Paranormal

Kaylee turned and stopped dead. The words died on her lips as she saw her dream lover lying prone on the couch, his eyes open. He looked dead. She brought her hand to her throat, her fingers nervously tapping the side of her neck. He wasn’t real. He couldn’t be real. He was a vampire and vampires just didn’t exist.

What in the hell is going on here? She returned home to find someone molesting her things and a dead man on her couch. She turned toward the Christmas tree in the corner and frowned. She could have sworn she left the lights on and the music playing. The silence creeped her out, even when she didn’t have a burglar laying on her carpet, most likely peeing his pants from the fifty-thousand or so volts of electricity she’d just bagged him with.

Behind her, the robber’s phone played Jingle Bells as someone attempted to call him. They’d just have to call back later, preferably after the police dragged him out of her house.

Biting her bottom lip, Kaylee made her way over to the couch. Slowly, gingerly, she reached out to touch his cheek. She had to touch him at least once, even if he was dead. “You’re a dream. You can’t possibly be real,” she whispered.

I could think the same of you, my love.

Kaylee knew at that moment that he wasn’t dead. Somehow, he spoke into her mind the way he always did in her dreams. But why wouldn’t he move?

“Why do you look like a dead man sprawled across my couch?” She got the impression that he wanted to shrug, but was too weak to do so.

Why was he so weak? In her dreams, he could do anything. He could shift his shape into anything, he could fly, he even had preternatural speed, running so fast, he was nothing more than a blur.

I am dying. I haven’t fed in over three months. When one of my kind does this, we grow weaker and weaker until we finally collapse like this.

“Why would you choose to die on my couch?” She narrowed her eyes. “Am I even awake or is this all another dream?”

He chuckled into her mind, his voice growing weaker and weaker as though he kept getting farther and farther away. It took me quite by surprise. Believe me, had I known I had gotten so weak, I would have lain on my back and closed my eyes, instead of falling face first onto your couch. It’s not comfortable at all.

Kaylee finally realized this was nothing more than another dream. Her dreams always started with Gregori convincing her to let him feed. Only this was the first time he’d been too weak to take her in his arms and nuzzle her neck.

Shifting her weight to one leg, Kaylee rested her hand on her hip and smiled. “So…I suppose you expect me to feed you?”

I wish you were alive so you could. However, I saw your decapitated body myself. A gang of slayers found you, knew you were mine and took your life in an effort to stem our population. You are the dream, my love. He smiled gently into her mind. Like all of the dreams I have had of you over the last year. They were nothing but visions of a lost love, the wishful ramblings of a desperate man.

“Unless you received a memo I missed, we aren’t dead.” She gestured to the man lying unconscious on the floor. “Do you really think ghosts Taser people?”

I assume that we are both dead. I have starved to death as was my plan. Life without you is unbearable.

That was the most romantic and idiotic thing anyone had ever said to her. Kaylee heard a bump coming from the stairs, assumed it was the other burglar and continued through their mind link. Oh, puhleeeze. You have somehow managed to convince me to feed you in every dream. Why should this one be any different? Besides, what if this was the last time she dreamt of him? Death was rather permanent, even in dreams.

“Do you want this?”

“Yes! Yes!” Zohak screamed.

The Goddess was inches away now. Zohak was surprised to feel the deep fear struggle violently to the surface. He thrust his hands out, warding her away, his face a mask of fear, but it was too late. He couldn’t move.

She bent her head and kissed his right shoulder with unseen lips. Tiny fangs pierced his skin. They were scalding hot, like fire. Zohak shuddered with pleasure. She kissed his left shoulder, tiny fangs again piercing his skin. Zohak felt the most wondrous waves of power shoot through him. He felt like a god!

Then Zohak screamed and screamed. He fell to his knees, screaming. And all the while, his head rang with the sharp, measured sound of iron striking iron. The sound rolled through him, tearing at him, tearing at his sanity like a raging river. The awful clanging mingled with his pain, producing a fear inside him unlike any he had ever experienced. He screamed until the blood dripped out of his mouth and nose. He felt the most awful sense of shame and violation that he had ever known. The pain persisted like fire, with unbearable intensity. The Goddess behind him laughed. The thick air was foul with the scent of rotting corpses and vile things.

“What have you done? What have you done?” Zohak screamed at the presence, hating it with all the intensity of his pain. He could not hear his own words for the awful clanging in his head. The measured tones fell with inexorable precision. Zohak fell to the floor, clutching his shoulders as more unbearable pain centralized there. Under the palms of his hands, he felt his shoulders swelling. He felt something smooth push against the palms of his hands.

“What…what’s happening to me? What? Ahh!”

Zohak screamed again, but his voice was horrible to hear. The weak, rasping croak was a parody of his normal clear voice. He took his hands away, but he could feel the things growing. A hungry hissing filled the chamber, and the clanging died away. Zohak strained to hear it, but the hissing was now dominant.

“No! No!” Zohak sobbed, wishing this were a dream.

The chamber was in blackness again. Zohak stumbled over to his room, and fumbled for the lamp. He somehow got the thing lit. Blinded by tears, he blundered into his bedroom. The light from the lamp seemed to be swallowed up by the utter darkness around him. He froze before the mirror, shaking his head in denial. Through his tears, he saw the sleek black shapes weaving in the air above his head. Their scales glinted in the yellow light as they undulated ceaselessly in a way that was sensual, but at the same time unspeakably horrible.

The one on his right shoulder dipped and flicked his damp hair with its red, forked tongue. The copper eyes of both snakes regarded Zohak with steady malevolent intelligence through the mirror.

 

The drip, drip, drip of water cut through the air. Each drip reverberated in his head. Zohak opened his eyes slowly. At least the clanging hadn’t started. His limbs were heavy. He tried to speak, but only a low moan escaped his lips. He thrashed his head and moaned louder. He saw the figure in the doorway. It was dark, but rays of light made a fiery backdrop. He moaned again and tried in vain to move. The figure casually set a huge mace down and pulled a wicked-looking knife out of its sheath. Zohak recognized it as the knife belonging to his foster father, Melik of the Stout Ribs. He had given it to Zohak just before he was murdered.

The man’s face was visible now. It was Atar the Idiot, his half-brother, and the real heir to the throne. Zohak wanted to plead with him. Atar’s face was impassive. All of its anger was gone. He pulled off the covers to reveal Zohak’s naked body and then, as if working with a deer carcass, he began to flay Zohak. Unable to scream, Zohak moaned in torment and terror.

Instead of the torment ending in death, he was roughly dragged out of his bloody bed and it was then that the clanging began. The dragon snakes were already writhing in agony with their master, but now their frantic movements maddened him.

Clang, clang, clang!

Another figure appeared at the door. He was a huge man—yes, it was the blacksmith Kava. He was carrying iron chains. He took these and wrapped them around Zohak’s burning body and they made his flesh sizzle like roasting meat. Zohak was overwhelmed with the horrifying odor of his own burning flesh. The blacksmith eyed Zohak for a moment then reached back to something he’d set on the floor. He put an ox yoke on Zohak’s neck.

Zohak could see the agony in the man’s mind. He saw the blacksmith’s daughter, the one his dragon snakes had eaten. His skinless body burned at the memory. He could see and feel the agony of every person he’d fed to his snakes. In response, the snakes vomited a vile-smelling substance that tortured him as it spilled over his exposed flesh.

The men were making him walk. They moved on and on until they reached a mountain that looked horribly black. They led him into a cave deep in the mountain. The blacksmith held a hammer in one hand and a long iron spike in the other. He was unable to move as the man hammered the spikes into his body, pinning him into the rock. Zohak realized that the man was being careful not to harm his vital organs.

