“You bastard!” We screamed. Rage turned to fury, our wrath and revulsion forming the power and using it to separate ourselves from the malevolent entity. It clung to us, trying to keep us from separating. It had lost its net. Its foothold. It didn’t want to lose us too.
“No!” We bellowed over and over. We would not betray her memory. We would not become an agent of pain. We stopped feeling rage and became it. We blended with it like we had blended with each other. We would not join with this abomination and we wouldn’t let it use us to destroy who and what we were. Instead of expanding, our heat contracted. A ball of molten emotion, denying entrance.
We found ourselves a superheated core surrounded by the frozen wasteland of the Great Silence. And we knew we had a few precious moments to keep the monster from taking control. From locking us into this form.
We let the anger deepen and grow, let the revulsion of being used overpower the repugnance of having been so entwined with the wretched thing. Allowing us to expand, boil over. Radiate outward. Our being amplified, pushing Tosd Mor out. A battle of emotions. But our emotion was pristine and potent in its ferocity, overpowering Tosd Mor’s ancient smoldering resentment. It couldn’t stand against us.
Still, it tried. Grasping for any hold, and finding some purchase.
We wouldn’t allow it. Couldn’t allow it. We would lose this game of push me, pull me. We also knew we would win if we detonated. Blew up. We probably wouldn’t survive, but we would destroy ourselves entirely before letting it have us.
We screamed, making ourselves bigger than we imagined we could be. And then we shrieked, holding onto the pain. Using it to know that we were moving in the right direction, our volcanic core finally burst, we separated, and I shattered.
Chapter Fifty-six
I was in the hospital, again. The reporters had tried to follow me in, but the hospital staff shooed them from the building. Bless ER nurses. They’re a strong, tough, brilliant bunch and I counted myself among those who wouldn’t want to mess with them.
I lay upon the bed, fully clothed, a white curtain separating us from the sight, if not the sound, of other people in other beds. I wondered why the curtains here were white and others I’d seen were purple or green or blue. And then I wondered why I hadn’t noticed it before. Dear gods, I’d seen enough hospitals.
I hurt everywhere. My skin stung, like little paper cuts all over my body. Underlying that, an ache suggested I had spent the last two hours lifting weights until my muscles shook and gave out. I sat on the bed, my head hanging and my arms limp at my sides. Miriam stood close by.
“Can I get you anything?” Miriam asked.
“Coffee. Please.” I was almost too tired to speak.
She left and returned quickly with a blessed cup. It was probably against the rules, but they’d have to pry the cup from my cold, dead hands. Unfortunately, this possibility seemed to be more and more likely. I inhaled the scent before I took a drink. At least it didn’t hurt to swallow.
“So, now that I’ve got coffee on board, what did you see?” I asked Miriam. She had stepped into the alternate realm after I’d asked her to. It was more than likely the pain I was feeling was psychically based, not physical.
She turned a bit green.
“That can’t be good,” I said with more levity than I felt.
She tried to smile at me, but it looked more like she was baring her teeth.
I sobered. “Give it to me.”
“You’re a bit beat up.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Define beat up.”
“Bruised. Black and blue. Appears to be abrasions and split skin as if . . .” She swallowed hard.
“As if?”
“As if something were trying to burst out of you. From the inside.”
I closed my eyes and sighed. Part of me wanted to cry, but the tears weren’t close. Thank the gods. I’d spent far too much time crying. But helheim, I was too tired for this shit. I took another drink of coffee and looked up at Miriam. She’d gone quiet, her hands clenched at her side, and her body rigid. She was terrified.
“What is it?” I said.
“Isn’t that enough?”
I cocked my head at her. I’d known her far too long to fall for that flimsy diversion. “We’ve seen some pretty bad psychic wounds in our day, and even though these hurt like hell and I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck, I can tell these aren’t bad enough to warrant the amount of fear you’re feeling. On top of that, Linda Colt, that psychic healer friend of Randy’s, can help.”
