by N. D. Jones
He knew there were three layers to his aura. Once a witch made a cat her familiar, an additional layer formed while the other layers took on aspects of the witch’s aura. In turn, the cat transferred a portion of his aura to his witch. It was in the fourth layer of his aura that the energy from the witch was supposed to be stored. The more energy the familiar could hold, the stronger the spell the witch was able to cast.
The key was for the familiar to manipulate the energy by absorbing it correctly, using the connection with his witch through the other three auras to maintain her, give her strength, and if necessary, take her pain. In return for the familiar’s strength and protection, the familiar was shielded, through the witch-cat bond, from the magic of an equally or less powerful witch. This bonding of auras also protected the familiar from magical manipulation by other preternatural creatures like the siren Assefa had recently killed in Alaska.
He felt the warmth of Sanura’s magic move throughout his body as intimately as when they made love. He didn’t fight the sensation. Instead, he let it consume him. Once he did so, he shifted the power and control of the magic from Sanura to himself. Assefa massaged the energy, twirling and twisting until he settled it securely in his fourth layer.
Sanura sensed when Assefa had control over her magic and knew she could proceed with the ritual. She first concentrated on safely thinning the blood clots closest to Eric’s heart and lungs. Like any combustible fluid, Sanura could control blood by way of her magic. She squeezed her friend’s hand then opened her eyes. With her second sight, she could see into him with X-ray-like vision.
She could clearly see the impediments to his breathing. One by one, Sanura focused on each of the threatening clots, incanting as she worked. She pulled energy from Assefa, who slowly released exactly what she needed without flooding her with too much. As the minutes ticked away, they found their rhythm, Sanura able to dispatch one clot after the other, a laborious, grueling process.
Eric’s body was riddled with clots, prompting Sanura to take extra care. She did, unhurriedly moving from one vital organ to the next, unwilling to miss a single clot. With unwavering effort, she thinned the clots, then replaced a portion of Eric’s depleted magical energy with Assefa’s healthier, much stronger chi.
Exhausting, but she had Assefa’s strength to keep her going.
“Like water that flows from a stream, be not still. Like a tide that rises from the depths of an ocean, be not still. Like raindrops descending on the earth from the heavens, be not still. Be not still, flow freely and give life. Give life and be not still,” Sanura commanded tiredly, ending the nearly three-hour ritual.
They released each other’s hands, and Cynthia recalled the force field. The water witch’s tired blue eyes stared down at her husband then they lifted to Sanura and Assefa. “He’s asleep, and his breathing is normal. You two did it. Thank you.”
Assefa’s supportive arms caught Sanura before she sank to the floor, the witch, unsurprisingly, drained after what she’d just done. He wasn’t exactly full of energy himself. Holding her weight, he steadied her as they walked out of the bedroom, down the stairs, and into the Garveys’ living room. Leaving her on a sofa, Assefa went in search of a kitchen. A couple of minutes later, he returned with a cold glass of water.
“Here, drink this.” He held her shaky hands while she devoured the water. “Would you like another?”
“No, but thanks.”
Taking the glass from her hand, he placed it on the marble-top end table before sitting next to Sanura and pulling her to him. “I’ve never seen a witch do anything like that before, and I’ve seen plenty of unusual stuff working for the FBI.”
“I’ve never done anything like that before,” she admitted, and then rested her head on his shoulder. “I didn’t know I could, not truly. Something is happening to me. I viewed Eric’s blood as lava and manipulated it the same way I would the molten rock—a basic earth spell with a twist.”
He gave her a reassuring kiss to the forehead. “I know, sweetheart, something has happened to the both of us since the handfasting. We’ve gone so far beyond what other witches and their familiars are able to do together.”
“Your eyes turned red,” Cynthia said as she entered the living room, Assefa having heard the creak of the bedroom door when she’d closed it and her steps when she’d descended the stairs.
Sanura raised her head from Assefa’s shoulder and gave Cynthia a questioning look. She then turned her skeptical eyes toward him, expecting, he assumed, for him to deny or confirm Cynthia’s statement. Before he could do either, she swung her gaze back to her friend.
