Wicked Deeds on a Winter's Night (41 page)

S
omehow Mari had managed to enthrall . . .
herself
.

For days, she'd remained in her dimension, standing motionless in front of her antique full-length mirror. Though she was conscious and rapidly healing, she was unable to move, to look away. She couldn't even part her lips. If anything was placed between her gaze and the mirror, her eyes—fully black from Häxa's power—burned it away.

Mari had already been walking a razor's edge with her new captromancer abilities before she'd been saddled with Häxa's power. Though not inherently evil, the power was greedy, ravening for the knowledge the mirror helplessly ceded. Mari couldn't free herself. . . .

Once her parents had awakened and made their way back home from Häxa's plane, Mari couldn't even hug them back, couldn't even cry with her frustration, though her dimension had become drenched in rain. They'd looked so worried for her, yet so proud of what she'd accomplished.

With the help of the coven, the two planned to bind Häxa's power within her, letting Mari get accustomed to it gradually over decades. But they couldn't bind the power when it was in active use—like when it was freezing unwitting
witches in front of a mirror. And Mari's eyes constantly glowed like two LED lights.

At least her coven was stepping up to the plate, witches motivating like crazy. Apparently, the wake-up call had been when Häxa, one of the world's most ancient and evil powers, had risen, only to show up—directly in the parish next to their Andoain Animal House. No longer did they feel insulated and protected by the law of
laissez les bons temps rouler
.

The world wouldn't know what hit it when that crew got it together.

As her parents did every day, Carrow and Elianna visited with her at the “Cottanorouse.” Knowing Mari could hear them, they chatted, and brought her tea as if she would drink it. They also urged her to unenthrall herself, as if Mari might not be totally convinced that she wished to do so. She wanted to point at the new power and say, “Take it up with stupid.”

Because Mari was on a plane of the Wiccae, and she couldn't speak to invite Bowen, he couldn't come to her. Her friends and family had deduced that it snowed whenever she missed him; the plane had become a constant whiteout.

Today at Mari's place, Carrow played solitaire, bundled in blankets. Elianna looked to be sorting dried frogs' legs by size, and then by toe webbing. Mari's parents were out consulting seers for the answer of how to rescue Mari. Today they would meet with one of the most powerful oracles in the world—Nucking Futs Nïx.

“Damn, Mari, it's cold!” Carrow chafed her arms. “I dig the whole Narnian vibe you've got going on, I do. And I've been dutifully keeping an eye out for talking beavers wearing
armor—but come on, this is getting ridiculous! If you miss the Scot so much, then just break free.”

Elianna said, “Do you know he's bought the property just next door to Andoain so he can scent you the minute you come home. And, well, because his house got blown up.”

“Look, Mari, you have to come out of this and do something,” Carrow said. “Put him out of his misery—
or
—allow me to make him fall in love with dryer lint. You decide.” She shrugged. “I know you'd worried about Bowen not wanting to come near the coven—but we can't get him
to leave
. Apparently, some of the witches admitted to him that you're on a different plane—he can be really dogged with the questions—and now he's determined to reach you here. Interestingly, he believes the information about the plane's existence—but not about the fact that he can't travel to it.”

“He returns to Andoain daily, sometimes hourly, researching witchery,” Elianna said.

Carrow glared. “Well, maybe if you and the others would stop sneakily setting out food for him, he wouldn't keep coming back!”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Elianna said in a mulish tone, “He wouldn't eat otherwise.”

“Whatever. But seriously, Mari, he's having such a hard time with all this that even
Regin
feels sorry for what he's been through.”

Elianna added, “He's watched your graduation video so many times, I'm sure he's memorized your school's alma mater.”

“I don't know what he does with the videos of your college cheerleading he brings back to his place”—Carrow waggled her eyebrows—“but I have suspicions.”

Elianna coughed delicately.

“Now that you've done what you were Awaited to do—well, part one at least—everyone's grasping about for a new name for you,” Carrow said. “If you don't kick this enthrallment, then I'm going to campaign for Mariketa the Glass Witch, or ‘Glitch.' Come kick my ass if you don't like it, otherwise . . .”

Elianna squinted at Mari and sighed. “I think she wants to be called Mariketa MacRieve.”

Mari did. She wanted to go to Bowen and tell him she loved him, she wanted to visit with her family and friends, she wanted to . . . blink. But the knowledge flowed through her veins; the power demanded.

It seemed that she would be forced to stay here until she knew . . . everything.

Which meant she'd never leave.

Because
everything
is the very thing I cannot know
.

*  *  *

When Bowe tracked down Nïx at last, she was perched like a gargoyle on the roof of a building on Bourbon Street. He climbed up to her, feeling only a lingering ache in his healing leg. “Nïx, you have to help me.”

“What's put you all in a dither, werewolf?”

“You were right about everything, about the Hie, about me finding my mate. All your predictions came true—though you might have bloody told me exactly
who
had put a hex on me.”

She finally faced him. “I said you'd been
ensorcelled,
not enchanted, and everyone knew Mariketa wasn't yet a sorceress.” She rolled her eyes. “Really, pet—
duh?
”

Keep a rein on it
.

She added, “Though I am truly sorry that you had eighteen decades of unadulterated misery.”

Bowe compared the princess's actions to those of the witch who'd hurt his father. The only difference was degrees of pain. But he had little time to think of what she'd done to him—to all of them. “I need to find Mariketa.” Gods, did he need to find her. The longing for his witch was a thousandfold more powerful than what the strongest sorceress on earth could engender in him.

