The Witch's Dream - A Paranormal Romance (The Order of the Black Swan, BOOK TWO)

by Victoria Danann

  She pushed away from the door restating the initial accurate assessment of her true feelings, once more for good measure. "Shit! Love!"

  The fact is that nobody believes in love at first sight. Until it happens to them.

  Since Ram and Elora were the rare married couple working for The Order, and the only one with a pet, they were given a spacious corner apartment on the top floor with bedroom, living room, and bath. Glen had been assigned a small room next door for quarters, but had been sleeping on their sofa so that Blackie could feel more settled.

  Elora heard the dog barking when the elevator door opened. He already knew they were there. Glen opened the apartment door and let him run down the floral carpeted hall to greet Ram and Elora. She got down on the floor with him and gave him a good long, hello tummy rub while quietly assuring him that she missed him and was very glad to be reunited with him.

  The temporary apartment home was decorated in muted, restful colors of sage and brown. Someone had provided water bottles, fresh fruit, and fresh flowers with a card that read "Honeymoon Headquarters". Making an educated guess, Elora thanked Glen for his thoughtfulness. Since he didn't deny it, she assumed she had guessed right. She had read his file and knew that he had spent a semester assisting in the Operations Office at Jefferson Unit. And Elora knew firsthand that a kid didn't train under Farnsworth without learning a thing or two.

  Their work schedule was free until the next morning. Their social schedule was free until dinner. So they decided to unpack quickly and try out the new bed. After all, what could top a cool and drizzly afternoon with nothing to do but make love and nap in each others' arms.

  Kay went out for dinner with Katrina and the Norns. Aelsong had already met some people close to her age in the Psychic Division and was off doing something with them. Ram, Elora, Baka, and Storm were invited to dine at the Director's table.

  Simon Tvelgar, Head of Agent Affairs, was to be their direct supervisor for the duration of their assignment in Edinburgh. Ram's first order of business was to interrogate Director Tvelgar about Aelsong's recruitment.

  The Director, Simon Tvelgar, was about the same age as Sol, but, unlike Sol, he wore a permanently pleasant expression. Like all the administrators who had begun their careers as knights, Simon retained the hardened physique of a warrior and the presence of an underlying tension that implied that the civilized manner was pure veneer. In close proximity to such a personality, the subconscious mind of the innocent registers a feeling of comfort and security that they would be protected if necessary. On the other hand, that same presence creates an urge in blaggards to flee.

  Tvelgar seemed somewhat amused by Ram's questioning and was more than patient with the concerns of an older brother, especially since those concerns centered around the fact that there were Elves now living in the Fae capital.

  The Director said that he had planned a private lunch for the next day in which he would introduce personnel who would assist them until Baka had established what his permanent personnel requirements would be. They had cleared away space on the second floor designating a "War Room" with three adjacent offices.

  It was nine o'clock by the time they finished a nice dinner of charred salmon with mustard, boiled potatoes in butter, and unleavened bread. Even in April the sun sets late that far north. Ram's mouth twitched as he reached for Elora's hand under the tablecloth. He knew that, after the dinner plates were removed, she was looking around wondering when chocolate would be available and in what form.

  He leaned over and whispered. "Do no' worry. We shall adjourn shortly and go on cocoa quest."

  She squeezed his hand and, thinking no one was looking, brushed her lips across his cheek suggestively. Storm saw the exchange out of the corner of his eye and felt his heart seize ever so slightly. He wondered if it would always be that way.

  ***

  CHAPTER 6

  Across the dining hall, Litha Brandywine half listened to her companions while she watched Storm dine with Director Tvelgar, a man with model cheek bones and piercing blue eyes, and two people who were obviously a couple - a beautiful couple. He was either elf or fae. If there was any difference, she'd never been able to detect what it was.

  After dinner, she decided to make her way to the Office of Records and find out more about the tall, dark, and striking knight.

  Twenty-seven years earlier, Litha had started life as a Dickens cliché, having been left on the church steps in the tiny village of Clitheroe on the edge of Pendle Hill, Lancashire; a region of Britannia most noted for legends of witchcraft and strange goings-on. The Anglican priest who discovered her was entertaining an old friend at the time; a Cairdeas Deo monk visiting from California. When discovered, the pretty baby was not crying and fussing, but kicking happily at her blankets while patiently waiting to be found.

  Brother Cufaylin, who had one of the seven gifts, recognized her as something special. He appealed to his friend, Father Daugherty, to let him take the child home to the monastery four thousand seven hundred miles away. He vowed the other monks, his brothers, and he would love her like a daughter and dedicate themselves to seeing her thrive, helping her reach toward her potential and find her destiny - whatever that might be. While Father Daugherty had his doubts, he'd heard too many stories about the bleak futures of hapless children who were orphaned or abandoned to a system that worshipped nothing but bureaucracy. Brother Cufaylin's offer to give the little girl the best of everything was very tempting. In fact, he didn't see how he could refuse.

  Although he never would have offended his friend, Father Daugherty also had misgivings about the nature of Brother Cufaylin's beliefs. The Cairdeas Deo sect was far too mysterious for his comfort. There were even indications that perhaps they were not strictly Christian. Still, he supposed the baby's fate would be better off with atheists or alchemists than the alternative.

