by Sandy Wright
He added sweet-grass and sage to the fire, purified his body, and spoke words of prayer. When he was cleansed, Sinclair sang his request to the rocks he had collected, one for each direction, plus one for the sky, and five more for the grandfathers of earth, water, lightning, thunder and wind. He wanted a full-fledged storm; one that would eat the moon, so the Dark Priest's ceremony would not be lent the power of the moonlight.
He cut another bundle of limbs from the creosote bush. He used twenty each day, leaving the leathery leaves on the branches near the tips.
At sunrise and sunset, he stirred the sacred water in his gourd, envisioning a storm cell forming in its center. He dipped the fragrant creosote branches in the water and flung the droplets in all four directions, asking the winds to follow on the heels of the rain. At midnight, he dripped hot sap on the rocks, beseeching lightning strikes quick and strong.
Last night he had seen the demon struggling to come through. He had traveled alone to look into the thing's face. Its malevolent eagerness and greed weighed heavily on his soul. Its power was building; he could feel the pressure through the ground under his feet.
Someone on this side, above earth, was aiding it, lending it power. Soon it would be strong enough to rise and walk on its own.
At least he'd been forewarned. His father, his father before him, and every descendant since Wakanda, had all prepared each other for the possibility of the demon's return.
But not now, not if he could help it. Its heart is formed of ice, death and destruction, he thought. But I will ask Grandmother Earth to capture it, capture it in her arms of rock.
To stop it, he would offer it something better than its planned vessel. He would offer it something it couldn't resist.
It took four full days' work to call in the weather. Taku Skanskan, master of chaos, and his sons, the Wani of the four winds, had to be approached with respect and deference. They were billions of years older than man and did not accept commands from any mortal.
But they listening to him and were considering his request. The pale moon last night had rings around it, a favorable sign.
He uncrossed his legs and stood. His muscles had stiffened and his aged body protested. He brought more wood to the fire, knelt and blew on the embers, watching the glowing red center expand. When he threw on a handful of twigs, an orange flame danced. Only then did he add the logs. The fire would have to last all night, and tomorrow night as well.
Then he would take his bird shape. And wait.
Chapter 55: Ties That Bind
Nicholas sent me upstairs for a pre-ritual bath while he finished his circle preparations in the library.
When I finished, I came down and sat the Phurba pot in the center in the center of the circle. Nicholas closed the circle with salt and then dedicated and sealed it with his athame, turning slowly in place three times and speaking the incantations in a sure voice.
Despite my nervousness, I had to admire his skill. The man cast a hell of a circle. I could feel—no, see—the faint dome of white energy around us.
He rubbed his palms together briskly. "All right. I'm going to be in the circle with you, and I'm going to tell you what to do, but you must be the one to do everything." He gave me a long and serious look. "I won't be able to help you much once we start."
I closed my eyes and took some deep breaths. "I can do this. I will do this."
"Good girl." He gave me a brief hard hug and kissed me on the forehead. "I'm going to put shielding around you for this. If anything gets loose from you, you'll be protected until I can banish it from the circle. If we do the visualization together, it will be stronger."
I nodded.
"When you've visualized shielding before, what did you use?"
I smiled and wrinkled my nose at him. "Don't laugh. I use the slimy, dripping covering, like the Harry Potter invisibility spell."
"It's a great image." Nicholas nodded. "Easy to work with." He set his hand on my shoulders briefly and then extended both hands with palms crossed a few inches above my head. "Guardians of the Watchtowers of the four elements, confer upon this woman your protection and hold her safe from the principals of darkness. So mote it be."
A glow appeared below his crossed palms. As he drew his hands apart, the glow stretched between them and descended to encircle my head, slowly covering my shoulders and arms.
I shivered as he worked, feeling the cold protective layer sliding down my body. It thinned as it dripped, until there was but a faint glimmer clinging to my fingertips. Finally, Nicholas gave his fingers a slight flip, as if flinging off water from the tips, and the shield separated from him and molded to my body.
