Jarlock broke into a run, calling out over his shoulder, "Tomorrow, Balion, the vows must be tomorrow, and that is not soon enough."
Notwithstanding the knife-like pain in his heart, Balion smiled. He knew well the intense agony of separation. He didn't want his best friend or his sister to feel even a smidgeon of what he felt now. Jarlock could no more help his love for Ainsley than he could his love for Kira. The fact they came from two different worlds, fell nothing short of tragic irony.
Jarlock's words were heartfelt. He had a people to lead, and no matter what road he ventured down in his mind, he didn't know how to get her back. Balion kicked at the dirt and headed for the funeral feast. Tonight, he would get mind-numbing drunk with the strongest ale he could put his hands on. Then he would stumble to his bed and call Kira forth in his dreams, like he had every night since she disappeared from his life.
* * *
Balion couldn't have ordered finer weather for the nuptials if he had hobnobbed with the Gods. A fair breeze drifted down from bulbous clouds suspended beneath a turquoise sky. The air hummed with the scent of blossoms and merriment ran wild in the gardens of Locke Cress. The entire village served as witnesses, and a menagerie of servants surrounded them.
Ainsley had always been the pride of Balion's life, but never more than now as she glided down the pebbled path under the trellises of blossoms, her cherubic face illuminated with love. The King stood beside his friend, hard-pressed to establish whose hands shook more, Jarlock's or his sister's. Balion stepped out to take her arm, and surrendered her to the giant when the Holy Man opened his sacred book of parables. Bells chimed before the man began his recitations, his low voice intent. He spoke of the sanctimony of joining man to woman, of the promised blessings to come from the favored union.
Balion allowed his mind to wander, trying to form a mental picture of the nestlings his sister and Jarlock would bring into the world. He smiled and sent a silent prayer to the Gods that they'd be endowed with Ainsley's fair features and Jarlock's pure, strong heart. A finer combination he couldn't imagine.
The bells rang again as people rushed forth to bestow the couple well wishes. Balion stood back for a moment in a vain attempt to salvage his tattered emotions. It was Kira's smile he saw when Ainsley looked into Jarlock's eyes, Kira's face as every lass stepped forward to embrace his sister. The visions tortured him and twisted around his heart, manifesting into an acute physical pain. The Gods curse him, he was doomed. Never would he stand before the Holy man, his heart tattooing with passionate love as he took the vows of the Old Code. Never would he promise to love the woman beside him until death separated them. Never again would he love.
Putting up a good front to cover his misery, Balion stepped between man and wife and looped his arms in theirs as they walked to the keep. Tonight there would be a feast befitting royalty, and the dancing and merriment would continue until dawn broke over the mountains. The King would nurse his grief in silence and engage in his favorite pastime of late—stare out the window for hours and wonder if at this very moment she gazed upon the brilliant star named Sirius.
Things didn't change for Balion after the wedding, except for the worse. Jarlock and Ainsley were gone, secreted away in a country cottage doing what every newly-wedded couple did. He continued to suffer under a cloud of despondency where only the essence of Kira's ghost remained at every turn. He relived every touch, ever whispered word, every moment he'd spent with the girl named after the sun. He recalled the exquisite feeling of holding her against his body, the beat of the tremulous pulse in her neck when he'd pressed his mouth to the hollow of her throat. Mostly he recalled the intense hunger she'd stirred in him from the moment he found her in the forest. His memories were pure and clean.
And tortuous.
He couldn't dispel the memory of their mating, the touch of her hand on his face, her soft, silky skin burning beneath his hands, nor the violet eyes burning with heat as she clung to him during the joining of their bodies. His soul wounded, he prayed for strength to lead Locke Cress in the manner befitting a ruler.
He knew now if he searched every realm he'd never find what he had with her, and search he would. But how? He sat contemplating that dilemma at the end of his bed when a faint, lilting chant enveloped him. The shutters rattled and the torchlight near the door flickered as the haunting melody settled over the room.
"My King," Sirene whispered.
He rose from the bed to face her. "The powerful sorceress, Sirene."
