by P. G. Forte
“Well, I don’t understand why that should be,” Scout protested. “You must have had some kind of plan for reversing things, didn’t you? I mean, didn’t you think at all about what might happen in the future? About now? About–”
“No,” Adam snapped turning again, glaring angrily. “I, I– What future, Scout? They were dying, damn it. Of course I didn’t think of the future—other than to hope they’d have one. At a time like that, trust me, you don’t think of anything else. Nothing else matters!”
For just an instant Scout’s face was soft with sympathy, warm with compassion. Then her expression changed, as though a killing frost had taken hold of her heart and turned it against him. “I know that.”
Three short words, softly spoken, and yet they robbed the air from Adam’s lungs even as they opened his eyes to the truth. Scout was fighting for Nick’s life now, just as he’d fought for Sinead’s. And, on this, she’d give him no quarter.
“It’s not the same thing,” he said, pleading with her to see that, but her gaze didn’t so much as waver.
“Oh, I think it is.”
Adam exhaled slowly, a long, jagged breath that left him dizzy. Scout knew how much their relationship meant to him – she was just about all the family he had. And she was leaving him no choice. He could do nothing, in which case he’d already lost not just Sinead, but his sister, as well. Or he could make the attempt to reverse what he’d done and maybe, just maybe, someday they’d both find it in their hearts to forgive him.
“I’ll try,” he promised reluctantly. “I’ll do what I can.” And hope that it’s enough.
* * *
Liam paced restlessly, back and forth across the kitchen floor. Cara was taking too long to come back. Something was wrong. Something must have gone wrong. Could she have changed her mind? Could she have run back to Gregg?
Could she be that stupid?
It was hard to believe that could be the case, but, on the other hand, she hadn’t shown a whole lot of sense up until now. Of course, when he thought about it, neither had he.
Liam stared out the window at the gloomy, tree shaded back yard. What the fuck was wrong with him? How had he lost control? It must be the lack of sleep that had done it. But still, son of a bitch– He’d kissed her. He’d told her he was a cop. Then he’d let her go, he’d let her leave the room without him, after he’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t let her out of his sight until he knew she was safe.
And now, whatever had gone wrong, it was his fault.
Shit. He glanced at his watch and made his decision. He’d just have to go and look for her, that’s all. And if he found her with Gregg? Well, he wasn’t sure what he’d do then, but there was no sense in worrying about it ahead of time. Something would occur to him, or else it wouldn’t. Either way, things couldn’t get much worse than they already were.
* * *
Adam had cast his circle in the shadow of the redwood trees. The location wasn’t ideal, but it would do. The fact that he had none of his usual tools was less than ideal, as well. But least satisfactory of all, was the fact that the moon was still two days away from being full. There might never be a good time to perform this ritual, but there could hardly be one that was worse. The waning moon, the period when the moon grew steadily smaller, that was the proper time for casting spells to banish or weaken or remove. Now, during the waxing moon, his chances for success were slim to none.
He might as well just go back now, tell them he’d done all that he could do and then, in another week, maybe he could try again. Chances are, no one would ever know the difference. But, on the other hand, too much might happen in a week. Nick might die. Sinead might take their child and leave town. And, for certain by then she’d have named the girl. Victoria. “Gods spare me,” Adam sighed. No, it was clear he had to try something. But what?
He thought about it for a few minutes, while he breathed slowly in and out, raising his Mana, charging the atmosphere with power, considering his plight. The air was moist tonight, sweetly scented, clean and cool and fresh. He felt his spirits rise despite himself.
There had to be a way to finesse the situation. If he couldn’t remove the spells, or work directly to lessen their influence, perhaps he could increase Sinead’s ability to resist them?
That wasn’t exactly what she’d asked him to do, but surely she didn’t care how he accomplished his goal? And, as long as the end result was roughly equivalent to what she wanted... it should suffice.
