Cassandra shrugged. “I know full well his name. Have you noticed that when you attach a name to something it becomes real? You may deny that you have given him your trust, but your heart and the look in your eyes betray you. I cannot so easily forgive centuries of his kind’s persecution. A few good deeds will not always lead to redemption. He must leave after the celebrations.”
Morgan could not fault Cassandra’s logic or her right to expel Rowan from the Trolls’ compound. What bothered her more was Cassandra’s reference to trust. Since the moment she first met Rowan all those years ago, she had kept her heart at a distance, wrapping it in a barrier built on the belief he could not be trusted with its care. He had betrayed that trust, and once lost, it was hard to rebuild.
In the last few days, she had begun to believe trust could be rebuilt after all. Rowan had delivered on his promise to discover who and what was killing the male Wizards. She knew he would succeed with his vow to find who’d murdered her sisters.
Cassandra was wrong. Words combined with deeds were a powerful indication of the fate of the soul. Rowan was changing. He had expressed doubts regarding the Talons and the GreyCouncil. She glanced back through the leaded glass window toward the wagon and prayed that, when war came, he would make the right choice.
****
The Trolls’ Freedom Celebration Festival had begun in the compound’s solarium. Glass doors opened to frame the expansive grounds that dipped gently down to Lake Washington and welcomed a warm breeze. Lavender-and-rose-scented air crackled with energy and magic. Morgan chanted under her breath, gaining strength from the ancient words while trying to distance herself from her troubling conversation with Cassandra.
Morgan nodded to each Wizardling in turn, encouraging them to repeat the words that would create a powerful spell she hoped would help her defeat Vlad. He had murdered Caitlin and possibly countless other female Wizards. He would have a reason for the killings. Men like Vlad always did. They believed they were the hero of their story. But his reign of terror must end.
Each Wizardling took turns applying body makeup to arms, shoulders and face. They used brushes dipped in glittering paint made from white and rose gold, applying Celtic spirals, images of dragonflies, unicorns and wildflowers. Pearl-white lights sparkled over the room as the magical words took life, recounting the tales of strong women warriors and powerful sorceresses. The young Wizardlings’ skin glistened as though sprinkled with gold dust.
Her spirits soared. Together they created an elaborate spell that swirled around Morgan, increasing her power. She hoped it would be enough.
****
The young Wizardlings had done well. Only time would tell if Morgan had the courage and magical strength to capture Vladand turn him over to the Grey Council for a reckoning. Her next step was exposing the Talons’ plan to destroy Wizards.
She inhaled the air along the banks of the Trolls’ compound, smoothing her hands over the long skirt Cassandra had given her to wear for the occasion. Cassandra had insisted she wear a costume more appropriate to the festivities. At first Morgan had resisted. But the ankle-length blue skirt and white short-sleeve blouse made her feel more like herself than the confining long pants and sweaters she’d worn over the past few days.
The compound was infused with a rich cacophony of sights, sounds and intoxicating smells transporting her to another time and place. A gentle time of laughter, long walks and endless nights. The Talons and the Grey Council could learn a thing or two about life and living from these people. Everything about this place welcomed new possibilities.
Morgan hesitated outside the wagon where she’d left Rowan a few hours ago. She wondered if he really understood the mistrust male Wizards provoked in the magical community. Rowan and his fellow Wizards thought they were respected for how they enforced the dictates and laws of the Talons and the Grey Council. The emotion was closer to fear and resentment. Cassandra promised her community would keep their distance and, for Morgan’s sake, treat Rowan with respect. The rest would be up to him.
Morgan’s hand poised to knock, but Rowan opened the door before she had the chance. Framed in the arched door, filling up the space, he seemed taller somehow, more handsome, more open. Cassandra had seen to it that his clothes were clean and pressed and, despite Rowan’s claim he preferred showers, it looked like the bath had relaxed him. The worry and deep frown lines around his forehead and eyes had eased, so he looked younger.
His appearance stole her breath and her words of greeting.
He, on the other hand, seemed poised for conversation as he joined her outside. “Thank all the ancient gods and goddess you are here. Renegade and I ran out of things to say about two hours ago and decided to play cards.” His grin was infectious and made her smile as he stepped aside to let Renegade pass, and then exited the gypsy wagon. “We were discussing all we knew about women. A short conversation.”
“Agreed,” Renegade added with a wink. “Rowan, wish me luck.”
Morgan studied Rowan’s expression as Renegade jogged down the path toward the mansion. There was something different about Rowan she could not quite place. The friendship building between Renegade and Rowan was just as surprising and every bit as welcome. “Where is Renegade going?”
“To woo Cassandra. You look beautiful. New clothes?”
Morgan was taken by surprise again. His compliment lacked the smoothness of a practiced Casanova, which both pleased her and made his words more potent. Her face warmed under his steady gaze.
“Thank you, kind sir, but I must say how surprised I am by the compliment, as well as your transformation. You seem—happy.”
“It’s this place, I think, or maybe this is what happens when a man cheats death. I can’t explain it either. I also never play cards. It’s been an odd day.”
A comfortable silence misted over her as she stood bathed in his gaze. She had spent what seemed a lifetime debating whether to deny or accept their connection, believing it a mere product of magic and glamour. Today felt like they were starting over. She wove her arm through his, leading him toward the center of the crowd gathered around an outdoor stage.
“I’m curious. You opened the door before I knocked. Were you expecting me?”
“Renegade said you were coming. They read minds no matter what type of barriers you erect to keep them out. I found out the hard way. Probably why Trolls are so good at playing cards. Where are we going?”
“You shall see.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Morgan found a vacant space beneath the umbrella of a maple tree and spread a blanket on the ground with a clear view of the stage. Other couples were doing the same as everyone vied for the best place to view the festival’s performances.
The day was pleasantly warm, and the sun shone over the water like sparklers on the Fourth of July. The lively notes of dueling flutes added a lightness to the air as the set props, platforms and a backdrop of live trees made to resemble a dense forest were arranged on the stage.