She went still, as if movement would draw unwanted attention, and met my eyes.
“Okay. Now you’re scaring me.”
She nodded.
“What in helheim is it?”
“That thing. That black thing.”
“Tosd Mor,” I said.
“Tosd what?”
“It called itself things from our religious creation stories. Tosd Mor means the great silence, the opposite of the Celtic song of creation.”
“Tosd Mor.” She shuddered. “It went into you. I saw it.”
I nodded. “I pushed it out. Urd told me how.”
“Uh . . .”
I crooked another eyebrow and made a go-on gesture.
“There are pieces that are still there.”
Full stop. The cup was partially to my lips and I knew I looked like I’d just met a gorgon’s gaze. My heart stuttered, and I lowered the cup. I tilted my head. “I don’t think I understand.”
“Pieces of that thing. Small pieces. They’re not everywhere. But they’re there. Still inside you.”
Tears did not spring to my eyes. I think I was just too damned tired to feel much more of anything. I raised a finger to Miriam, like I’d started doing when I wanted to talk to Urd and not be distracted.
She furrowed her brow. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to consult Urd.”
“But . . . she’s not with you anymore.”
“Of course she is. Our bargain isn’t complete.”
Miriam shook her head.
“Oh, hellheim.” My voice was barely a whisper. I cleared my throat and continued. “I must have pushed her out when I pushed out Tosd Mor.”
It was Miriam’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “That would take some serious power. More than you’ve ever had before.”
She was right. And I wasn’t completely comfortable with it. But first, I had to make sure Urd was okay. I let Miriam know I had to check on her, brought to life the image of the Well of Destiny, and turned.
Norns three, come to me
Wounded one of you may be
Three Norns appeared before me. They materialized in front of me instead of walking from the mist. I sighed in relief. Urd was there and she looked unhurt. Still, I needed to make sure.
“Are you wounded?”
“I am whole. But, it was an unpleasant experience.”
“Thank the gods you’re okay.” I closed my eyes, raised my face to the sky, and calmed my breathing.
“You were concerned for my welfare.”
“Yes. I thought . . . well, I don’t know what I thought. I panicked. Thank the gods you’re okay.”
She smiled and looked as if she’d laugh. I was sure it was my turn of phrase. I had just thanked her that she herself was okay. She schooled her features. “When you evicted Tosd Mor, I, too, was pushed from you.”
“Yeah, about that. I shouldn’t be able to do that, should I?”
She chuckled. “Not in your original state.”
I tilted my head and tried, unsuccessfully, to calm my heart. For the love of the gods, what now? I really couldn’t take much more. But, masochist that I was, I had to ask. “Have I changed?”
“When we became one fighting off Tosd Mor, you inherited some of my power.”
“Just power?”
“You may have gained some of my abilities. I was not as careful as I should have been when I blended with you.”
“What might tho
se be?”
“We must wait and see.”
Certainly now, the tears would arrive, and the panic would kick up a notch. Instead a calm descended on me. It was more like a separation than a calm and felt only a bit like the shock I’d felt when Rick was killed. It had all the emotional separation with none of the mental slowness. Perhaps I was maturing emotionally. Yeah, right.
“I believe time remains in our agreement.” Urd’s voice brought me from my reverie and I nodded at her.
She nodded and faded from view. A familiar sense tingled through my body and I knew she had rejoined me. Why can I now feel you there?
I felt her smile, but she didn’t answer me. It reminded me of Daniel’s yes-ma’ams, but I slammed the door on that thought. I wasn’t going to risk any more emotional turmoil. If my emotions decided to reappear, I couldn’t add the ache of his empty room to everything else I would feel.
So, Miriam mentioned that pieces of Tosd Mor remain inside me.
Yes.
What . . . How . . . Will they hurt me, or influence me, or helheim, do anything to me?
They are currently dormant. We do not foresee them activating soon.
How will I know if they do?
She tilted her head as if she were considering the answers.