"Just relax and let it form to you, while I do mine."
When he was finished, Nicholas held out the pot containing the Phurba dagger. I pulled it out of its soil bed and cradled it in my lap.
"Remember, I'll only be able to give you instruction. Are you sure you're up to it?"
I sat up straighter and turned to face him. "I'm positive. I am beyond ready to get this creep away from me."
"When they come, you'll know it," he said.
"They? You think there are more than one?"
"I know there are, I was at the binding ceremony," he answered grimly. "But it's the leader's essence you'll sense."
I stirred and rolled my neck, trying to loosen the tension.
Nicholas recognized my discomfort. "Listen to me carefully. Once we begin, you must keep your mind open. You're going to want to draw inward, to protect yourself, because there may be pain. Don't do it. You must keep your mind open so you can see the psychic binding and cut it."
He took my hand. Mine was clammy; his felt dry and cool. "Let's look around first, so you'll know exactly what to do."
I swallowed and gave a tight little nod.
Still holding my hand, Nicholas began his slow instruction. "Close your eyes and empty your mind, just as we've practiced."
I closed my eyes, letting all thoughts drift away, listening only to his voice.
"Look around. Do you see some kind of line or rope, maybe a strand of light, leading off in the direction you feel you're being called from?"
Keeping my mind blank and open, I swept my psychic gaze in a circle. At the corner of my closed eye, a strand of pulsing red light trailed away from my body and across the circle out of sight. "I see it," I whispered.
"Good," Nicholas replied, just as softly. "Now let the vision go and come back to me."
"Wait." I continued looking around in my mind.
"There's a cord to you too."
"Leave that one." His voice sounded strained. "Open your eyes. Now you know your target. Use the blade of the dagger to cut the cord. And don't move," he said fiercely. "No matter what happens, don't leave this circle. If you're tempted to run, don't! Whatever is attached to you will try to frighten you into bolting from your protection, because it can't see you unless you run."
"Don't move. No matter what, don't move," I repeated like an obliging parrot.
Nicholas squeezed my hand a last time and released it, then calmly closed his eyes. I re-crossed my legs and put my hands on my knees, letting myself sink into the familiar lotus position. The incense and the candle light relaxed me and I dropped deeper into nothingness.
Without warning, a cold breeze swept across the circle. It snuffed out the candles and the room went black. My armpits dampened as I picked up the Phurba and held it at the ready. I no longer smelled incense, but the metallic, copper-penny scent of fresh blood. In my mind's eye, I saw Nuin's strand stretch taut. They were hunting in the darkness, trying to find me. Hot. Hungry. Malicious. I squeezed my eyes tighter and repeated my mantra: Don't move, don't move. Their anger closed around me, pressing, probing. The air in the room felt like an oven. I longed to stand up, yank open the door and run into the cold winter air outside. My legs twitched with the wanting, but I gripped the dagger and willed my mind to stay open, to watch the cord
binding me to this Hell, and wait for the right time to strike.
In the background, Nicholas chanted in a rhythmic voice, "A-tah, mal-kuth," to raise the energy around us. His rhythm increased, and I opened my mouth to pop my ears and release the building pressure. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I held the Phurba at arm's length until Nicholas whispered urgently, "Now!" I brought the dagger down in a slashing motion, felt it make contact with the cord. The point of contact exploded with an unearthly violet flame, splattering glowing droplets onto my hand and arm. The liquid pooled and reformed and twined itself around my forearm. I screamed.
Nicholas leapt to my side, grabbing my arm before I could pull it back.
"It's not there, Samantha. It's in your mind. Fight it in your mind."
I squeezed my eyes shut and looked inward until I could see my arm, covered in the flaming liquid. I stabbed into the flames with the Phurba. "You are not THERE!" With a hiss, the phantom flame evaporated, leaving the faint odor of ozone.
Nicholas shouted in triumph. I slumped into his arms.
