Fantasy

Vran watched the various emotions flicker over Mona's face. He was sure she had no idea how much her expression gave her away. Most people didn't. Took a lot of practice to hide how one felt.

Something small and dark swooped past her and she flinched. Nala rose and gazed with interest into the darkness.

"You'll never catch a bat," Mona chided. "Not with their radar. Besides, what would you do with one if you did catch it?"

Nala slanted her the scornful glance of the born hunter.

"The thrill for all predators is in the pursuit and catch," Vran commented. "Ask any human--we're all predators."

"Men more than women," Mona said.

"Genes. Hunters and gatherers. Genes go way back. To the time of dragons."

"You mean you think that somehow our ancestors inherited a genetic memory of dinosaurs, so invented the dragon to account for it?"

"Not at all. Dragons aren't mythic dinosaurs. Nor modified ones either." He deftly inserted a charcoal-crisp hot dog into a bun. "Care for the results of today's hunt?"

Between bites, she asked, "Why do we keep talking about dragons?"

"Why are your cousins coming?"

She slanted him an impatient look. "She invited them. I'm hoping one of them can solve my great-aunt's secret. I have no idea what the solution is."

"Dragon heart is dragon stone," he said.

She stared at him. "That's the first line of the secret verse. Did Great-aunt Enid teach it to you, too?"

"You asked why we kept circling back to dragons--that's why."

"Do you mean you learned the verse from Enid? You talk around questions rather than answering them."

"I came here to protect you," he added. "If you don't like the word protection, think of me as an observer who's on your side." He slipped a roasted hot dog into a bun for himself and gestured toward an ice chest of soft drinks. "Help yourself."

Mona opened a can of orange and sat on Nala's log.

"The flicker of the flames turns you into a mystery woman," he murmured. "Your eyes hold secrets no man can fathom."

"I doubt mystery women ask for seconds on hot dogs."

He was reaching to hand her one when Nala dived into her lap, huddling against her as a soft whoosh of wings came from overhead.

"That was no bat," Mona exclaimed.

"Owl," Vran said. "A big one by the looks of him." He handed her the hot dog, scooped Nala from her lap and loped toward the cottage with the cat.

He returned without Nala, saying, "I won't let her out after dark again. Of all people, I should have remembered the night predators."

When they'd eaten all the marshmallows either could handle, he sat next to Mona on the log and asked her to sing Puff, The Magic Dragon with him.

He watched as Mona stared into the fire as they sang, seemingly half-transported into that magic kingdom by the sea. They fell silent for a time, and he found the swish of the waves on the sand lulling his apprehension.

 "Mudway-aushka," she said softly. "The Chippewa word for the sound the waves make. Do you know Longfellow's poem about the shining big sea water?'"

"As a boy I was brought up on Welsh poetry such as Peacock's." He threw his head back and intoned:

"The mountain sheep are sweeter,

But the valley sheep are fatter;

We therefore deemed it meeter

To carry off the latter."

"Obviously a raider's tale."

He didn't deny it. "Welsh tales are full of battles won and battles lost, until the time came when there were no more wins--all were losses--and so we became a reluctant part of Great Britain."

"While we here in the colonies revolted and broke away."

"You had the advantage of distance." He pivoted on the log to look at the dark lake. "And vast spaces. There's still wilderness to be found here. I love America."

Mona turned so that she, too, faced the lake. Far out over the water, a string of lights twinkled.

"A ship passing," he said.

"No, actually it's a boat. Great Lakes tradition has it only boats sail these inland seas. And I was told in town it's rare to see the big boats anymore since the mines all closed."

He glanced at the sky. The rising moon, lopsided, touched the dark water with silver and leached the color from Mona's eyes as he looked at her. "The moon is waning. In ten days we'll have moondark."

She continued to gaze into his eyes. He knew he should glance away. "They say whoever looks into a dragon's eyes becomes his slave," he warned.

"Then I'm lucky you're not a dragon."

"Are you?" He heard his voice change into a croon. Damn, he had to stop this.

He saw her attempt to speak, to look away, saw her fail. Did she want more? He sure as hell did.

Vran couldn't help himself. If only he hadn't sat next to her on this damn log, he could have kept his cool. But this close to her, his head filled with her seductive scent, he was rapidly losing his reason. He felt far more than the simple allure of an attractive woman, this was an all-out sensual raid.

Gema raised her hands and closed her eyes. Littered on the chamber floor were rose petals and dried nightshade. The witch swirled her hands into the air and the clutter at her feet began to swirl. The petals melded with the deadly nightshade and rose upward, gathering about Gema's legs and the hem of her long gown.

The candle in the center of the room flickered, waned, then regained its bright yellow-tipped flame. The rose petals and nightshade rose to swirl around the candle base while Gema chanted her spell and raised her arms. The mixture rose as the flame elongated on the candle. The mix rose upward and circled the flame, then drew the blaze to the tips of the petals. A fragrance of sweet essence fused with the smoke created by the fire. The red petals singed, gave off their aroma, then became engulfed in the blaze.

The deadly nightshade swirled around the room, hovering near the candle, twirling in the acidic smoke of the flame before gathering at the open window and disappearing into the murky darkness. Gema lowered her arms, leaned on the table. The fire went out, throwing the room into total darkness. The witch snapped her fingers and the overhead light illuminated.

"You're very good at casting spells, Gema," the Metta remarked, slipping inside the room. She flew to the window seat and stretched out, her cylinder-shaped form draped across a plush pillow. "Did you speak with your mother?"

"Yes," Gema replied, scrutinizing the old creature. "And how was your flight? I trust you did not annoy any of the townspeople while you were out."

"No, dear. I merely flew to one end of the town and then the other, although I was tempted to investigate the Scottsdale mansion before I returned. Derrick's Uncle Leonard is busy with party decorations. He has his servants working in the main ballroom."

Gema shrugged. "Derrick said it would be quite a celebration. He's seems very excited about it." Her brows drew together. "Mother warned me about Uncle Leonard. And I suppose I should warn Derrick."

"I smelled the rose petals on the breeze and saw the nightshade slip out the window. Is your spell for Derrick or his uncle?"

"Both." Her cheeks pinked. "I cast a two-fold spell, Midnight. I desire to keep Derrick safe and to deter any ill plans his Uncle Leonard might have in mind."

"I'm certain the deadly nightshade will do its job, Gema. It is the most powerful herb we have as witches."

She cocked her head. "I have no intention of allowing Leonard Scottsdale to harm Derrick."

The Metta nodded, making her amber hair swish lazily. "I understand mortal love is a wonderful thing. Should you desire I tend to Uncle Leonard--"

"I wish him no harm, Midnight."

The worm-like creature smiled, displaying fang-like teeth behind pale pink lips. "You may change your mind, my dear, when you learn what Leonard Scottsdale has in store for your beloved Derrick."

"If you know, why don't you tell me?"

The Metta wagged one thin finger. "I am here to protect you--not Derrick Scottsdale."

“Abby. Abby, close the mirror.” The voice seemed so far away and she was trapped in the cupboard.

A sharp jolt to her hand and the viewer snapped shut. Abby blinked in astonishment at what she had seen, felt and heard. “Holy crap.” He leaned over her and took the viewer from her hand. Contact was minimal, but she still managed to keep her power to herself.

“I am surprised that it took you that powerfully.”

He still kept his hands free of her as she wobbled to her feet and that act of separation made her grit her teeth. “I had to jump start the mechanism, it may be a little stronger now until you work the charge off it.” She settled back in on the sofa and took another slug of the lemonade. “Who knew that a seal could be that angry?”

He was putting the viewer back and turned to her in shock. “A seal?”

“Yeah. It was a seal’s soul trapped in that painting. A small magus sealed it in there after he found the seal almost dead on the beach. He then had a clown painted on the treated sealskin. He wanted people to be as scared of clowns as he was.” She relaxed back and let the images she had seen wash over her. It was a small child’s frustration and humiliation that drove him to create that painting. That he had control of enough magic to do it was just another tool for his plan.

“Seriously? A child did that?”

“Yeah, in the late sixties or so.”

