Page 42 of The Filigree Key

“It’s wild magic,” I protested weakly. “You don’t know what it’ll do.”

With a laugh, Ossian pressed his hand against the trunk and began to consume.

Beneath the cuffs of my white fox-fur coat, my hands tightened into fists. He had no right to this tree, though I’m not sure I did either. Even now, I wasn’t sure if I was its creator or just its catalyst. Perhaps all I’d done was mend an injury to its taproot, a taproot that had delved deep into the primal magic of the earth. Its power could be endless . . ..

I should be glad he was taking from the tree; at least now he’d have no need for the Fair Folk and supes that called Redbud home. But the elm tree still needed to be protected from anyone who would exploit it, this fae included.

Every gemstone on his necklace, and there were dozens of them, was recharged. The golden aura of his skin brightened, but the elm tree never dimmed. It didn’t seem strained in the least, not even when the excess power shone from Ossian’s eyes.

The fae king tore away from the tree with a gasp, admiring the glow of his skin and the thickness of his muscles.

“My lord!” Alec exclaimed, pointing.

My heart froze, then shattered.

The copper deer hair that had hugged the Stag Man’s waist had receded. Bronze skin now showcased a navel and tight abdominal muscles. For the first time since I’d met him, he was more male than stag.

The magic of the elm tree was reversing his curse.

“Wh-what is it?” I forced out, maintaining the illusion that I couldn’t see past his glamour.

“Another victory for the day, love.” The Stag Man bent and lifted me into the air, twirling me in a circle. His smile was blindingly bright. Ecstatic. Greedy. When he set me down, he cupped my face in his hands and delivered one of his bruising kisses to my lips. “Gods, you taste like it.”

Abruptly he threaded his fingers into my hair, clenched, and jerked my head back so I could stare at nothing but him. His voice became hard, his eyes like chips of flint. “What do you know of this tree, Meadow?”

“I don’t remember anything!” A lie, but as the one who had stolen and sealed away my memories, Ossian could hardly call me a liar. “I’ve never—”

His mouth was on mine again, his magic ripping down the bond.

My oak tree was ready for him. Unlike the wight, which was a pure spirit and outside the constraints of most magic, Ossian couldn’t barrage his way into my memories again without my permission. But to deny him access would admit that I had changed. Awakened.

A moment before his essence hit the solid protection of the oak tree, I dropped its defenses. In the same breath, I also squirreled away every memory of the elm. He found nothing, and after a few seconds, he withdrew.

Then I punched him in the face. With a magic-laced fist.

“What have I told you about doing that?” I screeched at him.

He spat something white and red into his hand. “You . . . you knocked out my tooth!”

Neither Misty Fields nor Meadow Hawthorne had any remorse. Both of them felt nothing but despair and anger and the outrage experienced when fate just wouldn’t give you a break. Yes, the fire element of the filigree key had been charged, but at what cost? Now every Brother would be fueling up from the elm tree, not to mention the Stag Man himself, which would only make them that much harder to defeat. Maybe impossible.

Shuddering, I summoned my magic.

Ossian instinctually lowered into a fighting crouch. “What are you doing?”

I only pointed a glowing finger towards the ground. Liquid green fire sluiced to the forest floor and raced around the elm tree. This wasn’t a spell in the grimoire, nor any my mother or grandmother had taught me. This came from instinct, from intent.

“Cleansing fire, purity of flame,” I intoned, “protect this tree from all ill gain.”

The moment the circle of fire completed itself, the flames shot up ten feet into the air with a roar. Immediately, Ossian, Alec, and Shane were ejected beyond the perimeter.

The Brothers landed hard on the frozen ground but the Stag Man caught himself, cloven hooves gouging ruts into the soil. He slapped a hand where his shirt smoldered at his shoulder. When he was sure he wasn’t on fire anywhere else, Ossian turned a murderous glare at me.

“What have you done?” he bellowed.

Still on the opposite side of the fire, I lifted my chin and walked, unharmed, through the flames. If anything, they acted like those at my home hearths, licking at my fingertips like friendly dogs.

“If anyone should take magic from that tree, it will be me,” I declared. “Your lackeys will not drain an asset dry that I might need to charge the key. And don’t argue with me, Ossian. You know your Brotherhood’s greedier than pigs at the slop trough.”