"Yes," she replied, her soothing voice reminding him of water running over stones. "I have come to repay a great debt."
"Nay, it is I who owe the debt," he answered. "Ye saved Locke Cress."
"And ye returned Barrett to me."
"The boy is well?"
The silky fabric of her dress rustled in the room. "He is no longer a boy, but a fine young man made in the image of his half-brother, Nicholas."
"The Last Sorcerer, Kira's father."
"And like Nicholas, he has acquired humility, patience, and an inner strength. So many wasted years," she sighed. "But I see now the time my sons were away was not in vain."
Balion had forgotten she lost two sons—Barrett, banished to The Sixth Realm, and Nicholas, almost delivered to the void until she used her dwindling powers to cast him into the future. He couldn't help but wonder now if it was all part of a grand scheme, one that Sirene knew.
"Tell me, woman, the day ye saved your eldest from a fate worse than death, did ye know what he would find in the other world?"
A low, throaty laugh echoed in the room. "There is much ye do not know, Balion—the second reason I am here before ye this eve."
"The first to thank me?"
"Aye," she replied. "And the second to explain."
"Explain what?"
"Kira's grandmother, Elizabeth, and I became close friends when she joined the coven. Before she passed over, I made a vow to watch out for her daughter, Arabella."
"Kira's mother?"
"The same. After several failed attempts at love, Arabella returned to her grandmother's house. Lonely, she found Elizabeth's book of love spells and conjured one."
"Ah, and that spell brought Nicholas, Kira's father, to her?"
"Precisely, with a little help from me. I could not allow The Mage to deliver Nicholas to The Sixth Realm, so I sent him forth into a mortal world. Arabella found him, and the rest is history as they say." She lapsed into silence for a moment. "It would please ye to know the woman has the eyes of the lass ye love."
He pictured them―the soul-penetrating violet pupils―burning with anger as she faced off with him, flaming with desire beneath him. He fought back emotions too strong to define.
After allowing him a suitable amount of time to compose himself, she spoke again. "Just thinking of her now invokes a pain ye have never known, my King?"
His voice cracked. "Aye."
"I know. It is a sad tale without a happy ending."
His heart sank. "Have ye come to rub salt in my wound, witch?"
"Nay," she said. "I have come with the best intentions, to tell ye the story."
"Then be about it."
Her tone wistful, if not boastful, she said, "It made perfect sense to send Nicholas to Arabella. They fell in love, as I knew they would, and our little Kira was brought into the world shortly after."
"Ye had a hand in that?"
"Aye, brilliant, my King, no? Kira is a hopeless romantic like her mother with the heart of a warrior like her father." She paused as if reflecting on the past. "A sorceress never uses her powers without thought, although I must admit, I cannot always foresee every minute detail that will unfold between worlds."
How had it never occurred to him? He'd been so burdened with Umargo and the battle, and Kira's disappearance that logic had left him. "Ye are Kira's grandmother then?"
"From the day the little flower entered the world."
"Ye knew she would come into the world so ye must have known one d
ay she would enter mine."
"Not entirely. I admit, once the girl chose her occupation, I knew there would be trouble. Against it from the start, I would have protested were I a mortal. Sorcery has its advantages, but there also drawbacks." She paused. "My son, her father, gave her the medallion to wear for protection, and…"
"And what?"
"That sealed it. Once she placed it around her neck and that despicable man attacked her, well, ye can see what happened."
"Ye sent her back to her father's world with the medallion?"
"No, my King, I traveled with her, made sure she arrived safely. The medallion and the chant were the culprits."
"But Kira didn't know the chant."
She cleared her throat. "Well, I admit I assisted a little there."
Bitter despair flooded him again and clung to his soul like a black cloak. He didn't want to know the answer, but he had to know. "Sirene, ye have the power to travel between different worlds, don't ye?"
"Yes."
She said it so matter-of-factly his head came up. "Have ye seen her? Is she alive and well?"
"Very alive, but not so very well."
"She is ill? She is wounded?"
