Chapter Eight
Tom straightened, alarmed. “Trouble? Not with the law?”
“Nothing like that.” Seeing the direction of his mother’s gaze, Rhys realized he’d laid one hand on Olivia’s wrist. He refused to move it. “Olivia’s like me. She can use magic.”
Rhys sensed the electric sizzle of magic in the air as Olivia let her glamour drop. His mother drew in a breath, a sharp little gasp of shock.
“The reason I couldn’t move is because I was under a spell,” Olivia said steadily. “I’m a member of a race called the Sidhe.”
His parents exchanged a flashing look born of thirty-four years of marriage. “Sidhe? As in . . . Fairies?” June asked.
“Basically, yes. But there’s a lot your legends about us have wrong.” She extended her right hand, and an image of the earth appeared, rotating over her palm. When she lifted her left hand, a second earth revolved above it, though the continents were shaped differently.
“That’s incredible,” June said, awed. Tom muttered something, either a curse or a prayer.
“This is the earth I’m from,” Olivia said, nodding at it. “It exists in a kind of alternate universe . . .” She launched into the same lecture on Mageverse physics she’d given Rhys earlier. “The result is that magic doesn’t work here.”
His mother stared at the twin planets in fascination, leaning over the table to look at them more closely. Her dark eyes flicked up to meet Olivia’s. “Then how are you able to do that?”
“By drawing on the magical forces of my own universe.”
His mother had never been slow. “So you’re saying Rhys does that, too?”
“Basically. The reason that you can’t use magic is because you didn’t evolve to. My people did, so I can.”
Judging by her frown, June didn’t like where this was going. “Then how does Rhys do it?”
“I shouldn’t be able to, Mom,” Rhys told her gently. “That’s what we came here to ask you about.”
His father stared at him. “But you’ve been doing weird crap since you were ten.”
Rhys took a deep breath. This was harder than he’d expected—and he’d expected it to suck. “Olivia believes that I’m not from here, Dad. Am I adopted?”
They stared at him, their jaws dropping simultaneously. He wasn’t sure whether to curse or be pleased. They hadn’t been lying to him all these years.
Neither of them had known.
“You are definitely not adopted,” June said tartly. “I was there. They told us that you were dead, that you were going to be stillborn. Nobody was more astonished than the doctor when he delivered you and you screamed your little lungs out, healthy as a horse.”
It was a story he’d heard for years. He’d been thinking about the implications for hours now. “Mom,” Rhys said softly. “What if your baby did die?”
Tom rose slowly to his feet to turn a chill glance on Olivia. “Ma’am, would you mind giving us a little privacy?”
She didn’t even look offended, just inclined her head in a faint bow and rose to her feet. “I’ll step outside. Come get me when you’re ready.”
His parents watched with cold anger as she left the room. The front door opened and closed with a soft click. Rhys braced himself.
“Are you seriously taking the word of some little witch over us?” Dad exploded. “Has she put you under some kind of spell?”
“There’s definitely a spell at work here,” Rhys said grimly, his instincts telling him it was true. “But Olivia’s not the one who cast it.”
He poured himself another glass of wine and downed it in one swallow, dreading what he was going to have to do next.
June clenched her plump fists in agitation. “The ob-gyn told your father to wait in the waiting room while they did the C-section, but I was awake. They didn’t have time to put me out. I saw the doctor lift you out of me. I heard you crying.” Tears glistened in her eyes as she burst out, “I’m not lying to you!”
“I didn’t say you were.” Rhys looked at her, reached for his magical senses—and cursed.
Sparks of green light orbited his mother in an agitated cloud. The only blessing was there was no sign of it around his father.
“Rhys!” His mother snapped. “You don’t use language like that in this house!”
“I’m sorry.” He rose from the table and moved to where she sat at one end. She rose to face him, the wariness in her eyes making his chest hurt.
His dad rose from the head of the table and stalked toward him, big shoulders set. He looked as if he was seriously tempted to swing at Rhys. “Your mother has never lied to you a day in her life. You’re our child. If you weren’t our child, we would’ve told you so.”
