Sacred Circle (19 page)

The tension in Francis's face eased.

“Actually, she did. She asked me to quiz the students and see if any of them were experimenting in the clearing.”

“And were any of them?” Brianna asked.

“No. They hold the greatest esteem for their mentors, and of course, your mother.” He shook his head. “If there is a sinner, it's in the adult section of the congregation.”

“Which is what I have been saying for the last ten minutes,” Brianna remarked.

“None of that matters now,” Devlin cut in. “We need to concentrate on formulating a solid plan for outing the sinner in the quickest way possible.”

“Brianna has already concocted a plan. She's evoking The Weaving,” Francis exclaimed.

Devlin's head whipped around and Brianna shifted on the bench, unnerved by his piercing glare. She pinched her lower lip with her teeth, praying he wouldn't shred her character in front of Francis. She had been wrong not to discuss the Weaving with him first, but as always, when she was around Francis, her tongue had no censorship.

“Let's just hope, the Weaving doesn't splice off, and backfire on us,” Devlin finally retorted.

“You should've thought of that before conducting magic without a solid base to work from,” Francis chided. “The cleansing was just plain dangerous.”

“You will be doing the commune a great disservice if you offer that perspective to the Council. Because I will be forced to point out that the former High Priest of this Coven conducted magic without a solid base to work from long before I got here.” To her surprise, Francis seemed at a loss for words at her statement. Did he think she would exonerate her father's behavior just because they were related? Beside her, Devlin didn't seem surprised at all by her words. He simply crushed his coffee cup and tossed it in the tote bag.

“Love can make a grown man do a lot of things he shouldn't—even abuse a law he has sworn to uphold.”

Brianna winced. Was that statement directed at her, rather than Francis? It sounded like it. She raised her eyes and found Devlin watching her. What law had he abused?
The marriage vow, you ninny,
her inner voice chided. An image of their hands feathering over each other's body, burned her memory and she blushed immediately.

He chucked her chin, as if to say “you're blushing, Mrs. Janus”, and she colored up even more fiercely. Seeing her discomfort, he brought his attention back to Francis.

“It is ridiculous to continue trading insults when we haven't even spoken to one congregation member yet,” he said. ”We could get lucky right off the bat and learn the identity of Sienna's attacker.”

Brianna saw Francis's scowl reappear.

“You're wasting your time, but then it's your time to waste. You're dispensation will be up in just a few hours.”

A half-smile crossed Brianna's face.

“Leaving is not an option. The Invocation has seen to that and Mother's retrieval from the circle ensures that there will be a prayer vigil tonight.” Her gaze returned to Devlin. “We won't have a better time to speak with the members than during the vigil.”

“You cannot interrogate the congregation under the guise of mourning,” Francis huffed. “Proper protocols must be followed.”

“Damn Coven protocol!”

Francis glowered at her curse, but was cut off from replying by Devlin's curt tone.

“Stow your anger, you two. We've got a more pressing problem.” His gaze darted to Brianna's face. “We have to tell your father about our marriage. He won't be surprised, of course, knowing how fast gossip travels here, but we have to attempt an explanation.”

Brianna blanched at the thought. She'd rather eat a bag of nails than face her father's wrath. Across the way, Francis laughed.

“Good luck with that,” he said, with a flippant wave. “I only wish I could be there to see his reaction.” He strode from the garden, his long legs moving rapidly across the stone tiles. When he disappeared around the side of the cottage, Brianna heaved a sigh of relief. Devlin picked up on the sound.

“You were pretty hard on him, don't you think?” he asked.

Brianna's lips puckered in annoyance.

“I'm hard on everybody, according to Tommy. And, why are you defending him? He said some pretty rotten things about you before you arrived.”

“Well, he appears to have the confidence to carry it off. And besides, sticks and stones . . .” He left the ditty hanging and rose. “Relax, Mrs. Janus. Everything's under control—except for your father.” He snatched her arm and pushed her towards the garden gate. “Get a move on. We're late.” She hissed at him; however, when she reached the side of the house, she slowed her steps and then came to a complete stop.

