The Open Channel

by Jill Morrow

“I know, Daddy,” Claire said calmly. “You have to know what’s going on back in medieval times so that you can help. We need to bring everyone back.”

  Not everyone. Stephen shivered at the memory of Asteroth’s cold, calculating stare, the seething hatred in his face as he’d raised his chin in challenge.

  No, there was no way they wanted to bring everyone back.

  He closed his eyes, squeezed Claire’s hand, and encouraged his mind to go blank.

  “Call them,” Claire said. “They’ll come.”

  “Call who?”

  “The angels of light. They’ll help, but you’ve got to ask them.”

  He could not help staring at her. She never opened her eyes, but squirmed beneath his gaze.

  “Stop looking at me,” she said. “You’re the one who has to call them, Daddy. I’m not kidding.”

  His mouth felt dry. “Okay,” he said, running his tongue across his top teeth. “Okay. Um…We need you, angels. Help us. Please.”

  “In the name of God and light,” Claire added, the serenity in her voice making him once again turn her way.

  He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Pyrotechnics? Thunder? Nothing changed. Claire sat beside him, eyes closed, thoughts a mystery. Her hand rested in his. Kat’s body remained solid on the pew, her face glistening with perspiration. The lighting in the Lady Chapel did not change.

  He checked his watch. Two o’clock.

  So much for the angels of light. Apparently they required a more coherent invitation, one he felt totally unqualified to issue.

  “They’ll come, Daddy,” Claire said. “You asked.”

  Francesca felt a subtle shift in the energy surrounding them. She tilted Julia’s chin so that she could study her face. Julia’s green eyes fluttered open, greeting her great-aunt’s silent inquiry with confusion.

  “How are you, Julia?” Francesca asked.

  Julia swallowed. “Scared.”

  “That makes sense. But you’re completely with us, right?”

  “Yes, Aunt Frannie.”

  “Good. Whatever you’re doing is right, then. Stay with it.”

  Gregory and Alys rose to their feet. Francesca beckoned them over.

  “What now?” Alys asked in a low voice.

  “I’m not sure, yet,” Francesca said. “But something is different, and we’d best be prepared for anything.”

  Alys swayed slightly, but her determination did not waver. “As you wish,” she said.

  “You and I have a score to settle?” Kat nearly spat the words. “It is of your own making. How do you choose to proceed?”

  He strode toward her. It didn’t take long; he’d been altogether too close to begin with. Now he stood before her, so close that she could catch the heady scent of musk steaming from his skin, could see the rise and fall of his chest beneath the sienna tunic he wore.

  His hands shot out, landing hard on her shoulders. Kat shut her eyes, half expecting to explode in a cloud of smoke. Nothing happened save the unpleasant sensation of fingers digging into her skin. She opened her eyes in time to catch the surprised expression on Hugh’s face. He, too, had expected something more.

  “You…remain,” he said.

  “Well, of course.” She thought quickly, trying to process the information unfolding before her.

  She didn’t need to bother. Hugh, perhaps unaware that he spoke out loud, answered some of her questions.

  “My power…,” he started, lifting one hand from Kat’s shoulder. He curled and uncurled his fingers, staring at them as if they belonged to another species. “Is it so curtailed by human form? Am I so very limited by this physical body?”

  “Welcome to humanity,” Kat said beneath her breath. She stepped away from his grip, poised to run.

  “Oh, no, Katerina. I wouldn’t think of it.” He pulled her back with one mighty tug. “I am not without strength or resources. I can still summon my minions. They remain unhampered by physical form. I can even relinquish this body I use. But you are easily broken, even if I must tend to it as a man.”

  “Except for what?” Kat demanded. “What can’t you do if you lose human form? And how could I grant you access to the child of light if I lie dead at your feet?”

  His eyes bulged as he glared at her. Perhaps the human mind that came with Hugh’s body moved faster than Asteroth could piece together the ideas. Maybe he hadn’t mastered the use of a human brain any more completely than he’d mastered use of the body.

