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Desolation slashes me. My soul bleeds, yet my anguish makes little sense. Loss of the book, aye. But I could never mourn Morgana. I would, in fact, spit on her grave a thousand times if she had one.
“I am the key,” she whispers with the breeze. “Find me.”
’Tis the last thing I want. Her lure has grown too strong. But if I refuse, my torment will never end. So to London I must go and defeat the seductive witch once and for all.
A rattling noise rends my quiet. I jackknife up, panting and wrapping one hand around my battle sword as I scan my surroundings. White walls, bed carved by my hand. I am not in a mist-draped clearing, but in my cottage, in my room, tangled in my rumpled sheets. No Morgana in sight.
’Twas but a dream.
Or was it a message?
Though centuries have passed, Morgana once enjoyed taunting me in sleep. This episode warns me that she’s returned to the mortal realm as an ethereal brunette. Though she is intent upon stealing back her tome, I must let her touch it. Who else can unlock the book? Or did she use her sorcery to reach through my dream and abscond with it?
I whip around, but the leather-bound tool of my never-ending torment still rests on my bedside table. Unfortunately, the heavy, etched bronze lock affixed to each cover and secured over the pages remains tightly sealed.
Grumbling, I rise. If Morgana is the key, I must find her in her new disguise. Shadow and torment her I will until she grants me what I crave most in life.
Death.
Another impatient rap against the front window startles me. Since I have not welcomed a visitor for over a decade, any guest now is likely to be an enemy.
I slide the accursed book into the safe hidden beneath the floorboards under my bed, then grasp my sword and stalk down the hall. Anticipation of impending battle surges. Morning light seeps through my window, illuminating dust motes and casting a human shadow across the gleaming wooden floor.
If someone has come to steal the book from me, I will greet them with carnage and bloodshed.
Chapter Two
I creep forward, weapon in hand. But the shadow disappears, replaced by a faint crunch of footsteps outside…
“Freak of nature!” a man shouts, punctuated by another knock. “I know you’re in there.”
I recognize that voice.
God’s balls. This menace? Why now?
Heaving an annoyed sigh, I yank open the door. A nightmare nearly as bad as the one I endured in sleep stands in the portal. Golden hair spiked above sleek brows and mischievous blue eyes, coupled with a glittery Hollywood smile, belies the gifted wizard’s immense power.
Bram Rion, Merlin’s only grandson and magickind’s most indulged pot-stirrer. Now I shall never have peace.
“Me, a freak of nature?” I grunt. “Coming from you, that is rich.”
“If today is your day to conduct beheadings, count me out.” He gestures to my sword with a cavalier wink that has charmed magickind and enabled him to navigate cutthroat magical council politics for centuries.
Scowling, I prop my sword against a nearby wall. “’Tis not, but for you, I will make an exception.”
“Funny. Are you going to invite me past the magic circle guarding your place, or must I continue to stand on the mat?”
“If I do not?” I’m heartily tempted to leave him outside to rot. True, the coxcomb has amused me once or twice, but he’s magical. I dare not trust him.
“Then you’ll miss the juicy gossip.”
I care not for whispers and rumors, but Bram will not leave until he spills his secret. The sooner I suffer his company, the sooner I can find Morgana in her new guise, then force, coerce, or bully her into unlocking that blasted book and setting me free.
“Enter.”
Bram saunters inside and shuts the door. “You look like hell. Did you sleep in yesterday’s trousers?”
I glance down at my wrinkled khakis. “Did you come all this way to be my mum?”
