He raised bloody fingers and traced over the figures already drawn. Bringing up more blood, he continued to write, keeping time with the chanting. His voice grew lower as he progressed. At times, he changed the chanting to a hum while he drew a sign on his own face or chest.
Her pinioned arm began to burn with the need for circulation, the fingers cold and numb. The cut was a raging fire, throbbing in time to her racing heart. Smoke from the candles wafted in her direction, bringing with it the copper smell of her own blood.
She shook harder. She tried to stay still, not wanting to bring his attention back to her, but she coughed into her upraised knees, then turned her head to swipe her wet nose and cheek against her arm. She tried to keep an eye on him, tried to stay prepared for when he finished his ritual. But she rested her head against the wall, and shock and smoke lulled her away from pain into a drifting semi-consciousness.
Chapter 32
“Fuck!” With a yell of frustration, Clive kicked the small boulder out of his path, panting as he watched it tumble in the beam of his headlamp, down the slope. It slammed against a tree, bouncing back a few feet before coming to rest in a pile of wet pine needles.
Riff glanced up from his squat near the thick spread of bushes he was investigating, the beam of his headlamp bouncing along the path of the boulder, then up at Clive. “You know, the dryads may be able to help us, if you can refrain from throwing things at them.”
Clive snorted. “There aren't any dryads left in the Flatlands.”
Riff looked around, his brows crinkling in puzzled thought. He shook his head. “No, there are some. I can't say how smart or healthy they are, but there are a few.” He slid several feet down the slope, catching himself on the rough trunk of a pine. He held onto it, staring up into the canopy. Clive followed his gaze, but his light disappeared into darkness.
After several seconds, Riff looked over his shoulder at Clive. “It's an old tree, and most of the Old Ones have been cut down. This one's spirit is weak, but I get the impression of fear. It's afraid of something.”
Clive managed a small smile of real amusement and spread his arms. The flashlights on his wrists created a halo around him. “Me, perhaps?”
Riff put his back to the tree, holding a hand over his eyes as he shook his head. “Ah, pixie-shit. I'm sorry, Clive.” He looked up. “I forgot about you.”
Clive had to try twice before he could breathe again. “How... how could you forget?”
Riff shrugged. “We've worked together for a few years. I have to trust you with my life same as any other agent. I don't spend my time worrying about what you do in your free time.”
“That's...” Clive stopped, unable to continue. He just nodded, and turned to gaze at the trees behind him. With another deep breath, he made himself go still, and listened to the forest around him. He felt it underneath the fear his own presence invoked. There was an unnatural control here.
He guided his wrist lights along the trees, eyes narrowed. Then he stopped, staring into the fading beam as it rested on some bushes. Motioning for Riff to stay, he took a zig-zag route to the bush, studying the ground and low vegetation.
After an intense investigation of the biggest shrub, he turned back to Riff. “This way. Someone's crashed through here at a fast pace.”
Riff nodded, pulling out his wand. “Figures,” he said as he climbed. “I knew we'd be going uphill.”
~~
Kasia leaned against her car and met Ringstrom's astonished gaze. Her story contained enough elements of truth to make it plausible. But was it enough? She didn't want him making phone calls to check on her bona fides.
He tapped a finger against his leg, his lips pursed in severe disapproval. “So your agent comes through here on business, impregnates one of my women, and just disappears? Leaving a trail for a violent perp to follow?”
“I wouldn't put it that way, Sheriff.”
“That's how it sounds to me.”
“The perp had already been through here. That's why Clive was talking to Mr. Ruth. And my agent is not totally responsible for that pregnancy. Dr. Cassidy has some level of involvement.”
His eyes narrowed. “So what's he going to do about it?”
“You saw him, Sheriff. He's determined to find Dr. Cassidy. He wants to be involved.”
“Will he be good to her?”
