“He had two blades,” Keenan said (2 page)

Chapter 1

Leeds, England - 13 Years Later

3 March 1746 A.D.

“You will dry to a ribbon of crust out here in the sun.” Serena Faw, of the Faw Romany Tribe, flung her long hair back over her shoulder as she picked the wiggling pink earthworm off the sunny rock. “It’s much cooler in my garden box.” She nestled it amongst the tight confines of a miniature garden strapped to the back of her family’s colorful gypsy wagon. “We don’t stay long enough to grow gardens in the ground,” she apologized to the burrowing worm.

Serena wiped her hands on a rag and glanced up at the rays of slanted sunlight filtering through the tall birch trees. “Now I’m talking to worms. Maybe I am going insane, like that old crone Petra told me about.” Serena jogged to the front of the wagon. It was time to get ready for her performance at the faire. “I won’t fit in any better if I’m caught talking to worms,” she mumbled, and glanced around to make sure she was alone. She took the two large steps with gusto and squeezed into the tented wagon.

She plunged her hands down into the basin of cold creek water, then grabbed the scented bar of soap and scrubbed against the dirt. She’d lost track of time again while she’d tended the neat vegetable garden boxes. “Must try to act like a Faw,” Serena mimicked her father’s stern lecture voice. He was the king of their tribe and therefore needed his daughter, even one not of his blood, to act accordingly. She hadn’t seen any of the tribe saving worms before.

Serena pulled her hands out of the water and dried them on her skirts. She leaned forward until her lips were level with a cold candle wick. She inhaled deeply and concentrated on slowing her rapid heartbeats. As she blew an invisible line of breath from her lips at the wick, she snaked out a thin tendril of power. The wick sparked to life.

She watched the flame flicker as it matured, a small pool of melted wax already growing at its slender base. She smelled the familiar incense and focused on the undulations of the rising and dipping flame. The noise of the gypsy faire continued to grow outside as darkness crept into camp. Serena pulled in another cleansing breath and watched the flame’s little body dance. As she exhaled, the ribbon of fire bowed flat and straightened, then began to stir again.

Serena’s gaze followed the flame until the noise of the people, the minds of the people, the emotions of the people nearby misted away. Control. Her clairvoyant sensitivity could crush her without it. Serena focused on the many hues of orange and yellow light sliding into one another. She must fortify herself before walking amongst so many people.

The bells at the wagon’s door jangled. Serena funneled her senses in that direction, but did not shift her gaze.

“Yes, Shoshòy?” she asked softly, using her adopted brother’s Rom name. His public name was William after his father. Romany sometimes had two names, one for private use and one used in public.

“King Will says you’ll dance soon,” he said, with his ever-present smile in his voice. “So stop staring at your candle and start getting dressed. I’ve seen many a foppish chub roaming about already. They drink more when you dance and then spend without care.”

Serena blew at her candle, scattering the energy until it wafted up into a delicate swirl of smoke. She turned to William and smiled back. It was hard not to smile at her handsome brother.

“And chubs are easily parted with their moneys.” She repeated William’s favorite saying as she stepped behind a short screen to change into her dancing costume. She watched him over the top.

His exaggerated nod sent his chin-length, dark hair in disarray around his head. Serena knew that he must be older than her by several years, but he acted like he was a young boy. Which was probably why King Will hadn’t matched him with any girl, yet. He still moved through the forest with bounding energy, like a rabbit, which had earned him his Rom name.

Serena pursed her lips and frowned. “No thievery, of course,” she said.

He placed his hand against his chest in mock wounding, but then winked at her. “Of course not, King Will would have my hide. We just got here, and there’s plenty of money to be made honestly.”

Serena nodded and came out from the screen. “Tie these lacings,” she said, and turned her back to him.

She heard him clear his throat as his cold fingers brushed against her bare back to tie the many laces of the purple and gold stays. “You know, Àngelas,” he said, using her Romany name. “We are old enough now by far for someone else to be…” He hesitated and pulled hard on the stays. “…to be dressing you.”

