Kathryne Kennedy - Everlasting Enchantment

A circle of flame surrounded a white glowing object, roughly egg-shaped and with a pearly iridescence of reds, oranges, and yellows. A crackling sound echoed through the cavernous ballroom, louder than the crackle of the fire, but softer than the snap of a twig.

“What is that?” she asked, suddenly remembering the odd little being and Gareth’s intensity for building the fire. As if she had summoned him with her thoughts, the small creature appeared from above the mantel of the fireplace, swinging open a painting that hung there as if it were a door, and jumping nimbly down to the parquet floor.

He wore an odd assortment of expensive fabrics sewn together in a haphazard fashion, and did, indeed, sport a tail through a tear in the back of his trousers. He had hunched shoulders and a wide grin and knobby features.

“New question,” Millicent whispered. “What is that?”

“A hobgoblin.” Gareth frowned. “He came with the house. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.”

The orb in the fireplace flared again, making her narrow her eyes. A new crack appeared in the pearly surface.

The little creature jumped up and down, clapping his hands in glee.

“Parsnip,” said Gareth. “What’s happening?”

Parsnip? mouthed Millicent. But they both ignored her, their eyes intent on the thing in the fire.

“Oh ho. Methinks… yes, methinks she is finally hatching.”

Hatching? mouthed Millicent and then clamped her lips shut, refusing to feel like a dunce a third time.

The circle of burning branches surrounding the egg flared into swirling columns, dancing madly about the object as the cracks in its surface began to spread. To grow. Pieces of white shell broke outward and fell onto the burning ash. Something lay inside the egg. Something with a tiny yellow beak and fiery red feathers.

A shiver shook Millicent from head to toe. She glanced from Gareth to the thing in the fireplace.

No, it could not be possible. “Where on earth did you find a firebird’s egg? And why are you hatching it, instead of the mother of the creature?” Millicent could only think Gareth had found it somehow. That the mother had been killed and he had rescued the egg and brought it back to Hobover House. Or perhaps, like the hobgoblin, the egg had come with the house?

Parsnip turned and raised a knobby finger to his wide mouth. “Hush, now. The wee thing must concentrate on breaking out of her shell, don’t ye know?”

No, Millicent didn’t know. And she couldn’t imagine what Gareth had been thinking to try to foster a firebird. The creatures could spit flame, for heaven’s sake. And until they grew old enough to control it, burst into fire at a moment’s notice.

And then it struck her. Had Gareth purposely sought out a firebird for Millicent? To somehow replace Nell? She shook her head, wishing he had spoken to her first. No one could replace Nell. She had left a hole in Millicent’s heart that even her love for Gareth could not quite fully heal. But Millicent had come to accept that as a part of her. She would not allow the pain to keep her from fully loving Gareth. But perhaps he hadn’t known that until now, when she had come to him.

The very small firebird finished pecking its way out of its shell, and tried to stand on its new legs, but managed only to tumble head-over-feathers out of the fireplace, coming to an abrupt landing on the hearthstone. Parsnip jumped out of scorching distance, and began to croon to the baby bird.

“Do you know how hard it is to hatch a firebird in captivity?” murmured Millicent.

“Alas,” replied Gareth, giving her shoulders a squeeze. “This is no ordinary firebird.”

She glanced at his face. Heavens, he took her breath away. His eyes shone with triumph and joy, and his ordinarily handsome features now glowed with an almost angelic beauty.

Light to dark. He is the light, and I am the dark. But the thought no longer made Millicent sad, or made her feel unworthy. They balanced each other and were better for it.

The flames of the hatchling began to fade to a dull glow, and Parsnip strode over and petted the tiny head, murmuring reassuring words to it.

Millicent touched Gareth’s strong chin, made him turn to look at her.

“You did not need to do this. I… I need only you. Besides, you must know that this little creature cannot replace my Nell.”

His mouth softened, and his blue eyes danced. “No. I don’t imagine any ordinary firebird could take the place of your Nell. But you see, my dearest—”

An abrupt shout from the hobgoblin interrupted them, and they both turned to stare at Parsnip and the little baby… human.

“Eh, well,” muttered Parsnip. “Methinks the lady should take over from here.”

The infant screwed up her little face and began to squall. Parsnip placed his gnarled hands over his ears and winced.

