by Nikki Sex
His eyes lock on mine. “Your monster is not the evil creature I’d presumed it to be. I am greatly pleased, for I believe my circumstances have improved.”
Curious, I ask, “Did Chaos betray his Master, or did you orchestrate his treachery to get us here?”
“The vampire has a deep-seated abhorrence for werewolves. It was a simple matter to increase this belief into an obsession. I compelled him to lead you to this prison. He now believes he is the rightful Master of Vancouver Vortex.”
“Shit.” I frown. “We were just breaking in Paradox. Chaos is another problem to solve.”
“I can reverse my influence and cause him to return. Would this be acceptable?”
“Maybe. Let me think about it.”
Stafford finds his jeans, begins getting dressed. “What did you do to our friends?” he asks. “Are they dead?”
“They live, I merely fed on them. As an angel, I live on air, water, and sunshine. Without access to the natural world, I must consume the energy of psychics. I lure them here. Once I feed, it takes little energy to store them. They do not exist in any timeline.”
Timeline? Say, what?
Stafford straightens. “Can you can bring them back?”
“Naturally, now I’ve been graced with power. Shall I wake those who sleep in the resting chamber?”
“Hell, no,” I interject, my hand on Stafford’s arm. “Not all of them, not yet.” I turn to the angel. “Are you telling me everyone in that room is alive?”
“Of course.” Haram looks insulted. “I am not a killer.”
“You killed those birds and whales.”
“My actions were most unfortunate, but I required power to manipulate events and to fight a demon. Their deaths were a tragedy. At the time, I felt justified. I see I was wrong.”
I like that he admits he screwed up. A powerful supernatural with humility? Further, I can’t fault him for using every available resource to stay alive. Truth be told, I’ve been just as guilty, more often than I’d like to admit.
“OK. How do we unlock your prison cell?” I ask. “Where are the keys?”
“Use your sword,” he suggests. “You can open it. I cannot.”
“If a sword works, why didn’t you have one of the people you enthralled set you free?”
“The magic of the lock rejects those influenced by compulsion.”
I look at Stafford. “Can you open the door to Haram’s cell?”
“Yes, but are we sure we want to?”
“Haram won’t hurt us. You can tell he’s speaking the truth. I sense what he feels, he’s happy. Scratch that, he’s ecstatic.”
I purse my lips, thinking of other questions for our newly acquired fae. “How long have you been here and why were you imprisoned?”
“Faery is the original, the template. There are countless worlds that echo our own. I chose this planet to live on, as I enjoy humans. I’ve been confined in this place for two-hundred, fifty-six-years. My compatriots and I were imprisoned because we assisted a werewolf witch woman to create the barrier between Earth and Faery.”
“Truly?”
“I am yours. I cannot lie to you.”
“Did you kill the prisoners in the other cells?”
“No.” A raw look of grief comes over his face. “They were friends and I miss them. Some were not strong enough to survive. Many chose to die. Starvation is agonizing, relentless, and nearly impossible to withstand. Such constant hunger never goes away. Every unfed cell within you screams until ultimately, you’re so hungry, you consider gnawing off one of your own limbs.”
Stafford and I go back and forth, mentally discussing possible outcomes if we free the angel. My mate is tough, protective, and no nonsense, but I manage to set his fears at rest. Haram’s fate is in our hands. Similarly collared, Leonidas has been a godsend. Why not this guy?
The angel shifter understands Faery, the fae, and Christ knows what else. Besides, if my demon wants him, he’ll have him. Like a dog with a bone, he won’t give Haram up.
As a fae, he can’t exist in our world. Ultimately, we decide to unlock his cell, let him roam unrestricted in the obsidian caves. But what about the others entombed down here?
All the people I dreamed of.
My mind swims with details of how to approach the current situation. Damage control, education, and counseling will be needed for those who have been “resting” for long periods of time. We can’t just wake so many out-of-time-and-place refugees and send them on their merry way. All will be human psychics—an abundance of riches that vampires and wolves might fight over. Most will have lost everyone they know, and have no clue about the modern world. Some will already be sorcerers, witches, shifters, or vampires.
