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“I know the ritual.” Centuries ago, the last time I employed magickind’s help in ending my curse, I witnessed a mating. “Wizards require an instinct to Call?”
“We don’t need one. Whether you mean the vows or not, they’re binding. But wizards instinctively know their mates—” He shakes his head. “We’re getting off track. This is about Olivia. There’s nothing between us.”
I let out a sigh of relief I regret the instant my breath leaves my lips. The woman, other than to free me from this curse, matters not. “Have you never shaken hands with her? When you met, perhaps? Could you discern nothing more of her?”
“Our incidental contact reaffirmed everything she’s told me. She’s twenty-three, from the States, is looking for her absent father, and…” Bram cocks his head. “After the way you behaved with her, I’m not certain I trust you with the rest.”
I grip his shirt again. “Tell me.”
Bram raises a brow. “That tone may have worked in the Dark Ages, but—”
“When I lose patience, I get violent.”
He sighs. “Olivia is convinced she’s unattractive.”
Now I have no doubt the woman’s persona is a ruse. Morgana could make most any man crave her. “Olivia” should feel the same since her beauty is incomparable, far exceeding even Morgana’s.
“I know that look. You don’t believe me.” Bram sounds annoyed as he shoves my fists away and tries brushing the wrinkles from his shirt.
“I do not believe her.”
“You think she’s fooling me? I admit I would know far more about her if I had…ahem, probed her, but I usually reserve prying into a woman’s mind for reading her fantasies and learning precisely how to unravel her body. Helpful trick, that.” Bram flashes his signature grin. “I spent a great deal of time developing the skill.”
I care naught about his magical bedroom games. “Stay out of Morgana’s head or you will answer to me.”
“Marrok, I don’t think she is Morgana. Why would her signature be so weak? My grandfather’s writings say everyone could see her coming from miles away—literally. All molten purple and iridescent.”
“Regardless, by your own admission, the last time you saw any Le Fay alive and walking was hundreds of years ago.”
Bram nodded, conceding the point. “But her son took human lovers by the hundreds who bore children. It’s possible—”
“But equally probable that she disguises herself. There have long been rumors that Morgana could shape-shift. Perhaps she made herself into a young witch and muted her signature.”
“Normally, I would say that’s not possible, especially since my grandfather exiled her. But we are talking about Morgana. If she’s back and trying to lure you into her life again, she can only want one thing…”
Chapter Eight
Bram means the Book of Doomsday. It was once Morgana’s greatest source of power. When Merlin banished her centuries ago, the book mysteriously locked itself.
It remains latched tight to this day.
“After all, the Doomsday Diary has extraordinary powers,” Bram ventures.
I neither confirm nor deny his statement, but the wizard speaks true. Over the past centuries, I have been unable to open, shred, deface, or destroy the book. No matter what I do, the little volume regenerates within moments, humming with power again. How can an object retain so much magic so long after its mistress has supposedly left this earthly realm?
Bram’s face hardens. “I know you have it. Save yourself the coming agony and give it to me. I will protect it.”
“Piss off.” My long strides eat up the pavement.
Bram follows. “I want to help. Not that I think you’ll ever ask for it.”
“Wise man.”
He jumps in front of me, forcing me to stop or collide with the bastard. “Move.”
He ignores me. “The book should be guarded by magickind. If it falls into the wrong hands, it could mean the destruction of every witch, wizard, and youngling. You don’t have the ability to protect it.”
Fifteen centuries as the book’s guardian says otherwise. I need it—and the Le Fay witch to unlock it—in order to end my eternal curse. Once I have, I might consider giving it to Bram…right after a blue moon on the twelfth of never when hell freezes over.
