Yet he did not point a finger and shout J'accuse.
He walked forward, a grim expression on the features she had thought so handsome. She waited for his mouth to open, for him to shout at her, curse her for costing him his life.
Instead, he spoke softly, even in the dream the words were almost lost as soon as they passed his lips. But Gabrielle heard them.
Continue to love.
Nothing ominous like Beware the dark veil. Just a simple suggestion of hope. She took comfort. Gabrielle knew she was not in contact with Tanner, knew his presence was not with her, but she also realized that in the brief time she had known him he had imparted a message. Her brain had captured that vibration and held onto it, interpreting it now to offer it back.
She woke up weeping. Her head, against the pillow, felt heavy, and tears slid across her face in soft, tickling streaks. She let the moisture ooze from her eyes for a while before sitting up and wiping at it with the sleeve of her borrowed gown.
She found Katrina sitting beside Heaven's bed.
Katrina's husband had taken the kids out to keep the house quiet, and she was reading as Heaven dozed, apparently peacefully. She lifted her index finger to her lips as Gab eased the door farther open. With exaggerated facial gestures and nods they communicated briefly, and Gab learned her daughter had been dozing for a while without any sign of disturbance. That was a relief. The child needed rest, for rest would help her recuperate or prepare for the next onslaught.
As Gab peered over at Heaven, she thought about the dream message. She would continue to love Heaven always, but was that what the dream had meant?
Perhaps it was a warning not to give in to hatred in spite of the anger simmering inside her. She had endured all of this for no reason other than some idiot's anger, yet she could not let hatred consume her. To give in to it was to be irrational, and she needed her wits, her courage.
Walking over, she knelt beside Katrina, squeezing her friend's forearm. Katrina smiled down and patted Gab's hand. Then, closing her eyes, she nodded in reassurance that things were going to be all right.
Gab prayed it was so.
At Simon's command, Althea turned her car into the driveway which wound around behind Martin's house. She recognized the neighborhood, and wondered what she might do to attract attention. A Lincoln was parked under the house's carport, and she thought about ramming it.
The sound would be minimal, as would the result, and might do no more than raise Simon's ire. She shoved the gearshift into PARK after braking to a stop.
"A wise decision," Simon said, letting her know he had detected her dilemma, either by clues from her movements or by reading her thoughts.
She kept looking straight ahead without responding. Laughing, Simon got out and took his staff and a package from the back seat, where he had placed them earlier. Then he walked around to Althea's door and opened it with a gallant sweep of his arm.
She slid from behind the wheel without looking at him, and Simon tucked the package under his arm and pressed the fingers of his free hand against the small of her back to usher her toward the house.
A chill seemed to emanate from his hand and course into her body. She wanted to shudder at his touch, but not wanting to allow him the satisfaction of feeling ripples of fear jar through her, she contained herself, preventing the discomfort from showing.
Without hesitating, Simon opened the house's rear door and showed her inside. Immediately the dwelling's smell touched Althea's nostrils, that distinctive, individual smell each home has for an outsider. It was tinged with a hint of potpourri, evidently left behind by a conscientious maid, but somewhere within the scent she also detected something familiar.
Danube's face flickered into her mind.
Smell triggers memory and mind pictures, she told herself. She must be picking up the scent of his clothing and. He had been through there, recently, because scents like that do not linger. She quickly turned her thoughts to something else so Simon's reading of her thoughts would not be valid.
Somewhere inside, however, she felt a shimmering flicker and realized that it was that dying pilot light of hope being rekindled.
They walked over to a narrow doorway which opened onto a stairway. She wondered how someone maintained a basement in Louisiana, with the water table and the lowlands, but she had no time to ask questions before he urged her downward.
Danube looked up when he heard the footsteps, and he saw Simon at about the same moment the magician set eyes on him. The magician smiled first.
"So you've found my playground."
Danube didn't speak. He just stood near the platform and nodded a brief greeting to Althea.
She nodded back even as Simon's fingers bit into her upper arm, jerking her across the first landing and down the steps.
"You almost burned this place up," Simon said when he reached the floor. "You bluffed the demon."
“It wasn't totally a bluff," Danube said.
“Who are you? What kind of spells do you use?"
"I am no sorcerer," Danube replied. '
"So you aren't a white magician? That's what I thought at first. But you're a man with a mission. That's why you've been such a pain."
"Someone has to stop you. You are very dangerous."
"Very powerful."
“The time has come to call a halt. You have toyed with enough lives, done enough damage."
"Don't get in my way. I'm not finished. A sorcerer must peer into the face of death to find true greatness. I will not quit. Not until I accomplish what I want."
"Everyone who has used The Red Book has died. Is that what you want? To kill yourself?"
A look of surprise crossed Simon's face. "So you know about the book."
"I have known others who tried to use it. It has left a path of pain and hardship everywhere it has been, throughout history."
"Because people didn't know which spells to try or how to deal with what they acquired. I'm always careful."
Danube held up the helm. "You think this is all you need?"
