Magick

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.

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.

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.

"Maman, what are you doing here?" She embraced her striking mother, pulling back to kiss her cheeks. Studying the woman's lustrous white hair, light blue eyes, aquiline features, she found a look of worry about her. Other than that, Bettina Blanchard was the picture of health for a woman of one hundred and ten years who did not look a day over sixty. "Is Papa all right? Bertrand?"

Bettina returned the embrace of her only daughter, continued to prepare their breakfast. She replied in a warm soprano, Provencal accent tinting her words. "Oui, darling, your father and brother are well."

The two women, out of long ago established habit, set the breakfast table together, catching up on family events as they placed croissants, butter, homemade jam and coffee on the table followed by cups, saucers and spoons. Cassandra opened the backdoor and the kitchen window to allow the amazing autumn wind to flow around them. Her mother sat in one of the pillowed wrought iron chairs nestled around a small vintage circular pine table and glanced about the room.

"You have exquisite taste, darling. Your home is perfect and the roses, magnifique."

"My mother taught me well." She smiled and waited patiently for the woman to discuss the real reason for her visit. Cassandra deduced her mother was upset. When she was in such a state, she did not like to talk about distasteful things while eating as she believed it upset the digestion.

When the croissants were gone and the women were on their second cup of coffee, Bettina turned to her daughter and hesitated.

"Maman, please tell me what is bothering you."

She sighed. "I am here about your engagement."

Cassandra's face lit into bright cheer as she extended her marriage hand to her mother. "Isn't it beautiful?"

Bettina took her daughter's hand and raised stylish glasses carried on a gold chain to her eyes. She studied the ring, agreed on its beauty. She mumbled again in French and put her daughter's hand down, patting it. "You cannot marry him."

"I'm sorry, Maman, what do you mean?" Floored by her mother's statement, Cassandra did not move. She did not understand and a knife of pain stabbed her heart. Her mother was going to help her plan, she had been sure of it. They would travel the world to find the most unique items for her trousseau, wedding, and honeymoon. It never occurred to her that her mother would not approve of her marriage. Bettina loved Ethan as if he were her own.

"You cannot marry Mr. McBride."

Cassandra shook her head in devastation, not believing what she heard. "I don't understand. You love him as much as I do."

"Of course I do and if there is any way around this, I will gladly give my consent."

Even more confused than ever, Cassandra checked the tears threatening to spill and shook her head, dumbfounded at the comment. "Then what is the problem?"

She took her daughter's face in her elegant hands and stated, "You cannot marry Mr. McBride because you have apparently forgotten you are bound to another."

“How long does it take to get there?” she shouted.

“You don’t have to yell. I’m not deaf. We’re almost there.”

“I can’t see a thing. I don’t even see any stars. All I see are huge rocks.”

“Those rocks are your stars. Down on Earth, the moonlight lights them up and they become what you call stars.”

“Is Kelhatmor another planet? I’ve never heard of it.”

“Kelhatmor is only known to us and the children who are fortunate enough to visit it.”

“I’m going to look stupid in my nightie. I wish I could have put on some clothes. What will everyone think?”

“All new arrivals first come that way, either in a hospital gown, pajamas, in your case a nightie, and sometimes only underpants. No one will laugh at you. You’ll be welcomed in our midst with joy.”

“Wow. It must be some kind of a magical place. At home, if anyone would see me like this, they’d all make fun of me, just like some kids at school made fun of my bald head.”

“Children on Earth can be cruel sometimes. They don’t understand. But you haven’t gone to school very much. Didn’t your mother teach you at home?”

“I went to school sometimes. I even started high school, but then the tumors in my head grew again and I had to go back to the hospital.” The memory of those days made her sad for a moment, and then the thought of her parents sitting by her bedside. “I guess they’ll be very sad for a while after my funeral,” she told Rhuntana.

“Funeral? Girl, I don’t want to hear you talk of death again. You’re very much alive.”

“Sorry. Then it’s a dream. Never mind, I’m enjoying all this even if it isn’t real.”

Rhuntana didn’t answer her this time so Polly assumed she was right, she was dreaming. The vast space around her suddenly got brighter and she thought she saw a light in the distance.

“We are approaching Kelhatmor. You’ll see it soon,” Rhuntana said.

