Impassion Read online

  “What kind of physical contact?”

  “It doesn’t matter as long as it’s skin to skin.”

  “Oh,” Layla mumbled, raising an eyebrow. That didn’t sound too bad. Overwhelming, sure, but worth it. “Is that it?”

  “I should warn you,” Morrigan confessed, “we’re an affectionate group of people, and everyone here already loves you. If physical contact bothers you, we can try to lay down some ground rules, but I can’t guarantee they’ll be followed. We have... wonderfully enthusiastic family members whose excitement tends to run away with them.”

  Layla laughed as she recalled meeting her cousins Banning and Brietta. Both had seemed oddly enthusiastic. Now Layla knew why. Her thoughts turned toward the time she’d spent with Quin. If his actions were any indication, physical contact didn’t bother wizards a bit.

  Thinking about Quin made her all tingly, and she blushed as she looked down. “Okay. I’ll do it. I want to be a member of the coven. Having that many people to love sounds wonderful.”

  Morrigan’s face and aura brightened. “I’m so glad you feel that way, sweetie. Everyone will be thrilled. Is tonight okay, or would you like to give it more time?”

  “It will be overwhelming no matter when I do it. Tonight’s fine.”

  Morrigan grinned and clapped her hands together. “I’m so excited, Layla. This is going to be great. For everyone.”

  Layla returned her smile then frowned at Daleen. “What does that have to do with you leaving?”

  “Well,” Daleen answered, taking Layla’s hand, “Serafin and I love our coven, and of course we miss them, but we’ve missed you more, so if it’s something you want, we’ve decided to relocate.”

  Layla gasped and straightened her shoulders, overjoyed by the idea. Then reality rushed in and she slouched like a popped balloon. “That’s not fair. I can’t ask you to do that. Of course I’d love for you to stay, but I won’t ask you to uproot your lives for me.”

  “You didn’t ask us to do anything. This is something we want to do. We don’t have any grandchildren in Virginia, Layla. You’re it, and we love you so much. To sit there while you’re here, living your beautiful life without us would be torture. We don’t want to miss one more second. We’ve missed too many already, so if you agree, your grandpa and I will happily relocate.”

  Layla burst into tears and flung herself into Daleen’s arms. “I can’t believe you guys would do that for me.”

  “We’d be doing it for all of us,” Daleen soothed. “Being here for you is our top priority. Only our love for each other compares to our love for you.”

  Having witnessed a bonded couple’s love first hand in her parents’ memories, Layla understood the enormity of Daleen’s declaration, and another grateful sob burst from her diaphragm. “I want you to stay. It would be a dream come true.”

  “Then it’s settled. We get to be a part of your family and your coven. Serafin and I will join you in the ceremony tonight.”

  “Really?” Layla asked, finding her grandma’s face. “You’ll do the ritual?”

  “If you don’t mind sharing the spotlight.”

  “Are you kidding? Of course I don’t mind. This is perfect.”

  “I think so, too, darling.”

  Layla smiled as she picked up her sandwich and took a large bite, but by the time she swallowed, she was nervous again. “Will I be meeting everyone for the first time when they’re touching me?”

  “No,” Morrigan answered. “We’ll gather on the lawn before dinner, and the ritual follows the feast, so you can meet everyone at your leisure. We’ll tell them not to charge you all at once, and some of them might actually listen.”

  Layla laughed, once again reminded of Brietta and Banning. “Okay. That’s not as nerve-racking.”

  “Listen,” Morrigan insisted, “if it starts to feel like too much, tell us, and you can take a break. We don’t have to rush.”

  Layla knew she would never make twenty-seven people wait while she took a break, but she nodded anyway, soothing the concern from Morrigan’s deep, peach eyes.

  Daleen reached out to clean their dishes, but Layla grabbed her hand. “May I do it?”

  “Sure,” Daleen agreed, getting to her feet. She walked around the table and pointed out a window. “Send the crumbs to the birds.”

  “Good idea,” Layla approved, gathering the plates.