He breathed some more – alternating long, deep cleansing breaths with quick, short HA breaths – and he thought some more. And the longer he thought the more certain he became. This was what Sinead wanted. It was what she’d wanted from the start, really. It wasn’t his use of magic that upset her, it was the possibility that he might use it on her. It wasn’t his power she feared but her inability to resist it.
And that was easy to fix. He could give her exactly what she wanted, and yet lose nothing in the giving. How much of his strength came from her? He could easily lend her that much and more, and be none the poorer. He could safely lay his power at her feet, as well. She already wielded more than she knew, what difference would a little more make?
He closed his eyes and visualized her, standing in front of him. The image of Sinead eyed him warily, a slight frown creasing her forehead, but she said nothing as he allowed his power to flow into the ground and toward her. She still said nothing, but breathed more quickly as the energy began to gather at her feet. It rose and spiraled up her legs and around her until she was standing at the center of a whirlwind of power and light that spun and glowed and threw off a shower of rainbow colored sparks.
Adam fed the energy twister with his breath and his will, watching as it grew bigger and brighter, as it spun faster and faster around her.
“Oh, Tesoro,” he murmured, entranced by the sight. “You are so beautiful.” And then he gasped in surprise and disappointment as a backwash of energy flowed suddenly over him, almost knocking him off his knees. He felt a pang of loss. She was using her increased energy to free herself from his influence – from all magical influences. She was breaking the bonds between them. He should have expected it. He had expected it, in fact. But still he’d nourished the small hope that she might relent, or change her mind, or reconsider. That she might choose to stay bound to him.
“Please, Tesoro,” he whispered, “don’t leave me. I love you. I need you. Stay with me.”
And still her image refused to speak to him, refused to answer him.
Finally, after what seemed like a very long time but was probably no more than a few minutes, he felt the storm begin to slow, to dwindle, to fade. The bright cloud of energy that had surrounded her dissolved. He watched as her image gradually returned to normal brightness, and then it, too, flickered and went out, leaving him bereft.
“If you love something, set it free,” Adam murmured hopefully, mentally crossing his fingers that everything would be all right as he released the circle and dispersed the remaining energy.
He allowed himself time to return to normal consciousness before getting slowly to his feet. He was feeling stiff and tired even though he hadn’t been kneeling that long. He brushed the pine needles from his clothes, trying to stay calm, trying to stem the growing sense of panic. What was he afraid of, anyway? He had done what he’d set out to do. He’d accomplished everything that had been asked of him. And now...
Resolutely, he turned toward the hospital. He’d rolled the dice and bet on their love winning through. Now it was time to learn the outcome of his wager. Time to find out if he’d won the throw, or lost everything he held dear.
He’d taken only a few steps when he felt Sinead reach out to him, mind to mind, bridging the distance between them. He stopped in his tracks stunned by the realization; she hadn’t cut him off, after all. Or, if she had, the bonds had spontaneously re-generated. But his joy was short lived. With his next breath came understanding. And then panic set in. Pain knifed through h
is chest as he broke into a flat run. Something was wrong. Something was terribly, horribly wrong.
* * *
Cara wasn’t in the hallway. She wasn’t in the dining room or the front parlor, either. A quick search of the rest of the rooms confirmed Liam’s worst fears. She wasn’t anywhere on this floor. Which could only mean–
Shit. He gazed worriedly at the stairway. If she was really upstairs with Gregg, what were the chances of his getting her out without a major scene? Not fucking likely, that’s what. Still what other choice did he have, except to try?
Before he could set one foot on the stairs, the door leading up from the basement opened and Gregg emerged, followed by two of his goons. Vicious anger swept through Liam at the sight of Gregg. He tamped it down quickly, not wanting to give himself away.
Gregg’s eyes widened at the sight of him. “Well, look who’s here. When did you get back?”
“Just a little while ago,” Liam answered, trying for a casual tone.
Gregg continued to gaze at him, his face unreadable. “What about your friend? Did you bring her?”