  So, they managed to acquire the credentials that would allow Brother Cufaylin to pass through immigration and attain legal guardianship. After a quick course on the care of an infant from a village woman who had served as nanny to the high born when she was younger, he carried the pretty babe home to the vineyard monastery at Bodega Bay.

  The Cairdeas Deo monks had been "hiding in plain sight" for centuries, disguised as a Christian sect since the term automatically creates a societal mystique that functions as a protective barrier against close examination or typical standards of rational thought. The Cairdeans actually served the twin masters of the Merkaba: truth and life force, privately calling themselves the Friends of Life.

  Brother Cufaylin brought the child home to the Sonoma Coast winery on the very day of the Summer Solstice and dubbed her Litha in celebration of the Feast Day of that name. The monks were, at the same time, celebrating a very fine review of their handcrafted, bottled-in-bond, one hundred proof, seven-year-old brandy. So she became Litha Brandywine, precious daughter to seven monks who could not have been more surprised that an odd twist of fate brought them the opportunity to be proud parents.

  They were in a unique position to help Litha develop and channel her very special talents. Her mind was polished and refined on the turning wheel of free thought. She was exposed to every myth, doctrine, superstition, and philosophy according to the principle that minds with little education form a narrow palette of capability which is far too easily manipulated. Their view, that mental strength requires a perpetual diet of new material to digest, found perfect expression in Litha's step-by-step development.

  She never felt that she missed out by not experiencing a more typical family environment. Nor did she ever spend a minute of her life wanting for love or attention.

  What Brother Cufaylin saw in the infant that day at Father Daugherty's Anglican church is his secret. We can only know that he judged truly when he concluded that she was special.

  In point of fact, Litha was the daughter of a practicing Pendle Hill witch and the demon she conjured.

  Litha’s mother had been told that her great-gr
eat-grandmother was reported to have summoned a demon. The seed of that tale grabbed hold and took root in such a way that her future was then deprived of real choice. No one knows what sets the heart on an intractable course, but Litha’s mother yearned to repeat her great, great grandmother’s adventure into the occult and worked tirelessly to discover the key that would enable her to do so.

  One of the central issues in the practice of witchcraft has always been unpredictability and the inability of the witch or sorcerer or magician to replicate results. In the case of demon summoning, the craft took a wrong turn sometime early in the Dark Ages that could be traced back to a practitioner who successfully conjured a demon and documented the episode. The problem was a faulty conclusion based on incomplete data. The magician’s assumption was that a recipe of steps involving tools and words of power had wrought the event whereas that was only true in part.

  The practitioner had accurately performed the steps necessary to cast an ether net which was the true cause. The effect though, was not that a demon had been summoned, but that a demon slipping dimensions had been caught within the net that was cast. Future witches and sorcerers would ponder the unpredictability of summoning for centuries without ever realizing that the process is exactly like fishing. Cast an ample net in which you may or may not catch a demon.

  Tomes on craft are full of legendary accounts of the downsides to conjuring. Naturally demons are rarely happy about being caught in a witch’s web. For one thing it's a little painful, like getting a righteous zap from static filled carpet.

  Further, it’s quite unsettling, even for demons, to set out for one destination and suddenly end up in another. And a pissed off demon isn’t likely to be in a mood for granting favors.

  Of course there are exceptions to every rule and one was the case of Litha’s mother, Rosie Pottinger, the apothecary's daughter, who caught the incubus demon, Deliverance, in her web. He appeared within her Circle with a loud pop that startled her into releasing an embarrassingly tiny squeak and jumping back. She was taken by surprise partly because of the noise and partly because of the shock of being successful. After all, who ever really expects to conjure a demon?

  She gaped as he hissed and roared. “Cromm the bloody Crúaich!” Through a red haze of indignation he spied a culprit vaguely registering that it was a female witch. “Tarnation woman! Do you know that bloody well hurts?”

  Into the palm of his hand he spontaneously pulled a sphere of fire a little smaller than a bowling ball and drew back his arm to launch it thinking he would teach this witch a lesson to reverberate through the annals of magical notation for generations. As he was about to release the fireball he focused on the woman for the first time. The flames spit a couple of sparks, turned blue and then evaporated in his hand as he stared.

  Rosie Pottinger still stood wide-eyed and gaping at the demon while he stared back. He sensed a trace of something more than human in the young witch who could have taken her name from the brilliant color in her cheeks. Apparently Rosie’s great-great-grandmother had done more with the demon than just summon him.

  Deliverance dropped his arm as his mouth spread into the sort of spellbinding smile that can only be managed by an incubus.

  He lowered his volume to dulcet tones and, when he said hello, Rosie Pottinger felt her knees go weak. His accent was tinged with a gypsy dialect that was far from aristocratic. That was because he had learned Anglish in the shadows of The Tower of London.