The two men left him in the darkness and suddenly Zohak found his voice.

Zohak’s screaming brought the guards, his viziers, and even his wife, Jahi the Lovely. “Bring the astrologers and magicians,” he croaked.

His hair was in disarray and he hadn’t changed his bedclothes. Urine soaked the front and back of his robe, but Zohak didn’t care.

“So what does this dream mean?”

“We cannot be certain…”

“It can mean several things. Perhaps not all bad,” another astrologer said.

“Guards!” Zohak roared. “Prepare to have these men all flayed alive. They are hiding the truth for fear.”

An old astrologer, the chief, stood. “I will tell you. The reason we hesitate is that there is no good news. The dream means this: Everyman is born not for his parents, but as a tithe for death. No person—not even the highest king, can escape death. It means too, that your evil deeds have earned you a terrible reward. The man they call the ‘Firestarter’ will come back and he will destroy you. The blacksmith of your dream represents the many people you have killed to satisfy the greed of your snakes. Because of that greed, people have risen against you. You cannot escape your destiny, which is endless suffering as an eternal captive in Mount Damavand. The iron with which they bound you represents good over evil. The blacksmith works with iron. Iron represents forces that work against demons. It means, in short, that you are now not a man, but a demon. For you, death would be a blessing.”

Zeyan’s head still ached and her skin was too tight, but the healer’s pain was far more obvious than hers was. She moved to help the woman as the healer struggled to stay upright.

They moved together and exited the shuttle.

The sunset was just taking hold and there was a peace that ran through the very air.

Three figures in robes approached them and asked Fury, “What happened?”

“The healer made contact with your new student and collapsed.” Fury handed her over.

The contact healer tried to smile. “It was more than I expected.”

Zeyan was embarrassed. “I am sorry. I have never done anything of that nature before.”

One of the robed figures, a male with wavy blond hair and pointed ears, smiled at her, gently taking her arm and leading her toward the doors. “What did you do, my dear?”

“Her touch was looking for pain, so I gave it all to her. I didn’t know she wasn’t prepared for it, so I took it back, but it was too late.” She could feel the blush as they stared at her.

The healer nodded. “It was more than I was braced for, but if you walk around with that all day, you are definitely in the correct place.”

Her companion helped her to the interior of the building and Zeyan was left with the Guardsmen and the two other robed figures.

She didn’t know what to do, but when she felt a touch on her mind, she straightened and slammed it back at its owner. The woman on the end swayed and blinked rapidly. “That was sudden.”

“I am not used to…why are you trying to touch my mind?”

The male with the pointed ears smiled. “We are merely trying to determine the nature of your gifts.”

She crossed her arms and scowled. “Fine, take me to a dead body and I will show you.”

Baengar Lekkal was exhausted. Two weeks working with Sector Guard extraction teams had worked on his nerves and his body with equal measure.

As he walked up the pathway to the Morganti Citadel, Apprentice Kalo came to him and took his bags.

“What is it, Kalo?”

“Turnari needs to speak with you about a new recruit.”

The exaggerated calm of Kalo’s tone was not lost on Baengar. “What is up, Kalo?”

The younger man grinned. “You have got to hear it to believe it.”

His curiosity overrode his exhaustion. “Turnari had better be more forthcoming than you are.”

Kalo chuckled. “I will drop your bags in your rooms. Shall I dump them for a cleaning cycle?”

Baengar gave him a dark look and the younger man moved down one of the corridors. Stomping down the halls, he reached the coordinator’s office and knocked on the door.

“Come in, Baengar.”

Turnari raised his head and rubbed at his forehead, his horns gleaming in the light of his lamps.

“What is up, Turnari?”

“We have a situation. Have a seat. The tea is fresh.”

Baengar took a seat at the table set with two places and poured himself a cup of tea and a glass of water. Munching on a sandwich, he waited for the facility manager to finish his notes. Turnari got to his feet and joined Baengar at the table, his frame taxing the small chair.

“Now, Baengar, let me preface this by saying that I know you have sworn off taking personal apprentices, but we have a situation.”

He sipped at his tea and waited for the Dhemon to continue.

“We have a recruit and she has a peculiar and amazing talent. She needs hand-to-hand and weapons training.”

Baengar sipped at his tea and leaned forward. “How long has she been here?”

“Ten days.”

“And you haven’t started her training?” That was a bit of a surprise. Normally, an asset would begin immediately training to master their talents and whatever skills they needed to go with it.

Turnari rubbed his forehead again. “I didn’t say that. She has gone through three instructors. They all refused to work with her again.”

Iris rode Teddi up to the gates of the Citadel outpost Keroa. The two men on guard in their smoke grey and black robes greeted her. “Welcome, traveller. How may we help you?”

She dismounted from her rhesh and looked at them in turn. “I understand that someone at the Citadel has been looking for a morinial. I decided to audition for the position.”

One of the men stepped forward and held out his hand, palm up. “Allow me to lead you inside, candidate.”

“And read my talent at the same time? Certainly. Take my hand, Teller, and determine if I am a freak by Keroa standards.” She put one hand out and kept her other on the reins.

“Harvin will take your rhesh for you and get it something to eat.” The other guard took Teddi and led him into the compound. The gates shut and locked with their guards inside.

Iris was inside the Citadel and she had to find out why folk were looking for her. In her eleven years as an active talent, or morinial, no one had ever come looking for her for anything other than her skill as hunter. Some days, anything new was interesting.

The outpost was small, it held twenty members of the Citadel who involved themselves with the community and used Keroa to propel themselves to the outer planets of the system.

Few Keroans had ever been inside the buildings, so it was fascinating to see them up close.

The guard who had a grip on her hand suddenly looked nervous. She came to the awareness that he had just determined her talent.

“Don’t worry. I have not accidentally discharged my blades in almost a decade.” She chuckled at his small sigh of relief.

“Thank you. When awareness of your talent struck, I was pointedly focused on where your hand was.”

Iris almost hooted with laughter, but she restrained it to a light snigger.

They passed into the main building and the guard took her to an office. He knocked on the door. “Administrator. There is someone here to see you.”

“Come in.”

The guard left her with a bow and she opened the door in front of her. Two creatures were inside and since Iris had never seen an alien before, she had to guess at what they were based on Alliance information streams.

Two men turned to her, one crimson and one bronze, both with savage features. She grinned at them and inclined her head. “Gentlemen, I believe that I am the morinial you are looking for.”

The man that greeted her was made of stone or so it appeared. He wore a tight bodysuit with a flowing robe over it, looking attractive and formal at the same time.

“Hahvi Karuda?”

She inclined her head. “I am.”

“Are you an elemental?”

“I suppose. I have an affinity for the heat of the ground beneath my feet.” She smiled, and her stomach fluttered. If she wasn’t what he needed, he might not take her along.

“You can call lava?”

“I can.” She remembered her audience. “I could. I did.”

“Then you are the one we need.” He nodded sharply, and the guard to his left lowered his weapon.

It seemed peculiar that they were taking orders from this dark grey alien with solid black eyes and hair a few shades lighter than his skin, but Hahvi didn’t complain when he shepherded her out and to a shuttle.

Haloor’s warning had given her time to adjust to the idea of leaving the dome, but she still kept looking back toward the city of Dathim and her people trapped within.

With a deep breath, she faced the shuttle and climbed inside, acknowledging that she couldn’t help her people yet, but there might be a way, one day.


