by Brenda Joyce
His grandfather smiled and walked away. And he kicked frantically at the rats…
No. This was not really happening…
Those words were in the back of his mind, distant, vague. They were going to leave him there to be eaten alive, and then they’d heal him. If he tried to escape again, they’d put him back in the cage. Panic choked him. He felt their sharp teeth and he cried out. How could this be happening all over again?
He closed his eyes and prayed for his father. This was not really happening…But he kicked the rodents away, again and again, whimpering now. Why didn’t the great Aidan of Awe rescue him?
He saw his father so clearly, standing before the hearth in the great hall, surrounded by so much evil.
Please help me!
His father’s face was startled. “Ian?”
Help me! I’m in the new city of York. Help me!
Aidan shouted, his face becoming a mask of rage. And then he was gone…
He rattled the bars desperately. He had to get out, because he was bleeding and he didn’t have the will to try to kick the rats away.
But he wasn’t a boy now. This was a trick, a cruel, evil trick.
And as he clung to the bars, he was confused, because he saw a beautiful, fierce woman. He gripped the bars harder, no longer fighting the pack of rats. The woman’s face shimmered in his mind and he knew this was more important than the punishment of the cage. Suddenly he saw her even more clearly and her eyes blazed with urgency.
Ian, where are you? What’s wrong?
Clasping the bars, he started. Sam.
In the back of his mind, knowledge grew, even as he began to faint from the pain. He could not pass out now. If he did, he’d die. This was not happening. He wasn’t a boy. He’d been through so much with Sam. They’d fought the terror of evil together.
He strained to push through the darkness of the cage. The night was so heavy, pressing him back inside, pushing him down. He had to push back, through this impenetrable blanket of black power. He strained to see. For one moment, he was a grown man, doubled over in the cage that was sized for a small child. And then he straightened fully, exhaling, and he did not hit the top of the cage. The shapes and shadows of his living room were becoming visible. Through a window, he saw the rising sun and the mists that floated upon the loch.
He breathed in deeply. Relief blazed.
Ian realized his fists were clenched, but not around bars. They were so tightly balled that his short nails dug into the skin of his palms. He’d been trapped in the past by the power of the page, and it had been as real as if it were actually happening. To be certain, he looked down, but saw his denim-clad leg, not the bare, small and bleeding calf of a child. And there were no rats. He was firmly in reality now.
Ian, where are you?
He tensed, having heard Sam again, as clear as day.
He did not want her drawn into this war with his grandfather. Moray would hurt her if he could, just to get at him.
Fear finally vanished and in its place was a burning determination for revenge.
He could never let Moray hurt Sam or his father. He would protect those he loved—or die trying.
He reached out for her, to reassure himself that she was safe, and not already in evil’s hands. He found her instantly. She was standing in an unfamiliar bedroom. He focused and saw Nick, a badge hanging from his neck. Then he saw the sheet covering a corpse on the bed.
“My first pleasure crime. I so enjoyed it. I can see why the crime is addictive.”
The voice was Hemmer’s. But if this were real, if Moray had somehow come back, then Moray had become Rupert Hemmer now.
Ian slowly turned. Moray’s evil was unmistakable but no longer terrifying. He remained in his own living room. “Are ye Hemmer or Moray?”
“Both.” Hemmer smiled. “Right now, I am in control. Your grandfather was calling the shots a moment ago. He is too powerful to resist—and I hardly mind.”
Ian wet his lips, focused as never before. “So his soul took yers?”
Hemmer grinned. “Something like that.”
“He was vanquished.”
“After what we just put you through, do you really question his return?”
His gut churned. He didn’t have any doubts. Moray had returned. “Do ye have all of Moray’s powers?”
“Why else would I allow his soul to become mine?” His gaze narrowed, became the blue eyes of his grandfather. Slowly, they turned red. But the living room remained unchanged. “Did we give you permission to leave the cage, Ian, my boy?” Moray laughed softly.
“How did you get back? How did ye get into Hemmer?”
Those glowing red eyes widened. “We made another deal with the devil.”