“Do you know who it was?”

“No. But with the upped charge, you should be able to investigate. And the reason he attacked Laura was that she smelled a bit like a piece of herring. What seal could resist?” She kept her eyes closed as she heard him pick up the viewer and move to the painting again.

A few short moments later he closed the tool with a snap. “Sonofabitch. It was so simple and yet I couldn’t see it.”

“I am betting that it happens a lot with older mechanisms that rely on magic. But back to the reason I am on your couch. I need to know about what I am.” She didn’t have any room to put her feet up on his coffee table so she kicked off her shoes and curled her feet up on the couch.

“You are a Nexus.”

“Yeah, but why did the council put all of you here?” This question had been bugging her. “And who the heck is on the council anyway?”

“The council is a group of elected officials from the differing magical races that have survived to modern day.” He answered the second question first and crossed his own legs in the lotus position on the other couch.

Oh, he is limber. This has possibilities.

“The last few times a Nexus has been found, it has been drained dry by whoever found it and has died shortly after. We didn’t want that to happen to you.”

“We? Who is we?”

“Your new neighbours here on Oak Point Way. Each of us volunteered to be here as a type of an honour guard. If you can learn to control your dispensation of magic, you will live a long and healthy life.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You will sputter and burn out like a candle and there will be nothing we can do to help you. You carry the seeds of your own survival or destruction within you.”

Abby took a deep sip of her lemonade. “Wow, that is a heavy conversation killer. Okay. The next question is, why is the energy signature on my gnomes changing color?”

“Really? So quickly?”

“Uh, yeah. So. what is doing it?”

“As living things take on your energy, they convert it for their own use. The more they live, the faster they change. The tree for example will metabolize the energy that you gave it and your magic will be irretrievable from that point on.”

“Okay. So as long as it is still my energy, I can pull it back?”

“That is the theory. I don’t know of any cases where the Nexus was able to do it extensively though. That is why you need the training that I am offering you.”

She sighed heavily. “What exactly would this training entail?”

“Every morning when your energy is at its peak you will come over and I will give you exercises to enhance your control over your energies.“ Xander rose and moved to a side cabinet, the drawer that he opened yielded a seven-foot strand of pearls. “These pearls are a good outlet for your extra energy. You can fill them up one at a time and use them to relieve the overflow to prevent accidents like the one that struck Laura.”

Abby wrapped the pearls around her hand and hefted them. They were not light. “I am supposed to haul these things around with me?”

“Well, they will give you a place to put your extra energy. It’s your choice.” He crossed his arms and scowled.

How could she not find that sexy? Her power ramped up again and she filled three pearls in a few seconds.

Then three more as he stated, “I want to see you first thing in the morning, every morning until we get this under control.”

She would like to see him first thing in the morning, after they had spent the night tangling the sheets. Five more pearls. “Fine. I will be over here first thing in the morning tomorrow.”

“Excellent. I look forward to working this out with you. I will be here to help you out as long as it takes.” He took her hand in his and looked deeply into her eyes.

Ten more pearls. Oh, to hell with it. She jumped forward and locked her lips with his. It was just as fantastic as the first time, but this time she had him at a disadvantage and he took a moment to react. He reacted with passion and she was halfway through the necklace before she was able to break the contact. “Wow. Okay. We can’t do that again. Or we can’t do that again today. But I would definitely like to do that again. But not when we are working on extending my expiration date.”

His grin was devilish. “Done. The instant that you are firmly in control of the power, we have a date.”

She extended her hand and he shook it. “We have a deal. What is your official job title by the way?”

He was escorting her out and he gently pinched her backside as he gave her a light shove out the door. “I am the Safety Warlock. Do you feel safe?”

A large part of her still melted whenever she saw him, but with his council related absences, she had started to guard herself against his comings and goings. Miranda's trial had been weighing on his mind, his previous relationship with Randi colouring his new arrangement with Abby. It was a confusing situation, but as she drifted through her house and went to watch the goings on around her car, her heart warmed to see Xander directing the gnomes on how to change the oil and check the coolant.

The distinct tingle of magic that she felt whenever she saw the Safety Warlock ran though her. "So, how is the car, will she make the trip?"

"Why do you call it a she?"

"Because her name is Bluebell." Abby walked up to stroke the fender and the hatch of her battered station wagon. The magic jumped into the car.

Xander looked at her accusingly. "Was that necessary?"

"If we want her to take us down south, yes."

"Well, the gnomes wouldn't fit in my car unless we put them in the trunk and I don't think that is an option, is it?"

"Wow. You are a smart fella." He stood and wiped his hands on a rag as he approached her. He swept her into an embrace as he leaned her back against Bluebell.

Physically, his interest in her had no relation to her being the Nexus, but emotionally, he was distant. She shrugged and pressed herself against him from chest to knees. "Is that a wrench in your pocket or are you happy to see me?"

"Harby has the wrench."

The kiss he laid on her was enough to heat her blood, it was also enough to start spontaneous repairs of Bluebell's leprous hide. The car was going to be able to fly if he didn't stop doing that thing with his hands around her waist. Being with him gave her the feeling of being delicate and dainty. Dainty was something she had never before achieved.

"How is it that the gnomes know more about your car than I do?"

"They read the Haynes Manual. I found it under my bed a few days ago. Since Harby still had my keys, it wasn't too much of an issue for me. I wasn't worried about them taking it apart since I obviously couldn't drive it."

He leaned back and scowled. "The keys that I used to get into the car so we could open the hood?"

"Yup. Those keys. Harby ate them the day of the car bomb." Her grin was evil and she knew it. "I haven't seen them since."

He groaned. "Can I give them to you now?" He reached into his pocket and pulled the keys out. He jerked his hand back as Angel immediately darted from underneath the car to snatch them. Small scratches marred his skin as he brought his hand to his chest.

"Apparently the little buggers don't trust me not to blow up." He scuttled away with the keys clutched to his chest but the gargoyle didn't eat them, for which she was thankful.

"They are protective of you, almost to a ridiculous degree, but I do warn you that the summit is going to be a somewhat challenging environment for them. You may want to try and confine them to your room for some of the larger events."

"Well, as the current Nexus, where I go, my creatures go." His distraction was making her insular and weird. She wanted something familiar with her at all times. "I am practicing that phrase because I get the feeling that I am going to need it."

He laughed.

For just a moment she saw the man that she had fallen head over heels for. The man who had been subdued since she mentioned that her power was evolving. She didn't know what was going through his head, but before too long, she was going to get tired of this dance, even if a dance was what had drawn them together to begin with. A sharp peck on his lips and she squirmed free. "I have to check on Seesee and the little ones. Who knows what they are going to consider evening wear?"

He barked out a short laugh.

She smiled as she went back inside. It was safer to be out of his vicinity, her home was already opening the door before she touched it. The extra energy was bleeding off into her house and it liked it. Number thirteen Oak Point Way was getting a life of its own.

With the camaraderie having run its course, the ladies left Abby alone with her thoughts as she closed her door. Well, she tried to close it, but a frantic flapping of wings stalled her. Buffy struck her squarely in the chest, squeaking in distress.

"What is it honey?" Abby tried to calm the clinging gargoyle, but it was difficult with her wings still flapping and her claws digging into Abby's skin.

"Calm down, are you hurt?" Abby carefully used her inner eye to assess Buffy's condition. Her basic energy was stable, her body was not damaged and nothing was off.

"Holy heck." Nothing except for the small, bright spot of life blooming in the gargoyle's belly.

"Where are the boys?" Carrying the little creature, she held her tightly to her chest as she went to look for the other two gargoyles in the backyard. They were up in the trees, hanging baseball caps that they had stolen from unsuspecting men the previous autumn.

"Okay, Buffy. Who is the father?" She pried her creature off her and lured her onto the kitchen counter with a cookie. "Is it Angel?" No response in the aura.

"Not Firefly?" No reaction and the little gargoyle looked away.

What did that leave? "Is it a gnome?" The flare brightened into a hot, red pulse in Buffy's aura.

