by Cat Adams
When Creede finally reached the door, he shouted something to Bruno, who raised his arms and steadied his stance. With an apparent massive effort, he threw power forward, and I nearly fell over under the assault of energy. I dropped to my knees, trickier than it sounds while staying carefully in the circle. I sat on my heels and put my palms flat on the floor to stay steady.
I closed my eyes and tried not to think about the smell of burning wood and hair that surrounded me, or the intense pressure and pain all along one side of my body. All I could think was, Please don’t destroy my house.
When the release came it was like slamming a door against a hurricane. The sudden silence and absence of wind topples you. I fell backward, and although I tried desperately to correct myself, I was going to break the circle. Shit!
But then strong arms grabbed me and I found myself in Bruno’s lap, looking up at his relieved face. His lips moved, but like in a B-grade kung fu movie the sounds reached my brain a few seconds after they left his mouth: “That was a close one.”
Full sound returned with a pop, and I could hear the wind whistling through the doorway and the hum-tick of my Kit-Cat Klock on the wall. “What happened?” My voice was breathy, which was pretty much how I felt—weightless, breathless. My heart was beating out a healthy dose of panic. “Is everyone okay?”
He gave my arm a gentle squeeze. “You gave me a scare, woman. If you’d broken that circle we’d be picking up pieces of your house in downtown L.A.”
I looked around. The house looked fine, but Creede looked a little crisp around the edges. He was on his knees at the doorway, hands on his thighs, relearning how to breathe. He looked past me in Bruno’s arms to the other man’s eyes. “We’re going to have to find some way to shore up that barrier. We didn’t craft it to handle anything like this. This circle just barely held it until I could get an edge out the door to release it, and I don’t think she was really trying. Do the identification spells give any hint of what we’re dealing with?”
I didn’t have to ask what barrier. They’d apparently decided it was a foregone conclusion I’d be sounding the horn to close the rift. Bruno nodded and reluctantly eased me off his lap until I was sitting on the floor. He spun on his butt and looked at the circle, no longer chalk but a charred mess that was still smoking. Aww, man—my hardwood!
He stared at the symbols as if reading a report. “The spell’s definitely on the horn. Never seen anything quite like it. See what you think, John.”
Wow … working together. Creede got slowly to his feet, pushing off the doorjamb with that same deep weariness he’d shown at the prison. He shook his head repeatedly and blinked as though dazed. When he got close, he squatted down and stared where Bruno was pointing. I took a second to tug on both of their pant legs. “Thanks, guys. I think it might have been ugly if anyone with less skill had been casting. Sorry I keep being so much trouble.”
Bruno reached out to squeeze my hand with a smile and Creede gently ruffled my hair with a wink and said, “You’re like skydiving with only a backup chute, Celia. Once you survive, the rush makes you want to go back and try again.”
I heard Dawna’s voice from the kitchen door: “Is everyone alive out there?”
Bruno laughed. “Barely. But yeah—the coast is clear. C’mon back and we can talk this out.”
Dr. Sloan was the first one out and swept past me to kneel on the floor next to the circle. The horn was still in the middle of the ring and he picked it up with absolute awe on his face. “Amazing. And yet neither of you found any indication of power when you examined it. What about now?” He handed it to the closest mage, which happened to be Creede. “Did blowing it activate anything?”
Creede held it in one hand and waved his other over the shell. He shook his head. “Not a damned thing. I’d swear on my grandmother’s grave this is not an artifact.”
Sloan sprang to his feet with more grace than I would have given him credit for. “What about the other one? The king conch?”
It was still on the mantel in its usual place of honor. I pointed and Sloan brought it and almost shoved it into my hands; his eyes were bright and excited. “Try to blow it. Does it make any sound now that the other one is close?”
I pointed to the still-smoking circle in my floor. “How about we move this outside? I still have to live here when this is over.” And it was my fault, since I knew full well it had cracked the windshield. I handed the king conch back to Sloan. As he took it, he grabbed my other hand and pulled me toward him. Sloan and propriety have issues.
