by Nora Roberts
“Just what do we use for the needle?” Moira demanded.
“I’m working on that.”
“I’ve something that may work.” Glenna narrowed her eyes as she stirred her tea. “If her Midir can open the door for her to come into your head, Cian, I can open it, too. I wonder how Lilith would like a visit.”
Biting into the pear, Cian sat back. “Well now, aren’t you the clever girl?”
“Yes, I am. I’ll need you. Both of you. Why don’t we finish off breakfast with a nice little spell?”
It wasn’t little, and it wasn’t nice. It took Glenna more than an hour to prepare her tools and ingredients.
She ground flourite, turquoise, set them aside. She gathered cornflower and holly, sprigs of thyme. She scribed candles of purple, of yellow. Then set the fire under her cauldron.
“These come from the earth, and now will mix in water.” She began to sprinkle her ingredients into the cauldron. For dreaming words, for sight, for memory. Moira, would you set the candles in a circle, around the cauldron?”
She continued to work as Moira set the candles. “I’ve actually been thinking about trying this since what happened with Blair. I’ve been working it out in my head how it might be done.”
“She’s hit you hard every time you’ve used magic to look into her bases,” Cian reminded her. “So be sure. I wouldn’t enjoy having Hoyt try to toss me off a cliff again because I let something happen to you.”
“It won’t be me—at least not front line.” She brushed her hair back as she looked over at him. “It’ll be you.”
“Well then, that’s perfect.”
“It’s risky, so you’re the one who has to be sure.”
“Well, it’s the guts and glory business, isn’t it?” He moved forward to peer into the cauldron. “And what will I be doing?”
“Observing, initially. If you choose to make contact…it’ll be up to you, and I’ll need your word that you’ll break it off if things get dicey. Otherwise, we’ll yank you back—and that won’t be pleasant. You’ll probably have the mother of all headaches, and a raging case of nausea.”
“What fun.”
“Fun’s just beginning.” She walked over, unlocked a small box. Then held up a small figure carved in wax.
Cian’s brows shot up. “A strong likeness. You are clever.”
“Sculpting’s not my strongest skill, but I can handle a poppet.” Glenna turned the figure of Lilith around so Moira could see. “I don’t generally make them—it’s intrusive, and dangerous to the party you’ve captured. But the harm-none rule doesn’t apply to undead. Present company excepted.”
“Appreciated.”
“There’s just one little thing I need from you.”
“Which is.”
“Blood.”
Cian did nothing more than look resigned. “Naturally.”
“Just a few drops, after I bind the poppet. I have nothing of hers—hair, nail clippings. But you mixed blood, once upon a time. I think it’ll do the job.” She hesitated, twisting the chain of her pendant around her fingers. “And maybe this is a bad idea.”
“It’s not.” Moira set the last candle. “It’s time we push into her mind, as she’s pushed into all of ours. It’s a good, hot needle under the skin, if you’re asking me. And Cian deserves to give her a taste of her own.”
She straightened. “Will we be able to watch?”
“Thirsty for some vengeance yourself?” Cian questioned.
Moira’s eyes were cold smoke. “Parched. Will we?”
“If all goes as it should.” Glenna took a breath. “Ready for some astral projection?” she asked Cian.
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Step inside the circle of candles, both of you. You’ll need to achieve a meditative state, Cian. Moira and I will be your watchers, and the observers. We’ll hold your body to this plane while your mind and image travel.”
“Is it true,” Moira asked her, “that it helps hold a traveling spirit to the safety of its world if it carries something from someone of it?”
Glenna pushed at her hair again. “It’s a theory.”
“Then take this.” She tugged off the band of beads and leather that bound her braid. “In case the theory’s true.”
After giving it a dubious frown, Cian shoved it in his pocket. “I’m armed with hair trinkets.”
Glenna picked up a small bowl of balm. “Focus, open the chakras,” she said as she rubbed the balm on his skin. “Relax your body, open your mind.”
