His head nodded for him. His lips formed words. He honest to God didn’t know what they would be until his ears heard them and his brain interpreted. “I’m fine. I was up all night, and it’s catching up with me.”
“Worrying about Lena, I’ll bet.”
“And the baby.”
She nodded, her face softening. She patted his hand. He looked at the contact in some surprise, because he didn’t feel as if it was his hand at all.
“Well, she’s going to be fine, I promise.”
Where is she?
“Where is she?” Ryan asked, still as if someone else was wielding a master control. A master control? Or just a master?
“It was a long night for her, too,” Selma said. “She’s soaking in a hot bath. Said she was going to take a nap when she gets out.”
Ryan’s head turned toward the stairs as Selma set a plate of food in front of him. His stomach grumbled in hunger. He told his hand to pick up the fork and was surprised when it did so.
Hunger. A basic human need that enabled him to take control, however feebly. Good thing to remember. He shoveled some food into his mouth, eager to fill his stomach while he was still able.
Go check. Make sure she’s upstairs. The master’s voice. The Master.
He decided to try to ignore the command, to try to eat a little more, just to test himself. He had a shaky grip on the reins, but they were slick and pulling against him. He ate another bite, the biggest one he could fit into his mouth, sensing he couldn’t keep control much longer. Then he eyed his coffee and managed to bring it to his lips, despite a burning pain in his arm, as if he were trying to lift a thousand pounds instead of a cup of coffee. He managed to take a sip before he lost his tenuous grip.
The cup slammed to the table so hard the contents sloshed over the side. Dammit!
But he was already rising, turning, through no will of his own, walking out of the kitchen, through the living room to the staircase.
“Ryan? You can’t possibly be full.”
“I have to check on Lena,” the Master said through Ryan’s lips.
“Well, be quiet about it, okay? Try not to wake her. She really needs to— Ryan?”
But he was already halfway up the stairs.
He went to Lena’s door, paused outside to listen.
Open it.
He didn’t want to be anywhere near Lena right now. Not with the blade tucked into the back of his jeans and the pendant burning his skin. Not when he wasn’t in control of his own body.
His hand began to rise. He forced it down again, tried to hold it at his side, but it was shaking, trembling as a force like a two-ton winch began to lift it again. He fought as long as he could, but the hand snapped up, twisted the doorknob, breaking the lock. He shoved the door open wide.
Lena wasn’t inside. Thank God.
The bathroom. Check the bathroom.
His feet moved, obeying even as his true self—his soul, maybe?—resisted. It was no use. When he tried to stop it felt like the muscles were being torn from his bones. Pain, burning, ripping pain. He tried, but he was physically unable to hold against it. Within a few seconds he was opening the bathroom door.
She wasn’t there, either.
Run, Lena, he thought. Run as far as you can. You were right not to trust me.
Go after her, the Master commanded.
I won’t.
You don’t have a choice. Or have you not realized that yet?
* * *
Lena hugged her coat around her as she picked her way through the woods, moving as quickly and silently as she could manage. Neither one was easy, given the size of her belly and the ice that coated everything around her. Every footstep crunched and crackled. Her back screamed and pulsed in pain.
The sun was beaming down, though, and the woods looked like an enchanted forest, every limb, every twig, completely encased in a layer of clear ice that sparkled in the sun. It was as if they’d been painted in liquid diamonds that had hardened on contact. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and the scent of the pines on the cold, cold air was heady.
It was Imbolc, she realized. February 2nd, one of the High Holy Days of her faith. The mundane world had co-opted only one of the day’s traditions—using nature’s signs to predict the arrival of spring—and called it Groundhog Day. The rest had been mostly forgotten. It was in fact a holiday that honored Brigit, goddess of the forge, and of the creative fire of the artist. The day was sacred to poets and musicians and writers. It was the halfway point between the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year, and the vernal equinox, when day and night were equal. It was a time of magic. A day of power.
And she could use all the power she could get today.
She kept on moving and whispered a prayer to Brigit. “Lady of the fiery forge, I call on you now to protect my child from evil and from harm.” She wished she could take out her chalice and ask it which way to turn, but she couldn’t stop long enough to do that.
Not yet.
Eventually she emerged from the woods and onto the closest main road. She’d kept to the woods until they ended and estimated she was a solid mile from her house at this point. Doc Cartwright’s place was just a few hundred yards back the other way. She could see the roof of his house, a ribbon of soft smoke wafting from the chimney.
But Doc Cartwright had been wearing one of those pendants. As had everyone in the dream. Even her own mother had worn one this morning, and then Ryan...
Oh, Ryan...
She didn’t know what the pendant meant, but she didn’t dare risk finding out. Enchanted crystals were not unheard of. Using them to turn a good person into an evil one would take magic far beyond any she’d ever heard of. But to use the crystal as an entryway into a person’s mind? That was a well-known type of manipulative magic. Dark magic. It was a form of possession, and it was strictly forbidden in the Craft of the Wise.
Could it be what was happening here? She didn’t know, but she couldn’t take the chance that it might be.
So Doc’s place was out of the question.
