by Nikki Sex
Giddy with new love, we’d laughed over nothing until our sides ached.
Like a movie, everything moves forward.
Holy shit, could Stafford ever make love! To hell with love, he fucked like a demon. And he still does.
As we move onward, so do his memories. I begin to understand our mating bond with greater clarity.
My connection to him, to pack, to others, is the only thing of real value. Body, heart, and soul, I’m filled with the rightness of our bond.
It’s all good and then—
—suddenly the winds of power shift. Blowing darkly, they begin to feel wrong. The Magic Lands barrier—normally invisible, exhibits an emotional aura. It’s blood-red with fear and anger.
Tainted magic erupts like an angry volcano, pours through me—sears through us both. I hear screaming as Stafford and I are sucked into someone else. Suddenly, we’re in something else’s skin, in their life, their memory.
Like my father, this entity has wings.
A crack of thunder. A raven’s screech. I’m suddenly yanked out of my own existence. Pulled away from heaven, I’m thrown naked into a dark pit—
—of evil.
Alone, I find myself in a cesspool of scuttling insects, snakes, pus, excrement, and filth. In a panic, I’m desperate to escape. My stomach churns. I retch until there’s nothing left.
A raven with red eyes watches.
My magic doesn’t work here. I can’t move my hands, or my wings, my legs. The loss of control terrifies me.
Malevolent foulness crawls up my spine. My nostrils fill with a disgusting stench. Evil moves with small, sluggish feet. It scuttles up my back, along my ribs, over my neck. It blows puffs of foul breath that fog my face as it crawls.
I can’t escape the disgusting stench of humans!
Fear takes on a life of its own. Dark. Primordial. Uncontrollable. I’m so hungry! So very hungry! I face an eternity of suffering. Can no one save me?
As Stafford drives out of the barrier and into the Magic Lands, a huge flock of starlings soars by. A synchronized swarm, black as a cloud, they chatter, chirp, and trill. They also bring us back to reality.
What the flock—I mean what the fuck was that?
I have no idea what creature’s memories I just fell into, but what a kill joy. An eternity of suffering? I mean really, c’mon. Nothing is that bad. Unless this was a reminiscence from someone in Paradox’s Art Gallery?
God, I hope not.
My stomach muscles are wound tight as a sailor’s knot.
In a coordinated movement, not unlike the birds, Stafford and I power down our electric windows. As though coming up for air, together we inhale the sweet, fresh breeze. Dragging in deep lungfuls, it’s difficult to catch our breath.
What the hell? That damned dream again? It’s ruined my sleep off and on for years.
Stafford pulls his truck to the side of the road, kills the engine. The brisk cold is calming, the sound of birdsong soothing. The Magic Lands is a comfort to mind, body, beast, and soul. The grass is greener, the trees are healthier, the air is fresher.
Psychically shell shocked, we need all the comfort we can get.
My wolf smells the Beast Lord’s bitter fear, something we’ve never scented before. I don’t blame him. I was so scared, I nearly wet my pants.
Stafford tucks himself in, zips his trousers. He’s lost interest in sex—which, for a primal, earthy werewolf like him, really says something.
Whatever that entity was, I know five things: it’s off-the-charts powerful, it’s pissed as hell, it’s imprisoned, and it’s horribly disgusted by humankind. Lastly, and most disturbing of all, I get the idea it wants a taste of me.
Wonderful.
From my demon’s point of view, the magic the creature wields is delicious. My inner monster has never absorbed such captivating power. It’s salty and sweet at the same time. His demonic senses are searching, he intends to seek out and savor more.
I’m in a smorgasbord triangle. My demon wants to consume the creature, but whatever it is, it wants to consume me.
Yeah, fucking great.
The witch’s ward prevents more than just non-psychic people and vampires from entering the Magic Lands. It has kept out wrongness. It’s worked flawlessly since the spell was cast.
But Jesus H. Christ on a pogo stick, something’s not right. Why is a shit load of wrongness caught within the barrier itself?
Maybe the ward acts like a filter? Has it caught something? Does it hold on to evil it refuses to pass?
