“Can you take me to see Mathilda now?”
Odran narrowed his eyes as he analyzed me. “Why have ye noot asked Rand?”
Guilty heat shot to my cheeks. Hmm, Odran knew Rand could contact Mathilda whenever he needed to. “I don’t want Rand to find out.”
“Why noot?”
I debated whether or not to be honest, since I was such a terrible liar. “Rand won’t give me what I want so I’d rather leave him out of it.”
He smiled. “Ye should ha told me this sooner, lass, an’ I would ‘ah agreed sooner.”
I cast him my prettiest smile, eager to visit Mathilda and get my plan underway before Odran changed his mind or Rand realized what I was up to. Odran approached the door with me on his heels. The bright sunshine forced him to shield his eyes.
“Go on, you big baby,” I said, pushing him forward.
He chuckled and grabbed my hand, trying to pull me out in front of him. As soon as he touched me, I was seized by a vision.
It was of Odran in what appeared to be a field, surrounded by his compatriots as they fought using magic, weapons, and ugly words. It was a vision of the war. I couldn’t make out who Odran was fighting. I could only see Odran in the midst of hurling a fairy concoction at his opponent. As quickly as it came, the vision vanished.
“Lass,” Odran started, no doubt wondering why I’d suddenly gone quiet.
My heart was racing so fast that I had to stop walking and give it a chance to wind down. “I just had a vision,” I said breathlessly.
“Ah vision? Ye ‘ave them?”
“Sometimes. I’m psychic,” I said, hoping that was answer enough.
“What was this vision?”
“It was the war and you were fighting.”
Odran humphed, as if he wasn’t impressed. I reacted with a glare. “I have no control over what I see and some visions are more meaningful than others.” He didn’t answer so I motioned to the road ahead that disappeared into the forest bordering Pelham Manor. “How far is it?”
“It isna ah matter o’ distance, lass,” he started. “Ah fae village can be accessed anywhere, through magic.”
He stopped walking in front of a large pine tree and put the flat of his hand against the tree, closing his eyes as his lips twitched. He appeared to be reciting a chant or incantation of some sort.
When he opened his eyes, the miles of endless trees were replaced with a bustling village, peppered with fae children running through unpaved streets, tending to their livestock. The same enormous and brilliantly colored flowers I’d seen in the fairy village in Glenmore Forest, Scotland, impressed me all over again.
White-washed houses lined each side of the street, complete with thatched roofs. Each plot was separated by a white picket fence and it even seemed as if the sun shone a little brighter here. But maybe that was just my imagination.
“Wow,” I said with a smile, always impressed with anything involving the fae.
Odran smiled proudly. He took my hand but quickly dropped it, probably remembering what had happened last time he touched me.
As Odran led me into the village, the scent of fresh dew peppering heady lilies and roses met my nose and closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply. We passed a young boy playing in the middle of the dirt street with a smaller boy. The smaller boy glanced up quickly only to return his attention to the hole they’d been digging. But the other boy’s mouth dropped open as he recognized Odran. He bowed low, elbowing his comrade with a terse “it’s the king.” His playmate quickly attempted an unpracticed bow and nearly lost his footing.
Odran’s hearty chuckle made them both smile as they continued to stare, as if in disbelief.
“You don’t come here much, do you?” I asked.
Odran shook his head. “Nay, I doona care to. Ma home is in Scootland.”
As we walked further down the lane, everyone reacted the same as the boys had, repeating in awed voices “the king.” Odran nodded, smiling graciously and I felt a little important as their eyes settled on me, his human sidekick. Even though Odran made me crazy at times, he was still the king. And nothing exemplified that as much as watching his people’s reactions.
We arrived in front of the last cottage on the lane, separated from the others with a much larger yard, trimmed with a rainbow of flowers. Odran knocked on the heavy wooden door. In a few seconds, the door opened and Mathilda stood there in all her silver-haired beauty.
