Otherworldly Discipline: A Witch's Lesson (38 page)

Lachlan straightened and tugged on the neck scarf he wore. “Is that a formal challenge?”

“As formal as it comes,” Alice assured.

Lachlan stepped forward. “Then I will make you an accord, My Lady. If I become defeated today, then I will not meddle with your sister’s mind.” He waved his hand dismissively in Charlotte’s direction. “But if I win today, then not only will I flush out her memories, but I will get to keep them for myself.”

Alice looked over at Charlotte, who was busy shaking her head at her. Alice was completely expressionless for a moment before she said, “That’s a deal. Do I need to sign a contract with you about that?”

“With the current party as our witnesses,” Lachlan gestured to the room around him. “I don’t think that a contract will be necessary. Our friends will see our wills be done.” He smiled. “I will my good servant, Glenn DeGuard,” he gestured to the very big, muscular, and horned guard that stood outside of the window, “As my second.”

Thunder rolled again.

“To the Crescent,” Gwrtheryn decreed, not looking too happy about it. Even though it was known that everyone liked a good duel, no one was interested in going outside.

Charlotte wearily pulled herself up from the table. To Ashcroft, she appeared extremely we
a
k and he went to help her. “You don’t have to watch, my love,” he assured. “I’ll be back presently…”

Alice approached and Charlotte glanced over at her and puffed out air as if to describe how nervous she was. Alice looked over to Ashcroft. “I’m sorry. I had to make the deal. There’s nothing but ancient people here with no patience or concern for mortals. They’d have had Lachlan in her brain in under an hour if we let them vote upon it.”

Ashcroft nodded, and tried not to look any more nervous than he’d been three minutes ago. In fact, with any luck, he hoped he didn’t look nervous at all. Lachlan was obviously doing the same, but Ashcroft knew him too well. He was deep in thought, acting overconfident when he wasn’t.

“If something happens to us,” Moriarty whispered to her where only the four of them could hear. “I want you to welch and get the hell out of here before Lachlan and his boys can get you.”

“Why keep my memories if they’re only painful?” Charlotte snipped.

“After all that I’ve taught you?” Moriarty chirped. “You’d be wearing burgundy and calling it red. I would roll in my grave.” He winked. “Don’t worry, though. We’ll win.”

Ashcroft could tell that Charlotte had her doubts, although her doubting couldn’t have possibly been from his own mannerisms.

He helped her to a seat outside in the
Crescent
—which was a one-sided stadium set over a platform below that was
backed only by steep cliff
s on one side; the whole stone-field was shaped like a crescent moon.
She looked around and swallowed. “My love, do not fret,” he begged. “It simply won’t do to have you worried. I promised to protect and take care of you, now let me do so.”

She nodded. “Sorry, Ashcroft. I do think you’re more powerful than Lachlan. Just don’t get cheated on by a cheater, eh?” she asked him.

“I have eyes on the
back of
my head,” he promised, and leaned down to kiss her, not caring for once who saw how much he loved her. He kissed her long and deep.

“Are we going to get this duel on in the next century?” Lachlan fumed. “I’m getting wet, here.”

Ashcroft narrowed his eyebrows, having a feeling that Lachlan was the one controlling the weather in the first place—he was more used to the rain than Ashcroft was, and Ashcroft hadn’t ever warred against him without getting poured on. Ashcroft turned back to Charlotte and pinched her chin. “You don’t have to wish me luck,” he told her. “Just tell me you love me half as much as I love you.”

She grinned. “I love you, Ashcroft.”

Moriarty was busy kissing Alice when he headed to the Crescent, and had to catch up with him. “Let’s get this done in a hurry, Master. I want to go
home and marry that girl, and then hump her brains out. You know I haven’t had sex for nearly two days? By my word, I’m getting the shakes!”

