Page 119 of Dark Victory

Through the flames, she saw the dark-haired woman on the landing. Her eyes were glittering with hatred—and shining oddly with the transfixed stare of the enchanted.

“Come to me, witch, escape the cold. Come to me, witch, warm in my fire,” Tabby chanted softly.

Criosaidh started to walk toward the flames.

The wind whirled violently, turning into a spiraling cyclone, and the ceiling exploded from the roof.

Tabby cringed, covering her head with her arms, ordering the fire to protect her. And as the timbers rained down around her, Criosaidh walked into her fire.

Kneeling, Tabby looked up.

The moment she did, Criosaidh was engulfed in the blaze. As her clothes and hair went on fire, she screamed in pain and terror, her gaze meeting Tabby’s.

Bitch…

Tabby came out of her trance. “Roast in hell,” she screamed back.

Criosaidh staggered away, the flames burning her arms and legs, her clothes, her body. Her screams were bloodcurdling.

She fell, and there was only the blazing fire.

For another moment, Tabby stared at the inferno outside the circle of fire where she stood, almost disbelieving. She had won. Criosaidh was dead, burned alive at An Tùir-Tara, and her ghost seemed to have been vanquished, too.

But it was June 1, 1550, not June 19.

As she had that thought, her entire body gave out. Tabby collapsed.

She cried out, barely able to brace herself as she fell to the hard stone floor. Suddenly she was aware of her exhaustion. She simply could not move. She was drained, depleted, sickened and shaking uncontrollably. She couldn’t think clearly. She wasn’t even certain she had any magic left. She only knew that it was over—and she hated what she’d had to do.

The stone floor was cool against her cheek. Her eyes drifted closed. She was so seriously drained, she wondered if she might die from using the power that she had.

She had to go home.

It was truly over now.

Macleod.

She wanted him desperately. She would find relief in his arms. But how was she going to get back to Blayde in the thirteenth century? Tabby clawed the stone, trying to get up, but her body refused to heed her now.

She fell back onto her belly, her face. She needed to rest, but only for a moment. And the fire roared around her.

Could she even get out of the circle of fire?

Tabby somehow looked at the circle of fire, shoving to her hands and knees, too weak to even sit up. If only she could lie there for a few moments, trying to find some of her strength. But the urge to go home to Macleod was consuming. It was urgent. He needed her—she somehow knew it. She was confused, because the man who’d been in the tower with her had been so powerful, and he only needed her love. Her head hurt. Macleod needed her. He was lost, suffering….

She would have to dispel the fire. Tabby forced herself to sit up, panting from the exertion. Instinctively she touched her chest and she jerked. Utter dismay claimed her. The amulet was gone!

She didn’t know what to do. The necklace meant everything to her. It had belonged to Elasaid and Macleod had given it to her so she wouldn’t ever get lost. She was certain it had helped her in her battle with Criosaidh. She breathed hard, tears forming, suddenly dizzy and terribly confused. Of course the talisman was gone—it had been lost at An Tùir-Tara and it would wind up on exhibit at the Met. Except today was June 1, 1550, not June 19. What could that mean?

Tabby shook off her confusion. She was never going to figure it out or, at least, not now. She had miraculously triumphed over both Criosaidh and her spirit. Now she had to get out of the fire and go home to Macleod, because he was in trouble. She had no idea what would happen to history and maybe she shouldn’t care.

She slowly stood and instantly reeled, almost falling over. Instead she caught herself and the fire seemed to back away from her.

Tabby closed her eyes again, fighting for strength and focus. “Fire go from me,” she said hoarsely.

The fire simply danced about her, but the flames were waist-high now.

“Fire go from me,” she cried, trying to put power into her words. The effort was simply too much and she collapsed as she spoke, but the fires vanished.