"Thank goodness. I was afraid it would have been an elf. That was a close one." She held her breath for her next round of questions. "Harby? No. Good. That would have been one ugly little bugger. Skint? No. Splint? No, good that would have been tricky. Oh, lord. That leaves Bitsy."

The flaring of her aura was telling the tale. It was Bitsy.

Abby sighed. It did make a certain amount of sense. Those two had always been drawn together. But a gnome-gargoyle baby? That was a little much to take in.

"Sweetie. When did it happen?" She held onto Buffy's little hand and smiled as the fingers gripped her.

Buffy waved her hand and squeaked again. This time it sounded more like a word. "Today."

"Wow. The little one seems to draw your magic a little."

"No fly."

"Oh. That was why you crashed into me. I think I can give you some supplements to help with that. But this will be your private stash. Don't let the boys into them or they will eat them all." Abby took a cookie and poured the power of the surprise she had felt when she realized she was about to be a grandmother to a flying gnome.

"One cookie a day until the baby gets bigger and then up to three. I will put them in a special spot and get the elves to guard it for you."

Buffy's cute little face with its wild mane of fluffy hair looked happy and hopeful as the cookie replaced some of the magic she had been missing.

"There. Better?" When her little one smiled and nodded, she said, "Good. Now you can tell Bitsy if you wish to, but if you want to keep the secret from your other companions, that is your choice. Come to me once a day for a check-up and I will try to compensate for any changes in the baby's growth cycle with extra boosts. At this point, it is all I can do. I think I may give the cookies to Laura. The gnomes won't dare break in to her yard…again."

That had been a funny afternoon. The gnomes wanted to know if they could swim and had jumped into Laura's pool, promptly sinking to the bottom and making mermaid retrieval imperative. Fortunately, what they did learn was that while they could not swim, they could not drown. It was a bright side.

However, after that escapade, Laura banned them from her yard unless Abby was there to babysit. It was a nice, safe place for power cookies.

She made the call and pressed one of her five cookie jars into service. She would leave it in the backyard in one of the small alcoves that was built into the reed hut that acted as a cabana.

Seesee had left her plenty of cookies, so she charged up a dozen and put them in the jar. Now, the only problem was sneaking over to Laura's without the gnomes seeing her.

A thought broke over her and she smiled at the simplicity. Laura was currently alone, so Abby had a few minutes until Verne came over for their date.

She knocked on the door, cookie jar in hand and simply gave it to Laura with instructions on where to put it. Buffy was sitting comfortably on Abby's shoulder and smiled brilliantly at the mermaid as she greeted her.

"Do you have the goods?" The dark and spooky voice Laura was using belied her bright grin.

In her own version of spy talk she whispered, "I've got the jar. Stash the goodies and all will be well."

A canny look came to the mermaid's eyes. "What will I get in return?"

Abby drew herself up straight. "I will order the gnomes to stop putting fish food in your tea and your juice and your salad." She had gotten enough amusement out of it anyway. Having minions had its good points.

"Deal." Laura extended her hands and took the cookie jar, not commenting on the teddy bear holding an Eat Me sign. "I look forward to doing business with you again, Nexus. Buffy, congratulations."

The little gargoyle extended her wings, stood up on Abby's shoulder and bowed. She squeaked her thanks and then settled back into her perching position.

The two bipedals shook hands and with a jaunty wave, Abby left her friend's yard just as Verne was making his way to his lady's sidewalk.

"Good evening, Verne."

"Evening, Nexus. Taking the gargoyle out for a walk?"

His question was just silly. "Of course I am. I can't ride her, now can I?"

Nothing broke one's sense of warm snugliness more than hearing, "Your snowmen were on the news. They froze someone in a solid cocoon of ice."

"It's a bad habit of yours to watch the news before you are awake, Xander. Give me a minute and I will prove you are insane."

Abby yanked the covers over her ears and tried to roll over. He stopped her by making the covers disappear. "Bastard."

"You have met my parents and they are married. Now get up. We need to get to the bottom of this and we have to examine that poor frozen man."

If Xander was going to insist she get up, he could at least dress her. She grumped into the shower and had a quick scrub. She was towelling her hair dry as she walked back to her room and still muttering to herself. Her clothes were laid out, so she jerked on the underwear, which let her know that the gnomes had done it.

The warlock had his panties in a twist.

Her gnomes had oatmeal on the table today. When Xander stayed over, they alternated good breakfasts with healthy ones, just to throw him off.

Abby scowled and munched her gray paste with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. They tried to make it tastier by adding chocolate chips and blueberries, but it was no plate of bacon.

"Come on, Abby. We have to look at the man who was frozen." Xander was on his feet and he had her jacket in hand.

"Fine, but my hair is going to freeze."

He waved his hand and it was bone dry.

"Nice trick. Let's move." She grabbed her jacket and stomped into her boots at the front door.

His car was waiting, warm and ready. They made quick time to the street in Sargent where the frozen man was making quite the stir.

The fire department was there, trying to cut him loose, but Abby could see with her inner eye that he was bound, not by ice but by magic. It was nothing like she had ever seen before. The snowmen were gently crusted, but this was a thick mass of magic that was as clear and hard as the ice that held him.

Tears clogged her voice. "We have to get him out."

"We can't. He is safe enough for now. Nothing can be done to save him, but nothing can be done to harm him." Xander turned the car back to Oak Point Way.

"If we destroy the snowmen, will that eradicate the ice?"

"It should. They are the binding magic after all."

"Why him? Why did they attack him?"

"He was defending his Christmas lights. There were, also, several other thefts of lights and generators. Whatever they are up to, it isn't good."

They were on the short span between their street and the main town when a snowman darted across the road in front of them. It disappeared into the woods, but it left Abby shaken.

"I thought they were slower in sunlight."

"They should be. It must be your magic that is speeding them up." He turned carefully on the slippery road and soon was in front of her house. "I am going to contact the specialists and see if they will come to help. If not, I will try to get what information I can from them. I will see you in three hours, alright?"

"Alright. I will give the gnomes a pep talk and try to keep them inside. Same for the gargoyles. I don't want them out there with those psycho snowmen in the yard."

"I doubt very much that they are still in your yard, but it is a good precaution." He leaned over and they kissed. "See you in a few hours and don't do anything reckless. I will be back as soon as I can."

"Back? From where?"

"The consultation with the experts. I have to transport myself to them. They won't talk over the mirrors."

"Okay. I won't do anything stupid and you will get back as quickly as you can? See you soon."

Abby hopped out of the car and held the door until her feet stabilized on the ice. Sliding her feet in a skating motion, she made her way to her door. As Xander entered his house, she had a feeling of foreboding. The gnomes were usually pretty good about keeping the walkways clear.

The house was silent. She took a deep breath and called for her creatures. "Everybody, front and centre."

Flustered, she jerked out of his grip and looked away. "Yes. I mean. You are very attractive." Rubbing her hands up and down her arms gave her something to do.

"But you are not besotted with me." He leaned back on the bench.

She was up and out of the reach of his long arms in a moment. "Um. No. I don't get besotted with anyone. It feels safer that way."

"Ah, but how can you live, or love, if you don't take risks?"

"I can live quietly."

His scowl could have peeled paint. "But that is simply existing, not living at all. Your short human life needs to be lived to the fullest."

Hearing it put like that was a little shocking. "You couldn't have sugar coated it?"

He was surprised. "What?"

"My short lifespan."

"There are ways of increasing it, but you would have to embrace your inner talent and let the magic run through you on a regular basis."

She rolled her eyes at that. "How am I to manage that?"

His blue eyes turned black as he leaned toward her. "Kiss me."

Kiss him. Yes, that seem the right thing to do. His hair was so silky, his mouth perfect, his skin cool as she cupped his jaw. Raffin tasted like Spring, all energy and light. Sophie sighed happily as their mouths met, touched and sparked power off each other. She made a soft sound of loss as he pulled back and her eyes opened wide to see his satisfied grin.

"That will work."

"Wait, what was that?" She was on her feet and backing away from him. Her body had been beyond her control for those few seconds, or minutes, whatever it was. She had wanted nothing more than to kiss him until the sunset dipped through the sky. "Is that the effect of a Love Talker?"

