Captivating Magic (The Thorne Witches #14)

Chapter 10

10

I f she lived to be a hundred, Ebba would never forget the following ceremony and the resulting appearance of the Goddess Isis in the clearing.

Castor arrived not long after Alastair, and Ebba was left to assume he’d called his friend prior to showing up. After Castor and Laszlo shared a look of mutual dislike, the three men set about “casting” a circle.

The process consisted of wreathing salt around the altar and placing white pillar candles in a pentagram shape inside the mineral barrier. The wicks flared to life with a mere wave of Alastair’s hand, causing Ebba to doubt her sanity. Surely this was all a bizarre dream, or someone had slipped her ’shrooms and she was tripping dinosaur balls.

Their first spell was to reveal Ebba’s spirit to the group so they could see and hear her, allowing her to participate in the discussion and decision-making. Next came the call for the Goddess.

“Goddess, hear our plea.

Assist us in this time of need.

Come, Exalted One, we need thee.”

A line of eye-popping white light materialized above the stone slab, growing in size until roughly seven feet tall. The line flared brighter, causing Ebba to shield her face or sear her retinas, and when she felt the pulsing heat die down, she dared to peek.

A petite woman with olive-toned skin and waist-length black hair stepped through what could only be construed as a veil opening between worlds or planes. Ebba didn’t know which. The female was dressed in a flowing teal dress loosely gathered below her breasts and held up at the shoulders with jeweled clips. Golden asps were wrapped around each bicep, emphasizing her toned arms. Her features were perfectly symmetrical, and her nose was what every woman who sought a plastic surgeon hoped to achieve. All-knowing eyes were lined with black kohl, adding to her exotic good looks.

She was a living goddess and the most beautiful woman Ebba had ever seen.

Their gazes locked as Isis floated down from the altar and sashayed her way to Alastair.

The men dropped to one knee and bowed, not daring to address the Goddess until she spoke.

“Beloved.”

“Exalted One,” Alastair replied, smiling at her with devastating charm. “Thank you for gracing us with your presence.”

She cast another glance Ebba’s way. “Why is this mortal child here, and why is she not showing me the proper respect?”

Panicked, Ebba dropped to her knees and bowed her head.

“Apologies, Exalted One,” she gushed.

“Clever girl,” Isis murmured, moving to stand above her. “You may rise and tell me why two of my favorite rascals have summoned me.”

“That’s my fault—” Castor began, only to stop when she held up a hand.

“I didn’t ask you, Alexander. I asked this child.”

Lo met Ebba’s worried gaze and nodded his encouragement.

After climbing to her feet, she lifted her chin and inhaled deeply. Upon the exhalation, she relayed the story to the Goddess, leaving nothing out.

“Death is now demanding Lo—that’s Laszlo—deliver both Spencer and me to her within two days,” Ebba said in conclusion. Girding her loins for the ask, she gulped down her trepidation. “Can you help us?”

“No.”

Laszlo sucked in air so quickly he coughed, capturing Isis’s notice.

“Laszlo Thorne. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting in person.”

Red-faced from his fit, he shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

Kohl-lined eyes narrowed as Isis looked between them.

“Not lovers… yet ,” she murmured. “I’d say mere friends, but your exchanges are filled with heat, and your auras continually shift. There is more to your relationship than it would first appear.”

Uncomfortable under the Goddess’s regard and unable to meet Lo’s gaze, Ebba cast a quick glance at the other men. Castor appeared amused, and Alastair, well, he was positively gloating as if proven correct.

“Exalted One, may I be so bold as to ask why?” Lo redirected everyone’s focus to her denial, and Ebba could’ve kissed him for his timely intervention.

Black brows rose, and Isis’s luscious mouth curled ever so slightly. “Being bold is a Thorne trait.” She gestured for them all to rise and led the procession to the altar, snuffing candles with nothing more than a wave of her hand as she passed. “Why bother with all the pomp and ceremony of a protective circle, Alastair? You know it’s not needed to summon me.”

“Theatrical effect for the young ’uns,” he replied with a roguish grin, earning a laugh from Castor and a glare from Laszlo.

Ebba bit her lip to contain her amusement, thoroughly charmed by the older man. Or she assumed he was older, but maybe not by much. Ebba’s secret obsession was movies from the thirties and forties. Charming actors like Grant, Peck, and Gable elicited a girly sigh whenever they walked on-screen. Alastair Thorne easily fit in with those men with his tailored suits and stylish haircut. His vibe screamed gentleman from a bygone era, yet he appeared to be in his mid-forties at best.

“How old are you?” She winced even as the question cleared her lips.

His brows shot up as Castor clapped him on the shoulder with another hearty laugh.

“Pushing eighty,” Laszlo said, grim satisfaction in his expression. “Sorry, Al. She deserves to know that not only are you old enough to be her grandfather, but you’re married to boot.”

“You should point out Castor has a son her age,” Isis added with an air of faux innocence, smiling wide when Castor’s mouth clamped shut and a muscle ticked along his jaw. “She’s meant for another, Alexander. You shouldn’t muddy the waters.”

He replied with a stiff nod and an affronted look.

Laszlo’s heart sank to his stomach. “Who? Who is she meant for?”

Once again, Isis’s brows rose.

He’d surprised himself, so there was no doubt everyone else might be, too. Why the hell couldn’t he keep his mouth shut?

“I would think that’s obvious,” Al replied in a desert-dry tone. “But let’s circle back to that, shall we?”

Miserable and feeling particularly foolish, Lo nodded.

“I suspect I know the reason, Exalted One, but for the sake of those who don’t, why are you unable to help?” Alastair asked.