Ashcroft laughed. Yes; Moriarty was always in a good mood about battle. The man’
s confidence was infectious—the only time his spirits seemed to drop was when he got a blood stain on his shirt. He smirked and then peered at Lachlan, who took off his coat despite the December cold. “Moriarty wants this to go quickly,” he informed him
, unsheathing his sword
. “So let me bid you farewell while you still have ears on your head.”

“You should look your last while you still have eyes,” growled Lachlan.

Gwrtheryn
recited the rules to the duel: that the firsts would get three tries to destroy each other—one spell apiece. And then the seconds would get three tries, until one of the firsts are dead. After that, they all saluted each other with swords. “I don’t know why I have to fight the ugly one,” Moriarty grumbled. “The contrast to myself will make me feel sorry for the poor bastard.”

And then it began. And it began
violently
! No one could have imagined Lachlan and Ashcroft were brothers before, but now it seemed obvious. The way they fought was nearly mirror image of the other. But the way they shot fire and electricity, bright lights full of power towards each other was
enough to keep their audience. But each was equally good at stepping out of the way of danger, or blocking it. And when they were done with three spells, both of their seconds came in. Moriarty was in good form—Ashcroft could swear he spent more time leaping and cutting than he did with his feet resting on the ground, and as soon as he was blocked three times, Ashcroft stepped back in.

Back and forth they went until the duel moved like a fast dance. And then Lachlan began to get desperate, feeling like he might misstep at any moment. He wasn’t used to hand-to-hand
combat
like Ashcroft was. The spells grew larger until thunderbolts snaked out of the sky, trying to strike him a total of six times, and then Lachlan wouldn’t step out of the way—instead he shot a burning shot onto Ashcroft face.

Ashcroft’s body went down. The pain was immense—he felt blinded. Moriarty came to at once and was shot down by another one of Lachlan’s spell, as dishonorable as it was. Moriarty survived it, but hit the ground, injured at the knee.

Hell had broken loose. Lachlan had cheated. And, as he walked forward and his demon second-hand walked up to Moriarty to kill him, out of nowhere, Ashcroft could see a head roll towards him out of his watering eyes.

He wiped one of his good eyes and saw Alice standing with a sword in hand in front of Moriarty. “Firsts only,” she decreed firmly, looking nearly like a ghost.
“Obviously the rules are too complicated for you.”

“First and a half,” Lachlan assured singsongishly, approaching his brother. “Goodbye, Brother.”

Just because he was half-blinded didn’t mean he was ready to give up the
fight. Very much the contrary—Ashcroft scurried to his feet, his sword brandished, and read light coming so quickly and fiercely from his fingernails that Lachlan couldn’t get out of the way. He flew back towards the edge, looking stunned and bleeding profusely.

Ashcroft had won, but he didn’t feel accomplished. Panting, he walked over to Lachlan. “It’s over, Brother,” he said. “Concede.”

Lachlan spat out a mouthful of blood. “This isn’t over.”

“Lachlan, you’re
dying
…” Ashcroft never was able to believe this man’s stubbornness. It even surmounted his own.

“And yet I’m about to make my most poignant strike,” he assured.

Ashcroft’s eyebrows narrowed with confusion. And then he saw Lachlan raise his hand in away from Ashcroft, and then Ashcroft saw that he was raising his hand to Charlotte.

Charlotte’s eyes widened and did little more than gasp as her body shot out of her seat, unnaturally sliding across the ground at the speed of a bullet, into Lachlan’s arms…

When Charlotte his Lachlan, there was a blinding flash of light, and it seemed like they had been struck by Lachlan’s own lightening. Ashcroft could swear that the last expression ever seen on his brother’s face was one of pure mirth. Then, with a crack
of thunder, they were gone.

They were gone. He reached forward to grab them back, but they moved too fast, and he looked down just to see their bodies hit the shallow water below.

“Charlotte!” Moriarty was at Ashcroft’s side in an instant, and looked down. But they couldn’t see Charlotte at all. But as they watched, they could see Lachlan’s body float away.

