by HR Moore
She walked around the room, looking closely at the paintings and furniture. They felt familiar, but she wasn't particularly drawn to them.
She opened the wardrobe and found it stocked with clothes, most of them dated and wholly impractical. A heavy, beaded, twenties-style flapper dress caught her eye. She reached out and touched it. The smell of cigars filled her nostrils. Music, laughter, and chatter filled her ears. Someone placed their hand on her back as she sipped a cocktail. She jumped back, releasing the dress, and with it the flashes of sensation.
She sat on the bed and took some deep breaths. Was she on some drug-fueled trip? She lay down and closed her eyes, her hands going to her forehead. Maybe she should nap. Maybe she'd wake up back in her hotel room. Maybe she'd wake up and find her wedding hadn't yet happened.
There was something wrong with her; that was the only logical explanation. She should leave here and check herself into a psychiatric hospital.
How did one go about committing oneself in practical terms? Presumably, on the NHS, it would take some time. She'd have to get Dean to pay for a private facility, assuming he didn't annul the wedding … She'd have to be evasive with the details; he probably wouldn't understand. No, strike that, she was absolutely sure he wouldn't understand.
Amari had always been the strong, dependable, totally rational type. Dean wouldn't like a mentally ill wife. Which, now she thought about it, said something about him. And he'd flown to the other side of the Atlantic when his wife was under the care of a doctor, being treated for an unknown illness. Assuming they had, in fact, got married, and she hadn't hallucinated the whole thing.
Dean's best man used to get high all the time. Maybe he'd slipped something into her drink at the rehearsal dinner. That's when this had all started, after all.
She rubbed her face, as though the action could wash away the grimy layer of uncertainty.
She opened her eyes, taking in the stars carved into the wooden ceiling of the four-poster. They were beautiful, and peaceful, and comforting. She closed her eyes, another dream pouring into her mind. She was torn, wanting to fling her eyes open and reject all of this, but also wanting to indulge the voracious craving that urged her to find out more.
Cravings always win, especially the voracious variety …
She was lying on a beach, elated, euphoric even, the soothing sound of lapping waves filling her ears. Her pink evening dress provided little defense against the chill, but she wouldn't let that put a damper on her mood.
She was waiting for something. For someone. For him. And despite herself, Amari couldn't help but let these emotions fill her too. She was buzzing with excitement by the time a man's face appeared above her.
He wore a perfect tuxedo, looking every inch the achingly irresistible gentleman, dark hair swept to one side, a knowing smile on his lips. But his eyes. They weren't Caspar's deep brown eyes. These were grey, like the sky before a storm.
'Raina,' he said, in a tempting American drawl—he sounded a lot like Dean. 'I've been trying to get away all night, but they wouldn't stop talking about the alliance.' He dropped down next to her, stroking a stay lock of hair off her face.
'Urgh, don't say another word about it.' To Amari's surprise, Raina's accent was American too. 'I've had my fill of politics. Now kiss me, before I find someone else who will.'
He did as he was told, this kiss worlds apart from the one in the earlier memory. Raina's desire was laced with guilt, and it made her hold something back, to only go so far, to push him away before he could rip off her dress.
'Someone will see us,' she laughed, cuddling into him, stealing his warmth, stroking her hand across his chest.
'God, I love you, Raina. You know that, right?'
'I know,' she said, her tone light.
'No,' he said, sitting up, making her look at him. 'I really love you. I want us to be together. I want to spend lifetimes with you.'
Panic ripped through her, although she kept her features trained. She stroked his face, ran a thumb across his lips.
'Jamie, sweetie, you know I love you too.'
She kissed him. He seemed convinced, but Raina's guts churned at the lie.
Chapter 7
'You just left her upstairs?' asked Jon, incredulous. 'She's probably bolted. She must think we're insane.'
'Perhaps,' said Caspar, cradling his tea, 'but enough's come back to her to make her at least consider what I said.'
Rose, Elliot, and Meredith entered the kitchen. Meredith, the Pagans' head of security, was long-haired and muscular. She looked like she should be on the set of Black Panther, albeit a Native American version. She raised her eyes as she took in the scene.
'Caspar feeling sorry for himself in yet another lifetime?' she said.