 

Naka spent her afternoon working on her small, personal garden. The only foods she could identify easily were herbs, so that is what she planted.

She was on her way inside when her suit spoke to her.

“Naka Gwyn, please report to the entrance. You are being recalled.”

“What?” She blinked at the herb garden around her.

“Report to the entrance immediately. You are being moved to another holding area.”

Naka looked around to see if one of the others was using a voice talent to throw her off. There was no one near her plot.

She washed her hands quickly. No sense having dirt under her nails when she went wherever it was that she was going.

Wahli was in the lane when she walked past. A sobbing young woman was leaning against her. “Naka, where are you off to?”

“I just got a notice from my suit that I am needed at the entrance. Something about being reassigned.”

Wahli stopped in her tracks and stared, “Are you sure?”

“I haven’t been here long enough for the walls to talk to me. It has to be my suit and that means the guard. Either I will be gone or I am facing a move, not that I have heard about any other facility on Resicor to house physical talents.”

Wahli frowned. “There isn’t. Can you wait?”

A voice emanated from Naka’s suit. “Naka Gwyn, report to the entrance immediately!”

Naka winced. “He sounds pissed. A hug for good luck?”

Wahli put her charge aside and gave Naka a quick hug. Her huge eyes got even wider as their skin connected arm to arm. “That explains it then. Good luck and long life. You deserve it.”

Naka grinned and waved goodbye as she passed the first and last talent to greet her in the dome. The archway was ominously silent. She entered the narrow hall, reaching the electronic curtain swiftly. Her touch on the screen let her hand pass through, and closing her eyes, she rushed the rest of her body through the tingling barrier.

When she was in the normal air again, she opened her eyes to see a world-weary stranger waiting for her. Behind her, the barrier whined into full strength, so she stepped quickly into the antechamber where she had protested her lack of physical talent for the last time.

“Naka Gwyn?”

She stared at the man, his horns reflected the minimal light in the space. His skin was deep red, hair black and woven into minute braids tipped with silver bands. She didn’t look at the half dozen guardsmen that had guns trained on her, this stranger took up all her senses.

“Are you Naka Gwyn?” The man was impatient. His sensuous lips were flattened in displeasure.

“I am.” Her instinct was to curtsy for some reason, but she held back and lifted her head.

“Come with me. We have a ship to catch.” He held out his hand, and the dark robes he wore slid back to expose a heavy metal cuff on his wrist. It had an ornate pattern on it that she would have loved to explore, but his impatience was palpable.

With a feeling of finality, she placed her small, pale hand in his larger burgundy grip, and he closed his digits around hers, turning and simply walking away from the dome.

She felt ridiculous as he hauled her along the barren flats toward a shuttle. Her mind screamed a thousand insults at his back during their journey. She hated being treated like a child.

When they entered the shuttle, she noted that it was geared for his body, his height, the breadth of his shoulders, everything was meant for someone of his physical presence. She felt like a child in the seat next to the pilot’s controls, but she let him buckle her in place for the journey.

Her life had ended the moment that they put the suit on her, so wherever she was going now was bound to be an improvement on jogging through a dead city to keep her mind out of the planet’s crust.

It had been such a little earthquake, after all.

After ensuring that I was encased from shoulders to ankles like a mummy, I wriggled my arm free to drain the water. When I heard it tumbling down the drain, I wandered out of my bedroom and down the hall to the nearest guest room. It hadn’t been used in a while, but the last time the maid was over, she had changed the bedding.

I cranked on the heat and crawled under the blankets naked. Pajamas were an extra effort I was way too tired to indulge. When I closed my eyes, my breathing fell into a heavy rhythm moments later. Sleep danced on the edges of my conscious mind, casually closing in until I drifted off.

A surreal landscape opened before me and for the first time I could ever remember, I knew I was dreaming. Most of the time I simply accepted whatever oddity my brain threw my way, but now I felt like an intruder in my own subconscious, a voyeur who shouldn’t be seeing the things presented to me.

I saw a tempest brewing on the horizon and off to the right, a violent sea thrashed like a restless monster rousing from a long sleep. Dusty rocks surrounded me, the jagged edges bit into my bare feet. I was naked in these elements, the breeze tickling my skin, but it wasn’t cold enough to make me miserable.

I knew I should’ve put on pajamas.

A man came out of the storm, walking with a stiff, proud gait. He was armed with a wicked looking sword, which he held in his right hand, the tip pointed away from him. The blade was longer than my leg with a serrated top and curved edge.

He was still a silhouette, but I could make out some details. His body was covered by piecemeal plate armor. The left shoulder had a massive spiked pad where the other was bare. Boots came high and covered the knees in the front while wrapping low around the sides.

His long hair was caught up in the wind, flowing to the side like he was a living fantasy painting.

Wait, why is he coming this way?

It would take him some time to get to me, but what happens when he got here? That nasty looking weapon was not designed for cuddling. Was it meant for me or some other purpose?

Self-preservation suggested that waiting around to find out was a bad plan. I turned to flee and stopped so suddenly, I nearly toppled off the cliff behind me. The chasm yawned before me, the bottom lost to a swirling mist some dozens of yards down.

Why the hell is my dream so inconvenient?

I turned around to see how much progress my potential attacker had made and let out an involuntary scream.

He was standing three feet in front of me.

 

Back in England after the Great War, Archie Douglas meets a young lady whose beauty takes his breath away. But Cicily Broadbent, student of Egyptology, has sworn never to marry. She believes that Nekhbet the White Vulture, virgin mother goddess of ancient Egypt, can grant women children without man’s touch. Determined to win her hand, Archie awaits the day when she grows out of this experiment with paganism. But when Cicily succeeds in re-awakening the goddess, Archie has more to worry about than just losing Cicily.

 

He lowered himself next to her and gently lifted her on his lap.

She lifted her blue gaze to his and said huskily, “How did you find me?”

He ignored her question. The truth disturbed the hell out of him and he pushed it to the back of his mind. He ran his gaze over her face and frowned.

“What is wrong?” he asked abruptly, fear making his nape tingle. “You look weak, paler.”

She licked her lips. “I…I need to feed.” She glanced over his shoulder and squeezed her eyes. “Dammit, you scared the fox away.” She winced, gasping in pain.

“Eve, what is it?” He tightened his hold on her and shook her gently.

She gasped for breath. “If I don’t feed…I will die,” she said faintly.

He grimaced and lowered her gently to the ground. He looked around wildly. Dammit, he could have helped her if only she’d come to him. The cooks always had fresh meat being slaughtered and prepared in the kitchen for dinner. They were always washing blood off the counters and floor.

Deeply concerned, he glanced at the open field. It was barren. The forest was nearby, but he didn’t want to leave her alone while he searched for an animal. There was only one thing left to do. Grimacing, he looked down at her. All he saw were her daggers, her sword and a knife. Where the hell was her stake?

“Are all of your weapons made of silver?” he asked.

“What?” She blinked away her confusion until realisation lit her face. “No, you mustn’t. Let me…let me die.” She closed her eyes. “Please…I beg you…just take care of my daughter.” She groaned as she clutched her stomach.

He shook her. “Answer me!”

“Yes.”

“Your stake,” he said roughly. “Are you carrying it?”

“Be…behind me,” she said weakly.

Without saying another word, he lifted her and felt behind her. The stake was strapped to her back. He pulled it free and laid her down. His heart hammered in his chest as her breath came out in short rasps. Clenching his jaw, he drove the stake through his wrist, twisted it to make a deep cut and pulled it out, tossing it behind him.

