“No,” she replied firmly, irrevocably, as she tightened her arms over her chest.
“Dammit, why not?” he yelled, his temper again getting the best of him.
“Because I’m a proponent of history,” she replied. “And, historically, every time my people have trusted a wasičun, they’ve lived—or, rather, died—to regret it.”
“But I’m not a wasičun,” Sebastian snapped. “I’m a . . .”
He cut himself off, realizing he was about to reveal his race’s existence.
“You’re a what?” she prodded.
Sebastian frowned. He’d already decided that if he had to tell her about his race to get her cooperation, he would. But was it truly necessary at this point?
Again feeling torn, he turned to face the cave’s opening and stared outside. One part of him—the part that had had secrecy instilled in him since infancy—insisted he couldn’t tell her. Another part, however, pointed out that he wasn’t getting anywhere with her. Maybe if she knew about his race, she’d relent and give him her triangle.
“We have more in common than you think, Sarah,” he said, turning back to face her. “Both of our races have been massacred by your wasičuns.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked warily.
“I’m not a magician, Sarah. I’m a warlock, and my race has been persecuted for more than a thousand years.”
WARLOCK? SARAH gaped at the wicáhmunga in disbelief. She didn’t think he could have said anything that would have stunned her more.
Yet, oddly enough, she wasn’t that surprised by his claim. Indeed, it answered a question about Seamus Morpeth that had troubled her all her life. She’d never been able to fathom his senseless butchery of her people. Now she understood that it must have been a witchcraft ritual, probably designed to call up demons or other hellish denizens. Had he accomplished his goal? Had her people lost their souls to some eternal damnation that would deny them their rightful place with the gods?
She shuddered in horror at the thought and mentally cried, Wanága, why didn’t you tell me what he was?
It was not time for you to know.
Sarah couldn’t decide which shocked her more—his admission that he’d known the truth about the wicáhmunga, or the variation in his familiar refrain.
But I am not trained to fight witchcraft, she informed him frantically. How could you keep this secret? If you didn’t want to share it with me, why didn’t you tell Leonard? If Leonard had known, he would have trained me differently!
Leonard could not train you, Sarah. Your power comes from inside you, and only you can bring it to life.
What power? she questioned in bewilderment.
When it is time for you to know all, you will understand.
She wanted to scream. Why did he insist on talking in riddles? Why couldn’t he just give her a straightforward answer? She wanted to demand that for once he explain himself, but she knew he’d ignore her. She also didn’t have time to argue with him. She had to escape from the wicáhmunga.
But before she could do that, she had to get him away from the cave’s door. Then she’d run, and once outside, she would head deep into the wilderness. He’d follow her, of course, but at least she’d be leading him away from her people. With any luck, she’d again be able to trap him with the rattlers, and this time she wouldn’t hesitate to tell them to strike.
You cannot run away, Sarah, Wanága suddenly said. You must stay and listen to the wicáhmunga. You must learn from him.
She gave a firm shake of her head. There was no way she was going to stay with a practitioner of witchcraft, and nothing Wanága said would change her mind.
Evidently the wicáhmunga thought she was denying his claim of being a warlock, because he said, “I know it’s hard to believe, Sarah, but I am a warlock. Because of our persecution, my race has been in hiding for centuries. It’s the only way we’ve been able to survive, and even now, we’re on the brink of extinction.”
“You should be extinct. You’re evil!” she blurted out, taking a fearful step back.
“No,” he declared adamantly. “We’re different from you, but we are not evil and never have been.”
“And just how would you describe Seamus Morpeth?” she demanded, anger stirring at his claim. She welcomed the emotion, encouraged it, because without anger, she knew she’d be overwhelmed by fright. How could Wanága have done this to her? How was she supposed to fight witchcraft without the proper training?
There has to be something I can do to fight him, she thought desperately. But no matter how hard she racked her brain, she couldn’t come up with one idea.
“Seamus was not representative of my race,” the wicáhmunga said, interrupting her thoughts. “He was corrupted by the talisman.”
“And is that your excuse for John Butler?” she shot back, growing more angry. How could he stand there and exonerate Seamus’s abominable actions? Did he have no regard for life? Of course he didn’t. He was a warlock.
He frowned at her. “Whoever this John Butler is, Sarah, he is not one of us.”
She let out a harsh laugh that, even to her, sounded suspiciously close to hysteria. “He’s not one of you? Then why does he kill in the same manner as Seamus Morpeth? Why did he gouge out that woman’s eyes?”
“He what?” the wicáhmunga gasped, his expression appalled.
“Oh, don’t look so horrified,” she said contemptuously. “I thought you were innocent when you touched the triangle, that you didn’t know what you were doing. But that was before I found out what you are. You knew exactly what you were doing. You summoned the lightning wreath, and you made the lightning strike me. And, worst of all, you did it so I would see what John Butler had done so you could frighten me!”