“Fascinating! Have you noticed the death mark darkens after a near-fatal event?”
It does? I stared at my bare palm and realized he was right. After the exorcism, the mark had faded into the background. I barely knew it was there anymore. But now it was like a fresh scar, the pink after a scab is removed.
Soon my palm was lifted awkwardly so everyone could see. Creede was the first to speak: “Was that the hand you were holding the horn with?”
I thought and then shook my head. “Nope. This one was just loose at my side.” I tipped my head in amendment. “At least until I had to catch my balance on the floor. Then it was on the floor.”
Bruno said, “That’s when the floor started to smoke!”
Oh, great. That was just what I needed to hear. I knew the death mark couldn’t be removed without killing me, but if the mark itself could be used to burn down a house around me … that was bad.
But Creede shook his head. “Yeah, but the circle was already going wrong. We’ve got two different events going on.”
“Those are Atlantean.” Adriana was standing over all of us squatting and sitting people. She was staring at the four new marks that had appeared on the floor inside the twin circles. “They spell Eris. Just like in the horns.”
Dr. Sloan turned my conch into the light and his bushy gray brows rose until they looked like caterpillars crawling across his forehead. “You’re right! But did the spell identify the horn Ms. Graves was blowing or the name of the spell caster … or was Eris the caster?”
Adriana shook her head. “Eris was queen of Atlantis. Siren queens can never be mages. They can have no other gifts.” The pain in Adriana’s face was sudden but very real. But her pride was too much for me to offer sympathy. Maybe someday, in private. But not here in a crowd. “She would have had priests, though, and many of them would be mages.”
Creede pointed at the new marks. “My spell was to learn the name of the spell, not the caster or owner of the horn. So I have to presume the name of the spell is Eris. Likely something crafted for a single event—which, of course, this was. The problem is—”
Bruno completed the thought. “There’s no such spell on the books. So there’s no way to re-create it or counter it. The spell could do anything. It could close the rift, open it, or destroy the world. We just don’t know without activating it and letting it run its course.”
I pointed to the smoking circle. “We didn’t just let it run its course?”
They both shook their heads and Bruno said, “No. When you pulled the horn away from your lips, the spell stopped. We channeled the power, but I have no idea what might have happened next.”
“How would the person blowing it know when the spell is done?” I was careful in my choice of words. I was still hoping someone else could do the deed.
Creede raised his hands with a shrug. “Honest opinion? The horn would probably stop blowing. It’s likely only sounding now because it senses the rift—that’s probably what has activated the spell.”
I didn’t buy it. “That’s a lot of guessing. So far I’m the only person who can make the triton blow. But that doesn’t mean I’m the only one. It might well be that there’s a hundred people who can do that. I don’t know whether it would have sounded a year ago because I’d never seen it before Adriana brought it to me.” Which raised another question I’d been meaning to ask. I turned my head to catch her eye. “Why did you bring it to me, anyway? Why not
have Okalani take you straight to the rift?”
She shrugged gracefully in that special way that only dancers can pull off. “I foresaw myself giving it to you. And frankly, you’re the only person I know on the mainland. I could trust no one else with something of this value.”
Hard to argue with that logic. Creede rose to his feet and offered me a hand. I took it and he pulled. In fact, he sort of overpulled and I wound up pressed against him for a brief moment before I could back away. He didn’t seem to mind and neither did my body.
Just to play it safe, I offered my hand to Bruno and repeated the exercise. Strange, but for all my former fiancé’s superior power, I didn’t react the same way to him. There was just something about Creede’s magic that made my body sing. But oh, the eyes and smile on that big Italian lug made my stomach flutter with nearly the same intensity. Yum.
Dr. Sloan hadn’t noticed our little song and dance, but the two women did. Dawna was looking amused and I’ll bet she couldn’t wait until she had me alone and could grill me about every minute detail. But Dr. Sloan’s voice pulled my eyes away from her, back to the shell in his hand: “I see your point about the reason and scope of the spell. But we really need to test the king conch—see if you can also make it sound. We need to go out to the beach.” He stood and proceeded to do just that, a horn in each hand. I shrugged and motioned that we might as well go with him. I didn’t want anyone or anything to swoop down and take them away.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, we were no closer to an answer than when we’d started. No, I couldn’t blow the king conch. Nor could anyone else. The triton sounded only for me and with the barest of breath.
