Dani Harper - Storm Bound

While Aidan busied himself with the nails, Brooke poured salt, herbs, and dried red berries into the depression that had been burnt into her spell room’s floor. It was hard to be upset about the scar in the wood when it created such a beautifully symmetrical circle. Her altar was already set up at the heart of it. This time, however, in addition to her own magical tools and her prized stone figure of Hecate with her hound, there were a number of photos printed off the Internet that stood in for real objects not readily available—a smith’s hammer, tongs, and bellows, for instance. A yard of real leather, hastily cut from an old coat that had once been part of a costume, formed the tablecloth, a proxy for the protective leather apron that a smith wore during his work. And printed images of Gofannon, the old Celtic god of metalworking, were carefully pinned to the nine candles that Brooke had arranged around Hecate. It felt good, that the deities respected by both Aidan and Brooke were represented. When she’d been online, Brooke had been reassured to find that Gofannon was also the god of magic and weapon makers, although there was one more thing she didn’t quite understand: he was also the god of the fire that transforms .

She sincerely hoped that was just a blacksmithing term and didn’t mean the deity would burn her house down.

Stripping off her clothing, she entered the circle and began to walk slowly deosil—clockwise—around the altar. She lit each candle as she offered up one of the very first spells she had learned from Olivia: High to low, roof to floor, wall to wall, and door to door; Basement deep to sky above, fill this home with light and love.

A protection spell was always simple—again, it was the intent with which an incantation was uttered that gave it power. Brooke recited it nine times as she visualized warm amber light surrounding her building, her home. In her mind’s eye, the light limned every line, every brick, every timber, every square inch of floors and walls, even the basement and the roof.

As she paced, her circle of salt began to glow. Light in the form of sinuous golden flames rose until they were nearly waist high. They gave off no heat, only a sense of inner warmth and well-being. The candles on the altar were another story. They flared up suddenly into a single column of white light, which expanded to envelope the entire altar as well. Brooke continued her measured pacing just a little closer to the flames of the outer circle as the glowing altar became brighter and brighter. Just as she could no longer look at it, it abruptly winked out as if someone had pinched out the wick of a candle. The flames disappeared from the circle in the same moment. Only silence, the scent of the berries, and a strong feeling of serenity remained. Brooke had spots in front of her eyes though, and it took a few moments for her sight to clear up. When it did, she blinked again, this time in disbelief. Everything that wasn’t metal or stone that had been on, above, or below the altar— including the altar itself —was now nothing more than a pile of ash, and a small one at that. Brooke’s first thought was for her beautiful table, and all the work she had put into refurbishing the rare cherrywood piece. But then she scolded herself. Sometimes magic required a price, and who knew? Perhaps Gofannon charged a little more than Hecate usually did. Brooke could hardly complain. If her home and all who were in it were safe, it was well worth the little sacrifice.

“Thank you both,” she breathed to the gods she had called on as she knelt to rescue her stone figure of Hecate, and brushed the ash from its fine features. Her athame and boline were likewise unharmed. Even the oak floor survived the event. Except for the top layer of varnish being blistered where the altar had once stood, there were no holes, ruts or other impressions.

She left her little statue standing with the boline beside it on the floor and used her athame to “cut” a door in the circle so she could leave without disturbing the magical energy. Once out, she sprinkled salt over the spot where she had crossed over to seal it and went to get dressed as quickly as possible. The CLOSED sign was just going to have to stay on the front door of Handcastings a little longer—there was more work to be done today, she’d decided.

They would have to go over to Olivia’s house and repeat the entire process.

To hold the Gift is to guard the helpless and to remove power from the cruel. Brooke wasn’t about to allow her friend and mentor to be endangered because Aidan was working there. Nor was she about to let Aidan be taken by Celynnen if she could help it. Because if intent was the most important factor in magic, then Brooke had the key ingredient: You can’t have him, you bitch.

Olivia’s large home was beautiful, and apparently very old for houses in this time and place. She said it was Victorian in style. Aidan admired the grand height of it—two and a half ornate stories of wood and brick with a steeply pitched roof.

With only George living with her, there were empty bedrooms upstairs, and Olivia encouraged Aidan and Brooke to stay in one for the time being.

“The faery found Aidan at Handcastings before all the protections were in place, and that is where she’ll be looking for him again,” said Olivia. “All the work you did will prevent her from knowing if he’s in there or not—and even if she suspects he’s not, she won’t know where to look next.”

“And we’ve just fortified your protections too,” said Brooke. “So chances are good she won’t see Aidan, right?”

“Not even if she scries for him—and that’s likely how she found him before.”

Aidan alone objected. “I do not like this idea. It’s not right to place everyone in danger because of me.”

Olivia simply patted his arm. “If evil must be opposed, then we are stronger together, m’ijo . Besides, to hold the Gift is not to hold it alone .”

“I don’t have the Gift. Not the way you mean.”

She eyed him speculatively. “I’m not so sure about that, but it doesn’t matter. We’re sticking together.”

“But it puts you and George at risk…”

“I am at the shop almost every day and so is George. We are already in danger.” Olivia was not going to take no for an answer, and she shooed the pair to the door. “Get your cats and your things, Brooke, plus the spells you need to put together for your orders. You can close the shop and work here this week.

“And as for you,” she said to Aidan, “don’t forget I’ve hired you to perform miracles with my yard. If you’re staying here, I know you’ll never be late for work!”

A smart man knew when to admit defeat. Olivia was a force of nature, and Aidan wasn’t going to win, especially when Brooke had sided with her. Besides, he couldn’t disagree with one aspect of her reasoning—it would be easier to work on the property if he was staying here, and the more work he did, the faster he could earn the means to buy iron. He might even be able to purchase some before they traveled to Brooke’s friends’ home. She had indeed won him permission to use their forge, and he was looking forward to trying out his weapon designs.

The sooner he did that, the sooner he could deal with Celynnen once and for all.

Olivia’s house was even grander inside than it looked from the outside. The dimensions of the bedroom Aidan shared with Brooke amazed him every time he was in it. His entire shop could have fit into the space, living quarters and all. Although Deykin the Magistrate had had a much larger house than this one, the bedchambers weren’t of such impressive size, nor did they boast such large windows.