White Magic

The Princess

Three hundred years later

Irenal

Queen Cinthia watched the trickle of water on the glass windows, staring into the darkness on the other side of the heavy French doors. The lamp lights at the end of the drive flickered as another lightning bolt sizzled against the ground. She closed the doors, shutting out the rain. For two days it had been pouring. Typical for November. She inhaled, invigorated by the moisture in the autumn air. The Essence. She could feel it returning to her.

Water dripped from her brown hair, courtesy of the dash she’d made from the car to the castle. She gave her hair a quick squeeze while glancing toward the two staircases ascending the left and right wings of the castle. No sign of Hemul or the other guards. So far, Anderson's deafening spell appeared to be working. Her son was good for something, at least.

Lightning flashed, revealing two men stumbling up the narrow, winding stairwell above her. Anderson walked behind the men, shining a flashlight to show their way. The men struggled under their veiled load, bumping up against the banister, then overcorrecting and ricocheting off the wall. Cinthia pressed her lips together. Crashes of thunder echoed off the stone walls, masking their racket. Perhaps Anderson's spell hadn't been necessary tonight, after all.

Cinthia had always preferred the medieval feel of candles over the ease of electricity. She pulled a lighter from her cloak pocket and lit a tallow candle, illuminating the glossy tile. She glided up the stairs after the men, glad she'd put on slippers instead of heels. She followed them down the hall and up another staircase into the tower. Her room.

A small bubble of giddy anticipation erupted in her chest, and she did nothing to fight it. Finally. She had her talisman. For over a decade her father kept it from her, but now she felt the Essence in the air, ripe for the taking. Nothing would stand in her way now.

“This way,” Anderson hissed, stepping into the darkened chamber. Wind gusted in through an open window, billowing the black curtains.

Cinthia drifted in after them. She didn’t need a mirror to know how the light from her single candle accented her striking features, emphasizing her long, sweeping lashes and her sharp cheekbones. “Gently. Place it against the wall.”

Sweating profusely, one of the men tried to set his end on the floor. A crash of thunder made him jump, and with a yelp he dropped it on his foot.

Idiot. Cinthia could smell his fear, rolling off him like the sweat dripping from his face. What frightened him? The storm? Or could he feel the power behind the talisman? “Hush.” She knelt before him, the candle flickering in front of his face. Reaching one hand past him, she touched the curtain and inhaled, closing her eyes in ecstasy. The Essence crackled beneath the veil, promising power and revenge. Pulling her hand away, she touched the man’s neck. Her sharp nails grated across the fine hairs, making them stand on end. Leaning close to him, she brushed his ear with her lips and whispered, “I told you to be careful.”

She rose to her full height and glowered down at him. His breathing quickened, and this time she knew it was she that frightened him. Disgusting little man.

Cinthia threw her arms wide, extinguishing the candle. The thunder crashed and the wind sucked the curtains back outside. Letting out a shriek, she cried, “Elements, behold your mistress!”

Sharp pinpricks of Essence darted around her, stabbing her hands, entering her nose and eyes. On the heels of the pain, a rush of pleasure shivered down her spine. She groaned and arched her back, succumbing to the opposing forces.

Lightning danced through the window and into the room. It enwreathed her outstretched arms and struck the veiled talisman by the wall. The wrapping shriveled and blackened, twisting away to reveal a full-length, gilded mirror.