“Sarah, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but—”
“You do know what I’m talking about!” she interrupted furiously. “The two of you are working together, aren’t you? You’re trying to scare me into telling you where my triangle is, but it isn’t going to work. I have it safely buried, and—”
Before she could finish what she was saying, the wicáhmunga sprinted across the distance separating them. He moved so quickly that before she even realized what was happening, he had a punishing grip on her arms.
As she stared up at him, she shivered in fear. His eyes were taking on that strange, inner glow, and his voice was as low and sibilant as a snake’s hiss as he said, “What did you just say?”
She had to gulp several times to find her voice. It still came out as a squeak, when she replied, “I said you know about John Bu—”
“No!” he broke in, giving her a hard shake. “I don’t want to know about Butler right now. Tell me what you said about the triangle!”
“I . . . I said . . . it was . . . safely . . . buried,” she stammered.
“In the ground?” he questioned harshly, his hands tightening on her arms so hard she winced.
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?” he demanded, shaking her again. “Don’t lie to me, Sarah.”
“It’s . . . in the . . . ground.”
“When did you bury it?”
“Early this . . . morning.”
He muttered a particularly vile curse and released her so abruptly she almost fell. By the time she regained her balance, he’d already moved back to the cave’s opening. He stood staring out it, and she jumped when he suddenly raised a balled fist and slammed it against the rock wall.
Several seconds passed before she found the nerve to ask, “What’s wrong, wicáhmunga?”
“My name is Sebastian!” he yelled, spinning around to face her. “If you can’t call me that, then don’t call me anything at all. Have you got that?” With a gulp, she nodded. His eyes were still glowing, but when she glanced down at his ches
t, she was surprised to see that the triangle hadn’t changed color. Why? Obviously, he was angry, and it should be feeding on the emotion.
Before she could consider the oddity, he said, “You said earlier that this John Butler has the circle, and he’s on his way here. Is that the truth?”
She eyed him warily, trying to figure out what he was up to now. She was sure he knew about John Butler, so why was he pretending he didn’t?
Suddenly, Wanága said, Answer his question, Sarah.
No. It’s some kind of trick!
Answer him, Sarah.
She instinctively balked at Wanága’s command, but she said, “Yes, it’s the truth. John Butler has the circle and he’s on his way here.”
The wicáhmunga muttered another vile curse and strode purposely toward her. She immediately backed up, panicking when her back came up against solid rock. Although she knew she was trapped, she glanced from side to side, trying to figure out a way to escape him.
When she caught sight of Willow, who was coiled about five feet away and watching her expectantly, she considered summoning her pet to the rescue. A quick glance toward the wicáhmunga, however, changed her mind. His eyes were glowing again, and his expression was so dark, so foreboding, that she knew he’d probably kill Willow before she could even strike.
Sarah’s knees began to quiver when he came to a stop in front of her and said quietly, menacingly, “I want your triangle, Sarah.”
“I . . . told you. It’s . . . buried,” she whispered hoarsely.
“I want you to get it for me. Now.”
Her throat was so dry, she couldn’t speak, so she shook her head. She let out a yelp when he suddenly grabbed her arms again, jerking her up so that she was standing on tiptoe. Then he lowered his head so that their eyes were level.
As she looked into them, she shuddered in terror. They were now glowing so brightly it was like peering into the high beams of an oncoming car. She also became aware of a strong wind swirling around them, and she knew he was causing it. He was probably going to blow her body around the cave, smashing her into the walls and breaking her bones, just as Seamus had done to her people. Then he would—
He interrupted her morbid thoughts with, “There are things going on here that you don’t understand; things that I don’t have the time to explain. But I need your triangle, and I need it now.”
“No,” she managed weakly. “I can’t—won’t—give it to you. I am the guardian, and—”
“Dammit, Sarah!” he bellowed, jerking her up higher, his grip so hard she yelped in pain. “I am not going to risk my own life, as well as the rest of mankind, so you can play guardian. Now, you are going to get your triangle for me. The only question is, are you going to do it voluntarily, or am I going to have to make you do it? Believe me, if it’s the latter, you aren’t going to like it.”
Sarah wasn’t sure what incited her temper. Perhaps it was the painful grip he had on her arms. Perhaps it was the fear his glowing eyes instilled in her. Or, perhaps, it was nothing more than the tone of his voice. He was furious, but he talked to her as if she were some doltish, ineffectual child.
All she knew for sure was that she had never been so infuriated, and her anger was like a living, breathing thing inside her.
“Let me go, wicáhmunga,” she stated softly, warningly.
“I’m not letting you go until you tell me if you’re going to cooperate,” he answered, his voice a determined rasp.
“I said, let me go!”
“And I said”—
She didn’t wait for him to complete the sentence. She closed her eyes and latched onto her anger, centering it inside her. Then she mentally thrust it at him.
“What the hell!” he yelled as she felt him release her arms.
Her eyes flew open, and her jaw dropped as she watched him fly across the cave and smash into the far wall.
“What did I do?” she whispered in disbelief as he slid to the floor in an inglorious sprawl.
You brought your power to life, Wanága answered in a tone that sounded full of pride. Then it changed to warning as he added, But that is the easy part. Control will be more difficult.