"It is." Raffin crossed his arms over his chest and crossed his ankles. The perfect epitome of lazy male. "As your mentor, I am giving you an assignment. I want you to make me kiss you."

"Are you nuts?"

"Our talent is sensual in nature, it is easiest to manifest in that manner. Come on. Just another kiss. It means nothing and you probably won't be able to get the command to stick."

He didn't think she could do it. That much was obvious. Her jaw set and she took a long look at her so called mentor. Reaching into her mind to find the source of her talent, she tried to pull it forward. Glaring at him she gave him the same command he had given her, "Kiss me."

"No." His grin was expansive and he shook his head until his gold locks spilled over his shoulders and exposed his pointy ears. "You are not connecting with your magic."

"How am I supposed to connect with it, I don't know what it is!" Frustrated, she closed her eyes and hugged her midriff in agitation.

"Think about what you are trying to accomplish. You are trying to entice me into kissing you. That cannot be done with the words alone. You need to feel it."

Chanting to herself that she couldn't believe she was doing it, she moved toward the bench and straddled her mentor, much to his surprise. She leaned forward, inhaled the light scent of his hair and the stronger scent of wild male underneath and then closed her eyes while she touched her talent. Opening her eyes, she saw him in a whole new way, his body was humming with energy and with a little effort, it could be hers. "Kiss me," came out of her throat in a whisper of sound, but it had a definite result.

He still was unsure. "What of Aaliyah?"

"It's a teen dance. McNiel's too old," Sif said, waving his paw off handily.

Eli didn't answer. His face contorted in a doubtful scowl. He sat at the table and pondered their words. Aaliyah, too old? No, she was only what…twenty-five, twenty-six? No, that was when they had first met. Now she had to be well into her thirties. Until now, the age difference had never mattered. Why should it now? Yet twenty years was a big difference. And Melissa was his age, and here, and was one of his best friends. Why not ask her to the dance? Even if they went as friends, it was better than going alone.

Leaning back, he stared at the ceiling. Maybe this was for the best. If Aaliyah was hiding from him because she no longer loved him, then he couldn't keep grieving and making himself sick with worry. The big game was on his birthday and the school dance a few days after, it would be good for him to move on. Perhaps find someone new.

"Cleo, what do you think?" The level headed cat was the best at judging what he should do.

But Cleo's natural calmness broke into hysterics. "Go! Go! Ask her out for crying out loud!" he practically shouted, jumping at his young master.

Bewilderment gripped him as both familiars started encouraging him at once. It was rare to see the two agree on anything let alone his private life. But they were both jumping up and down as if they had been waiting all their unnatural lives to be asked this question. A warmth he had not felt in ages grew inside him as Raven's creations started gabbing about the big night and how he should ask Melissa today so she could design herself, rather than Alexis, an outfit. The decision was practically made for him.

More giggles came from the living room. They had heard their conversation! Eli realized to his embarrassment. He put his head in his hands. If he went back in there, he knew he would have Miao snickering at him and the others watching his every move. And if he waited, they would beg him nonstop until he asked her. This was just horrible timing. He wished he could just make everyone disappear, but Melissa. If his magick level was back to normal, he probably could have, but right now he would not dare such a thing.

Sighing, he got up.

"You're moving too slow!" Cleo complained, transforming to his true form. He pushed his head into the small of Eli's back, forcing him back into the living room.

"Cleo!" Eli protested, stumbling into the well-furnished room. He gripped the edge of the black grand piano to keep from falling.

"Everyone but Melissa, out!" the winged panther ordered.

There was a bunch of laughter and giggles as the three filed out of the room. Nathan placed a reassuring hand on Eli's shoulder as he walked by and gave a small wish of good luck. The light in his eyes and smile were so perplexing, Eli wished he could read the man's mind. If only he could focus for more than a few seconds.

Once the room was empty except for him and Melissa, Cleo shoved him to the couch and practically on top of the girl.

"Cleo!" he yelped, up righting himself. He glared at the feline who simply gave him a lopsided smile and trotted back to the kitchen. Hanging his head, Eli laughed. "You've got to love him."

She giggled. "He's very persistent."

"To say the least."

Silence filled the space between them, the only sound coming from the entertainment centre. Eli kept his hands clasped in his lap. He felt so awkward. First, he woke up beside her, which was innocent enough, they were both fully clothed, and now he was trying to figure out how to ask her out. He could not keep the heat from his face. Was this how Miao felt around Alexis before they started dating? Like a deer in the headlights of a Mack truck? Nervously, he took off his glasses and began cleaning them.

"Eli, do you like me?"

The question caught him off guard. "O-of course."

"How much?"

Good question. She was such a sweet girl, loving, caring, pretty, but not Aaliyah. He mentally kicked himself. Forget about Aaliyah, he chastised himself. "Uh…I…" His face must have deepened by two or three shades because she also blushed.

Leaning forward, she placed a kiss lightly on his lips. "You said you owed me," she teased, pulling back.

Eli's mind became mud. He wasn't sure how to react. Her lips had been so soft, so delicate, like butterfly wings. He touched his lips, mentally comparing the kiss to Aaliyah's. Melissa's had so much innocence and yet to be discovered passion.

"So I figured we can go to the dance together."

He was nodding before he knew it. "Sure."

"Yeah?"

"Why no--" He forgot his glasses as she jumped him, knocking him flat on his back on the old sofa. His glasses fell to the carpeted floor, luckily not breaking. His lungs felt trapped in his throat as he stared up at her. How such few words brought so much happiness, he would never fully understand. Even in Selena's clothes, which were a size or two too big, she looked elegant. He bit his lip as she folded her arms against his chest and leaned against him.

"Thank you, Eli."

Seeing her so joyful and knowing he was the cause, made his heart sing. "You're very much welcome, Melissa."

"Hmm…I like the way you say my name. I love your accent." Her smile grew, revealing perfect white teeth. She suddenly grew serious. "Eli, I was wondering, would you--"

"Yes." The word came out before she even finished her question, but he knew it was the right response. Yes, he would go out with her. Yes, he would be her boyfriend. Yes, he would forget about Aaliyah. Yes, he would get on with his life. Yes. Yes. Yes. Aaliyah…

Her lips claimed his in a passionate kiss. Her delicate hands held his cheeks, long fingers stroking his hair. Her warmth filled him. For a moment, the fear of betraying Aaliyah, his first love, gripped him, but it quickly disappeared as Melissa pushed herself into him, her breasts pinned between their bodies. His arms wrapped around her small body, one hand cupping the back of her head. Her satiny black hair draped around their faces, making it seem like they were the only two people in the world. It was the best feeling in the entire universe.

"What the hell!"

Or so he thought.

Ipswich, England 1942

Anthony Sinclair raced down the long white corridors of the hospital. The world was a blur, his mind focused entirely on his destination. This couldn’t be happening, he told himself over and over again. He rounded the corner and paused. Henry Griphan, his best friend and closest confidant, sat in one of the hard wooden chairs, his arms folded across his chest and head between his knees. He looked utterly miserable and covered head to toe in guilt.

No, it couldn’t be.

“Henry,” he breathed as he neared him.

The former General of Her Majesty’s Army looked up with tearful eyes and, for a moment, there was no recognition. Then he blinked and the haze slowly moved out of his dark grey eyes. Henry struggled to his feet, still unsteady with his new prosthetic leg. He’d only got it a month ago and still could not seem to function at his former level.

“Andy? Andy, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I tried to save her. I—” he babbled almost incoherently.

Anthony grabbed the taller man’s arms and shook him. “Where is she, Henry? Where’s Xyan?”

Henry gazed to the door he was seated next to with a forlorn look, but said nothing. He didn’t need to. Anthony let him go immediately and headed for it in a long, determined stride. He ignored Henry’s apologizes as he opened the door and stepped inside and stopped.