At our first meeting, Mathilda informed me that everyone saw her as they wanted to—her fairy magic allowed her to be whatever one chose her to be. To me she appeared as an older woman who was undeniably beautiful in her age-old wisdom. My view of her was entirely different from Rand’s. To him, she was more along the lines of an old, weathered tree stump.
Upon recognizing the king, she started to bow but Odran stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “Nay, doona bow, Mathilda, boot I thank ye all the same.”
She smiled and when she saw me, her smile widened. “My child!”
I hurried past Odran to hug her even though I wasn’t sure if it was fairy custom. She hugged me back so it must have been okay. I did notice, though, that Odran raised an eyebrow to show his disapproval, but I didn’t care. I was too happy to see my friend.
“Come in, come in,” Mathilda welcomed us, holding the door wide.
We entered her small cottage and Odran had to slump in order to avoid smashing his head into the hay-stuffed ceiling. The cottage boasted a living room type area with a humble kitchen and a short hallway to a tiny bedroom. The floors appeared to be an untreated pine, dull with wear.
“To what do I owe this great honor?” Mathilda inquired in an English accent that tinkled through the room like wind playing chimes.
Even though Odran was Scottish, not all fairies were of the same heritage, and Mathilda was English. I’d learned there were numerous fairy villages scattered throughout England, Scotland, and Ireland, but their headquarters, for lack of a better word, was in Scotland.
“The lass has business with ye, Mathilda,” Odran said simply.
Mathilda faced me inquisitively.
“I need your help,” I offered as a gentle breeze sang through the window, ruffled Mathilda’s curtains, and brought the smell of heavily blooming lilies to my nose.
Mathilda smiled brightly at me. “How do you require my assistance, child?”
I regarded Odran with a frown. “Could we have some privacy?”
“Jolie!” Mathilda said in a scolding voice as she glanced up at Odran. “She does not intend to offend …”
Odran waved away her concern. “Aye, tis joost how the lass is.”
Slightly embarrassed by my faux pas, I took Odran’s hand and led him outside, pausing underneath an arbor of red roses. Seemingly still unnerved by my vision, he yanked his hand from mine and rubbed it with his other hand, as if I’d pinched him or something.
Hallelujah and praise God, I’d finally found a way to ensure Odran kept his hands to himself! This was turning out to be a good day.
“I apologize if I was rude, Odran, but my reasons for visiting Mathilda are private. And I’m running out of time—Rand can’t realize I’m gone.”
Now that I thought about it, Rand definitely wouldn’t believe I’d just gone running. He knew how much I abhorred exercise. That meant I’d need to finish up my business with Mathilda and get back before Rand suspected anything.
“I oonderstand,” Odran said and paused momentarily before turning away and starting back down the lane.
“Odran,” I called after him and said as an afterthought, “thank you.”
He just smiled as I faced Mathilda’s house. Mathilda waited by the door, her face drawn with concern and disapproval. The face of a disappointed mother.
“You should not treat the king with such ill manners.”
“Odran and I have always had a different relationship,” I started.
“He is a great king, descended from a line of great kings centuries old,” she fi
nished, wrapping her aged white shawl closer around her spindly shoulders.
“I’ll tell him I’m sorry later,” I offered and meant it. Maybe I took Odran for granted but it was only because he regarded me as nothing more than a bun for his hot dog.
She stepped out of her house and neared me, moving past a cropping of coneflowers. “Why have you come, child?”
I paused as I wondered how she’d react to my request for her help. “I’m sure you’re aware of our impending war?”
She nodded. “Of course. All our menfolk have gone off to join Rand.”
That would explain the lack of men in the streets. The fairy village had seemed pretty desolate, now that I thought about it. The idea weighed on me and I hoped all those fathers, husbands, and brothers would return to their families. And if they couldn’t, I promised myself I’d do my damnedest to bring them back.
