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

by Victoria Danann

  Tonight there was an incident. I cannot commit all the details to writing partly because it was disturbing and partly because it could be dangerous to do so.

  I was included in a social outing with some of his friends. The knight in question was intent upon making a point that he was neither interested nor available to me while actively pursuing the attentions of every other unattached female in the establishment. Even though I suspected he was staging a show for my benefit, it was painful to watch him touching other women. I think what I felt was an acute case of jealousy. It was awful. I should hate him for it. And I wish I did.

  The fourth entry contained a reference to him.

  I felt him call to me in my dream, but I refused to go. It seems I have chosen poorly indeed. I love a man who does not know his own mind. Worse, he harbors prejudice toward witches of all things and has three times demonstrated a proclivity toward meanness. A happy outcome seems unlikely.

  Storm’s chest felt like it was held in a vice grip. Reading what he had meant to Litha, the good and the bad, made the vice tighten painfully. Absently he rubbed the fabric of the white nightgown between his fingers while he read as if he thought that could soothe the emotional battery he had delivered. For no good reason.

  There was only one more notation after that.

  I am tracking a missing person who is missing from this dimension. It feels like the most important task I have ever undertaken because my knight’s happiness is dependent on the outcome. I am in over my head and have more questions than answers, but there is no one else. I must try to find a way.

  Among the many things that could be gleaned from reading Litha’s diary, it was clear she was innocent of using magicks on him or against him. Coincidences were just coincidences whether the almighty Storm believed in them or not. Feelings were simply feelings and he needed to start owning up to his instead of looking for somebody to blame. Her only crime had been picking somebody seriously fucked up to love.

  The journal was still in his hand when he woke. He stopped and got breakfast on the way to his post at the wall where he would spend another day waiting for some sign of a green eyed witch who literally slipped through his fingers. He took the journal and reread it with his back against a wall.

  ***

  CHAPTER 14

  One minute Litha was feeling Storm's body press against hers while she was preparing for a kiss that would last her a lifetime if that’s all she ever got. The next she was in the ”no place” that separates realities, a state of being without geography, a grayness where nothing is solid, where direction isn't concrete and therefore doesn't exist. It took her mind a few seconds to adjust to the shock, but she had been trained to keep her wits about her even when circumstances defy conventional reference points.

  She decided the most logical course of action would be to begin by asking for what she wanted. She took the housing off her pendulum and, without removing it from her neck, said simply, "Katrina."

  A whirring, rushing sensation filled her ears even though she felt no movement of air. Suddenly she landed unceremoniously on her rear end on the sand floor of a limestone room with torches on the walls and randomly placed dark puddles of some viscous substance that was on fire. Fortunately the sand had absorbed the sound of her entry. She quickly took in the scene.

  Katrina sat in a cane and rope chair staring straight ahead. She was not looking worse for wear physically, but she did look scared and disoriented. And her wrists were bound. When she saw Litha, she opened her mouth to say something, but the witch put a finger to her lips and then turned to assess the figure, whom she assumed must be the incubus in question, who now had his back to her. As Aelsong had correctly related, his hair was black as night and hanging to his waist. He was shirtless, wearing loose, dark colored pants that draped his form like fine, soft suede.

  Litha got to her feet quietly as she could and had risen to her full height before the demon turned and saw her standing there. It would be a gross understatement to say that he was shocked. In nearly a thousand years no one had ever found their way into his private lair. Without entertaining whether there might be merit in asking questions first, he gathered an impressive fireball into his perfectly formed hand, drew back and launched it at the intruder.

  The fireball was aimed right at Litha's midsection. Out of pure reflex, she raised both hands and caught it in front of her midsection using exactly the same movements one would use to catch a basketball. For a moment she held still, staring, then, as if she knew what to do instinctively, she clapped her hands together. First the fire was extinguished then it vanished as if it had never been.

  Lowering her hands to her sides, she calmly raised her eyes to the demon, and waited passively to see what he would do next. There was a part of her mind that was questioning her bravado, saying it would be more appropriate for her to be, at least, judiciously afraid. And yet she was not.

  In fact it was the demon who was afraid. Just as he had released the missile, he was struck by the fact that the creature standing before him was the very image of Rosie Pottinger. He was mortified that he might have acted rashly and hurt her. Oh, how he cursed himself and wished, a millisecond too late, that he could recall the flame to his hand. But, whether he deserved it or not, the gods had been merciful. He was granted a reprieve from punishment for acting without thinking. Miraculously, the fire had caused no harm. And so it happened that Deliverance found himself staring into the eyes of the witch he loved, dark green as the lava pools of Ovelgoth Alla.

  "Rosie?" he whispered.

  "No. My name is Litha. And you are?" she said in a matter of fact tone.

  The demon cocked his head to the side as if he could study her better from that angle. Her manner was decidedly more assertive than Rosie's, but she spoke with Rosie's voice. Just as he was about to ask, “What are you?”, he saw that her hair was not brown like Rosie’s. It was black. Like his. Her lips were red like Rosie's. So much so that the reminder made his heart hurt to look at her, but the creature’s skin was also not so fair as Rosie’s. It was tinted with fire. Like his. He did not then suspect, but knew that this woman who had arrived in his lair, this woman who was not susceptible to fire, was the baby he had forgotten about once he knew that Rosie was beyond his reach. She may not have been invited to the demon’s private lair, but she was oh so welcome.