* * * * *
I stirred in the darkness, feeling strange and light-headed. No, not quite darkness. A faint violet light ran lazily up and down my hand resting on the feather pillow. I watched it dance and flicker, lighting the bed with its glow.
"Lie still." Nicholas turned on the lamp beside me. He held a stone mortar bowl filled with a pungent-smelling paste. He lifted my arm and rubbed a finger full of the stuff onto my hand. As he soothed it into my skin, the arcing fire eased and subsided.
"It absorbs the charge," he said calmly. "I've been experimenting with the native plants here for new potions. This area is a goldmine of naturopathic remedies: Aloe, mimosa, creosote, desert barberry, and golden smoke plant."
I brought my hand to my nose and sniffed. It smelled like tar with a hint of flowers. I looked at him uncertainly. "What happened?"
He took another dab and massaged it into my arm. His touch was deft and cool and surprisingly gentle. "Every magickal act creates energy that attaches itself to the person performing it. In this case, you created a hell of a light show." He pointed gingerly at the Phurba on the night stand. Purple sparks still crackled from its tip. "The discharge is more intense at the end of pointed objects."
He worked his way slowly up my arm with the salve, kneading my bicep and shoulder. "Should be enough," he murmured. "The Phurba needs to be cleansed and grounded, but I'm leaving that creature to you." He wiped his fingers on a washrag.
I put my arms around his neck and leaned back, resting my head on the fluffy down pillow. "No point in doing things halfway."
His pupils dilated, turning his eyes to dark reflective pools. He leaned in on an elbow and brushed my hair out of the way, kissing the sensitive spot in the hollow of my throat. He skimmed kisses over my temple and across my cheek, before settling deeply onto my lips. For the moment, his mouth became the center of my universe.
After a long while Nicholas broke away. "Tell me if you don't want this." His husky voice tickled my ear. "But tell me now."
I pulled him in closer in answer, opening my mouth to his urgent kisses. His breath came in low gasps, and he crushed his cheek to my hair. His hands traveled across my belly, slipping underneath my shirt, and his mouth found mine again as his fingers opened the buttons. He fanned the fabric away. I held my breath as he sat up and reached out to trace a finger over the curve of my breast. I realized I was clutching the edge of the bed and closed my eyes, caught up in the exquisite agony of wanting, raising my hips to help him. He pulled my jeans off and flung them on the floor.
Those teasing fingers disappeared for a moment and I heard a zipper and the faint rustling of fabric. Then Nicholas climbed onto the bed beside me. Bare, smooth chest and bare skin all the way down. I ran my hand slowly down his centerline, lingering at his belly button, again at his hips, and down further until he growled and pulled me onto him.
I peppered his eyelids with kisses, feeling his thrumming heartbeat against my chest. He made a small sound, half moan, half curse. "Oh my...ah." I straddled his hips and took him into me. We began to move slowly. Nicholas threw his head back on the pillow, black hair tangled over his face. The lamplight glistened on his skin, damp with the heat we fueled in each other. The sight made the blood sing in my ears. Oh, he was beautiful.
I leaned over and kissed him, and his response sent me spinning beyond pleasure. A roiling heat built and built until we both trembled with the tension. Opening my eyes, I saw Nicholas watching me with such hazy desire that my own orgasm began, sending me sliding toward oblivion. Arms locked around each other, we pushed ourselves to the edge, and over.
I woke slowly, feeling cozy and smug. The closed curtains glowed faintly from the morning sun just touching the windowsill.
Nicholas had his face burrowed deep into the pillow beside me. He had flung one hand across my breast. My heart beat against his palm. There was faint dark stubble on his cheeks and chin but only downy hair on his arm.
