Page 62 of The Water Witch (Fairwick Chronicles 2)

“That sometimes happens when wards are breaking down,” he said. “Some wards are so ingeniously placed that they contain a fail-safe device. When you try to disarm them, they dig themselves deeper into their host. Taking them out can be like removing a barbed fishhook.”

I winced at the image. “All the more reason to get them outquickly,” I said. “I think I’ve found something that will work more quickly than another transformation.”

I got up to get the books I’d left lying on the coffee table. I could easily have reached them without rising, but I needed to put a little distance between us. I sat back down with the open Wheelock on my lap a good foot away from him, but he moved closer to see the page I’d bookmarked.

“Ah, the skeleton key spell,” he said, reaching across me to turn the page. “I had thought of that one, but it’s not very precise and it needs a vehicle to deliver it.”

“I thought I’d ask the rain,” I said.

“Ask the rain?”

“Yes, I read here…” I handed him another book that was already open to the place I wanted. “…that a witch should never try to command the elements, but there’s an incantation for asking an element to carry a spell. I thought I’d ask the rain to become a skeleton key to unlock my wards. And then I’ll ask the wind to blow them away.” I didn’t add that I planned to use the skeleton key I invoked to unlock his disguise wards.

He leaned closer and narrowed his eyes at me, their blue burning like gas flames. I could smell under the peaty aroma of the scotch his own scent, a mixture of pine and musk that reminded me of how he’d looked as a stag. But his eyes reminded me of the owl’s. “Will you ask the earth to move next, Cailleach McFay? You’re getting almost too powerful for me to keep up with.”

“I doubt that,” I replied. “Do you think it will work?”

“I think you don’t really need me to tell you that it will work,” he said. A burst of light from the fireplace as a log tumbled flashed in his eyes, reflecting glassily as if they were brimming with tears. He looked away and took a long gulp of scotch.

I reached for his hand, steeling myself for the lash of my wards. Theydidfeel a bit like fishhooks. “I’d like you to stand by me when I do it.”

He looked down at our interlocked hands, the coils beneath our skin lashing at each other like warring snakes. “Of course,” he said, draining his glass, “but if you don’t mind I’d like to stay out of the rain. I think I’m coming down with a cold.”

“Sure,” I said. “I thought we’d do it on the back porch. The wind is blowing from the west—away from the back of the house. We’ll stay dry.”

I got to my feet, keeping his hand in mine, pulling at it to make him get up. As he got to his feet he pulled me to him and brought his head down to kiss me. His mouth tasted of peat and smoke and wild heather. He tasted like Liam, but there was a bitter taste as well. Like ashes…

Or maybe that was the taste of our wards burning away.

“Come on,” I said, pulling away from him. “We’d better get outside before we set something on fire.”

He followed me through the kitchen out onto the back porch. The wind was blowing away from the house so the porch was dry, but Duncan still held back as I moved to the railing. I concentrated on clearing my mind of everything but the invocation I’d memorized, first calling upon the Basque rain goddess I’d read about in Wheelock.

Mari, goddess of the rain, I call on you,

you who reward the just and punish the false,

you who wield the rain and the wind,

daughter of earth, wife of thunder.

Thunder rumbled in the west and the wind lifted up the ends of my hair.

Let the lock that was locked unlock.

Let the door that was closed open.

Let the bird that was snared fly.

As Wheelock had instructed, I pictured each image as I spoke it: a key turning in a lock, a door opening, a bird flying free. At first I felt nothing, but then a gust of wind blew the rain into my face. It felt deliciously cool on my skin. As it dripped down my neck, I felt as if it was seeping deep into my body.

As the rain seeps into the parched earth come into me,

as the stream finds its way to the sea,find your way into me,

as the drip cracks stone over time,crack the bonds that bind me.

Something moved deep inside, like rusty chains unraveling, unoiled hinges creaking, rock cracking. The rain, carrying my spell with it, was seeping down into the core of my being…into a hollowed-out cave beneath the sea. Undulating light rippled over painted limestone walls. It was the grotto I’d seen in my vision during the circle. Then, quick as the flash of light, I was in the woods, the windswept heath, the labyrinth at Chartres, and then barefoot in the grass surrounded by fireflies. The robed woman towered above me and pulled down the moon. I gasped and the woman spun around, moonlight flashing on the silver blade in her hand. I started to turn and run—as I had before—but then I didn’t.

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