Chapter 17.
Hope and Toby are waiting in front of the lodge when we finally arrive. My ever-perceptive pooch looks concerned. Ironically, Hope—no doubt tuned in to what just happened, seems undisturbed.
The innocent Hope, a person who once had Down Syndrome. No imperfections, no blemishes, her skin is smooth and clear. A young woman full grown, but not yet fully formed. I study the open, loving features of her calm, intimately familiar, beautiful face.
I “know” her in an unnatural, unbelievable way. I witnessed my demon transforming every molecule in her body. He not only healed her severe injuries, he made her a new, improved version of her former self.
If Hope’s not concerned about what happened, then neither am I. Pack shaman prodigy that she is, she seems to know everything. Whether she understands much of anything is another matter.
After brief greetings, I can’t hold my questions back any longer. “Do you know what just happened to us, Hope?”
“You mean with the ward?”
“With the Magic Lands barrier, yes.”
“Sure, I know.”
“And?”
Stafford isn’t as patient as I am. I sense a scalding rush of lycanthrope power zing toward Hope—a painful nip of encouragement. An automatic Beast Lord response, it’s not mean or even intentional. Just a little bite of Alpha dominance, a serious suggestion she cooperate.
“Hope, what happened with the ward?”
Hope tilts her head, her emerald green eyes observe us with a steady gaze. “Nothing.”
I place my hand on Stafford’s arm, reigning him in, letting him know I got this. “Honey, we felt some weird stuff while passing through the Magic Land’s barrier. Did you feel it, too?”
“Oh, that. Yes, I sensed it. The ward is old. Over the years the spell has become self-aware. It’s a unique person of its own, kind of like me.” Her innocent smile after dropping a bomb like that kinda creeps me out.
What the fuck? The ward becoming its own person? There’s a scary thought.
“Really?”
“Uh-huh. And I think it’s trying to tell you something.”
“What’s it trying to tell us?”
A frown mars her face, she looks confused. “I don’t know, it didn’t talk to me.”
I feel the Beast Lord’s frustration build, sense his inner animal rising. Stafford has excellent control, but I understand how exasperating conversations with Hope can be. Her literal interpretations are a challenge. I never explained Hope’s past to Stafford—her Down syndrome, the conditions of her upbringing, how she’d been banished to live her entire childhood in a basement.
I place my hand on Stafford’s elbow. “The weather’s good. How about Hope, Toby, and I go for an outdoor stroll. We’ll talk the whole thing over. You have a very important project to begin.” I raise an eyebrow, glancing down at the IVF container.
“Sure, good idea.” Tilting my chin up with a fingertip, he kisses my lips. “You’ll find me in the lower levels, setting things up.” He lifts container, his expression joyous. “See you soon.”
He meets my eyes, his gaze a promise of our future. What will our children look like? That nightmare ward experience put me off track. The implications are frightening. On a lighter note, the buzzkill destroyed the mood Stafford and I had going. I snicker. So much for anticipation and best laid plans.
I end up taking a long walk with Hope and Toby, but get little out of her. Whatever happen
ed, she doesn’t believe the barrier is dangerous. A newly sentient invisible ward guarding the Magic Lands is a fascinating concept. Good thing, bad thing—who knows?
Hope might, but if she does, she isn’t telling.
Side by side, the three of us amble along, trailing down to a nearby stream. It snowed last night, but the snow’s melted.
Is the ward entity pleased to be protecting us? Just our luck if it suddenly falls into an existential crisis and questions whether it’s life has meaning, purpose, or value.
“Jan,” Hope looks at me expectantly. “I’d like to meet with Millicent.”
I stop walking, stare at her. “Why?”
She shrugs.
Her innocent reply makes me snort in exasperation. Frustrating woman, Hope can keep a secret. “Do you think you can help her?”
Her exotic almond eyes lift to mine. “I must.”
Must?
“Oh, OK.” I frown, sometimes a little freaked out about how she expresses herself. Experience has proven it’s no use questioning her. “Right, well, I’ll get Leonidas to take you to her. She’s living in his home.”
