches and men all around him. Holding him. Holding . . . her.

“Disavow her, Duncan. Save yourself.”

“Never!”

“Do as he asks, Duncan. Please, trust me! Do as he asks.”

Tears glittering on her cheeks in the moonlight.

A soft rending of his heart as he looked into those dark eyes. “Not on pain of death, lass. Nay, not if it meant my own soul would I speak against you.”

They carried her to the edge. Duncan broke free of those who held him, ran forward, reached for her.

“They cannot take my life!” she cried. “Save yourself, Duncan, I beg you!”

They pitched her over the side, and he lunged for her, and then fell with her into the abyss.

Duncan pressed a hand to his head and staggered backward, away from the edge. God, what was that? A memory? A hallucination? Real or imaginary?

The image, the dream, was gone. But the feelings, the emotions remained, pressing out from somewhere inside his chest, expanding, making it hard to breathe.

“God, what is happening to me?”

* * *

When Duncan arrived at Raven’s driveway, he heard voices, and the rhythmic chink of metal clashing against metal. Was his father here before him, then? Were Nathanial and Raven fighting to the death, even now? A beat of panic pulsed in his throat, and he rushed forward, following the noise around to the rear of the house, and stopped in his tracks when he saw Raven and her blond friend wielding their deadly little daggers as if they meant to kill each other.

He lunged forward, then stopped. They were...laughing. Swinging those double-edged blades and ducking, rolling and springing to their feet again, and laughing.