Witchful Thinking (5 page)

“Mathilda erased all memories of my visit from your mind,” Mercedes said. I nearly choked on my mouthful as I worried she might venture into unwelcome territory.

“So where is Bella?” I interrupted, uttering the first thought that came to my mind.

We had just finished dining on ham, turkey, a variety of breads and cheeses, and a cornucopia of fruits and vegetables. As we sat beneath the stars at a long wooden table that accommodated our entire legion, the soldiers chorused an old Scottish ditty, “Aiken Drum.”

“The witch is in coontainment ’ere in this village, lass,” Odran answered before joining in on the song. His deep baritone pealed through the cloudless sky, and I couldn’t help tapping my toe to the beat as he sang.

“Bella is under surveillance by two fae guards, Jolie,” Rand confirmed. He just shook his head in wonder as Odran suddenly rose up like a snapping anglerfish and grabbed the waist of a fairy woman who’d sauntered too close. He carried her into the courtyard and set her back on her feet, embracing her with a kiss. I’m not sure if what happened next would be considered dancing or an indecent public display.

I glanced at Rand, who smiled before turning to Mercedes again, his jaw tightening.

“Jolie said you brought her back in time?” he asked. Mercedes simply nodded. “Why?”

Mercedes glanced at me with slight annoyance before returning her gaze to Rand. “Simple—she was about to be killed, so I saved her.”

“Yet when you sent her back to the present, she was immediately killed,” Rand pointed out while I swallowed the last three gulps of ale and refilled my empty mug with just a thought.

Mercedes’ lips tightened into a white line. “I had no control over the exact moment we would return and it just so happened that my timing was off … a bit. But may I remind you I brought Jolie back from the dead.”

Rand nodded. “Yes, I’m well aware of that.” He was quiet for another three seconds. “Why did you need to bring Jolie back into the past in order to save her?”

Mercedes arched a brow as if to say that she didn’t appreciate being interrogated. “I did not do it just to save Jolie. I also needed her magic to help transport me into the present.”

“Ah,” Rand said, a smile void of humor pasted on his full lips. “In reality, then, you were using Jolie’s powers to help yourself?”

“Rand, if she hadn’t escaped 1878, she’d have been killed by Lurkers,” I interrupted, becoming increasingly uncomfortable with Rand’s persistence.

“Lurkers?” Rand repeated in a dubious tone, although he knew only too well who the Lurkers were—a group of humans who were part vampire and thus possessed incredible strength but could tolerate daylight. The Lurkers’ sole purpose was to destroy the creatures of the Underworld. They often lacked any sort of unity, though, so they were more like marauding guerrillas than soldiers, killing our kind whenever the opportunity arose.
And, no, their attacks weren’t limited to vampires. Any sort of Underworld creature was fair game. Apparently they had posed a big enough threat to Mercedes to make her flee 1878.

“Yes,” Mercedes interjected while offering me a grateful smile. “I saw the Lurkers kill me in a vision. When I realized I could harness Jolie’s energy and powers to help me out of my predicament, I acted on it.”

“And you call yourself the prophetess?” Rand prodded, his tone revealing his disbelief and, furthermore, his impression that she must be a charlatan.

“I do not call myself anything. Your kind chose to give me that title.”

Rand, can’t you see her aura?
I thought the words.

As I mentioned earlier, I have the ability to see people’s auras. Humans usually have pink or violet glows about them; yellow or orange for those who are sick.

While witches might have more distinctive auras than humans, Mercedes’ was a rainbow of colors that billowed off her in blues, purples, yellows, oranges, and reds. It was spectacular to say the least.

Yes, of course I can
.

Then why don’t you believe her?

“Because it is Rand’s nature to distrust,” Mercedes said, answering my question.

I gasped in a mouthful of air. So Mercedes could hear our telepathic conversations … She was the prophetess and then some.

“You would have us blindly accept that you are who you say you are?” Rand demanded, apparently unimpressed by rainbow auras and telepathic eavesdroppers.

Mercedes shook her head. “One of life’s lessons is to learn how to trust in the things over which we have no control.”

“Good luck,” I snickered, thinking Rand wasn’t exactly the blindly trusting type.

Rand said nothing as he downed his cup of ale. Mercedes’ attention shifted back to me.

“You have much to learn as Queen, Jolie.”

“Such as?” I glanced at Rand, trying to decipher whether or not he would argue against my being Queen. But he merely sipped his ale and watched Odran. The fairy King continued to engulf the poor fairy woman in a wet, urgent kiss, looking like he was trying to swallow her in one shot.

“Magic, history of all creatures, leadership, and propriety.” Mercedes itemized, ticking off the list of my lessons on her fingers.

“Whoa, what?” I questioned. “Propriety?”

Mercedes nodded. “If you are to represent the Underworld, you must do so with the utmost grace.”

This job was looking worse and worse by the minute. “What about freedom of choice?” I started, remembering Rand’s words. “What if I don’t want this job?”

Mercedes seemed indifferent as she answered. “There is no choice, no free will. There is only fate and destiny. And this is your fate.”

Rand stood up and turned to me with a frown. Before I could say anything, he simply walked away. I wasn’t sure if I should follow him and was toying with the idea when I felt Mercedes’ hand on mine. I glanced at her in surprise.

“There is unharnessed power inside you, Jolie. You have no idea what you are capable of. It is up to me to direct that power and shape it.”

I didn’t know what to think. Yes, I constantly amazed myself as I learned more about my powers, but this did seem over the top. And I still hadn’t exactly decided whether or not I liked the idea of being Queen.

“When does my training begin?” I asked in a small voice.

