Charges Preview

Harley lay unconscious, his head on my lap. I caressed his dark hair lovingly, crying, as I looked around me at the cold room. Please, wake up. Please, please.

Come back to me!

The tears made their way down my cheek.

It was my fault. I had made a huge mistake.

I shut my eyes. In my mind, I ran through the impossible circumstances that led us here. Starting from that day at the library, back in Edinburgh.

“Amber.” My tutor, Professor Erin McKinsey, made her way between the LED-lit desks, a broad smile on her face. In her hands was a large, old book that looked heavy with her thin, wrinkled fingers around it.

“Good morning.” I shoved my red notebook under my binder, before she could notice it.

She reached me and dropped the book on my table. The puff of dust it released settled slowly.

“The early riser. As usual.” Her eyes shot up to the clock above the librarian’s desk and back to me. Quarter to seven.

“It’s a big day today. I can’t wait to go up to the Isle of Skye.” I smiled as I moved to make space for her, pushing aside the rucksack I had under the table.

It was the perfect ending to the two-month intensive program that had brought me here: a collaboration between high schools and the literature faculty, which promised to also coach us on college applications and open doors.

I liked it. The city had a slow pace, but there was still always something going on. Unlike high school, you got to study what you wanted. And Professor McKinsey over-delivered on the promise to help with college: she’d written her colleagues in Oxford, Toronto, and Yale on my behalf! And also gave me pointers on my A-levels in literature, one of the last two finals I would need for college.

But it all came at a price: Harley. He couldn’t join me in Edinburgh. In fact, that was part of why I chose to come—to escape him and his magic.

It was the wrong decision. I regretted it every day.

And I was about to find out just how much two months of long-distance could damage a relationship. He was coming up, joining the trip to Isle of Skye. I was up before my alarm clock this morning, thinking of meeting him again…excited, and scared.

I glanced at my phone, with the picture of me and him on the screen. Professor McKinsey caught it, but looked away as she opened the heavy volume and more dust rose from it.

The book looked like a grimoire from a witch movie. Minus the crumbling pages—this one screamed of strict library procedures.

“This is a first edition—handwritten—from the twelfth century.” She opened to a page with a bookmark. “The book describes religious artifacts. Some of them are considered a myth nowadays because they were never found. Like this one. Now, let me get my notes.”

She turned to fish in her bag. Behind her, the windows were dark—the faint morning light barely shining through them—and one was open. A sudden gush of wind came our way, flipping the pages of the book.

It opened to an image of a necklace with a large yellow stone. Below it, in cursive letters, was a title in a language I didn’t recognize. All around the drawing, from the top decorated corner of the page to the bottom, were finely handwritten words.

I guessed—knowing my tutor—that the language was Celtic. She had a fascination for it and for Scotland’s history.

A second later, in a crash, a few papers and a heavy book of the worst kind landed on the table: a paperback dictionary. Celtic-English.

“Now, where was I? Oh, what’s this?” Professor McKinsey knit her eyebrows at the page that had opened, then quickly went back to the one with the bookmark and pushed the heavy book toward me. She put on her reading glasses, that hung from her neck on a thin cord. “This one is called the Scepter of the Ages. It is believed to have granted Cleopatra her beauty and enchanting sensuality, before it was brought to Scotland in the first century, and got lost at some point afterward. This book brings it to life.”

The drawing showed a decorated golden staff with a glowing purple gem at the top. Like the sheet with the yellow stone, it had a title below, words around it, and ornaments on the edges of the page.

“It’s beautiful. I like the story around it,” I said.

“Yes, well…Cleopatra. Can’t go wrong with that one.”

I laughed. No, you couldn’t.

“This scepter is one of my favorites. There’s something about that stone. I’ve used it as inspiration for my tribal stories—like the one you wrote to get into this program. I thought of this when I read it, and I am certain it will be perfect for your final piece. Up to you, of course.”

Nope. It wasn’t even remotely related to what I was trying to write. “It…has promise.”

She laughed. “You can be honest with me, you know.”

Not when she was writing my college recommendations.

“Why don’t you have a more thorough look? I’ve got the translation here.” She handed me one of her papers. “And this is a list of the other mythical artifacts that I like from the book, along with their page numbers.”