Sheriff Dunbar, on the other hand, lived just another mile or so down the road. If she could make it that far with this screaming pain in her back—which felt like a steel band was wrapped around her and tightening—she would be fine, she thought. She just had to get there before anyone came looking for her.
The roads were glare ice, probably still closed. No wonder there was no traffic.
And yet, no sooner had that thought crossed her mind, than she heard a deep-throated motor in the distance behind her. She didn’t dare wait to see who it was. It sounded too much like that massive black truck Ryan had bought. She scrambled into the ditch along the roadside and lay down on her side, hiding herself as well as she could, given her condition. Too late, she discovered that there was an inch or so of icy water in the bottom of the ditch. But she couldn’t move now or the driver would see her for certain.
She huddled there, terrified, as the vehicle drew closer and thought of the irony if this was Ryan. In her hazy memories of that past life, her prince had been trying to come to her rescue, racing across the desert on a mighty white stallion.
In this lifetime his “steed” was black, and he was coming to kill her. To do her in so some demonic force could take her baby.
God, I don’t want to believe that.
Their destinies were entwined, just as she had always known, but not in the way she’d expected. It made her heart ache to admit it. Damn him for refusing to love her, to be the man he’d been before and to complete this horrible cycle by saving her now as he’d been unable to save her then.
The truck rumbled past. She only saw it from behind, but it was him. Damn. He was out looking for her already. She had very little time.
As soon as the truck was out of sig
ht she climbed out of the ditch, hugging her belly against another really bad cramp and forcing herself to keep moving despite the agony. She could handle the pain. She had to.
She hurried down the road, figured she’d covered a third of the distance to the sheriff’s place, when she heard the truck coming back.
Again she lay down in the ditch, her clothes soaking up still more frigid water. And again he drove by without seeing her.
This time when she got out and stumbled onward she was shivering, despite the warm sun and climbing temperatures. This was February, and “unseasonably warm” meant hitting a high of forty, at most. At the moment it was maybe thirty-five, only a few degrees above freezing.
She kept on moving, and thankfully she didn’t hear the truck again. Finally the sheriff’s house came into view around a bend in the road. The stitch in her belly and pain in her lower back were worse, and she wanted to sit down and rest so much that she could barely stand it. But she was so close. So freaking close.
She heard an engine again, far behind her, and she began to run as best she could. If she just could get all the way around the bend, she thought, she would be out of sight for a few seconds longer and might even make it to the front door before anyone could spot her. So she poured on every ounce of power she had as the motor grew louder.
She dropped the cat, who had been remarkably compliant through everything, and pushed around the curve, her feet sending gravel flying behind her. Crisp winter air filled her lungs as she panted, air so cold it hurt. She was still shivering, but now she was damp with sweat, too, and her abdominal muscles were screaming in painful protest.
She wrapped one arm under her belly to support it, pumping the other as she ran. Her legs were trembling in exhaustion, and she wanted to sink to the ground, but she willed herself on. To the house, to the woodpile near the front door, around it and then hunching down, fast, as that big black truck came around the bend.
Safe. She was safe.
She crouched behind the woodpile, smelling the tangy essence of maple and sawdust. Peeked out between the stacked firewood and saw the truck passing by. It was moving slowly now, so slowly that she could see Ryan craning his neck to look into the ditches as he passed.
That was the only reason she’d been able to make it this far, she thought—because he’d slowed way down to search the ditches. Thank the Goddess he hadn’t thought of that before.
A creaking hinge made her turn her head sharply. Molly Dunbar, the sheriff’s wife, was standing in the doorway, holding it open and frowning at her.
Lena brought one finger to her lips and felt hot tears burning on her cold face. If Molly gave her away it was over. Please, she thought at her. Please!
Molly shifted her focus to the truck that was creeping along the road. So did Lena. She could see Ryan looking at the woman oddly.
She looked back to see what Molly would do. She was a cop’s wife—small-town, but still—it ought to be obvious that Lena was in trouble.
As Lena held her breath and spoke with her eyes, Molly Dunbar pasted a great big smile on her face, waved hello to Ryan and walked over to the woodpile. She took a log off the top, as if that had been her intent the whole time, and went back into the house without even hinting there was anything unusual going on, like a freezing, wet, pregnant neighbor hiding behind her neatly stacked firewood.
Ryan had slowed to a near stop. As the door banged behind Molly, he did stop, then looked around the place, giving Lena a chance to really see his face. She knew there was something terribly wrong with him. His face was blank. Just...empty.
And that damned pendant was dangling down his chest, gleaming in the winter sun.
Or was it the sun at all? It looked almost as if it was glowing from within.
After what seemed like forever he stepped on the gas and moved on. Lena sighed in relief and waited until she was sure he was out of sight before she got up and went to the door.
Molly was standing on the other side, waiting. She quickly pulled the door open and helped her inside. The sheriff’s wife had short dark hair and narrow blue eyes that nearly disappeared when she smiled, and she was, Lena thought, the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
“My goodness, child, what in the world is going on? You’re soaked. And freezing.”
The pain hit Lena again, and she realized at last that this wasn’t just a muscle cramp from exertion. “I think I’m in labor,” she said. “Oh, God, not now, not yet.”
