Oberon Boxed Set (Books 1-3) Welcome to Oberon

by P. G. Forte

  “Yeah, but Scout, that—”

  “And you were right. He was very relieved when I told him I had no reason to stay here in Oberon.”

  “You told him what?” Oh, shit. Poor Nick. No wonder he looked upset. What was wrong with the woman? “How could you do that? He – Jesus, Scout, I thought you were in love with him?”

  Tension sizzled suddenly between them, and for a moment, all of Scout’s control seemed to dissolve. The blank coldness melted from her eyes, leaving them incandescent with pain; her voice was raw with it.

  “Don’t!” she rasped.

  Lucy felt the impact slam into her solar plexus. Too shaken to speak, she could only stare at Scout in surprise. It was not the first time she’d experienced an assault to one or the other of her chakras, but it had been a long time since she’d felt anything with this kind of punch behind it. She could only hope that Marsha knew what the hell she was getting them all into.

  Abruptly, the tension was extinguished. Scout sighed, and even managed a brief, brittle smile and her eyes resumed their dull, soulless glaze. “Well, I guess it really doesn’t matter. I’ll be leaving as soon as we get this mess cleared up. I think we can skip the good-bye dinner, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, but listen. About Nick—” Lucy began, but Scout cut her off.

  “Never mind that. Tell me what all this is for.” She gestured at the herbs and candles Lucy had laid out; her brass bell, the bowl of flowers, the containers of water and salt.

  “Basically, I use these to clean the atmosphere,” Lucy said, still trying to shake off the aftereffects of Scout’s outburst. “Before we do anything else, we need to clear away any old negative energy patterns that may exist, and then re-energize the space. It makes it easier to work in.”

  Scout’s eyebrows rose. “You can actually do that?”

  “Yeah.” Lucy bristled defensively. “Actually, I can.”

  “Well, good.” Scout looked around the room and shivered slightly. “Too bad you weren’t here last week. Hey, you think maybe when you’re finished in here, you can do the attic, too?”

  “Yeah, we’ll see.”

  Lucy considered telling Scout she was wrong about Nick. But what if he had some reason for wanting her to think he didn’t care? What if Scout was only going along with their plan because she was convinced of his indifference? She’d kept his secret this long; would it really hurt to keep it a little longer?

  Shit. She hated these moral dilemmas. Hated having to decide where and with whom her loyalty lay, whose side she was supposed to be on. Although, in this case, it shouldn’t be hard to figure. It was probably best not to say anything just yet. She could always tell her the truth later. Once she was sure what the truth was. Right now though, she had work to do.

  She took a moment to center herself. It took longer than usual, but she knew when she had achieved the proper state of mind. She took several deep, cleansing breaths, said a brief prayer, and then lit the first of the smudge sticks she had prepared the night before. Solemnly, she offered the smoke to the four directions, and then above and below, before centering it in front of her.

  The smoke washed over her, bathing her in its essence. As always, the heady scent of the herbs took her to another place; a place where the worries and conflicts she had been obsessing over could not penetrate. She felt her mind focus and clear as she passed her bell, and then the rest of the tools she and Marsha would be using, through the spiraling plumes.

  Moving slowly and carefully, she made her way around the room, feeling with her right hand for any areas where the energy felt stagnant while ringing the bell with her other hand, listening as the tones became clearer and brighter as the heaviness was dispelled. This step, too, took longer than such things usually did, but she had moved into an area of focus where time didn’t matter. Everything simply took as long as it took.

  When she was done with the bell, she picked up the canister of salt. Moving clockwise once again, she sprinkled it in a widening arc over the floor. The crystals felt as though they were charged with purity. As they left her fingers and flew through the air, she could almost see the wake of brightness they left in the atmosphere. She repeated the process with the atomizer, taking deep, appreciative breaths as the cool mist filled the air with the scents of basil and thyme.

