Hexed

do so.”
    I blinked. I’d expected something far more intricate, but apparently the lifting of curses called for a lot less formality than the bestowing of them. Then again, considering the pain that went into receiving the curse, I decided that short and sweet was good enough for me.
    As I gathered the bag containing my robes, I noticed there was something else inside the sack, but once again instinct told me not to look until we were long gone from the temple.
    I made my good-byes and, gazing one last time at the intricately carved walls and the magnificent mosaics, took my leave of the temple as quietly as I’d arrived. We’d been inside about an hour, and it was the last hour I intended to ever spend in the Northlands. Howl’s Pack was waiting, and with Camille and me riding the backs of two of the biggest warriors in wolf form, we headed back down the mountain.
    When we were far enough away, I rooted around in the sack and withdrew what had caught my eye. It was a crystal statue of Undutar, but there was something magical about it. Something I couldn’t quite pick up on. I also noticed my robes were different, and as I gazed at them, trying to figure out what that difference was, it struck me. They were embellished with the same embroidery as were those of the Priestess-Mother’s.
    “What is it?” Camille asked.
    “I don’t know,” I said, but inside I had a glimmering suspicion. I just didn’t want to say what yet.
     
    WE STAYED YET a third night with Howl’s Pack. I headed outside before supper, wearing my new robes, carrying the statue. There were yetis and trolls to contend with, yes, but Howl had guards on duty and with Vikkommin’s shadow long gone, I wasn’t terribly afraid.
    I stopped on the edge of the ice field, staring out at the Skirts of Hel. The cold still made me shiver, but I was also warmed by the knowledge that I’d done what I set out to do. Now I could return home, marry Bruce, and have the children I longed to have. Visions of motherhood danced in my head, and I wondered just what characteristics they’d inherit from me . . . from him.
    As a flurry of flakes fluttered around me, I knelt in the snow and placed the statue before me. I lowered my head to the ground, then sat back on my knees, closing my eyes, willing the words of a prayer to my lips. But no prayer came, only a deep feeling of peace and vindication.
    I have plans for you yet, my Ar’jant d’tel. You are Chosen of the Gods, all right, but not to become Priestess-Mother of the temple here.
    Jumping, I looked around. There, up ahead, was the shimmering form of my Lady, her long dark hair flowing in the wind. Her cloak was of the whitest fur and her eyes swirled with frost and mist.
    “What is your will, my Lady? I am yours, forever and always, marked in body and soul.” I realized that I bore no ill will to her for using me to combat Vikkommin. A priestess was the hand of her goddess, the extension of her Lady’s will. I had been the best tool to stop him. That I’d accidentally learned his abilities, setting my own self at risk, had been collateral damage.
    You will return home, and you shall set up a small shrine to me. You will run this shrine and be the Priestess-Mother to all who seek me out. My power is needed now, as the Earth warms and the glaciers lose their strength.
    I nodded silently, realizing that Undutar meant to be more of a force in the world. Her cooling ways were needed; her mist and snow and fog were vital to the survival of so many creatures. And I would be, as forever and always, her handmaid.
    With a sudden laugh, I realized how far I’d come. I’d crossed worlds to stand at her side, only to find myself her priestess in a suburb of Seattle. I’d trained for years of silent contemplation, yet now I was fighting demons with the D’Artigo sisters and their friends. I’d destroyed my lover to prevent him from misusing his power and had nearly turned myself into a carbon copy. I’d returned to the temple, only to be told to set up another temple on my own.
    Life was filled with one ironic turn after another. But that which mattered most to me: my friends and their fight . . . my goddess and the fact that she loved me . . . that I could marry the man I loved and bear his children—those were the only things that would, in the end, make up the true story of my life.

DOUBLE HEXED
     
    A STORMWALKER NOVELLA
     

     
    ALLYSON JAMES

ONE
     

     
    IT STARTED, INNOCENTLY ENOUGH, WITH A