by Brea Viragh
The feeling colored her judgement and had Nasira backing out the door before she could investigate further. “I’m not going in. This is wrong.”
Brock sighed, the ever-output man. “I tried to tell you it’s—”
She cut him off. “It’s not the trespassing. I really need to get out of here. Now.” She stomped her foot to prove her point. “Right now. This place has a bad feeling.”
Instead of continuing with the teasing, he nodded and nimbly maneuvered back to the front stoop. “Okay, we’ll go to the next address.”
“I don’t have another address. This is the only private residence for Thorvald Cavaldi.”
He stared at her like she needed to tighten the screws holding her head in place. “Then try his daughters.”
Oh. Right. Why hadn’t she thought about that?
“This is ridiculous.” Nasira stomped back to the car and wondered if this was what Bast meant when she said the road would be difficult. She certainly found a stately manor in disrepair and no evidence to her father’s whereabouts.
They sat in the car for moments while Nasira tried to decide where to go next.
**
Brock sprawled on the couch in the coffee shop with another cup of joe in his hands and a smile on his face as he inhaled the aroma. Nectar of the gods, he thought dreamily. He refused to feel guilty about his caffeine addiction. After all, he was a single father. How else would he exist except on a mixture of fatigue and coffee?
He took a hesitant sipped and closed his eyes. “This was a good find, Naz. Good find.”
“It’s a stopping point while I figure out where we’re going to go. That’s all. Try not to get too comfortable. And get your feet off of the table!”
There was music playing on a stereo with hidden speakers situated throughout the room. Wallpaper in sepia tones added warmth to the space while an acid stained concrete floor tied the urban farmhouse look together. The scene around them was one of relaxation and quiet camaraderie among strangers.
Too bad Nasira looked like she would rather chew through walls than sit.
A couple in the corner huddled over a small bistro table with a pile of papers between them while others engaged in friendly conversation. A lone woman in red flipped discontentedly through a magazine and checked her watch every few minutes, waiting for the other half of her party to join her.
Brock was part of the scene although he knew no one. He always managed to relax in new places while making sure to keep a casual eye on the activity around without drawing attention. Nasira had never been comfortable, preferring her home or the office to the simmering activity of public places. It was one of the reasons why she enjoyed country living.
At the moment, Brock was content to sit and people watch without the added benefit of her conversation. He recognized the anxiety tightening her muscles, pulling her mouth into a grim line, threatening to burst forth. He purposely kept himself on an even path to counteract.
“You’re making me nervous,” he said, ignoring her pacing.
“Why would you be nervous? I’m the one with a divine mission.”
“That means I can’t be impacted by your emotions? You’re projecting to the point where I’m surprised the employees aren’t affected. One hundred percent human with dense skulls. Get a hold of yourself before we have to leave. Would you rather go for a walk? Park by the lake and take in the sights?”
This was not her world, Nasira thought. She was there at the urging of a being greater than herself and things were not progressing in the linear manner she’d planned. She could hardly pretend to keep her head up high. Being strong was her nature.
“How can you sit there drinking when we have a conundrum on our hands?” she grumbled to Brock.
It was a game with them. She finally sat on a chair across from him and let her gaze wander. Her unease only caused him to catapult to the opposite end of the spectrum. Attuned to the ebb and flow of her emotions, he could always sense it.
Nasira recognized the game was underfoot and found she could not control herself.
“It’s a beautiful day,” Brock mused, ignoring her to stare out the window at the busy street. “Look, the Bradford pears are going to bloom soon. You can’t tell me this isn’t a pretty place.”
“I don’t care about the Bradford pears.” Nasira pushed her sunglasses higher on her head and squinted in the same direction. “I want to find my father and get this whole trip over with. Then we can part ways and my life can go back to normal.”
“I’m not sure if we can ever get back to the way it was, Naz. You of all people should know. There’s only forward. Try to enjoy the time we have here and then we’ll get on with the search.”
“You make it seem like this is some kind of vacation instead of what it is,” she said.
“And what is it?”
“It’s a quest.”
Brock let out a bark of laughter. “That’s why you don’t mind me being here. I’m the fire breathing dragon you need in case things go bad.”
“I never said you were a fire breathing dragon,” Nasira scoffed. Her red lips pouted. “You are here because you were supposed to be, not because I asked, and I am in no position to argue with the will of a higher power.” She crossed and uncrossed her legs in a bid for comfort.
“You keep saying the same thing over and over. The goddess this and that. I can only assume you mean your mother, and if that’s the case then we should do some talking.” He leaned back to search her face. “There is way too much adoration going on.”
“It’s not my—”
A throat cleared, interrupting their budding discussion. Nasira and Brock turned in unison at the tall man standing in direct sunlight. It shaded his features from the tips of his salt and pepper brown hair to the bottoms of the soft-souled loafers.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt, but I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation.” The fellow stepped forward and his features cleared. A smile lit unusual steel-gray eyes.
Nasira’s hackles rose. She shifted closer to Brock. “I’m sorry?”