But that wasn’t why I was here. What I needed to focus on now was persuading Mathilda to help me go to battle. My reasons were pretty simple—I had to kill Ryder. That and I wanted to protect Rand and Sinjin ...
“Rand has forbidden me to go.”
“To protect you.” She said it matter-of-factly, like I shouldn’t be concerned with men going off to war and instead, should focus on my knitting.
“Yes, I know, but I also know my witchcraft can help him. It’s not fair that I should be prevented from going just because Rand wants to protect me.” I paused. “I’m the whole reason behind this war anyway.”
She paused near a yellow rose bush and began tending to the dead and dying blooms, massaging the new blooms encouragingly. “You are hoping I can persuade him?” she asked.
I shook my head. “You won’t be able to persuade him. He’s the most stubborn man, er, witch, I’ve ever met.”
She smiled knowingly. “Perhaps that is one of the reasons you love him?”
Surprise shot through me. Did her fairy magic allow her to be so perceptive or was I was just so obvious? Well, either way, there was no use in lying to a fairy, especially one as old and wise as Mathilda.
“Yes,” I answered reluctantly. “Anyway, Rand won’t change his mind, so I’m here to ask you to help me change my appearance.”
Adopting the appearance of someone else was the only solution I could think of. If Rand saw the real me in battle, he’d undoubtedly hide me somewhere or worse still, jeopardize his concentration on the battle which could risk his safety. And as an added benefit, if incognito, I could take Ryder by surprise.
Yes, I could alter my appearance by way of magic, changing such things as my hair or eye color. Once I’d given myself a mole like Marilyn Monroe’s and I’d removed the freckles from across the bridge of my nose and cheeks. But those were just short term spells—I could never maintain them and I’d never been able to change my appearance well enough nor long enough to pass as someone else.
“You intend to deceive Rand by pretending to be a stranger so you can fight alongside him?” Mathilda asked.
That was the long and the short of it. “Yes.”
She nodded, a smile curling the ends of her lips. “I see.”
“I must fight, Mathilda. I can help. I know I can. Rand says I’m a young witch and my powers aren’t what they will be someday, but …”
“You are but a fledgling, child,” she interrupted. “And I do understand Rand’s reservations. He only desires what is best for you, but of course, much of his reasoning is selfish.”
“Selfish?”
“Yes. He could use your assistance but he cares more about protecting you.”
I glommed onto the fact that Rand could use my assistance. Now that I’d heard it verified from someone I respected, it only hardened my decision to go to battle. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate all he’s done for me but I want to protect him in the same way he wants to protect me.”
She nodded, her stare penetrating. I tried not to wither under her stringent gaze and found it difficult. The fae were definitely not an easygoing crowd.
“So will you help me?”
She took both my hands in hers, closing her eyes as she did so. It seemed as if the entire garden hung on her response, the birds stopped singing, the droning hum of the insects now silent.
“Ah, yes, of course …” she whispered, responding to something only she could see.
She opened her eyes and dropped my hands. “Yes, you will fight in the war. It is as dictated by providence.”
I frowned. “You mean I’m supposed to go?”
She nodded. “I have seen it and it is so.”
At her words, I was reminded of the search for this so called prophetess. Could the prophetess be standing before me? “Mathilda,” I started. “Are you the prophetess?”
She laughed. “Goodness no. The prophetess can see the future and change it.”
“But you can see the future?”
“I see how the future will unravel in the way it is supposed to. Whether or not what is meant to happen happens, is another story altogether.”
“Oh,” I said. “Is there a prophet then?”
She nodded. “I believe there is though I have never had any proof, but sometimes one’s belief is proof enough.”
I smiled. “So you will help me?”
“Yes, you are meant to join the battle, Jolie. I do not know why nor if you will meet your end but I do know you are meant to go.”
I swallowed hard. I could meet my end. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t been aware of this fact already, but hearing it out loud and hearing it from Mathilda seemed to cement the fact even more. But I’d made up my mind. I couldn’t think about the what ifs now. I had a plan to see to fruition.
