Magical Weddings (15 page)

What would she do? How would she react?

He thought back to an hour before in the kitchen, when incensed over the neglect Drayhome suffered, she’d unconsciously shattered her favorite teacup with her bare hands. He’d never realized how sharp, strong and potentially lethal a shard of fine porcelain could be.

I’m glad it was only the cup
.

What if she’d slashed open a palm or wrist, or severed the nerves in her fingers? Yes, they had amazing healers among their kind, but even magic had its limits.

What had shocked him more was her clóca’s failure to come to her defense and protect her from potential injury, as he would expect it to do. Each of them had power granted them when they became witches and warlocks, but the place magic also provided them with two actual gifts, the first of which was the
clóca
. Traditionally worn as a black wool cloak, the garment was a form of fluid armor, stronger and more impenetrable than Kevlar. Nearly sentient, each clóca bonded to its owner and reacted instinctually whenever that witch or warlock encountered physical danger, coming between him or her and whatever could do harm.

Few of their kind wore the clóca in its traditional form, instead transforming and camouflaging it as an everyday article of clothing, so it was easy to forget none of them were ever without it. Still, he’d half expected hers to appear and intercede, preventing her from cutting herself.

When that didn’t happen, it had taken him a moment to reorient his thinking and realize why.

Of all the choices the place magic took away from their lives, he found it ironic the one option it did leave them was self-harm. If a witch wanted to hurt herself, so be it. If one of them chose to commit suicide, nothing would be there to stop them. Intellectually, he understood the rationale for this. A witch or warlock who couldn’t place him or herself in danger to shield someone, wouldn’t be capable of protecting those in need. On an emotional level, however, the idea of a despondent Colleen harming herself when she was kicked out of Drayhome, concerned him deeply.

As strong as Colleen appeared outwardly, intuitively, he’d always been aware of an interior vulnerability with her. To call her an introvert was an understatement. She was the ultimate personification of a homebody, uncomfortable and awkward around strangers. One look at the differences in how she carried herself when it was just she and a couple of others at Drayhome and when the place was awash with guests, and he could see how much she hated it. She became moody, edgy, difficult to handle, which was why he often appointed himself as her social buffer during such events. Such times taxed her energies, exhausting her to the point of collapse.

And yet, perversely, her power fated her to maintain the one place that had served as the spiritual heart of their community for nearly two centuries. Too bad you couldn’t have something serve as a home for a community without people wanting to come
home
to it.

Drayhome’s importance to his fellow witches and warlocks explained why he didn’t agree in the least with The Priest’s decision to abandon Drayhome and move all future events to his own estate. As warlocks in Breens went, Ax was a relative newcomer, only having been on the scene for a little over thirty years, but every wedding, meeting and ritual he’d attended here felt right and true. When couples exchanged vows, he sensed the house blessing the union. Rituals turned out stronger. Drayhome’s deep well of place magic kept emotions and egos in check during conclave. You didn’t abandon a place this sacred, this vital to the health of a people, lightly.

Unfortunately, Ax knew The Priest had been looking for way to consolidate power on his own home turf for years, and at last he’d found the perfect excuse. Human interference. Unlike most of their homes and other properties, which were hidden from human eyes, completely inaccessible, Drayhome had always been anchored firmly in the human world. Humans drove by it every day on the highway out front. As a grand residence it stood out, and every very once in a while, a curious person or two would venture onto the property. A polite, yet firm rebuff of their interest usually sufficed to regain Drayhome’s privacy.

Until that damn busybody in the county assessor’s office
.

While the property had been here long before the town of Breens Mist came into being, long before there was much of anything in Oregon at all, no one had ever recorded a deed or even a primitive land grant for Drayhome. No property taxes had ever been paid in the estate’s entire history. It turned out, in fact, that the humans at the assessor’s office considered Drayhome to be on public lands. Having recently discovered the oversight, they now wanted those lands and the juicy plum the house would present at auction to boost local government coffers.