Blood poured from his cut.

Quickly, he leaned over her still form and placed his bloody cut over her mouth. “Feed,” he said hoarsely.

Her eyes flickered and she shook her head.

Drago pressed his wrist to her mouth. “Eve, feed on my blood,” he said thickly. “You will die if you don’t.”

She opened her eyes and stared at him, her expression horrified. “I don’t…feed on…humans,” she said, her voice growing fainter.

He grimaced. “You forget I am not human. Now, feed.”

She squeezed her eyes. “Dear God, forgive me,” she said and grabbed his arm, pulling his wrist closer to her mouth as she began to drink his blood.

“It sucks!” Brianna O’Neill looked at her friend and scowled. “You can’t possibly want me to recite that.” She climbed out of her old recliner and stomped over to the desk in the corner of the room.

“What’s wrong with it?” Amber asked, sliding out of the worn overstuffed chair to walk into the kitchen.

“It sucks. That’s what wrong with it.” Brianna picked up the crumpled piece of paper, tempted to launch it across the room. “Earth, air, fire and water, bring to me what you aughter? Ugh! You like it, you use it. I want my spell to be a little more romantic than that.” She balled the paper back up and flung it at her friend.

“Well, if you can do better, be my guest.” Amber dodged the flying paper then took a drink from her third strawberry daiquiri. She scowled into the glass when it made a slurping sound. “Empty again,” she said with a sigh, then placed the rim to her lips and tapped the bottom to get the last of the crushed ice from the glass.

Brianna shuffled through a collection of spiral notebooks. “Where is it?” She stumbled and fell against the small lamp on her father’s scarred, paper-covered desk.

“That’s it. You’re cut off,” Amber announced, laughing drunkenly.

Brianna snorted. “In your dreams, sister. It’s my blender.”

“Okay, okay, so you’re not cut off.” Amber waved her hand in the direction of the desk. “We’ll cut off the lamp. It can’t seem to stand up straight anyway.” She watched with a smile as the lamp fell to the floor.

Cringing, Brianna watched as it slowly stopped rolling on its light-blue shade. “Whew, at least the bulb didn’t break.” She curled her bare toes into the carpet, then went back to dig through papers.

“What are you looking for, anyway?” Amber asked from the kitchen. She plopped more strawberries in the blender and turned it on. The noise shattered the calm of the house and, Killer, Brianna’s Yorkshire Terrier, raced in to bark at the noise.

“Hey, put some drink mix in those. I want more than fruit and alcohol this time,” Brianna called over her shoulder as she rummaged through the cluttered drawers in the desk.

 ”Aw, come on, those were the best ones!” Grumbling, Amber grabbed the bottle next to the blender and read the label.

Brianna rolled her eyes, shook her head, then turned her attention toward a pile of spiral notebooks in the corner.

“What’s a jigger?”

“I think it’s a shot,” Brianna answered absently, back to digging through piles of papers, before turning her attention back to the desk.

“Shot?” Amber repeated with a blank expression. She shrugged. “Oh, okaaaay. Do you have any syringes?”

“What?” Brianna looked up. “What are you doing in there?”

“Oh, nothing. Do you have any syringes?”

Brianna shook her head. “That’s what I thought you said. I really hate to ask this, hon, but what do you need a syringe for?”

Amber heaved a sigh. “You said a jigger is a shot. Well, this calls for two shots for each drink…”

“Good grief, Amber. Shot glasses!”

“Oh, right.” She tossed Brianna a sheepish grin. “I knew that. I was just testing you.”

“Why don’t we just forget the drinks? I think we’ve had enough anyway. I don’t want to recite this spell drunk off my butt and end up with a jerk or something.” Brianna pulled a thick page of homemade paper from the drawer and stroked the frayed edges thoughtfully. “At least right now, I’m only a little tipsy.”

“Tipsy, my fanny. You’re downright inebritated, inebriabed.” Amber frowned as she swayed into the counter near the inner window between the two rooms. “Face it, girl, you’re downright drunk.”

“I found it.” Using her thigh to shut the drawer, Brianna frowned down at it when it stuck halfway shut. Pushing harder, she almost fell across the desk as the drawer closed. “I definitely don’t need any more to drink,” she muttered.

“Found what? You never told me what you were looking for in the first place.” Amber walked back carrying two more daiquiris and handed one to Brianna.

“I found the spell I wrote to bring love into my life.” She sniffed the glass suspiciously. “Did you put mixer in this?”

Amber nodded, giving her an innocent look. “Of course I did. I even used the shot glass.” She waved her glass toward the paper in Brianna’s hand. Aren’t you going to read that to me?” she asked, changing the subject. Her eyes were wide, her red-gold brows nearly at her hairline. Brianna wondered what she’d been up to in the kitchen.

She made a face holding the paper behind her back. “I don’t know why I should. You make fun of every single spell I write.”

“Like the last one?” Plopping back down onto the chair, Amber rested her crossed legs on the coffee table and pushed a melon-cucumber scented candle aside with her toes.

“What one?” Brianna shot her a confused look. “And put your feet down before you break something.” She pushed at her friend’s legs.

“The one you threw at me earlier.” Amber put her feet down and stood.

“I didn’t write that! You did.”

Amber shook her head and grinned. “You wrote that last year and asked me what I thought about it. You said once you were ready you were going to recite it to bring love into your life.” She jerked her thumb in the direction of the ball Killer had picked up. He tossed his head, throwing the paper into the air so he could chase it.

Brianna cringed. “I don’t even remember writing that.” She bent, picked up the little dog and gently extracted the paper from his mouth. He growled, obviously not overjoyed at having to give up his new toy. She set him back down onto the faded rug beneath her feet.

“You probably blocked it. I know I would have.” Amber shivered, showing her distaste for the awful rhyme. “Now do you see how much you’ve grown over the past year?” She wandered across the room and grabbed a handful of grapes from the fruit bowl on the dining room table.

Brianna looked down, smoothing her hands over her hips and thighs. “Hey, I haven’t gained any weight!”

Amber crossed back to the desk and rolled her eyes. “Spiritually, hon. You’ve grown spiritually,” she soothed. She wrapped her arm around Brianna and they walked toward the patio.

“Oh, sorry.” Now it was Brianna’s turn to feel sheepish. “Well, I suppose I should let you read it. You did stop me from using that last disaster.” She handed the paper to her friend.

Amber read the spell and her brows shot back up. “I’m impressed, this one is actually kind of good.”

The two women stepped through the sliding glass doors onto the small concrete patio. They inhaled the delicious aroma of a nearby barbecue the cool autumn breeze carried into the yard. The elusive scent of fresh paint tickled Brianna’s nose and she heard the sound of someone hammering in the distance. “Everything’s ready. Do you think we can cast now?”

Amber frowned. “Well, we really shouldn’t do it drunk. That’s just asking for trouble.” She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth then nodded. “But with you, I think we just might have to. It’s the only time you don’t seem to have that corncob stuck up your ass.” She smiled drunkenly then hiccupped.

Brianna scowled as she donned her robe. “I beg your pardon. I am not drunk. I’m just a little tipsy.” Deciding to leave the corncob remark alone, she tightened the sash on her black ritual robe.

“Yeah, okay, whatever.” Amber straightened her own robe and pulled her pentacle from beneath it. The jewel in the center glowed dimly in the waning sunlight.

“Drunk, tipsy, shit-faced. It’s all the same to you, right?”

