by Ursula Bauer
Meg managed to glance up at Jack, even opened her mouth to speak, but ended up heaving her guts and her lunch all over his very expensive velvet pants, and decorative leather boots. “Water,” she croaked, her throat burning, “please.”
She was dimly aware of someone handing her a glass. She drank the contents down, and leaned back in the chair, spent. Exhaustion seeped into her bones. “Can we do this somewhere else? I don’t know if I can stay conscious in here.”
Jack’s pale face loomed into view. “I’ve prepared the Oasis suite for you. We can finish there, then you can rest.”
Meg nodded, too tired now to even speak.
Gideon’s strong arms scooped her up from the seat, and she rested her head against his broad, muscled shoulder. His warmth cocooned her in a safety net she knew was only temporary.
“It’s okay, Doc. Breathe. That’s right. You’ll be fine in a few minutes. Then I’ll kill Jack for doing this to you.”
“I had to be sure.” This from the man with pointed ears.
Movement seemed much quicker this time. They passed through a doorway and emerged outside into an endless garden filled with fountains and pools and all manner of exotic plants. Meg might have enjoyed it if she didn’t feel so awful. They reached a small outbuilding which held a suite of sumptuous rooms. They went directly to the bedroom where Gideon laid her back on a canopy bed filled with silken pillows. Meg drew in deep gulps of cinnamon and vanilla-scented air and the worst of the malaise recede. Her body was plagued with a lassitude she couldn’t seem to shake.
Jack followed through with a quick physical exam that employed a stethoscope, aural thermometer, and an assortment of crystals, some of which were suspended and used like a pendulum over different parts of her body.
The mage’s placid features never hinted or betrayed any of his thoughts, and he didn’t share any conclusions or findings. Occasionally, he’d flash a smile that never reached his stormy eyes. He’d have made an excellent physician, she thought. He had the dance down to the very last move. At least she got to keep her clothes on. Jack decided wisely to take Gideon’s statement about her “markings” at face value, and for that, Meg was heartily glad. She hated being on this side of the exam table, despised being the patient, the one to be treated as opposed to the one treating. And at the same time, she was morbidly fascinated by Jack’s mix of magic and medicine. Under other circumstances, she’d have asked a thousand questions. As it was, when he was finished, she only had the strength for one.
“Can I rest now?”
Gideon sat beside her on the bed, his burly body cutting a deep groove in the feather soft mattress. He touched her brow with a loving hand and smoothed back her hair. His black eyes were dark with concern. “I’ll stay with you.”
“No. Go with Jack. I’ll be fine. I just want to sleep” And I can’t do it with you around. Even with the fatigue, desire ripple through her from his touch.
He smiled. “I’ll check in on you in a few hours.”
She nodded, and burrowed deep into the pillows, finding a comfortable position. Gideon and Jack left her, and she was asleep before the door even closed. But her dreams offered her no escape, as the nightmare from the hotel played once more through her mind.
———
Jack debriefed him until the sun lowered and continued all through supper. All the while, worry ate away at Gideon. Jack was his last hope for fixing Meg, and judging by his friend’s cagey behavior, things weren’t looking good.
“My turn for questions, Jack.” Gideon poured himself a fresh brandy after the long dining table was cleared, and pushed back his chair. “Can you help us?”
“You know I’d do anything to screw the Gods, Gideon. And I’d do anything to help you. In this case, I know what I can do, I just don’t know if it will get you the results you’re looking for.” Jack regarded him with a strange expression as he finished his own brandy. The enchanted snifter refilled the instant he set it back to rest upon the linen covered table. “She’s farther along than I thought, and far worse.”
The words were like a physical blow. He stood so fast, the high-backed chair fell to the floor. “Gods damn it. I hate this fucking game.”
“So do I, Gid. It’s why I left the playing field.”
“You got kicked off the field.”
“Because I burned the rule book. I hate it when the house always wins. That’s a sucker’s game.”
“No shit.” Gideon stalked around the table, feeling caged. He wanted to lash out, but he knew he needed to focus, to think. “You said she’s worse. Define worse.”