The room was private of course, he paid for nothing less, after all, his family sponsored the hospital and even helped in its construction over a century ago. Such favors were rarely forgotten, even today. The only occupant of the room lay on a sterile metal bed in the center of the room, her head propped up on numerous pillows. A lone sheet covered her pale petite body, her tan long gone by the shock of the accident. Whoever pushed her down the stairs would pay, Anthony silently guaranteed.

He moved cautiously toward the bed, fearful to awaken the small woman, yet unable to stop himself. This wasn’t his beloved. This wasn’t his beautiful wife who never harmed a soul in her life. Her ebony black hair was limp and covered in sweat. The pallor of her flesh was tinged with hints of blue. She looked deathly pale, but there was no doubt she’d given birth and he feared for both his wife’s and child’s well being. Nonetheless, Xyan was still breathtaking.

“Xyan,” he whispered as he stroked her cheek.

Her brows bunched together before her chocolate brown eyes opened. She smiled tiredly up at him. “Antonio…what took you so long?” she teased. Her eyes closed and for a moment Anthony feared she passed out, but then they reopened and she winced in obvious pain before she smiled past it. “So, what’s a hunk like you doing in a place like this?”

Anthony smiled softly at her. Despite her obvious pain, Xyan kept upbeat. For his sake more than her own, he suspected. He brushed her sweat soaked hair from her eyes. “Checking on my baby.”

Her eyes sparkled in mischief. “Naomi’s in the nursery.”

“You know what I mean.”

She sniffed and tried to stretch, only to cry out in pain. Instantly, Anthony bent over her. She shook her head. “No, Antonio. I’m – I’m all right. I just hurt.”

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked gently.

Xyan reached up and touched his chiseled cheek. His long blue-black hair fell over his shoulder to brush her arm. Her smile broadened. “No, my love. The damage is too severe, even for magick.”

“But—”

Her fingers brushed his lips to silence him. “Our best healers have tried. It is a curse we cannot counter so there is no point to fight it.”

“Xyan,” he breathed. Tears burned at the back of his eyes.

“Lay with me,” she pleaded. For the first time since she awoke, there was real fear in her voice and tears threatened to spill from her eyes.

Nodding, he took off his glasses. He placed them on the small nightstand next to the bed, then placed his jacket on the chair. Climbing under the sheet with her, he gently pulled her near, fearful of her internal injuries. Xyan cuddled up close, her head tucked under his chin as he wrapped his arms around her petite frame and drew as close as their bodies would allow. Her slim form shook in his arms, but she said nothing in complaint. Xyan was one of the strongest women Anthony knew. If only he could take her back to Spain, back to her parents so she could be surrounded by her family, but there wasn’t enough time and he didn’t possess the power to teleport her such a distance. He didn’t know what to do.

Her aura fluctuated and patches of black appeared here and there, a sure sign she was poisoned and soon her aura would deteriorate and then her soul would leave as well. This was no mere accident. There must be something he could do to save her, something his magick could do.

She gazed up into his tri-blue eyes and caressed his cheek. “Hey lover, what are you thinking?”

“How much I love you.”

“Liar.”

He laughed but it sounded hollow. “I was, too. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She lifted her lips to his in a gentle but tantalizing kiss. She pulled back but only for a moment. “Make love to me.”

His eyes widened. “We’re in a hospital.”

“So, let’s get out of here.” She winked suggestively. “I was thinking some place warm and secluded. Just you and me.”

Anthony was so tempted. She looked so wanton, so needy and utterly gorgeous no matter how exhausted she appeared. He cupped her cheeks and kissed her forehead. “What about Naomi?”

“She’s safe. Please, Antonio, I need you. I want you. One last time.”

Anthony closed his eyes. He wanted to say no, but he could never deny her. She was his wife, his life and if he was about to lose her, he would see to it she received her heart’s desire before she passed on to the next life. With barely a thought, he teleported them away from the hospital to a small clearing in the woods just outside of town where they picnicked only a week ago. They lay together under an old oak and listened to the sounds of life all around them.

Anthony’s mind worked franticly for a spell to cure his beloved as he slowly stripped her of the plain hospital gown she wore. She lay beneath him and smiled lovingly up at him as she tried to assist in disrobing him, but she was already tired and weak. He stripped off the last of his clothes as she watched with an appreciative eye. She often teased him about his football player build, how perfect his broad shoulders and slim waist were and how pale of skin he was, so unlike his cousins from Spain. Now Anthony felt more awkward than he did the first night they made love. But Xyan only smiled and opened her arms to him with a sultry smile of encouragement.

They made love slowly on the cool, damp grass on into the night with all the passion of any young couple. Anthony made sure to kiss every square inch of her, to bring her as much pleasure as humanly possible and then some. He made it last for hours and her cries of need and pleasure were like music to his ears. She writhed beneath him, clawed at his back and begged for more until finally there was no more to give and they lay curled together on the soft bed of grass.

Xyan’s head rested on Anthony’s chest as they fought to catch their breath. Her breathing was shallow and, if Anthony didn’t know better, he would have thought she was about to fall asleep. But she didn’t. She held him as tightly as she could, but grew weaker and weaker by the moment. He pulled her as tightly to him as he dared and fought the urge to crush her to him.

“We’ll meet again,” he whispered against her hair. “I’ll find you and we’ll be together again. I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she breathed, her eyes closed. “It may be life times before we find each other.”

“I will find you, Xyan,” he promised.

She sighed in agreement before her body went limp in his arms and her soul fled. Anthony continued to cradle her lifeless body nonetheless, and repeated the oath over and over again like a mantra. He would find Xyan again, even if it took lifetimes.

A dream gripped Eli.

Duncan Porter sat in his wheelchair at the top of his condominium in London. Michael Sinclair stood next to him, eyeing the street far below. His face was a mixture of awe and remorse as he watched the people and cars passing by.

Porter watched him carefully. He, too, seemed very remorseful, as if his plans had gone array. "Are you certain you wish to do this? I may not be able to reverse the process after it has begun."

Michael smiled smoothly. "Of course, Mr. Porter. I understand there's no turning back."

Porter licked his lower lip and gestured for Michael to kneel before him. The youth did so without question. Porter placed his fingers along his temples and began chanting softly.

Eli couldn't make out the words, but was able to see the sudden changes in their auras. The holes that were in Michael's were filling in while Porter's was beginning to deteriorate.

After a few moments, Michael pulled back, his hands gently covering Porter's. "How do you feel?" he asked.

Porter was looking around as if caught in a trance. He blinked and looked at Michael. The elderly man smiled. "Different. It's not so noisy."

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Michael stood and smiled. His whole aura was different, as if he was no longer the same person. "Good. We have a second chance of finding the Key."

Porter only nodded and began eyeing the street below. "You'll find him. You have the power to help him."

Michael was no longer looking at him, but at the starry night sky and the waxing moon. "I hope. Chaos's power is far stronger than I thought and he has learned to tap into it."

Porter wheeled his chair closer to the edge. "You can do it. I've already seen the future."

Michael glanced over his shoulder in confusion. His eyes widened as Porter suddenly pushed his chair over the edge.

"Michael, no!"

But it was too late for even magick to come to his aid. Michael fell to his knees at the edge and watched in horror as Duncan Porter slammed into the concrete below.

However, it wasn't Porter's death that pulled at Eli. He had heard about the warlock's suicide months earlier. It was Michael's aura that drew him as he followed the older boy running down the stairs until he was outside cradling the warlock's broken body. It was no longer Michael Sinclair's it was--

"Eli?"

He turned his face away from the bright sunlight. An alluring soft purr made him smile. The urge to bury his face in his Familiar's soft fur pulled at him. But he couldn't wake up yet, he had to figure out why Michael's aura was so odd. It was right there at the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't bring it to reality. What did Duncan do before killing himself?

"Master Eli, wake up," Cleo's familiar deep voice called more urgently.

Small paws tried shaking him. His arms were extremely heavy as he tried to roll over. He practically could not move them. That seemed odd, but he was willing to let it go for a few more hours of sleep.

"Eli!"

He moaned and hid his face under the blanket.

"Elijah Hawke, get up now or so help me--"

"All right, all right. I'm getting up," he murmured, forcing his eyes open. Cleo burrowed under the covers and was in his direct line of view. His bright teal eyes shone with a fear he had never seen in him before.

