Dani Harper - Storm Bound

“I have simply granted you what you wanted.” The emerald light flared outward until it filled the broad expanse of the courtyard, illuminating every petal of each exotic flower in the labyrinthine gardens and every detail of the fine carving and crafted stone that surrounded them. The radiance brightened still, until it was the blinding white of a star’s heart. Just as it seemed that the walls must surely melt, the brilliant light abruptly vanished as if it had never been.

Celynnen’s iridescent eyes didn’t even blink, of course. She was unaffected by the magic she had called, as were the fae flowers in the gardens. Aidan, however, was dazed and reeling, as if struck by a giant’s fist. Good , she thought . Perhaps he would remember her little display of power and be more cooperative in the future. She tucked the stone back into the hidden pocket in her sleeve as she glided towards the high arched doorway. “I must make an appearance at Court for a time,” she called over her shoulder.

“Wait!” he shouted, regaining his alertness far more quickly than she’d expected. “Release me! My wedding—Annwyl will be waiting for me!” He rattled the charmed silver chains that bound him until they pealed like ropes of silver bells.

Celynnen turned and arched a delicate eyebrow. “You did not wish to be an oath breaker, and so you will not be. Your intended is not waiting for you. There is no wedding party, and indeed, no betrothal. Therefore, you are quite free of all mortal obligations.”

He stilled, and horror crept across his bold features. “What have you done?” he breathed through gritted teeth, bracing as though some part of him already knew.

“I merely revised the tiny history of your boring little village. Annwyl will not mourn you.”

“What have you done to her?” Aidan roared, straining so mightily against his bonds that for a brief instant Celynnen thought they might actually give way. Instead, blood ran down his wrists and spattered both floor and walls. A flying droplet struck her hand and she backed out of range, blotting the spot away hastily with her sleeve as it began to burn her skin. Human blood got its curious red color from the iron it contained—and iron was deadly poison to all fae creatures, including the Tylwyth Teg.

The precious fabric failed to cleanse the spot well enough, however. Her hand hurt , and pain was not something she was acquainted with. She snapped at him. “You foolish mortal. Did you think I was going to let you go ? You were concerned for your honor, and I have graciously protected it. Even more merciful, your treasured Annwyl will suffer no broken heart over you. Indeed, her heart will not grieve for anyone, not even her dear mother.”

“Her mother died of a fever just over a year ago,” he said carefully. “She mourns the loss deeply.”

The apprehension in his voice was utterly delicious. “Nay,” she whispered, as if confiding a secret. “Dear Annwyl took ill and died at the very same time. She never knew of her mother’s death and, much more important, she never met you .”

The impact of her words was immensely gratifying to her. Celynnen thought of a mighty stag pierced by a silver arrow, stunned and confused, unable to comprehend what had just happened to it.

Aidan struggled to speak. “You killed her.”

“Of course I killed her. How else could I secure your precious honor?” she retorted. “Annwyl is gone, her family does not know who you are, and in fact, your own family does not recall that they ever had a son. In short, Aidan ap Llanfor, you have ceased to exist outside of this kingdom. You. Are. Mine.”

The shock fell away from him like a curtain suddenly dropped, and Celynnen found herself looking into the face of pure wrath. It was utterly fascinating. The harsh fury in Aidan’s gray eyes burned hotter than any iron he had ever drawn from his forge, so hot it seemed it might set her ablaze where she stood. Regrettably, however, the potential for entertainment would have to wait. She had a real burn to attend to, and she swept from the room to find a healer before the tiny mark upon her hand became an abhorrent scar. Halfway down the vast hallway, the last thing she heard from Aidan was a full-fledged snarl: “By Gofannon, god of the fire that transforms, I will spill your damnable blue blood with weapons forged by my own hand! I swear I will have your life for my Annwyl’s!”

Laughter, cold and crystalline, burst from Celynnen’s perfect lips. “My poor, dear human, you will have to remember her first.”

Walla Walla, Washington

Twenty-First Century

I’m sorry, but I can’t sell you a spell to make somebody love you. I know that you see it in storybooks all the time, but it’s unethical.” It was the last in a long line of calls to return, and Brooke Halloran’s fingers were getting cramped from holding the smartphone. From holding it together actually—she needed a new one badly, but it hadn’t been in the budget, since she’d set up shop in an old diner. Her business, Handcastings, had grown profitable as an online company, and she’d sold a great deal of pagan, Wiccan, and New Age supplies from her website over the past few years. As a business administration graduate, she would have advised herself against risking investment in a physical location in such an uncertain economy.

As a dedicated witch, however, she needed to make herself more available to those who needed her help. Sure, she’d done plenty of phone consultations, and she still did. But a more personal connection generally led to more effective magic, and she knew she needed a place to consult with clients face-to-face. Brooke had tried meeting with people in their homes, but it was time consuming to make house calls, and she much preferred to have more control over the environment and its energies.

She looked at several locations in Spokane, the city she had grown up in, but nothing had the right feel . Finally, some of her friends who had moved to Walla Walla persuaded her to try that city. It was older than Spokane, and the brick buildings and old houses possessed an inviting charm. It wasn’t long before she found exactly what she had been hoping for.

The two-story red brick building was a Renaissance Revival style from 1900. Despite the historical appeal of its tall windows and ornate white detailing—or perhaps because of them—it had remained empty for the past several years. It was just off a busy part of the downtown core, nestled in a row of similar buildings, but Brooke had felt both potential and positive energy in this one. Plus it had a fairly new furnace and a solid foundation, and it required no major repairs other than a fresh application of sealant on the flat roof. With the real estate market in a tailspin, she’d managed to coax the desperate seller into holding the mortgage for her without any more magic than the contents of her savings account as a down payment. A little cleaning (okay, a helluva lot of cleaning), plus some paint and fresh upholstery in a black, turquoise, and silver palette for strength, serenity, and intuition, and ta-da , she had a shop of her very own. The financial responsibility of that still scared the bejeebers out of her some days, degree or no degree.

“No, no love potions either.” Brooke listened patiently to the caller’s negative reaction and refused to be goaded into saying something childish. She couldn’t help mouthing it silently though: I am too a real witch! And a real witch would seek to bring wisdom to the situation. Somehow she had to instruct instead of argue, right?

Brooke glanced around her shop for inspiration.