“Your conversation. About a quest and fire breathing dragons. Goddesses.”
The man was fairly ordinary looking, she decided, if a bit on the lean side. He had brown hair shot through with silver, a nice body and kind face. There was nothing remarkable about him until he spoke, his voice cultured and intelligent. And then she recognized the spark of something extra.
“It…it was nothing,” she said slowly. “We were talking about a kid’s story.” She made up the lie on the spot and realized it wasn’t very good. “Sorry, you are?”
“Oh jeez, I can be abysmally rusty on social niceties sometimes.” A hand shot out to shake. “Morgan Gauthier, Professor of Mythology at Carthage College. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Okay.” Nasira drew the word out as she reached to grasp the offered appendage. “Nice to meet you, I guess.”
Brock plastered a friendly grin on his face and stood. “Brock Lockhart. This is Nasira Khepri. Tourists,” he felt the need to add.
Toe to toe, the two men stood nearly equal in height. Where one was broad and muscled, the other loomed thin. A light jacket and blue pressed shirt hung neatly on lean shoulders and presented an overall picture of wit and charisma. Black-rimmed glasses completed the picture of absentminded educator.
Brock felt rumpled in comparison, and was pretty sure he’d chosen his shirt—one with spit up stains near the hem—in the dark.
Nasira tried to school her face into a blank mask. Tried to tell her emotions to settle. Down, girl. Nothing about the man—Morgan, she corrected—should have piqued her interest. Except this wasn’t a normal day. And he wasn’t a normal man. Magic crackled off of him and, when she tuned into his energy signature, he practically buzzed.
“Like I said earlier, I do apologize for interrupting you like this.” He pushed the glasses higher on his nose and blinked owlishly at them. “I heard goddess speak and it broug
ht me over. I try to keep my ears open.”
“If that sort of thing keeps your interest.” Brock and Nasira shared a look. “Which, I mean, you’re a professor. It must.”
“Your goddess speak coupled with your trek to the Cavaldi place, of course. I had to come and talk to you.”
Nasira started, though she tried to keep the surprise from her face. “There had to be more to this than curiosity. Who are you, mister?” She rose to her feet in a structured parody of nonchalance. Her hands fisted at her side, legs ready to bolt. Next to her, Brock stirred restlessly.
Morgan gestured toward the door. “It’s nothing, really. But if you would step outside with me then we can have a serious chat away from prying ears.”
She looked around and calculated the likelihood of making a stand as Brock placed a hand on her shoulder. He opened his mouth to speak.
“I wouldn’t say anything, if I were you. There are a lot of people around and it would be better to go outside. I never know who or what might be listening.” Morgan smiled guilelessly. “Like myself, for instance. There’s no reason for a fight.”
“Brock,” Nasira began.
“Let’s do what he says.”
She coughed and covered her mouth with her hand, saying between the spasms, “You’re seriously going along with this?”
Morgan once more held his arm out toward the door. “If you please?”
“Fine. But I refuse to be happy about it.” She let out a gust of angry air as she snagged her purse from the chair. And the second things got hairier than they already were, she was gone. If she had to push Brock into the line of fire and use him as bait…so be it.
Brock stayed close to her, using his body for a shield, although he agreed. He did not like the situation. The way he saw it, they had no choice. Taking in the room size and the various means to exit, he saw no option but to follow the strange man outside judging from the fellow’s frame and weight, if it came down to a fight then he would win by a landslide.
“After you, sir.” Brock made sure Morgan walked through the door first, expecting an argument. With a whistle on his lips, the gangly teacher did exactly that, stepping out onto the brightly lit street. He blinked again at the light. Probably more at home in a dark library.
“Thank you,” Morgan said, turning to them. “One never knows who may be around. The Claddium has spies everywhere these days. Not especially surprising, given the approaching eclipse.”
Nasira opened her mouth to comment when Brock interrupted, whirling to confront Morgan and pushing her behind him in one smooth motion. “Listen, dude, I don’t know what the hell you think—”
The moment Brock turned, he felt a forceful tap on the back of his neck. A shadow of black eerily reminiscent of feathers flashed across the space between them.
Then the world disappeared.
CHAPTER 9
Four days to the eclipse…
Nasira was back in the room from her dream, the large table once more between her and the goddess. This time it was filled with a cornucopia of her favorite foods. Despite the nature of her dream, the excitement and tensions and heavy weight of responsibility, her stomach rumbled and she found herself reaching for a polished grape.
“I hope you enjoy the food. I know it does your earthly body no good, but there are certain things that are great for the soul. Please, enjoy yourself. Take whatever you desire.” Bast laughed to herself and leaned back in her chair.
The light from a thousand stars sparkled down on her rich black hair. She stroked the pure white feline on her lap. A picture of powerful contentment.
“Two times in as many days. I must be getting lucky,” Nasira spoke through a mouthful of purple grape.
“Luck has nothing to do with it. You were thrust into this realm. I thought we should make the best of this opportunity and speak.”
“Thrust?” Was it possible for your head to hurt asleep and dreaming? She fought the urge to massage her temples, grabbing another grape.