“Will you teach me how to transform myself?”
“If that is what is required. Perhaps I should speak with Rand and tell him I have seen the will of Nature and she dictates …”
“He won’t let me go,” I interrupted. “I don’t mean to be rude but I know he won’t let me go, no matter what you saw.”
She smiled as she weighed the options. “Perhaps you are correct, little one. He is a most stubborn witch.”
I laughed. “Yes, he is.”
She started for the cottage door. “Then we must begin soon. It will take a great amount of magic to alter your face and it will last no longer than a fortnight.”
A fortnight was two weeks. Well, I could only hope the war wouldn’t last that long.
“You will come to me every day, Jolie. I will build up my magic reserves each night and feed them to you by day or the magic will not be strong enough to sustain.”
“Okay, but I don’t want to transform until the night of the battle.” It wouldn’t do me any good to be walking around Rand’s house as a complete stranger, lest I be mistaken for a burglar or Robert Downey Jr.
“Of course. The magic will not take shape until we instruct it to. But we will have to build it up, all the same.”
“Great.” It was going to be tough finding ways to steal away every day, but I could make it work. I’d have to make it work.
“You will need plenty of nourishment and rest, child. I cannot do the spell on my own; it will require your help.”
“Okay,” I nodded.
“First, you must find an image of the person you wish to become. Bring me that image tomorrow eve and we shall begin.”
I planned to rummage through Christa’s magazines which currently consisted of about five million stashed all over her room. “Okay, that’s easy.”
“You will deceive all Underworld creatures with your guise except for the undead.”
“Vampires?”
She nodded. “They recognize you by the scent of your blood and that is impossible to alter.”
Dammit, that meant taking Ryder by surprise would be out. Hmm, I’d have to be that much stronger in my offense. I could only hope I was up for the challenge.
“Okay, when do we start?” I asked with a smile.
NINE
We had finished drawing up our do
ctrine and it was now in the mail, en route to the Wicked Witch of the West. To say our doctrine was the nicer, more forgiving of the two would be an understatement. Rand, a warlock full of morality and ethics, had composed a pact even the Founding Fathers would have been proud of.
Rand’s demands precluded the existence of a monarchy, since all creatures were endowed with the freedom of choice. Similar to Bella’s demands, the covens would remain in existence, but they would be free to govern themselves. Additionally, coven members would be able to pick the coven to which they belonged and coven magistrates would be elected. Rand delineated a panel of thirteen elders, each elected by a coven as their representative. These leaders would meet monthly to discuss problems and find solutions. Rand’s demands were based on equality and liberty so he also specified that coven meetings would be held in rotating locations so each coven had a chance to host them.
All employment opportunities would be approved by the coven head and voted on by the entire coven. The document was well-planned and comprehensive and I had nothing to do with it. And I had no issues with having nothing to do with it.
It was now a mere two weeks until we would meet Bella’s army at Culloden, and the stone of dread in my stomach seemed to be expanding. Every night I woke with heartburn and worried the stress was burning a huge hole in my stomach lining. Good thing I could heal myself.
One night I woke with my heart racing and it had nothing to do with heartburn or worry about the war. Nope, it had everything to do with an X rated dream about … Sinjin. Mortified, I forced myself to get up and tried to eradicate the explicit images from my mind. I was shocked my subconscious had concocted such erotic images about someone whom I still wasn’t sure how I felt. Despite my sense of growing affection for Sinjin since he’d now saved me twice (once at Bella’s from Ryder, and twice, from becoming canine), those feelings were nothing compared to what I felt for Rand … or the feelings I was in the process of attempting to bottle up for Rand.
Speaking of Sinjin, I’d drunk his blood each time before practice and luckily, I’d grown somewhat used to it—now I didn’t hallucinate, but it always gave me a slight headache that faded after about twenty minutes.