Velvet Haven

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    At the eastern end of the stone corridor lay the glimmering gold veil that led to Annwyn. At the western end was an ancient wooden door that led into a nightclub where both mortals and immortals mingled. The corridor was long, shadowed, with alcoves perfect for hiding, or for carrying out clandestine meetings. Built deep beneath the club, only inhabitants of Annwyn knew of the cave. Unless, of course, the mortals had somehow discovered it, which posed a whole host of threats. But Bran doubted they had, for the human owner of Velvet Haven would never allow any mortal near the door that led to Annwyn. Besides, Bran himself had cast a protection spell on the door, keeping mortals away. Which meant, of course, they were dealing with something magical.
    “What has you frowning, Raven?”
    “Had she been inside Velvet Haven, then, if she was found in the cave?”
    “Yes.”
    Then this dark mage was preying on immortals who came to the club. And this female, she was not the first immortal to return to Annwyn dead.
    The previous eight bodies that had been returned had been that of males, old enough to know what they were doing. There had been signs of sex and bondage, but not gruesome markings. No symbols or incense.
    Bran had thought the first two deaths might be nothing more than sexual experimentation by lovers not well versed in bondage. But after the third body had turned up, Bran had known something more sinister was lurking in the shadows.
    “This is someone of our world,” Cailleach announced as she came to stand beside him. “Only one who makes their home in Annwyn could know of these symbols.”
    Bran glanced once more at the woman’s body. “That is clear, but it’s where they are placed on her body that puzzles me. And there is this symbol here,” he said, pointing to her neck, above the red excoriations on her throat. “This is not of our world.”
    “Ancient Druid,” Cailleach suggested. “Or perhaps an archaic symbol used in Black Magick?”
    “No. It’s Angelic.”
    He thought he heard Cailleach’s breath catch. Interesting.
    As he walked around the body once more, Bran studied not only the youngling, but the goddess as well. She was discomposed, though she tried admirably to hide it. Nothing unnerved Cailleach, but something about this particular situation did. Which, of course, made him even more determined to discover what the black magician wanted of them. For that was the purpose of the markings on the youngling’s body. The mage had something to say.
    “The third eye has been etched onto her forehead.” Bran ran his fingers carefully over the mottled flesh. “That is a warning we are being watched.”
    “But by whom?” Cailleach murmured. There was true fear in her voice. He’d never known the goddess to fear anything—or anyone.
    There were a few seconds of silence before the goddess addressed the Anam Cara . “You may leave us. Carry her soul with you, for I fear that the ones who have done this to her seek her soul for use in black magick.”
    Lifting the lifeless body from the altar, the Anam Cara moved silently into the depths of the forest, the blackness of night enveloping him. When he was gone and the grove had fallen silent, Cailleach turned to Bran. “We must speak in private.”
    Folding his arms over his chest, Bran studied Cailleach. “This is my sacred grove. None but you intrude here.”
    She did not blush despite the coldness in his voice. “I am aware of your opinion of me. But you must now see how this battle between us has brought the Dark Times. We have allowed evil to seep into our lives while we have warred between us.”
    Bran hated to admit the truth, but Cailleach was correct. They were supposed to rule Annwyn together, yet they had never once done so. For a hundred and seventy years, they had been at odds. But whose fault was that? It was she who had given him the Legacy Curse, damning him to a life without love. She who had made him king of the Sidhe, knowing he disdained the throne.
    “Your hatred for me has clouded your vision, Raven.”
    “Your need to rule me has clouded yours,” he snarled.
    She smiled and stepped closer. “And this is the way it is between us. Always circling each other. Always fearing. Never trusting.”
    “I am Night Sidhe. Why would you trust me?”
    “True, your blood is black and dangerous, but I sense in you such power. And above all, honor. Alas, your loyalty does not lie with me or with Annwyn, but with your