“And Toby, too?”
“Sure, that’s a great idea.” I raise an eyebrow. “Anyone else?”
Hope’s cheeks tinge with red. “John has vampire blood within him, I’m not sure he can cross into the Magic Lands. Can he be there when I visit Millicent? Do you think your vampire will mind?”
I laugh. “Oh, that’s what this is about?” I tease. “Seeing your sweetheart?”
Her eyes widen in innocent surprise. “Oh no, I need to see Millicent,” she pauses, slants me a sheepish grin, “but I also really want to see John.”
“No problem.” I shoot her a broad grin. “I’ll make sure you all get there.”
Ecstatic, Hope jumps up—throws her arms around my neck, nearly strangling me. “I love you, Jan. I love you so much.”
“I love you, too.”
Long moments pass. Hope doesn’t let go or relax her hold.
Not. Even. A. Little.
Tears sting my eyes as I firmly hug her back. Her generous, uninhibited affection makes my chest and throat tighten.
When growing up, my mother and I never missed singing hymns at church on Sunday. I can still hear our minister quoting Corinthians: “If I could speak all the languages of earth and of angels, but didn’t love others, I would only be making noise. If I had the gift of prophecy, possessed all knowledge, had faith enough to move mountains, but didn’t love others, I would be nothing.
“Love is patient and kind. Love isn’t jealous, boastful, or proud. Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful. It endures through every circumstance. Three things will last forever—faith, hope, and love—and the greatest of these is love.”
Hope was never given much love, but neglect didn’t make her any less loving or lovable. If anything, she has enough love in her heart for the whole world and more. Thankfully, she always had her brother’s unconditional devotion.
Simple, yet wise—childlike in many ways. Although Hope lived her whole life with below average intelligence, this young woman can teach us all a thing or two.
Still tightly being hugged, Toby springs upon us in a mad frenzy of affection. He finally manages to separate us—thank God, on behalf of my poor neck—tumbling us to the ground so he can scramble upon us both.
He licks our faces, gently, teasingly “bites” our hands, our arms. I like to call his curious conduct, “Toby mouth hugs.” Suddenly, he sinks his teeth into my woolen scarf, growls and pulls. Oh, what the hell, it’s only a scarf. We play tug of war, shaking each other vigorously.
Utterly diverted, we giggle like schoolgirls, petting and—as the British say, making much of him.
When the short, fierce game is over, my scarf is snagged and three feet longer. Pleased with each other, we sit on the hard earth and winter grass together.
That disturbing vision while moving through the Magic Lands barrier was scary as fuck. It seemed like an evil portent tainting the purity of this land. It threw me off balance.
Here, surrounded by my friends, I find my center and sink into it. An incredible feeling of peace and contentment fills me.
I couldn’t be more grateful.
I’m heart-fluttering, gut twisting, head-over-heels in love with a wonderful guy—er, werewolf. I have friends, I have family—including children on the way. Miss Optimistic that I am, throughout my long life, I never once imagined I’d be this lucky.
Hope turns to me, echoes my thoughts. “I’ve never been so happy. Thank you, Jan. Thank you and your inner friend so much for bringing my brother and me to this place where we belong.”
“You’re welcome.” My eyes narrow, search her innocent face. Sometimes I’m sure Hope reads my mind.
“You’re worried.”
“A little,” I admit, continuing to regard her, trying to interpret the expression in her compelling green eyes. I see no hint of what she’s thinking.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure everything works out the way it should.”
I snort. “Of course, you will.”
Laughing, I push to my feet, reach down to help her up. The three of us make our way back to the lodge.
What did Hope mean by that? Was she talking about the ward-entity? As innocent, intelligent, and insightful as she is, the woman’s cornered the market in vague ambiguities. I always have more questions than answers after spending time with her.
Should I question her further?
I shake my head. No way. I know better than to waste my time asking Hope what she meant by that last little nugget.
Chapter 18.
The next two weeks are uneventful. After that traumatic ward passing, I stay on this side of the Magic Lands barrier. Am I afraid of passing through it again?