She looked at Moira. “We’ll cast the circle. Imagine light, soft, blue light. This is protection.”
While they cast, Cian focused on a white door. It was his habitual symbol when he chose to meditate. When he was ready, the door would open. And he would go through it.
“He has a strong mind,” Glenna told Moira. “And a great deal of practice. He told me he studied in Tibet. Never mind,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I’m stalling. I’m a little nervous.”
“Her wizard isn’t any stronger than you. What he can do, you can do.”
“Damn right. Gotta say though, I hope to hell Lilith is sleeping. Should be, really should be.” Glenna glanced at the window at the thinning rain. “We’re about to find out.”
She’d left an opening in the poppet, and prepared to fill it with grains of graveyard dirt, rosemary and sage, ground amethyst and quartz.
“You have to control your emotions for the binding, Moira. Set aside your hatred, your fear. We desire justice and sight. Lilith can be harmed, and we can use magic to do so, but Cian will be a conduit. I wouldn’t want any negativity to backwash on him.”
“Justice then. It’s enough.”
Glenna closed the poppet with a plug of wax.
“We call on Maat, goddess of justice and balance to guide our hand. With this image we send magic across air, across land.” She placed a white feather against the doll, wrapped it in black ribbon. “Give the creature whose image I hold, dream and memory ancient and old.”
She handed the ritual knife to Moira, nodded.
“Sealed by blood she shed, bound now with these drops of red.”
Cian showed no reaction when Moira lifted his hand to draw the knife over his palm.
“Mind and image of the life she took joins her now so he may look. And while we watch we hold him safe in hand and heart until he chooses to depart. Through us into her this magic streams. Take our messenger into her dream. Open doors so we may see. As we will, so mote it be.”
Glenna held the poppet over the cauldron, and releasing it, left it suspended on will and air.
“Take his hand,” she said to Moira. “And hold on.”
When Moira’s hand clasped his, Cian didn’t go through the door. He exploded through it. Flying through a dark even his eyes couldn’t conquer, he felt Moira’s hand tighten strong on his. In his mind, he heard her voice, cool and calm.
“We’re with you. We won’t let go.”
There was moonlight, sprinkling through the dark to bring blurry smears of shape and shadow. There were scents, flowers and earth, water and woman.
Humans.
There was heat. Temperature meant little to him, but he could feel the shift of it from the damp chill he’d left behind. A baking heat, eased only a little by a breeze off the water.
Sea, he corrected. It was an ocean with waves lapping at the sugar of sand. And there were hills rising up from the beach. Olive trees spread over the terraces of those hills. And on one of the rises—the highest—stood a temple, white as the moonlight with its marble columns overlooking that ocean, the trees, gardens and pools.
Overlooking, too, the man and woman who lay together on a white blanket edged in gold on the sparkling sand near the play of white foam.
He heard the woman’s laugh—the husky sound of a roused woman. And knew it was Lilith, knew it was Lilith’s memory, or her dream he’d fallen into. So he stood apart, and watched as the man slid the white robe from her
shoulders, and bent his head to her breasts.
Sweet, so sweet, his mouth on her. Everything inside her ebbed and flowed, as the tide. How could it be forbidden, the beauty of this? Her body was meant for his. Her spirit, her mind, her soul had been created by the gods as the mate for his.
She arched, offering, with her fingers combing gently through his sun-kissed hair. He smelled of the olive trees, and the sunlight that ripened their fruit.
Her love, her only. She murmured it to him as their lips met again. And again, with a hunger that built beyond bearing.
Her eyes were full of him when at last his body joined with hers. The pleasure of it brought tears glimmering, turned her sighs to helpless gasps.
Love swarmed through her, pounded in her heart, a thousand silken fists. She held him closer, closer, crying out her joy with an abandon that dared even the gods to hear.
“Cirio, Cirio.” She cradled his head on her breast. “My heart. My love.”