"Wounded, oh, yes, gravely wounded, my King."
He paced. "I did not wish to know, did not want to ask ye, and now I wish I hadn't." He stopped his frantic gait and scanned the room, hoping to find the sorceress in the dark corners. "She will die from this wound?"
"Quite possibly," Sirene replied. "If she doesn't get the proper care."
"Ye must do something. Ye have all these powers." He stopped and gave her a commanding look. "I am King now and I order ye!" Softer then, "Ye cannot let her die! Even if I am never to see her again, she must live!"
She stepped from the shadows, her gaze a beautiful caress. "And that, King Balion of Locke Cress, brings me to the third reason I am here."
Chapter 17
Three weeks had passed since Kira had returned to her office, and to the real world. Although sloshing down double lattés again and working overtime, everything had lost its appeal. Her life was off beam. Her teensy-weensy apartment―which hadn't seemed all that teensy-weensy before she took a side trip to the vast, lush green land of Locke Cress―the dull, drab brownstone where she worked, even her job, fell one day shy of being mundane. Even the mounds of paper stacked up on her desk couldn't draw her from the doldrums.
A delightful surprise awaited her the night she returned to her flat. After entering, she heard a forlorn mewling. She walked to the patio door, opened it, and in popped Kissa. The little tabby seemed ecstatic to see her, winding around her ankles like she just discovered a crate of Fancy Feast.
Kira drew her into her arms. "It has been said that animals travel for miles to return to the place they consider home."
Kira placed a hand over Kissa's mouth when someone knocked on the door. Sure as the announcer at a race track says, Ladies and gentleman, start your engines, Mrs. Pettigrew stood on the other side of that door. Stuffing Kissa into the bedroom, and closing the door behind her, she answered the persistent knock.
"Oh, hello, dear." Elmira peered over her shoulder. "Welcome back and I thought I should warn you, the cat–"
"Yes, I know." Kira’s back went rigid. "I heard her crying outside my patio door the day I returned."
Elmira straightened her already rigid back and replied with a full measure of guilt, "Well, that's my fault. I must confess I've been giving her warm milk every evening."
Stunned, Kira said, "You've been feeding her?"
An embarrassed nod. "I'm not sure how far she walked―"
"Miles and miles," Kira said, ecstatic the woman felt remorse for booting Kissa out.
"Yes, well, my point exactly. I've spoken to the owner of the building. If you're willing to pay a two-hundred dollar deposit, the tabby can stay."
"She can?"
"Uh-huh. I mean, after all, what good would it do to put her on the street again? She'd return."
Kira leaned forward and delivered a kiss to the woman's plump cheek. "Thank you, Mrs. Pettigrew. You have no idea how much it means to me, and I'm a real sucker for loyalty."
Elmira winked. "Me too." She cleared her throat. "If there's anything you need, dear, don't forget, I'm right upstairs."
"Yes, yes, I remember. Thank you again. I'll stop by in a few days when I'm feeling better."
Mrs. Pettigrew sauntered down the hallway, offering a brief wave before taking the steps to the upper level. "Take care now, dear, and I'd say about six seconds in the microwave takes the chill off the milk."
"Wonders never cease." Kira closed the door and headed for the bedroom for some bonding time with Kissa.
There were other surprises. Frank Kissel came to the office to see her, thanking her for tracking down the nefarious Scarlet Angel.
"Thank goodness, we were able to trace your exact location through your cell phone," he'd said. "And I still don't understand why you took off."
"It's difficult to explain, Mr. Kissel."
"More difficult than explaining where you've been all these weeks?" Before she had time to open her mouth to respond, he handed her a length of twisted vine. "Can you tell me what this?"
Her stomach dropped to a place below her knees as the familiar scent washed over her. Good God, she had to get a hold of herself, couldn't let him know she recognized it. She wanted so badly to smother her face with it, inhale it until she felt dizzy.
"Do you recognize it?" he asked again. "Standish was bound head to ankle with it when we arrived."
"Hmm. It appears to be some type of fibrous vine from a tree, but which tree, I have no idea." She wondered if he noticed her hands shaking. "Have you sent it for analysis?"