“Thank you!” Now that I could use. One of them should fit somewhere. If not here, then in my other writing, which was the real reason I was up before dawn every day.

Except today. Again, I found myself glancing at the phone.

Professor McKinsey cleared her throat. I looked up and met her concerned smile.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. It’s fine. Really.” Here’s hoping.

She looked at me with true interest in her crow’s-feet decorated eyes. “Is Harley still joining us for lunch, at Fort William?”

“Yes.” That’s the plan, at least. “That’s where he’s renting the car for us, and we’ll meet everybody at the restaurant.”

“Good. Have you heard from him today?”

“Not yet. But he’s probably just waking up.” Again, I looked at my silent cell, hoping there wasn’t a different reason he hadn’t called. Like changing his mind last minute.

I wouldn’t be surprised. Though his support kept me going on the hard days of the program—with daily video calls and always saying that he loved me and was proud of me for being one of the chosen five students to do it—underneath it, I felt his anger.

“Well, you can’t expect him to be up as early as you.” McKinsey laughed to herself as she looked behind me at the empty seats. The place was emptier than a theater screening a musical.

I just smiled back.

“He sounds like a good lad, taking the overnight train all the way to meet you. Not many boys hop on the opportunity to travel for thirteen hours.”

I forced my smile to stay on. Harley had booked the ticket the day I told him about the trip, in the middle of our video call. With a frown on his face.

But at least he was coming. Whatever damage I’d done—by transferring to Edinburgh instead of doing the program at Oxford, which was only a twenty-minute ride from our town, Reading—I’d finally know.

McKinsey’s eyes moved to the clock again; this time with a nervous expression, which hinted that she needed to leave.

“Thank you for the book. And the chat.”

“You’re always welcome. Now, don’t be late. We leave at quarter to eight, sharp.”

And then, a soft breeze moved on the pages and the book opened to the yellow stone again. Professor McKinsey rolled her eyes and opened the book back to the scepter, pushing pages down as if to discipline them.

My phone beeped.

My heart rate spiked at the sight of the tiny icon on my lock-screen. And that one word: Harley.

“I’ll…sure…see you there.” I grabbed the phone, and Professor McKinsey laughed out loud.

“Bring the book with you. I’ve registered to check it out.”

“Thanks.” I barely heard her. My fingers typed my password in so fast that I got it wrong and had to redo it.

“Keep up the good work. You know what they say: early bird catches the bug.”

Worm, actually. But who cared?

She walked to the door, closing the window on the way, while muttering to herself, “Always the first one here.”

She would freak out if she knew why I kept such an early schedule: writing spicy scenes for my bestselling fae-romance series, that bought me a house. I got one done this morning and plotted the next chapter in my red notebook. All in the library of a serious establishment that hoped to produce the next Shakespeare. Shame. Shame. I laughed to myself, as I opened Harley’s text.

“You up?”

I pursed my lips. “Yes. And you?”

“No. I’m still asleep.”

I laughed. “Excited about today?” I regretted it right after I hit Send. It sounded too keen. And what if he wasn’t…?

“Are you kidding me? I can’t wait to see you.”

Okay, now my heart was thumping.

I got a flash in my mind of his sapphire eyes, and that black hair—dark as mine—falling on his forehead, wet, the night he met me in the storm. Then, the basketball practice a few days later, where he led the team and in a moment of distraction—not knowing I was there—lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face. Heat overtook both of us, that didn’t go down until we were alone in a room. And then some.

I bit my lip, crossing my legs tightly, hoping nobody in the library noticed.

The phone beeped again. “Where are you now?”

Hmm… “Such an exciting place. You would never guess.”

“You’re keeping me on the edge here. Don’t tell me it’s the library!”

I laughed out loud and got an angry shush from the woman sitting two desks away. “Should I send you a picture?”

“Please do.”

I turned on the camera and was about to aim it at the book. But then a mischievous thought came: Tease him.

I shoved the idea away. But then… He was, after all, coming all this way, right? And things were tense between us. It could help relight the fire. He seemed in a good mood.

I held the phone above me and had it look down at my desk, and my shirt, cleavage showing. I hit Send.

