“Ah, finally, I’m not ‘dickbag’ anymore.”
Aelwyd was still studying him through Vivienne’s eyes, and Rhys was very, very aware that his life was hanging in the balance.
And then she backed away from him, some of the wind dying down, that smell like lightning striking the earth fading.
“You must love her, then,” she said.
“I do,” he answered. “Madly.”
She gave a sigh, Vivienne’s chest rising and falling, and then she closed her eyes. “I can see her heart,” Aelwyd said. “Feel it inside her chest. She loves you, too, and would not see you harmed, and as she is of my blood, I’ve decided to grant her request.”
Rhys tried not to actually fall to the ground with relief, but it was a struggle. “Thank you,” he breathed, and he saw Gwyn and Elaine clutch hands.
“Thank you,” Rhys repeated. “And I promise, I’ll set this right about that bastard Gryffud. No more statue, definitely no Founder’s Day. I might even see if I can get my brother Wells to change his middle name.”
Aelwyd frowned, and for a second, Rhys wondered if mentioning the family connection had been a bad idea, but it wasn’t that. She wasn’t even looking at him, but back up toward the grave, her hands opening and closing at her sides.
“It’s . . . the curse. I cannot lift it.”
“Beg pardon?”
She went to her knees, head tilting back to look up at the sky. “I’m not strong enough.” And her voice was sounding weaker, fainter, Vivienne’s voice stronger.
Her eyes found his again, and this time, it felt more like Vivienne was looking back at him. “I’m sorry, Rhys Penhallow,” Aelwyd said. “It’s too late.”
And then there was a sound like the crack of thunder and Vivienne slumped to the ground.
Chapter 33
Vivi was getting a little tired of doing magic and somehow ending up on the ground.
She opened her eyes to see Gwyn, Rhys and Elaine all standing over her, and from the expressions on their faces, she was guessing the ritual hadn’t worked. Or had she even managed to do it? The last thing she remembered was her hand on Aelwyd’s grave, asking her ancestor to lift the curse, and then it was all a big blank until now.
“Is it over?” she asked Rhys, and he tried to smile at her as he helped her to her feet.
“You were magnificent. Honestly.”
“That’s not an answer,” she replied as she dusted off her skirt, looking over at Gwyn and Elaine, both of whom were as grave as she’d ever seen them.
“You did it, Vivs,” Gwyn said, coming forward to take Vivi’s hand. “You pulled Aelwyd’s spirit right into you, it was the coolest magic I’ve ever seen. You were all goddess-y, and your hair was blowing in the wind like Beyoncé . . .”
Vivi stared at her. “And it didn’t work,” she said. “I can see it in your face.”
Gwyn’s bravado collapsed, and she pressed a hand to Vivi’s cheek. “It wasn’t your fault.”
Panicked, Vivi looked to Rhys, standing there so handsome, so casual, hands in his pockets, but there were lines around his mouth, his shoulders tense. “Apparently Aelwyd didn’t have the juice, Samhain or no.” He shrugged. “Win some, lose some.”
“No,” Vivi said, shaking her head. She still felt wobbly from the spell she’d just done, could still taste a strange metallic flavor in her mouth, and she was shivering, but she was also really, really fucking sure she wasn’t about to let anything happen to Rhys.
Or Graves Glen.