Polly strained to see through the dim light and yes, soon she saw something. At first it was just a dot, then as they flew closer, it resembled an island. Long vines dangled from the bottom. It didn’t seem to be attached to anything, just floating free in space. The area around them brightened even more until it became a vivid mauve. Above the island Polly saw a brilliant sun surrounded by a mauve halo sending mauve beams in all shades down to the island. Peeking out from behind the sun was what looked like a very purple planet.

“What’s the name of that planet?”

“That’s Zultfor. We go there on field trips sometimes to study its exotic animals and vegetation.”

“Wow. I’m going to love it here.”

“Pollyanna, no one stays on Kelhatmor permanently, but yes, you will enjoy your visit with us. Get ready to land now.”

“What chance is there in talking to you?” I asked. “Other than a need to have my head examined for entertaining some crazy guy who won’t take, go away, for an answer.”

“Are you asking me to go away?” He tilted his head curiously. “Or is that just something you think you should say? We’re wasting time. You could be asking a lot more interesting questions.”

“Fine, how do you know my father?” I lifted my finger. “Be careful how you answer that. If I don’t like your answer, you’re out of here.”

His grin turned sinister and it made me take a step back. I could sense that he was suggesting there was no way that security was going to be leading him anywhere. For the first time since I encountered him, I lost all my indignation and became alarmed. Perhaps he was more dangerous than I gave him credit.

“Very well,” Ian replied. “I knew your father before you were born. He was on the opposite side of a mutual disagreement. When he met your mother, everyone figured that he was out of the game, but someone decided that it didn’t matter. After you were conceived, one of us took advantage of his weakness and that’s why you didn’t get to know him.”

“Are you saying that someone hurt my father?”

“I’m saying someone murdered him.”

Atar crept out of the camp. He could feel the night wind. It still had a chill of winter. The moon was waxing high in the clear sky and it shone on the landscape like an eerie noontime sun. Atar felt his breath quicken. Tonight was a time of celebration, especially since he had been miraculously granted his boon.

He was dancing, he realized with a distant part of himself. He was moving his graceful, muscular body in the moonlight to the sweetest sound he had ever heard. It was the sound of a young girl, sighing as she discovered the passion of love for the first time, yet this voice was deep, ancient, and eternal. He laughed richly, throwing his head back, delighted with life. He was alone, he knew, and this knowledge allowed him to dance in honor of that odd, achingly beautiful voice without any inhibitions.

Out of the dark emerged a tall form, resplendently silver in the moonlight. Atar stood suddenly dazed as he recognized the werewolf.

His silvery hair shone in the dark. His eyes, so cunning in the face of a wolf, still held a deep mystery. In one large hand he held a bouquet of exquisite flowers. These he handed to Atar, who was too stunned to speak.

“Is this how it is done, my dear Atar? I saw you give such a thing to the girl. I was hoping…”

Atar was used to speaking with Bulliwuf mentally. This was perhaps why he never spoke to the others. Only Bulliwuf understood. He struggled to speak. He opened his mouth, but only a sigh emerged as Bulliwuf pulled him closer, so that their bodies met. Atar felt the hardness of the werewolf, and his heat. The flowers fell from his hand as his arms instinctively embraced Bulliwuf’s strong back. The werewolf buried his nose in Atar’s hair, snuffing as he usually did. His hot tongue, so familiar, lapped around his ear. Hot desire emanated from the silvery form. Atar went stiff with the sensation. He held on as if his life depended on it, and the heat from the naked werewolf seemed to seep into every part of his willing body.

He’d always found acceptance with Bulliwuf. To be loved fully, to be an object of desire, rather than of scorn made him feel confused and weak. Bulliwuf took his face in his large hands and held him as he kissed Atar deeply. He took of him hungrily, until Atar was breathless. Their hot bodies intertwined, and Atar felt his soul rise to places he’d never imagined existed.


“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.”

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.

Andre fell to his knees and drank deeply of the crystalline waters. The sound of the waterfall filled his ears with its thundering and a spray of water misted his overheated body. He thought he had never tasted anything so good before. After a while, his body ceased to tremble and he looked up. Directly under the torrent of water, stood a man with his back toward him. He seemed unaware of Andre’s presence, so loud was the waterfall.

Andre immediately looked away from the naked form, but that was only his first reaction. He stared now and saw that the man appeared to be well muscled and young. His tight buttocks led to strong legs, only half of which he could see, as the man was standing in the pool at the bottom of the waterfall. Sparkling water cascaded off of his head making him look like a Buddha with his effulgence. The man stood under the water as if in deep meditation in the performance of the traditional Japanese misogi ritual of purification. Andre was riveted.