He lifted his head, brushing at her gilded hair. “Even the moon pales against your beauty. Lilia, my queen of the night.”
“The nights are ours, but I want the sun with you—the sun that gilds your hair and skin, that touches you when I cannot. I want to walk beside you, proud and free.”
He only rolled onto his back. “Look at the stars. They’re our torches tonight. We should swim under them. Bathe this heat away in the sea.”
Instantly pique hardened the sleepy joy from her face. “Why won’t you speak of it?”
“It’s too hot a night for talk and trouble.” He spoke carelessly as he sifted sand through his fingers. “Come. We’ll be dolphins and play.”
But when he took her hands to pull her up she drew them away with a sharp, sulky jerk. “But we must talk. We must plan.”
“My sweet, we have so little time left tonight.”
“We could have forever, every night. We have only to leave, to run away together. I could be your wife, give you children.”
“Leave? Run away?” He threw back his head with a laugh. “What foolishness is this? Come now, come, I have only an hour left. Let’s swim awhile, and I’ll ride you on the waves.”
“It’s not foolishness.” This time she slapped his hand away. “We could sail from here, to anywhere we wished. Be together openly, in the sunlight. I want more than a few hours in the dark with you, Cirio. You promised me more.”
“Sail away, like thieves? My home is here, my family. My duty.”
“Your coffers,” she said viciously. “Or your father’s.”
“And what of it? Do you think I would smear my family name by running away with a temple priestess, living like paupers in some strange land?”
“You said you could live on my love alone.”
“Words are easy in the heat. Be sensible.” His tone cajoling, he skimmed a finger down her bare breast. “We give each other pleasure. Why does there need to be more?”
“I want more. I love you. I broke my vows for you.”
“Willingly,” he reminded her.
“For love.”
“Love doesn’t feed the belly, Lilia, or spend in the marketplace. Don’t be sad now. I’ll buy you a gift. Something gold like your hair.”
“I want nothing you can buy. Only freedom. I would be your wife.”
“You cannot. If we attempted such madness and were caught, we’d be put to death.”
“I would rather die with you than live without you.”
“I value my life more, it seems, than you value either of ours.” He nearly yawned, so lazy was his voice. “I can give you pleasure, and the freedom of that. But as for a wife, you know one has already been chosen for me.”
“You chose me. You said—”
“Enough, enough!” He threw up his hands, but seemed more bored by the conversation than angry. “I chose you for this, as you chose me. You were hungry to be touched. I saw it in your eyes. If you’ve spun a web of fantasy where we sail off, it’s your own doing.”
“You pledged yourself to me.”
“My body. And you’ve had good use of it.” He belted on his robes as he rose. “I would have kept you as mistress, happily. But I have no time or patience for ridiculous demands from a temple harlot.”
“Harlot.” The angry flush drained, leaving her face white as the marble columns on the hillside. “You took my innocence.”
“You gave it.”
“You can’t mean these things.” She knelt, clasping her hands like a woman at prayer. “You’re angry because I pushed you. We’ll speak no more of it tonight. We’ll swim, as you said and forget all these hard words.”
“It’s too late for that. Do you think I can’t read what’s in your mind now? You’ll nag me to death over what can never be. Just as well. We’ve challenged the gods long enough.”
“You can’t mean to leave me. I love you. If you leave me, I’ll go to your family. I’ll tell—”
“Speak of this, and I’ll swear you lie. You’ll burn for it, Lilia.” He bent down, ran a finger over the curve of her shoulder. “And your skin is too soft, too sweet for the fire.”
“Don’t, don’t turn from me. It will all be as you say, as you like. I’ll never speak of leaving again. Don’t leave me.”
“Begging only spoils your beauty.”
She called out to him in shock, in terrible grief, but he strode away as if he couldn’t hear her.
She threw herself down on the blanket, wildly weeping, pounding her fists. The pain of it was like the fire he’d spoken of, burning through her so that her bones seemed to turn to ash. How could she live with the pain?