There are several signs. We can speak at length of them.
I nodded. Now wasn’t the time, but it would have to be soon. Ready to go back?
Yes.
I returned to the mundane world, opened my eyes, and looked at Miriam. “She’s okay.”
“Good to know. What happened?”
“When I forced out Tosd Mor, I forced her out too.”
Miriam went still again. I nodded, knowing that she had concluded my power had significantly increased. A fact I had been too slow to understand. A friendship that had lasted as long as ours had brought with it some perks.
Before I could update her on what I’d learned from Urd, Dr. Fernandez, a tall, dark-haired woman, pushed the curtain back, bringing with her the smell of antibiotic soap. She’d stopped in earlier, asked me a few questions, recommended a CT scan and some tests, and moved quickly on to her next patient.
“What’s the prognosis?” I asked.
“Very good. The scan doesn’t show any abnormalities and your blood work is normal. We can’t find anything wrong with you,” she said. “Are you still in pain?”
I nodded.
“And you said”—she flipped a few pages on the clipboard—“that it’s not localized. That it’s everywhere.”
I nodded again.
She pursed her lips and tapped a pen against them. “Have you had any issues like this in the past?”
“No.”
“It would be a good idea to admit you. Run some additional tests.”
I smiled. Well, it was more like I pressed my lips together in an effort to smile. If I was too tired to do that, there was no way I’d negotiate with any tact, so I decided to simply decline.
She pursed her lips harder than she had before, turning a stern look on me.
I was too tired and emotionally exhausted to laugh. I’d dealt with people a whole lot scarier than her, even with her sharp features and six-foot frame. It was a good thing too. I didn’t think she’d take too kindly to my mirth. Instead, I met her eyes and let the silence stretch between us.
“Fine then. We’ll process your discharge.” She stalked away.
* * * * * * *
I felt a bit better after a night’s sleep and some help from Linda Colt. It turns out she made house calls. The day got even better when Mr. Wesley called me and let me know that the case had been dropped; Mr. Bradley’s next of kin had decided not to proceed.
Chapter Fifty-seven
After several days of well-deserved rest, I tracked down Bruce Weston, the CEO Mr. Bradley’s employee spoke about. I tried to contact Mr. Weston by phone and left multiple messages, but when he didn’t return them, I took the opportunity to travel to San Diego and visit him.
The reporters continued to be obnoxious, but they stopped following me after the woman I’d hired as a media relations manager, Angie White, got involved, so traveling was easy. Angie was negotiating an agreement with one of the networks. It looked like I might have five interviews over the course of five days featuring deities from multiple pantheons.
Daniel had called me briefly to congratulate me on the “victory,” and I asked him how Suzanne was getting along. The conversation was stilted, and I stopped myself more than once from asking him when he might be in town again. I needed to let this one go, but damn, I really missed him. I even missed the damn towels he’d leave around the house.
Coronado was a short drive and a bridge away from my hotel in San Diego. Each mansion on the island had an ocean view, which meant that street-side, I could only see slivers of ocean between posh facades. I’d never be able to afford a place on the island in a million years.
I passed Mr. Weston’s home twice before I found it and parked in the driveway. The rental car looked terribly out of place, a subcompact that would probably fit inside one of the bedrooms of the place.
I knocked on the front door and a man of about fifty-five answered. He had short cropped brown hair shot through with gray. He was clean-shaven, tan, and healthy. That is, he looked healthy until I got a closer look. His eyes were sunken, and he had the cheeks to match. Stress does ugly things to a person.
I wore the only skirt suit I owned. If I looked professional, I reasoned, I had a shot at talking with him instead of having a door shut in my face. Still, the suit was off-the-rack Dillards, and I suddenly realized that I wouldn’t fool anyone with a lick of fashion sense, especially in this neighborhood. Still, I barreled on.
“Is Mr. Weston available?” I said.