“What are you talking about?”
Cynthia sat in the loveseat across from the sofa where Sanura and Assefa were sitting. “Your eyes turned fire-engine red during the ritual. We’ve performed that ritual dozens of times and that has never happened.”
Assefa cautiously observed the longtime friends, knowing better than to get between two women. Besides, he was a visitor in the Garvey home and, despite his relationship with Sanura, didn’t know her friends well. Yet, Cynthia had a valid point, one he’d intended to broach with Sanura as soon as she’d regained her strength. Cynthia Garvey, however, had beat him to it.
Cynthia gave Sanura a thoughtful look, furrowed her brow, and then sat forward in the loveseat. “We’ve never done that particular version of the ritual, have we?” Her voice was accusatory but not harsh.
Sanura shook her head and Cynthia reclined back in the chair, her blue eyes still on her friend. “What did you do that would cause your eyes to change colors like that? In fact, what occurred during your handfasting that would allow you to use Assefa the way you did?”
Her voice had pitched a bit higher, a small tremor she couldn’t hide from his cat sensitive ears.
Sanura didn’t have a chance to answer before Cynthia plowed on. “You performed, by all accounts, a magical operation on Eric, didn’t you, Sanura, without even asking me?”
Her hands balled into fists, a vein in her neck strumming thick and fast, blue eyes bright and dangerous. Shit, he’d be damned if they put him in a position to break up a fight between two powerful witches. He would gag them before he allowed one spell to be cast.
“Yes, I did,” Sanura answered, apparently unfazed by Cynthia’s bout of anger, making Assefa think this was par for the course with them. Observing the standoff, Assefa thanked the gods he had only one sister.
“He would’ve died otherwise. I had no choice. Eric still may not survive the night, which is why I had to transfer a fraction of Assefa’s chi into him.”
There was no hint of apology in her tone, although, perhaps there should have been. Cynthia had a right to know what Sanura intended to do to her husband, even if it was in his best interest.
“You know I would never hurt Eric or risk his life, but—”
“I know you wouldn’t, Sanura,” Cynthia interrupted, her eyes calming, body relaxing, the brief spike of magical tension he’d felt receding. She ran her hands through her golden-brown dreadlocks, twisting one finger around one, stopping at the decorative cowrie shell on the end. “Between the attack on Gen and Eric’s worsening condition, I’m just a little worse for wear.”
“I get it. Eric is your mate and his condition is tenuous. We have to make sure he makes it through the night, and if he does, come morning, much of his strength will return, and we can all discuss part two of my plan.”
“There’s a part two to all of this?” Assefa asked.
“Ah, yeah, but that’s for later. I don’t want to put the prayer before the offering,” Sanura responded with an air of reserved caution.
Witch clichés, Assefa thought with disdain. His sister was full of them, always whipping one out at the oddest times.
“So, this was what you were thinking about on the ride here? This is what you meant when you said you were meditating?”
“I had a lot on my mind, Assefa. I didn’t have time to go through it all with you before w
e arrived. And if I recall correctly, you were preoccupied with your dirty little thoughts.”
“Okaaay, I’m still in the room, unless the two of you would like for me to leave so you can pick up wherever you left off in the car.”
They really were like sisters, because Sanura didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed. Not the way he knew she could be, so shy and discomforted at times.
“Did you see them change as well?” she asked him.
Ah, they were back to the red eyes.
“They were red, just as Cynthia said.”
“I could see inside Eric as easily as I see the two of you now. I’ve used my second sight before, the same as all mature witches, but the results were never like they were today.”
“You remember the day you were given your handfasting robe the same as me, Sanura. Your grandmother didn’t select the tri-element design randomly. Oya worked through her, guided her hands. You’re a fire earth witch. Now that you’ve found your familiar, all of your latent powers will come into focus,” Cynthia stated as if it were a given. “I know as a kid you liked to act as though there was nothing special about you as if you were just like the rest of us, but that was never true. What you did today couldn’t have happened if you weren’t on the path the elders have spoken of since your birth.”