'Shut up,' said Caspar, throwing her a dirty look. 'When you've found your one true love, tell me how easy it is then.'
'No such thing,' said Meredith, sitting on the floor by the Aga with the dogs. They moved to lie closer, nudging her until she petted them.
'Casual flings more your style?' said Jon, suggestively.
Meredith rolled her eyes. She accepted a biscuit from the tin Elliot held out. 'Thanks. I already had a couple this morning. They're delicious.'
'It's the ginger and berry mix,' said Elliot. 'I've been perfecting the balance for a hundred years. Think I might finally be close.'
'I'd say you're there. They're perfection as they are,' said Meredith, motioning for Elliot to pass her another.
Rose and Gemma—Meredith's sidekick—sat at the table, helping themselves to biscuits too. Gemma was about the same height as Meredith, and muscular, but with white skin, a soft, heart-shaped face, and long auburn hair.
'Are we going to talk about biscuits all day, or are you going to tell us what you found?' asked Caspar. 'You know, given that someone tried to kill me earlier.'
Meredith rolled her eyes again. 'Trackers require sustenance too. And I didn't find much to go on, I'm afraid. CCTV footage showed a figure entering the building, knocking out the receptionist, and entering your office.
'They threw the dagger and then ducked back out of the room. I think they threw it at you, Caspar, although it's hard to tell. The footage isn't great. I've been telling you for years to let me upgrade your equipment.'
'Thanks. Helpful,' said Caspar. 'Go on.'
'You left through the back door and the figure followed. They didn't search your office. That's where the CCTV ends. I'm working on pulling more, but it takes time, because we need assistance from the police.'
'Have we got anyone on the inside?' asked Jon.
'Yes,' said Rose, 'but it still takes time.'
'Do you think it's the Templars?' asked Jon. 'Given everything that's going on, and given it's Raina?'
'It's possible,' said Rose, 'but impossible to say for sure. Meredith's team will keep tracking, and Meredith and Gemma will stay around for our general protection. We've called in a couple of cells to help keep this place secure too. But if it is the Templars, make no mistake, it's an act of war.'
Amari ventured back down to the kitchen. Her stomach had started to growl, and she was curious about the others. Not to mention she felt like a caged animal, hidden away upstairs.
'I am not,' said Jon.
'You so are,' said Elliot.
'I'm not. Caspar, come on, back me up,' said Jon.
'Honestly, I think you might be. Not that I blame you,' said Caspar.
'I am not in love with Meredith,' shouted Jon. 'She just has a certain … allure.'
'Head over heels,' laughed Elliot.
'Yep,' said Caspar, 'totally smitten.'
Amari watched the exchange with fascination. 'Who's Meredith?' she asked.
'Urgh, don't you start,' said Jon, storming out of the room.
Amari couldn't help but smile. 'Who's Meredith?' she repeated, approaching the table and taking a seat.
'She's our head of security. Rose called her to investigate the attack,' said Caspar.
> 'And Jon goes red and says stupid things whenever she's around,' said Elliot.
'Even more stupid than normal,' added Caspar.
Elliot laughed. Then he jumped up and said to Amari, 'You must be starving. I was just about to make us some lunch. Quiche and salad. Hope that's okay?'
'Sounds wonderful,' said Amari. She petted the large, shaggy mongrel who'd forced his head into her hand. 'What are the dogs' names?'
'Charlie and Delta,' said Caspar. 'The one you're petting is Charlie.'
'Like from the phonetic alphabet?'
Caspar chuckled. 'Yep. We've always had dogs, but the arguments about names got out of control.'
'It would take weeks, and was all anyone would talk about,' said Rose, entering the kitchen.
'So Rose put her foot down in the late eighteen hundreds. She makes us cycle through the phonetic alphabet so there's no arguing,' said Caspar.
'It's mostly fine,' said Elliot. 'We're only on our second time around, so it hasn't got old yet, although people in the park give you weird looks when you call for a dog named Hotel!'
Amari laughed, although it sounded tense, even to her own ears. 'How many of you live here?'
'We move around a lot,' said Caspar, 'but anywhere from half a dozen to twenty, depending on what's going on.'
'It's unpleasant when we get that full,' said Elliot.
'How many de … people like you are there?'