  Scout sat quietly, watching Lucy’s performance. A large part of her mind wanted to dismiss the whole ritual as so much nonsense. The small part that thought it might actually believe in such things was quaking with fright. She must have been crazy, letting herself get talked into this. She looked up as Marsha bustled in bearing a tray on which she’d arranged a large steaming pot and several mugs. She set the tray down on the coffee table, sat beside Scout and handed her one of the mugs.

  Scout sniffed suspiciously at the yellow liquid. “Ugh. What is this stuff?”

  “Nothing too lethal,” Marsha replied, eyes twinkling as she picked up another of the mugs. “Yarrow, clover, mugwort, with a few threads of saffron thrown in.”

  “And why, exactly, are we drinking it?” Scout gasped, choking down a sip.

  “Well, it’s supposed to increase any psychic tendencies you have, and protect us all against negative energy – stuff like that. Mugwort is traditionally used prior to scrying; I figure what we’re attempting is pretty darn close, so it ought to be good for this, too.”

  “Is this really necessary?”

  “No, not strictly necessary. But I figure it can’t hurt. You haven’t had much chance to prepare, for one thing. And I figured, better safe than sorry.”

  “Right.” Scout sighed, downing the rest of the mug in one long swallow. “Okay, what’s next?”

  “Let’s talk about what we’re planning to do today,” Marsha suggested. “I want to attempt the soul retrieval first. It’s less likely to be traumatic for you, for one thing. And if we’re successful, we could possibly get some information that would help with the other. Or even make it unnecessary to do anything else. But that’s probably a best-case scenario.”

  “Information? Like the name of the killer, you mean?”

  “I wouldn’t count on getting anything as obvious as a name. But it’s worth a try.”

  Scout nodded. “That seems reasonable. And after that?” she prompted, when Marsha seemed to hesitate.

  “Well... the next thing I’d like to do is to see if we can induce a light trance state in both of us at the same time. And then do a chakra link, if that’s all right with you? That would mean we’d sort of be joined on a psychic level.”

  Scout nodded her assent.

  “Then, if that works, and if we don’t have any problems, we could do a regression.” Marsha spoke decidedly, but Scout thought there was something uncertain in her manner. “I don’t know if we can find the answers we’re looking for here, but assuming the same person is responsible for everything... I’m pretty sure we can learn everything we need to know by going back into the past. Or, at least... I think you can.”

  “Why is that?” Scout asked, puzzled. “I mean, why me?”

  Marsha looked even more uncomfortable. “Look, I’ll be honest with you, Scout. Back when we were in high school... I didn’t have any idea how important it was not to abuse this kind of thing. I don’t suppose I would’ve cared all that much even if I had known. But as it is, I know a lot about what you can accomplish in this kind of state. You personally, I mean.”

  She shot a quick look at Scout’s face, and then away again. Color stained her cheeks as she continued. “For example, I know that you can – well, I guess it’s a form of astral projection – but you can move your consciousness outside of this room, and see things that are occurring someplace else. You can even move your consciousness into someone else’s mind and learn what they’re thinking.” Marsha paused, as if waiting for her to say something. But what was there to say? She’d known their experiments had gone beyond math. In the five months they’d had to play with her mind, Scout was sure they’d found out a whole lo
t about her. But she’d deal with that later.

  After a moment, Marsha went on again. “I think if we take you to a particular point in the past, you could do the same thing. Especially if the connection between you and the other person was strong enough. For example, like the connection between you and Lisa.”

  A cold dread settled over Scout. Her heart began to pound. “You’re saying I might actually see what happened to Lisa?” Shit. It was one thing to learn the truth about what happened to her stepsister; it was something else again to be a witness to it. “You think I could find her, and follow her and learn what she was thinking?”

  “And what was happening to her. Yes.” Marsha swallowed hard, and hesitated before continuing. “Like I said, I’ve had a lot of experience with hypnotizing you. You seem to work better if you have a familiar essence to aim at. A target, if you will.

  “The problem is, if everything works out the way I think it will, you’ll most likely be very... involved... in the events you observe. Almost as if they were happening to you.”