No, it’s best to move slowly. We’ll consult Samara. Get our ducks in a row, so to speak. I have no friggin’ clue what lining up aquatic birds has to do with preparedness, but what the hell—the meaning is clear.
After so much time “resting” here, a little more won’t harm anyone. It will take time to prepare for the awakenings. Hawk, the indomitable First Native werewolf, is here—I know it. He’s on the top of my “wake-up first” list.
No, I can’t rouse everyone in the “resting room,” but I refuse to leave the little girl. Besides, Lilly has an appointment with Noah Greenfield at the St. John’s Hospice. It’s up to us to get her there, I refuse to disappoint him.
The plan? Rouse our friends and get the hell out of here.
“Just to clarify, Haram,” Stafford says, sword in hand. “If I let you out of your cell, you’ll still be imprisoned in these caverns, right? As fae, you can’t set foot on Earth.”
“This would be true, if I were fae.” Haram shoots us a broad grin. “Thanks to your mate’s demon, and your combined powers, I am no longer fae.”
Stafford’s brows rise in shock. “You aren’t?”
“No.” In the blink of an eye, Haram shifts back to his angel form, unfurling and extending his majestic wings. A smug look of satisfaction crosses his face as he examines the blue-black design on his feathers. “You see? I have changed.”
“You’re not fae?” I gasp with surprise.
“I am not merely fae. I’ve been transformed.” A breeze flows across our faces as he gently waves his demon-tattooed wings. “With Earth magic in my veins, your world will now accept me.”
Wide-eyed and open mouthed, Stafford and I stare at him.
Haram bows his head. “If it is your wish, Beast Lord, I shall remain here,” he murmurs respectfully. “Naturally, I would much prefer to leave this dark, empty place. My soul craves flora, fauna, fresh air, and the freedom of the skies.”
He stretches out his magnificent wings, flutters them lightly. “It has been so very long! May I please come home with you to the Magic Lands?”
Chapter 60.
At 3 P.M. the following day, we have an appointment to keep.
The attractive building is made of wood and stone. Stafford holds one of Lilly’s hands, I hold the other, as we stride past well-maintained gardens, up five steps to the entrance of St. John’s Hospice.
A hospice is a home for the terminally ill, there’s nothing amusing about it. Still, as it carries our name, I mirror Stafford’s wry smile.
The front door opens into a spacious, marble entry foyer, with comfortable leather couches, and vases of fresh flowers. Impending death magic surrounds us. I briefly shut my eyes as hot, humming pleasure runs though me. Naturally, my demon loves this place.
“Mr. and Mrs. St. John?”
“Yes,” Stafford replies. “That’s us.”
The attractive, mixed race woman greets us with an open mouth and wide eyes. Dressed in a sea-green skirt and cream blouse, her dark hair is pulled back in an elegant chignon. Her breath catches at the sight of my good-looking mate.
“How, how,” she stammers, “how do you do? My name is Joanne Whitmore.”
Yeah, she’s heterosexual, alright.
Stunned and confused, she av
erts her gaze to gather her wits. One look at the Beast Lord is the equivalent of being hit by a bus. Her reaction seems to be the new normal. Everyone my demon recently shared magic with got a blast of fae beauty. Akin to glamour, it makes us fascinating as hell. Mere humans like this woman, haven’t got a chance.
I wonder if it will wear off?
Gathering her composure, Ms. Whitmore shoots us a warm smile. Without a drop of drool, she shakes my hand, then makes the connection. “Oh! You’re Janice St. John, the psychic who helped the police find that poor woman’s body.”
“Yes.” My voice is firm, hopefully putting an end to the subject.
Taking the hint, she turns to grip Stafford’s hand. “I’m so glad you could make me—er, I mean make it,” she murmurs dreamily. “I mean, I’m glad you came to see Mr. Greenfield.”
When I realize she’s having trouble letting his hand go, I roll my eyes at Stafford.
“Fucking fae magic,” he sends. “Just wait and see how men and lesbians react around you. My beast will growl, we’ll both want to rip anything with a penis apart.”
“Really? How flattering. But not the women?”
He smiles, a glint of humor in his eyes. “Women aren’t competition.”
Glancing down at the angelic child between us, Ms. Whitmore’s face lights with a kind smile. “And you must be Lilly.”