“A were-firebird?” gasped Millicent. “Where in England did you find—” But she didn’t finish her question, because her body responded to the infant’s cries, even though she had no experience with children, and had no idea what she was doing… just that it felt right. She tore off the soft apron that accessorized her bronze gown, while her feet took her over to the baby, and then Millicent wrapped the child in the fabric and cradled it to her chest.

The tiny thing immediately quit crying.

A warm feeling washed through Millicent’s body. She stared down at the small bundle in her arms. The child had a cap of red fuzz on its head, and the most delicate face Millicent had ever seen. It had put its fist in its mouth and sucked fervently on it. And then it… she… opened her eyes.

Lavender eyes.

Millicent began to shake, felt Gareth’s warm arms surround her again, helping to support her and the baby. She leaned into his strength, and did not feel the lesser for it.

“How?” she breathed.

“Ah, well,” said her love. “I did not know she would come back as a baby, although I rather imagine it makes sense. I foolishly thought she’d be reborn to her old, crotchety self.”

“This is Nell? Reborn?”

“Aye. You introduced Nell to me once—what seems like a lifetime ago now—as Nell Feenix. Her surname has nagged at me since, and although it didn’t occur to me at the time, I gathered Nell’s ashes from the battlefield and kept them safe, for I could not abide the thought of leaving her there. But the Master is the one who told me the legend of the phoenix. And Parsnip knew how to make the nest, since long ago one of those creatures resided in Hobover House. I thought if I could bring her back, I could heal your heart… and then you would love me without reservation.”

Millicent’s breath hitched.

“But you came to me anyway, didn’t you?”

“Yes. You didn’t need—but I’m so glad you did.”

He placed one finger onto the baby’s hand and stroked the tiny palm. “I thought we had failed to bring her back. And then you kissed me.” He laughed softly. “Now I know there is magic in your kiss, my lady.”

Millicent smiled, staring into those lavender eyes. “Nell?” she whispered.

The baby pulled her fist out of her mouth, and grinned.

“Look, she’s smiling.”

“It’s probably just gas,” said the hobgoblin, who had jumped up onto the couch and craned his neck to look at the child.

Gareth scowled at Parsnip.

The little man shrugged. “That’s what they always say, methinks.” He hopped onto the floor and clambered up the columns on the side of the fireplace, as if he scaled a ladder, and then paused on the mantel. “She’ll be a handful, that one. Full of sass and fire. Good thing ye happen to have a hobgoblin in the house to help ye raise her.” And then he disappeared behind the painting once again.

Gareth raised a brow. “I’m not too sure about that. For some reason, I am picturing the two of them plotting mischief of one kind or another as soon as she is able to speak.”

Millicent smiled, leaned over, and kissed her knight’s rough cheek. “I love you.”

“I will never tire of hearing you saying that.” He blushed. Charming man. “We seem to have put the cart before the horse, my lady. So I think we should marry as soon as possible. Would a quick journey to Gretna Green suit?”

“It would suit me just fine, my lord.” Millicent hugged the baby to her, laid her head on her knight’s strong shoulder. “Indeed. I think my life will suit me just fine from here on after.”

Look for Enchanting the Beast, the final installment in the Relics of Merlin series, coming in April from Kathryne Kennedy and Sourcebooks Casablanca

London, 1861

Where magic has never died…

Lady Philomena Radcliff closed her eyes and called to the spirit of the late Lord Stanhope. She tried to ignore the excited breaths of the ladies within the séance circle.

“Lord Stanhope,” Phil said, with as much theatrical brilliance as a stage performer. “Your wife wishes to speak with you one last time. Is your spirit still in this house?”

The withdrawing room smelled of candle wax and the clashing perfumes of the assembled ladies: Lady Stanhope, Lady Montreve, and their two daughters. And unfortunately, their daughters’ silly young friends, who started to giggle as the silence lengthened.

It appeared that the late Lord Stanhope had chosen not to linger in the physical world.

Which didn’t make one whit of difference to Phil. Lady Stanhope had paid her for some peace of mind and she would give it to her regardless. When Phil had been orphaned at a young age, she’d used her magical gift to support herself, quickly discovering that half of her job consisted of her theatrical ability to convince her audience. If the spirit she called made an appearance, she just considered it a bonus.