To make matters worse, instead of presenting the problem to the larger community, as he ethically should have, and openly asking for solutions, The Priest had kept the whole thing largely under wraps. Yes, he’d sent a couple of his people to the county tax offices to make token efforts on Drayhome’s behalf, no doubt so he could claim he’d tried, but Ax wasn’t under any delusions about the warlock’s true motives. Sacred grounds would be ceded to the humans and the nexus for their community’s collective power transferred to The Priest’s backyard.

Even before last night’s wedding spell sent him here to make repairs, Ax had been ordered to boot Colleen from the house. He’d been warned a county sheriff would not be far behind, a couple of weeks at most, though it was possible the formal eviction notice might be staked to the front door earlier, maybe this week. Once the notice went up, they’d have 30 days to get out, more than ample time for the wedding, but a devastatingly short time for Colleen.

How exposed is she without this place? What happens to the spirit of Drayhome? How much do house and witch need each other?

The whole thing pissed him off. He didn’t like to see the witches and warlocks of Breens falling even further under The Priest’s influence than they already were, but looming greater than this was his ire on Colleen’s behalf.

With a gusty sigh, he returned to the task at hand, his list of chores. At least this one had been easy.

“So, House,” he said. “You should be happy to hear you won’t have to suffer through my presence after next week. I’ll be gone. Colleen will be gone. All of us will be
gone
. Hope you enjoy your new human caretakers.”

Grasping the right hand set of carriage doors, he gave them a final check, sliding them forward until they reached the center of the door opening.

Looks solid
.

He pivoted to grab the left hand doors and put them to the same inspection, when he saw several hundred pounds of wood panels hurtling toward him on their track.

Drayhome’s revenge came so fast, his clóca didn’t have a chance to react.

Colleen glanced overhead at 118 glass panes rattling in their verdigris iron frames as a hard jolt shook the conservatory. When the temblor faded a few seconds later, she looked down again to find three black cloaked figures, Lysée, Mia, and Shelley, in various states of alarm, bracing themselves in anticipation of more to come. For each, the brief quake had been enough to cause their clócas, previously concealed, to manifest.

Though not quite ready to relax, when the shaking did not resume, the three broke into nervous conversation.

“What the eff,” Shelley said, “was that?”

“Earthquake?” Mia said.

“No.” Lysée pushed back the hood of her cloak and studied Colleen critically, noting the obvious. Of all of them in the room, Colleen was the only one whose clóca had not gone into self-defense mode. Lysée cocked her head, surprised by her own conclusions as she asked, “Was that you, Colleen?”

Colleen could not utter a word, still stunned by what she’d just learned, that there would be no more weddings here after this one.
Why? Haven’t I done a good enough job?
She shook her head in denial and hugged her arms to her chest.

“You wanted to see the ballroom,” she said, and took off in that direction, leaving the three behind in a rush. “It’s in much better shape than the conservatory.”

She exited the conservatory through a wall of French doors, turned along the corridor and headed toward the north end of the house. Guests would have a bit of a walk moving from the wedding location to where the reception would be held. She noted that the 19 century Persian carpet runners underfoot could use sprucing up.

I’m going to have to take these out and clean them
.

“Colleen!”

She heard the three she’d left behind calling after her, scrambling to catch up.

“Colleen, wait!”

Throwing open the pear wood doors to the ballroom, carved with an elaborate scene of a stag racing through a forest, she swept inside. She continued to the center. For something last remodeled during the Victorian Era, the room was remarkably light and airy. She hugged her chest again, indicating the expansive space with a flick of her chin instead of a sweep of her arms.

“This room can accommodate 250,” she said. “Spirit evidently planned ahead when he designed it, thinking there would be at least that many of us in the future celebrating here. Since there are less than a hundred yet, that leaves you room for–”

“Colleen.”

Lysée was the first to catch up. Gently, she laid a hand on Colleen’s rigidly held shoulder, the action halting the flow of words from Colleen’s mouth.

“It’s all right,” Lysée said. “Nothing happened. None of us were hurt. You can tell us.”

“Yes, please,” Mia said.