This wasn’t virtual reality, Ian thought. This was real. He was facing his grandfather, who was also Rupert Hemmer.
Even mere minutes ago, the idea would have terrified him. Now, he burned to end this. He had never hated anyone as he did this evil entity. “I owe ye, Grandfather.”
“You challenge us?” Moray said. “But we have all the power.”
“No, ye don’t have all the power. Ye don’t have the power of the gods. Ye don’t have the power of right.”
Moray laughed, delighted. “You know, I never believed we could turn you when you were a boy. It’s why we hardly tried. But this is what we will do. We’re going to use you to bring down your father, once and for all.”
“He defeated ye before. He’ll defeat ye again. And this time, so will I. This time, ye fight us, together.”
“Such brave words! Aidan will come running to rescue you this time, don’t you think so, Ian?”
Ian tensed. He had not a doubt that his father would try to rescue him if he were put back in that virtual prison—just as he suddenly knew his father would have tried to rescue him when he was a child captive, if he hadn’t believed him to be dead.
“What I haven’t decided is the order of death. Should we let Aidan watch you die before we kill him? Or should we let you suffer a bit more, perhaps by watching sweet Samantha die after we’ve enjoyed her?” He darkened. “She dared to challenge me and I never let a challenge go unanswered.” Suddenly Hemmer stood there.
He tensed, wishing Sam had listened to him when he’d told her just how dangerous Hemmer was. He had never wanted to protect anyone as he did her. He was tempted to bargain, but evil could not be negotiated with. It could not be trusted. “This time,” he said softly, “when we destroy ye, ye’ll be going to hell—where ye’ll stay.”
“Really?” Moray laughed. “Some of us are immortal, Ian. Surely you’ve heard that?”
He refused to believe his grandfather.
“Do you remember the monk’s favorite game—the one we saved for New Year’s?”
Ian fought the power as it was hurled at him but it cloaked him. He was in a long, concrete hall, the walls lined with closed doors. The panic choked him. He backed away, shaking with fear.
“Open a door, any door,” his grandfather ordered. “Our guests are waiting, Ian.”
He started to run. Moray’s laughter followed him. A demon materialized in front of him. He turned to run the other way. More demons stood there. He ran to the closest door and flung it open. The giant seized him and he knew what would happen next. His mind started to shut down…
The pain began.
Moray’s laughter echoed.
He couldn’t stand it. He was going to die. No, she was going to die.
Sam was going to die
He wasn’t a boy. He wasn’t in the maze. This was an illusion and Sam was in jeopardy.
He had to get out. Moray had to be stopped.
“DRINKING WON’T SOLVE THIS,” Brie said softly.
“Wine will ease the pain,” Aidan snapped. Immediately, he was sorry he’d spoken so harshly to the woman he loved more than life itself.
But instead of going to her, he cradled his head on his hands, seated at the trestle table in Awe’s great hall.
He desperately needed his son. Seeing him again after twenty-five years had been bittersweet. He’d wanted to embrace him as if he were still a child. He’d been so thrilled when Ian had come to him for help. But Ian’s anger and hostility had cut through him like daggers. Ian would never forgive him, he thought.
And he didn’t blame him. He had failed his own little boy. Ian was right to blame him, just as he blamed himself. He would never forgive himself, either.
He looked up at his beautiful wife. She reached for his hand. “Can ye try to see what he will do?”
“I’ve tried a dozen times, and there’s nothing but black shadows. Aidan, I’m so scared. I think my fear is preventing me from seeing.”
He went to her and pulled her close. “We triumphed once. If he is back, we’ll triumph again.”
In his arms, Brie’s eyes widened with shock.
He turned and saw his son.
Ian lay on his back, thrashing, as if in a struggle, his form vague and transparent.
Ian was in jeopardy again.
“I see him, too,” Brie whispered.
“Where is he?” Aidan cried. He could be anywhere, in any time. “Ian, where are you?”
But there was no answer.
THE FRONT DOOR WAS OPEN and the chandelier above was lit, as were several wall sconces. Outside, the sun had risen, staining the grounds with golden hues.