  She could think and analyze, but she wasn’t sure she had enough knowledge. She knew that Asteroth could only enter the minds and bodies of those who allowed it. Well, that ruled her out. There was no way she’d ever be part of his fold. She was a child of the light, even if she didn’t always understand exactly what that meant. Without her, though, Asteroth seemed to believe that he’d have no way to reach the child of light…whoever that child was.

  Too many pieces missing. Too many…

  “Isobel!” Hugh barked, facing the slumped form of the girl by the fire.

  Isobel straightened. Her gaze swung across the landscape, coming to rest on his face. She smiled, a slow, dumb grin that made Kat avert her own eyes.

  Hugh’s grip on Kat’s wrist tightened. He yanked her across his chest, pinning her against his body with an arm around her neck.

  Isobel’s eyes narrowed.

  “No, Isobel,” he said. “She is no rival to you. How could she be?”

  The girl relaxed. Hugh continued.

  “She is, however, in your way. While she exists, we can never be together.”

  Isobel raised her hands, fingers bent like claws.

  “No,” Hugh said. “Perhaps, if you do my bidding, I will let you destroy this one later. But for now, my sweet, I need you to do what we have practiced for so long. I need you to flow into Julia. Do it, Isobel. Do it now.”

  Ever obedient, Isobel closed her eyes and concentrated.

  Julia began to whimper.

  Francesca looked up, surprised by a new idea that had just entered her consciousness. “Why, it’s Katerina!” she said. “Katerina is her children’s protection! She guards the child of light!”

  “Well, of course,” Alys said. “She is the child’s mother, is she not? There is no stronger bond of love and protection for any child.”

  She spoke as if this was common knowledge, as if everybody knew it. Perhaps it was one of those practical, obvious facts that Francesca had overlooked in her quest for the mystical.

  “Think on it later,” Gregory said. “This child needs us now.” He sank to his knees beside Julia, whose whimper had turned into a low moan.

  “Now, Isobel,” Hugh said. “Flow into the girl now.”

  Isobel’s arms rose slowly from her sides until they were parallel to the ground. She looked like a large bird about to take flight.

  “Now, Isobel,” Hugh repeated. “Enter her. You will talk, my dear. Her voice is yours for the taking, but you must inhabit her first.”

  Isobel rose on her tiptoes, face lifted to the sky.

  “Now!” Hugh shouted.

  She stood poised for a moment, pulling in large gulps of air. Then she collapsed in a heap onto the ground, head covered by her arms.

  “She cannot do it,” Hugh said, more to himself than for anyone else’s ears. “Something blocks her. The girl is protected in some way, or stronger in her own concentration than I thought possible.”

  His arm tightened around Kat’s neck. Her hands flew up to it, tugging it away as she gasped for air.

  He spun her to face him. “Call your daughter, Katerina. Call her here now.”

  “No.”

  He lifted her until they were eye to eye. Her feet dangled above the ground. “Then I will call her. And I guarantee that she will come.”

  “Put her down,” a cool voice said from the clearing.

  Hugh released his hold on Kat, who dropped to the ground, landing on her feet.

  Francesca stood at the edge of the clearing, Julia by he
r side.

  33

  STEPHEN CHECKED HIS WATCH FOR THE THIRD TIME IN A minute. Five after two. Dear God. Now what? Kat remained slumped against his chest, her face still glistening with sweat like a child awakened from a nightmare. Except, of course, that she wasn’t awake. Stephen batted away the thought that she might never wake up again. He quickly kissed her lips, wishing he could breathe his own life’s breath into her unconscious form.

  To his left, Claire sat still, head bowed. Claire never sat still. Suspicious, he squeezed her hand. She opened one eye, gave him a little smile, and then closed the eye again.

  Good. For a moment he’d worried that she, too, was lost to him, just like Kat and Julia.

  A jagged edge of fear ripped through him. He couldn’t bear to sit still any longer. He untangled himself from Claire and carefully eased Kat’s head down to their daughter’s lap.

  “Daddy, where are you going?” Claire looked up as he staggered to his feet.

  “I don’t know.” Stephen stumbled toward the altar of the lady chapel. “Claire, I don’t know what to do next. I’m all out of ideas.”