“I’m going to run the usual tests on her blood, but by her quick reaction to being in the workroom, my guess is she’s the magical equivalent of a lighthouse. The headaches are a late onset symptom. She has a very powerful, very active spell inside of her. It’s seeking release.” Jack swallowed another glassful of brandy and got to his feet. He bridged his long fingers on the table and leaned over towards Gideon. “We need to get it out of her. Only that’s risky. It needs to safely discharge from the vessel which in this case should have been the Buckle of Isis. Most times, that discharge destroys the vessel, unless it’s created to withstand the expulsion of energy. The Buckle, from all my research, was created and owned by one of the first priestesses devoted to Isis, and handed down high priestess to high priestess until one day it vanished. I believe it’s built to hold up under discharge.”
“And Meg’s not built to last under discharge, is she?”
“Nope. Most mortals aren’t. Most immortals, too. Why the energy lodged in her, I can’t say. Maybe the artifact has a level of sentience and knew its energy was at risk so it sought a safer harbor. What matters is that it will be a bitch to remove.”
Gideon splashed brandy into his glass and downed the hot amber liquid, hoping to take the edge off his rapidly building fury. “So I need to get my hands on the artifact.”
“And fast. Her body won’t be able to contain the energy much longer. She’ll stroke out, or go into cardiac arrest.”
“The mystics set the timetable as the solstice. I have two weeks.”
Jack shook his head, and his eyes darkened ominously. “Four to six days tops.”
“Fuck.” Gideon sat down hard again and ran a hand through his hair. Forget finding the mage, or saving the world. Four to six days gave him just enough time to save only one mortal: Meg Carter. “Can you buy me more time?”
“I have a charm. If she wears it, the color will tell you if she’s running too hot, or if she somehow discharges the spell, and goes ‘cool’, as we say in the trade.”
“She can discharge without you?”
“One of the other risks you run. I don’t know what the spell is exactly, though I have my suspicions, so I can’t speak to the trigger. If she pops it off prior to getting the artifact, she has a fifty-fifty chance of survival or death.”
Gideon rapidly assembled the facts in morbid order. “That’s why the mage is after her, he wants to use her in some way.”
“That’s if you assume the mage knows she doesn’t have the buckle. You said the demons ripped up her house. They may have been searching for the buckle.” Jack slid back his chair, picked up his glass, kicked his feet up on the table, and narrowed his eyes. “Matt was right, the mage is ceremonial. And he’s working Egyptian, which makes him twice as dangerous, three times as mad. Screwing around with magic based on a cult of the dead and immortality is never a sound plan.”
This was bad. Really bad. A dull pain spread throughout his chest. “You said you have suspicions about the spell. What do you think it’s capable of?”
“Isis has power over healing. You’ve seen Meg do that firsthand. That’s residual power from the artifact, not the real spell. The spell may have elements of that, or, cover one of her other realms of power.” Jack stroked the delicate stem of his glass. “The Buckle of Isis refers to Isis’s aspect of gate keeper between the dark void and the living ream. The buckle is like the bi
rth canal. In a way, she’s a soul keeper. There’s one myth where she gives souls to beings made of clay and that results in new life. I think the spell has to do with massive healing, perhaps something to convey immortality, or a version of it, through soul transference.”
Gideon’s head began to spin. What Jack proposed wasn’t all that preposterous. He took a deep, steadying breath, as despair covered him like a shroud. “So I get the artifact and you put the spell back into the magic belt, right? Then I go after the mage.”
“I expect if you get the artifact the mage will go after you, which should save you some considerable time.” Jack frowned, tossed back his drink, and furrowed his brow. “I can’t guarantee Meg will survive spell removal. Technically, with all the juice she’s running, she should be dead already. I think she’s drawing strength from you. The magic that made you immortal is helping to keep her alive.”
Good. At least he was helping her in some small way. “So if I keep her near, her chances of survival improve?”
“Ten fold. In fact, I’m thinking I can use you as a buffer in the removal ritual. That will also help her chances.”