"The lab chopped it up in lengths of celery stalks and sent it to ten locations throughout the states."
"And?"
"Zippo," he'd said. "Nada. Not even the Government's renowned geologists have the foggiest. They're certain it's from a tree of some sort, or at the very least a large shrub, but they're unable to identify the species."
"I wish I could help," she'd said, her hand still clutching the vine.
Kissel made an effort to retrieve it from her before retracting his hand, his expression guarded. "Keep it. We have more than we need. Think of it as a souvenir from a dark, although memorable, time in your life."
If he only knew. She'd tossed it onto her desk with a, "Thank you."
"So, why did you take off? How was it no one knew where you were?"
"Perhaps I didn't want them to know." With a smile, she changed the subject. "Now, look at this stack of paper on the floor." The phone rang, but she ignored it. "Between the paperwork and a thousand phone calls from various FBI offices across the nation, do you blame me?"
"No." He smiled. "Every agent in the Bureau is hankering to pick your brain now."
Little did they know she no longer had a brain to pick. Or a heart. Her enthusiasm vanished somewhere between this world and Locke Cress. She had no desire to track serial killers, pore over reports, or answer a gazillion questions such as, what might the killer do for a living, or what trips his fancy in the hours he isn't bent on finding the next victim? With her every thought about Balion, these things seemed inconsequential. Perhaps a break or a vacation would restore her zest for life.
She spent hours staring out her office window, haunted by the images seared in her brain. What were the villagers up to, and Ainsley and Jarlock? She'd close her eyes and picture Balion seated on his massive steed or stepping into a dark, dank cavern, his eyes shining brighter than precious gems. She burned from the memory of his touch, the taste of his lips, and the way it felt with him inside her. A hot ache erupted in her throat, cutting off her airway until she thought she would die from wanting him.
Her nights were worse. She heard his voice, sensed his presence, yet knew in her heart she slept alone in her bed. Never again would she languish in the erotic world Balion had taken her to. She had relived eve
ry second, every movement a million times, his tongue licking every inch of her skin, his soft groans of impatience just before he possessed her, wholly, completely. Her fists pounded the dampened pillow and an inexplicable helplessness consumed her. Balion was lost to her forever and never had she felt so hollow.
Eva bounced into her office. Thank God for Eva, who'd asked few questions and did her best to bolster Kira's flagging spirits. She wanted to tell her friend what had happened, but who would believe such a tale? Her mother and father would, and did, once she poured out her heart and cried a gazillion tears recounting every detail. Well, almost every detail.
"Hello there, earth to Kira." Eva clapped her hands. "Jeez, you're a million miles away again."
"Sorry, Eva. What's up now? Let me guess, the German ambassador called and wants me to track down a Nazi war criminal?"
"That was yesterday," Eva said with a chuckle. "Your mother is on the line."
"I'll take it, thanks, and could you run down to Gerrity's and get me―"
"A double latté?"
"No, I think not. How about herbal tea, heavy on the cream."
"Chai tea? Wow, you have changed." Eva turned to leave and said over her shoulder, "Be right back."
"Oh, and, Eva, I'll be gone this afternoon."
Eva stopped and turned to her with a roll of her eyes. "Kira, love, you've been gone ever since you returned."
"Very funny, Eva. I meant gone physically."
"Oh yeah, what's up?"
Kira glanced out the window again. "Nothing monumental." You big fat liar. "Just an appointment. Tell you about it later."
"Cool, but your mom is still on the phone."
"Thanks." She picked up the receiver. "Hey, Mom, how are you?"
"Isn't it a glorious day, dear?"
"Stupendous, I can't tell you how much I'm into the weather these days."
"Dear, you sound distraught, or at the very least distracted."
"Paperwork, phone calls, never a dull moment since I returned."
"The reason for my call, dear. We want to see you tonight for dinner, get your mind off things."
Do you know anyone who has a knack for erasing memories?
Paranormal Magic (Shades of Prey Book 1) Page 57