The question surprised her. “Of course he will.” She dared to touch Ringstrom's arm in a gesture of reassurance. “I've worked with Clive for years. He's a good man. Whatever he and Tina decide, I am certain he will have her happiness foremost in mind.” She jerked her chin in the direction Clive had taken into the forest. “He's the best person to find this guy. He won't rest until he knows Tina is safe.”
~~
Shandari stood nearby, half listening as Kasia spun her tale. She was distracted by the large vehicle parked off the road, a van of some kind with a large red cross on it, and the words Benton County EMT inscribed on the side. Two men stood alongside it.
When the dark-haired man walked off to talk to someone, Shandari slipped away from Kasia and approached the remaining man with silent steps. He watched her come, wariness holding him still and cautious. She held out her hand in the Flatland fashion, and remembered to use the Flatland title as she introduced herself. “I'm Dr. Shandari Uboron. I hope we don't need my services, but I'm here to help.”
His eyes widened, but he shook her hand. “Will Summerlin. You’re Shandari? The one who's working with Tina on her condition?”
She nodded. “Yes. If you don't mind, I should be involved in her care when they find her. She's going to need my expertise.”
He looked her up and down, his face drawn tight with anxiety. “What's going on? She showed me that antigen. It's unlike anything I've ever seen. Who are you people?”
Shandari raised a brow. “FBI.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I don't believe it.”
“Okay. The story helps get us on the scene, and you know enough to know we need to be here. But no, we're not FBI.”
He didn't answer. She waited while he glared at her, giving him time to make up his mind. His lips twisted with anger, but he nodded. “Thank you for telling me that much. Tina seems to think you have her best interest at heart.”
“We do, I assure you.”
“I hope so. Now tell me what's wrong with her. That antigen has properties I can't even fathom. It causes some kind of change in the body, I can tell that much. What does it do?”
“The answer is not one I can go into here and now. Even if I tell you all about it, it is not something the general public can know about. Tina was quite honest with you when she said she's not at liberty to disclose information.”
“All right.” He shifted, his large shoulders shrugging back as if shedding a coat. “What do you know about the guy who has Tina? I saw what he did to her cat. He's going to hurt her, isn't he? Is he a Satanist?”
Shandari's spirit went still. “Her cat?”
As Tina's friend described what he'd found, a frantic disturbance grew in Shandari. In the name of the ancient spirits, what control was Damien Fontaine building over Tina?
~~
The hours faded into a dizzy darkness as Tina skimmed the surface of consciousness and pain. Twice more, Damien stopped his ritual to return to her. She fought him the first time, kicking with both legs to keep him away. He evaded her without effort, mocking her attempts with cynical amusement. He held the knife ready, letting her terror build as she exhausted herself, before exerting the paralysis spell that sealed her legs to the ground. He cut her right arm that time, the pain doubled by returning sensations after the numbness. He left the arm free after bandaging it, but Tina had no strength to move.
The last time he returned, he gave her Gatorade to drink, telling her that he did not plan on killing her yet. She drank with desperate thirst, but too fast, choking and spitting most of it. Then he sliced her jeans and cut into her thigh. By this time, his app
earance had altered to a manifestation of terror: his eyes shone bright with an inner glow, his body burned with heat. He was covered with her blood, rubbing it into his hands with an air of reverence. She screamed for several minutes after he'd returned to the wall—weak, frantic screams of despair, rather than screams for help.
Soon, she slipped back into semi-consciousness, propped against the wall, listening to his voice, and waiting with dread for the change in cadence that signaled his need for more blood. Her cuts burned, filling her with tingling heat. Deep in her belly, she felt a series of sharp twinges.
His sudden silence brought her to a panicked alertness. When he didn't approach her, she forced herself to look over. He was staring upward, head tilted toward the cave entrance as if he were listening to something. Tina could hear nothing but the roaring in her ears.
He turned, coming to kneel beside her. The glow in his eyes had lessened; she could see his pupils now. She didn't know if he'd paralyzed her or not—she didn't try to move. Tears flowed down her cheeks. “Please, Damien.” She could only whisper. “No more. You're killing my baby.”