“Immediately,” Mercedes replied. “As soon as we return to Pelham Manor.”

So “we” were returning to Pelham Manor. I could only wonder what Rand would think about that little arrangement.

“Rand will want you to be close to him, and if I am part of your entourage, there will not be much he can say,” Mercedes finished with a self-impressed smile.

I glanced at her in surprise. “What, you can read my mind too?”

She shook her head and laughed. “No, I can read your expression. And I can hear any thoughts you ideate.”

“That’s why you could hear my conversation with Rand? Because I was broadcasting it?” I asked, trying to fathom the extent of her powers. She just nodded, which was a relief. I mean, who in the heck would want to have their innermost thoughts and secrets overheard? Not me.

Now it was my turn to throw a wrench into Mercedes’ plans—a wrench named Christa. “My next stop is Australia, not Pelham Manor,” I said with finality.

“Australia?” Mercedes repeated, and the surprised look on her face was an absolute Kodak moment. It was a shame I didn’t have my camera.

“Yep, I have to go get my best friend.”

Before the battle with Bella had started, Rand had arranged for Christa (who lived at Pelham Manor and acted as Rand’s assistant) and me to travel to Australia, out of harm’s way. Also, if Bella was victorious, Christa and I could have lived there off her radar.

When I rebelled and insisted on fighting in the battle rather than chaperoning my best friend, I had to charm Christa to go on by herself with the promise that I’d come get her as soon as the battle was over. If I was still alive.

Well, the battle
was
over and I
was
still alive.

“It is too dangerous.” Mercedes shook her head as if to emphasize the point. “You are a Queen now, you cannot concern yourself with such commonplace trivialities.”

Anger started boiling up inside me, which, mixed with countless pints of ale, was enough to give me a stomachache. “My best friend means more to me than being Queen.”

Mercedes shook her head again like I wasn’t getting it. “It is not about her being more important to you—you have a duty to the creatures of the Underworld. Only you have the ability to unite them against a threat larger than Bella.”

“A larger threat?” I repeated, wondering what the hell she was going on about.

“The Lurkers, Jolie.”

“Bah.” I waved my hand at her dismissively. “They aren’t a threat at all.” To me, they were more like a bunch of half-vampires with fang envy. A massive problem? I didn’t see it.

“Lesson one: Never underestimate your enemies,” Mercedes said in a harsh voice. “Your duty now is to your people.”

“My people,” I repeated, standing up, and throwing my hands on my hips as I thought about free will, which I still believed in. Just as Rand had said earlier, this was my choice. I didn’t have to succumb to a destiny that was thrust upon me. I could resist it. “I have no people—I’m not a Queen and I’ve never wanted to be one.” I took a deep breath before facing her again in all my anger. “I’m done with this farce.”

Then, dramatically, I spun on my heel in a great display of outrage and walked away, wondering if it could possibly be that easy to leave the title of Queen behind me.

What to write about today … Well, since I can’t seem to get him off my mind, I might as well talk about Rand … gosh, where do I even start? I’ve already mentioned that he’s an incredibly gifted warlock. His magic is probably among the strongest out there … well, of the witches and warlocks anyway. One time I watched him spar with Odran and Rand held his own. He is probably more equally matched against Sinjin, who has an ungodly amount of strength and speed. As a vampire, Sinjin can bewitch his prey just by looking at her, but luckily for me his powers don’t work on witches. And unluckily for me, my powers don’t work on vampires
.

I wouldn’t say Rand is the strongest force out there—I know some fairies who could rival him, namely Mathilda. Really, Mathilda taught Rand everything he knows. And I think Mercedes could make short work of him. Well, she could make short work of just about anyone
.

I think I also might have mentioned the fact that Rand is absolutely beautiful. Even though he’s one of the handsomest men I’ve ever seen, it’s not even his looks that intrigue me anymore—it’s the man inside. Rand is the noblest, most loyal and honorable person I’ve ever met. He is fair, honest, and responsible. He would make the best husband and an equally fantastic dad
.

And there’s the rub. A huge part of me suffers when I think about it—about a white picket fence and the little house on the corner with two kids running through the yard while I bake brownies and Rand comes up behind me, surprising me with a kiss
.

The problem is that Rand and I will never have that little fairy tale. And I’m not even talking about problems like whether or not Rand will support me as Queen or what he’ll think about the fact that we bonded. What I’m talking about is the fact that witches have an incredibly difficult time carrying a pregnancy to term. As I understand it, this is only the case in witch-to-witch unions. I wouldn’t have a problem carrying a fairy baby or a were baby or a human baby. Vampires can’t procreate so that isn’t even something worth considering—although strangely enough the idea has crossed my mind … casually of course. But witches and warlocks successfully having offspring together is very unlikely, which is why our race is dwindling
.

I still haven’t figured out where the witch gene was in my family. Rand said there must be a witch somewhere in my lineage because the gene was passed down to me. It didn’t require that my mother or father be in any way witch-like, which must be true because neither of them is, or in my father’s case was
.

Idealistic family life aside, I always seem to find myself in a quandary where Rand is concerned. He has this pervasive sense of morality, and while I love him for it, he can also be beyond frustrating. Sometimes I wish he would just give in to his desires and act on them rather than analyzing everything into the ground. But Rand wasn’t always like this—in fact, he used to be pretty different
.

What I’ve realized is that I’m in love with two men—the Rand I met in 1878 and the Rand I know today. And although I love the modern Rand more, a part of me
bemoans the loss of my 1878 Rand. I can’t help but flood my mind with memories—memories of a Rand who was less complicated, who acted on his desires, and who wasn’t familiar enough with magic to worry about its consequences
.