The League of Illusion: Prophecy Read online

  Corina tossed back the bedcovers and sat up, swinging her legs over the mattress. The cool night air bit at her flesh and she shivered. After slipping her feet into her leather house shoes, she grabbed the thick robe hanging from a hook on the wall and covered herself.

  “There, I’m up. Now what?”

  Her bedroom door flung open and a single candle sparked to life on the landing next to the staircase. Corina shuffled sleepily out of the room and made her way down the stairs. The moment she set her foot on the bottom landing, the kerosene lamp inside the sitting room flared to life, casting an eerie yellow glow across the floor.

  “Fine, but I’m getting some tea first.”

  A picture on the wall in the room banged loudly. Once, then twice more. Corina frowned, feeling the vein at her right temple pulsating.

  “I’m getting some bloody tea and that’s that. You can bang as many pictures as you like.”

  After lighting the wood in the stove, she filled the kettle and set it on the burner. She stared out the small kitchen window into the night as she waited for the water to boil. If she were a gambler, she’d bet this all had to do with the Davenports again. It set her teeth on edge.

  It wasn’t the eldest brother, the man she’d helped some five years ago. No, he’d been pleasant. Kind, warm and attentive. It was the other brother who rubbed her wrong. Not the youngest, the affable, charming Jovan. It was Rhys Davenport who had her baring her teeth. He was insufferable with his cold, haughty attitude and the snide looks he’d given her. Even now, thinking of him, her blood started to boil.

  She rubbed a hand over her belly, surprised at the clenching. That was new. She must’ve been hungry, although breakfast was hours yet.

  After steeping her tea, she carried a cup into the sitting room and looked around at the clutter that made her feel secure and safe. She’d never thought to tidy it. It reminded her too much of her mother.

  “I’m ready.” She took a sip of hot tea. “Now, what is it?”

  The drawers of her desk slid open and closed, three times in succession. The lids of her two trunks flung open and slammed closed. Also three times.

  “You want me to look for something, is that it?”

  More sliding and banging as if to answer yes.

  “Why can’t you use your words?” She sighed. Sometimes her mother played these games. She could easily talk to her—she had in the past—but sometimes she acted this way. Corina had always wondered if it was a rule of the spirit world or something. “What am I looking for? A book?”

  She waited. No answer.

  “A letter?”

  Again nothing.

  “A spell? Papers you’ve written?”

  Still nothing.

  “Well, you could give me a hint.”

  The large world globe in the corner began to spin on its axis. Around and around it went, faster and faster.

  “A map?”

  The drawers and lid moved again, faster this time.

  “All right. A map.” Corina set her cup of tea down on the table and pushed up her sleeves to see to the task.

  By the time she’d gone through the contents of the desk, the soft pink glow of dawn had spread across the sitting room floor. She straightened and rubbed her back. It was sore from constantly bending over to rifle through the drawers. She’d found books, some as old as the standing rocks, letters her mother had written but never sent, but no map.

  Her tea was cold but she finished it anyway, then sat down in front of one of the big old wooden trunks. After removing the papers on top of it, she opened the lid and started the monotonous job of lifting out and examining every piece of paper.

  “This is for the Davenports, isn’t it?” She piled yet another old book beside her on the floor. This one was a grimoire. It looked old and interesting, so she’d pour through it later while she sat in the garden, as was her custom.

  There was no answer to her query, only silence.

  “I know you want me to do something. Ever since Mr. Davenport and his pompous brother arrived in Salisbury, you haven’t stopped pestering me about them.”

  The trunk lid fell. Corina had mere seconds to pull her hand out before the heavy wood smashed her fingers.

  “Now you’re just being rude.” She tsked at the room. “I won’t continue if you behave so horribly.”

  Slowly the trunk lid creaked open again. Then the curtains on her window drew open. A ray of new sunlight spread across her face, warming her skin.

  Corina smiled. “Now you’re just showing off.” But she put her hand back into the trunk and came away with the next batch of papers.

  Her heart fluttered a little when she saw what she’d taken out. Pictures she’d drawn with charcoal as a child. Black lines and smudges formed trees and flowers and a small girl engaged with both. She’d done many self-portraits, eager to immerse herself in the fantasies in her head. Smiling, she flipped through them. Her smile faded when she reached the last one.

  This one was not of her, or trees or flowers or anything fanciful. It was darker, sinister even. She’d drawn a man with longish dark hair and serious, bold features. He wore a hat and stiff collared jacket and carried a walking stick.

  Although she’d drawn it years ago, as a child, she’d never met the man. He’d been a vision from her dreams. She’d never seen him before. Not until exactly a fortnight ago, when Rhys Davenport stared out at her from inside the pastry shop.

  She would’ve recognized those serious eyes in any face.

  Setting the drawings aside, Corina reached into the trunk again to see what else she could find. Her fingers brushed against something smooth and curved. She looked in and saw a long, rolled piece of parchment. She picked it out, untied it and unrolled it on the floor.