Fear gripped him as he read his lifelong friend. The night before had not been part of the dream. Michael, Henry, everything. They were real. The weight he felt were the large heavy cuff and chains imprisoning him to the bed. His heart sank at this knowledge. But if Cleo was with him, what of the others? He tried sensing for Alexis and Miao, but found nothing. That meant very little. A spell could be used to shield them from him.

Seeing his fear, Cleo rubbed his head affectionately under his chin. "Are you all right?"

He wrapped his heavy arms around the small animal and drew him close. "I…Cleo. He…I…oh, Gods, I wish I knew." Swallowing the sob that threatened to overpower him, he petted the cat's head. "You? Are you okay?"

"He cast a binding spell on me. I can't transform."

The chains were long enough to let him sit up comfortably. They were thick and extremely heavy. A spell to increase his power would be the only way to break them, but that would not keep Michael and Henry out. Looking around, he lifted the heaviest pieces of furniture with his mind and piled them against both the bedroom and bathroom doors. That would not keep them out for long, but at least it would slow them down. Hopefully enough for him and Cleo to escape.

That small use of magick almost drained him. He couldn't understand why. Telekinesis was one of his most natural gifts. It never tired him, but for some reason took more concentration than normal. He had to take a moment to gather his strength once more. He tried covering an unexpected yawn. "Why am I tiring so easy?" he asked Cleo. "It's like he just took my power. I feel so weak."

"I don't know," Cleo confessed. He rubbed against him, offering what strength he could.

Taking a deep breath, Eli cast a power spell. His strength increased, but not to the degree he had wanted. The chain barely budged when he pulled. Frustrated, he yanked harder, throwing his entire weight into it. The metal bit into the butt of his hands. He winced in pain, but continued pulling.

"They've been charmed," Cleo muttered, stating the obvious. His ears perked and he gazed at the barricaded bedroom door. "Damn!"

"What?" Eli grunted, pulling even harder. He braced a pain-filled foot against the headboard, and pulled even harder. Then he felt it. The aura he had felt the last few nights. It was a unique mix of Sinclair magick and something else. He could not help but stare at the door in fear. He could not remember ever feeling so much fear in his life. His body trembled against his will as he revealed this to his familiar. "Cleo?" he whispered ever so softly. "I'm really scared."

Cleo nodded. "I am, too."

The door handle jiggled, causing them both to jump despite themselves.

A sickening crack filled the small spilt level house, followed by the tearing of flesh. It was a glorious sound he could have sung to. The feeling of raw flesh brought back the blood lust he had not felt in ages. It came like an old friend you would never turn away. He yearned for more. The feel, the taste. The smell was intoxicating and arousing in a perverse sort of way. The man, if you could call him a man any more, quivered in his arms, his shattered spine allowed only his neck to move in a jerky shiver of muscles. He would die soon, leave this world as he came, crying for mercy. Sinclair was as pitiful as those who came before him.

"Michael, please! I'm your father!" the middle-aged French man cried. He was podgy around the sides, years of limited exercise and tobacco taking its toll. He was perhaps the most pitiful of the great line of magicians.

His cries for freedom fell on deaf ears as the man, once his son, leaned close to his throat. "Michael's dead," the vampire purred, slowly licking his jaw line. "My name is Henry."

Sinclair sobbed as he was fed upon, his magick and strength being stripped of him. In this form, Henry was not as large as he had once been, not by half. His soil drenched tuxedo made him appear like the devil himself. Long brown hair clung around his shoulders. It was a style Henry had always despised, but beggars cannot be choosers. The smaller form had the strength of the gods. He was a god.

Henry held Sinclair close, allowing their bodies to touch as he pulled every last drop of power from within the dying man. His lips made their way to Sinclair's throat. He felt the large man stiffen as he pierced the flesh with his teeth. Henry almost stopped. He really didn't want it to appear like a vampire attack.

It would alert the wrong people. But a frenzied hunger gripped him. First, he would drink from the husband and then his perky little wife who was cowering across the room.

He felt his loins tighten at the thought of her blonde hair.

Dropping Sinclair's lifeless form on the bloodstained beige carpet, he crawled on his hands and knees toward Mrs. Sinclair. She was young, too young to be Michael's mother. The body hosting his spirit was eighteen. Sinclair's wife could only be in her late twenties or early thirties. She was such a small thing, golden blonde hair, and petite body. It was her chest that must have caught Sinclair's attention. She was well endowed and had the feel of a cocktail waitress or former stripper. It was possible then, more than one Sinclair had fallen for such girls. Nevertheless, there was magick within her. Not as strong as her husband's, but still there. She was a seductress, using her gifts to gain money, fame, and love.

Henry's new senses told him all this in less than a heartbeat. When Michael was alive, he had resented her and at the same time, secretly desired her. Today, those dreams would come true, even if Michael were no longer alive to enjoy the fruits of his labour.

She did not scream, to much shock even to think clearly. It was how Henry liked it. He was a wolf stalking his prey. The boy would not be like this. No, the child would fight, so would his friends. Nevertheless, one by one, they, too, will become his. The faery and angel will bow before him. They will lay under him, crying out his name in passion, and he would give them a pleasure they could never have dreamt.

The woman whimpered as he reached her. It was impossible to believe she could ever have mothered the body he now inhabited. She was so young, so very tasty. He nuzzled her neck, drinking in her fear.

"Please, Michael. Don't do this," she sobbed as he undid her soiled blouse.

 "Lynda. May I call you, Lynda?" He grinned down at her as he sat on the edge of the bed and caught her leg before she could pull away. "That's a very pretty name. I guess you know by now your husband's dead and I'm not Michael. Well, not any more at least. And no, I'm not a demon, not quite at least." His hand started to travel up her naked thigh. "We're going to be very close for the next few weeks. Very close. You see, I've been dead this past week. A coma of sorts. A crazed Warlock switched bodies with me at the last moment." He indicated the closed bullet hole on his forehead. "Should've killed me. I'm not quite sure why it didn't or why Michael's memories led me here, but there's a purpose behind everything, I suppose. Now I'm just hungry. Very, very hungry."

She screamed then, long and as loud as the gag would allow her. Henry smirked as he lowered himself upon her. "I like my food lively," he teased before striking. Soon Elijah Hawke will scream in agony as he, too, lost all his loved ones to Henry Griffin.

She gazed out of the window. Tristan had loved the way her eyes changed color with the tide of her emotions, reflecting the depths of an inky sea or the sunlight on shimmering smooth blue water. Like the eyes of a mannequin, they watched vacantly, devoid of life and recognition. Her irises remained fixed, the eyelids motionless. At least, he thought she did not see anything. At times he could have sworn he glimpsed a flicker of life, but it was merely his imagination--his silent wish that Johanna would return to the real world.

Tristan wheeled the chair closer to the window and knelt beside it. He frowned worriedly as he carefully watched her face, her eyes, for any sign of life. 

Nothing. 

Not a flutter of her eyelids or a tremor of her full lips. His hand trembled as he stroked her cheek. Then he laid it on her hands resting so still on her lap, folded--as if she were in prayer. But she wasn't. It was just how the nurse had placed her hands and they remained that way unless someone moved them.

"Johanna, I wonder if you can hear me," he murmured softly. "I love you so much. Where are you, my darling? Why are you hiding from me and all the people that love you?"

Her small heart-shaped face remained quiet, beautiful and serene. He wondered if she even had feelings. She'd tripped several times during her daily outings and hurt herself, but there was no change, no outcry of pain, not a twinge that she even knew what had happened.

With a sigh Tristan stood up, brushed her forehead with his lips and reached for the hairbrush. Gently he brushed the long blonde locks, holding and brushing each strand as if it were made of spun gold.

A nurse entered the room with Johanna's lunch tray. "No change in her, Mr. MacDonald?" she said, sending him a smile while she put the tray on a small table next to the wheelchair. "Would you like to feed her?"

Tristan did not return the smile. His heart was bleeding for the girl he loved and his mood was dark. It was almost six months now since the accident. "Yes, of course."