Love had betrayed her, and used her and cast her aside. Love had made her a fool. And still her heart was full of it.
She would cast herself into the sea and drown. She would climb to the top of the temple and fling herself off. She would simply die here, from the shame and the pain.
“Kill him first,” she choked out as she raged. “I’ll kill him first, then myself. Blood, his and mine together. That is the price of love and betrayal.”
She heard a movement, just a whisper on the sand, and flung herself up with the joy. He’d come back to her! “My love.”
“Yes. I will be.”
His hair was black, flowing past his shoulders. He wore long robes the color of the night. His eyes were the same, so black they seemed to shine.
She grabbed up her toga, held it to her breasts. “I am a priestess of this temple. You have no leave to walk here.”
“I walk where I will. So young,” he murmured as those black eyes traveled over her. “So fresh.”
“You will leave here.”
“In my time. I’ve watched you these past three nights, Lilia, you and the boy you waste yourself on.”
“How dare you.”
“You gave him love, he gave you lies. Both are precious. Tell me, how would you like to repay him for his gift to you?”
She felt something stir in her, the first juices of vengeance. “He deserves nothing from me, neither he nor any man.”
“How true. So you’ll give to me what no man deserves.”
Fear rushed in, and she ran with it. But somehow he was standing in front of her, smiling that cold smile.
“What are you?”
“Ah, insight. I knew I’d chosen well. I am what was before your weak and rutting gods were belched out of the heavens.”
She ran again, a scream locked in her throat. But he was there, blocking her way. Her fear had jumped to terror. “It’s death to touch a temple priestess.”
“And death is such a fascinating beginning. I seek a companion, a lover, a woman, a student. You are she. I have a gift for you, Lilia.”
This time when she ran, he laughed. Laughed still when he plucked her off her feet, tossed her sobbing to the ground.
She fought, scratching, biting, begging, but he was too strong. Now it was his mouth on her breast, and she wept with the shame of it even as she raked her nails down his cheek.
“Yes. Yes. It’s better when they fight. You’ll learn. Their fear is perfume; their screams music.” He caught her face in his hand, forced her to look at him.
“Now, into my eyes. Into them.”
He drove himself into her. Her body shuddered, quaked, bucked, from the shock. And the unspeakable thrill.
“Did he take you so high?”
“No. No.” The tears began to dry on her cheeks. Instead of clawing, beating, her hands dug into the sand searching for purchase. Trapped in his eyes, her body began to move with his.
“Take more. You want more,” he said. “Pain is so…arousing.”
He plunged harder, so deep she feared she might rend in two. But still her body matched his pace, still her eyes were trapped by his.
When his went red, her heart leaped with fresh fear, and yet that fear was squeezed in a fist of terrible excitement. He was so beautiful. Her human lover pale beside this dark, damning beauty.
“I give you the instrument of your revenge. I give you your beginning. You have only to ask me for it. Ask me for my gift.”
“Yes. Give me your gift. Give me revenge. Give me—”
Her body convulsed when his fangs struck. And every pleasure she had known or imagined diminished beside what rushed into her. Here, here was the glory she’d never found in the temple, the burgeoning black power she’d always known stretched just beyond her fingertips.
Here was the forbidden she’d longed for.
It was she, writhing in that pleasure and power, that brought him to climax. And she, without being told, reared up to drink the blood she’d scored from his cheek.
Smiling through bloody lips, she died.
And woke in her bed two thousand years after the dream.
Her body felt bruised, tender, her mind muddled. Where was the sea? Where was the temple?
“Cirio?”
“A romantic? Who would have guessed.” Cian stepped out of the shadows. “To call out for the lover who spurned and betrayed you.”
“Jarl?” It was the name she’d called her maker. But as dream separated from reality, she saw it was Cian. “So, you’ve come after all. My offer…” But it wasn’t quite clear.
“What became of the boy?” As if settling in for a cozy chat, Cian sat on the side of the bed.