“Hey! I represent that…I mean I resent that remark.” Brianna grinned, then shook her finger in Amber’s face. “I thought you were going to quit swearing. It’s not very attractive, you know.”

Her friend made a face as she inspected the already prepared circle of candles. The altar within the circle faced the east and was decorated with two small statues, a dish of sea salt, patchouli incense, a red, white and pink candle and one small earthen dish of water.

Amber stepped to the altar and made a few corrections. “The incense representing air should always be in the east, the candle representing fire in the south, the water in the west and, of course, the salt for Earth in the north. Let’s do this.” She looked at the sky. “The moon is even in the right phase. You really did your research for this one, didn’t you?” She turned her gaze toward Brianna. “I’m impressed.” She stumbled over a candle. “I think it was a good idea to set the circle outside though. That way, we don’t have to worry about burning the house down.”

“Why do you think I wanted to do it out here?” Brianna asked dryly. “Besides, it’s so beautiful and I love to look up at the stars.” She inhaled deeply, loving the combined scents of someone grilling and the Colorado blue spruce that grew in her back yard.

They lit the candles and called the four-corners, each taking two. Brianna raised her arms to the sky and spread her feet wide. Inhaling deep, she centered herself calmly and pictured the energy flowing from within her to empower their circle. She envisioned the wind blowing her hair, her robe plastered against her body, the sash whipping behind her in the wind.

“Guardians of the East and elements of Air, I ask for your presence within this circle. May you step within with love and trust to lend your distinct energies to protect this magical rite.”

Amber followed suit in the South. Setting her feet apart, she raised her arms. Brianna pictured a fire as bright as the sun, as hot as fire from the dragons of legends as she moved to the West quarter.

Raising her voice, Amber tilted her head back and said, “Guardians of the South and elements of Fire, I ask for your presence within this circle. May you step within with love and trust to lend your distinct energies to protect this magical rite.”

Brianna raised her arms in the West. Picturing the sea, she conjured a vision of mermaids and mermen. They danced in the waves, playing, gathering sea foam and blowing it at each other. “Guardians of the west and elements of Water, I ask for your presence within this circle. May you step within with love and trust to lend your distinct energies to protect this magical rite.”

For Earth, Brianna envisioned a herd of bison cantering freely across the open plain. In her mind’s eye, she watched as elves and gnomes played with the bison in the field.

Finally, Amber stepped to the North quarter and raised her arms. “Guardians of the North and elements of Earth, I ask for your presence within this circle. May you step within with love and trust to lend your distinct energies to protect this magical rite.”

Together, they asked, “Oh, Great Mother, she who knows all, sees all, is all. Please attend this rite and lend us your immense power, that we may be successful.”

“Okay, hon. It’s your show,” Amber whispered.

Brianna closed her eyes and took a deep breath. I hope I don’t make a fool of myself.

She lit the candles, red for passion and pink for romance and raised her arms to the sky, a wand in her right hand. She inhaled deeply through her mouth and exhaled slowly through her nose. For the first time, she felt the magic possess her. It sobered her instantly. The euphoria of the alcohol, no longer inhibited her movements. Swaying, she began to recite her spell.

A purser raised his finger and indicated she was next in line. She bid goodbye to the Astors and looked around for Maggie as she walked out onto the deck. Her savior, Mr. Davenport, never showed up again. Taking care of little wifey, no doubt. A lot of good he is. I didn’t even get a damn drink out of him.

She waited patiently as the purser helped people into the lifeboat. A woman yelled in a language she didn’t recognize and disturbed the beautiful chamber music that worked to soothe her nerves. How did a third class passenger get up here? She glanced at the shriveled, old lady holding two small bundles.

“What’s she saying?” the purser asked one of the sailors standing nearby.

“Bloody hell if I know,” he replied. “They all speak in tongues if you be askin’ me.”

Mrs. Bainesworth pulled the collar of her coat up around her neck. “Could one of you please tell her to shut up? It’s hard enough to be out on this deck, in the middle of the night, without riff raff babbling on and on.”

“I think she wants on the boat with the babes,” the purser said.

“Not on your life,” the sailor answered. “We’ve got our orders and I’m not losing this job.”

“I’ve got news, old man. You’re going to be losing more than a job tonight.”

“Both of you stop,” she said. “The woman is insane. Get rid of her.”

“She’s too old to be their mother. She must be their nanny,” the purser said.

Mrs. Bainesworth glanced over. “Are you daft? Look at the rags those babies are wearing. They’re obviously the offspring of third class passengers. I think they should be taken back below and drowned.”

The two men looked at each other until one spoke.

“You know what? You’re right. This woman doesn’t belong on a lifeboat.”

“Thank, God, you’ve come to your senses. Now send them below.”

Her maid, Maggie, came running up. “I looked all over for you, ma’am. I’m glad to see you made it up to a boat.”

“Come, Maggie. I’ll need you with me.” She took Maggie’s hand and headed toward the sailor helping people in. Before she had a chance to put her leg over, the sailor took one of the babies from the old woman and handed it to her. He took the other and handed it to Maggie.

“What…what in the hell are you doing?” Mrs. Bainesworth cried.

He stepped back.

The old woman grabbed Mrs. Bainesworth’s wrist and squeezed, her dirty fingernails drawing blood. In her foreign language, the woman seemed to be cursing her. After a few more words, the woman stepped closer to Mrs. Bainesworth. She leaned forward, pushing her leathery, wrinkled face even nearer. The stink of fried onions was on her breath. Her eyes were black circles floating in a sea of red lines against a sick, yellow background. The woman smiled. Slowly, she bared her rotting teeth, loosened her grip on Mrs. Bainesworth’s wrist and spat next to the shocked woman’s shoes. The purser yanked the woman by the arm, pulling her into the crowd and back to certain death.

Being helped into the lifeboat, Mrs. Bainesworth yelled at the man assisting her when he grabbed her fur coat. “Careful, you oaf. This coat cost more than you’ll make in a lifetime.” She and Maggie found a spot and sat.

“Don’t worry,” the purser said, “the mother will claim the babies later. Once we come back to the ship, we’ll reunite them with her.”

“I don’t know the first thing about babies,” Mrs. Bainesworth said.

“Think of them as little heaters, ma’am, they’ll help keep you both warm.”

She glanced at Maggie, then at the babies. “I’ll do what I can, but the owner of this ship will be hearing from me. This is absolutely ridiculous.” With the ruckus around growing ever louder, she was sure no one heard her. She spoke only to herself and to the baby she now held tightly against her chest. “I’ll have to get to sleep once we’re back on the ship, Maggie. You know what I’m like in the morning without a proper night’s rest.”

Another first class woman sat next to them. “Oh, my poor dears. Look at you. Two babes in arms.” She yelled to the other people. “Please, extra blankets for these women and their tiny waifs.” A large blanket was passed and wrapped around them and the babies. Enjoying the sympathy, and the extra care, Mrs. Bainesworth played the martyr and imagined the extra attention might not be a bad thing after all.

The hunger was acute as Papyan the Sinner looked at the heap they were poised to fight over. He felt himself drooling profusely, but when he noticed the great tendrils of saliva that hung from the other man’s mouth, he was terrified. Papyan the Sinner knew he must have the prize or die trying to get it. His arms swung back and forth as he tried to menace his opponent. “You bag of chicken shit, I’ll use your hide to wipe my ass,” he screamed, his voice pitching too high.

In a blur the two men attacked each other.

They were suddenly wrenched apart and were both overcome with the stench. Each man felt on his shoulder a horny claw that held him in a death grip. They went limp like kittens held by the scruff of the neck.