  “Daddy—” she started, but her words were cut short by the sound of approaching footsteps.

  Stephen whipped around. His eyes locked with Claire’s. Her arm wrapped protectively around her mother’s shoulders.

  These footsteps were loud and purposeful, not the steps of a meandering visitor or an awestruck tourist. This person had a destination in mind, and Stephen had an awful suspicion that he knew exactly what that destination was.

  “Somebody’s coming here, to the Lady Chapel,” he whispered.

  Claire raised a finger to her lips. Stephen suspected that he should somehow get to her side and arrange himself in a prayerful attitude. Instead he stood frozen before the altar like a prowler caught in a flashlight beam.

  The footsteps stopped. An old man stood at the entrance of the Lady Chapel, his stooped shoulders belying the determination in his walk. His hair was thick and white, brushed straight back from his brow and nearly touching his shoulders. His face, relatively unlined, was clean-shaven, dominated by deep brown eyes. He wore a charcoal-colored overcoat. Black tasseled loafers showed beneath the hem of his dark slacks. He nodded his greeting, then stepped into the chapel.

  “Well, then,” he said, shifting from one foot to the other. He looked from Stephen to Claire. “Good afternoon.”

  Apparently the back of the pew blocked Kat’s body from view. Stephen nearly sank to his knees with relief.

  “Good afternoon,” he replied, working hard to ensure that his voice did not crack.

  And now the man would leave.

  But he didn’t. Neither did he sit to pray, meditate, ruminate, or whatever else he had arrived to do. He remained standing in the aisle, eyebrows raised in quizzical concern.

  Stephen at least had enough presence of mind to recognize that shouting would only increase his problems. Instead, he flashed what he hoped was a gracious smile and turned to face the altar. Perhaps if the man thought that he and Claire needed this time alone, he’d take the hint and leave.

  The man didn’t move. He remained rooted to his spot, absorbing the situation. “Are you all right?” he finally asked.

  “Yes,” Stephen nearly barked, not even bothering to face him.

  “What about her?” the man continued. “Does she need help?”

  With a sinking heart, Stephen realized that the man meant Kat. He reluctantly turned, well aware that anything he said by way of explanation would sound like a feeble excuse.

  “She’s fine,” he said. “Really. She’s just resting.”

  The man ignored him, moving toward Kat and Claire as if Stephen hadn’t spoken at all. For the first time, Stephen noticed that he carried a black bag.

  “Hey,” he started, hurrying toward the pew and his wife, “she’s fine. There’s no need to—”

  The man brushed him away, a worried look on his face. “Why, this woman’s out cold.”

  Stephen wiped his face with his hand, catching sight of his watch just before the hand dropped back to his side. Eight after two. He had to get this guy out of here, fast.

  He drew himself up to his full height and mustered all the authority he possessed. “You know, sir, we really do appreciate your concern, but my wife is perfectly fine. She’s asleep, if you must know. She works hard all week, and although my daughter and I felt the need for prayer…”

  His voice trailed. He might as well have spoken to the wind. The man wasn’t paying attention. Instead he smiled at Claire, who, with a total disregard for the gravity of the situation, smiled back. It was one of her melt-you-to-the-core smiles that no one could resist, almost an invitation. The stranger accepted it and perched on Kat’s free side, reaching for her wrist as he settled in to stay.

  “Pulse is good,” he said. “I don’t like the looks of this perspiration, though.”

  “It’s hot in here. That’s why she’s sweating.” Stephen thought the words ridiculous even as they left his mouth.

  “Nonsense, my boy.” The man didn’t even look at him. “Ladies don’t sweat; they glow. And this young lady is well beyond her dew point.” He rested a gentle hand against Kat’s forehead. “No fever. No chills. Good. Then I’m here in time.”

  Time! Stephen groaned. He tried to catch Claire’s eye, but she was staring at this stranger as if he’d brought her presents and candy.

  “Sir,” Stephen started, “I appreciate your concern, I really do, but my daughter and I would prefer to be alone now.”

  The man fixed him with a pointed gaze. “Suppose you stop talking long enough to look at the altar, young man?”