I thought that he’d avoid the question, or at a minimum, sidestep it. Instead, he tilted his head as if he wondered who I was and said, “I am he.”
I chose quickly to meet his candor with my own. “Mr. Weston, I’ve come to inform you Michael Bradley passed away.”
A stricken look crossed his face and he took a few steps backward as if he’d lost his balance.
“Are you okay?” I stepped through the door and held out my hand as if I could keep him from collapsing. He righted himself without my help, but pushed a hand against the wall as if he needed it for support.
“He can’t be dead.” His eyes widened, and a look of confusion crossed his face.
“It is my understanding Mr. Bradley may have done something to your family.”
He shook his head up and down and clenched his fists.
“And you haven’t been able to talk about it.”
“How do you know this?” He blurted.
I answered the question he hadn’t asked. “You can talk about it now.”
“But, we won’t get the pills. My wife . . . my daughter . . .” He trailed off as if he didn’t want to say the words “will die.”
“Maybe I can help,” I said, “I’ve removed spells he’d placed on his wife and his employees.”
He nodded and stepped aside, inviting me into his home.
The spell Mr. Bradley put on Mr. Weston’s wife and daughter made me want to throw up. They must have felt like they were on a medieval torture device when he placed it on them. Mr. Bradley had bored a hole in their spiritual selves and kept the wound from healing. There was a second spell that kept energy and vitality from leaking. Without it, they would have died in just over a month. The second spell, the one that kept them from wasting away, degraded quickly and had to be replenished daily by a magically imbued pill. The pills were provided by Mr. Bradley monthly. If the story got out about the little girl who accidentally ingested the pills meant for the neighbor’s dog, Mr. Weston wouldn’t get any pills that month, whether or not the leak came from him.
I came back to the mundane realm, rubbed my neck, and took a large gulp of tepid coffee. Mrs. Weston and her daughter sat across from me and rubbed at their sides as if t
hey could feel where I’d worked my magic. I had weaved a spell to keep their energy inside and placed it against the wounds in stages as I peeled the other spells from them. Their psychic wounds would heal over time and my spell would degrade over time.
I sat back, weary from the effort, and took another drink. “You should be back to normal inside of a month. If you have any issues at all, please call me.” I handed her my card.
“So, we won’t have to take the medication anymore?” Mrs. Weston said, setting the card down on the coffee table.
I nodded.
“And we won’t feel horrible when we don’t?”
“Correct.”
“But none of the doctors could figure out what was wrong with us or why the pills helped. They were just sugar pills. But when we stopped taking them, we ended up in the hospital. The doctors were finally convinced the symptoms were real after . . .” She picked up her daughter’s hand and kissed it, sadness and worry blooming and then fading away. “Well, they realized we weren’t faking it.”
“There wasn’t anything physically wrong with either of you. I know all of this can be hard to believe, but you’ve experienced a compulsion spell firsthand.”
“You mean what kept us from talking about it?”
I nodded again.
“I’m sorry, I know you’ve helped us. I mean we can talk about it now, but I have to ask. What do you want from us?”
I cocked my head at her. “Want from you?”
“Why are you helping us? You could have forced us to do anything: supplied us with the pills like Mr. Bradley had, but made a significant amount of money in the process.”
“I’m . . . I guess I’m cleaning up after Mr. Bradley.”
“But, why?”
“I . . .” I had to think about it. I hadn’t even considered why I’d decided to find Mr. Weston and his family. It had just felt like a loose string that brushed against my skin. Something that wouldn’t leave me alone. The air in the Weston’s home charged for a moment and the Fates sighed through my consciousness; I couldn’t see them, but I could sense they were smiling and nodding in approval. I smiled back and mentally tipped my hat to them; it looked like we’d somehow developed a tenuous respect for each other. They might almost have gotten me killed, but having Urd in my head had given me new respect for the delicate line they walked. And perhaps her time with me had lent them a bit of insight on things from my side of reality.
Power Play (Amanda Byrne Book 1) Page 33