  After joining Daleen at the window, Layla scanned the backyard and picked a place to send the leftovers. She successfully transferred the tidbits on the first try. Then she magically washed the dishes while watching a sparrow swoop in.

  “That is so convenient,” she noted, resetting the table. “What should we do now?”

  She looked up, finding Morrigan chewing her bottom lip as Daleen’s features furrowed in contemplation.

  “What’s up?” Layla asked, glancing over her shoulder. “Did I do it wrong?”

  “No,” Daleen answered. “It’s just…” She glanced at Morrigan, then back. “We want you to visit your parents’ memorial with us.”

  “Oh,” Layla breathed, knees weakening.

  She blindly reached for a chair then stumbled into it, trying to find her lungs. She’d forgotten her mom was buried nearby, laid to rest with a mere token of her dad, so visiting their memorial hadn’t even occurred to her.

  A hand touched her shoulder, and she jolted, looking up to find Daleen’s sage green eyes brimming with moisture, but she wore a genuine smile.

  “Will you join us?”

  Layla tried to swallow a painful lump, but it wouldn’t go away, so she nodded her terrified agreement.

  Daleen pulled her to her feet then urged her and Morrigan through the back door. Layla let herself be herded, dazedly walking down the deck stairs and into the forest, but her pulse raced and her stomach churned. The pain and sadness she’d witnessed through the magical ring remained fresh in her mind and heavy on her heart, so seeing her parents’ resting place was sure to burst the floodgates.

  She felt a pull on her hand and looked over, finding that her grandmas had halted.

  “You should go ahead,” Daleen suggested, “have your moment alone. Morrigan and I will be right behind you.”

  She let go, and Layla grasped for her hand a few times before making a fist and drawing it to her thigh. Looking ahead, she saw nothing save for tree trunks and foliage. “But... I don’t know where to go.”

  “Straight ahead,” Daleen instructed. “You’ll find it. You’ll feel it first, but you’ll see it soon after.”

  “Feel it?” Layla squeaked.

  “Yes,” Daleen confirmed, “you’ll feel it.”

  Layla stared ahead, body trembling, feet frozen.

  “It will be hard,” Daleen added, giving her shoulders a squeeze, “but you can handle it, and you’ll feel better once you have. We’ll be right behind you if you need anything.”

  Layla nodded, so Daleen gently shoved her in the right direction, breaking the glue holding her to the forest floor. Trudging one heavy foot in front of the other, she roamed away from her support system, using tree trunks to steady her shaky balance.

  As she stepped over the bulging roots of a western hemlock, the feeling Daleen warned her about punched her in the gut, only... it wasn’t so much a punch as it was a pull. Invisible strings lassoed her heart and hooked her navel then gave a core quaking tug.

  Layla caved, letting them reel her in, and she soon spotted a break in the trees.

  Shafts of daylight climbed her legs as she entered a small clearing, thinking she must have the wrong place, because the only thing of note was a round boulder half buried in grassy earth.

  The invisible strings pulled harder, and she stumbled forward, scanning the area for proof of her parents’ resting place. She saw nothing, but felt everything. Every emotion possible twisted her insides, and unexplained tears blurred her vision.

  As she approached the boulder, the strings gave a hard yank, and she fell, extending her arms to catch her
self. Her palms hit stone, and the cords snapped, but the emotions doubled.

  Blinking back moisture, she looked down, finding emerald green roses sprouting from the ground and climbing the boulder, which now bore her parents’ names—a golden epitaph etched in gray stone.

  Control slipped away, and Layla wrapped the rock in a desperate hug as a mournful wail burst free. At the mercy of grief and violently shaking, she couldn’t think or breathe. All she could do was feel, and she felt broken and lost.

  At one point, Morrigan and Daleen tried to console her, but to no avail. Their touch only made her cry harder and grip the memorial tighter. She wanted to sink into it. She wanted to find her parents’ souls and spend one real second in their arms. She wanted to see them so bad. She wanted them to see her.

  Her tears eventually ran dry, and her muscles grew sore and weak, quivering under the stress of dry sobs.