“What have we here, my two pups?” a voice growled. It seemed to come from the bottom of the never-ending cave, and was drenched in an evil so pure that it was mesmerizing. “You are fighting over this while forgetting what I called you for!” the throaty voice chuckled. The reek that emanated from his mouth was a mixture of decayed flesh and the cloying, fetid smell of a very large reptile.

“I need you to make yourselves useful. There is a man who must die, for with my power, I can see that he will be a problem for me if he is allowed to develop. One of you will have the job of killing him and his entire family now, while he is weak. The other will be there to help if there is a mishap.” He eyed them with a look that was primeval and reptilian. Both the men shivered. He threw them to the ground roughly. With one sharp talon he divided the large mound that was between them. It was a mound of the Sorcerer Gaumata’s excrement that they had been fighting over. Both the men trembled with renewed desire, but the creature backhanded them, his scaly skin stinging like a thousand scorpions.

“Don’t you dare make a mockery of this army! You are a woman and a murderer.”

Korin gave him a condescending smile. “Am I? Well I didn’t notice much difference between you and me but as far as being a murderer, how could I deny that? I’ve bathed entire villages in blood.” She grinned at him and stared. “But maybe that mage would care to come back here and question me? If this was all so important that he convinced you to come out here, then why did he run away unless he was lying and knew I could prove it? Where are the people who say I’m a demon? The magi are forever cooking up stories to make themselves look important.”

Korin could feel the men bending under her persuasion. Their faces cleared of fear and all that was left was something Korin had never seen directed at her. It was the look Mogpaste used to give Master Sheed. Korin watched the men’s eyes shift from her to their leader. His brow creased uneasily.

“Curses! You lowborn son of a dog-eating pig-raper! I’ll have you punished for insulting me at the very least! Fifty lashes, and I’ll give them to you myself! We’ll see what’s under that breastplate of yours.”

Korin shrugged like it was of no concern to her, but she felt sweat break out on her upper lip and forehead. “You wouldn’t be the first man to want to disrobe me. I didn’t think that you were that kind of man.” Her smile was infectious and the guard behind the leader sniggered. “Then again I suppose it’s not surprising, considering that you’re under the control of the magi…I mean to say that you have a great respect for the magi.”

“You!” he screamed and launched himself at her.

Korin saw his body tense and danced aside as he came at her. He wheeled his arms to try to regain his balance. Korin couldn’t resist. Her leg snapped out and connected with his rear end. He bellowed like a herd-beast and landed in a graceless heap. Korin darted forward and kicked his ribs with her new stout boots, marveling at the added strength the tough soles gave her.

The man let out a squawk of rage and surprise.

“He attacked General Kayle!”

“Oh the gods! He actually bested the general.”

Korin froze. She had no idea the man was a general. She knew she was in serious trouble now. She turned and sprinted toward the tent city. Korin looked back and saw that her boot print was stark against the black cloth that covered his rear as he turned, screaming at his men.

She entered the tent city, but immediately had to slow her pace or attract notice. She heard the distant scream.

“Seize him!” General Kayle yelled in a shrill voice that barely reached Korin’s ears. She slowed to a walk, wondering what to do.

Ahead, Korin caught sight of Antiochus and a lithe man with powerful shoulders. Her spirit leapt toward them like a drowning man seeing land.

Even in her state of agitation, she noticed the surprising grace in the way the man next to Antiochus stood. One hand confidently rested on the hilt of the long rapier at his side. His pale, almost white-blonde hair brushed against his shoulders, and his head was held at an odd angle that made him look dangerous. Korin saw the reason for the tilt of his head as she neared. A black eye patch arched down to cover his mangled face, making him even more handsome.

The man smiled at her. “So this is the young man who is in the center of all this?”

Antiochus looked at her fondly. “General Daimos, please meet…”

Suddenly, something hard struck Korin right in the head. She tottered, but under her helmet, her hair and the turban she’d wrapped around it cushioned the blow.

“You treacherous, dung eating, public fornicator! I’ll never let you live after what you said! How dare you?”

He swung wildly, but he was too winded and too furious. She dove for him and his fist flew wide, narrowly grazing her shoulder but missing her face entirely. Her fist, however, landed smack against his long nose. His own momentum made the blow even more painful. Korin felt the distinct crack even through her bull-hide glove.

Blood poured out from General Kayle’s nose as he reeled backwards. He fell to his knees, cursing, but above the horrible cries, General Daimos’ laughter filled the air. The people that had peered out of their tents at the sounds of the struggle continued to gather surreptitiously.

“It serves you right, you flea infested weasel,” Daimos said, walking over to Kayle. He threw a glance over his shoulder and pinned Korin with his one blue eye. His grin was bright with rich amusement. “That was some fine work there, soldier. I can see why Antiochus values you.”

“You’ll regret this! Mark me!” Kayle screamed as he rose on his unsteady legs. He pointed a bloody finger at Daimos. “And you too. How dare you interfere? You and that wretched little mid-general!”

My anxiety increased when I spotted a series of pictographs adorning the commune walls. I understood even from a distance that they depicted the Omoro chronicle. An arched door opened when I neared the entrance, the walls dancing with life-sized pictographs displaying the images of my ancestors and their strange, star-bound vehicles. I approached them and traced their outlines with my fingers while in my mind hushed voices whispered ancient tales.

Coolness wafted from the commune’s interior. A refreshing draft ruffled my hair and caressed my face. The drumbeat softened into a gentle heartbeat as five Omoro appeared from the shadows. With a thrill of recognition, I regarded two adults and three children. Joy filled my heart and buoyed my spirits when I realized I was no longer alone.

The group approached slowly. Poised, ebony-skinned and willowy-limbed, they wore their hair in elaborately coiled braids beaded with amber, coral and other precious stones. Golden thread glinted from the colorful batik prints of their robes. Beautifully crafted jewelry of amber and gold adorned their wrists, ankles, ears and necks.

The Elder, a man of noble stature and warm, patrician features, wore an embroidered sash of rank adorned by a large ruby the shape of a bird’s egg. My eyes were drawn to a small tattoo on his left temple depicting several intersecting circles. He smiled and bowed, his deep chocolate eyes and rich voice familiar.

“Welcome to the homeworld, Kanuwe. I am Badarou, Elder of the Sofouru Commune.” He turned to the others, who smiled welcomingly at me. “This is my wife, Nsangue, my son Renwati and daughters Tanifah and Dhoman.”

We bowed in greeting, the action instinctive on my part. I stared at Badarou. He smiled and nodded.

“We have already spoken. I was present at your awakening.”

I recalled the spectral faces in the tanks and glanced questioningly at the others. A shudder coursed through me as I thought of such a hellish incarceration. I wondered whether immortality was worth such a price.

“Such an existence was not their wish,” Badarou said, reading my expression. “And I would not have insisted.”

A question half-formed on my lips. Badarou gazed toward the lake and the majestic mountain range beyond with misty eyes.

“Look around you, Kanuwe. Such is the beauty of Omori, our home—a world of peace and prosperity, a people at one with nature.”

Moving with regal grace, Nsangue approached me and took my arm. She smelled of musk and spice, the drowsy warmth accentuating the enticing aroma. When she smiled, her teeth were a flash of ivory against flawless dusky skin. Ankle bracelets tinkled delightfully as she moved. Her mahogany eyes melted into mine, her velvety touch a calming salve against the questions burning in my mind.

“It is time to meet your ancestors, Kanuwe,” she said, leaving the others behind. “Come help me prepare for the evening tea ceremony.”