“The God of Dreams sent you into his domain. I hadn’t thought him involved but it appears he is. This may not be such a bad thing after all, to have a half-god on your side, invested in a favorable outcome. He’s already proven himself a worthy opponent against The One Who Walks in Darkness. A fight for a soul…extraordinary. It is a shame the rest of the gods of this earth remain impartial.” Bast gestured toward the food. “Eat, please. Fill yourself.”
Nasira shook her head. “I can’t even begin to tell you how confusing this is. I’m about to go out of my mind! First the house, which looks like someone dropped an elephant through the roof and let it rampage, and now there’s a strange man knocking me unconscious. Where is my body? Is this a part of your plan?” She continued to pick absently at the grapes and struggled to get her mind in order. “I thought I was supposed to find my father.”
“You are. Sometimes things are more difficult than we expect,” Bast commented cryptically.
“Did you know about this from the beginning? Is that why you had me bring Brock along?”
The cat meowed, a single stretched out sound spanning the distance between them in lieu of an answer.
Nasira’s smile was wry. No one, she thought, would believe her if she tried to tell them about this. Anyone in their right mind would hear her story and send her straight into the nearest loony bin.
Oh hi, yes, I went to Chicago to find my father on the will of a Goddess and found myself trapped in dreams. No, I’m not crazy. It’s divine intervention.
“The universe is immutable and has strange ways of making us oblige.” Bast crossed one perfect leg over the other and sent a brow arching upward. “You will understand soon enough, though our time is short. There are others out there who will offer their hand to you. Some to help, others to hinder.”
“How will I know?”
Bast lifted a shoulder. “You may not.”
Fate, again. It was enough to make Nasira want to strangle someone. “Let me see if I can puzzle this out. You’re telling me the universe designed this whole situation so that a strange man would kidnap me and send me into my own mind?” She found it hard to believe. “How perfect.”
“Kidnap you? Oh darling, no. He’s taking you where you need to be. This is part of the journey.”
“And where is he taking me, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“To your sisters,” Bast answered.
“To my what?”
Nasira jolted awake with a gasp, an electric pulse seething through her blood as she was thrust out of her head and back into reality.
“There you are!” The wise gray eyes of her captor peered down at her through thick glass lenses. Nasira felt her face screw up as she blinked, trying to focus. “You were in there pretty deep. I thought I’d have to go in and drag you out myself.” The thought caused a spur of laughter to rise and he chuckled.
“Oh, god.” Nasira winced and she leaned forward on what felt like the hardest couch in history. “Did you beat me while I was unconscious? Are there bruises on me?”
“No, I didn’t beat you, but sometimes the trip can be rough. I’m sorry.” Morgan shrugged. “I was as gentle as I could be. The subconscious is an odd place for a human body to be.”
“She’s used to it.” A voice sounded from the corner. “Don’t let her fool you. That one is tougher than steel.”
“You’re still here too?” Nasira asked, turning her body. Yup, there was Brock. Sprawled out like king in the castle, with his arm draped over the back of a chair and an easy expression on his face. If she felt better, she would have stridden across to him and slapped it off.
“Did you think you could get rid of me?” he asked.
“Not think,” she replied. “Only hope.”
Brock crossed the room and crouched in front of her. “How you doing, Naz?”
She kept her eyes screwed shut, not wanting to see him. With her head buried in hands she could almost pretend she was back home and this was nothing but a nightmare.<
br />
Almost.
“I’m fine,” she said sarcastically. “I’ve never been better. How about you?”
“Mr. Lockhart and I had the most delightful conversation while you were out,” Morgan said, using his best academic educator’s voice. “I had no idea you were related to the girls. I can see it now, of course, but you must have some kind of natural protection that muffles your energy. The rest was my own fault. What an odd and interesting twist this has taken. It never hurts to have another able-bodied witch on our side. Sorry there have to be sides, but still. We are talking about the potential decimation of reality as we know it.”
Nasira jerked up and glared at the man in front of her. “You told him?”
Brock kept his expression unreadable. “What else was I supposed to say? There was no good reason for us to be snooping around the house, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt anyone to tell the truth. You’re just looking for your father. Morgan filled in the rest of the picture.” He stood, staring down at her. Keeping his hands to himself. “Did I do the wrong thing?”
Nasira hated knowing they’d given a glimpse of their cards before playing their hand to completion. Now there was no going back. She suddenly reversed, latching onto another word from Morgan’s previous statement.
“I’m not a witch,” she told Morgan, latching on the word. “I don’t have powers. I’ve never practiced the craft in my life.”
He adjusted his glasses. “You are light magic, I can see straight away. Tell me you’ve never had something unexplainable happen to you, something you might have thought about but didn’t consciously act on.”
“Well, sure, at work. When I didn’t think an animal would pull through and they…no!” She upped her glare another notch. “Stop trying to distract me. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” She noted that the two men stood close together without any of the hesitancy from the coffee shop. What had they done while she was unconscious? Braid each other’s hair? Paint toenails and have a gab fest?