He looked puzzled. “No, he's fine. Not at his happiest, I suppose. But his aura is strong.”
“I'm having contractions,” she said. “He can't live if my body loses too much blood to maintain the pregnancy.”
He put another bottle of Gatorade next to her, and with a finger under her chin, lifted her face so she had to look at him. “I have to go out. There are searchers around, and I need to set a few traps for them, to clear our pathway out of here.” He leaned forward, his breath hot on her face. “You mustn't think they'll find you. This cave is blocked from all senses, magical or otherwise. As am I.”
With his bloody thumbs, he wiped tears from her cheeks and whispered to her. “You will never be found, Tina. You are mine now. Your blood is mine and your spirit feeds my spirit. Forever.” His smile was almost kind.
He opened the lid of the Gatorade. “Sip it. We'll finish the ritual when I return.”
Her breath came in small gasps as she watched him through a vortex of darkness. He didn't bother to wash. With her blood still coating him, he slid his t-shirt on, then the flannel shirt, buttoning it with quick fingers. After slipping on a light jacket, he left.
Tina remained propped against the wall, her mind floating in the dark haze of pain and blood loss. She was too tired to move her head, so she continued to stare at the spot where Damien had walked out of the cave. The entrance was large enough to walk through. It was dark outside, but she could see the movement of tree branches in the shadow.
With lazy slowness, her mind replayed the moment when he left. Slipping the jacket on as he stepped to the entrance, a flick of his fingers, then casually flipping his hand behind him as he walked away.
He moved exactly as if he were opening and closing a gate.
“Jesus.” Tina tried to breathe.
Tremors shook her hands as she reached for the bottle and lifted it to her lips. Her head and arms jerked with spastic tremors, but she managed to get some of the liquid inside her, much more of it on her. With precise, careful movements, she placed both hands on the ground and tried to shift up to her knees.
Her arms collapsed and she screamed with flashing pain. The darkness returned with dizzying abruptness. She sat against the wall and waited for it to pass. Pressing her back into the wall, she moved her good leg under her, and inched herself up to stand. She had to wait for the darkness to clear.
Chewing on her lip, she considered the next step. She'd have to pass the blood-spattered wall to get to the entrance. She knew beyond any doubt that she could not touch that wall, nor the rocks that held the still-burning candles. Her blood, ritualized in the words there, would trap her forever if she touched it.
Gritting her teeth against deep moans, she limped her way to the entrance. Darkness closed in, but she kept her eyes on the hole and the shadowed trees beyond it. Time went away. When she finally stood blinking before the entrance, she had no idea how long it had taken her to get there.
With intense concentration, she raised her right hand. With her finger, she lifted the latch of the gate she imagined was there. Her arm jerked with pain, but she pushed outward, swinging the gate open. The warm response in her womb told her the magic was working. With shaking steps she inched forward, coming even with the wall on her right. She took a step, then another, until she was halfway through.
She held her left hand out, as if holding the gate open. With another step, she was out of the cave.
Two more steps and she let go of the gate, but did not turn to see if it closed, or if the cave was still visible. She kept going, holding onto the trees, inching forward with pain-filled steps. Every step she took, she expected to feel Damien's hand on her shoulder, or to see him emerge from the darkness in front of her.
Her foot skidded on the slippery pine needles and she fell, screaming as she caught herself with her hands. She lay on her back and rocked in pain, choking on her tears and holding her arms tight against her body. Then anger propelled her onward. She couldn’t get up, but she tightened her lips and forced herself to roll over, first to her stomach, then to her back. She kept this up, every roll torture to her arms and leg, but every roll also getting her farther from the cave.
She was intent on her efforts, unable to spare thought for anything else, but a new sound broke her concentration. She stopped with a gasp, then held her breath. The sound came again.
“Tina!”
Crunching needles and branches accompanied more shouts. More than one voice called her name, over and over again. “Tina! Where are you? Make some noise!”