  It was a map. Or at least a piece of one. She drew her finger along the jagged edge, where another part had obviously been torn away. It was old, yellowed and worn with age. There were symbols on it she’d never seen before.

  “I assume this is what I’m looking for?”

  The trunk lid fell with a very loud thunk, like an exclamation point at the end of an answer.

  “Now what should I do with it?”

  The front door swung open, banging against the wall. A shadow fell across the doorstep. It grew shorter and darker until finally Corina’s horse stuck his nose through the opening and whickered at her in answer.

  She sighed. “I’ll go to London to find the other half of the map, but only after you tell me what it is and what it has to do with that insufferable man.”

  Chapter Three

  Rhys glared at the unfurled map spread out on the sitting room table.

  “Half of it’s missing,” Percy said from his lazy perch on the settee.

  “I can see that.” Rhys threw up his hands and paced the room. He couldn’t believe they’d gone through all that trouble, nearly dying in the process, for an incomplete map. Obviously his intelligence had been sorely lacking.

  “Where’s the other half?” Percy worried at the tips of his moustache with his fingers.

  “I haven’t the slightest idea.”

  He knew he should’ve waited until Jovan’s return. His younger brother had a gift for thievery. Not something Rhys would normally praise, considering that particular gift had been one of the reasons he and Jovan had been at odds for years. But maybe those skills would’ve saved him from every scrape and bruise he’d suffered from jumping off the bridge.

 
As he paced, he rolled his shoulder. A painful twinge radiated down his arm and across his chest. Most likely a trip to a healer was in order.

  “So now what?” Percy asked.

  “I suppose I’ll have to track down the other half.”

  Percy pushed himself to his feet. His legs must’ve pained him as he winced during the process. “Well, while you do that I must return to my dear wife. She’d knock me senseless if she knew what I was out doing with one of the scandalous Davenports.”

  “You’re not going to tell her, I hope.”

  “Of course not. Your secrets, and they are plenty, are safe with me, my friend.” He waddled to the door. “Can you imagine if the world found out about you sorcerers, and the existence of magic?” He chuckled. “Total chaos, I suspect.”

  Once Percy had left, Rhys stared down at the map again. He’d been an utter fool to go after it without extensive planning and research. He was not usually so impetuous but they were running out of time.

  While Jovan and his fiancée, Skylar, were following up on another lead, Rhys had been holed up in the League of Illusion library, pouring through books on dimensional holes in the fabric of time. Not light reading to say the least. Their brother, Sebastian, had disappeared through one such hole five years earlier and they were trying to find him and bring him home.

  Blake Davenport, their father and the head of the League of Illusion, was dying of cancer. No spell or healing potion could cure him. His successor was Sebastian, the eldest son, as was tradition. If they didn’t bring him home by the summer solstice, which was in a little more than two weeks, the title would go to Darin Hawthorne, an immoral sorcerer who would destroy everything the League stood for. There would be casualties to that destruction, not just in the magical world, but also in the mortal one. Mortals, who had no idea that magic even existed.

  Rhys had heard rumors of the dimensional map while haunting the halls of the League headquarters. Once he’d heard it, he poured through every book on the subject, desperate for answers. Days went by without any hope, then an answer showed up in the form of a note folded and placed in his overcoat, which had been hanging off a chair in the library. Anyone could’ve slid it inside. Even their nemesis, Darin Hawthorne, whom he’d seen one afternoon skulking around the halls.

  The note had contained all the information pertinent for him to realize he needed the map, where he could find it and how to steal it. Someone had wanted him to have it, but hadn’t bothered to tell him it was only a fragment.

  He rubbed his sore neck. The stiffness in his muscles was giving him a headache. It didn’t help that he’d bashed the back of his head when he’d landed on the barge. He twisted his head side to side. An audible crack from his neck gave him some relief. He ran his fingers over the map. He’d considered that the note had been a ruse, or a joke on someone’s part, but it was a lead he couldn’t ignore. There had to be answers on it somewhere.

  He traced a finger over the map of Britain, pausing on each dot that represented a thin veil beyond dimensions. He circled Stonehenge. They’d already tried that one and failed. The door had almost been open, but Jovan had broken the spell to save Skylar’s life. And once it had been broken, there could be no way to open it again for years. The psychic had informed them of that. His neck tensed again when he thought of her.

  He moved over to the township of Avebury where another circle of stones stood. Jovan and Skylar had ventured there on the notion there might be a way. The map certainly indicated that Avebury was a place of mystical power but the veil didn’t look as thin as it had been at Stonehenge.

  He moved down the map toward France, but that was where it had been torn in half. His finger brushed against the tear and a jolt of something pricked his skin. He looked at his fingertip, thinking he’d gotten a paper cut, but there was no mark. Curious, he ran his finger over the edge again. This time a spark erupted where he touched it.

