Page 63 of Wicching Hour

“Perceptive,” they said, glancing at my father.

Damn.I forgot. My mind was supposed to be blank.

Dad shook his head, and one side of the elf’s lips turned up.

“You’ll need to work on that, but your father will help you,” they said. “Now, what is this I hear about you asking for our help in locating a sorcerer?”

“Yes,” I responded. “If it’s not too much trouble, that is. My cousin has become a sorcerer. She and her demon are causing immense harm. I can’t find her. I was hoping maybe the fae could sense something I couldn’t, so I asked for help.”

They lifted a hand and cupped my cheek. “I’m considering your request. Perhaps if you first do something for me, I might reciprocate.” Their eyes closed and I waited, unsure of what they expected of me.

When they opened again, they were a swirling kaleidoscope of colors and they had become much smaller, my height but slim and delicate. She had silvery hair, high cheekbones, and a bow mouth. She was stunningly beautiful and quite clearly the queen.

As she still had a hand on my cheek, I did my best to drop into a curtsy. Dad bowed low beside me.

“She’s quite powerful,” the queen said. “Your Goddess has blessed you as well.” She pulled her hand back and crossed her arms. “We both appear to have plans for you, child.”

She turned to Dad. “You allowed them to keep her too long. You have much to do to teach her to harness and use her magic.”

“Yes, my queen. It is my honor to do so,” he said.

Her gaze traveled over me, stopping at my gloves. A moment later, they were gone. “Your father can also teach you how to protect your gift, so you don’t need those anymore.”

My heart leapt and they both swayed, no doubt feeling it. “Truly? I can control it?”

The queen’s eyebrows raised in challenge. “That remains to be seen, doesn’t it? Will you dedicate yourself to your lessons?”

I thought about that huge order for the Winslows hanging over me and the gallery itself. I’d just have to make it all work. “I will.”

TWENTY-NINE

Marital Spats Make the Rest of Us Terribly Uncomfortable

She looked at my father. “Have you touched her skin?”

He shook his head. “Not without blocking, as I assume you just did.”

She nodded. “I think it’s time we see if her gifts work on the fae.” She held out her hands to me. “This experiment is payment for the information you requested.”

I took her hands in mine.

A dark, torchlit passage, deep underground, far from the sun. Footsteps. At the end of the passage is a solid wooden door. There is no knob, no hinge. I walk through the door and am in pitch black. A ball of light appears in my hand and is tossed up in the air, illuminating the small cell. A beautiful man lies on a cot, the back of his hand casually thrown over his eyes, as though the light is disturbing his sleep.

He looks around the side of his hand. “Oh. It’s you. Come to check on me, have you?”

“Why do you do this?” It’s the queen’s voice.

He blows out a breath and sits up, leaning back against the cell’s stone wall. “Must we rehash this all again? It serves no purpose other than to annoy us both.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “Did you always hate me?”

He stretches out his legs and crosses them at the ankles, tipping his handsome head to watch her under a swoop of glossy reddish-brown hair. “Questioning all of it, are you?” He makes a mocking sad face. “Poor you.” Gesturing around, he adds, “Perhaps we should change places, and you can use your time in this cell to contemplate our marriage. It’s rather peaceful down here. Quiet.”

“Did you?” she asks again.

He brushes his hair off his face. “Did I? Always hate you? Hmm, that’s a tough one.” He taps a finger to his lips, every gesture, every word seemingly intended to mock and belittle. “One could argue that you never respected me.”

The queen crosses her arms, seething. “Your fragile ego being soothed is more important than Faerie, than my ability to rule? Would you have me abandon my responsibility, my people, to placate your need to preen and playact power you don’t possess?” She shakes her head, not wanting to go down that well-worn road again. “Did you ever love me, or has it always been an act?”

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