Sanura’s face revealed nothing but exhaustion. Not resignation, nor disagreement, not even annoyance. No wonder she sought escape through her moonstone and the dating of full-human men. Even her best friend treated her with reverence.
Cynthia studied them; her regard pensive. “You two are on a mutual journey, and the sooner you come to terms with it, the sooner you can prepare yourselves for what’s to come.”
Assefa didn’t like the casual way Cynthia accepted the fate of him and Sanura. His friends and family were no different. Five hundred and the twenty-ninth year was what the Sudanese prophecy proclaimed. This year was the twenty-ninth of his and Sanura’s births, Sanura’s birthday only a few weeks away, his in September. If the Day of the Serpents was a forgone conclusion as Cynthia Garvey just implied, then it would happen before the end of this year. Before or after he turned twenty-nine, he didn’t know. That could either give them three months to prepare…or no time at all.
She stood. “Thank you. I’m in your debt.” Genuine. Humbling. Then Cynthia grinned, a bit of the devil shining through. “You know, Sanura, you used to be so rational and predictable before hooking up with Assefa. Now, you’ve moved to Virginia, shacked up with a guy you’ve only known a few weeks, and flawlessly performed an advanced-level spell right out of Nowa’s shrine.”
Assefa grimaced at the archaic witch saying. Even Najja didn’t use that one.
“I think I like this new spontaneous side of you, sis.” She then swept from the room, her words of, “I’m going to check on my husband. The two of you should rest,” trailing behind her.
Assefa listened to her retreating feet make their way down the hall and back up the stairs. Cynthia Garvey was an interesting woman, pretty and subtly powerful. She obviously loved and trusted Sanura. In Assefa’s world, those were rare and precious gifts, never to be taken for granted.
“How is it that Cynthia and Eric, who can’t be older than us, come to be the adoptive parents of a fourteen-year-old girl?” Assefa asked, thinking about their multicultural family unit—a biracial mother, a white father and a Chinese daughter.
“When Mom was a family law attorney, she helped save a lot of children from an abusive home life. Eric was one of those kids. Luke Garvey, Eric’s father, was a social drinker whose social hour started at seven in the morning and ended somewhere between passed-out o’clock and locked-up thirty. The times when his legs would hold his weight and his eyes could focus, his scorn at his ‘shitty life with a whore of a wife and worthless kids who don’t do shit but eat and spend my hard-earned money,’ was treated with cause to assert his oh so manly prowess. What were a few bruises and split lips between family, right?”
“Yeah, guys like that make me want to dish out some Sudanese-style justice.” Sudan damn sure was no utopia. It had many flaws, but Sudanese men who were foolish enough to take that low road were dealt with swiftly and mercilessly. Not by were-cats. No, Sudanese witches, like Sanura’s Witch Council of Elders, took care of their own.
“Dad felt the same as you. Anyway, Eric’s mother decided to run. One night after her husband had passed out, she bundled her two boys and a few belongings into her car and bolted. She set out with no destination in mind or even a plan of what she would do once she got away. But she knew she couldn’t stay, couldn’t risk herself or her sons anymore.”
Sanura’s eyes radiated with intensity, speaking from the soul as if it were her tale instead of a friend’s. Assefa wondered if Eric’s youthful plight and Makena’s legal work contributed to Sanura’s interest in child psychology.
“Eileen Garvey didn’t stop running until she’d reached Maryland.” Sanura leaned her side against his, her head coming to rest on his chest. “She probably thought the distance would be enough to keep her and her children safe. I can’t imagine how frightened she must’ve been. She is a strong woman, Assefa, beaten down but never beaten. I always admired Mrs. Garvey. Her witch powers are of no consequence, but she possesses a deeper power.”