“Dad, Mom’s under a spell. I can see sparks of green magic floating around her. It’s the same color that surrounded Olivia when she couldn’t get off that bench. Whoever targeted Olivia, targeted Mom.”
“You think your mother has been under a spell for thirty-three years?” Tom snapped. “But I haven’t been?”
“They didn’t have to put a spell on you. You weren’t in the room. If the doctor and Mom told you I was yours, you had no reason to doubt them.”
Dad got right up in his face until they were nose to nose. “This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of. What has this Olivia done to you? Because if one of us is under a spell, it’s not your mother.”
Pain stabbed through Rhys’s chest, but he knew what he had to do. Turning to his mother, he called his magic, cupped her cheek, and met her bewildered gaze.
His father stiffened. “What are you . . .”
Rhys didn’t answer, concentrating on the swirl of the spell’s energies in the technique Olivia had taught him that afternoon. He sent his own magic pouring into June, probing the magic that held her. It must have been very strong originally; thirty-three years was a long time for a spell to remain active. He went to work searching for weaknesses he could use to pick it apart.
June’s dark eyes widened and she swayed.
Tom’s hand clamped down on Rhys’s shoulder, but he ignored his father for one of the few times in his life.
Mom went deathly pale.
“June!” Grabbing her elbow to steady her, Tom shot Rhys a hot look. “Get your hands off her!” He drew back a big fist, only to hesitate. He’d never hit Rhys in his life.
There. A weakness in the spell, a place where it had gone thin. Rhys sent a bolt of power shooting into it. “Remember,” he murmured as it broke. “Remember it all.”
His mother stared at him, her lips parting. To his horror, tears welled in her eyes and she began to shake. “Tom!” It was a heartbroken wail.
With a soft gasp of pain, Dad gathered her into his arms. “June! June, baby, what’s wrong?”
“I’ll get you something to drink.” Ignoring his dad’s hot gaze, Rhys stepped back and moved into the kitchen, where he filled a glass of ice water from the refrigerator.
When he got back, his mother was sobbing in the circle of his father’s arms. “He died,” she gasped. “Rhys is right—our baby died.”
Still holding the water, Rhys froze, closed his eyes against the pain, and listened to his mother cry. “I’m sorry.” His voice sounded ragged.
His father looked up at him, a kind of dazed betrayal in his eyes. “Why did you do that?”
“Dad, somebody has manipulated Mom and used her own mind to lie to her—and to you. I couldn’t let them go on doing it. Even if I’m not your son, I love you.” His voice cracked.
“Not our son?” June looked up at that, blinking away the tears. “Of course, you’re our son! Spell or no spell, I changed your diapers, I taught you to read . . .”
Tom straightened his beefy shoulders and took a deep breath before meeting his gaze. “Your mother’s right. If June says somebody cast a spell on her, okay. Maybe I find that tough to believe, but she doesn’t lie. And neither do you.” His gaze grew fierce. “But that doesn’t change the fact that we raised you. We love you, boy. That counts a hell of a lot more than blood.”
Rhys felt a tear roll down his cheek and swiped it away.
His mother looked up at him. “Unless you’re saying we’re not your parents?” The vulnerability and pain in her face tightened the agony in his chest another burning notch.
“Of course you’re my parents. I love you. Nothing can ever change that.” He leaned down and wrapped his arms around her, holding on to her plump body as she shook.
* * *
Olivia stood outside on the front porch, watching the moon rise over the trees. She’d thought she heard raised voices a moment before, but it had gone quiet again.
Rhys must’ve broken the spell by now. And there was a spell. Olivia had seen it emerge when he’d started asking about his birth. Which was more than likely the reason he never noticed it before now.
It had probably been most active when he was a small boy, but as the years went by, the false memories had become so ingrained it hadn’t even needed to activate anymore. It was only when Rhys had deliberately probed that it again rose to the surface.
The spell was also the exact same shade of green as the geas on her. Evidently the compulsion and the false memory had been laid by the same individual. Or at least by people of the same race.