We entered the deliciously cool retreat of the commune. Tiled fountains soothingly splashed amidst handcrafted furnishings of wood, metal and stone. Colorful tapestries, basketry and bold sculptures adorned niches and walls, reflecting muted sunlight from artfully angled windows and skylights. The setting was serene and peaceful, an embodiment of the Omoro persona.

“This is wonderful,” I said as I admired the lovingly crafted décor. My fingers strayed to a mosaic plaque depicting the commune, placed to receive the filtered light from a nearby window. Vivid colors blazed with feral intensity.

Nsangue pointed to a dramatic copper mask displayed over an arched fireplace. “Many pieces are forged by Badarou’s hand,” she said, retrieving a deep tri-color basket and a small terracotta jug from a wooden cabinet. “I enjoy basketry and weaving. The children are gifted in music. Each Omoro has a special talent. It is a gift we honor by bringing it to life.”

A glass-enclosed cabinet situated in the corner of the room away from the light caught my attention. Nsangue said nothing when I approached, my eyes riveted to a magnificently carved shield bisected by a pair of spears. Though the detail closely resembled the other artwork in the room, something about it seemed different. It exuded a sense of antiquity that spanned a time longer than I could imagine.

“You recognize the soul of the clansmen,” Nsangue observed. “They were the original tribe. We call them the forefathers.”

I touched the glass. “Kabila,” I said, unsure why the strange word had suddenly appeared in my mind.

“Our heritage is long and noble, Kanuwe. Always remember that.”

“I feel¼something,” I said, looking around the room as though seeking an answer to my confusion. “This place is a crossroads.”

“Omori anchors us to the spiritual and physical world. One cannot exist without the other.”

I pondered her words as she led me to a central atrium garden. Sunshine filtered through verdant foliage, dappling a natural stream alive with delicate opaline fish and tiny green turtles. Women and young girls tended the multitude of greenery and polished intricately tiled pathways and bridges. A lovely teenager with fawn’s eyes cut magnificent coral blooms from a long-stalked bush and placed them in a basket. Jewel-colored birds flitted from the branches, filling the air with delightful song. A sensation of gentle energy rippled through me.

“An oasis in an arid land,” I said in wonder. “How is this possible?”

Nsangue dipped her jug into the bubbling stream. Bells distantly chimed to accompany the lowing of animals. I glanced out a nearby window and noticed a herd of horned goat-like creatures grazing in a cultivated field. Youngsters playfully bucked and charged their indulgent parents, their lush coats mottled with brown and gold. I smiled at their charming antics.

“The stream of life heals and nurtures,” Nsangue said. “It is the spiritual core of our people.”

She handed me the water jug. I sipped from it, savoring a pure sweetness that lingered in my mouth. We wandered outside to a lush, grassy area bordering the commune and surveyed a peaceful scene that suffused me with a sense of well-being. I smiled as children and their pets, furry, long-snouted creatures with endearing whinnies, romped while women picked shiny red pods from a surrounding bank of thick, prickly green hedges. In amazement, I watched two of them balance tall baskets atop their heads and calmly walk toward the commune without supporting them. Babies hung in slings across their mothers’ backs, their lusty yawls a triumphant song of their own. Nearby, teams of men and teenage boys prepared the foundation for a new commune.

“These are aruna pods,” Nsangue said, extending a thorny branch drooping with the weighty pods gleaming with a lacquered red shine. “Crushed, they produce the finest tea. The powder also has many medicinal properties.” She handed me the basket and set the water jug on the grass. “The honor of gathering will be yours. You must remember to always fill the basket. The stream of life provides abundance for all. We must honor the gift.”

I reached toward the glossy hedge, the sun a warm kiss on my back. The crescent-shaped pods snapped off easily, emitting dusty red puffs. Nsangue hummed while I stuffed the basket to the brim.

Suddenly, a wet nose snuffled against my ankle. I looked down in surprise as a plump gray furball affectionately nuzzled my foot.

The group of seven wizards had locked hands, making them too powerful for the magi to defeat. They glowed with a greenish iridescent light as they enveloped themselves in a mist that made them invisible to human eyes. They walked forward toward the woman who could feel their approach. She began to scream.

The wizards on both ends of the hand-holding line held sacrificial daggers. This must have been part of their plan—the plan B, if the head sorcerer somehow lost his head. If they succeeded, Eblis would be restored to his power completely. Korin ordered her mount to descend, but she was quite far from them. Now Korin saw with a jolt of horror that in the confusion of the battle, Eblis himself had escaped. He shimmered briefly through his cloak of invisibility. Korin shuddered involuntarily when she saw his true form.

He was shucking himself out of the boy body, and as he did, his head elongated into an angular mask of rage. His skin was old—as ancient as parchment, but it glistened with putrefaction that would have left a corpse that long dead. His ears were mostly cartilage, and they were very long. Pointed at the top, the devil’s ears were pendulant on the bottom. He wore earrings made of human bones. The ear holes writhed with what looked like maggots, but as she looked closer, Korin realized that they were festering, squirming naked humans covered with the slimy effusion of death.

His eyes were black hellholes from which fires spiraled. Occasionally the burning arms or legs of some damned person could be seen thrashing about in hopeless pain. Bags of flesh hung from his eyes, making him look even more ancient and evil. His long, pointed nose was warted heavily and appeared like a pendulous, rotting gourd. The mouth of the beast was the most horrific. Thin, cracking lips surrounded sharp but decayed teeth swarming with creatures ranging from naked humans to insectoid creatures who fed on the humans, while the humans fed on the cheesy decay between the teeth.

Eblis walked awkwardly in a cross between the knuckle walk of an ape, and the dragging of a disemboweled monster. Indeed, his gut bobbed over the ground and his obscene genitals trailed a slimy track as he walked. His distended **** stuck out of the flat buttocks that hung loosely. Worms and maggots dropped from it as he made his way to the woman who struggled and screamed anew, although mercifully, she could not see Eblis’s real form.

Vorak thundered from his position in the army. “No! Korin, stop! Don’t approach that devil!”

Walking to her window, she looked out over the grounds at the back of the house. With the swimming pool and patio just outside the sliding glass doors in the great room, to the lush, trimmed gardens beyond, she could have loved this place. Well, that is, if it weren’t for the fact that she felt like a prisoner here.

With a sigh, May went to her dresser and pulled out her bikini. It was the one she bought on a whim while visiting one of the expensive shops April had taken her to. She smiled when she held it up in front of herself to look in the mirror. She’d never even tried it on. She bought it at April’s suggestion that it might make her feel better to make Drake pay two-hundred dollars for a scrap of material barely big enough to cover the pertinent parts.

April had been right. The little scraps of white material, covered in yellow polka-dots, at least made her smile. She didn’t smile because of what it cost her brother-in-law, she smiled because she was now the proud owner of a teeny yellow polka-dot bikini.

Still smiling, May undressed and donned the swimming suit. What the heck? If she couldn’t go anywhere, she could at least take a dip in the pool and get some sun on her white legs.

She’d just closed her bedroom door, when she heard one of her sisters ask, “Going for a swim?”

May turned to give Ginger a sideways glance. “Uh, no. As a matter of fact, I was just going to church. Wanna come?”

“Okay. I deserved that one,” Ginger said with a giggle. “Though, I wouldn’t mind worshipping at the chlorine temple myself.” She hooked her arm around May’s and pulled her along beside her. “Will you wait for me to change?”

“Of course.”

Nothing was worse than swimming alone. Though Drake had cameras all over the place, and security personnel, it didn’t mean she wanted to be out there by herself.