Sam sat up, aching, having landed in the entry hall at Loch Awe. Macleod was helping Tabby to her feet. Sam stood and his blue gaze seared hers. “He’s here.”
But Sam had already become aware of the huge weight in the house, pressing down on them, pressing in on them. It was the weight of evil, more vast than she’d ever felt before.
It was enough to make her stomach churn with fear.
Sam took a breath, shoving that brief and unfamiliar feeling away. The house was so silent that she could hear her own breathing and that of her sister and Macleod. It was unnatural.
She reached out abruptly and turned off the chandelier’s lights. Tabby thought she had a spell which would trap Moray’s soul in Hemmer’s body. Last time, according to her sister, her spell had made it impossible for his soul to find a physical haven, so it had scattered into the atmosphere—or so they’d thought. Now they had a new plan: use the spell, trap his soul, and dispatch Hemmer. But Tabby did not have a spell to thwart the power of virtual control.
The skin on her nape crawled.
“Moray, show yerself,” Macleod called softly.
The pressure in the house increased. The atmosphere began to hurt her skin. Moray did not appear.
“I have to find Ian,” Sam said. She knew he was being tortured. She felt it in the churning of her gut, in every fiber of her being. She’d been sure she’d find him at his Loch Awe home. Now, she was dismayed, because she did not feel him.
“We find Moray, we find Ian,” Macleod said flatly.
“He’s right,” Tabby said, speaking in a whisper.
The pressure bearing down on them intensified. Sam heard soft laughter, like a distant echo. So did her sister and brother-in-law.
“Fuck the bastard,” Sam hissed. She’d do a room-to-room. She’d been so certain Ian was at Loch Awe.
As she started past the salon, she saw him, lying prone on the floor.
He was as still as a corpse.
Sam cried out, rushing to him, terrified that he was dead. She knelt. The moment she saw his lashes flutter, she also felt the faintest sensation of his power. Relief flooded her. “He’s unconscious,” she said tersely, as Tabby knelt beside her. “Ian.” She stroked his brow, shaking, afraid of what had been done to him.
“I don’t think he’s unconscious,” Tabby said, her tone grim.
Sam looked warily at her. “He’s passed out cold, Tabby. If he’s hurt, it’s internal, because he’s not bleeding.” She’d made an instant inventory.
“He’s under Moray’s power,” Tabby said. “I can feel the power of the page, Sam. I can feel its magic, and I can feel his evil perverting it, using it. Ian is in another world.”
Sam’s tension became unbearable. “Ian, wake up,” she said, taking his hands in hers.
His lashes fluttered, but otherwise, he was unmoving, as if paralyzed.
“I wonder if he can hear you. Guy, can you read his mind?” Tabby asked.
When he didn’t answer immediately, Sam looked up. Macleod was grim. “He’s a boy. Ye dinna need to know what they’re doing to him.”
Sam choked. She lifted his head onto her lap and bent over him, tears falling. “Come back to me, Ian, please. Get out of that world! It’s not real. This is real—I’m real!”
His lashes kept moving but his body remained still.
Macleod squatted behind Tabby. “Can ye release him from the spell, Tabitha?”
“I’ll try.” Tabby chanted softly. “Cloak of control, rip asunder. A different reality, cease! Cloak of control, tear apart. Ian Maclean, return to reality.”
Sam pressed her cheek to his, wishing he’d wake up. “Come back now, Ian. Can you hear me? Come back!”
His lashes fluttered, but more slowly. Then his lids slowly lifted. He looked up at her. His gaze was unfocused and glazed with pain.
“Ian?” Her heart broke.
The light there changed. Their eyes met and held. “Ye still have my back?” He almost sounded incredulous.
Sam inhaled and she hugged him, hard. “Always means always, Maclean.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
IAN SAT UP SLOWLY. “He’s here.”
As Sam instinctively looked toward the doorway, the room darkened. A chill settled over them. The pressure in the atmosphere intensified, as if a cyclone were about to touch down.