"You spend so much time with her. It must be wonderful to have a man in your life who loves you so much. I'll take her to the bathroom first. Come, Johanna. Time to let Mother Nature do its job." The nurse gently took Johanna's elbow and tugged her arm to suggest that she wanted her to stand up.

It was strange how she responded to a gentle prod, to the touch of a spoon on her lips, would open her mouth for food, could walk to the bathroom--yet was lifeless as a doll. 

Like an automaton Johanna stood and slowly allowed herself to be led to the bathroom by the nurse. 

Tristan pulled up a chair. He ran his fingers through his black hair turning it into a tangled mess, while he watched his beloved walk to the bathroom like a zombie. He sank down onto the chair to wait for her. 

Zombie…

The word echoed through his mind. Suddenly his sharp reporter's mind took over. Somewhere he'd read something about catatonic states induced by some drug. It was in a foreign country. The natives would administer the drug and then the victim would behave like the living dead--like a zombie. Why hadn't he thought of this before? That bastard husband of hers was capable of anything, who says he couldn't have gotten hold of such a drug? 

Alert now, he sat up and waited for the nurse to lead Johanna back to the wheelchair. After the nurse left the room he fed Johanna the soup. When the spoon touched her lips she automatically opened her mouth and swallowed. 

Excited and anxious to go home to his computer, his usual patience now on edge, he tried to feed her as quickly as possible. His mind roiled while he spooned the food into her mouth.

The specialists who had studied Johanna's case had diagnosed her with catatonia, but she did not have the regular symptoms preceding such a case. They were baffled.

As they all were.

Usually catatonia was diagnosed in patients with severe mental illnesses. But Johanna was a normal, bright young woman before her marriage. The specialists had ruled out schizophrenia or manic depression. There was just no explanation.

Until now--maybe…

Could it be? Voodoo? If only he could find Paul Blake--he'd be the one with the answers and if need be he'd beat it out of the man.

Unnaturally smooth walls rose fifty metres to where sunlight filtered in through a stained, but once clear, perma-glaz dome. The chamber appeared to be some three hundred metres in circumference with several openings to the outside. To his left, a broad staircase swept up to a gallery. He checked carefully for signs of Priest or Activist. Finding none, Rhyka started across the floor for the gallery. About halfway across, a harsh booming noise froze him in his tracks.

From the corner of his eye, Rhyka spied a gigantic predator rushing out a tunnel mouth, wings spread, arcing downward, thrusting with long tearing claws. His jaw dropped. Its wingspan must be forty metres from wing tip to wing tip. Cruel cat-yellow eyes, the size of a cartwheel, fastened him with a malevolent stare. Filled with unimaginable terror, he stood rooted to the spot. With a sinking stomach, Rhyka realised that his sword would be no more than a thorn to this brute. The beast must be some sort of Priestly watchdog.

The creature’s head was a metre and a half-long, supporting a bright blue crest. Its neck continuously twisted this way and that. Shades of light brown flecked the upper and under wings. From claw to blue topknot, Rhyka put the creature anywhere from fourteen to sixteen metres in height. Its beak was bone yellow as long as a small canoe and mottled brown beneath the jaw. Loose blue flesh hung about the eye pockets. Narrowly avoiding a snapping beak, Rhyka heaved himself to the right. His shoulder went numb when he hit the hard rock floor. Ears ringing, he got up and staggered through an opening to the outside, away from the beast. Weak and confused, Rhyka was vaguely aware that the creature was pursuing him.

Rapid movement caught his eye. It was the beast. He had to move faster. Startled, he started to slip and slide on the cloud-wet rock. Blind panic set in when before him, floating in and out of fog clouds on silent wings were hundreds of the creatures. He fought to maintain his balance and slow his momentum. Still sliding, he looked down the Spire to a flat outcrop directly below. It was a drop of five metres. Under normal circumstances this would prove an obstacle, but with a bung shoulder and fractured ribs, impossible. A fiery pain lanced through his foot like a sword through flesh as he twisted his ankle. His back arched involuntarily, causing him to over balance. He felt himself free falling through space. Time passed in microseconds. Horrified, he looked back to watch the creature pursuing him. It had launched into the soft-wet clouds.

A wake of air buffeted him further into space. As he fell, he turned over just as an incoming beast skidded to halt on the ledge below him. With a bone-jarring thud, he landed directly between the monster’s shoulder blades. The beast let out a squawk as it lumbered up the ramp with a sorely winded Rhyka clinging to its lightly furred back. Hissing loudly, a snakelike neck permitted that enormous beak to snap at him. As he pulled away, blinding pain surged through him. The monk’s world devolved into a nightmare of pain, rock walls, rippling fur-covered muscles and cries of animal rage, accompanied by dizzy body spins as the creature tried to dislodge him. Rhyka fought to maintain control of his senses and, though giddy and disorientated, he sensed the creature pause.

Expecting to be plucked to the ground, sawed in half and munched into pulp, he instead, found himself confined to a rocky alcove twenty metres across and twenty metres high. Coned light and a moaning wind entered via circular holes high up in the wall. The brute that had taken his fall was stationary. A huge head pivoted to observe the tiny human, who must have been no more annoying than tick. A yellow eye blinked twice, a clear membrane followed by a long grey eyelid shuttered down, then up again. A bone-coloured beak speared at him.

Rhyka’s heart hammered. He opened his mouth to scream.

Greythorn had observed many stealthy killers in years gone by, but the apparition, draped completely in mottled grey and black, with a hood that extended from its shoulders to cover its face, sent shivers down his spine, for as the hood billowed slightly, he glimpsed the face within. Dark green, larger than normal, elliptical eyes set wide apart on a pale skinned face above a thin, sharp nose, along with a pointed, cleft chin below a small mouth with thin lips, and no eyebrows, stared at him.

The figures emerging from the bush were uniformly tall, taller than most humans, and lithely built. Even though they surrounded the three companions and were within a stone's throw, they moved with such stealth that Greythorn had still not detected a single footstep. The stark white hair that fell to the warrior's shoulders, within the hood, brought back disturbing rumours of a race long since believed extinct to Greythorn's mind. He could see pointed ears flicking back and forth, examining every sound before the hunter placed a foot cautiously forward. It seemed that the Elwarri were not a legend after all and it looked as if they were going to be killed by them. The figure before Greythorn, lifted one hand off its bowstring to make several intricate finger gestures. In response, the bulk of the band melted back into the forest, and still Greythorn had not heard a twig snap to betray any movement.

It's dark, and I hear the water lapping around me, pressing on my shoulders like liquid hands. It reminds me of a scene in a film, when the heroine is floating in the icy ocean, waiting for rescue.

Except that I'm not in the ocean, and it isn't icy, and I haven't just seen my boyfriend sink under the waves. As far as I know, Jase, who is the nearest thing I have to a boyfriend, is living his usual life of skateboards, I-pods, pizza and patches of poetry. And--well, come to think of it, my situation doesn't remind me of a film after all. It doesn't remind me of anything much, except the fact that I might be five seconds or a million years from home.

Or have I simply slipped through the cracks of reality?

Here I am, treading water in the dark. I can hear the splash of the Jindabek Foss above me. In a moment, I'll dive back through, and then I'll be home again. I hope. I hope.

Well, it's logical, right? Diving back will be like clicking "Undo" on the computer. Or maybe it's more like clicking "Back" on the Internet browser, since "Undo" makes the original action as if it had never happened. All "Back" does is to take you back to the page before.

The things that have happened to me since I dived through the Foss the first time don't mean much in the global scale of things. I mean, what's one gell… I mean, girl … more or less? The world doesn't depend on my courage, and if my theory is right, I won't even rate a mention in the local paper. If my theory is wrong, I'll rate far too many mentions, and everything will be horrible.

It must be right.

It has to be right.

As I just said, the things that have happened are not much in the scale of things, but they are more than much to me…

So, think, Corrie. Think about going home.