Beep. “You did not just do that to me!”

Win!

At least that we still had. I would sometimes catch his eyes glancing down in the middle of a video call. I could still remember the pained look in those same eyes when I told him I was leaving. Though he wasn’t the only reason I had to take a break from my life—time here gave me the perspective to see that.

Another beep. “You beat my view. I’m kind of stuck.”

Stuck? I watched the three dots as I waited anxiously for his next text. He was still coming, right?

“My posh train had electricity issues in the middle of the night.” His first words already brought a smile to my face, despite the bad news. “We lost three hours and now we stopped again. But I should be in Fort William around twelve.”

Phew. “So you’re still on the way?” It sounded like a redundant question. But it wasn’t. Not for me. I had to hear him say it.

“Are you kidding? I would fly to see you.”

My hand shook at the words.

“I got the rental car ready for when I get to Fort William. And then I’m stealing you away from everyone. I got us a place in Portree.”

“Portree? Not somewhere remote and close to mountains?” That would have been more his style.

“No. I like reception.”

I laughed at that, and got another angry “Shh” from the girl at the other desk.

“Plus, I checked and they have a good supermarket. I’m cooking for you tonight.”

Shut up! I stared at his text. He was doing that? After an overnight train and half a day’s journey? Plus everything I’d put him through?

Butterflies fluttered in my tummy. Like the ones I’d had when we’d first started to date. “Wouldn’t you be tired? I should be cooking for you.”

“I got a quiet night. Posh overnight train did have its perks. Anyway, um…I hope you brought something nice to wear.”

Something nice to wear? Were we playing this game? “As in, Ann Summers lingerie kind of nice?”

There was a pause. “Are you trying to kill me here? I’m in a public place.”

I laughed hard. The girl across from me muttered a curse, then got up to go to the librarian. Then cursed again, when she realized the staff wasn’t here yet.

Another text arrived from Harley. “I meant nice for dinner. But glad to know where you’re at!”

“Aren’t you?” I teased.

“Always, but you beat me to the punch.”

“I can’t do that. You have a black belt in karate.”

I got a laughing emoji. “For the record, you had me taking cold showers for weeks.”

“Oh really? Is it that bad?”

“You know it is!”

I waited for his next words. But nothing more came. Damn reception on trains.

A few minutes passed. I kept staring at the phone. Then, I forced myself to look away. Do some work.

I looked down at the open book in front of me, and my hand landed on my travel bottle. Warm coffee. I took a sip and the rich flavor soothed me. Then, I tried to concentrate.

But right in front of me was a purple stone on a scepter that made Cleopatra sexy. Damn it. I closed my eyes and let thoughts of Harley take over. Warmth spread through me at the knowledge that I was only a few hours away from seeing him.

The sound of pages flipping made my eyes fly open. And grip the table as the book opened back to the page with the yellow amulet. There was no wind this time! The window was closed.

What?!

I kept my hands away from the book, my breath quickening.

And here I thought that Edinburgh would keep me away from magic. So much for that!

Was a mage here, toying with me? I looked around me. Nobody looked back.

The hand-drawn stone, with the golden flower ornaments around it, almost screamed at me from the page. The curved lines that created roses around it seemed to glare at me, as they wove with such great detail that they made the stone look too large for its chain.

I picked up my phone and switched to the Google Translate app. No offense to Professor McKinsey, but some of her ways—like using a printed dictionary—were outdated and too slow for my workload. I pointed the camera at the page. Time to find out what all the big fuss is about.

The Yellow Diamond was the title under the drawing.

Diamond?! If it were real, it would be one of the biggest in the world.

The description spoke of an unusually large gemstone, which acted like a magical crystal and could store power. It was last seen on the Isle of Skye, worn by a tall woman with black hair and dark eyes, who entered the ocean and never returned. There was a drawing of her on the opposite page, with no words. She was naked, and something that looked like a black cloth lay by her bare feet.

I quickly took a picture of the two pages, and a screenshot of the translation. I would show it all to Harley later. He’d once said that magical books existed, but they were rare.

Again, I looked at the page. Why was it showing itself to me? Was it because I was about to head out to the Isle of Skye—which was mentioned there?

