Dream Under the Hill (Oberon Book 8)

by P. G. Forte

  “Hello?”

  “Do you know your phone’s been busy for over ten minutes?” Lucy inquired.

  “Yes, Luce.” Marsha smiled, rolling her eyes. “What do you want?”

  “I’m at the hospital with Scout,” Lucy replied. “We’ve got a situation here.” Marsha felt her smile dissolve. Her eyes grew wide as she listened to Lucy elaborate on their situation. Pulling away from Sam, Marsha reached blindly for a chair. She felt as though a load of bricks had just been dropped on her head. And every one was engraved with the words, be careful what you wish for.

  Why now, she wondered helplessly. Damn it, why now?

  “Where?” she asked when Lucy paused for breath. It was the only question that mattered. The when was a given: as soon as humanly possible.

  Lucy’s sigh vibrated through the phone. “Well, that’s the thing. Scout doesn’t want to leave Nick.”

  “Well, she’s gonna have to, isn’t she? We can’t do anything like we need to do in his hospital room,” Marsha said, all but groaning in frustration. “And we can’t do it without her, either.”

  “I know. I told her the same thing.”

  “And? What did she say?”

  “She said you’re very resourceful and she’s confident you’ll figure something out,” Lucy replied with a dry little snort of laughter.

  Confident? Oh, great. “Well, I don’t care what she thinks. There’s no space in that room, there’s no privacy and, worst of all, they’re not about to let us start burning sage or lavender or anything else in there. I’m not about to attempt a soul retrieval – or any kind of trance work – without the proper precautions. Not after last time.”

  “Agreed,” Lucy replied. “And don’t think I haven’t already thought of all that, too. You’re singing to the choir here, girlfriend. The trick is getting Scout to see sense.”

  “What brought this on, anyway?” Marsha couldn’t resist asking. “The last time I talked to her was two days ago and she was dead set against any of this then.” She winced a little at the peevishness in her tone. She was trying not to let it get to her, but this was yet another blow to her ego. She’d always been a bit prideful about her ability to persuade. And certainly, when it came to diplomacy, she left Lucy in the dust. Or maybe not.

  Lucy snorted again in amusement. “Well, it wasn’t me. You can blame your sister for that. It seems Sinead took a little side trip to the astral plane, last night. Came back with some story about Nick being stuck on the other side. Claims to have seen Lisa there, too.”

  Marsha found herself wordlessly shaking her head in disbelief. The world has just turned upside down and I think I’ve fallen off. Sinead, who’d railed against magic, Wicca, the occult—and anything even vaguely related – for practically as long as Marsha could recall, was the person responsible for Scout’s change of heart? How is this possible?

  “Look,” Lucy continued, “It’s not as bad as you think. It’s taken me practically all morning, but I finally talked her into leaving the room; provided I can get a couple of people in here – one to stay with Nick, and one to run and get her if there’s any problems. She won’t leave the hospital grounds, but, still, that’s something, huh?”

  Surprised, Marsha glanced out the window. What was Lucy talking about? All morning? The sun was barely up! “Oh, yeah, that’s so much better,” she scoffed as Sam joined her at the table. “Frankly, I don’t see how any place around the hospital is going to work. I’ve tried this kind of thing there. Soul retrievals are difficult enough under ideal circumstances. And, after last time–”

  “I know, damn it,” Lucy snapped. “Can we please stop talking about that? Last time scared the shit out of all of us.”

  Marsha sighed, thinking of all the things she’d need to get ready, all the things she’d need to bring with her: herbs, matches, candles, her cauldron, her drum, her altar cloth, her athame... no. She couldn’t risk taking that into so public a place. It looked too much like a weapon and she no longer trusted herself to be able to shield it from hostile eyes. Sam’s blade then, maybe that would work?

  “I’m sorry, okay?” Lucy said. “I screwed up. I know that.” Her voice was quiet but her emotions seemed to snake through the phone lines and grab Marsha by the throat.

  “What’s that?” Marsha asked, distracted from her list making.