  Rhys backed away, thinking the paper was going to catch fire, but instead that spark turned into a glow. And the glow swelled into a shape.

  A few seconds later, an older woman with long dark hair stood in front of him. She wore a simple, unadorned frock and her feet were bare. He didn’t know who she was, but she seemed familiar.

  He frowned at her. “Who are you?”

  “Oh, you are a serious one, aren’t you?” She clucked her tongue. “I’m thinking you might be more trouble than you’re worth.”

  “Are you real?” He reached for her, meaning to touch her shoulder, but his hand went right through her. Her image wavered back and forth. Watching it made his stomach roil.

  She shook head. “And I thought you were the intelligent brother.”

  “A spirit with a sense of humor. How delightful.” He rubbed his fingers on his trousers. They still tingled after passing through her visage.

  “I’m here to help you.”

  “How?”

  “The place you seek is on the map.”

  “Where?” He gestured to the map.

  Her image flickered, then vanished.

  Rhys spun around. “Hello?” He touched the edge of the map again. “Hello? Where on the map?”

  She flashed back into view right beside him. His heart slammed in his throat and he startled sideways.

  “You are jumpy for a sorcerer.”

  “Well, I’m not used to spirits appearing out of thin air.”

  “Then you are going to have a difficult time of it.” She shook her head.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Never mind, you’ll find out soon enough.”

  “What I’d like to find is the other half of this map. Do you know where it is?”

  She nodded. “Yes. It’s coming to you as we speak.”

  “Who has it? Who’s bringing it to me?”

  “My daughter.” Her voice sounded sad.

  “Who’s your daughter?”

  Her image flickered again, like a candle flame being fanned by a wind.

  “Madam,” Rhys asked, “who’s your daughter?”

  She pinned him with her intense gaze. Her eyes were unusual in color and fierce. And he feared he’d seen them before. Her image wavered then started to fade.

  “Be careful.”

  “Why? Of what?”

  “With her.”

  The moment she vanished, the map rolled up into itself.

  With awful certainty, Rhys realized why the apparition looked familiar. Her daughter was none other than the psychic, Corina Stratton, whom he’d met at Stonehenge and who made him violently uncomfortable. And she was bringing him the other half of the map.

  Chapter Four

  As Darin strode down the back hall of Hawthorne Manor, his fury was simmering. The incompetence of people set him on edge. He paid good money not to get his hands dirty. But it seemed they were going to get quite dirty after this visit.

  Hands fisted at his sides, he strode into the kitchen of the great house, a room he didn’t normally enter. But the need for secrecy forced him to do many undesirable things. The two men waiting for him there, their hands folded subserviently, flinched when he walked in.

  Good, they should be afraid. To disturb him at his own home was unacceptable. “Why are you here? We had an arrangement to meet later.”

  The bigger and uglier of the two licked his cracked lips. “I know, sir, we’re sorry, sir. We wouldn’t be here without a good reason.”

  “And that is?”

  T
he big man glanced at his companion, then back at the spot on the floor directly in front of Darin’s feet. “We lost the map.”

  Darin’s jaw clenched. “You did what?”

  “We lost it, sir.”

  “There was this giant two-headed mutt,” the smaller man blurted. “It was going to eat us.”

  “A giant two-headed mutt, you say?”

  The first man nodded vigorously. “It was a trick, sir. Magic.”

  “Shut yer gob, Jimmy. We agreed not to say anything about no magic.”

  The side of Darin’s right eye spasmed. It was proving extremely difficult not to yell at these two buffoons.

  “Magic. Interesting.” He flexed his fingers. “So what you’re saying to me is that you don’t have the map? The one I paid you quite handsomely to acquire for me, because of some stupid magical dog?”

  The two men looked at each other then nodded.

  “It was very frightening, that dog,” the uglier one sputtered in his defense.

  “As frightening as this?” Darin lifted his hands. Concentrating on the empty space between his palms, he poured all his power into it, filling it. Within seconds a reddish-orange glow emerged.

  The two men backed away, but Darin’s man, Bruno, a huge brute of a man, was there behind them, preventing them from fleeing.

  “Rhys Davenport’s silly illusion is nothing compared to what I can do.” After another few seconds, a ball of fire formed between his hands. It burned hot but Darin didn’t feel the flames. He was impervious to its effects. “You see this? This is magic.”

  The men’s eyes bulged as the flames danced menacingly in front of their faces.

  Darin nodded to Bruno. “Grab him.”

  Bruno wound an arm around the uglier man’s neck, squeezing him to his big body and keeping him in place. The captive struggled, but it was pointless. Darin hadn’t employed Bruno because of his intelligence or wit, just for his strength and his immoral compass.

  Darin moved closer, separating the fireball into two smaller orbs. Glued in place, the other man watched, fear dancing in his eyes as Bruno wrenched open his companion’s mouth. With a flick of his wrist, Darin shot the fire into the man’s gaping maw. Bruno squeezed his jaw shut.