I let my gaze trail down his body brazenly, to the one leg thrown outside the sheets. Not much hair on his legs either. I examined this, and a dozen other details I'd never noticed before. The dark lashes brushing his cheek, longer than I remembered; the shape of his mouth, relaxed now in a near smile; and the way he curled up on his side, not stirring. A million little details I could never examine while he was awake. He was much too intense for such frivolity. But I could do whatever I wanted right now. I leaned over and put my nose to his neck, inhaled his scent, examined the stubble on his cheek. The thought struck me: He will be intimate with me now, he will touch me, and he will kiss me. He will look at me now and tell me with his glance that he desires me. We are lovers.
I would wake him a little later. For now, I put my head back on the pillow and closed my eyes, content.
Later, we lay facing each other in the center of the bed, our legs tangled together. As amazing as last night had been, I was restless.
"Last night, in circle," I began. "The second cord?"
He moved his leg from between mine, rolling over onto his back. "We need to talk about that."
I pulled away the blanket and looked at his naked body stretched out on the white sheet. I traced the outline of the sharp bones of his hips, keeping my eyes averted from his. "You didn't just go to that Black Mass. You participated, didn't you?"
"Yes." His voice was low and strangled.
I looked at him then. "Why?"
His eyes held a haunted look when they met mine. "I wanted you bound to me just like you were to Nuin. It was a terrible thing to do, and I did it for the wrong reasons—distrust and self-preservation." He sat up, his head bowed. "You were not a willing participant. It was done without your consent, and I am truly sorry."
You were not a willing participant.
"I wasn't a willing participant for any of this, well, until last night." I thought of the severed cord to Nuin, pulsing so bright. The cord stretching to Nicholas had been dull and thin in comparison. But then we made love.
"Are there other ways to bind someone to you? Or to strengthen an existing bond? Is the bond stronger if I am a willing participant?"
His anguished expression betrayed the answer.
A lump formed in my throat. I forced it down, swallowing the sour truth.
"So that's what last night was all about." The flatness of my tone surprised me. I sounded like I was discussing the morning news.
"That's a low blow."
I sat up and reached for my clothes. "I only wish I could aim lower."
He grabbed my arm. "Samantha, please. Please." His voice was tight and I watched his Adam's apple move as he swallowed. He looked absolutely stricken.
"No. Don't." I held up a hand, palm out, to block his words. What good did it do to question why it had happened? Conflict had brought us together in the first place. The truth was, I knew from the beginning. He thought of nothing but war and defense, while I thought
of love. He tried to make me a warrior. He didn't want a lover.
I closed off the pang in my heart, closed off the part of me I had just opened to him. I walled it up and sealed it away from harm. From Nicholas. "You did the logical thing."
Stunned, he gaped at me. "How can you say so?"
"The binding works to our advantage, adding to communication abilities, right?
Nicholas nodded.
"And we just made it stronger?"
He looked suddenly shy. "It's stronger if the pair is fond of one another, tuned-in, so to speak. If they, ahem, continue to be intimate, the binding continues to strengthen."
"Well...a reason for sex if I ever heard one." My voice matched the new iciness in my heart.
Turns out, it hadn't taken a raven totem to make me a warrior. It had taken a premeditated lover.
Chapter 56: Warrior
I was in the perfect mood for weapons practice.
The Phurba looked dull and clumsy, hardly capable of inflicting damage unless you hit someone over the head with the pommel. Once in my hands, however, it transformed. Simply by rolling it between my palms as I set my intention, I could launch it through the air like a tiny warhead. As Nicholas watched from a safe distance on the back steps, the Phurba sprang again from my hands to strike a small boulder at the end of the property, gouging a large chunk out of the center. I raised my hand, the dagger pulled itself free and flew back into my palm. I smiled in satisfaction and gently returning it into the pot of soil to rest.
"I don't suppose there's any chance you're this good with other weaponry?" he asked with a sardonic smile.
I sat down on the step beside him.
"I grew up in the Midwest in a family of hunters. Deer, quail, duck in season, rabbit and squirrel in the offseason. I learned to shoot whether I wanted to or not." I shrugged. "I'd rather not."