  “It was my fault things went wrong last October. I panicked. I-I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t, didn’t–”

  “It’s okay,” Marsha murmured, still feeling more confused by the minute. “Lucy, it wasn’t your fault.”

  “Of course it’s my fault,” Lucy snapped irritably. “Now shut up and let me apologize. I’ve been feeling like crap about this for five months.”

  “Okay,” Marsha replied meekly. Feeling stunned all over again. My best friend has been feeling like crap for five months, and I never even noticed? Have I really been that caught up in my own problems?

  “I didn’t think about what might happen to you. I thought Scout was the only one at risk. It didn’t occur to me that you could be hurt, too. And I–” As Lucy broke off, Marsha was surprised by the muffled sounds that issued from the phone. Is she crying?

  “Lucy, it’s okay,” Marsha repeated, more firmly this time. “It was a bad situation. We all knew that going in. We didn’t do it by choice, remember? Let’s just all make sure that we do everything right this next time. All right?”

  “Okay,” Lucy agreed, sniffling slightly. “So, what do we need to do?”

  “Well, first of all, we still need to find a place for a ceremony. And if we’re limited to ‘somewhere on the hospital grounds’ then... shit, I just don’t know.”

  “The chapel?” Lucy suggested. “I haven’t seen it but, they have to have one, right?”

  “Yeah, they have one. But it’s open to the public, so it might be hard to keep things private. And we still couldn’t burn anything there.”

  “Why not? They must have candles, don’t they?”

  “I don’t think so,” Marsha said, making a mental note to call the hospital and see if that was a possibility.

  “Well, I know they’ve got that little wooded area across from the parking lot. What about that?”

  “It’s outdoors, which is nice, but it’s public, too. And it’s on a direct route from the parking garage to the industrial park on the other side. At the least, we’d be sure to attract a whole host of security guards.”

  “How about an RV in the parking lot?” Sam asked. “Would that work?”

  Marsha gazed at him in surprise. “Could we do that?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t see why not. Film crews do it all the time, don’t they?”

  “Could we do what?” Lucy inquired.

  Marsha ignored her to ask a question of her own. “When?”

  Sam glanced at his watch. “Well, I’m guessing they don’t open for another hour or so. As soon as they do, I’ll call and set it up. Figure two, three hours to be safe. Unless you really need it sooner?”

  “No, that sounds good,” Marsha said. That would give her just enough time to get her things together and maybe sneak in a little meditation time, as well. Something told her that she was going to need all the serenity she could accumulate.

  “Marsha, what’s going on?” Lucy queried impatiently.

  “Just sit tight for a couple of hours,” Marsha told her. “Okay? We’ve got a plan.”

  “A plan? Oh, good.” Lucy sighed. “Well, then I guess I’d better get busy making phone calls. I gotta see who I can round up to keep tabs on Nick while we’re busy. I’d ask Dan but he didn’t get any sleep last night, either. Besides we’ve got enough going on with Seth right now. I thought about asking my brother, but I don’t know... ”

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll find someone,” Marsha told her. “In the meantime, see if you can’t persuade Scout to take a nap. Okay?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Lucy replied sardonically. “Sure. No problem. Piece of cake.”

 
* * *

  Liam was home. His gaze swept around his apartment, taking in all his belongings in a single glance as he tried to feel something – anything. Some shred of emotion. Some casual connection, either to the place itself, or to any of his things. But he just couldn’t manage it. His head still pounded, his eyes felt grainy and tired, his muscles ached, hell, even his bones felt bruised. But that was all on the outside, inside, he felt nothing.

  He opened the blinds, and then the windows, hoping the fresh air would revive him. Clear, morning sunshine gleamed in through all the windows, a poignant reminder of just how beautiful the day had turned out– But, there again, only on the surface.

  He glanced around again, trying to process it all: the cool air, the clean breeze, the sudden trill of birdsong. He doubted whether he could have imagined a more perfect spring day even under ideal circumstances, in his present state of mind, however, it was clearly impossible.