“No.” Liam took a deep breath, and did his best to look penitential. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t get her to come. It’s so busy for her at work, just now. Maybe after the holiday I could try and–”
“I thought Cara made it clear that you weren’t to come back here unless you did as you were told?”
Cara. Once again, Liam could barely repress the storm of emotions that raged within him. The mere mention of her name on the lips of the monster who’d hurt her, had him shaking with outrage. How dare he?
He had to struggle to keep his voice level as he replied, “Where is Cara, anyway? I need to speak to her.”
“I’ll decide who you need to speak to,” Gregg snapped, stalking closer. He frowned at him threateningly and then added, “Besides, she’s gone.”
Gone? Liam blinked in confusion. What the fuck did he mean, gone? Gone as in…no. He searched Gregg’s eyes but saw nothing there that he could recognize, and certainly nothing that engendered hope. There was no emotion there. No soul. No conscience. Nothing but dead space ringed by, a pale, flat blue. A chill swept through Liam as he felt his heart stall. Gone. Oh, God, no. Not that. Not… Guilt, horror and fear combined suddenly with the anger he was already feeling, and ignited a furious hatred Liam could in no way contain. Snarling, he launched himself at Gregg. “Where is she, you bastard? What have you done to her now?”
* * *
“Jesus, there you are.” Ryan’s voice bit through the haze of fear that had blinded Adam, as surely as his fingers bit into his arm. “Fuck, man, where’ve you been?”
Dazed, Adam turned his head, hoping to see anything in the other man’s face that would ease his mind. But no such luck.
Ryan’s expression was grim, worried, maybe even a little bit guilty. And he wouldn’t meet Adam’s eyes. “Come on,” he said as he propelled him down the corridor. She wants you.”
Adam’s heart was pounding as they entered Sinead’s room. His eyes went to her immediately. There was a tube in her nose, connected to what appeared to be an oxygen tank. She looked scared. Terrified. And much too pale. A flicker of something he hoped was relief gleamed briefly in her eyes as he rushed to her side; pushing past her sister who was looking almost as pale as her twin, past a host of strangers in hospital scrubs who appeared to be moving with quiet haste through the smoothly choreographed steps of an intricate dance.
“Tesoro,” he murmured, ignoring them all as he took hold of her hand and raised it to his lips for a kiss. “I’m here. What’s wrong?”
“Save her,” Sinead whispered urgently. Her hand trembled in his. “Adam, please. Promise me you’ll do everything you can.”
Adam felt his breath catch. “Of course I will. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll– Save who?”
“Victoria. Don’t let her die, too.”
Die? Too? “Sinead, what are you saying? No one’s dying. Do you hear me? No one.”
“Promise,” she demanded. “Whatever it takes. Okay? I was wrong. I should’ve, should’ve–” She broke off, gasping, and something like panic flared again in her eyes.
“Sinead–”
She clutched at his arm with her free hand. “Please, Adam. Promise!”
“Okay,” he replied soothingly. “Okay, I promise. Shhh. But what–”
“I’m sorry,” one of the strangers murmured, insinuating herself between them suddenly. “We have to take her now.”
“What?” Adam stared in bemusement as Sinead slipped her hand from his grasp. “Take her where? What’s going on? Sinead!”
“Remember what I said,” she called back to him as the gurney was pushed from the room. “Whatever it takes.”
Adam stared helplessly after her. He would have followed, even despite the hands Ryan had clasped on his shoulders, but he felt as though his heart had just been ripped in two, and he found himself rooted to the spot, unable to move. “What’s happening? What did I miss?”
“There’s some problem with the baby’s heartbeat,” Ryan told him sounding quietly apologetic. “They’re gonna do a C-section.”
“No,” Adam murmured, mostly to himself as a horrible idea took hold. Maybe that wasn’t Sinead’s mind he’d felt making contact with his, out there on the hospital grounds. Maybe it was their daughter whose silent shriek of panic still echoed in his brain, even now. He’d do everything he could to save her, to protect her. Of course he would – why had Sinead thought she even needed to ask? Unless he’d been right the first time and she’d cut herself off – from him, from his influence. From his help. And she no longer knew what was in his mind.
