The Etsey Series 1: The Seventh Veil by Heidi Cullinan

them.
    Wind blasted Charles’s back, and the water demon howled again. But so did the voice behind him.
    “ He is not yours to take. You have violated your sentence. Let him go, or we will banish you into the Void. Release him, and go back to your prison .”
    The voice banged against Charles’s bones and rattled his teeth. It was a feminine voice, but it was not sweet or gentle or kind. It was terrible. It spoke with the authority of a goddess, but it was not, Charles knew, his Goddess.
    It sounded, actually, like the moor witch. It sounded like the Morgan.
    The demon had eased its hold on Charles, and now it was withdrawing reluctantly. It pulled him forward with it, like an angry child seeing how long it could defy a parent. Charles wanted his release, but he feared, too, his rescuer. The Morgan. Goddess help him, he thought Smith had said she was dead! He didn’t want to see the Morgan! He had once, when he was young, and the image returned to him now: tall, swathed in black from head to toe, only her pale, sticklike hands visible. He’d seen her swarthy veil come off too, and he’d seen the bald, pale head, the sunken cheeks, the gray eyes that cut like knives—
    “ You will release him now ,” the witch demanded.
    The demon gave one last howl, but it removed its hand completely as it fell back into the water. It sent a great splash up into the air that should have coated the shore, but the witch murmured another spell, and the water bounced harmlessly against a shield and fell away.
    Charles fell backward onto the bank. His throat hurt, and he felt as if he were going to vomit copiously. He opened bleary eyes to the night sky, then cried out as he saw the moor witch bend over him, her white hands reaching out to touch his face. She retreated at his outburst, raising those hands to her veil instead. Goddess, no, don’t show me that hideous face ! Charles wanted to shout at her, but he could only manage a gurgle.
    However, not just the veil but the whole headdress lowered, and it was no bald, wizened visage that bent over him. It was a beautiful one—outside the Goddess, this was the most beautiful woman Charles had ever seen. And he knew her. That had not been her voice he’d heard dispelling the lake demon, but he knew this woman. She was, in fact, the woman he had come to see.
    He cried out in relief and reached for her, and in response Madeline Elliott crouched down beside him, her eyes full of concern as she took his face in her hands.
    “It is you,” she whispered, sounding stunned. Her voice was normal again, not full of magic and power, just love. She shook her head and stroked Charles’s cheek. “Charles Felix Perry, what in the name of heaven are you doing here?”
    “Madeline.” His voice was slurred, and his body felt heavy. “Madeline—something has happened.”
    She tossed her headdress aside and crouched down beside him, her long, thick hair spilling over her shoulders. “Charles, it’s all right. I have you. No more harm will come to you.” She touched his forehead, his neck, and his temples. Her brows knit in concern. “What has happened to you? You feel…” She frowned and placed her hand over the center of his chest. Then she sucked in a breath. “ Alchemist ,” she swore. “You are under the thrall of an alchemist.”
    She’s so beautiful . Charles smiled drunkenly as he reached up and touched her face, running fingers over the edges of her hair. Beautiful and strong . He remembered why he had come to find her and what he had run from, and his smile dropped away. “Jonathan,” he rasped, clutching her arms. “He’s here. He’s hurt. He’s at the abbey.”
    He saw the flicker of emotions pass over her face: alarm, unease, even sorrow, but then she shuttered it all away. She stroked his face again. “Jonathan is dead, Charles.”
    Charles shook his head. “He’s here. And he says he has a demon in him.” She blanched; he opened his mouth to spit out the rest, to