The Faceless Woman by Emma Hamm (i love reading .txt) 📕

if you watch a person cast a spell, you can do it for yourself.”

“Not possible. I’ve watched her cast that spell numerous times.”

“Then perhaps you should apply yourself a little more, cat.”

He strode through the garden, away from the cursed tree. He could feel the dark magic pulsing in his mind. It made shivers dance over his flesh.

A hanging tree. Why hadn’t he ever seen one before her? Bran was known for his ability to see through glamour, and yet such a vessel of dark power had always eluded him. It was almost an insult that he could only see it now that she was in his life.

Lorcan trailed after him, huffing out breath after breath until he finally grumbled, “You can’t actually make the portal just by watching her, can you?”

“Of course, I can.”

He set Aisling gently on the moss, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. He should have been there. The Duchess would never have been able to get her claws into such beloved flesh if Bran hadn’t been lazing about in bed.

Innate laziness had never bothered him until this moment. Unseelie valued leisure and detested any mandated work, and yet…

He should have been there.

The scratches along his ribs pulled, but nothing compared to the deep gouges in her sides. He’d have to figure out how to stop the bleeding, but he wasn’t much of a healer. His sister was better at all healing spells.

One of his sisters. He couldn’t remember which one.

Kneeling on the ground, he began to trace runes into the earth. He’d committed each to memory the moment he first looked at them. They weren’t unusual runes, but strange in their combination. No one would have thought to mix languages. Some of these were ancient Tuatha de Danann, and others were ancient Celtic.

Faerie and Human. Melded together to create something unique and unusual. Like a changeling herself.

Shaking his head, he leaned back and nodded. “That’s it.”

“You aren’t using my blood, Unseelie,” Lorcan grumbled from his post near Aisling’s head. “And I’m not leaving to find you a bird.”

“It doesn’t need as much blood as she thinks.” He sank a nail into the fleshy pad of his thumb. Spreading three drops around the circle, he blew out a breath of air, spat, then flicked his fingers to send faerie fire into the ring.

The ground rippled and caved in. It looked nearly identical to hers, although there was the faintest hint of shadow, his own magic intertwined with this strange spell she had discovered.

“Let’s go,” Bran grumbled. He turned and reached for Aisling, only to find his hand stinging from a clawed mark.

“Hang on,” Lorcan scolded. “I want to know exactly what your plan is. Why should Scáthach help us at all? She doesn’t know me, she certainly doesn’t know Aisling, and it was my understanding those maidens weren’t overly fond of the Unseelie Court.”

“She won’t be the person we’re begging for help.”

“Then who?”

Bran blew out a frustrated breath. “She’s bleeding out.’

“She’s not bleeding that fast. Answer the question, faerie.”

“An old friend.”

“An old lover, you mean?” If cats could raise their eyebrow, Lorcan did so. “I’m not foolish. Just what favor are you calling in? There are other ways.”

“It’s not a favor when you help a friend. And the person who’ll help us is just that, cat. A friend.” He stressed the word as much as physically possible.

“Lovers are always a little bit more than friends, but not quite more at the same time. Be careful wherever you take us. I don’t want to pick up the pieces you leave behind.”

The cat was overly protective of Aisling. He understood the sentiment. Lorcan had been her only family for nearly her entire life. It was an admirable quality, but not appropriate when he could see blood pooling around her body.

He didn’t respond to the insane accusations. Instead, he reached forward and scooped her back into his arms where she belonged.

The thought made him hesitate.

Where she belonged? Was he thinking like that now? They’d only shared one night of passion. It was a little early to be pledging his honor to her. And yet…

No. He shook his head to clear his mind. Now wasn’t the time.

“Are you coming?” he called out.

A hiss was his answer, but Lorcan streaked forward and dove into the portal without hesitation. The cat was brave to a fault, Bran would give him that.

Shaking his head, he adjusted Aisling in his grip. “I’ll hold onto you through the whole thing,” he murmured. “I won’t let go, no matter how the storm rages.”

He pressed his lips to her forehead and let his eyes drift shut. The doors to the palace had opened. Enraged roars and shrieks of anguish filled the courtyard as the Duchess’s people saw the body of their esteemed mother lying on the floor without her heart. It wouldn’t be long before they turned upon him.

Bran stepped forward into the portal and let the thick magic swirl to his thighs. His hands closed tight around her.

Lips tight to her skull, he smiled sarcastically. “Little witch, you had no idea how close you were to a perfect spell. You just had to tilt the arc slightly, and you could have traveled wherever you wanted in the Otherworld. Now, I’ll take you to the human realm just to fix you.”

Magic closed over their heads and pulled at their form. Unlike the first time, this magic was gentle. It plucked at the strands of their hair, a faint whine emanating from the red glow as it brushed against the wounds on their sides.

Sometimes magic was alive. It breathed in the essence of the person who created it and became something else. Bran loved creating spells for this reason. Every now and then, he felt as though he had created life.

The portal deposited them on a rocky shore. He knelt on the smoothed stones, waves lapping at his knees. Seagulls cried out overhead, and the calm of the isle’s shores eased his soul. Bran glanced