Round-eyed, excited, but not the least bit frightened, the little girl nods. Lilly picked out a formal, long sleeve, white lacy dress to wear today, with a blue bow and sparkling blue satin shoes. She told me she needed to dress up as she hadn’t seen Noah for “such a long, long time.”
To my knowledge, she’s never seen him at all.
“Noah Greenfield’s in his bed,” Ms. Whitmore says in an appropriately somber tone. “I’m afraid he’s very ill. He’s said his goodbyes to his family yesterday, but told me he hoped to see Lilly before the end. He’s such a nice man. I’m so glad you’ve come.”
“He’s going to die today,” Lilly chirps in unexpectedly, an odd smile playing on her face. “I’m going to be there when he does.”
I struggle not to laugh. There’s no getting around this precocious child. If there’s an elephant in the room, Lilly not only chats about it nonstop, but she dashes over to pet and play with it.
“Lilly,” I say in a mildly stern voice. “We talked about this, remember? There are things we say in polite society, and there are things that are simply not said.”
Lilly frowns. “But the angel told me.”
“Shush.” My finger to my lips, I attempt to quieten her. Stafford’s eyes dance, amused by my predicament.
“I’m sorry,” Lilly says, chastised.
I run a hand down her silky, blonde hair. “It’s OK, sweetheart.”
Lilly has a common childhood ailment: she’s pathologically truthful. It’s difficult to explain to a child that what seems perfectly acceptable to them, is a big no-no in the grown-up world. With adults, often the one subject never spoken out loud is the most obvious truth.
“I’ll show you to Mr. Greenfield’s room,” Ms. Whitmore says.
Still holding Lilly’s hands, we walk through the muted halls of the hospice. My mind goes over the last two days. Stafford easily opened Haram’s prison cell. Able to create swords flying from walls, our angel made overhead lights, then led us to the “resting chamber.” At our direction, he woke Toby, Owen, John, Leonidas, and Hope. John donated blood to Leonidas, returning him to good health.
We left the way we came, after Haram used his magic to raise the boulder. We carried Paradox, his blood-bond, Taboo, Millicent, and Lilly from the caves while they were unconscious.
Paradox didn’t have a clue what happened, but he was pleased to have his blood-bond back. Leonidas told his King a reasonable story of his rescue, leaving out details, including my demon’s capture of an angel. We convinced the Vampire King that Chaos had been compelled to betray him. Despite this, I suspect the poor guy will still be adorning the walls of his gallery for a while.
Over the next few months, Stafford and I plan to wake those sleeping in the underground “resting room” starting with Hawk LeBlanc. As expected, amongst the bodies, I found the captivating werewolf there. I’m anxious to know what happened before he was stolen away.
One by one, hundreds of out-of-time psychic strangers will escape their insulated cocoons. Will they join us as werewolves? Are some vampires? Witches? Sorcerers? Maybe some are assholes we shouldn’t be waking.
Whatever. That’s a problem for another day.
For now, our angel, Haram, is our secret. Our big secret. We plan to set him free in the Magic Lands, but preparations must first be made. We don’t want shifters mistaking him for my father and attempting to hunt him down.
Stafford and I both felt like shit leaving poor Haram alone underground. With the power he had available, he incinerated his friends, scattering their ashes over the lake. He disposed of the unsightly prison cells, and created opulent living areas. We’ll visit him soon. Will we see him in our dreams?
“Right in here,” Ms. Whitmore says. “He’s expecting you.”
We walk into his room, a homelike environment filled with photos, personal mementoes, vases of flowers, birthday cards, and a few stuffed toys. I’d forgotten he’s turning ninety-six this week. Was it today?
Wanting privacy, we shut the door. Noah’s in bed, oxygen runs through nasal cannulas to his nose. Eyes shut, his breathing is labored. He looks so much worse. I thought he looked half dead when I recently met him. In a very short time, he’s wasted away.
Except for the distinct flavor of clove, camphor, and cinnamon, the room smells like death. My demon purrs, attracted to his psychic abilities. I lick my lips, enjoying the smell of Tiger Balm, and the taste of apple pie on my tongue.