Andre stood and took a step, then thought better of it. The man was oblivious to his presence. It seemed unwise to disturb him, but this wasn’t the only reason for Andre’s paralysis. He wondered what the man’s face looked like. His skin shone with health. His hair was very long—so long, that Andre at first had taken him to be a woman, but even from behind, the man’s muscles removed Andre’s doubts.

As if suddenly aware that someone was staring, the man whirled and faced him. Although he was standing at some distance, Andre could see the man’s face first register surprise, then it became clouded with anger. The face was still lovely beyond anything he had ever seen before. The man’s eyes were large and expressive. His eyebrows were sharply defined bows. Although his features were almost chiseled, his full lips and delicate lines gave him a look that could only be described as beautiful. Beautiful in the elegant and exotic ways the features of some of the ancient Japanese aristocratic women were portrayed in court art. Andre stood with his mouth slightly ajar and his body frozen into inaction by the spectacle of such an attractive person. The man turned slowly and Andre lost sight of him as he made his way behind a copse of trees.

Snapping out of his reverie, Andre began to walk toward the spot where the man had retreated, silently practicing what he would say. The man was obviously angry, but perhaps he could explain.

In an instant, Andre felt it and turned suddenly. Although it had just been a moment, the man stood behind him, fully dressed in archaic traditional garb. He wore a long white kimono over which he had draped a dark blue tunic emblazoned with the crest of the ancient Abe clan. Andre had seen such a piece in a Kyoto museum not long ago. He wore the tall cap of the practitioners of Onmyodo yin yang magic. The man’s beautiful eyes narrowed by rage and his face looked like that of Fudo Myo-o, the Wrathful Buddha. Andre stared, unable to speak, but he was deeply embarrassed that instead of staying silent, his mouth worked as he tried to speak coherently while only cackling and squawking like a frightened chicken.

“Go away,” the man boomed. “Go away and never come back. If I ever see you again, I will kill you.”
 

“I don’t want to die with regrets. My mother always warned me about that,” Andre said.

Seimei finally stood and Andre followed him outside. “After such a night of pleasure, I am hungry. Let’s bathe under the waterfall and then pick something from the forest for our meal.”

As they approached the waterfall, droplets of water sprayed their faces. It was so refreshing, but the water could be quite cold, coming from the snow-capped mountain. Andre followed Seimei in, removing his kimono and wrapping the cotton bathing kimono about his naked body. Seimei laughed at his discomfort. He wore only a loincloth, which allowed Andre to see his perfect body. His chest was broad and well-muscled, yet delicate in the way of a man who has not yet reached his middle age. Andre knew that it was rude to stare, but he couldn’t avert his eyes. The water cascaded over Seimei’s head and he yanked Andre’s hand, dragging him under the torrent of water.

Andre’s body almost convulsed with the cold. He was shivering within seconds, but Seimei pulled him close in an embrace that made him tingle. The water pounded over their bodies as they stood still. Andre breathed in the cool air and took in the scent of the water, the mountains, and the underlying spicy scent of Seimei. They stayed under the water like this for so long that Andre lost track. His initial discomfort was replaced by a sense of awe. It was they kind of awe that makes one tremble in the face of nature’s majesty. It made all of Seimei’s stories seem so plausible.

They finally left the water and Seimei donned his dry robes. He clucked at the way Andre tied his inexpertly, and showed him the proper way. Then they took rice fiber baskets with them as they set off for the forest. Around them birds chattered happily. Andre was afraid to look at them, but finally he did. He saw what he’d feared. Some of the so-called birds were mountain tengus, small monsters who were supposed to inhabit the ancient mountains. Some stood in trees with their arms crossed over their chests in belligerence, while some threw their heads back to sing heartily. Andre knew what they were thinking. He wondered how many of them had watched their lovemaking and he shuddered. He thought of himself as a private person—so unlike Seimei, who was used to being in the company of so many souls.

“These are yama-no-imo. The roots are the part to eat,” Seimei said, pointing to a plant.

“Mountain potatoes,” Andre said. “They aren’t really very good.”

“Yes, I wish I were eating with the emperor too, but we take what we can,” Seimei said.

“Konnyaku! There!” Seimei pointed to a plant Andre knew as Devil’s Tongue. He wasn’t too fond of that plant either.