  As she was being studied, Litha was likewise assessing a male who was every bit as remarkably formed as incubus demons are purported to be. When the stunning creature before her began to smile, his appeal increased exponentially and just seconds before she would have thought that impossible. Her previous conceptions about ideals of beauty were being revised minute to minute.

  "Deliverance." He gave the impression of enjoying his own name and said it with a little bow. "In these days of fashionable informality people usually call me Del, but I think you should call me..." He smiled even broader. "...Dad."

  Litha didn't react to that visibly. She was calculating whether to proceed as if he was insane or allow him to make the case for his claim of paternity. She decided there was enough of a chance to allow a little exploration into the possibility.

  As surprising as it might be, even to her, she took this information in stride. After all, she knew she was fathered by someone. She also knew she had abilities that were unusual and, in light of the disturbing firestarting incident, growing more unusual lately. Truthfully, being fathered by a demon could explain a lot.

  "You believe you're my father."

  "No doubt," he said.

  "Do you have any proof?"

  "Well, first, there's the fact that you're standing here." He swiveled from the waist and gestured around him. "In my lair. How many witches do you imagine have ever managed that?"

  "Three?"

  He shook his gorgeous mane of hair and smiled indulgently. "That would be one."

  "Okay. What else?"

  "Daughter, except for the fact that you grow my hair and wear my skin, you a
re the image of your very comely mum." He turned away and then back again. "Whom I loved, by the way."

  Litha frowned. "An incubus demon in love?"

  He shrugged. "Happens."

  "Not that I've heard about."

  He waved his hand and the fires burned lower. "Not often I grant you. But she was very special. Sweet, delicious Rosie." The last three words were said in a lowered voice, almost to himself. "Your family has been passing demon blood for generations. None of them had as much as you of course, but enough to make babies."

  "The Pendle Hill witches."

  "Indeed. You're powerful - and quick - for a halfwitch.”

  "Please don't call me that. It sounds way too much like halfwit."

  He tilted his chin up and scrutinized her until she began to feel uncomfortable. “I can see I made a mistake missing out on your childhood, but I just turned the fire down because you look a little warm."

  “Well. That should make up for it.” He said nothing. “How did I get here?"

  "You don't know?"

  "No."

  "Were you looking for me?"

  "Of course not."

  "Were you looking for her?" He glanced in Katrina's direction.

  "Yes."

  "Well, there you go. And, now that you're here. What can I do for you?"

  "Let the woman go."

  "What is it to you?"

  "My job."

  "What is it to you?" As if someone pressed replay, he asked it again in the exact same way without missing a beat. Litha didn't respond. "If you will not tell the truth, we have nothing else to discuss."

  "She is someone's love."

  "I'm aware. How does that involve you?"

  "It's important to the one I love."

  "Ah. And how badly do you want this?" She didn't answer. "You're not going to cry are you?"

  Litha was insulted. "No. I'm not going to cry. I don't cry. I stopped crying when I stopped getting skinned knees."

  "Hmmm. It's just as well I missed the young times then. I don't like crying."

  "What's your proposition?"

  He smiled. "That's my girl. What I have in mind is a win, win. If you agree to stay with me, I will return the woman. Then I will tell you what you need to know about your demon side, about manipulating fire, about your heritage, about riding the passes."

  "Riding the passes?"

  "It's how you came here from the Loti Dimension." She looked puzzled so he clarified. "The dimension the Terr... humans think of as the only reality." He rolled his eyes as if to say, 'How stupid can they be?'

  "For how long?"

  "How long have humans been clueless? Since they were single cell organisms that crawled from the muck. Although that's second hand information. I'm not quite that old."

  "No. How. Long. Me. Stay. With. You?” She made hand signals like she was trying to communicate with someone who spoke a different language.

  "That is so precious! You're acting out because I abandoned you, aren't you?" He smirked. "Well, you need to stay long enough for us to get past the juvenile snits." He crossed his muscular arms in front of his muscular chest and considered that. "A year."

  "A day."

  "A season."

  "Till Beltane."

  "Done."

  "Doesn't really matter. I could stretch time and pack a year into a week."

  "That's cheating."

  He laughed. "What did you expect? Dad's a demon."

  "I heard that was just bad press."

  "Clever girl. And rightly said because public sentiment could have gone either way. It's a P.R. matter that we've never cared to correct because it's more trouble than it's worth. 'Cause really. Why should we care what Terr... humans think of us?" Then, as if he was enjoying a private joke, he laughed. "But wait until you find out how far the Nephilim will go to get their way."

  "Angels?"

  "They prefer we use their own language to describe them. But, why should we care what they prefer? By and large, what have they ever done for us? I say fuck 'em. Angels it is!"

  "Do you think you would know if you were mentally disturbed?"