SEBASTIAN STARED up at the cave’s ceiling, dazed. He felt as if he’d just been run over by a truck. What the hell had happened?
Suddenly, Sarah appeared above him, gasping, “Are you all right?”
As memory came rushing in, he blinked at her in disbelief. She’d thrown him across the cave! Not physically, of course, because he easily outweighed her by a good hundred pounds. She’d done it mentally, and he couldn’t have been more shocked if it had been a physical accomplishment.
“How did you do that?” he demanded, pushing himself into a sitting position as she dropped to her knees beside him.
She sat back on her heels and nervously rubbed her hands against her thighs as she mumbled, “You made me mad.”
Sebastian opened his mouth but closed it when he realized he didn’t know how to respond. Raking a hand through his hair, he stared at her. Who was she? More importantly, what was she? As far as he knew, only a witch or warlock was capable of such a feat, and he knew she wasn’t a witch.
Or was she? he wondered. Could she be Seamus Morpeth’s descendant?
He quickly dismissed that theory. A warlock could only father one child during his lifetime, and a witch could only bear one during hers. Their limited procreation was one of the reasons his race was almost extinct. And Seamus had fathered a child with Ragna Morpeth before his banishment, so he couldn’t have fathered another child. So who was Sarah, and why did she have the power?
She interrupted his musing by again asking, “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” Sebastian muttered, although it wasn’t exactly true. Every bone in his body felt bruised, and no wonder. He’d hit the wall with enough force to cripple an ordinary man. Thankfully, he was a warlock, and his body could withstand more abuse.
“I’m sorry,” she said, glancing toward the ground. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, but”—
“I made you mad,” he finished dryly when she stopped speaking.
She glanced up at him and looked quickly away. “I don’t know how I . . . I’ve never . . .”
“You don’t know how you did it, and you’ve never done it before?” he guessed, when she again fell into silence.
She nodded.
“Who are you, Sarah?” he prodded encouragingly. She shot to her feet and began to pace, stating, “I am the guardian. My duty is to protect my people from Seamus Morpeth’s curse.”
Sebastian frowned. That wasn’t what he meant, and he knew she knew it. What was she hiding from him?
He refrained from asking, knowing that she’d probably lie. Instead he said, “Well, you may be the guardian, but it’s going to take more than the mental ability to throw a man across the room to defeat the talisman.”
She stopped pacing and regarded him warily. “And what, in your opinion, will it take to defeat it?”
“Until a short time ago, I thought the solution was simple,” he answered, deciding he might as well tell her the truth. “According to our records, all we had to do was bury one piece, and the talisman would be stopped. But you say you’ve already buried your piece, and it’s apparent that the talisman is still working. So if you’re telling me the truth, I don’t know how to stop it.”
Chapter 7
Evil Denied
STUNNED, SARAH stared down at the wicáhmunga, who still sat on the floor. What did he mean, he didn’t know how to stop the talisman? Was he implying that the three pieces didn’t need to come together to fulfill Seamus Morpeth’s curse?
At the thought, the image of John Butler and the dead woman formed in Sarah’s mind’s eye, and she knew that was exactly what the wicáhmunga meant. Shuddering, she rubbed he
r hands against her upper arms, feeling chilled to the depths of her soul. John Butler was coming after her, and he might start butchering her people, just as he had that poor woman. To ensure that didn’t happen, Sarah knew she had to lead him away from here.
But what should she do about her triangle? Butler had said he knew where she’d buried it and she’d never be able to hide it from him. Since he’d specifically used the word buried, she had to believe he did know, so she didn’t dare leave it behind. But he’d also said that if the wicáhmunga got her triangle, he would cause that horrible vision she’d seen of her people’s deaths. Although the wicáhmunga still hadn’t exhibited the evil Butler had, she knew she couldn’t discount the claim. When Seamus had first come here, he’d also seemed harmless. So she couldn’t chance digging up the triangle while the wicáhmunga was here, either.
Recognizing that she was at an impasse, she started to call on Wanága for advice, but the wicáhmunga said, “Sarah, we’re both in extraordinary danger. I know I’m being redundant, but would you please sit down and listen to what I have to say?”
She frowned down at him, automatically ready to deny his request. Then she remembered that Wanága had told her to listen and learn from him. Now, she understood why. The wicáhmunga knew more about this talisman than she did, and the more she knew, the better chance she’d have to stop it.
“I’ll listen. Let’s sit by the fire,” she said, quickly walking toward it before he could object. Leonard had always told her that if she wanted to know what was really in a man’s heart, she should look into his eyes while he talked. Since she didn’t dare read the wicáhmunga’s mind, she wanted to make sure she could see his face, which was currently obscured by night shadow.
But more importantly, if she sat in front of the fire, he would have to sit behind it. That would give her clear access to the cave’s opening and an opportunity to escape.
She reached the fire just as he levered himself to his feet, and she was again amazed by his size. When he walked toward her, she shivered, but it wasn’t from fear. It was from a strange, hot restlessness stirring inside her. As he drew closer, she found herself wanting to reach out and touch him, to explore the breadth of his shoulders and chest.
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