Once they started doing testing circles on the shells alone, I relegated myself to the shadow of the biggest palm I could find, because the sun was getting low on the horizon and was becoming painful to be out in it. I needed another liberal application of sunscreen—which I didn’t have handy. I’d apparently left the bottle I’d used in the hotel back there somewhere, because I couldn’t find it in the SUV. There was another bottle in my luggage, but we’d packed in such a rush that I had no idea where it might be.
I also needed another shake even though it hadn’t been four hours yet. The people on the beach were starting to glow and pulse, and it wasn’t helping that there was magic flying all over the place.
As I sat hunched in a tiny pool of darkness, it occurred to me that for too long I’d been letting situations rule me. The break I’d sought at the spa hadn’t turned out to be what I’d hoped for. Well … certain parts of my body had gotten nicely relaxed. I supposed it was good to find out everything down there still worked after the bat bite—before I started doing any serious dating again.
But there were too many disconnects between body, mind, and spirit. And I knew just the cure. Fortunately, there was just enough room in shade, if I sat right next to the tree trunk, to assume a lotus position. I’d done yoga for years, but lately, with all the things that had been happening, I hadn’t stolen back the time it takes. Now, with everyone otherwise occupied, I figured I had at least ten minutes of good, solid meditation time available.
I took a deep, centering breath and crossed my legs. My thighs reminded me I hadn’t done this in some time. Ow. But getting past the pain is part of the process, so I cupped my fingers and rested them on my knees. Closing my eyes made the world disappear, and soon the only sounds I could hear were the crashing of the waves, the calling of the gulls, and the wind in the palm fronds overhead. I imagined the water around me and soon I was floating on the waves, letting the ocean take me where it would.
I’d taken a dozen slow breaths when I heard Bruno’s voice near my ear: “Celie? Hon? Um … not to interrupt, but we sort of need the beach back.”
I blinked my eyes and tried to focus on his face. The waves sounded louder and I felt sort of … damp. I looked down to find that the tide had come in … but farther inland than I’d ever seen it. Water was lapping around the tree’s shadow but not actually touching me. Seriously weird. I looked up and there were at least a dozen gulls perched in the tree overhead, staring down at me with curious black eyes.
What the hell? “What’s happening?”
Bruno shrugged. “Your cousin said it’s your doing, but I have no idea how to fix it.”
I raised a hand and motioned toward said cousin, inviting her over. Adriana gave an exaggerated sigh and splashed her way toward me, pants rolled to her knees and tan boat shoes in her hands. She started speaking before I could ask the question: “The water responds to you as it does to the other sirens. It seeks you out when you call—as it did when sirens of old would call the ocean onto the rocks to wreck ships and strand sailors. Unfortunately, I don’t have the ability to send it back. I don’t know if this will help, but Mother simply motions it back like a puppy who’s strayed from the yard.”
A puppy. The ocean is not a puppy. Still, who was I to argue? I made shooing motions with the backs of my hands. “Go on. Get back in the yard.”
Bruno laughed and I shook my head with bemusement for thinking it would work. At first, I thought I was imagining it. But damned if the waves didn’t start to lap farther from the tree with each inward flow. Maybe it would work with the gulls, too. I looked up and made the same motions. “Go on. Shoo. Go find some fish to eat.”
With flaps of massive wings, the birds took to the air and soared into the distance. “Oh. Wow.” I looked up at Adriana. “I probably need to tell the queen about this, huh?”
She tipped her head with wide eyes and nodded. “I would. You need training to control what appear to be growing abilities. They’re completely natural to our kind but can be a nuisance when the waters come at unexpected moments.” She gave me a significant look before turning and walking back along the sodden beach to where the others were waiting.