“I sure as hell am curious,” Shelley said.

Lysée scowled at the two. “Only if you like,” she added softly to Colleen.

Colleen didn’t know why, no one had ever explained the reasons—she tended to doubt anyone really new—but asking a fellow witch or warlock to divulge the exact nature of their gift was taboo in Breens. It was why she had no idea what Shelley could do with hers. Shelley had never displayed anything extraordinary in the magical sense. However, now that the house had “vocalized” Colleen’s distress, the three witches had been given a glimpse of her powers and thus everyone felt them open for discussion.

Colleen disagreed. She cleared her throat, forcing her vocal chords to work.

“Drayhome,” she said. “It was…”

“What, you mean the house did that?” Shelley’s eyes widened slightly and she stared wildly about at the ceiling, walls, floor, everything surrounding them. “We’re inside something that can do that?”

“Shelley,” Lysée said sharply. “You’re not helping.”

“Sorry.”

“Was it really the house?” Mia asked. “Or was it you?”

Lysée’s brow furrowed in thought. “I was here long before Colleen came. Shelley, Mia, you were, too.”

Colleen dreaded where the conversation was going.

“Do you ever remember Drayhome doing something like that in the past?” Lysée asked.

Silence. Colleen wanted to flee to the kitchen, to the attics. She’d even take an emergency from the boiler room right now, anything to get her out of talking about this.

“No…I…” Mia said. “No, wait! I remember. I do remember. Not exactly like this, but when Spirit still lived here there was this one time…”

“Yes?” Lysée prompted her.

“The house shivered.”

“Shivered?” Shelley said.

Mia closed her eyes. Colleen and the others waited as she sifted through old memories, and then the slow smile lit up the witch’s face. She opened her eyes and the smile moved upward into them.

“It laughed,” she said. “Spirit was here and I’d said something that amused him and the house laughed along with him. Oh my, God. Is that your gift? I thought you were a hearth witch. You know, someone who has a talent for the domestic things, keeping a household running smoothly. Not that that’s anything to sneeze at, but oh, my, God!”

The three crowded around her.

“I don’t believe it,” Shelley said.

“She brings the house alive,” Lysée said.

Colleen shook her head again, vehemently this time. She didn’t want to think she could be responsible for tending the psyche of a place this powerful. “I don’t. I really don’t. The house is alive.”

But alive without you?

“It always has been.” She continued. “Spirit put part of himself into it, but he didn’t need much. This is where the place magic is–”

“Strongest,” Lysée said.

“I wasn’t here, so I can’t say for sure, but I feel his echoes. Spirit knew this was our heart,” Colleen said. “This special ground.”

“Then he left,” Mia said.

“Then he left,” Colleen repeated.

“And Drayhome fell quiet.” Lysée said. “Until you came along.”

And now one of Colleen’s main functions as mistress caretaker was about to be ripped away, its happiest occasions, the weddings.

“Do you know for sure?” Colleen asked. “
How
do you know?”

Lysée’s expression lapsed into regret. “About this being the last wedding held here? A rumor spreading around.”

“I heard it, too,” Shelley said.

“Me, too,” Mia whispered.

Ax
.

Colleen suddenly understood what the house had sensed when he’d come to the front door this morning.

Ax knew…knows about this. And he didn’t tell me
.

“But why? Where will they be held?” she asked.

“Where else?” Shelley said, tone sour. “The Priest’s house.”

“Is it even big enough?”

“Who cares? I’m sure he’ll find a way to enlarge it.”

“No doubt because what he really wants to enlarge can’t be done,” Mia said.

“Mia!” Lysée said shocked by the innuendo.

Shelley only laughed. Colleen remained miserable. Coven politics weren’t her thing.

“Well, it’s true!” Mia said.

“I don’t doubt it,” Shelley said, “But probably not the wisest thing to speculate aloud. The walls have ears. Don’t they, Colleen?”

“Drayhome doesn’t gossip, I assure you,” Colleen said.

“I should hope not.” Lysée smiled and her natural affinity for joy lightened the unhappy mood.