So things weren’t totally lost. Just partially. “The canopic jar was shipped back to New York a few days ago.”
“If I still had some of my old powers, I could locate that thing in two heartbeats. Thanks to your Tribunal, the binding they slapped on me still holds, so I’m useless that way.” Jack flashed a wry smile and his eyes cooled with refined anger. “However, I have a contact in New York. I’ll have them make a discrete search of the premises and shipping manifests. With luck, we’ll have the artifact in protective custody by morning.”
Gideon clung to the shreds of hope. “I need to keep her alive. She can’t be a casualty, Jack. No matter what.”
Jack studied him with a penetrating gaze. “I’ve never seen you so worked up over a woman before, Gideon.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Don’t talk bullshit. It’s me Jack. Fess up.”
How could he explain what he himself didn’t even understand? He searched for words, searched for sense, and came up empty handed. Once he’d thought it was simple hormones, now he wasn’t even sure of that. “She’s different, somehow. I can’t figure it, Jack. Maybe the artifact—”
“The artifact has nothing to do with your attraction to her, my friend. And it’s more than plain chemistry.”
Gideon couldn’t deny the truth. She was a drug in his blood, and he couldn’t get clean, didn’t want to get clean. “We click. No big deal.”
“Really? And if it comes down to killing her to save the world, you’ll have no trouble pulling the trigger, right?”
Gideon’s fists clenched. “Don’t bait me.”
“I’m not. I’m reminding you of who you work for. Not that I think you should do what they want. I think the Wardens are a pack of delusional jackals that have run the range too long in the afternoon sun.”
“I don’t work for the Wardens. I play by my rules, not theirs.” He got to his feet, restless with anger, and pent up need. “I should check on Meg. She slept through dinner, she might be hungry.”
“I had Havers send her a tray. If you need me, I’ll be in the study, working on the mage mark and a removal spell.” The corner of Jack’s mouth twisted up into a wry grin. He gave Gideon a mock salute. “One thing. Be careful. Our kind can’t afford to indulge in mortal love. It makes us weak. Look what happened to me.”
Gideon glanced sideways at his friend. “You of all people should know I don’t have a heart.”
“Your heart was only found wanting by the assessors, not missing.”
“Same difference.”
“Like hell. It’s still there, Gid. Just because it’s wanting, doesn’t mean a good shock to the system can’t get it ticking to the right beat again.”
“Now who’s talking bullshit?” Gideon turned his back on the mage, and Jack’s mocking laughter followed him as he stalked out of the ornate dining hall.
He made his way to the main corridor, briefly considered going to the Oasis suite and Meg, and then dismissed it. He needed fresh air, time to think and clear his head, shake off the rage and the helplessness. He took the quickest route to the back gardens and lost himself in the maze of exotic desert and tropical plant life that flourished under Jack’s eclectic enchantments.
He wanted to see Meg, hold her close, taste her again, but he couldn’t. He had to figure out what he was going to tell her, and right now, he couldn’t find a single word that would sound right. Sorry, Doc, you should have died days ago. Hey, we’ll get back the artifact, but getting the spell out of you might make you just as dead. Yeah, sure I told you I’d keep you safe; that was before I knew how impossible that task was…yeah, right.
Nothing like being good and truly screwed, he thought. The pain in his chest sharpened to a stabbing burn, a fire that wouldn’t go out. He sat down on a carved stone bench that rested between two large palms. He promised her he’d keep her safe, he had to keep that promise. He couldn’t fail again. He’d spent his own corner of eternity repenting for that one mistake. A second failure, with a woman like Meg, would destroy him.
Gideon went over Jack’s words again, and again, trying to find an out. In the end there were only two options: get the magic out of her and into the artifact, or trigger the spell and hope for the best. He didn’t care for either, but he didn’t have a choice. He did have a choice what to tell her, though. Question was, did he go for truth, or keep up the lies?