“Oh, honey, these things happen in their own time. You know that. Shall I call your mother for you?”
Lena wanted nothing more than her mother right then. But the memory of that pendant hit her and she shook her head. She would call her mom later. “Molly, you have to get me out of here. You need to call your husband and have him take me to a hospital. Please, Molly. People are after me. After my baby. Please, please, you have to help me.”
Molly’s expression went from friendly worry to downright astonishment, and her comforting smile vanished. “Of course I’ll help you! All right, all right now, it’s all gonna be fine. I’m gonna call Larry right now. And Doc—”
“No.” Lena bit her lip. “No. Just the sheriff. No one else. Please, Molly.”
“All right. Okay. If that’s what you want.” She was clearly confused, but at least she didn’t argue. “Let’s get you into some dry clothes before you catch your death. How far apart are the pains, honey?”
* * *
A half hour later Lena was dressed in a warm flannel nightgown, pink with yellow flowers. It had buttons up the front, big, round, plastic ones, and it was fuzzy and soft and comforting. Over it she wore an equally snuggly plush robe, cream-colored, and on her feet, cushy pink slipper-socks infused with aloe, according to the package. Everything was brand-new. Molly had brought them to her one by one, all wrapped in pink-and-blue giftwrap with tiny rattles and baby booties all over it, and the most beautiful ribbons and bows on top.
Lena had been a little perplexed until Molly explained that they’d already been intended for her. There was to have been a surprise baby shower for her that night. But given the situation, Molly had decided that the “little mommy” should have the things now.
There were more gifts, too, from other people. Baby things, wrapped in far smaller packages, but Molly said Lena would have to wait until later for those, as she led her to the biggest, most comfy-looking chair in the living room and eased her into it. “I called Larry, while you were changing,” she said. “He’s on his way. With the roads as bad as they are, there’ve been accidents and such, but he’s not far out. And as soon as he gets here, we’re gonna bundle you into the Explorer and we’ll be off to the hospital.”
“I don’t know if there’s time,” Lena whispered between bouts of pain and pressure. “Maybe we should go now. He can meet us there.” She refused to consider how the ghost or demon or whatever it was might try to stop her from getting beyond its reach. She couldn’t think about that. Not now. This had to work. She had to get away.
Molly smiled down at her. “It’s still a good ten minutes between contractions, sweets. First babies tend to take a while, but even without that, ten minutes apart means you’ve got lots of time. Besides, he’ll be here in fifteen. That’s only one more pain, maybe two. Does everything fit all right?”
Lena lowered her eyes in sheer gratitude. “Everything’s perfect. I can’t remember ever feeling more warm and cozy. Thank you, Molly. Thank you so much.”
“Oh, it’s nothing. I’m just glad you came to me.” Molly smiled. “How lucky am I to be right by your side during this blessed event, hmm? Why, I never expected such an honor. I should be the one thanking you.” She headed to the kitchen, summoned by the whistle of a teakettle. “Be right back. By the time we finish our tea, Larry will be here and ready to rush us to the hospital—which is, I’ll remind you, only a
half hour away. Twenty minutes with lights and sirens. And I think the ice is melting enough to let us go pretty fast.” Lena heard the water pouring, the clattering of spoons against china cups. Then Molly was back and handing her prettiest china teacup and saucer, delicate white porcelain with gold trim and a pink rose on its face.
“These are gorgeous.”
“Aren’t they? They were my grandmother’s. Sip, now. It’s hot.” She took her own cup and saucer, and sat in a chair opposite Lena.
Lena sipped the tea. It was sweet and strong, and just what she needed to warm up her insides to match her outside. She watched the clock, though, jumpy and knowing she would be nervous until she was safely ensconced in the maternity ward. Another contraction started to tighten around her middle. She felt it in time to take one more drink of the soothing tea, then put the cup down on the end table before it gripped her fully.
Molly came to her, bending down to hold her hand. “Five more minutes, honey. Larry will be here in five more minutes. You’ll be fine. I promise.”
She smoothed the hair away from Lena’s forehead, and Lena squeezed her eyes tight and let the pain move through her like a wave, stronger, stronger, peaking, then easing back. As she relaxed again, her eyes still closed, she felt the teacup being held to her lips and took a long, grateful drink. So good.
As Molly took the cup away, Lena opened her eyes and sent the woman a grateful smile. “Five more minutes?” she asked.
Molly nodded. “Mmm-hmm. Now, finish your tea. It’s my own blend.”
“It’s so good I might want another. You have to give my mom the recipe. It’s very soothing,” Lena said as Molly handed her the cup again.
“I’m just going to clear the kitchen while you drink, all right, hon?” Molly said.
Lena nodded and drained the cup as Molly headed toward the kitchen.
Water ran, dishes clattered. Aching, tired, even dizzy now, Lena suddenly realized she desperately needed to use the bathroom. The downstairs bathroom was right across the hall. Molly was busy in the kitchen, but surely she could manage such a short distance on her own. She’d made it here, after all.
Daughter of the Spellcaster Page 27
