Chapter 16
Finn crouched around the back side of the studio. He tugged up the sweatpants. The fabric was soft, but felt odd against his skin. And finding a place for his tail had presented a problem. He had been forced to make a hole in the garment and pull it through.
He supposed he could tolerate them to protect the women’s idea of propriety.
If they ever came out of the house.
Genevieve had been inside with the two witches for over an hour. If they didn’t come out, he’d know they had decided they couldn’t or wouldn’t help him.
Then the patio light came on and the breezeway door opened.
Genevieve descended the three steps carrying two large, flat boxes. The other two women followed, carrying other things for the meal, setting them down on the table.
“Finn?”
“I’m here.” He moved slowly, so as not to startle the two witches. As he approached, he watched them carefully. Magic had made his life miserable for the past six centuries, and he wanted no part of it now, but there were no other options open to him.
“Dear Goddess,” one of the women breathed as he came into the light.
He stopped some twenty feet away. Every muscle tensed as he waited for them to attack.
Genevieve approached and offered him a hand, her gaze steady on his face. She had more compassion and courage in her little finger than any woman he had ever known, for in a matter of days she had decided to trust him and shed her fear. His mouth was dry as he clasped her hand, careful of his claws. She tugged him forward.
“Let me introduce you to Miranda and Juliet Templeton. They’re two of my oldest and best friends, and we went to school together.”
He cleared his throat and kept his voice low, though it didn’t improve its gravelly quality. “Good eve to ye both.”
“We can talk after we’ve eaten. Why don’t we all sit down and get acquainted?” Genevieve urged. “I’ll get the salad dressing.” She rushed inside.
Left alone for a moment, Finn pointed toward the concrete bench with an open palm where he often sat. “If ’twill make ye more comfortable, I can sit over there.”
The sisters were very alike in looks, but the one Genevieve had introduced as Miranda pulled a chair out to sit down. “I think you should join us. Genevieve has just spent the last half hour assuring us we can trust you. But be forewarned, you try anything, and my sister will fry your ass, and I’ll blow your ashes all the way to the moon.”
He took a deep breath. If he wished to be free of the curse, he needed to remain calm in the face of this witch’s threats. “Ye have nothing to fear from me. Just because I look like a monster doesna mean I behave like one.”
He pulled out a chair for Juliet and waited for her to sit, then stepped away from the table. He stood quietly until Genevieve appeared with the salad dressing. He pulled out her chair, then removed the seat reserved for him, lifted the heavy concrete bench and carried it to the table. When he noticed the three of them watching him with big eyes, he shrugged. “The back of the chair leaves no room for m’wings.”
He waited for the three women to serve themselves before reaching for a slice of the pizza. The scent of garlic reached him before he bit into it. He savored the mixture of flavors, tomatoes and onions, meat and cheese.
“What do you think of it, Finn?” Genevieve asked.
“’Tis fine. Like nothin’ I have ever tasted.” He reached for the wineglass, aware that it looked like a child’s cup in his hand as he took a sip. He set the fragile glass down with care.
They ate in silence for several minutes. “I know some of the wolves you travel with,” Miranda said. “Would you mind if I ask them about you?”
“Nay, I dinna mind. I kenned they were more than wolves, though they have never shown their other forms to me.” He enjoyed their company because they understood his difference and accepted him. “They have welcomed me into their pack, and we have hunted together several nights since I have been here.”
“And what else do you do to pass the time at night?” Juliet asked.
“Genevieve brings me books to read so I may learn about all manner of thin’s.”
Miranda’s brows rose, and she looked to Genevieve. “I wondered why you were checking out books about medicine, machines, politics, and technology. I thought you were looking for inspiration for a sculpture.”
Genevieve flashed her a smile. “I have been doing a sculpture. I’ll show you my latest before you leave.”
Finn had never watched her work, though he often heard her hammering and running all manner of machines inside her studio. By the time he escaped his prison at nightfall, she had stopped for the day. Despite his condition, it would be a wonder to see her create a human form from stone.
Why she had never offered to show him her work? Did she perhaps think it would be hurtful for him to view something so close to what he was most of the time?
Juliet picked up her wineglass and concentrated on it for a moment. “How do you feel about a stone carver acting as your guardian, Finn?”
Had she read his mind or his expression? He finished chewing the bite of pizza and swallowed. “Since I wasna carved, but formed by magic, I dinna harbor any ill will toward Genevieve or her work.”
After a moment she raised her glass and drank from it. “Not all witches are bent on using their magic for destruction or harm. Not least because, when you put out anything negative, it comes back to you threefold.”
“Does that mean if ye fry my ass, yers will be fried as well?” he asked.
“Finn,” Genevieve breathed, her eyes wide with shock.