I looked at Professor McKinsey’s list. Maybe she knew about it.

It wasn’t there. There was the Scepter of the Ages, the Athame of Spring, the Stone of Antonius, the Emerald of the North, and the Puppet of Hope. But no Yellow Diamond.

I breathed out as I shut the book. My first instinct was to return it and leave the library, but Professor McKinsey had wanted me to work with it. I had to at least take notes of the artifacts on her list.

I had nothing to fear, I told myself. From my experience, if something wanted to get to me, it would have done so by now, and not subtly. I’d learned that when Harley saved me from the guy who was about to attack me in the worst possible way. Patrick Davies. He was in prison now.

I breathed out slowly and forced myself to do the work. I took pictures and translation screenshots of all the artifacts on Professor McKinsey’s list. I read through them as I went along. I took notes and worked on my course piece. The book behaved. No more flipping.

I was done on the dot and shoved the book into my bag, as I slipped it on my shoulder, ready to go. Then, I looked at my phone to see whether there were any more texts from Harley. None.

Gray clouds greeted me outside when I made my way to the Gothic building, where I shared a dorm with another girl from the program. My Wellies kept my socks dry as I strode through the large puddles on the old pavement. People loved Edinburgh; rain did too. You could buy an umbrella and waterproofs in all four seasons.

I neared the dorm, just as one of the two vans for my trip entered the street. It stopped and the driver’s door opened. A curly redhead popped out and a man who was almost as tall as Harley, but sturdier, jumped down.

Connor Wallace, Professor McKinsey’s TA, and my roommate’s older brother.

“Need help with your bag?”

Before I could answer, he lifted it off my shoulders effortlessly. Just as the front door opened and his sister stepped out. “Hi, Nora!”

“Mmm?” She rubbed her tired eyes and her hair, which resembled Connor’s, fell over her shoulder.

I laughed. Typical.

Connor took her rucksack too, and carried both our bags to the trunk.

“Show-off!” Nora called after him, as she made her way sleepily toward the front of the van.

Connor laughed. “Get in, and make yourselves comfortable.” He finished arranging our packs at the back, closed the boot, and got behind the wheel. The girl who was lucky enough to ride shotgun gave him the kind of look I’d seen on a few lady students when they talked to him, and on some of the guys.

Nora took a seat near the front, next to two second-year college students: Olivia Bianchi, who had curly blonde hair and heavy blue glasses, and Geoffrey Lane, who faced her, talking with his hands, his dark dreadlocks moving behind him as they discussed their favorite author, Tennyson. Loudly. Nora ignored them and dozed off again almost immediately. All the other seats were full, except the one at the back beside Professor McKinsey, who was reading on her tablet.

“How was the book?” she asked, when I sat beside her.

“Special.” My most honest answer.

“Good. Now, tell me: have you ever seen the highlands before?”

“No. This will be my first time,” I said.

“Then, let’s switch places. You take the window seat.”

And with that, we were off, stopping only for fuel. The buildings turned into fields, and then mountains. I stared at the changing landscape, as we got deeper into the highlands, passing green hills and blue lochs that mirrored the sky. The rays of the morning sun blazed on Glencoe’s white peaks, with their stunning ridges. Then, a message arrived from Harley, saying he’d been out of reception, and asking where I was.

I smiled as I lifted the phone and clicked, catching the snowy summits and the rugged terrain below, ending in dark woods and streams with freezing water. His favorite kind of place.

The road curved and the second van from our group slowed as we passed a large waterfall. I sent him that too.

“I’m jealous,” he wrote. “I wish I was there with you.”

“Me too.”

We’d have centuries together, I reminded myself. Harley and I were meant for each other magically. He was my Guardian, and I was his Charge. Guardian love was intense, kind of like on fire all the time. It was comforting to know that we were in it long term even when we didn’t get along. But it came at a price: dangers and secrets.

I waited for his next reply. Nothing came.

We continued to drive between mountains, then alongside the lochs that on a good day mirrored the highest mountain in the United Kingdom. Under it, in the distance, the first houses of Fort William came into view

“Beinn Nibheis.” Professor McKinsey pointed out the window where the slanted peak met the sky and smiled.