Darkness swirled around Serena’s mind. His fingers against her skin washed cold dread down into her stomach as if someone were pouring a bucket of ice water down her throat. She shivered. William bled, a slick blackness oozed from his aura. She turned around and stared at him. “What?” she asked weakly.

“Duy should do it, or Petra. I’m a man. Have been for years.”

Serena tried to follow his words. She shivered and attempted to redirect her feelings. “Of course, Shoshòy, I will talk to Petra. Let me see your hand.”

William hesitated but then thrust out his hand. Serena didn’t have to look at it. She only had to hold it. She clasped it in her naked palm. Serena tingled as the aura bled further into her.
Suspicion, despair, death
.

“Àngelas?”

Serena stared into William’s eyes. “Stay away from the fools tonight. It doesn’t feel right.”

William stared hard at her, but then the playful twinkle flashed through his eyes again. He shrugged and pulled his hand from the cradle of her palm. “I’ll help tend the fires.” He smiled his charming smile and ducked to go out the door. “Hurry up, though, before King Will comes in here after you himself.”

Serena tried to shake the itchy dread that spider-walked just under her skin. She finished fastening her scarves and bells, meant to catch the light of the fire, and hooked one last strand of painted jewels across her forehead. A sweet chirping melody from outside the wagon made her fingers flash as they looped and knotted. She stepped out into the night.

The melody called from a branch above her. She glanced around to make sure no one watched. “Chiriklò,” she called, and the small sparrow landed on her hand. Serena stroked the smooth feathers of her pet. The bird crept closer to her and chirped loudly.

Serena laughed. “Yes, I have bread for you.” She pulled some bits from her pocket. The bird snapped one up and flew to a low branch nearby. “Aye, not at all like a Faw. Talking to worms and birds.”

Even in the shadows, Serena could see the hint of blue in his perfect wings, the same unique blue of the feather her birth mother had gifted to her on that terrible night long ago. She had found the little bird, or rather it had found her, shortly after landing in the pond.

Coincidence? She didn’t believe in coincidences.

Serena wasn’t sure how long sparrows lived, but this one continued to thrive and follow her wherever she traveled. The bird’s unusual color marked it unique and its ability to share information with her through its thoughts amazed her. Serena couldn’t read the thoughts of animals. Sometimes she caught an image from one, but none could keep a conversation with her like the little blue sparrow.

After eating his bread, he twittered a short melody and let random thoughts of the day sift through his mind.

“Serena!” William called from near the fire.

“Sorry, Chiriklò, I am to dance tonight.” The little bird flew higher up into the tree.

The scents, sounds, and thoughts from the faire pulsed against her like the wind before a storm, begging for her attention. But Serena easily thrust them from her, yanked on her soft leather gloves and wiggled her fingers down into each finger sleeve.

The first knowledge of her great sensitivity had crashed in on her upon awakening in the gypsy camp as Mari, her new mother, or duy, bathed her skin. She soon discovered that every inch of her skin could read the minds of those she touched. And many thoughts came to her without physical contact. Mari continued to help Serena master her power. Without control, Serena could lose herself to the onslaught around her.

She stepped between the wagons and smiled greetings to some of the Rom women nearby. They bustled around to set up their tin wares for sale.
Do not touch me. What new havoc will she bring? Shouldn’t she be dancing? She scries the future more than is natural. Poor King Will.

Their minds tumbled behind their polite smiles and nods. Serena shrugged inwardly and blocked their thoughts. Everyone thought she was strange, almost dangerous. Maybe it would be best if she lived alone. She clutched arms around herself and turned down another dark path toward the glow of the fire. She didn’t belong with normal people.

Serena didn’t even look Romany. They were dark of skin with beautiful shiny black hair. Her hair was red. Where their skin tanned under the sun, her paleness burned red. Even without her powers, she would always be an outsider. The stone from her mother had helped her understand their language at first. She had picked it up incredibly fast. Serena touched the red stone that hung on a cord around her neck. But her tribe still only saw her differences.