  The shirtless figure stood before the witch inviting her to look her fill as he drew her nearer to a trap of his own device. The candle flames danced in his black eyes like they were mirrors as they tracked her tiniest movements. His thick, silky hair fell to his waist, the color so intensely black that it reflected light like the glossy surface of polished slate. His coppery skin gleamed with a promise of heat and molded lovingly over musculature that demonstrated the artistic principle of shadow being equally important as light.

  Indeed. Deliverance was fashioned as the personification of female sexual fantasy and desire, a perfectly designed instrument of seduction.

  There are many degrees of desire. Temptation means that denial is possible. Deliverance inspired the sort of desire that burned two steps beyond that. Just the sight of him was enough to push the strongest willed woman past need, past longing, all the way to compulsion.

  Deliverance wasn’t an actual sex god as demons are not deities in the sense of mythos. They are simply a distantly related race of beings, but why quibble over details? Deliverance had never known the disappointment of rejection because he was - quite literally - irresistible.

  Within the hour the apothecary’s daughter, with her comely curves and light brown hair, lay on the stone floor inside the Circle that contained the demon - or so she thought - being pleasured beyond the limits of mortality.

  Certainly you might expect to know what is on the next page; that the incubus demon, Deliverance, took his pleasure from slightly misguided Rosie Pottinger and continued upon whatever demonly errand had occupied him before the interruption of his journey. But that is not the way the story goes. The demon may have intended his encounter with Rosie Pottinger to be a brief and pleasant diversion, but her demon blood called to his and, as he slowly stroked her luscious body with his own, the sweet fucking turned into lovemaking.

  He stared into the witch’s eyes, green as the water standing in the lava pools of Ovelgoth Alla, absorbed her scent into his essence as he nuzzled her neck, and fell in love.

  Every night when Rosie's father, the widower apothecary, had drunk himself into a stupor, Deliverance came to the witch's Circle with gifts and stayed to hold her through the night. While she slept he would whisper, “My sweet, sweet, delicious Rosie. You please me well.”

  It is a well-known fact that demons produce sperm when coupling with other creatures who have demon blood no matter how small the proportion. Of course, he knew that pregnancy was a possibility. What he did not know was that it was possible his love could leave him, in one way or another.

  When Rosie Pottinger realized she was pregnant with the child of a sex demon who could not be faithful to her, she first became despondent and then depressed. The more melancholy she suffered, the more she became convinced that the cause of her suffering was sin in the Christian sense; specifically the sin of cavorting with a demon. Though she had never been religious and had not been educated in anti-demon doctrine, she sought out the Church as a possible source of comfort if not resolution.

  She went to a priest and confessed everything from the means by which she deliberately conjured the demon to the pleasures that she had found with him nightly on the pallet inside her Circle.

  The priest never doubted for an instant that she was mentally troubled; that, at the least, she suffered delusions of sexual fantasy. The fact that she was fantasizing about intimacy with a demon was deeply disturbing.

  The village priest was ill prepared to counsel those in need of psychiatric analysis or those who encountered paranormal phenomena. So he did the only thing he knew how to do. He blessed her and sent her home with a verbal instruction to be thereafter chaste in mind, body, and spirit. Unfortunately, Rosie did not find in that simple instruction the means to cope with her sorrow.

  When the baby was born, Rosie wept over the child's beauty seeing some of the father's traits stamped plainly upon her face. After leaving the newborn on the steps of a church in another village where no one would suspect her birth was "tainted", Rosie took her own tragic life with drugs easily obtained by an apothecary's daughter.

  Deliverance, who had always been as happy as a demon can be, was devastated by the loss of the witch he loved and was left alone with what was theretofore considered impossible: an incubus with a broken heart. Since he had not seen or touched the infant, he gave no more thought to his offspring. He never, in fact, so much as troubled himself to learn whether Rosie Pottinger had given birth to a baby that survived. Simply put, deprived of his lover, Deliverance car
ed about nothing which is why, thereafter, he embraced his dark half and began to behave more like his father than his mother.

  Of course Litha knew nothing about her unusual heritage or the source of her extraordinary gifts. She could not know that she had her father's black hair and a light kiss of his bronze tinted skin that gave her color even through a long Scotia winter. She could not know that she had her mother's deep green eyes, rosy cheeks, and luscious lips so naturally red they never needed artificial color.

  What she did know was that she was different. The monks had gone to great lengths to teach her from infancy that those differences must be carefully hidden from most of the people most of the time. There were some things that not even The Order knew. For instance, she had a miraculous resistance to the dangers of fire. In other words, she couldn't be burned.

  ****

  CHAPTER 7

  After dinner Ram asked Elora to please wait for him in the lobby. In less than five minutes he showed up with jackets and an I've-got-a-secret smile. When she looked at him questioningly, he helped her into her jacket, put his arm around her shoulders and gently nudged her toward the door. "How about goin' out for a bit."

  He was clearly enjoying himself so she didn't grill him about what he was up to.

  They walked straight south in the direction of the castle. Before they started down the steps to the gardens they stopped at a newsstand where Ram bought one Toblerone chocolate bar and handed it to his bride. Ten minutes later they were standing in front of the National Museum. It would normally be a five-minute walk, but they strolled leisurely in the late Northern gloaming while Elora enjoyed her after dinner chocolate fix.