And kick-start your brain and get into some serious recall, remembering all the steps that led you here…

Early the next morning, Kris woke to see a thick blanket of snow outside the window. He rose from his bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. As he surveyed the yard, he thought about his encounter with the stranger the night before. He laughed it off and reminded himself that he's been working too many long hours. Kris walked over to his closet and stood undecided. Had I imagined things last night? He wasn't sure. Thinking it was all a bad dream, he swung the door open and gasped. The red suit still hung in the closet, but this time instead of only one outfit, his entire wardrobe was red. He screamed and fell backward onto the bed. He lay immobile for the longest time. Kris didn't have the strength to regain his feet. He silently reminded himself to get a grip and took a long, deep breath. He shakily stood and approached the closet.

Warily eyeing the numerous red garments, he reached out and touched the fabric. He saw a note attached to the sleeve of one coat. Carefully, he unhooked the paper and read the sloppy handwriting.

Put on the suit, already. They are all the same size. Do I need to cover your entire apartment with these clothes? Get the hint.

Your pal, Mikey.

Kris rubbed his eyes in disbelief. Who is this clown and how did he break into my apartment? Realizing there were no logical answers to these questions, he shook his head in disgust. This is totally insane. I need to go to work. I don't have time for child's games. He grabbed the same shirt and pants he wore the day before, then entered the bathroom to shower and dress. By the time he shaved the stubble from his chin and departed the steamy shower, he covered his mouth in shock. The entire bedroom was a heap of red suits. Everywhere he stepped, a plush red garment lay under foot. He walked around the red heap and entered the kitchen. To his surprise, the mounds of red suits touched the ceiling. I'm losing my mind. This isn't possible.

“What did the sorcerer do to you?” she inquired.

He squeezed her hand. “Every month at the full moon, I turn into a ferocious beast for a night. When I wake in the morning, I don’t remember a thing.”

Leslie swallowed nervously. She looked up and noticed the moon peek out from behind a fluffy white cloud. “Is it full tonight?”

Peter shrugged his shoulders and waited anxiously. “I hope not. I don’t want our evening spoiled.”

They sat on the bench and watched the moon move slowly into full view.

 “Please, no,” he murmured.

Leslie prayed silently to herself. She didn’t want a perfectly romantic evening ruined either.

When the moon was completely revealed, they both let out a cry of distress.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

His eyes enlarged and he clutched his chest. Peter fell to the ground in agony. “There is only one thing you can do,” he gasped.

“What’s that?” Leslie got up and slowly backed away.

 “Enter the Spirited Forest…that is where the Tridiamond is hiding. It’s a diamond-shaped object made of wood. The magical stones are missing…” The sweat trickled down his brow.

 “How do I find the stones?”

 Peter rolled around in agony. He clutched at his throat and made high-pitched sounds like a wolf. He managed to meet her gaze one last time. “There are three quests you must complete…” He panted. “If you can successfully finish the challenges, then a gemstone will appear in the Tridiamond. When you have possession of all three, you will be strong enough to take on the sorcerer. If you can defeat him…” He clawed viciously at the ground. He let out a loud howl and his body slowly turned into a hairy black beast.

 “What happens?” she cried.

His voice deepened. “The spell will be broken and I’ll return to normal.”

Leslie watched in shock as his hands transformed into sharp claws. “How am I supposed to win the challenges? I don’t have any fighting skills or magical powers!”

“She will help you.” Peter glanced up and revealed a set of pointed fangs. His eyes turned a hideous yellow and his body changed into a wild animal. A large bushy tail swished briskly back and forth.

“Who will help me?”

 “Run away!” he warned. “I’m not human anymore!” He let out a low growl.

Magic tended to come through the world softly, like a whisper. Most people were incapable of hearing it. Not so with Lillian. She heard it very clearly. The soft sound swept over her, even in the rainstorm that now soaked her clothes and left her hair plastered to her head. Standing in the maelstrom, she didn’t move, only let the whisper come over her. It tickled slightly, words, images mingling around her body. It was more than sound, more than thought. It was a whisper left on the skin, with breath warm, soft and light.

She closed her eyes and listened harder. A door opened somewhere in the atmosphere. She felt the power switch between the worlds and she knew where the magic had sprouted. With her own focus, she sought a clearer image of who’d breached the passage between worlds. She saw no face, but a message was clear.
He’s coming.

He approached her, holding himself in his hand, his manhood in his palm.

She gasped, afraid of his size. She kept her legs shut tight, hoping he would continue being gentle with her.

"Don't worry, darling." Cassius slowly opened her thighs and moved his fingers to her opening. He moaned and seemed pleased to find her wet.

His body and touch excited her. She had run the moment over in her mind many times before today wondering, what it would be like. Nobody had ever rested between her thighs.

"Fresh, delicate, unused. So desirable," Cassius dipped his finger deeper into her, probing, stretching, opening. "And tight." He licked her juices off the tip of his finger. "Delicious."

He held himself up on a strong forearm and slipped his erection between the outer edges of her, waiting to plunge deep into her recesses and make her his wife in the flesh. "Relax." He kissed her mouth and slid his eager lips down her neck. "It's okay."

The feel of him on her, the smell of his hot body, enticed her in ways she never knew possible. Cassius awakened a deep and dormant feeling she never knew existed. "I know."

"Trust me." He held himself and ran his tip over her opening.

She gasped when he entered her and held her breath as the initial pain soon gave way to faint pleasure. "Oh, Cassius."

He spread her legs wider with his hands, reached a strong hand around to support her back, lifting her to him. "My God, you are sweet."

Instinctively, she grabbed him with inner muscles she didn't know she had. It made things more difficult. Slowly, she released her hold on him and gave in to the feeling of each stroke of pleasure he offered.

He felt better than she'd imagined, and with each stroke, she knew she would enjoy being his wife, not only in mind, but in body as well.

Cassius ran his hand down her back to her buttock, squeezing and pushing her body into an arch to deepen the sensation. "That's it. Relax." He went deeper and grew larger.

He increased the sensations deep within her and soon sent shockwaves through her system that seemed to come from a bottomless well inside her being. His slightest movement he suddenly made her clench him tighter and tighter until she felt herself pulsating and pounding into a state of pure ecstasy.

Cassius closed his eyes and pumped quicker inside her.

Amelie felt him expand further in her, until he pulsed, pounded and moaned in apparent sheer pleasure.

He finished faster than she thought he would. After he pulled out, a tiny spot of blood stained the sheets, marking his territory with her. She belonged to him now. He'd seen to that and the blood only made the bond that much stronger.

"Some wine my love?" Cassius jumped up, his body speckled with beads of sweat as he ran a hand through his thick black hair, smiling at her with perfect teeth.

His Greek origins, olive complexion and strong jaw line made him the most handsome man she'd ever seen.

"Oh…I don't know," Amelie said quietly, wishing he would come back to bed, but unwilling to tell him so.

Cassius's strong and willful nature had made him impossible to refuse. Prior to their marriage, he chased her like a rabbit in the forest. Now that he'd succeeded in capturing her, he left her side quicker than she would have liked. She couldn't understand it.

Cassius did not take no for an answer. "Here you go." He handed her the wine. "Go on, drink it. It's good for you."

"Aren't you going to have any?" She noticed his empty hand and vaguely recalled drinking some champagne outside the reception hall. Had it make her sleepy? She shouldn't have anymore. She didn't want to forget anything about her time with him.

Cassius insisted. "No, no, my love. It's for you. Drink this glass now, darling."

Amelie drank. She didn't like the bitter taste and put the glass aside. "That's enough for now, thank you."

Cassius picked it up, filled it again and handed it back to her. "Another, my dear. I insist."

"But why?" Did he want to celebrate the claiming of her virginity? She put out her hand to refuse. "I don't need anymore."

"Drink it," Cassius shouted.

Amelie saw the rage in his eyes. Never seeing him quite like this before, she decided to follow orders. She never wanted to give him cause for anger, so she picked up the glass, drank it down. "Mmmm. Tasty, thank you."

He studied her and ran his eyes over her face, her hair, her hands.

Within a moment, she felt dizzy and exhausted. What's come over me? Before she finished the thought, her world went black.