What the hell was going on? It was obvious that all of this somehow fit together, but she still had no idea how. She . . .
The front door opened and Rhys leaned out. His face was expressionless, but there was a hint of red around his eyes. Had he been crying? The thought sent a bolt of pain through her.
“I think they’re ready to talk to us about what happened.”
“All right.” As he stepped back to let her enter, she laid a hand on his chest over his heart. “I’m sorry. That must have been difficult.”
“You have no idea.” His face twisted before settling into impassivity again. “I made my mother cry. Hell, I made my father cry.”
Olivia could only shake her head in sympathy. They entered to find his parents sitting in the living room. Eyeing them, she realized there was a resemblance between them and their son. June’s hair color was the same, and so was the shape of Tom’s jaw. She wondered if whoever did this chose them for that reason.
Olivia and Rhys took the love seat as his parents huddled on the couch, looking miserable.
June turned to her, her pretty face twisted in pain. “So you’re telling us our son is some kind of changeling.”
Olivia sat back, startled. “No, that’s not what we mean at all.”
Tom shot a confused look at his wife. “What’s a changeling?”
“There’s a legend that fairies kidnap human children and leave a fairy doppelgänger in their place,” Rhys explained.
“But we don’t think Rhys is Sidhe,” Olivia added. “His magic is far too strong, especially given that he’s here on earth.”
June frowned. “But I remember seeing that blond woman carry him into the delivery room.”
“What woman?” Rhys’s eyes flashed gold.
His mother stared at him. “Your eyes . . . your eyes just turned yellow. They never did that before.”
Olivia and Rhys exchanged a glance. “Yes, they’ve started doing that recently. What woman, Mom?”
“This strange woman walked into the delivery room just as the doctor took my . . . took the baby. She was carrying an infant in her arms. It was you, Rhys. The doctor asked her what she thought she was doing, but before he even got the question out of his mouth, she gave him this . . . look. And he shut up. Everyone . . . All the nurses, the doctor, they all just froze.” The pain was gone from her face now, replaced by remembered awe. “I’ve never seen a woman so beautiful in my life. She had honey blond hair and gold eyes.” June’s gaze fastened on his. “The same color yours were just now.”
Rhys’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He leaned toward his mother, bracing his elbows on his knees. “What did she do then?”
“She said, ‘I’m sorry about your child. My son’s life is in danger, too.’ And she gave you to me, wrapped up in that blanket. You already had a thick head of blond hair and you looked up at me with those incredible eyes. And you were beautiful. I had never seen a baby so beautiful.” Her voice cracked. “And the woman said, ‘My enemy means to kill my son. He’s already killed my husband. I need somewhere to hide him. I need you to hide him. Will you take him as your own? Because you’re the only one who can keep him safe. Without you, I have Seen he’ll be dead within the week.’”
“And you said yes.” Rhys’s voice broke.
A tear glittered in her eyes, spilled down one cheek. “I looked down at your little face, and I couldn’t stand the thought of you dying the way my child had died. And worse, by being murdered. Then I thought about having you, raising you as my own. The doctor had already told us I wouldn’t be able to have another baby—I’d suffered too much uterine damage. We were going to have to adopt, but that could take years. And I wanted you. God, how I wanted you. So I said yes.”
Tom frowned. “And the doctor and the nurses just went along with it?”
June wrapped her hands in his, tightened her fingers. “I asked about that. The blond woman said they would remember you being born. Then she looked into my eyes and said, ‘And so will you.’ She put you into my arms, and then she took my son from the doctor, who’d been holding him all that time. I saw a glowing point open in the air and expand outward into a kind of door. There was a cave on the other side. I asked her what she was going to do with my child. She said she would bury him as her own so that her enemy would believe that you were dead. She wrapped up the little body and walked through that hole in the air. And was gone. Then everyone was laughing and talking about what a miracle it was that you had survived.”
Tom studied his wife. “And you didn’t remember any of that?”
“No.” Her fingers tightened on his as she gazed anxiously into his face. “I should’ve asked you first. I made the choice for both of us, but I should’ve asked.”