  “Oh, God,” Scout breathed softly. How badly did she want to know what happened to Lisa? Enough to live with the memory of how it had felt, maybe for the rest of her life?

  “Look, before we begin I’ll give you instructions to keep you calm and allow you to stay detached. But it’s possible the experience might still be somewhat overwhelming. That’s why the chakra link is so important. It will allow me to monitor things internally, so to speak. Also, Lucy’ll be on hand. It’ll be her job to pull you out if things look like they’re getting too rough.”

  And what if she can’t? Scout wondered, shooting a look at Lucy, who was arranging crystals in each of the room’s corners. Or, if she doesn’t want to? What then?

  But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. She’d come this far, and there was no turning back. She had to know the truth. Whatever it cost her. “Great. Wonderful. So, what do we do now?”

  Marsha gave her a twisted grin and handed her a dishtowel. “Here. Drape this over your head, and breathe in the vapors from this pot for about three minutes.”

  Scout shook her head in disbelief. “You mean I can get a facial and lose my mind at the same time? Cool.”

  * * *

  Maybe it was the tea, Scout thought a little while later. Or something in the steam. Or it may have only been the power of suggestion, but despite the smoke hanging in the room, everything, including the air itself, seemed clearer than before.

  Marsha approached her with a small vial of oil and rubbed some in the center of her forehead. The smell of sandalwood reached Scout’s nose. She felt both her apprehension and her sense of calm detachment increase.

  She studied the intricately embroidered cloth Marsha had laid on the floor in the center of the room. Several implements had been placed upon it – including a small iron cauldron, a large, single-headed drum, and a surprisingly sharp-looking knife. Now, as Scout watched curiously, the other women exchanged glances. Lucy nodded once, affirmatively, and Marsha bent to pick up the dagger. Scout felt a shiver of anticipation run through her.

  The solemn, removed look on Marsha’s face was at odds with her normal expression. And whereas Lucy had looked dreamily abstracted as she worked – the look of someone listening intently to music no one else could hear – Marsha’s eyes gleamed with fell purpose.

  Extending the dagger out in front of her, Marsha turned slowly, her hand describing a circle around the room large enough to encompass them all. Lucy’s eyes swept around the room as well, following the motion of the dagger, as if she were willing the same circle into being.

  Returning the knife to its place on the altar cloth, Marsha next picked up her drum. As the very first beat reverberated in the air, something within Scout snapped to attention. She knew, without needing to be told, without needing the words that followed each rapid crescendo, that the sound was a summons to powers she could neither see nor sense.

  Or could she?

  As the ritual continued, with Marsha moving purposefully from North to East to South and finally to the West, calling to Spirit at each stop along the way, Scout began to feel a change come over the room. She was certain that some force immensely powerful, ancient and protective was gathering itself around them.

  It’s probably just Marsha’s voice, the small whisper of the skeptic inside her insisted. Even twenty years ago she’d had the ability to be tremendously persuasive when she wanted to be. There was no doubt her abilities had improved over the years.

  Given their history, the idea that Marsha was once again attempting to exert some form of mental persuasion over her should have been frightening. Yet Scout did not feel afraid. The dread and apprehension she had experienced earlier were slipping away as the atmosphere around her became charged, more and more strongly, with a warm, comforting energy.

  Beyond the warmth, however, hovering on the edges of consciousness, she was aware of something else. A watchfulness. A readiness. Another type of tension altogether, like that which preceded an electrical storm, was building within the room. Still quietly biding its time, but buzzing with angry anticipation.

  Look at the cats. They feel it, too. Their casual, relaxed movements gave nothing away, but there was no hint of relaxation in their unfathomable eyes. They settled around the room and crouched watchfully as Marsha, who had seated herself on the floor, motioned to Scout to join her.

  Briefly, while Lucy lit more incense, Marsha explained the process to her. Soon the mingled scents of frankincense and myrrh had filled the room. Scout lay quietly on the floor, breathing in the thick, fragrant air and listening to the steady beating of the drum. She closed her eyes, knew a brief moment of disorientation, and then the drum began to pull at her.