"I have taken other precautions. Now I have other matters to attend to." He released Althea's arm and took a step toward Danube to reclaim his helm.
Martin moved forward, stepping between Danube and Simon. He raised a hand to halt the dark magician's progress. "Your sorcery has gone far enough," he said. "It has served its purpose. I want you to stop."
A laugh burst from the magician's lips. "It may have served your purpose, but my work is not complete," he said.
"Dammit, people have suffered enough. I was crazy to let you go on with all this. It's over. The little girl has been through enough."
"I need her. The more impressionable a person is, the more open that one will be to sorcery."
"Drop it."
Simon formed his next word carefully, his lips exaggerating the syllable: "No."
Martin clenched his hand into a fist, pounding the air. "Dammit, back off. It's finished. I brought you into this, now I'm telling you to stop. Collect your pay."
Again Simon laughed. "I don't want your money anymore, Martin. This is more important than money. "
" I'll give you more money. You can get out of town. Play your games somewhere else."
"Sorry, Martin. I've come too far. Things are in motion. I've made promises. I've worked a lifetime to get to this point. It's ridiculous that you suggest I just stop." His eyes widened, and there was a far-off look in them, the look of madness.
He raised his hand in the air, snapping his fingers. "Snap, snap, and all my efforts are gone? That won't do, Martin. Sorry."
He stepped forward, placing his slender right hand on the businessman's shoulder. For a moment, Martin glared at him, but then he jerked back, one hand rising to his chest as a shudder began to wrack him.
Danube moved toward him, but before he could reach Martin, the businessman spun around. His face was a fiery red, his eyes were rolling back in his head, and his teeth clenched, sending hard ripples went through his
jaws.
Frozen in place, Danube watched as flame shot up through Martin's scalp, as if a volcano were erupting inside his skull. The bright orange cylinder of fire extended above his head several inches, then seemed to peel apart and lick its way back down his body.
His screams were lost in the sudden roar of the flames that ate away at him, enveloping him, consuming him.
Danube raised an arm in front of his eyes to shut out the glare of the sudden, searing light. He felt the heat, and the smell of sizzling flesh burned his nostrils and throat.
Simon's laughter punctuated the event, echoing through the confined basement space. Slowly the flame dissipated, flickering around the charred ruin of Martin's body. In an instant all crumbled to ash, a small black pile on the concrete floor.
"You've heard of spontaneous human combustion?" Simon asked.
Danube looked down at the smoldering pile. Thin white wisps of smoke curled up from black ashes, but the flame and the heat were gone.
"You are indeed powerful," he said. "What more do you want than this?"
"Do you have to wonder?"
"There is no absolute power. You cannot hope to achieve it."
"I can if the interference will stop. I can become a god."
"You deal with created beings, spirits that cannot bestow that power even though they promise it."
"You are rooted in theology. Weep with your gray-haired old God, but stand aside so I may reach the spirits who will grant me what I desire."
Simon raised a hand, and in an instant Danube could not move. Pain seized him, slicing through his muscles, sinking into his abdomen. He twisted about and crumpled to his knees, the helm slipping from his fingers to clatter to the hard stone floor. Involuntarily Danube wrapped his arms around himself, clutching at the ache which blasted through him. He felt as if his intestines were being ripped apart.
Then, while he doubled over, he saw the tiny green feet approach. He felt something tangle in his hair, and his head was jerked up, forcing him to look into the snarling features of one of the Gnelfs.
"Greetingsss," the dwarflike creature hissed through a broad grin. Then he slammed his fist into Danube's face.
The red-haired man reeled as his head was jerked to one side. He heard Simon's footsteps and, through squinting eyes, saw the magician squat beside the helmet.
Realizing he was in Danube's line of vision, Simon smiled, then scooped up the metal hat and gave a curt nod. Danube felt small, coarse hands close on him while Simon's footsteps drew away.
Some lumber and a nail gun left over from the platform’s construction lay against one wall, and a couple of the little creatures scurried over and seized boards, dragging them back toward Danube.
He gritted his teeth against the pain even as he watched Simon fit the helmet over his head and take Althea's arm. Guiding her gently up the steps of the platform, the mage opened his book.
She looked down in horror at the scene before her, but she didn't resist Simon. She could not escape him.
As Simon softly began to mumble an incantation, the Gnelfs stuck two boards together and hammered a nail through the crosspiece, creating a makeshift crucifix.
Then, leaning the cross in an inverted position against the platform, they nailed it into place. They had gained complete' existence in the physical realm.
The pain in Danube's abdomen continued to eat away at him, making it impossible for him to resist. Simon had imbedded a spirit of pain in him, and it had snared his body with its fierce claws.
Pausing from his incantation, Simon looked over the rail of the platform. "Are you frightened, holy man?"
Danube gave no answer. He wanted to warn Althea to run, to urge her to fight at any cost, but he could not form words.