He leaned in and kissed her gently, sweetly. When he pulled away, he asked, “Do you really believe I wouldn’t have agreed?”
Her smile trembled. “No, of course not.”
Olivia turned to Rhys. “Do you think this enemy of your birth mother’s is the one who sent the werewolves after you?”
“It’s certainly possible.” He looked at his folks. “Look, is there any way you can take a vacation, hide out for a week or so? If these guys have been following me around, they know about you.”
Tom and June shot each other alarmed looks. “I just finished a carpentry job, so I’m between projects right now,” his father said slowly. “I could probably take off for a week.”
“Are you sure this is necessary?” June asked.
“I’m afraid so. These . . . people are pretty serious, and I do not want them to get their hands on you.”
“I’m more worried about you,” Tom told him, frowning in concern.
“I can handle them,” Rhys said, pulling his cell out of his pocket. “I’ll buy the plane tickets and get the hotel room. How does Hawaii sound?”
Tom shot his wife a grin. “Sounds good to me. But we can pay our own way, son.”
“Don’t you start,” Rhys growled. “You wouldn’t have to do this at all if it wasn’t for me. The least I can do is pay your way, and God knows I’ve got the money.” Turning his attention to his phone, he started booking the trip.
His parents chatted about arrangements they needed to make while he thumbed his phone. Finally, he looked up. “I’ve got you booked at the Ritz-Carlton on Waikiki tonight through next Sunday. Why don’t you two pack while I take care of the flight?”
His mother reached out and caught him by the hand. “Fine but . . . what are you going to do?”
Rhys looked grim. “Find out whose ass to kick.”
* * *
“Well, at least we have a better idea what’s going on,” Olivia said, as Rhys parked the BMW into the garage after they’d dropped his folks off at the airport.
He’d been right about needing the Beamer; the Porsche’s joke of a back seat and even smaller trunk wouldn’t have worked at all.
“Sounds like all of this goes back to my birth mother,” he said thoughtfully as they got out of the car. “It’s logical to suspect this enemy of hers—the one that made her seek out Mom—is the same one who’s targeting me now.”
“Maybe,” Olivia agreed slowly. “Makes about as much sense as anything. But that raises the question of where Gorin fits in. If he does.”
“And the problem of who my birth mother is—or for that matter, what she is.” Rhys turned to look over the car’s white roof at her. “You’re still convinced I’m not Sidhe?”
Before Olivia could answer, he stiffened, eyes flashing gold as his head snapped toward the open garage door. Frowning, he headed toward it.
“What’s wrong?” Then she sensed it, too: a whisper of magic.
“Somebody’s here who doesn’t belong.” He strode out into the yard, his big body tense and ready.
Olivia followed, frowning. There was something horribly familiar about that magic. Feels like Sidhe work . . .
Then it hit her. “Rhys, look out!”
Too late. He plummeted into the ground as if a hole had opened beneath his feet. He didn’t even have time to yell. She sensed the familiar boil of magic from an opening dimensional gate. Underground?
“Rhys!” Olivia raced toward the hole as a high-pitched shriek rose from the earth, too shrill and loud to be human.
She stopped short, staring downward at what seemed to be a solid expanse of lawn. It’s some kind of glamour. With a sweeping gesture, she shattered it.
A ten-foot wide pit lay at her feet, a dimensional gate open midway down.
Oh, sweet Goddess! Peering downward, she breathed a terrified curse.
Judging by the view, the gate’s other end opened over red sandstone cliffs. The ground was a good thousand feet below. Rhys might already be dead.
But there’s a chance he’s still alive. He could have levitated to safety.
If he knew how to levitate.
Fighting her fear, Olivia cast a spell on the gate, trying to determine where on Mageverse Earth it opened. She didn’t dare follow him directly into the gate; it would be too easy for the assassin to disrupt it when she was halfway through and cut her in half.
But she could jump there herself and levitate down to find him, maybe heal him if he was hurt. If the geas lets me cast a gate without knocking me on my ass again.