Her answer was shrill. “Here! I'm here!” She tried to push herself up, but her arms wouldn’t move. Needles and leaves showered over her face and lights blinded her. She spit the needles out just as a figure knelt beside her and strong arms lifted her up. A choked voice kept repeating her name.
He was here. She had to tell him, in case she never had another chance. All she could say was, “Clive. I'm sorry, Clive. I'm sorry.” He held her against him, his arms tight around her. She wanted to put her arms around him, but they still wouldn't move, so she just buried her face in his neck, and wept in the warm safety of his presence.
He lifted her with him as he stood and turned to face the figure who ran up, light beams bouncing with his steps. The light traveled over her as she lay in Clive's arms, and she heard the man gasp. “By all the sisters,” she heard him mutter, and then he asked in a sharp voice, “Does she know where Fontaine is?”
“Tina?” Clive asked, his voice near her ear. “Where is he? Do you know?”
She shook her head, still weeping. Damien's words came back to her and she knew she wasn't safe yet. None of them were.
“No,” she said, a hiccup tearing her throat as she forced herself to stop crying. She looked toward the shadow of Clive's face. “He went out to set traps. He said there were searchers around, and he needed to set traps for them. He left me in the cave, and I saw how he opened the gate, so I did it too, and got out, but I fell, and you found me.” She stopped, hearing herself rambling. “But I don't know where he went.”
She couldn't see his eyes, but she knew he glanced at his partner. “We'll need the travois,” he said.
The other man nodded, shrugging off his backpack. “Got it.”
Tina couldn't see what else he was doing, so she rested her head in Clive's shoulder again.
His voice whispered in her ear. “How badly are you hurt? Is the baby all right?”
“I don't know,” she said. “I've lost a lot of blood. I'm having cramps.” Fresh tears welled in her eyes. “I'm so afraid.”
“We'll take care of you.” She heard the despair in his thickened voice. “Shandari's waiting at the clearing. She can heal you.”
“Ready.” Clive's partner stood in front of them. “Lay her down here.”
Clive lowered her onto something that was about waist level. She'd been expecting
them to drag her on a blanket on the ground, but this seemed to hover, sinking a bit with her weight. Vertigo stole her sense of place and her weak fingers snatched at Clive’s jacket. “What is this?”
Clive answered while they wrapped her in a blanket, their movements quick and efficient. “It's a levitating travois. We can move you faster and easier with it. Just stay still, we'll keep it steady. You're strapped in, so don't worry about falling out.” The travois began to move.
The movement through the air made her dizzy, so she closed her eyes, letting the blanket's warmth sink into her skin. She heard a slight click, then Clive's voice, speaking as if giving a report. “We have her. No sign of Fontaine, but she says he's setting traps for the searchers. We're on our way back.” He seemed to hesitate. “She'll need Shandari.”
Kasia's voice responded, official and efficient. “Got it. ETA?”
There were more words, but Tina ignored them. She was warm, and Clive would keep her safe. Darkness beckoned, with the promise of relief from pain. She turned inward and let it take her.
~~
Between the need to keep the stretcher balanced and moving, and his constant alertness for sight, sound, or scent of Damien, Clive had no time to obsess over Tina's condition. Worry nagged at the back of his mind as they raced down the mountain, heightening his urgency. He could only guess at what Damien had done to her. He sensed her weakness, and knew it was more than just in her body. Her spirit was weakened. The baby's aura was not as strong as the vibrant haze he'd observed when he saw Tina yesterday.
The sun was just lighting the eastern sky when they passed the last trees bordering the clearing where Ringstrom had set up his command center. The Flatlanders cheered when they came into view, but the sounds tapered off as they caught glimpses of all the blood on Clive. Shandari ran up to them, on the heels of a tall Flatlander. He paid no attention to the floating stretcher—Riff had remembered to grab hold of one end, reminding Clive to do the same, so it would look like they were carrying it. But the man's eyes were only for Tina anyway, a quick, assessing glance. Clive saw his lips tighten, but he just grabbed the side of the stretcher and helped guide it into the ambulance.
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