  She laboriously lifted her cheek from the stone then studied the gold branding.

  Forever In Our Hearts

  Rhosewen Keely Donnelly

  &

  Aedan Dagda Donnelly

  Perfect Daughter

  Perfect Son

  Perfect Love

  Layla ran achy fingers across the words several times. Then she looked to the emerald flowers. They’d been joined by sage green and golden peach roses, and after a moment of confusion, Layla realized they corresponded with her grandmothers’ eyes.

  She sank to the ground and picked an emerald bloom. Then she drowned her nose and lips in its soft petals.

  Daleen was right. Now that the breakdown was over, every second that ticked by eased Layla’s pain. She remained terribly upset she had to sit next to her parents’ grave instead of them, but the unbearable hurt was fading.

  She opened her eyes and straightened, laying her rose on the boulder. Then she rested her cheek to stone as she touched her parents’ names. “I love you both so much. Thank you for my life.”

  Gasps rang out behind her, and she jolted as she looked at her grandmothers, who were gawking at the ground. Layla looked down as well, and peace flooded her, stitching up a portion of her broken heart. The emerald green roses had multiplied, thickly carpeting the entire clearing.

  Layla perceived the phenomenon as a sign her parents had heard her, wherever they were, and that was worth the tears she’d shed on their memorial.

  Chapter 11

  WHILE TRAVELING THE GLOBE IN his search for Layla, the stranger had learned many things, one of them being that most magicians preferred to launch their businesses in tourist towns near the finest displays of nature. Oregon was full of nature, but the pacific coast boasted the best of both ocean and land, so when the stranger left Portland, he flew west until he reached Garibaldi—a tiny town next to Tillamook Bay.

  A quick search of Garibaldi yielded only one business owned by magicians, and the aromatherapy shop sat right off the Oregon Coast Highway, drawing a steady stream of hexless shoppers, who were tended to by three magicians.

  Another thing the stranger had learned during his quest for Layla—social covens kept close tabs on their neighbors. If the stranger were to expose himself to the magical entrepreneurs in the area, his questions would soon get back to the Conn/Kavanagh coven, and his disguise was merely a veil, easily torn away should he draw the attention of cautious locals.

  The stranger wouldn’t always remain a mystery. The veil was destined to come off, but it would be on his terms, not a paranoid shopkeeper with nothing better to do than stir up drama, so he decided not to question the magicians in the aromatherapy shop. Instead, he blended in with a group of bored men and eavesdropped on the clerks’ conversations.

  For all he knew, the three attendants were members of the Conn/Kavanagh coven, so he hoped for a treasure trove of information, but he heard nothing useful until a shopper inquired about locally grown produce.

  “There’s a great place outside of Rockaway Beach,” a clerk offered, “the town north of here.” Then she explained how to get there while drawing a map for her customer.

  Following the clerk’s detailed directions, the stranger flew toward a produce stand located five miles northeast of Rockaway Beach. The clerk had warned her customer that the stand was out in the middle of nowhere on a dirt road, and the stranger was pleased to see she didn’t exaggerate. The muddy path climbed a hill as it cut through thick timber, curving until town and ocean disappeared.

  Staying concealed, the stranger approached a clear cut containing a large greenhouse with an old wizard at its entrance. A hand-painted billboard displaying prices was folded out beside a rocking chair, in which the old man sat under an awning, swaying with the wind as he read a book.

  The stranger quietly alighted on a branch then expanded his mind to the edges of the clearing, finding nothing but woodland creatures. He and the old man were alone. Perfect.

  The stranger flew from the branch and returned to the front of the greenhouse, rubbing his chin and jaw as he landed several yards away from his mark. He slid his hands through his hair as he lifted his concealment spells. Then he slipped on a pair of sunglasses and casually walked forward.

  “Good book?” he greeted.

  The rocking chair squeaked to a halt as the old man closed his literature and leaned forward, stretching the fingers of his right hand.

  “Guess not,” the stranger went on, scanning the man’s wary aura.

  “What can I do for you?” the seller asked, setting his book aside.

