Spellbinder (Moonshadow #2)

He wore a long, tailored jacket of expensive-looking black leather, a white dress shirt, and plain, dark gray slacks. The inferno of magic she had sensed in him after she had just become a lycanthrope was gone. Or cloaked. After sensing what burned inside him, she didn’t doubt for a moment he could cloak what he was.

His brilliant hazel gaze fixed on her, and he walked toward her. To her starved eyes, he looked more vital, more compelling than ever, his strong, bold features calm, even contemplative. The tanned skin around his eyes carried laugh lines she had barely gotten the chance to enjoy. The stern cut of his mouth was relaxed.

He looked for all the world like a handsome, charismatic man might look on holiday.

Panic ran over her, shrieking like a freight train. Whirling, she sprinted in the opposite direction.

Her hearing was sharp enough now that she could hear him swearing from a block away. As she glanced over her shoulder, she saw him running after her in pursuit.

She pelted down the sidewalk. She couldn’t move fast or far enough away from him, and between one stride and the next, she changed into a lycanthrope. Exclamations sounded all around, and someone shouted in alarm.

From one moment to the next, something shimmered and changed. She could feel the magic, like she had never felt it before in her life. She was running in some kind of bubble, and while several people pointed back to where she had been, nobody looked directly at where she was.

Had he thrown a cloaking spell around her?

It didn’t matter. Tossing out all speculation, she lowered her head and ran for all she was worth.

And he followed.

He followed her out of town, and along the road that led into the North York Moors National Park. He followed her when she plunged into the park and ran across the wild, open space. The magic bubble encasing her dissipated. Glancing back again, she saw that he had changed into his lycanthrope form as well.

She couldn’t outrun him. If he chose to, he could keep pace with her forever.

Sidonie, will you stop? he said telepathically. We need to talk.

No. No. The panic locked up her mind.

Changing course in a giant circle, she raced back to her farmhouse. Once there, she shapeshifted quickly back into her human form. With shaking hands, she dug into her pocket for the key, let herself in, and slammed and locked the door.

Backing away until her shoulder blades hit the nearby wall, she sank to the floor.

Her lycanthrope senses were such that she knew the moment when his footsteps sounded outside. Something thunked against the door. His hand, perhaps, or even his head.

She also heard him say quietly to himself, “What the hell.”

*

As Morgan watched the ruins of the summer palace slide into the sea, he wondered, where did one go after an age has ended?

What was one to do with the rest of one’s life when one actually had a choice?

At what point did one stop seeking justice and vengeance, and began, instead, to seek out his own life?

Was it enough, now that he had killed Modred? Could he stop looking back, and begin to look forward?

Isabeau’s kingdom was in disarray, and he had injured her badly.

She wasn’t dead. Yet the thought of going after her seemed unutterably wearying. Her histrionics were so tawdry. She had enemies enough in the world… she and Oberon’s Dark Court were still at one another’s throats. They could kill each another. He no longer needed to be a part of it.

Besides, the sword he bore wanted to go back to its holder. He could feel the pull from where it was sheathed in its scabbard. Its job was done.

So he let it be enough.

He rode back to the lake and offered the sword to its Lady. As he threw it, and her arm emerged, he whispered, “Thank you.”

She caught the sword by the hilt and held it straight. His last sight of it was as she drew it down into the water. When the sword disappeared from view, somehow he knew he would never see it again.

What was past could finally lie in the past. It settled into its grave with one last sigh. He hoped he had brought it a measure of peace. Now, what he had to do was make amends for some of the things he had done. It didn’t matter if he had done them while acting under the influence of the geas. Some wrongs needed to be put right.

Riding to the closest crossover passageway, he went to Earth. For the next several days he traveled along the Welsh Marches and removed all the cloaking spells he had placed on crossover passageways, both those leading to Lyonesse and those leading to Avalon. He couldn’t do anything to repair the passageways he had ruined, but he could at least open the ones that were still useable.

As he worked to clear the last passageway, a huge black stallion with fiery hooves galloped to up him. The horse reared and changed into Robin, who eyed him warily.

“This is a surprise,” Robin remarked.

Morgan raised an eyebrow. “I could say the same of you.”

“I took your hunter’s spray to your cottage, but of course, you weren’t there.” The puck eyed him curiously. “I found the castle ruined, and the town all but empty.”

“Indeed.” Morgan turned back to complete his task.

When he was finished, Robin asked, “I no longer sense the darkness on you. So you are free from Isabeau’s control?”

“It would seem so.” He rubbed his chest, which ached, but not because of the mortal wound Isabeau had given him. It ached from what had come after.

After a moment, Robin asked, “Where is she? What happened to Sidonie?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered.

She became something else. She wrapped chains around me, and freed me at the same time, and I grew outraged and left.

I left the best thing that has ever happened to me.

The thought ate at him in the night. Where had she gone? What was she doing? The news of her kidnapping had hit all the major newspapers and television channels. He scoured each story for clues, but there were none, just a professionally prepared news release in which she thanked her fans for respecting her privacy while she recovered from her ordeal.

He and the puck stood awkwardly together, in the middle of the sunlit clearing where the passageway shone clear and bright again.

Then Morgan turned to face Robin. “I am attempting to right a few of the wrongs I committed in Isabeau’s name. All the crossover passageways are now clear again. Your king has fallen under a spell of mine. I would be glad to reverse it, if they would let me.”

Robin laughed. “They would all, to a knight, die before they let you anywhere near Oberon. But I will pass on your regards and the message.”

Morgan nodded, unsurprised. “Modred is dead,” he told Robin. “Isabeau is alive and in hiding. I don’t know where. I did manage to wound her, and she no longer commands the Hounds. I do. Tell this to the Dark Court as well—I mean them no harm. I never did, and I will take no further action against them as long as they leave me and mine alone. I’m done, puck. Do you hear me? I wash my hands of the war between you and the Light Court.”

Robin smiled. “That was everything I had ever hoped for, sorcerer.” Then his smile died. “When you find her again, would you please tell her a thing from me?”