“Gage?” I asked, my voice wavering.
His face was inches from my own, the slash between his eyebrows deep. He looked too angry to care, but something in my tone must have alerted him to my panic. The pressure of his grip eased off as he intoned, “RELAX!” in the same voice as before.
The word reverberated around the cabin again, with many repetitive layers. As before, the command hit me in the gut, removing all desire to disobey. The tension dissipated from my limbs, and I slumped against his chest in a soft embrace.
My cheeks instantly flushed. “Stop it! Let me go,” I gritted out, ineffectually trying to pull away from him. It was no use; my body remained pliant and soft against him. Why didn’t I have any control?
“Will you behave yourself?” he demanded.
Whatever softness I’d glimpsed in him before was now gone. I stilled my instant protest. Although my body obeyed his commands, my mind still had free will. I knew he pulled the strings. And I also knew that if he was going to release me from these invisible chains, I needed to curb my instinctive reaction to fight him. So, squashing my anger and seeking a state of calm, I answered simply, “Yes.”
For a second, nothing happened, but then he abruptly pushed me back. I fell into the seat, my cheeks hot, and instantly missed the warmth of his embrace. Confused, I averted my face, hitting the button to push my seat upright.
When I knew I could speak without tearing his head off, I asked, “What did you do to me just then?”
His lip curled. “Child’s play, something you learn when you first begin Druidic training. We call it coercion.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but then I became airborne, my body lifting off the seat. We’d hit turbulence.
Gage didn’t hesitate, switching into instant awareness, reacting to the situation by lunging forward to pin me down to the seat. “Put your seatbelt on!” he growled.
Not arguing, I swung the belt over my lap and cinched it tightly. The rocking motion eased off seconds later as if it had never been, but the incident made me wonder who was in the cockpit. The aircraft was spacious and luxurious—clearly expensive. “Who’s flying the plane?”
“An associate,” Gage replied in a clipped voice as he cinched his seatbelt.
It was another non-answer, and I was beginning to understand that few words were his typical response. He never gave me more than required. I didn’t know if that was because he thought he was keeping me safe by not divulging too much information, or whether it was because he didn’t think I could handle the truth. Regardless, I knew it wasn’t worth the fight, not when there were other priorities at stake.
Steeling my nerves, I said firmly, “As soon as we arrive, I’m jumping on the next plane and returning home.”
He crossed his arms across his broad chest, the black leather jacket crackling in the tense silence as it stretched to accommodate. “That’s not happening.”
“Why not?”
“Do I have to spell it out for you? You can’t go back to your old life, Brydie! As soon as I gave you the pendant, you became a target. Taking you back is signing your death warrant.”
I didn’t care. I was beyond his pitiless excuses. Why hadn’t he listened to me?
“I trusted you,” I cried. “You told me I would have two days to sort things out. What about my home, my cat? And what of Edmund? He’s expecting me at work on Monday!”
Gage’s lip curled. “I secured your home; the cat will look after itself, and you can talk to your boss when we arrive at the Estate. Besides, those things are irrelevant, and can all be replaced; lives can’t. There’s more at stake here than you can imagine. Your anger is warranted, but it has no place here. There isn’t time for it, and I will not tolerate any more petulant tantrums!”
I sputtered, my chest burning at his recrimination. “How dare you?” I said tightly. “I haven’t had the luxury of living with this knowledge from birth. I can’t just immediately accept what you’re telling me!”
“You have to,” he said, steel in his voice. “Time is a luxury you can’t afford. The prophecy was just the beginning—it was the start of the change.”
“What change?” I cried, dread beginning to seep into my bones. Was there more than what he’d already shared?
Gage looked away, but I knew his eyes didn’t see what was in front of him. “When Talorgan worshipped Arawn, others followed. Before Talorgan, Arawn had no part in the world of the living. That was until Talorgan gave him his soul and provided him with an anchor into this world.”
My breath hitched as his words penetrated my anger. Did Arawn still have power here?
He reached for a glass of what looked like neat whiskey on the table beside him, and my mind churned as he took a generous swig of the amber liquid, the ice clinking together in the tense silence. Gage’s eyes pierced mine over the rim of the glass. “Talorgan was conceited. He boasted of his newfound power. As a result, others who leaned toward ambition, pain, and cruelty followed his path.” He tipped the glass sideways, watching the liquid swirl. There was a dark edge to his voice as he continued, “Druids are flawed just as much as humans are, the only difference being that we have magic. It’s human nature to be fickle, to desire that which we shouldn’t and undertake deeds of deceit and corruption to get what we want. All of us are guilty of it, and not one of us is purely good.”
He took another swig, a grimace crossing his features at the afterburn. It was then I became aware that my anger had dissipated, absorbed by the burgeoning horror that was emerging.
“Every Druid chooses their path from a young age. In most, that path is innate—they are going to be bards, scribes, or warriors. For others, they find their path through choice. Either way, we all follow the light or dwell in the dark. One usually has a stronger hold over us than the other….and then some of us sit on either side of the line, balancing precariously.”
He blinked, and I caught the slash of turbulent emotion in the depths of his eyes before he lowered his gaze.
“Are you saying that Talorgan and the other Druids who worship him are responsible for maintaining Arawn’s hold on this world?” I asked.
He nodded. “Before Cailleach’s prophecy was invoked, we lived in relative harmony, each minding our own Druidic paths. Half of us would always choose to nurture and protect, whereas the other half would choose the dark and find their path in death. Our people were always evenly skewed—as nature dictates. But Arawn’s foothold on this world deviated the balance of power between his siblings and what was supposed to reign here. Our people clamored for the darkness, seeking his gifts. His disciples grew, swelling in numbers, and by the first Samhain after the prophecy was enforced, the number of dark Druids outweighed the light.
“That Samhain, carnage ensued like never before. Creatures of the night—creatures who did not belong here—crossed from Arawn’s world into ours. It was as if a bloodlust struck, Druids fighting Druids. It was a corruption that should never have graced this earth.” His gaze was piercing as he added, “We refer to that night as the Cross-Roads. Because of Talorgan, it was the first of many to come. And Samhain became the day it is today, shrouded in darkness and secrecy but also the most important day of any given year, for we are all tasked with protecting the earth and our own.”
Fear twisted in my belly, a cold, slithering snake. “You’re saying that killing Talorgan will satisfy two ends,” I said softly, not daring to believe what I was saying. “That killing him will not only end the prophecy but also remove Arawn from this world.”