  The stranger halted his approach and held his hands out in peace, attempting to play nice. “I hear you have the best produce in the area.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “Another shop. Did they speak the truth?”

  “They did. I’m a wholesaler for local covens. Some produce is grown in here,” he added, pointing a thumb at the greenhouse, “but the bulk is imported.”

  “You get that much business?” the stranger asked, looking down the dirt road.

  “We deliver to hexless retailers and restaurants,” the man explained, rising from his chair. After scanning the stranger from head to toe, he smoothed his expression, but his aura broadcasted his unyielding distrust. “So what brings you to the area? Visiting a local?”

  “Yeah,” the stranger answered, resuming his trek. “Mind if I take a look at your product? I need to impress a witch with dinner.”

  “Don’t we all?” the man returned, waving him in.

  The stranger smiled as he passed the local and entered the greenhouse, but he wasn’t the least bit happy with the situation. No way would this man willingly let him get close enough to rummage through his brain. “Surely a wizard with your experience has been tied down long enough to avoid such silly endeavors.”

  “My wife died three years ago,” the local replied, following his customer inside. “Why don’t you take off those glasses so you can find what you’re looking for? Who did you say you’re visiting?”

  “I didn’t,” the stranger answered, deciding there wasn’t a peaceful way to get the job done.

  He swiftly rotated, and before the old man could widen his eyes, the stranger had his gray hair in one hand and his swollen larynx in the other.

  “Son of a bitch,” the seller rasped, raising a palm.

  “Nuh-uh,” the stranger objected, and a magical cord slid around the man’s wrists, yanking them to his sides. “If you fight me, you will die.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Somebody looking for answers, and you’re going to give them to me. Then I’ll rid your mind of this encounter.”

  “You’ll get no cooperation from me.”

  “Then I’ll take it.”

  The stranger spread his hand out over the old man’s skull, and was bombarded by broken and senseless thoughts. “Stop blocking,” he ordered, giving him a shake.

  “I don’t know what you seek,” the man choked.

  “Information on a coven, the Conn/Kavanaghs.”

  The local’s eyes
grew huge as he fought his restraints. “Go to hell.”

  “Been there. Now give me everything you know about the Conn/Kavanagh coven—where they live, how many members they have, how many males, females and children. If you know it, I want to know it. Understand?”

  “You’ll get nothing from me,” the local resisted. “And I suggest you go back to where you came from. Mess with that coven, and you might as well sign your own death warrant.”

  “Why?”

  “They are stronger than you’ll ever be.”

  “A bold statement considering how quickly you fell victim to my power.”

  “I’m not talking about power.”

  The stranger furrowed his eyebrows as he took the bait. “Then what are you talking about?”

  “A gift,” the man answered, growing still. “A blessing people like you will always underestimate.” No longer did he pull at his bindings, but his thoughts remained jumbled.

  “Which is?” the stranger urged.

  “Love and loyalty,” the man whispered. Then he lunged forward, leaving severed hairs in his captor’s hand as he freed his neck. He whirled around, his wrinkled lips stretching as his bony fingers flexed, and flames rolled from his throat as the earth shifted and crumbled.

  “Shit,” the stranger cursed, whipping his hands up.

  A misty barrier flowed from his palms, resisting the bulk of the blast, but flames rolled around the shield and singed his arms. Mud swallowed his calves, wreaking havoc on his balance, and the local was taking a deep breath, preparing to belch more flames. Clever old fart.

  “Enough,” the stranger yelled, flicking a wrist, and his foe flew backward, crashing into a row of tomato plants before crumpling to the ground. The earth beneath the stranger stilled, and he trudged from loose soil, his gaze glued to the fool who’d sentenced himself to death.

  Running healing hands over his arms, the stranger crossed the greenhouse, determined to break open the local’s mind before dispatching him, but as he approached the body, the stubborn elder jerked upright and threw another spell from stretched fingertips.

  Summoned vines lurched at the stranger, encircling his neck, and he grasped at the plants while narrowing his eyes. “You just drew your last breath,” he wheezed, lips growing numb.