“There he is again,” she said.

“Who? Francis?”

“No, Nicodemus.” Devlin's eyebrow rose as he studied the black cat sitting directly in the center of the walkway. He stamped his foot at the creature.

“Git!”

The cat scampered away, diving for cover beneath a nearby rose bush and growling low in his throat. Devlin turned back to Brianna, who was staring at him with a look of bafflement.

“What have I done now, Cinderella?”

“Nothing. I was just wondering if Nicodemus is for or against our marriage.”

“He's for it.”

“How can you tell?”

“He hasn't clawed my face off yet.”

Brianna made a face at him and, then seeing his boyish grin, she rounded the cottage and onto the sidewalk again. His amused chuckle followed her exit. To her dismay, a warning voice whispered in her head.
Watch out. You're losing your heart to him.
She tossed the thought away, switching her thoughts to her mother.

“Next stop, holy hell,” Devlin stated, pushing her around the front end of the Jeep.

“That's not funny,” she responded, as he held the passenger door open for her. She slipped inside.

“Neither is walking barefoot on a bed of glass,” Devlin said, slamming the car door. He circled the Jeep and climbed into the driver's seat, tossing Brianna an amused grin as they caught sight of Nicodemus bolting past the front bumper of the Jeep. Devlin fired the engine.

“Damn cat's off again. He'll be at the clinic long before we are.”

“So mote it be,” Brianna responded, clutching the amulet around her neck and caressing the jewels.

• • •

The hooded figure finished drawing the circle on the floor. Damn Brianna. She had more lives than her mother's pet cat. But she wouldn't be so lucky this time. A large book was snatched up from the library desk, and deposited into the middle of the circle. The figure stepped back, pleased by the sight of Sienna's Book of Shadows lying there. Sienna had been careless in her trust of witches for once. And now, the book would cement Brianna's fate as well.

The figure raised a jeweled hand, palm facing up. With nimble fingers, a silver cord was laced through the digits, its ends left dangling. Seconds later, an excited chant split the air.

“From you to me, this spell I make; this was not right for you to break. Its path I will abruptly bend, and back to you the spell I send.”

The figure waited for a moment, and then breathed a sigh of relief as in the middle of the raised palm, a pinwheel of red hues appeared and started to spin.

“Element of Fire, burning bright; I call you here with me tonight. Fulfill this desire sent to thee; work this magic just for me.”

The pinwheel glowed brighter and then, with a flick of the wrist, the figure hurled the red energy into the circle and atop the book. The sound of crackling rent the air and then with a heated “whoosh,” the pinwheel vanished into the book, out of sight.

The figure smiled at the disappearance and then spun. All that was left now was to set the circle in motion, and trick Brianna into coming to the library.

Shutting out the raised voices, Devlin closed the door and grinned. Brianna had been polite at first, withstanding the shredding of her character by her father, obviously deeming it appropriate. However, when the attack turned to Devlin and Brenda Carver's death, she had immediately fired up and ordered him out of the room. He hadn't wanted to go, but her venomous glare had said “go or else.” He chose correctly.

And now, lounging against the wall, listening to the raised voices, he felt elated. The more her father pressured Brianna to recant the Invocation and annul the marriage, the longer she would stay married to him. And that fit in perfectly with his plans for a future with her. Of course, she would be furious when she discovered the marriage certificate had been altered with a small caveat.

Would the secret purchase of her company jeopardize his chances of getting her into bed with him again?
Probably. But don't let that stop you,
his inner voice prompted.
Keep kissing her—until she has no other option but to fall into bed with you.
An increase in his heartbeat had him remembering his hard body atop hers. It would take more than a few kisses to make Brianna stay committed to the vows she took. His thoughts turned sour. How did you tame a she-bear bent on destroying you? He was sure he'd find out—when this damn situation was over.

Hearing the light sounds of Troika coming through an open doorway, Devlin abandoned his spot on the wall. The argument between father and daughter appeared to be dying down in intensity. And since the door hadn't reopened, inviting him back in, he felt confident leaving Brianna to defend herself without him. Besides, he needed to visit the ailing patients and get their take on Sienna's collapse.