He kissed the top of her head. He knew that type of power. The kind forged in the unforgiving fires of Hell. He’d seen it on the faces of his countrymen, rising up in revolt of a despotic Berber regime. And he’d glimpsed it in his own eyes. The day I decided to leave home. “Survival instinct, sweetheart. There’s no better motivator, except, of course, the protective heart of a mother.”
She curled deeper against him, slipping off her shoes before putting her feet on the sofa, her knees rubbing his thigh. It was a nice fit. A perfect fit.
“The first thing Mrs. Garvey did, when she reached Maryland, was to seek out the Council.” Sanura shook her head. “We’re actually listed. If you can believe that.”
He could. For the most part, full-humans didn’t believe in witches. Sure, books and movies abounded about the supernatural, but no one really believed that stuff. It was just make-believe, right?
“It was after she joined the Council that Mrs. Garvey was introduced to a young Makena Williams, Harvard Law graduate and member of the Maryland State Bar. Mom eventually helped Mrs. Garvey divorce her husband and get full legal custody of Eric and Stephen, not that their father put up a fight, for his marriage or his sons. Anyway, it wasn’t until the death of his father oh…I guess about a year and a half ago now, that Eric returned to California. His mother refused to attend the funeral. And, by then, Stephen wasn’t around to make the trip. Even if he were in a position to go with Eric, he wouldn’t have. He had long since taken up drinking to give a damn about anyone beyond himself. Like father like son, I suppose.”
Like father like son. How many times had he heard that said about him? Too many, but it’s not true. Never had been, never will be.
“Cyn went with him. It wasn’t until he reached his father’s San Francisco home that Eric came face-to-face with a half-sister he’d only seen in pictures.”
“Garvey remarried?”
“He married a barely legal Chinese immigrant girl. But for all her youth, she understood the importance of family. A few years back she contacted Eric. From that point on, they kept in touch. Not often, but she would send him a couple of e-mails or text messages each year, keeping him informed of his father’s and Gen’s well-being.”
Assefa already regretted having posed his innocent question. If he’d known it would lead to a drama straight from a soap opera, he would’ve forgone his curiosity.
“From what Gen has said, by the time she came along, her father had given up drinking, and he never beat her or her mother.”
“Well, that’s something.”
“True, Eric was relieved to know that his sister hadn’t suffered the way he and Stephen had. But Luke Garvey still couldn’t manage to stay o
ut of trouble and away from the wrong people. The wrong people like Martin Bamber of the Oakland Bamber crime family.”
That name niggled at a memory. He knew the name. The Bambers were—
“They’re a family of Golems, strong, street-tough thugs who like fast cars, hot women, and their money paid back on time…and with interest.”
That’s right. Golems. Smart and business-savvy but ruthless if crossed. And damn hard to kill.
“Luke Garvey couldn’t pay, so they were dealt with. An example to others, I suppose. He and Fang, Gen’s mother, were discovered in an alley. Dismembered.”
With that grisly tidbit, Sanura raised her eyes to his.
He frowned down at her. “You really could’ve kept that depressing story to yourself.”
“You asked.”
“I know, but next time, just say it’s a long story and leave it at that.”
“Fine.” She shrugged. “You know what he has, don’t you?” Sanura asked, casually switching topics the same way she was now casually massaging his thigh.
“Yes, feline thrombosis, a rare blood clotting disorder that impacts were-cats who can’t turn into their feline form,” he answered matter-of-factly, trying to ignore the pleasurable sensation her hand was sending up his leg and to his groin.
“Being the owner of a pharmaceutical company, I thought you would recognize the symptoms.”
Well, not at first. “For about a year now, we’ve been working on a cure for feline thrombosis, but the best we’ve come up with is an anti-clotting pill that must be taken twice a day. It’s far from a cure, though.” But the pill only worked on cats in phase one of feline thrombosis. Eric Garvey was deep into stage three, the last stage prior to death. “Your friend’s condition is too advanced for anything we’ve been able to manufacture.”
Her eyes didn’t register the sadness or frustration he thought his news would evoke. Interesting. “You think you can cure him by freeing his inner cat, don’t you?”