“Is that its Gaelic name?” I knew she was fluent in it—a native speaker, born in the Outer Hebrides.

“Yes. It means ‘venomous mountain.’”

And Harley loved it…

“Have you ever gone up? Right, of course, you said you haven’t been to the highlands.”

“I haven’t. But Harley has climbed it.” Eleven times.

“You should go together. In the summer, when the snow has melted from the peak and you can see for miles on a good day.”

“I’m sure he’d love that.”

“And you?”

“I’m more of a long but not steep kind of hiker.”

She laughed. “You’d find plenty of that here too.”

“Train station coming up!” Connor flashed me a smile through the mirror and raised his eyebrows. “For any lovebirds meeting there.”

I chuckled.

“You might want to do that thing you kids have, er…” McKinsey looked at my phone with caution. “Where you see each other on a map.”

“Share location.” I smiled, again thinking of the heavy dictionary on my library desk today. She had her old ways.

“Yes. That one.”

“I was just about to.” I tapped on my app and shared location with Harley.

Harley’s reply came immediately. I opened his text. And my heart skipped a beat.

“Thanks. Amber, I have an important question to ask you tonight.”

I nearly choked.

“Are you all right?” Nora asked from the front.

An important question! Like…move in together, when I returned? I was eighteen and he was seventeen, but his parents knew what Guardian love was like from experience. Nobody would stop us.

“Never better,” I managed. My heart beat fast.

“Good!” Nora gave me a knowing smile when she saw the phone in my hand. She had helped me stay optimistic about things falling into place with Harley. We were ice cream buddies. She supported me on my worst days, and I helped her. Sometimes, she’d add Connor and his roommate Paul to brighten up the mood. Two nights ago, she’d made us all watch a thriller where a car fell off a bridge—when I got stressed out about Harley coming up, and she had a hard time balancing school and our program.

We started to drive through Fort William, the houses of the slow-paced town growing taller toward the city center.

Connor found a parking space right behind the train station. He jumped down, opened the door, and held out his hand for me. His eyes met mine in anticipation.

I got out without his help and turned to Professor McKinsey. “I’ve got the restaurant’s address. We’ll come there.”

She grinned.

Nora turned from her seat. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” I could use it!

I went to the boot.

Connor followed and opened it. “Need me to carry that?” He pointed at my rucksack.

“No. But thank you.” My feet felt light after that message from Harley.

I pulled out the pack. I didn’t see that the zipper was open and caught my computer just before it hit the ground. I quickly shoved it back in.

Connor looked impressed. “Wow. That was fast. You could be a stage magician.”

“I don’t believe in magic.” I tried to sound convincing.

“Me neither. I’ve always been more the science guy. The literature thing is kind of a hobby. And a place to meet nice people.” He winked at me.

I couldn’t help chuckle as I put the pack back on the trunk and zipped it shut, but something had fallen from it.

Connor bent to pick it up. “No. Seriously. I double-majored in literature and biology.”

He handed me a small envelope with my name on it in crooked letters.

“What’s this?”

He shrugged, still smiling at me. “Just…something from your bag.”

“No. I didn’t have it with me before.” I looked back into the boot of the van, to see whether there were others like it. Maybe some surprise someone arranged for the trip? Nothing.

Was it from Harley? He could have sent it to McKinsey’s office and asked for someone to give it to me. Important question… I blushed, and turned quickly before Connor could catch that and tease me about it.

But no. This wasn’t Harley’s handwriting. I lifted the envelope seal and pulled out a folded page that was torn out of a newspaper.

I unfolded it. The blood left my face.

On the top of the page, in crooked letters, was the word, “Beware!” and under it was an article. In the picture, I saw the dreaded face that had haunted my nights for months: Patrick Davies. And the title said he was out of prison!

No! A chill ran down my spine as the world around me became darker.

I barely saw Connor lean to lift my pack. But a quick hand landed on the handle, as someone stepped between us. “I’ll take it from here.”

Warmth filled me at the sound of his voice, and I looked up to see the deep-blue eyes I had missed so much.

Harley looked at me for a second. And then he slammed his lips on mine.