Hearing feminine voices drifting out of an open doorway, Devlin followed the sound. Would the unknown women be receptive to speaking with him? He hoped so, because if they weren't able to locate some shred of evidence soon, they might never learn who was holding a grudge against Sienna.

Spotting the bickering pair as he reached the door, Devlin smiled with pleasure. The room contained two patients, rather than the standard three. In the far bed, he recognized the wrinkled face, fiery red hair, and plump body of Margaret Lord. The last time he had seen that face, it had been steeped in anger and reciting reasons why covens should never adopt orphans and educate them. He could still remember her shrill lecture as if it were yesterday.

He winced at the remembrance and then witnessed the pointed gestures of her fingers as she made an emphatic point of some kind. Her voice still held a shrill quality, and she appeared to have packed on an extra ten or twenty pounds.

His gaze shifted to the closer bed. This had to be Eileen O'Connor; however, judging by the sleek line of her profile, she had changed drastically since childhood. Back then she had been a wiry teen, constantly in motion. Now, she had filled out, and her voice had softened to a husky bass. Her hair, like Margaret's, was worn cropped short; however, the color was a deep, jet black. The aura surrounding her frame revealed the same vibrant personality he remembered, and he was relieved that she didn't appear to have aged beyond her years.

“Devlin? Devlin Janus?” The question hung in the air, and Devlin swung his gaze to the older woman scrambling to a more dignified sitting position on her bed. Devlin hid a smile at the frantic wave beckoning him forward. He crossed the tiles and rounded the first bed, taking Margaret's offered hands. To his surprise, she tugged on his fingers, forcing him to bend over and receive a welcoming kiss. Releasing his fingers, she fell back on her pillows. “Rufus said you and Brianna were here, but I thought he was joking.” Her gaze swung to the closed door as if expecting another visitor. And then her face scrunched up. “I suppose Charles couldn't help himself. After all, Sienna is Brianna's mother, but I am surprised he called you, Devlin. I haven't quite forgiven you for Brenda, you know.” Her gaze shot to the closed door again, and Devlin wondered who she was so anxious to see come through it.

“For heaven's sake, Margaret, stop quizzing Devlin as if he was still sixteen and stealing cookies from your cookie jar,” Eileen reprimanded. “I think it was brave of him to return, especially after all the horrible things that were said to him.”

Margaret's eyes widened at the rebuke.

“You can't possibly know what was said to him. You were lying on death's doorstep for weeks—thanks to him.”

“Margaret!” The word was said with such horror that Devlin laughed. Margaret hadn't really changed at all. She was still fond of speaking her mind with no censorship. It was clear her focus was on being sure he knew how badly he had erred all those years ago. The question was why. He felt a touch on his sleeve and turned to find a pair of sea-green eyes studying his face. “I'm very glad to see you here.” She shifted her body to make room for him on the side of the bed. “Sit here, where I can see you.” She leaned back on her pillows, and Devlin did as she suggested, hiking his leg up and sliding onto the edge of the bed. “I'm Eileen O'Connor, in case you didn't remember. I used to have a terrible crush on you.”

Devlin grinned.

“Did you? I wish I had known that sooner.”

She laughed at his jibe.

“I was six, and you were ten. You doused my clothes with water because I had set myself on fire. You cursed at me loudly—a naughty thing to do to a six-year-old girl.”

Devlin laughed, wagging his finger at her.

“And you made me promise to buy you a new ceremonial dress or you'd tell my parents that I had set your dress on fire on purpose.”

The twinkle in her eye wasn't lost on Devlin as she followed his playful scolding with a bright laugh.

“It worked though, didn't it? You bought me a new dress a few months later.” Her gaze suddenly turned sad. “Charles says you called every day for weeks after the Dark Time—for an update on my health. I can't thank you enough for that.” Her expression clouded over and Devlin knew her mind had traveled back to Brenda's death.