  She found herself floating steadily toward the entrance of a cave. Floating. Sinking. Moving inward and downward. Spiraling slowly through a cavern hewn of solid rock. Heading inexorably down, down, down into the earth.

  The thing was, though... she wasn’t at all certain she wanted to go there.

  As soon as she thought it, she paused in her descent. She could feel herself floating in place, becalmed in a pleasant solitude. This is more like it, she decided with a rapturous sigh of relief. There was no stress here. Plenty of breathing space. No worries. No pain. No heartbreak.

  I want to stay here. Right here. Maybe forever.

  “Scout?” Marsha’s voice broke into the peaceful isolation she had allowed to collect all around her like a thick, dark cloud. It held a hint of worry. “Scout, can you hear me?”

  She could hear Marsha just fine. But mesmerized by the flood of pleasant sensations, she couldn’t answer. No, that wasn’t true. She could have answered, she just didn’t want to. Instead, she drifted further into the smoky darkness.

  She was rocking now on a calm, almost waveless sea, awash in color and sound. If Marsha and Lucy would just stop talking to her, she could sail away completely.

  She was a balloon adrift in an endless, endless sky. Another moment and she would be the sky, itself. Vast and boundless, everywhere and nowhere, all at once. She would be gone. Ended. Finis. No longer in torment. No longer a captive. She would finally be free.

  A bitter, acrid smell of burning herbs assaulted her nose and she groaned inwardly. It was as though the harsh smoke had thrown an anchor around her mind.

  “Can you hear us now?” Lucy asked her.

  Yes. Go away.

  “Come on, Scout. How about now?”

  Her mind tugged restlessly at the invisible tether. “I could hear you just fine before,” she answered, peevishly. Damn them. Why are they doing this? Always messing with my mind. Why can’t they leave me alone? One of these days, I’ll show them. I’ll make them stop. Really, they have to be stopped. They have to pay...

  “Scout?” Marsha’s voice this time. “Come back a bit. Come on... Okay, there we go. That’s better. Are you ready now?”

  “Oh, all right.” Scout sighed in resignation. “What’s next?” But e
ven as she said it, she was aware of the picture forming in her mind. She knew she was still lying on the floor, but she could also see and feel herself standing in an unfamiliar location looking again at the entrance to a cave.

  She heard the beating of the drum start up again; once again, she felt herself begin to move. Downward, always downward, through a seemingly endless series of tunnels. She felt the rock beneath her feet change to gravel and then to sand. Gradually the darkness gave way to a shadowy, pearly gray light. The soft beating of the drum faded, faded, and was lost beneath the sighing, crashing sound of the waves as they broke against the shore that was suddenly right in front of her.

  She stood at the far end of the cave, looking out at a fog-shrouded beach. She had the sense she was waiting for something, but she didn’t know what. The crashing of the surf echoed loudly within the cavern, and she felt herself growing increasingly agitated. A sound in the cave behind her caught her attention and she spun around. A strange, cold thrill ran through her. It was her dog. Sara whined and wagged her tail. Scout stared at her, perplexed.

  “But how did she get here?” she asked aloud. “Where did the dog come from?”

  “It’s okay,” Lucy spoke soothingly, but Scout could sense her underlying uneasiness. “Everything’s fine, Scout. There’s no dog here.”

  Marsha chuckled. “Oh, sure there is. Don’t worry, keep going. You’re doing fine. I had a feeling about that,” Scout heard Marsha say smugly to Lucy, or maybe to herself. “That first day last week? All that was missing was the bow and arrow.”

  It was the kind of beach you see in dreams. Hauntingly familiar, but never a place you could actually recall having been to before. The sky above was overcast and gray. And the sounds – the lapping of waves, the cries of sea birds – were all oddly muffled.

  The dog took off down the beach at a run and Scout had to work to follow her. The sand was soft, making walking difficult. Far down the beach in front of her, she could just make out an indistinct figure warming itself by a fire set in an old oilcan.