You bet your sweet ass I am!
So far, only Stafford and I have experienced issues passing through the witch’s ward. Yet, I can’t get past the idea that something might be caught inside. Whatever it is, it’s mean, it doesn’t like humans, and it feeds on life.
Besides problems with the apparently living barrier, another reason for remaining in the Magic Lands is due to my sudden, unwanted fame. Unsurprisingly, Detective John Joseph solved the missing person case of Annabelle Jean Symmes.
Annabelle’s corpse, along with the bodies of two other young women, were found buried close to each other in Stanley Park. Owen and several other wolves, directed to the burial ground by yours truly, quickly found the corpses.
All had been drugged and had their throats cut. Annabelle had been pregnant, DNA tests proved her boss was the father of her unborn child.
Maxwell Mark Samson was arrested as a serial killer. I don’t know who leaked my assistance, or if it was because Detective Joseph and I have been known to work together. However it happened, the news is out.
Celebrity status. Wonderful.
As a ghost whisperer, I’m suddenly very popular. My boss is overjoyed, rubbing his hands together, tripling my consultant fees. Eager to capitalize on my new-found fame, he’s keen for me to return to work.
I feel unsafe and exposed. I’ve orchestrated my life, all two centuries of it, to be as invisible as possible. While not out of my comfort zone, being in the spotlight is still an unwelcome change.
Thankfully, my colleagues, Danvers and Abruzzo, are “keeping it real.” Leonidas reports several teasing cards and gifts have been sent to my apartment, including “Ghost” and all three “Ghostbuster” DVD’s.
I love those guys. Good-natured and accepting, they’re always good for a laugh.
Stafford chose two of my eggs, which he successfully fertilized. It’s all systems go for our children. Human pregnancy takes nine months. Wolves take two and a half months between conception and birth. Werewolves, before the curse, delivered at eight months.
Gestation within an artificial womb takes only four and a half months. That means, by mid-March, I’ll be a mom!
&
nbsp; Samara and Quentin’s son, Wyatt, has already changed into his wolf form. The wolf cub has the run of the place. My God, he’s the cutest, friendliest little guy ever. Toby adores him. Everyone does. The pack has had a fresh shot of vitality. We’re all goofy, sappy, oozing with love and affection.
Consequently, it’s common to enter the Spukani Lodge without seeing one single shifter in human form. Everyone wants to play with Wyatt.
Wolves are everywhere.
They play wolf tag, hide and seek, track the stuffed rabbit, biting, snarling, attacking games. I must watch my step. Literally. The overexcited cub sleeps anytime, anywhere—day or night.
Meanwhile, our mating bond is intense as hell, but in a good way. Sometimes, we even dream the same dreams. When I dream with the Beast Lord, I hunt in the deep woods, surrounded by the rich, green scent of the forest. I sing to the moon, run with the pack.
And when he enters dreams with me, we do other things.
Stafford has joined me on my sleeping adventures with Hawk, son of the Secwepemc people, the young man who lost his love, then disappeared. We’ve had heated discussions because of differing interpretations.
Two people died, but we don’t have the details. Stafford believes that in a fit of rage, the young man murdered the girl’s father.
I don’t see him as a killer.
Now, while asleep, I know I’m having another dream. As usual, I’m conscious Stafford’s experiencing the same vision. This one’s a classic demon dream, an out-of-body treat my inner monster enables me to live.
I can’t see them, but I believe I hear birds. The sounds make me think of fallen angels, but not asshole fae angels like my father.
Why do I keep thinking of angels?
Wings flutter, beat, and flap. Is it a raven? Yes! Magic flares, it makes my whole body burn and tingle. The raven stares at me with his red, red eyes. He’s watching, but who cares? My demon is my friend.
Someone, somewhere, is hungry.
So incredibly hungry!
The creature’s agony is exquisite! The torment of his starvation is cruel, especially with so much life tantalizingly out of reach. Still, my demon, being a demon, can’t help but enjoy the delicious taste of its suffering.