Then he felt the cord of the nail gun being wrapped around his ankles. His eyes were beginning to cloud over, but he did not lose consciousness as they hoisted him upward.
Above him, he could hear Simon's mutterings, and he knew the mage was casting a spell which would give him control of Althea. Unaware, she was waiting for the right moment to run. Danube wanted to warn her that she would not be able to resist at all if she did not try to do so now, but he could not speak.
The nail gun hung down beside him, dangling from the slack that remained in the line. Blood was rushing into his face, but he tried to grasp the tool. Before he could clench his fingers around its handle, however, his wrists were seized by the tiny Gnelfs. He could not summon enough strength to struggle against them as they pressed his hands into place.
Then, the greasy, snarling thing that seemed to be their leader picked up the gun and pressed it against Danube's left palm.
"Remind you of anything?" he asked, and, with a tittering laugh, he squeezed the trigger, driving sharp metal through Danube's palm with a single pop of the instrument.
A scream escaped the red-haired man's lips as the shaft forced through flesh, muscle, and tendons, partially protruding from his palm and from the board behind it.
A red wave seemed to seep down over his eyes, and while he was aware of blood seeping around the wound, he concentrated on shutting out pain. Tears formed in his eyes, but he squeezed them shut. As he did he remembered the street on that day so long ago, the day the gentle man had walked that path, the rough-hewn board balanced painfully across his shoulders. He had been tortured with the whip, battered until his flesh was a pulpy mass. The crown had been forced down on his skull, ripping open his scalp so that trickles of blood trailed down through his hair, staining his face as he moved toward…
Golgotha.
They were stringing him up as a parody of it all, teasing him because they knew how long he had sought to reconcile his feelings about the innocent's sacrifice.
He heard their laughter, knew it was meant for him. Then the warm spray of spit spattered onto his cheek.
He tried to shut it all out as they lifted his other hand, flattening it against the board.
He did not cry out as the next nail was driven into place. The pain inside him consumed almost all of his feeling, and the agony of failure echoed through his brain even as memories of jeers and shouts and the cursed jingle of silver ricocheted through his brain.
Althea wanted to scream as she realized what they were doing, but she forced the sound to stay inside her, biting her lips to prevent even a whimper.
While one hand encircled her forearm, Simon was not paying attention to her, not at the moment anyway. He had set a fresh fire in the brazier and was stirring the flame with a short poker while he chanted bizarre words.
Then, without warning, his hand shot up to her face, twisting her chin so that she was looking into his eyes.
The flames flickered in his pupils, and before she could avert her gaze, she felt herself being mesmerized.
"Spirit of the flame, seal my bond to this woman," Simon whispered. "Engender her to do my will."
She heard the words, but they were far away, as if her consciousness had somehow been sealed deep inside her brain.
Her thoughts were tied into Simon's, and gradually her consciousness gave way to his. She could not resist, could not struggle against him any further.
He fell silent, and as the fire blazed, its brightness flickering across his features, he smiled grimly. "You will struggle no more?"
She shook her head.
"You will take me to the girl?"
She nodded.
"It will be easier. They'll let you in. I won't have to expend the energy of breaking in and handling their struggles against me."
Althea just stared at him blankly. He took her arm and guided her gently down the platform. The Gnelfs had disappeared again, leaving Danube's unconscious form dangling on the cross.
Chapter 21
After she had dressed in a pair of slacks and a lightweight sweater set off by a soft scarf, Gabrielle joined Katrina in the living room. The house seemed pleasant, quiet. It gave her a feeling of security. She wasn't sure why, but she felt isolated from the m
adness here, perhaps because it was a home. Katrina's marriage had worked out, and this house was like a fortress, not a rented, temporary place.
As she sat across from Katrina, she used her hand to try to straighten her hair, which she knew was growing frizzy from lack of attention. Maybe there would be time soon to attempt to put herself back together. If Danube could succeed in shutting down the magical assaults, sanity would be restored.
The soft flutter of the rain against the windows was at last soothing instead of threatening. Gab sat in a chair by the window, pulling her legs up in front of her and hugging them with her arms.
When she had been a child, rain had been dreaded, depressing, a sign that she would be confined within the walls of the house. Today it was a bromide. She let her head fall against the back of the chair as she watched drops clinging to the glass.
A feeling akin to complacency settled over her. She felt relieved, even with her home burned down and all of her belongings gone. Heaven was resting, and they were both alive.
That might not be all that she could hope for, but it was a starting point. They would put their lives back together. She would get things back on track at work.
She would have to let Althea work with Heaven. Healing the wounds and working away the scar tissue would take time, but the climb out of this would be possible.
The rustle in the hallway made her look up, and she saw Katrina entering the room, two mugs of coffee in hand.
"I thought you were keeping a vigil," Gab said. "She's sleeping, and I figured I'd better check on my other patient."
Gab accepted her cup. "So I'm under your care also.”
“Yep. I'm keeping an eye on you too."
"I've just been sitting here trying to think of what I want to do with my life. Maybe I should go somewhere else."
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