“Noah,” Lilly calls out joyfully, scrambling up on to his bed. “Noah, I’m here, I’m here!”
I step closer, to pull her away in case she crawls onto his frail body, but she doesn’t. For a six-year-old, she’s surprisingly careful not to hurt him. She finds his wrinkled hand, clasps it in her small childish one.
As though with great effort, the old man slowly opens his eyes. “Lilly? Is it you?” he whispers hoarsely.
“Of course, it’s me, silly!” Her laugh sounds like tinkling bells. “Today’s your birthday!”
“I’m not dreaming?”
“No, I’m here. You’re here. It’s time to die.”
“Lilly,” Stafford growls, but his lips curve into a smile. I just shake my head.
Noah Greenfield looks at me. His body may be past it’s use-by date, but his eyes blaze with life. “Thank you for bringing her to me.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Now we can be together,” Lilly says to Noah brightly. “We’re supposed to be together. I talked to the angel about it. I’m here. Now you can throw that old body away.”
“If you say so.” Noah’s soft chuckle morphs into a hacking cough. “Ms. St. John. I have a gift for you. It’s in that top drawer.” He raises a frail finger, shakily points to a nearby dresser.
I open the drawer, pull out a small leather-bound volume, ‘Talking to an Angel.’ My lips curve, thinking just how much I like this considerate Australian man. “Thanks, Noah.”
Stafford and I drop to a couch, let Noah and Lilly chat. The book should be interesting. Maybe it’s a user’s manual for Lilly Cavanagh. I hope so. Stafford places an arm around me, I put my head on his shoulder.
There is no rush.
While waiting, I help a few ghosts cross over—no big. Confused from mind-numbing pain relief, one needed direction. The others simply wanted to tell me their stories. Simple cases, easily resolved.
The little girl, and the dying man on his deathbed, converse in low voices. Lilly does most of the talking. In her childish voice, she tells him all the places they are going to go and the things they are going to do.
Occasionally, nurses quietly enter, then leave again.
>
We stay until the sun goes down. As it does, Noah drops peacefully into sleep. He stops breathing. Shortly after, my inner wolf hears his heart’s final beat. My demon, ready for his departure, begins to feed. I shiver as a heady blast of death magic runs through me.
I watch Noah’s ghost leave his body, see him smile and wave as he moves through the doorway to wherever spirits go when they pass on. The golden energy of Heaven’s Mana falls upon us like a gentle rain.
As deaths go, his is peaceful. Lovely, really.
“Bye, Noah,” Lilly says cheerfully to his corpse, as we leave. “I’ll see you soon.”
Chapter 61.
We’re in the parking lot, walking to my car, when Stafford suddenly stops. A quick flash of wonder lights up his face. My mate’s broad, excited grin takes me by surprise.
“What is it?”
“Kalev just contacted me. He says the Oracle’s out of hibernation.”
“It’s about time! I’ve been looking forward to meeting him.”
The Oracle is an eccentric, ancient, grizzly bear shifter. His den is near the top of Coquitlam Mountain, over 5,000 feet high. When Stafford first arrived in the Magic Lands, the Oracle had already been a prophet for decades. No one has any idea of his age, but he’s considered the wisest of the wise.
I’d hoped to meet him months ago, to discuss All Souls’ Day, along with ravens, and his thoughts about countless disappearing ghosts. Unfortunately, he’d already gone into hibernation.
Stafford’s eyes gleam with excitement. “The Oracle told Kalev he’s here to witness our children’s birth tonight.”
Confused, I frown. “But they aren’t due for another two weeks.”
“The Oracle doesn’t say much, but he’s never wrong. If he predicts their arrival later this evening, our pediatrician better be ready. Let’s go.” Stafford swings Lilly up into his arms. “When a grizzly tells you to hurry home, you do.”
“Tonight?” Still processing this momentous news, I feel dazed. “This is it? Oh. My. God! I can’t believe it’s really happening. We’re having freakin’ babies!” My arms encircle both Lilly and Stafford in a hug as I speak. Letting go, still talking, I skip backwards toward the car. “So much distracting BS has been happening, we haven’t even discussed names!” I laugh out loud. “Do you think we’ll have boys or girls? Or one of each?”