“There must be balance in all things. Even Death,” she explained with a sympathetic smile for Ebba. “When Alexander bound you to the Earth, he threw off the balance. It must be rectified.”

Lo hated her answer. Inasmuch as Castor’s impulsive action knocked Ebba’s fate off course, it had also bought the Thornes time to help her or, as it looked to be the case in two days, time to say goodbye. “Is there a way to do it without costing Ebba her life?”

“Her life was forfeit the moment her vehicle struck the tree, child.” The Goddess stroked a finger along his brow, and a small margin of the anxiety he was experiencing eased. “Death will have her payment.”

Ebba’s eyes, enormous and tragic, met his, and though her smile was brave, it wobbled.

“No.” He shook his head. “No, that can’t be the end. Not for her. We’re magical beings, for fuck’s sake!” Working up to a full steam, he began to pace. “What other sacrifice can we make? Abilities? I’ll give mine.”

“That’s not enough,” Isis said with compassion not typically attributed to a deity. They had no real reason to care about the plight of mortals, yet for some unknown reason, she did.

Ebba drifted to him and placed her hand against his chest, over the region of his heart. The pulsing energy warmed him, chasing away the cold from the finality of Isis’s answer.

“It’s okay, Lo,” she said, intent on reassuring him when she was the one whose life was over. “You’ve done all you can.”

“No. No. I can’t accept this. If she won’t help, I’ll find another way, Ebba.” He pressed his hand over hers, jerking in shock when the contact felt solid. His should’ve passed through hers, but the very real sensation of her skin was disconcerting. “Don’t give up.”

“If anyone can do it, it’ll be you.” Her faith in him was humbling, but it was the acknowledgment and acceptance of her ultimate demise lurking in the depths of her chocolaty eyes that had his heart skipping beats.

“I need you to believe in me. Don’t assume this decision is final,” he begged, not caring how desperate he sounded. “We’ll reverse it somehow.”

She rose on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. The sweet innocence of their first kiss wasn’t lost on him, and the memory would be one he cherished forever.

Wrapping his hand around her neck and marveling at how real she felt, he drew her close to whisper, “I don’t intend that to be our last kiss, Ebba James. Remember what I told you at the café. We will be lovers,” he promised.

A saucy smile curled her full lips, illuminating her beauty and sparking an answering fire inside him. “When we get back to my apartment and give ol’ Spencer the boot so I can have my body back for whatever ti—uh, so I can have my body back, I’ll hold you to that, Laszlo Thorne.”

“Why do you have this spell and implements in a sacred space?” Isis interrupted, glaring at the objects on the altar. “Do you think to trap me?”

The subtle shift of their group’s energy told Lo he’d fucked up. Big time!

Voodoo and Thorne magic weren’t meant to blend, and the spells in their family grimoire were as far from the Haitian religion as two worlds could be.

The sensation of his balls shriveling to raisins almost had him unzipping and checking his junk. Never had a man backpedaled so fast in the face of a woman’s rage as Laszlo did.

“No, Exalted One! I unthinkingly laid them there when we began casting the circle. The spell is meant to trap Spencer—the soul occupying Ebba’s body. I swear.”

His adrenaline spiked, and the need to flee from her fury was causing his heart to hammer. Nausea churned his belly, threatening to spew forth. Struggling to keep it down and not shit his pants in the process, he passed the back of his wrist across his upper lip to mop the sweat forming there.

“I meant no harm or disrespect.”

Her kohl-lined, amber eyes narrowed with her displeasure, and it belatedly occurred to him where his father’s family had obtained their unique looks. Many times while growing up, he and his brothers had been the recipients of a similar stare from Leland Thorne. Or they were until he took off for parts unknown, never to return.

“Is my dad on the other side?” He wasn’t sure what had prompted him to ask, other than Leland’s resemblance to Isis. Long ago, he’d given up caring about the man who couldn’t be bothered to contact his family.

“No. He’s not a resident of the Otherworld.” Her haughty response was tempered by a grudging kindness, suggesting she understood the endless agony of not knowing.

Endless agony? Where did that ridiculous sentiment come from?

“What of Hell? Would you know if he’s a resident there?” Ebba asked the Goddess, somehow sensing his desire to know but also realizing he would never venture to ask.

“I would know. All souls, even mortals such as yourself, come through the waiting room of the Otherworld. Leland Thorne never crossed the veil. As far as I know, he’s still living.”

Lo’s breath whooshed out, and he met Alastair’s considering gaze. A discussion was in order, he was sure.

Overhead, the clouds began morphing into different shapes as they darkened in color. The sky’s afternoon light flickered as if transitioning to an eclipse. The air currents picked up, blowing the salt from their protective circle to the winds, and the items flew from the altar, landing a hundred feet to Laszlo’s left, far from Isis.

“Calm your emotions, child,” she advised him. “Like Alastair, yours are tethered to your power. I imagine you’ve never been upset enough to cause a tornado, but as an air elemental, you have the potential.”

“Lo is doing this?” Ebba glanced around in wonder. “The wind, light, and swaying trees?”

“Indeed.” The Goddess sauntered to the stone altar, spread her arms, and used the current he caused to lift herself. When she rotated toward them, her long locks were dancing with the breeze and the skirt of her dress was playing a game of peek-a-boo with her smooth, shapely legs. “My advice is to cherish, not squander, the time you have with your beloved, Laszlo Thorne. Every moment counts while she’s with you.”

The entry to the veil glowed behind her as she tapped one tapered finger against her pouting lips, the picture of a woman deep in thought. “I suppose it’s a good thing you don’t have a familiar to amplify your power. This area would be devastated by your brewing storm.”