Juliet laughed. “Miranda started it.” She flashed her sister a look. “Things have a tendency to boomerang back to you in the magical world. Nothing is free. There is always a price. Just as your maker discovered, I’m sure.”
“Aye. He was bound and gagged and burned at the stake. Once the villagers knew what he was capable of, they feared he might turn his power on them.”
“Tell us your story, Finn,” Juliet encouraged.
He had prepared himself to do so, but it didn’t come as easily as it had with Genevieve. It was hard for a man to bare his mistakes and his shame to strangers. He told them everything, sparing himself nothing. When he fell silent. Miranda leaned forward. “Do you remember the spell he used to turn you?”
“Some, but not all.” He hesitated to go back to that time. Would speaking the words give them more power? But what choice did he have? He took a final drink of the wine, then closed his eyes and recited what he could remember of the spell,
“Yer heart has hardened to stone,
“And for that ye shall remain alone,
“Trapped in yer own hardened shell,
“Until ye learn to tell
“Respect and affection, from lust,
“Or until ye crumble into dust.
“No sunlight will ye feel…”
He fought to recall more, but finally shook his head.
“’Tis the last lines I canna remember. I was changing, and the pain was beyond anythin’ I had ever known. M’bones were breaking and reforming. And m’wings ripped out of m’back. I thought I would die before it ended. There was a wind that swooped through the castle great room, and raised me to m’ feet when I couldna stand on my own.”
Juliet’s gaze was intent as she leaned forward. “It’s important you try to remember those last few lines, Finn. They could mean the difference between successfully breaking the curse or not.”
For the first time, hope sang within him. “I will do m’best to remember.”
Miranda spoke for the first time in a long while. “In the meantime, we both need to do some research on black magic and how to overcome it.” She studied Finn’s face, looked directly into his eyes. “We can’t promise we’ll be able to break the curse, only that we’ll study and research the problem, to find out whether there’s a safe way to break it.”
“I understand.” He couldn’t expect them to put themselves in danger to help him. They were not friends to him, but to Genevieve. They were acting for her, not him.
The sisters rose to leave and he stood. “I am grateful ye’re willin’ to try.”
* * *
Finn moved the concrete bench back where it usually sat, and leaned back against the exterior wall of the studio, one foot propped upon the bench. She had only touched his wings when they were stone, but now with them spread so he could take on his current position she fought the urge to approach him and ask his permission to explore their texture.
“I didna frighten them at all.”
“Maybe a little at first.”
He snorted his disbelief.
Genevieve laughed at the sound. “They’re hard to surprise.”
“Aye. I kenned that. And they are more dangerous than they appear.”
She couldn’t argue that. She had witnessed a small, very impressive demonstration of what Juliet could do. “They will try to find a way to set you free, Finn.”
He nodded. “They are protective of ye.”
“Did Juliet threaten you?”
“Nay. ’Twas the other one.”
“Miranda?” Miranda was usually the even-tempered one. But she was really spooked by the magic around Finn. “Now she’s met you and sees you aren’t a threat to me or her, she’ll do the right thing.”
They needed to prepare in case Juliet and Miranda were able to free him. “Are you ever ill, Finn?”
“Nay. I have never been ill.”
“Not even as a human?”
“Aye. I had a few fevers, and I was sickened once by some meat we ate while on patrol. But never anythin’ serious.”
“You do realize the magic holding you prisoner is probably protecting you from illness. There are many diseases you could contract once it’s gone, diseases you have never been exposed to, so your body isn’t prepared to fight them off. It might be a good idea if you are immunized against some of them before you are freed.”
“Was it for that reason ye got the book on medicine?”
“Yes. I want you to be prepared in case you need treatment.”
“Have ye lost someone to one of these ills?”
“Not to infectious diseases. We have vaccines against them. But none of us are immune to other diseases, like cancer, heart disease, or diabetes. My grandparents raised me after my mother left me with them while she went to work in another city. She met a man there and married him, and never came back for me.”
“I am sorry. It often happened the same way in my time. I was raised in the household of my uncle because my athair died and my mathair married another.”
They’d found a common experience. “It was Pop who taught me to sculpt.”
“That is your grandfather?”
“Yes.”
“What sort of name is Pop?”
She laughed. “It was just what I called him as a toddler, and it stuck. I suppose it is short for Papaw. I called my Grandmother Gran.”
“Names laced with affection.” He tilted his head back and studied the overhead light. It reflected in the yellow iris of his eyes.
“Yes. What did you call your uncle?”
“Uncail when he wasna beating me. Ridre when he was.”
He said it with such acceptance, pain cramped her stomach. “Oh, Finn.”
“It was a long time ago, and I have no lasting hurts from it. At the time I was full of mischief and needed a stern hand. He was glad to give it to me.”
“We don’t beat our children now, Finn.”