As she stared at the doorway, the wood door and moldings changed, becoming the barred steel door of a cell. The upholstered walls became concrete. There were no windows. The room was so dark, it was difficult to see.
Ian breathed hard. “He’s using the power.”
Sam took his hand as they got up warily. “Are you still with me?”
“If yer asking if I’m a frightened boy, no. But we’re in a cell.”
“Yeah, I see it, too. Tabby?” Sam turned. She reached in front of her where a love seat should have been, but felt nothing but air. The virtual reality felt real.
But Nick had said a powerful mind might be able to thwart it.
Her sister murmured, “Cloak of control, rip asunder. A different reality, cease. Cloak of control, tear apart. Return us all to reality!”
Macleod strode to the steel door, his face hard and set. Amazingly, the furniture that should have been in his path simply wasn’t there. As he reached for the steel door, the handsome teakwood doors suddenly, magically, reappeared. Sam breathed in relief as the room returned to normalcy.
And Kristin LaFarge was facing her sister, smiling murderously at her.
It was the witch who’d hunted her sister across time. It was the same bitch who’d used her powerful black magic to turn Sam’s own knife on her, almost causing her to kill herself.
But LaFarge had died in battle with Tabby at An Tùir-Tara in 1550. That meant that Kristin was hunting her sister…
Ian seized her, preventing her from going forward. “She’s not real.”
“Do we really know that?” Nick had been uncertain as to what could actually happen in a virtual world. If someone died, what state would that person be in when the control was lifted? Sam did not want to find out.
Tabby backed up warily as Macleod rushed Kristin, his short sword raised, his expression vicious. He meant to destroy her. Behind him, another woman formed, sultry and dark, in long red robes, her face a mask of malicious fury. It was Criosaidh—the witch Tabby had warred with for centuries, but who had also died that day at An Tùir-Tara.
“Guy!” Tabby screamed in warning.
He turned, raising his hand, as Criosaidh set a fire blazing between them. It started racing toward Macleod like a laser missile.
&n
bsp; “Cloak of control, rip asunder. A different reality, cease! Cloak of control, tear apart. Return us to reality.” Tabby chanted desperately.
Sam seized Kristin to prevent her from assaulting Macleod from behind. As she grasped her, the witch grinned at her and vanished. Macleod remained braced for the onslaught from Criosaidh, but it never came—she vanished, as well. The fire vanished. And the room returned to normalcy.
Sam blinked. The salon’s bronze silk draperies shifted. Morning sunlight filtered through the windows, revealing Ian’s beautiful furniture and artwork, the moss green walls, the expensive Oriental rugs.
But the pressure weighing down on them was worse than ever. She looked at Ian. She had a feeling of imminent doom. This was it, she thought, the last and final encounter.
Ian met her gaze and nodded at her, starting for the door. Sam followed, relieved to see that he did not look afraid. The victim was gone, and she was fiercely pleased.
But if Moray would not show himself, they’d have to find him.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she said softly.
“He’ll come,” Ian said as quietly, but flatly. “He’s biding his time.”
Sam thought he was right. As they stepped into the hallway, she started in surprise, for Aidan and Brie were rushing toward them. Aidan reached out and clasped Ian’s shoulder. “Are ye hurt?” he demanded.
Ian did not pull back. “No.”
Aidan’s gaze was searching. He dropped his hand. “I heard ye callin’ fer me, like ye did when ye were a boy.”
Ian stared at his father. “An’ this time ye came.”
“Of course I came.”
Ian breathed hard. A brief moment passed. “Moray is here.”
Aidan glanced at Brie. “It’s me he’s after, no one else. I’m sending ye home. All the women should go.”
Sam choked. “Are you kidding?”
“I’m not leaving you, Aidan,” Brie said softly, her face stubbornly set.
And his laughter echoed around them. “A family reunion, at last…”
They all turned to face Rupert Hemmer, who was grinning at them in delight. Black power cloaked him, as if he stood in a huge, dangerous cloud. “I have waited twenty-five years for this day.” He looked at Aidan. “And I will use Ian to get what I want.”