  "Have some respect. I'm your father."

  She ignored that. "Have you hurt the woman?"

  "Certainly not." He sounded offended. "My beef is not with her. She's a tool."

  "I assume you mean that in the conventional way? Not in the slang sense?" He looked blank. "Never mind. If I stay with you, your, um, beef will be considered satisfied." After thinking better of it, she appended the demand. "That means the debt will be voided by you."

  "No new conditions. The deal is already struck."

  "I'm half demon. I don't have to keep my word, do I?"

  Deliverance threw his head back and laughed with his whole essence. It was mesmerizing. "You learn fast."

  "Well?"

  "Very well. My revenge against the lover will be satisfied if you voluntarily stay until midnight, Beltane Eve."

  "And how can I be sure I can trust you to honor your agreement? Dad."

  "If we make a pact of fire, it can't be undone without dire consequences to the breaching party."

  "Dire consequences, huh?"

  "Yes." He looked sincere, but she suspected that sex demons are especially good at looking sincere.

  "Leaving that alone for now, what's a pact of fire?"

  "Generate fire in your hand. I'll do the same and we'll clasp hands."

  "I don't know how to do that."

  "It's just like shaking hands. I put mine out..."

  "No! I don't know how to make fire!" He grinned at her. "You're being deliberately obtuse, aren't you?" She didn't know herself if that was rhetorical.

  "Maybe. You really don't know how to gather fire?"

  "I did it once - recently - and it was an accident."

  "Hmmm. I guess you're wanting me to release her soon?"

  "Yes. Naturally."

  "Well, you need to make fire so we can conclude this transaction. Let me see you try."

  Litha held up her right hand, stared at it, and imagined fire. Nothing.

  Deliverance walked over to Katrina and pinched her on the upper arm until she wailed. "How about now?"

  "What the hell?"

  "Exactly. Do it." He pinched Katrina again harder, she screamed and Litha could tell it really hurt. It made her so mad both hands burst into flame. Deliverance grabbed one of her hands with his and said, "Congratulations. You just sealed the deal." He made an air whistle sound and the fire went out. "You're now the proud owner of one damsel in distress."

  "You know I was just starting to think I might learn to like you. But you really are evil, aren't you?"

  He scrunched his face up like he was thinking about it then sort of wiggled his head back and forth. The aggravating thing was that she recognized that stupid head wiggle. She did that! And, not even scrunching his face made him unattractive. That was super annoying.

  "Not really," he said while he was pulling on a shirt and tying his hair back at the nape of his neck. "I'll just drop her off where I found her and be right back."

  "Hold on a minute. I need to send a message with her." Litha knelt down in front of Katrina who was rubbing her arm and looking more frightened than she had when Litha first arrived. "Katrina, he's not going to hurt you anymore." She turned and gave the demon a look that promised retaliation if he made a liar out of her. Then turning back to Katrina she used a tone she hoped would calm her. "You're going back and I'm going to stay here in your place. I need you to give Storm a message. Can you remember for me? It’s important."

  Katrina nodded, glancing at Deliverance and looking wary about going anywhere with him.

  "Tell Storm that he's not interested in a relationship with anybody but me and that not even demons can keep me away forever." She smiled. "I don't know if that will please him or scare him, but tell him anyway."

  Katrina nodded again. "Thank you."

  Litha stood up and turned to Deliverance. "I'm starved. Get me a
hamburger on the way back, okay? Well done with everything including onions. No ketchup."

  "A hamburger from London? I don't eat food and even I know that's a terrible idea."

  ***

  CHAPTER 15

  "And take Heaven with you."

  "What? Why?" Baka scowled at Director Tvelgar.

  "Simon says," Elora quipped.

  Baka turned toward his former crush with a dry tone. "Unforgivably amusing, Mrs. Hawking."

  "Why thank you, Fang."

  "Great Heavenly Days! Does Nemamiah have to put up with this all the time? This isn't a playground for aliens and ex-vampires to squabble like siblings."

  B Team and friends had been in Edinburgh for just a short time, but, apparently, it didn't take long for them to convert an unflappably calm and composed administrator into an irritable man with semi-paranoid feelings of losing control.

  Ram joined the conversation without looking up from something he was doing with his intelliphone. "Pay no mind. They talk to each other like that, but, in the wash, 'tis harmless."

  "You think so?" Raising her eyebrows, Elora turned on Ram with a challenging tone.

  "As I was saying, Ms. McBride needs field experience and I think this would be a great opportunity. Take her with you. It's just one werewolf. So far as we know now. Should be a walk in the park for half of B Team and Istvan Baka."

  "If she goes the experience will be neither great nor heavenly, I assure you." Baka wasn’t giving up the protest until he was sure beyond any reasonable doubt that he wouldn't have his way.

  With a thoughtful expression Ram looked up from his phone. "As you've said correctly, Simon, 'tis just one meager werewolf - so far as we know. So 'tis really no' a good reason to involve the women at all. Why no' just have the vampire...?"

  "...EX vampire." Baka corrected.

  "...aye, the ex-vampire and I go on along and take care of the beast ourselves?"