“Aye, I know.” He raised a brow. “Although from some of the stories I read in the paper, ’twould do some of them good.”
Genevieve put a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. For all he’d survived so many centuries, he was still a fourteenth-century man.
“’Twouldna do them harm to work a bit, either. Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.”
So he was quoting the Bible now.
“And what punishment would you think fair for the women of today, Finn?”
“I know naught of the women of today, other than ye. But I knew some men who raised their hand to their lasses when they spoke their minds. I saw no reason for it. I always enjoyed a woman with spirit. There were ways to sooth their temper that didna cause any hurts and deprive either of us…” He paused, an expression of embarrassed amusement on his ugly face. But when she looked at him now, she saw the man, not the beast, and his expression seemed all too masculine.
Genevieve raised one brow and worked hard to keep her face expressionless, though she was tempted to smile again. He clearly had charm then. He still did.
“Women of my time didna have as many choices or as much freedom as ye do. Marriage and children were their duty. A few ran alehouses, wove fabric, or had other businesses, but they didna look for a way to be apart from the men.”
She supposed things were a little more straightforward back then. “We don’t look for ways to be apart from men, Finn. We look for ways to be independent, because in today’s world, a woman must support herself and her children, should her husband die or leave her. We want to be prepared, to make certain we are secure even without them.”
“The clan would have taken care of ye.”
“In today’s world, when you’re like me and have no family left, you have no clan. I can’t depend on anyone but myself. And there are more reasons for me working than to feed myself. My work fills a need that has nothing to do with the other relationships in my life.”
“Do ye na want a husband and children, too?”
“I wanted them.” She swallowed, the pain of loss still deep, but not as sharp as it had been. “The man I was going to marry was killed in an accident two years ago. Without my work, I don’t believe I could have survived my grief.”
He dropped his foot from the bench and straightened, his frown hardening the already dominant planes of his features. “I am sorry, lass.”
She folded her sweater tighter around her. “I knew Andy my whole life. I loved him as a friend before I loved him as more. We were building a life here together…” She conquered the tears by will alone. “He was a fireman.”
She started to explain what that was when Finn made a dismissive gesture. “I know what that is, lass.”
“He’d just finished his shift and was coming home. Someone shoved his car off the road and left him to die. There was dark blue paint on his bumper and the left rear quarter panel of his car. They rear-ended him and forced him off the road into a ravine. He was found the next morning. Someone noticed the skid marks and contacted the police.”
“’Twas done with intent, then.”
“Yes. But the police couldn’t find anyone who had reason to do it.”
His silence stretched for a long moment. “In my time, there were reasons to kill. Because ye had no other choice. To protect yerself or others, to seek retribution for an insult or injury to yer honor, or to defend the clan’s territory. But murder… that was usually done to gain possession of something owned or held by another. Wealth, power, land, or a woman.” He canted his head. “What did your Andy have that another might covet?”
“I wish I could say things have changed, but they haven’t. We just have more lethal weapons now.” She propped her feet on the bench beside him and paused to give the idea some thought. “He owned some property and a house, which he rented out when he moved in with me. That went to his brother. But Bryan was just as devastated by his loss as I. They were very close. He didn’t own anything else but his car, which was totaled—completely destroyed. And he didn’t owe anyone any money, and didn’t have any.”
“He had ye, Genevieve.”
She shrank away from the idea she could have been the reason behind Andy’s death. It was a moment before she could think about it. “None of my ex-boyfriends could be involved. There hadn’t been anyone steady for a long time. At least four years.”
“Then for what reason did this thing happen?”
“The police think whoever hit him must have been drunk. The driver would have been afraid to come forward or call nine-one-one because he’d be charged with vehicular homicide.”
He nodded, but his pale yellow gaze still rested on her face. “Drink causes some men to behave without reason or conscience.”
“Yes, it does.” It had cost Andy his life. And where was the justice she and his family deserved? Even if they got it, it wouldn’t bring Andy back.
“Ye had the time with yer Andy. Ye enjoyed one another, cared for each other. Ye shared precious moments of humor and affection.”
“Yes, we did. When Juliet and Miranda free you from the curse, you’ll have precious moments of your own.”
“I already have them, Genevieve. Sitting across from ye, talking as two people. Sharin’ a meal and a glass of wine. Having ye look at me as ye would any other man without fear in yer eyes. Having ye touch m’arm without hesitation.”
Her heart turned over at the look in his eyes.
“All those are more precious than ye know.” He rose to his feet and took two long paces across the patio. As though timed, the wolves howled in the distance. “I must go.” His gravelly voice shattered her composure and brought tears to her eyes. His wings spread and, with two long leaps, he took to the sky.
Her breathing caught on a sob, but she swallowed it back. What was it about him that touched her so? It was more than pity. More than empathy.
She turned her thoughts away from her questions, afraid of where they might take her.