“Have we lost her again? Bowen, you must keep up with your captromancer better than this!”

“Nïx!”

“Oh, I know already, of course. She's gone off to a witch's plane, in a different dimension. Before you ask, I'll tell you that they're held sacred, and I can't give you directions to it. There are some laws even the proto-Valkyrie won't break.”

“After all this, you will no' tell me how to reach that place?”

She tilted her head at him. “
You,
Bowen MacRieve, want to go to a world where only witches and their kindred live? Where magick is in everything from a raindrop to a bird's feather?”

“Nïx, I want to do whatever it bloody takes—”

“I wish I could help you. I do.” She quirked a brow. “Especially since you're keeping yourself up a bit better.” She clawed the air in his direction, and he scowled. “And actually, there is a simple way for you to reach her. The means is so obvious it hurts me—
hurts me,
I tell you.”

“Damn it, what is it, Valkyrie?”

“You have as much right as anyone to be on a witch's plane.”

“But I'm no' connected by blood to the Wiccae. And I'm no' Mari's husband—yet.”

“Figure out why you've the right to be there, and I'll help you with the logistics.”

Her gaze locked on something below them. Her small form tensed like a predator's. She appeared to be stalking
Regin
. Or at least someone stalking Regin. “Must go.” She finally met his eyes. “Do not come to me again without an answer. . . .” Then, like a blur, she leapt to the ground, disappearing into the crowd.

T
he next night, Bowe had been asleep for only an hour—after dropping exhausted onto his mattress on the floor at his new place—when he sat up in bed, his heart thundering. The answer was on his tongue.

Once he'd hated to the gods what he was. Now he realized it was the answer to reaching her.

Bowe dragged on jeans . . . couldn't find his shoes so he went without . . . was still throwing on a shirt as he charged out into the night to find Nïx.

Luckily she was at Val Hall—and lucid, he saw, when she met him outside the Valkyrie's home.

“Nïx, I figured out how I can join her,” he told her at once. “You said witches and their kindred can reach that other place. From what I've been reading, that means
familiars
as well.”

“Um, Bowen,” she began slowly, “familiars are . . .
animals
.”

He raised his eyebrows in an “
and your point is
” expression. “I read that familiars can be protectors—
I
am Mari's protector. One witch had a tiger—another even had a bear. Why no' a Lykae?”

Nïx beamed proudly. “I'm impressed!”

“So how the hell do I get to her?”

“Go to her room at Andoain.”

“I was just there this . . .” He trailed off, having learned not to question these things endlessly—or, in some instances, at all. “Verra well.”

At Andoain, he bounded up the stairs to Mari's bedroom three at time, ignoring the growing pain in his leg. From the corner of his eye, he spied witches blinking at him from behind their doors. He dimly noted that candles were lit throughout—they seemed to be expecting him.

He swung open Mari's door. And was suddenly in another house, with buckets of snow falling outside. He glanced around, battling his sense of disquiet. Was any of this real? Was he dreaming?

Easing farther inside, he found a woman within who resembled Mariketa. Beside her stood a man who crossed thick arms over his chest, raising his brows at Bowe.

At that moment, Bowe realized that he was meeting Mari's parents—and that, in addition to his bare feet and unshaven, rough appearance, his shirt was on backward. And inside out.

“
This
is the male she's been seeing?” the man muttered. “He can't even dress himself.”

Bowe just stifled the urge to point out that though he might not be able to dress himself, he sure as hell could perceive when a bairn was on his shoulders. Instead he bit his tongue. This warlock, though arrogant, was Bowe's future father-in-law.

“A werewolf, Jill? Really.”

“
Hush.”
The woman slapped the back of her hand against his stomach, then said, “I'm Jillian. And this is my husband, Warren. We are Mari's parents. And we know you're Bowen MacRieve of the Lykae clan.”

He gave her a nod.

To Bowe, Warren demanded, “Aren't you a bit old for my daughter?”

When Bowe scowled, Jillian blithely continued, “We've been waiting for you. Mari's been waiting. She needs your help.”

“Where is she?”

“Follow me.” Jillian showed him to a room that looked like a cross between the bedroom in Belize and Mari's at Andoain.

His breath left him. Mari stood in front of a full-length mirror, utterly still, dark eyes unblinking. His voice broke low when he asked, “What's happened tae her?”

Jillian answered, “Once she received Häxa's powers, she basically enchanted herself. And no one's strong enough to combat her magick.”

“None can fix what they can hardly touch,” Warren said.

Jillian added, “But we think
you
might be able to talk her from this. Nix told us this morning that you intend to be her protector—”

“He's a beast familiar,” Warren scoffed.

“Which makes him a werewolf protector. And that's why he's been allowed here.”

“Can she hear me?” Bowe asked, disregarding the fact that he hadn't spoken to Nix until minutes ago.

“Mari's aware of everything we're saying,” she answered.

“How do I free her?”

“You persuade her to somehow find the power to pull away. Talk to her, make her fight,” Jillian said. “Reflections are Mari's strengths, but they're also her weaknesses. She can be hurt by them if she draws too much
on them—once you succeed in freeing her, then you have to make sure she doesn't lose herself in the mirror like this ever again.”

No wonder he'd had such a strong reaction to her chanting to the glass.

Warren added, “Tonight,
if
you succeed, we're going to bind Häxa's power within her. For a few decades, Mari will need to use the mirror for knowledge sparingly—only in the
direst emergencies
. She can travel through mirrors and use them to focus spells, but the knowledge is what Häxa's power will always crave—and bindings are not infallible.”