They filled their baskets and Seimei smiled. “Now for a real treat. There is a mikan tree growing in a meadow not far from here.”

Andre followed him until they came into a clearing that seemed magical. In the middle of it was a gnarled old tree with orange fruit on it. They were ripe, and many were on the ground, being devoured by tengus and tanukis. Andre picked one and smelled it. It was a kind of citrus. He could tell by its texture and smell. He picked as many as he could hold in his sleeve and headed for where Seimei was already seated, peeling the fruit. The peel was rather thick, and the fruit small, but it was sweet and delicious. They ate until Andre was almost full. Andre felt like joking, so when Seimei got up to pick more fruit, he took the pile of peels he’d produced and added them to Seimei’s pile. When he returned, he gave Andre more fruit and resumed peeling and eating.

“You must have been starved,” Andre said. “Look at your pile of peels!”

Seimei said, “Not half as starved as you, my friend. I notice that you even ate your peels!” He laughed and Andre saw he’d been defeated at his own game. Seimei was just delightful.

They returned to the hut with their bounty, and Seimei began to set a pot on the tripod for boiling the yama-no-imo. He put Andre to work pounding the konnyaku.

“Seimei, you said that some people can become oni-devils even while they are alive. How does that happen?”

“I can tell you one story that is pretty grisly, and then I’ll tell you one from my own experience. The first one I only heard.”

Once there was a man with many wives. The first wife was quite old, and sick as well. The youngest was a girl of sixteen. As you know, many rich men will treat themselves to a young wife even at an old age. The girls these men choose are often poor and their families are more than happy to sell them to some old rich man.

You can imagine that the older first wife was very displeased with this. Instead of becoming angry with her husband, she became hateful and angry with the youngest wife. As the days passed and she became sicker, her husband rarely came to see her, preferring the company of the young new wife. When she felt her time was near, the old wife called upon the husband.

“My dear wife, I wish that all of the doctors I hired could have cured you. I really tried hard.”

“I only wish that you live long and enjoy life, Husband, but I have one request.”

“Anything, dear wife.”

“I want to speak with your youngest wife. I want to leave instructions for her so that she may serve you well.”

A light touch on his shoulder startled him. It was the lovely tengu who always came now to hear Seimei’s stories. He was much bigger than the other tengus, and his face was nearly human. He wore gossamer robes that floated around his body, as if in respect for his divinity. Today he was dressed in a color between crimson and deep plum bordered in delicate gold that glimmered in the sun. At almost seven feet in height, he sometimes stooped to look into Andre’s face, something that never failed to make him feel disconcerted. His body emitted a slight, yet captivating perfume that reminded him of Seimei. It made him feel unreasonably jealous, thinking that they had been together for so long.

The tengu was extraordinarily beautiful. His wings were feathery and black, resembling those of a cursed angel. His long hair was tied up in a knot at the top of his head in the style of the ancient Japanese men. His large, liquid eyes conveyed wisdom, but also a deep sadness. No, maybe sadness wasn’t the right word. Andre knew now that wisdom—that infinite knowledge of truth, brought with it a quiet look that could be misinterpreted as melancholy.

The tengu’s lovely lips moved as if to say something, but Andre couldn’t hear him. He sat on a large boulder and signaled Andre to sit by him. His diaphanous robes floated about him, and it was difficult for Andre to work up the nerve to sit so near a creature that was so obviously divine. The tengu spoke louder now. He must have realized that Andre wasn’t capable of hearing his normal speech.

“I know what you want to hear, but Master Seimei does not wish to speak of it. I will tell you the story of how he came to be immortal, but you must never speak of it again. My name is Tarobo, and I am the dai-tengu of this mountain. I have known Seimei since he retired here. I protect him from the eyes of humans. Even if a human were to stray here, they would see and hear nothing. By my magic, I would cause them to become confused and leave.”

Andre held his hands together to keep his trembling from becoming apparent. “How is it that I was able to see him?”

Tarobo smiled slightly. Andre had never seen him smile before, and he was dazzled.

“None of these women are my mate, Damek.” Adrian waved his hand. “I have stayed here waiting for this Summer you say lives here, but I have been here nearly the whole of the day.” He shifted in his seat and looked around. “Surely His Highness will take exception to our sullying his great hall for the duration.”

As much as he loved his brother and he wanted to swear allegiance to the new ruler of their species, Adrian couldn’t wait to meet the woman whose voice drew him out of his long slumber. He’d designed the spell he used to put himself to sleep in such a way that only his mate could draw him forth. Now he was here, but she was nowhere to be found.