Ashcroft didn’t breathe at all. He just watched with rocking horror. Charlotte was right—things did not go well at all like he had hoped. She had a horrible feeling, and he had ignored it.

A gasp of sob escaped his lips, although he hadn’t sobbed since he was a child. But it couldn’t be helped
…

Charlotte was gone.

*
*
*

             
“
Damn Hoel, living out in the middle of nowhere
…” Peirce was far too young for this sort of thing. He knew he should have listened to his brothers about swimming too close to the surface in a rough sea, and now he knew why… because he got beamed with a girl’s body.

             
The worst part about it was that the girl was
alive
. Somehow, the waves had kept her afloat on her back as she swept away from the cliffs. Normally Peirce wouldn’t have minded being hit by a pretty girl
—eh, pretty for a two-legged, at least—
but the nearest beach was twenty miles away. It was nothing but cliffs in every direction. And not only that, but the girl’s body was completely broken from the fall.

             
No, no. The only thing to do was to bring her to Hoel. Although the prospect was utterly terrifying—Hoel was sort of frightening. His brothers would argue about the most frightening thing about Hoel; maybe it was the size of him. Maybe it was the reddish color of his skin, or perhaps the scowl he wore… Peirce would always chime in that it was definitely, without a doubt, Hoel’s sharp thorns.

             
But he could fix anything, and aside from that, was very wise, be he not particularly
generous
with his advice. In fact, Peirce was sure that he would only grumble when he saw the selkie male bring in the legged girl.

             
Although, he had a feeling she was a witch, sentenced to death by falling off a cliff. It’s not the first time he’d heard of such a thing around the parts. The head of the Wizard’s Circle lived somewhere on the Hatchet Cliffs, and it wouldn’t have been the first body that got pulled out to sea from that… In fact, she might have been the first to actually survive it, despite how frail she looked… And how she NEARLY didn’t survive.

             
And he could hear her rasping now which he didn’t think was a good sign. Not when he had swam fifty damn miles to deliver her to Hoel, and he was quickly closing in on the bay. It hadn’t taken him too long—maybe three hours to cover the distance, but his muscles ached, and he was already dreaming of a belly full of fish.

             
Mmm, fish…

             
What was he doing
, again
? Right. Right, saving the girl. His mother always did warn that he had a small attention span. And it was really silly to lose sight of his goal, now. If he squinted, he’d be able to see Hoel’s Bay
even now
.

             
Hoel, despite the fact that he was half-deity of sorts, certainly lived in meager settings—he really only had a place little larger than a cottage. But it was connected to one of the only lighthouses around, and was easy to see through the murky, rainy cold.

             
He opened his mouth as he pulled the girl towards the rocky shoreline, but stopped himself short when he heard quite a commotion coming from the white house.

             
“Hoel, please, no… I said I was sorry!” he heard a woman’s voice say. Ah—Hoel’s wife
! Peirce had only seen her very seldomly, despite the fact that he and his brothers visited Hoel’s Bay often, mostly that’s because the river flowing by the bay carried the richest-flavored salmon around, and the rocks were absolutely perfect for sunning. When he came, his family would normally stay for weeks on in the Spring.

             
But he stayed low in the water to watch Hoel’s wife scurry out of the house. Hoel was right behind her, and reached out just in time to grab her elbow and drag her back to him. “Don’
t ye
dare run from me!” he growled at her. Hoel’s wife turned and looked at him with desperate, wide eyes, even as he was dragging her to th
e bench nearby, under the tree in the front, along the path to the cottage.

             
“Hoel!
Not out here! It’s cold, and s
omeone might see!” she cried in a shrill voice.

             
“Then why’d y
e
make me chase you from the house, woman?” Hoel gruffly replied as he sat down. In his next movement, he jerked the woman over his lap. “But never fear—you’re backside will be well-heated by the time I’m through with y
e
!”