  On the drive from the hospital, he could not help but notice how the surrounding hillsides had erupted, seemingly overnight, in a blaze of color. Orange, red and a haze of blue flowers nodded cheerfully amid the grass, while the sun climbed steadily higher in the cloud spangled sky. The cherry blossoms on the trees all along Main Street were mostly gone now, replaced by blooms of fremontia, redbud and dogwood. And by roses and lilies, poppies, lupine, lavender – a whole host of flowers, many of whose names he’d never learned and now, most likely never would. The sight left him unmoved. Perhaps it was the surfeit, the sheer overabundance of beauty that had short circuited his reactions.

  Or maybe he was just too tired, too disconnected, too…spacey…to care about any of it. He felt like he was looking at everything through someone else’s eyes. Even his face in the mirror seemed... not unfamiliar, exactly, but foreign. Strange. Other.

  The sight of it sparked a memory, however, and he found he could remember the last time he’d felt this empty, this alienated, this isolated from everything around him with perfect clarity. It had been shortly after his father had come to rescue him from Dagoba. It was a time when he should have been feeling happy, relieved, safe. Instead, all he felt was numb.

  It had probably been a blessing, back then. His inability to feel much of anything had, no doubt, protected him from experiencing the full pain of his loss. But the apathy it engendered, while he’d welcomed it then, was a danger to him now.

  He needed to be sharp. Focused. Fast. He couldn’t afford this much protection. He didn’t even mind becoming another of Gregg’s victims, it would probably beat spending the rest of his life behind bars, but the bastard needed killing. And Liam knew that being killed himself, before he’d accomplished his mission, would serve no one.

  He took a shower, hoping that would help. When that didn’t work, either, he put on some coffee. While he waited for it to brew, he went into his bedroom, sat down on his bed, loaded his gun. But not even then, not even with the smooth, heavy feel of steel in his hands, could he shake himself from his stupor. The smell of coffee tickled his nose, reminding him of Cara, calling up memories of the night they’d met, and so many other times – days, as well as nights – since then. He knew that the two would be forever linked in his mind. He lay back on the bed, expecting to be overwhelmed by grief, and a few slow tears did slide from his eyes, but that was it.

  He felt cold, heavy, dull; as though he were already dead.

  * * *

  Sam could not help but feel the tiniest bit pleased with himself as he watched Marsha and Lucy work. He was used to thinking of himself as a problem solver, but procuring an RV for the women to conduct their ritual in? Now, that was an inspiration, even if he did say so himself.

  He breathed in the now familiar scents of lavender and basil which Lucy had used to clear the atmosphere. Soon, he knew, their delicate fragrances would be masked by stronger smells – burning sage, cedar and sweetgrass, and possibly a little copal.

  The women exuded confidence, serenity, quiet power, even if they both did happen to look a little more grim than usual. They said very little as each went about her business; Lucy preparing the space in which they’d work, Marsha brewing herbs on the small stove; blessing and clearing the ritual tools, and then setting each of them in their proper place.

  Despite the underlying threat of nervousness within the room, Sam felt a pleasurable anticipation welling up inside him. After two and a half years, these events had become an important part of his life – more important than he’d ever thought possible. And Marsha, when she slipped into goddess mode, as he’d come to think of it, never failed to take his breath away. It had been too long since he’d seen her like that. He couldn’t wait.

  Still, given the other night’s abortive Ostara ceremony, he’d been a little surprised by how quickly she’d acceded to Lucy’s request. Clearly, Lucy had motivational skills he’d do well to study. All the same, he couldn’t help but wonder if Marsha would balk again, as she had the other night, and he couldn’t help but worry about what might happen, if she did.

  The blinds rattled slightly as the door was pulled open and Scout entered, looking tense. “Are we ready?” she asked. Sam was sure he could see eddies of energy rippling through the air, although his rational mind insisted it was merely smoke. The other women paused in their work to turn their gazes on Scout. Eyes narrowing, they studied her impassively, their expressions softening into sympathy.

