Spell of the Highlander
Page 11

Dark, mocking laughter rolled behind her. It made her shiver. “You wouldn’t dare and well you ken it. ’Tis why you’ve not rushed her. Lucan sent you with precise instructions. Bring it back intact, nay? The mere possibility that the mirror might be shattered makes your blood ice. You know what he’d do to you. You’d be begging for death.”
“Huh-uh, no way,” Jessi whispered, eyes going wide. She could feel the blood draining from her face, knew she’d gone white as snow. “Not believing this.” She took a shaky little breath. “Any of this.”
Logic insisted there couldn’t possibly be anyone behind her. And certainly not anyone inside a mirror, for heaven’s sake!
But her gut was of a different opinion.
Her gut sensed “Man” with a capital “M” behind her, and he was throwing off all the heat of a small, fiery forge at her back. Enough that it made the sides and front of her feel abruptly cold. Made her neck ache with the effort of keeping her gaze fixed firmly on her would-be murderer, and not turning to gape at the looking glass. She could feel him behind her. Something. Someone. Caged power. Caged sexuality. Whatever was behind her was formidable.
“Doona turn, woman,” he—it—whatever it was—counseled. “Keep your eyes on him and speak after me—”
“I’d advise against that,” the blond man warned, locking gazes with her. “You’ve no idea what you’d be letting out of that mirror.”
Jessi took another shallow breath. She could sense the blond man’s tightly leashed fury, knew if he thought, for even a split second, that she might not actually break the mirror, she was dead. She was afraid to so much as blink, afraid he would lunge during that brief moment of vulnerability. And there was something behind her that couldn’t possibly be there, at least not according to any laws of physics she understood. Admittedly, there were many laws of physics she didn’t understand, but she felt confident enough of those she did to protest faintly, “This is crazy.”
“‘Crazy’ would be letting him out,” the blond man said. “Step away from the mirror. Do as I say and I’ll see to it he doesn’t harm you.”
“Oh, like I’m believing that. Now you’re my protector?”
“Summon me out, woman. I am your protector,” came the command at her back.
“This isn’t happening.” It couldn’t be. None of it. Her mind was incapable of processing it, and the sensation of dreamlike detachment was increasing exponentially. She felt as if she were standing, bewildered, on a stage set, as actors played their parts around her, and if somebody had a playbill with one of those helpful little plot synopsis thingies, she sure hadn’t gotten to see it.
“He will kill you, lass,” rolled the deep Scots burr behind her, “and you know it. You doona ken the same of me. Sure death or a mayhap death, ’tis a simple choice.”
“And that’s supposed to be reassuring?” she snapped over her shoulder, to whatever it was that was there that couldn’t really be there.
The blond man smiled coldly. “Oh, he’ll kill you, and far more brutally than I. Step aside and I’ll let you live. I’ll collect the mirror and leave. I give you my word.”
Jessi shook her head from side to side, once. “Leave. Now. And I won’t smash the mirror.”
“He won’t leave, lass, ’til you’re dead. He cannot. He is bound to serve one who would punish him were he to leave you alive now that you’ve seen the Dark Glass. I’ve no means to convince you to trust me. You must hang your bonnet on faith. Him. Or me. Choose. Now.”
“He was imprisoned in such a fashion because he is a ruthless killer that couldn’t be contained any other way. He was locked away for the safety of the world. It took the power of formidable Druids—”
“Woman, choose! Repeat this: Lialth bree che bree, Cian MacKeltar, drachme se-sidh!”
Jessi echoed the strange words without missing a beat the moment she heard them.
Because she finally understood what was going on.
She was right—none of this was happening.
What was happening was that she’d let herself in Professor Keene’s office and, rather than going to the bookshelf as she’d thought, she’d sat down for a moment on the plush leather Chesterfield sofa to rest her eyes. But she’d ended up getting too horizontal. And she was currently snoozing soundly away, having the most bizarre of dreams.
And everyone knew nothing mattered in dreams. One always woke up. Always. So why not let the man out of the mirror? Who cared?