“Serena,” she heard Mari call from near the fire, even though she called out Àngelas in her mind. William had given Serena her Romany name, Àngelas, when he saw her fall like an angel from the sky.

Her duy walked toward her through the shadows. Mari’s concern penetrated Serena upon contact.

“I am fine,” Serena said. “Just sad for a moment, is all.”

Mari rubbed her back and sent soothing thoughts to her.
Àngelas, gift from God, with an amazing power to be cherished, not despised.

“I know, Duy, I know. To be cherished, not despised.” Serena looked at her mother who had still not uttered a word out loud. “But still, not normal.”

Mari sighed. “You will find your path, Serena, and you will follow it to your happiness.” Mari possessed a small measure of sight as well, but not near to Serena’s ability.

Serena’s eyes narrowed as she studied her duy. “You have seen this?”

Mari’s chin bobbed just enough to be a nod. “It’s in shadows, of course. There are happy paths and sorrowful paths,” she warned.

“But there are happy paths?”

Mari laughed. “Of course, child.”

From the distance, Mari and Serena heard a deep beat begin. Pipes, stringed fiddles, and the base harp joined in to roll together in a seductive melody. Serena dropped her outer shawl and handed it to Mari.

Mari frowned as she stared up at a little patch of stars shining down through the oaks. “The stars have worried me these last few nights. Be careful, Àngelas. Something dark comes.”

Serena wanted to tell her about the taint on William’s aura, but she had already missed the first cue. “Later, Duy, we’ll talk of the stars.” Serena broke away to run in her little leather slippers to the fire.

A crowd, mostly of men, gathered around the snapping bonfire that stretched up brightly in dancing shades of crimson light. Members of the tribe, including King Will, held the crowd back from the fire so that Serena could perform around its border. At the edge of the light Serena halted, closed her eyes, and filled her chest with warm air.

The fire crackled and huffed. Serena drew from the power within the flames. The noise of the people and the press of their thoughts dimmed as she funneled the magic of the fire through her body. She watched the flames flicker through her eyelids.

The thoughts of the crowd became a wall of noise that she held in its place away from her. She balanced it and diminished it until the noise was just part of the night wind blowing against her body.

The notes of the flute slowed, and Serena opened her eyes to stare at the flames. They pulsed with the night breeze, powerful and snapping. The flames beckoned her to dance with them. Serena’s arms and torso moved in the same fashion. Her head rolled back along her shoulders, her arms extended, offering herself to the heat.

The heat, it was a familiar partner to her. She pulled from its energy the strength to force out the emotions of her audience. Fire magick infused her. Serena danced, shifting her body with the waves of heat, sometimes facing the blaze, sometimes facing the night chill where the people stood. She didn’t see any of them, only the flame. It was her friend and partner. It accepted her, loved her.

Serena transitioned with the increasing tempo. Her body answered the music by mimicking its rhythm. Serena felt her hair wash around her shoulders as she turned, her arms languid and graceful. The core of her body warmed with fire and the thrill of the dance. She held a circle of silence around her as she moved. Here she could breathe, alone within the quiet, the peace.

****

“Bloody drunk fool.” Keenan Maclean stood vigilant at the fringe of the crowd. His large frame usually relegated him to the back of an audience since at nearly six and a half feet, he could see above everyone. And tonight was no different. He watched his companion, soaked with royal whisky, ram and trip his way toward the front row, near the fire. As long as Keenan kept his eye on Gerard, he was technically guarding him. He certainly didn’t appreciate any type of conversation with the man. If Gerard wasn’t so bloody crucial to the Jacobite cause, Keenan would have abandoned him to the gypsy faire much earlier. But Gerard Grant secretly supported Prince Charles Edward Stewart, Bonnie Prince Charlie, making him a surreptitious Jacobite. Plus, he nurtured a warm friendship with England’s King George II. Gerard was worth his weight in whisky to the Jacobites.