  Stephen’s anger rose, hot, white, and mixed with a panic he didn’t know how to control. He opened his mouth to reply, but the man had reached into his bag, dismissing him completely.

  He watched as the stranger took a cloth and patted Kat’s brow. “Are you a doctor?”

  “No.” The man softly stroked Kat’s wrist. “Look at the altar.”

  This was insane. Stephen planted both feet firmly on the floor, set his jaw, and refused to move.

  Claire sighed. Then she shifted her mother so that she could slip from the pew and hurry to her father’s side.

  “Just try, Daddy,” she said, tugging on his hands until he had no choice but to turn and face the Lady Chapel altar.

  He blinked. There seemed to be motion against the white altar cloth, almost as if the altar moonlighted as a movie screen. He squinted, then leaned in for a closer look. The motion took shape, transforming from random movement into people before his startled eyes.

  More than just people: as he stared, he saw Kat, Francesca, and Julia standing in a grassy clearing. A girl he did not know pulled herself from the ground, dusting off her dress with a shaky hand.

  And, only feet away from Kat, stood Asteroth. The hatred on his face burned so pure and tangible that it cut through centuries, hurling itself into the Lady Chapel of the modern cathedral.

  34

  ASTEROTH RUBBED HIS HANDS TOGETHER IN ANTICIPATION. Francesca tightened her grip on Julia’s shoulders, pulling the girl to her with such ferocity that Julia squealed.

  Francesca winced. The journey from trees to clearing had exhausted her. Each step had felt like trudging through thigh-deep water. This last vigorous tug had sapped even more of her precious energy. Her fingers loosened on Julia’s shoulder as she leaned against the girl for support.

  Kat spun to face them, eyes wide with fear and confusion.

  “Aunt Frannie. Run away. Take Julia with you.”

  Francesca slowly shook her head. As if she could ever allow her niece to become an unnecessary human sacrifice. Not only did her love for Katerina run far deeper than that, her vision was clearer. Truth glowed more brightly by the minute. Katerina was courageous, had even grown stronger in spirit than Francesca had originally supposed. But her niece still did not see through spiritual eyes. Didn’t she realize that sacrificing hersel
f would only further Asteroth’s aims?

  With effort, Francesca raised her right hand. “Katerina,” she said evenly, beckoning her niece to her side.

  Kat hesitated for only a second, but it was long enough for Asteroth to reclaim her. His arm snaked around her waist, trapping her against his body.

  “Francesca,” he said, “do you never grow tired of rescuing everyone you know? Truly, is their existence all that crucial if they cannot maneuver through this reality on their own? You have paid too great a price for their incompetence. Look at you: broken and weary, barely able to stand. What is to become of you? And what is to become of those who never learned to fight for themselves?”

  She didn’t answer. There was nothing to say.

  Asteroth raised an eyebrow. “Do you fight alone?”

  “Never.”

  He surveyed the landscape. “I see no one—physical or otherwise. Have you been abandoned to fend for yourself? Has your most beloved Almighty left you to your own devices?”

  “Surely not.”

  “Then summon your army, Francesca. They arrived at your beck and call when last we fought, did they not? They were legion, as I recall, angelic warriors with spears of fire and light.” His voice fell hard and flat about her ears. “Where are they now?”

  She knew where they were. She could feel them within her, almost as if they had become one with her. Her body had perhaps grown weak, but the energy increasing within her burned brightly. The warmth and love of her companions raced through every corner of her being. And yet this wasn’t their situation to enter. She didn’t know why. Her brain wanted to demand a miracle, to scream that she needed help now. Her heart, however, rested in the assurance that all would pass as it should.

  She felt a gentle kiss on her brow, a mark of love from one unseen. Asteroth’s head jerked up, and she saw that he’d noticed, although his physical eyes could not entirely interpret which being of light had blessed her so.

  “No warriors here,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

  “How hard,” Francesca heard herself say, “to be in essence a far-reaching spirit, encased in a slow, physical shell. There is so much you yearn to do, yet can’t. Sometimes a body just gets in the way.”