What if something happened and she got a cramp in the deep end? What would she do other than drown? She was safer with one of her sisters along. Every one of the Flowers children had taken water safety courses.

While water magic was common, their parents had insisted that each of them learn safety measures. In fact, all of them had lifeguard jobs in the summer while they were in school.

For some reason, their parents had feared for their safety when around lakes—they never did figure out why.

May was glad for her sister’s company. She hadn’t been looking forward to swimming alone. The last thing she wanted was Drake’s security personnel ogling her while she was getting in a few laps. At least with Ginger there, they would most likely look solely at her sister if they decided to hang around.

Drake never used to have security patrolling the grounds inside the walls until her sisters, Rose and Tansy, climbed a tree and snuck out over the eight-foot tall brick enclosure. After that fiasco, he posted guards to keep the unattached Flowers sisters in as much as keep others out.

“Can you hurry? I need to get out of this house before I go mad,” May said as they entered Ginger’s room. Like May’s room, it was large. However, that’s where the similarities ended. May’s room was lavender with an ivy border just below the crown molding. This room was light blue, almost the same color as Ginger’s eyes, with some sort of pink, flowery plant decorating the top few inches of the wall. Even the furniture was different.

Sitting down on Ginger’s bed, she waited while Ginger hurried into the bathroom she shared with her twin, Ivy, to change.

“What do you think?” Ginger asked when she strode out of the bathroom. Holding her arms out, she slowly turned around.

“I think all of the guards are going to have heart attacks. That’s what I think,” May said with a snort. “Heck, next time, just try a few strategically placed adhesive bandages. I think they’d cover more and they come in a variety of prints and colors.”

Ginger’s bikini was little more than a few pieces of string. It consisted of two half saltine-sized crocheted triangles that barely covered her nipples and the bottom was a thong with a similarly sized triangle to cover her nether regions.

“If they want to look, let them.” Ginger grinned and waggled her brows. “No one ever said I was a good girl anyway.”

“Well, I certainly never said you weren’t a good girl.” May glared at her sister. “Do you think people talk about you behind your back or something?”

“I never said that.” Ginger ran back into the bathroom and grabbed her cover-up. They didn’t need towels. Drake had a towel rack and pool house just off the patio. The Flowers had never been what May would have called poor, but this…this house was simply decadent.

Following Ginger, they made their way down to the first floor and out through the French doors in the great room and into the sunlight.

The men on the ground watched them both suspiciously. It was as though they thought the two women planned to climb over the tall brick walls wearing nothing more than bikinis. Perhaps they hoped they would try so they could watch. Who knew?

Ginger immediately made her way over to the outside stereo and turned it on. Classic rock poured from the speakers as they both circled the pool with a critical eye.

“What do you think? Do we test the water or just jump in and take our chances?”

May grinned. “I think we could just jump in.”

“You would,” Ginger said with a snort. “You always loved just plowing into the water when Mom and Dad took us to Lake Superior. That water is almost ice cold.” She rubbed her arms as though remembering.

“Well, you asked.” May stepped back a few paces and took a running leap into the large pool.

Cold water closed over her head and she let out a little giggle. Ginger would screech when she jumped in.

“You bitch. You knew I would take that as a challenge.” Ginger laughed and leaped into the pool. She came up sputtering. “It’s cold. It’s so cold!”

“I think it feels great.” May swam a few laps, then turned over onto her back to look at the sky. “I could stay here all day.”

“Me, too.” Ginger sighed as she floated next to her. “I wish we could go to the lake.”

“Yeah, me, too.” May knew they couldn’t. As far as the dragons were concerned, taking the women to the lake would be a logistical nightmare, security wise.

“Well, we’ll just have to close our eyes and pretend we’re there.”

“I guess.”

“What did you think of that big dragon who bought the Pussycat?”

“I think he was okay. He was very handsome in the face, but he was too big.” May frowned. “You know how I feel about muscle-bound men. Yech.”

“I don’t know if I should feel insulted or flattered.”

May’s body stiffened, her body sinking beneath the surface. She came up sputtering and glared at the man in question. “What are you doing here?”


 

The sound of a startled gasp snapped his gaze to a clearing. His eyes narrowed on the hag who stood there, her gloved hand raised to her mouth, her eyes wide as saucers as she stared at him.

“Oh no!” she whispered, gaping at his cuts and gashes.

He knew they were fading and disappearing right before her eyes. Her horrified gaze darted to his shredded clothes.

Hell and damnation! She looked like she was going to faint. He grabbed his bag from the ground and pulled his remaining trousers and shirt out. “Do not fear me,” he said as he shoved them on. “I was attacked by wolves.”

She backed away. “No! Stand back!”

“I will not harm you. I need assistance. I seek a woman who—”

“You seek me,” she said, raising a gloved hand.

He narrowed his eyes as realisation dawned on him. “You are Zora, the witch who lives in these woods.”

“Yes. Forgive me. I do this only to protect you.” She mumbled a string of words he could not understand.

Stunned, Bryce felt himself grow cold and then numb. Unable to hold himself up, he collapsed to the ground as darkness surrounded him. She was doing this to him!

“I mean you…no…harm…” he said hoarsely, trying to hold onto his last shred of consciousness. He stared at her unsightly features, tight and drawn with regret, and rested his gaze on her eyes.

They were the colour of the ocean, fringed with sooty lashes, framed by delicately arched brows. Kindness poured from them and he was fascinated with their out of place context on the hag’s repulsive features.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, before he blacked out.

Bryce opened his eyes and took a moment to adjust to his surroundings. He was sitting on a couch, his body wrapped in a silver chain. His ears pricked when he heard the sound of singing again, but this time, he wasn’t enchanted by it.

This time he was bloody furious!

Whoever was singing outside on the front porch was holding him prisoner. Evidently the hideous looking witch, Zora, had a daughter because he couldn’t conceive a voice so lovely belonging to the old hag.

Bryce tried shrugging out of the chains, but the more he struggled, the weaker he became. He heard a movement at the door and saw the hag walk in from the outside.

“Untie me,” he growled as he snapped his gaze to her face.

“I cannot.” Zora walked into the living room and stood ten paces from him, wringing her gnarly hands as she stared at him with worry on her face.

“You know what I am,” Bryce said.

“Yes. You are a Lycan.”

“I only seek a cure for this damn curse.”

Her expression faltered and she looked momentarily surprised. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

He grimaced. “I have gold, if that’s what you want.”

“You don’t understand. I cannot remove the werewolf curse. No one can. The rumours you’ve heard about me are false.”

Bryce couldn’t believe his six month journey had brought him to nothing. Anger rose in his chest and he struggled to get out of the chains, growling as a numbness restrained his strength. Dammit! He’d have to ruin his remaining clothes.

As a human, he didn’t possess the strength to snap the chains in two, but as a Lycan he did.

Calling on the beast within him, he summoned it to the surface. Nothing. His beast refused to rise. He glared at her.

Zora watched as Bryce struggled with the chains and said, “You cannot shift into either your Lycan or your wolf form. I’ve cast a spell on the silver chains. They’re subduing your beasts.”

“What do you want from me?” he roared. He moved sharply and jostled the table next to him, knocking a vase over as he shot her a furious look.

Sadness and regret tinged her expression. “I want nothing.” She walked to the table and reached for the vase.

Bryce narrowed his eyes and lunged forward, his hand snaking out from beneath the chain. The chains stopped him from moving further, but not before his fingers brushed her skirt.

She shrieked and jumped back.