If that was the case, what could he do for her now? What help could he give, now that he could no longer reach her? How could he help her, save her, keep her from death?
Somewhere, a woman was sobbing. That’ll be Siobhan, Adam thought, as Ryan gave him a final pat on the shoulder, and moved away to comfort his wife.
Save her. Do whatever it takes. Don’t let her die, too.
Sinead’s words echoed in Adam’s mind as grief wracked through him and he closed his eyes and began to pray.
* * *
Liam’s attack was sudden and unprovoked, and it caught Gregg by surprise. But all those years of prison fights, of watching his back and surviving on reflexes alone hadn’t been lost over the course of the last eight months. He dodged out of Liam’s way and then turned and landed a series of quick, carefully placed blows that brought the stupid young prick to his knees. By then, his bodyguard had recovered from shock and taken over the task of beating Liam senseless.
Gregg licked blood from a scraped knuckle and watched while his two helpers got their kicks in. He sighed regretfully. Much as he hated to break up their fun, this wasn’t the place for it. “That’s enough,” he barked. “Take him downstairs.”
As the two men hustled Liam into the basement, Gregg considered the mess on the marble floor. Marble stained too easily. He’d learned that young. Better to take a minute now to find someone to clean it up, rather than having to explain it away later to the police.
But it ended up taking several minutes to find someone, and that shortened his temper even more. Cara had assigned everyone to tasks on the grounds, it seemed, rather than inside the house. What had she been thinking? And what had she been doing in the kitchen all alone? Not cooking, that was for sure. Nothing was even started for dinner. But, he’d deal with that later, Gregg decided as he slipped back downstairs, ready for some fun.
Liam was tied to a chair and barely conscious when Gregg rejoined the party in the basement. Hatred seethed in the young man’s eyes. Gregg settled himself on the edge of a large packing crate, sparing only an instant’s thought to what lay inside it. Explosives. Enough to reduce the entire compound to rubble. Ahh, if his trusting band of followers only knew what lay in store for them.
Pushing the thought from his mind again, he gazed at Liam curiously. “So, before I let my
associates finish making an example of you, why don’t you tell me what brought all this on?”
“Where’s Cara?” Liam demanded.
Gregg smiled at the question. “That’s none of your business. Is it?”
Liam didn’t answer right away. Gregg nodded at one of the two men who stood close by rubbing their knuckles and restlessly shifting their weight from foot to foot. The man stepped forward eagerly and planted a solid blow against the side of Liam’s face.
“Well?” Gregg asked him again. “What do you think? Is it your business? Or not?”
Liam’s chest heaved. It took a while for him to get the words out. “Yes. She is.”
“Ooh, wrong answer.” Smiling, Gregg hopped off the crate and moved closer. Close enough to whisper in Liam’s ear, “She’s mine, asshole, not yours. All mine. And she’ll never…be…yours. Ya got that? Never.”
“What have you done to her?” Liam asked, looking more angry than anything.
Gregg straightened up, disappointed by the response, and puzzled as well. What had he done to her? Nothing. Yet. As he was stepping back, Gregg’s eyes were caught by a mark on Liam’s chest, barely visible in the space where his shirt had been torn. He leaned in close again and ripped the shirt open further, revealing an all too familiar tattoo.
“Where’d you get this?” he growled, fingering the sinuous lines.
Liam met his gaze, and Gregg was sure he saw a gleam of triumphant satisfaction flare briefly in Liam’s eyes, but the boy said nothing. Gregg backhanded him for his insolence. Not that he needed him to answer. He knew exactly where he’d gotten that tattoo, the only place he could have gotten it.
In Dagoba. In Jim’s cult.
Jim had had the same tattoo and he’d bragged loud, long and often about all the many, many women and children who carried his mark. “Where do you know Jim from? Answer me!”
Liam’s lip curled into a sneer. “He’s my stepfather.”