Damek laughed at him, the ass. “Patience, little brother. Have patience.” Damek took a sip of his brandy. “If the others aren’t the one, it must be Summer. She’s the only one left and she is on her way home now.” He cocked his head and looked toward the front door. “I stand corrected, she has just arrived.”

Heart pounding like a fledgling facing his transformation for the first time, Adrian wiped his damp palms on his strange leggings they called jeans, stood and slowly turned to face the woman he would, with any luck at all, claim as his mate one day soon.

The name Summer fit her well. Sunshine poured through the front door as she entered, filling the foyer with a golden light. He wouldn’t have thought much of it had the light dimmed when one of her dragon bodyguards closed the door behind her.

Perchance it was her beautiful smile that lit up the room as though sunlight poured through the ceiling over her head. Long, shining golden blonde hair fell about her shoulders. When she smiled up at one of the males as he took her wrap, Adrian fought the urge to growl.

He didn’t want to frighten her, nor did he want her to think he would consider her property. The best thing he could do was keep his emotions in check, though it was a difficult thing to do with the other males so close. He felt his scales fighting to emerge, his arms turning a light, iridescent blue with a silver undertone.

Overjoyed to find his mate at last, Adrian quickly moved to step forward and introduce himself.

Damek grasped his arm, pulling him back before Adrian could voice his presence. “Maybe it would be better if I introduced you.” His brother gave the other males a stern look that had them scrambling to get away. Few, if any, ever argued with Damek. He was the oldest of their kind, after all.

Adrian felt it when she saw him. He could actually feel her gaze upon him. His skin tingled and his body went hard. When he turned, he didn’t expect her to be standing so close, with her beautiful sky-blue eyes staring at him with curious interest.

“Hello, Summer. I hope this day finds you well.” Damek greeted her formally as he bent over her hand. Straightening, he turned to pat Adrian on the back. “Allow me to introduce my brother, Adrian.”

Adrian smiled down at the girl, his chest aching with some strange pain. He never expected his mate to be as beautiful as this woman was. What had he done to deserve her?

“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Antaeus.” Summer held out her hand with a soft smile.

Adrian paused for a minute, fearing to take it lest he squeeze her delicate bones too hard and break them. “And I you,” he replied as he, too, bent over her hand. Only instead of just taking her hand in his, he kissed it.

The shock of power and recognition shot up his arm and sent a prickle of awareness through his lips. Her aura melded with his, bringing him warmth. He could not say it was an unwelcome sensation after so many centuries encased in ice.

“What brings you to my sister’s home?” She gently tugged her hand, as though he would release it.

Not likely. Letting this woman go was the last thing on his mind. He fully intended to take her with him when he left, even if he must carry her over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

Adrian straightened with a smile. “I have come for you.” He frowned at the sound of his brother’s groan behind him.

“I know I told you that modern women required a bit of delicacy, brother.” Damek all but growled the words.

He needn’t have bothered. Adrian could already sense his mate’s interest flag as she jerked her hand from his grasp.

“You’ve come for me, or come to meet me?”

Her smile seemed genuine, if not a bit strained so he thought it best to enlighten her. She was his mate and they were as good as married in the eyes of his people.

“I have come for you, mate.” He smiled again. It was a good smile. One he knew the maids loved. Well…they had loved it a thousand or so years ago. Women couldn’t have changed that much. “Now, if you would just go to your sisters and tell them goodbye, I will speak to the head of your family and pay them the bride price.”

Another groan behind him had him turning toward his brother with a scowl.

Would the man never stop his groaning? “Are you in pain, man? If so, find yourself a draught of ale and have a seat. All will be well before you know it.”

He wasn’t certain Damek was well at all. He looked rather red in the face.

“You’ll…you will what?”

“I shall purchase you, of course. Where is your brother so that I may give him your bride price?” He waved his hand. “It does not matter that I do not know the price. No price is too high for my mate.” He turned her toward the stairs, patted her on the rump and gave her a gentle nudge. “Off with you, now. Go find your brother and leave us men to our discussion.”

“Off with me, now? Leave the men-folk to their discussion?” Her face turned a becoming shade of pink before turning a darker red.

“Is there some sort of sickness of which I should be aware?” Adrian frowned as he looked between his mate and his brother. “Both of you have turned a hideous shade of red. Shall I fetch a healer?”