She sucked in a breath and gathered her magic . . .
BOOOM! The blast slammed into her chest, throwing her into a rolling tumble.
Sliding to a stop on the grass, she stared dazed and breathless at the sky. Her brain seemed to vibrate in her pounding skull. That wasn’t the geas. Who . . . ?
Before she could shake off the effects of the attack, a face appeared above her, surrounded by a fall of Day-Glo green hair. Malicious eyes the same sickly green blazed down at her. “Well, I never expected to see you again.”
“Gorin!”
He grabbed a fistful of her hair and jerked, dragging her to her feet, his handsome face twisted in a serial killer’s grin. “I just made a great deal of money killing your boyfriend.” He laughed, the sound mocking. “I’ve taken quite a toll on your loved ones.”
Olivia should have been terrified. Instead she was just pissed off. I don’t have time for this shit. I’ve got to get to Rhys.
The assassin’s hand blazed as he gathered a magical attack. Even as Olivia threw up a shield, she knew Gorin had far more power than she did.
The shield blasted outward from her body so fast, it drove him backward, ripping his grip from her hair. Which hurt like a bitch, but she ignored the pain. Conjuring armor and a sword, she fell into a fighting crouch. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, you murdering bastard.”
Gorin stared at her in astonishment. “You have learned a few tricks, haven’t you?” His eyes narrowed. “What have you done to your magic? It’s green.”
He was right. The familiar emerald sparks of the geas lay in a thick shell over her own shield, reinforcing it. What the . . . ?
“Not that it’ll save you.” He flipped his wrist, flinging another spell at her face.
Which splashed off the shield like a water balloon. Gorin cursed.
“You were saying?” Olivia took a dancing step forward, swinging her sword. As she moved, the lingering effects of his ambush blast faded, overwhelmed by adrenaline.
Gorin curled a lip in contempt. “Oh, I’m terrified. You don’t even know how to use that.” He conjured his own weapons, then leaped back as she swung her blade in a blur of power.
Power that burned with emerald light.
Olivia advanced, her sword licking out, testing his guard. He blocked, steel clashing against steel. After so many years of practice and study, swordplay felt as familiar as walking—the advance and retreat, the beat of blade on blade.
To her amazement, she realized Gorin’s bladework was a fraction slower than hers, a bit more hesitant. She grinned at him. “Out of practice, assassin? Grown rusty after a decade in exile? No wonder you have to hire werewolves to do your dirty work.”
“Not too rusty to gut you, bitch.” He lunged into a vicious swing, but Olivia flicked her blade up, deflecting the attack as she spun aside. His pale green eyes narrowed behind his visor.
In the back of her skull, a low voice hissed, Finish him. Finish him. Finish him.
Growling, Olivia lunged, swinging the great blade in a murderous diagonal stroke.
Gorin threw up a shield. Her sword rebounded off it hard enough to jolt her teeth.
Finish him. Finishhimfinishhimfinish . . .
The Sidhe assassin spun like a dancer, putting the entire weight of his body behind the blow. Arrogant fuck probably expected to cut her in two.
She flicked up her own shield. His weapon struck it and rebounded so hard, he stumbled.
Olivia dropped her shield and lunged before he could recover. Eyes widening, he threw up a shield. Her blade blazed emerald as the big weapon’s point hit the barrier . . .
And drove deep as if the shield was made of toilet paper. Slamming into his chest, the sword skewered him like a cocktail olive on a toothpick.
“What?” His lips shaped the word soundlessly, pale eyes flaring wide in astonished terror.
Olivia’s lips curled in a savage snarl. “Die, you murderous shit.”
She blasted the killing spell right up her blade. Green light exploded from Gorin’s chest, and he convulsed as it stopped his heart.
Olivia tore her sword free as the assassin staggered and started to fall. Rage and triumph singing through her skull, she swung with every ounce of her strength. The weapon sheared through his neck. His head went flying, trailing a scarlet ribbon of blood.
Gorin’s decapitated body fell sideways as his head thumped to the ground.
It was over.