  “Here, drink this,” Marsha replied, stepping forward to hand her a steaming mug. Scout took it, and drank the contents down without hesitation; without so much as a word of complaint, or a single question as to what she was being asked to drink or why.

  “Face East,” Lucy instructed, as soon as Scout had handed the empty mug back to Marsha. She held a smoking abalone shell in one hand, a feather in the other. “Arms out to your sides.”

  Sam watched as the women took turns smudging each other. Then Lucy turned toward him, her gaze speculative. “Are you staying?”

  He inclined his head in a small nod. He wasn’t conceited enough to believe his presence or absence could really make a difference to the outcome, but too many of the rituals he’d missed had resulted in disaster. He didn’t feel like taking chances. Besides, someone needed to be on hand to run interference or ward off any possible distractions.

  Lucy nodded. “I’d better smudge you, too.”

  Sam stood with arms outstretched, breathing in the heady fumes, while she softly brushed the smoke over and around him. “Thank you,” he said when she had finished.

  Lucy hesitated for an instant and then murmured, “It’s going to be all right this time.”

  Sam schooled his features to betray no surprise. He nodded again, more in acknowledgement than agreement. But, in truth, the fact that Lucy appeared to share his concerns left him feeling more alarmed than reassured.

  * * *

  It will be all right, Lucy asserted again, silently, as she re-joined Marsha and Scout in the center of the RV’s small living room area. Everything will be all right. It has to be. She was exhausted from last night’s lack of sleep, and the only way she could keep going in the face of yesterday’s tragedy, was by putting it firmly from her mind. Dan was dealing with things at home for now, and she had no doubt he’d know just what to do. In the meantime, she was doing her part here – by doing everything she could to help her cousin.

  She loved Nick as much as she did her own brother. She missed him. And the thought of him being gone forever, well, that was just not something she was ready to face. So, sleep or no sleep, she still would have done whatever she could to help him, or to help Scout help him, regardless of what else was going on in her life.

  But today, she had another reason, as well. Seth had once again – through no real fault of his own –gotten himself embroiled with the police. She needed Nick, now more than ever. Her family needed him. He had to come back and there was no time to waste. They needed him, damn it. They needed him now.

  She was as sure of that, as she was of her own name.
And there was something else she knew with equal certainty. She didn’t know if it was possible to correct the mistakes she’d made last October but, come what may, she was damned sure going to make certain no new problems occurred. That was her role, after all, to keep Marsha and Scout grounded and safe. She knew it hadn’t been entirely her fault things had gone wrong last time. After all, she’d been knocked unconscious and both she and her daughter had been threatened with death, little things like that might throw anybody off their game. Still, if the experience had taught her anything, it was just how important the role she played in these ceremonies really was. She would not let either of her friends down again.

  * * *

  As Marsha went through the motions, casting the circle, calling in the directions, offering prayers, she couldn’t help but wonder if the others could feel the differences as keenly as she did. She felt removed from the process, disconnected – just as she had each time for the past six months. She felt less like she was attempting to engage the primal powers of the Universe, and more like she was…acting. Performing. Making believe.

  Even when she was lying on the floor beside Scout, listening to the sound of the drum, allowing it to put her into a trance – or, at least, willing herself to believe she was being entranced by it – she felt as though she were playing some kind of game. Because, in reality, she felt nothing at all.

  As Lucy began to speak, directing them to see colored arcs of light forming from chakra to chakra, Marsha felt even more doubts assail her. What was the point of this exercise, anyway? How could a chakra link between herself and Scout possibly work, if she couldn’t feel it?

  The answer, when it came, surprised her. With a suddenness Marsha had not been expecting, Scout’s mind aligned itself with hers. A shudder wracked her body and she gasped in amazement. Tears pricked at her eyelids as she felt her senses unfurl and her mind expand for the first time in months. It was as though she’d been imprisoned, crammed in a box, starved. And now she’d just been set free in a room full of food.