Yeah. Unexpected would be bad. I needed to make sure that in future meditations I visualized grass or wildflowers. Or maybe flatland prairie or a nice sandy desert.
Anything but water. I wouldn’t want to find the waves scratching at my front door because I’d finally relaxed into a true meditation. The door’s on the second floor. My car is on the first.
“Maybe this is a hint it’s time to wrap things up for today. I need to fee—eat, and I think all of us need some rest. Tomorrow’s going to come too quick already.”
Bruno nodded. “John and I will set up temporary barriers for the horns—one for each, so they don’t touch or … go off.”
I took a deep breath. “Thank you for being willing to work with him. It’s not really what it looks like between us.”
Bruno sighed and there was pain in those brown eyes that I would erase if I could. “Yes. It is. It’s exactly what it looks like. But he reminded me rather strongly that I was the one who threw you away and that I didn’t have any right to blame him for catching you.” He shook his head in frustration. “I just wished he wasn’t so damned talented. It would be easier to hate him if I didn’t respect him so much.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. We looked at each other, feeling lost. I took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Creede’s been very kind and I can’t deny he’s awfully hard to resist. But we haven’t gone to where you and I have. If that helps any.”
His smile and chuckle weren’t up to his normal standards. “A little. But I can’t ignore how you look at each other and I honestly can’t say he wouldn’t be better for you. I’ve got … a lot of thinking to do.” He raised my hand to his lips and gave it a gentle kiss. “I do love you, Celie. You know that.”
My laugh was a little teary around the edges. “You did last time, too. And the time before.”
He nodded and tucked my arm under his as we walked back across the beach. John stood watching, leaning on the Mustang with arms crossed.
I had the feeling it was going to be a long, restless night for both of us.
Maybe for all three of us.
20
Night tur
ned to morning and I watched every freaking second unfold. My brain had run at full tilt the whole night. I even tried sleeping medicine. Note to self: Drugs that should be taken with food, even if crushed and dissolved in a shake, don’t sit well when there’s only liquid in your stomach. No matter how nutritious the liquid is. The medication insisted on coming back out the way it had gone in, and then I had to drink another shake after scrubbing the taste of bile from my tongue.
But even the unmistakable sounds of vomiting didn’t wake Adriana. I’d offered her a room after we’d stayed up late reading library books. She’d stayed because she hadn’t wanted to incur a mother’s wrath by calling Okalani to transport her past curfew. After meeting the girl’s mother, I didn’t blame my cousin.
I yawned loudly around the house until a second cup of coffee finally got me to a semblance of alertness. I’d discovered that pouring one of the chocolate shakes into the coffee adds the sugar and cream I like, plus a little chocolaty goodness. Strolling down the hall with cup in hand, I rapped on Adriana’s bedroom door for the third time. “C’mon, Adriana. Daylight’s burning. We need to get moving.” I still had to return the rental car. She was going to follow me in my car and then we were going to take back the books we’d finished and see if there were any Dawna had missed.
I’d learned during our late-night reading session that Adriana had been asked to meet with my friend Bubba and find him a new boat. Of course, that was before the rift appeared, but Adriana was a “duty first” sort of person, so I was betting she’d try to fit it in.
Adriana didn’t respond to my knock, but there were … noises behind the door. Either she’d snuck someone into the room and was having really intense sex or something was very, very wrong. I tried the knob, but the door was locked.
Damn it. I really hated the thought of kicking down one of my own doors, but it wasn’t the kind of lock set that used a key.
Sigh.
I put the coffee cup on the floor, far enough from the door that it might not spill during a fight, and put my shoulder to the door. Maybe I could pop the lock without tearing off the whole doorjamb. Supernatural strength is occasionally a good thing. The wood was solid against me and I pushed in tiny increments, feeling the door bow under the pressure. They’re solid-core doors—Vicki built the guesthouse to withstand a Category Three hurricane—so I didn’t have to worry about a thin layer of veneer cracking. By pushing in the exact center, I was hoping the hardware would give way first.