Chapter Nine
Meg woke from fitful dreams to find herself alone in the ornate bedroom. The nausea was gone, as was her fatigue. Restless and at odds with what to do, she padded into a marble tiled bathroom that reminded her of a roman temple and was easily the size of her living room. There was both a sunken bath, and a separate multi-nozzle shower. After a moment of debate, she stripped off her clothes, fired up the shower, and stepped into the marvelous stream of hot water. She stayed inside until her fingers pruned and the restlessness eased to a dull tingling.
She toweled off with a thick Egyptian cotton towel, wrapped it around herself and went to explore further. Back in the bedroom, she found a closet filled with an assortment of gossamer robes and wraps. Jack must entertain women on a regular basis, she thought, selecting a jungle green silk edged with handmade lace. The sensuous fabric slid like a lover’s hand over her body, and she shivered, suddenly reminded of Gideon’s masterful touch. Her body responded immediately to the memory, her thighs dampening with desire. She had to get a grip, really get a grip. Except it felt so good to let go.
The ringing of a cell phone startled her back to reality. She realized after the third muffled ring, it was hers. Apparently Jack’s pocket universe had good reception. She grabbed the cell from her backpack and immediately recognized Stan’s private number.
“Hi, Stan.” She tried to keep the surprise from her voice. It felt weird to have this intrusion of what was once her real life into this strange and fantastic realm. “What’s up?”
“Ethan Keeler had spontaneous, complete remission, Meg!” Stan’s enthusiasm rippled across the line. “It’s remarkable. Hell, it’s a freaking miracle. I’ve been over the results of his tests a hundred times. I know it’s a bad time for you and all, but I thought you might want some good news.”
Stunned, she sat down on the plush bed. She’d seen Ethan in the hospital, just before she left on this mad adventure with Gideon. She looked down at her hands as if they belonged to another person. They did. A person who wielded magic, curing what the most advanced science of medicine could not.
“Meg, you still there?”
“Yes.” Her voice was a whisper to her ears. She’d cured Ethan. Her touch. Not any of the radiation, certainly not the chemo. “That’s wonderful news, Stan. Thank you for calling.”
“You don’t sound so hot. Things must be tough.”
You have no idea. “You know how it is.”
“Well, I won�
��t keep you. I just wanted you to hear firsthand from me. Tomorrow it’ll be all over the news.”
Magic. Not medicine. She couldn’t shake that fact. What was science missing, she wondered, and why would the Gods be so cruel as to not share such wonder with mortals afflicted with terrible suffering? “How’s everything else?”
“Pharmetrica called an ad hoc meeting in Syracuse tomorrow to discuss the study. Bill’s on edge because he can’t make it due to conflict. Pharmetrica’s team is pissed that I’m subbing in for you. Chang and Lucy are fighting again so the office is a mess. Business as usual. Any chance you’ll be back soon?”
“I don’t know.” And she realized, she didn’t. She felt the other life slipping away, like fine cobwebs dissolving in a hard rain. “Listen, Stan, you know your stuff. Don’t let the suits get you all stirred up. Give them the imperious doctor line and they’ll back down.”
Stan laughed lightly. “You’re tougher than me, Meg. That’s why Bill made you the study liaison. Look, I leave tomorrow for Syracuse. The meeting is two days long. The VP of research and development thinks we’re too small to get the job done, so I have to convince him otherwise.”
Meg tensed at the news. “What if one of my other patients gets admitted? Who’ll cover?”
“Relax. Bill’s going to cover for me. He’s board certified in oncology and neurology: your kids will be in good hands. His commitment is local, so if someone gets admitted he can be there in twenty minutes. It’s all good. Don’t worry.”
No, it wasn’t all good. But that wasn’t Stan’s problem, or Bill’s, or her kids. It was all her own. “Thanks, Stan. Keep me posted if anything else develops with Ethan.”
“Sure thing.”
She disconnected the line, tossed the cell phone aside, and looked again at her hands. These hands knew conventional healing, now they were capable of miracles. Would she be able to keep this wondrous power? And if she did, what could she do with it? She thought healing Gideon was a factor of his own enhanced physiology responding to her magic, but her assumption was faulty. Then again, perhaps Ethan’s spontaneous remission was due to something else? She had to know for sure.