'We don't know for sure,' said Rose, 'and the number fluctuates. Brand new demons occasionally awake, and older demons are either killed or die. And, of course, there are demons like you, who are incarnated but asleep.'
'You can die, then? In a … final way?'
'Everybody dies eventually,' said Rose, as though this were obvious. 'It just takes us longer than everyone else. But to answer your question, there are a few hundred in the Pagan Nation, and we think most other major nations are about the same size. The Buddhists probably have more, the Aztecs maybe a few less; they have a tendency to kill each other.'
'And the Egyptians,' said Caspar. 'Some nations have fire in their blood.'
'Are nations like countries?' Amari asked.
Charlie put a paw up onto the edge of her seat, edging as close to her as he could.
'Not really,' said Rose. 'They operate more like religions, and are often affiliated with religions. Although each nation does have their own distinct territory.'
'Most nations have their headquarters in their area of origin,' said Caspar. 'Pagans here in London, Buddhists in Asia, Aztecs in South America, Egyptians in Egypt …'
'How many nations are there?' asked Amari.
'We don't know for sure,' said Rose. 'Sometimes people defect and form new nations. Sometimes nations are wiped out through wars or too many defections. But there are probably ten or eleven big ones.'
'There are loads of smaller ones too,' said Elliot, placing two oversized quiches on the table. 'Discount them at your peril.'
Caspar smiled a knowing smile.
'I used to be an Aborigine,' Elliot explained, seeing Amari's confusion.
'And Meredith was a Wakan when she first awoke,' said Caspar, 'an American Indian.'
'The smaller nations can provide an edge in times of war,' said Rose.
'What do you fight about?' asked Amari. 'What does each group want?'
'What don't we fight about?' laughed Elliot.
'Natural resources, philosophy, theology, powerful people,' said Caspar.
'What are you fighting about now?' asked Amari.
'The Templars are aggressive. They always want more: more power, more control, more resources, and damn the consequences,' said Caspar. 'We see things differently. We want to use the world's resources in a responsible way. For everyone to have enough.'
'We're idealists,' Elliot said, grinning.
'But when the Templars start stomping all over our territory, we can't let them get away with it,' said Meredith, striding in from the back of the room. 'We lead the Pagan Nation, and we need to keep our people safe.'
'I thought there was some rule about politics at lunch,' said Jon, one step behind Meredith. He sat next to her at the table.
Caspar and Elliot shared a meaningful look.
Jon glared at them.
Elliot put a green salad, a Greek salad, and a tray of baked eggplant with yoghurt and pomegranate seeds on the table.
'Wow, this looks delicious,' said Amari.
'Elliot likes to feed us,' said Caspar, as Elliot pulled a batch of freshly baked rolls from the oven.
'I could live for a million years and that smell would never get old,' said Meredith, inhaling deeply.
Elliot slid the rolls into a basket and placed them on the table, along with a jar of homemade chutney. A rush of sensation filled Amari. She tipped her head forward and closed her eyes, another memory flashing before her. She saw a table much like this one, the same food laid out, the same smell wafting up from the table. She snapped her eyes open.
Caspar put his hand on her arm. 'You okay?' he asked. There was no worry in his eyes, only mild concern.
'Fine,' she said. 'Another flashback.'
'This was always your favorite kind of meal,' said Elliot.
'And … chilis,' said Amari softly, mostly to herself. 'I put them on everything.'
Elliot smiled a broad smile, picking up a red chili from the counter and putting it in front of her. 'Bravo.'
Amari frowned. Those words had been out of her mouth before she'd even thought about them … Was she being pranked by one of those magicians who planted ideas in your head? Was the room full of con artists and cameras? Because the alternative—that this was all true—was starting to sound plausible, and that was too ludicrous a prospect to entertain.
After lunch, Rose called Meredith to her office. Elliot and Jon returned to their jobs, and Amari asked Caspar to show her the courtyard she'd seen from the bedroom window.
He led her out the back of the kitchen, through a beautiful room made mostly of glass and packed full of plants, then into a set of cloisters. Amari hadn't realized there was a covered walkway around the garden when she'd been looking from above.
The walkway ran the full perimeter of the square courtyard, with only one entrance point into the garden on each side. The courtyard itself had carefully constructed cobbled paths, cut through geometrically spaced flower beds that were bursting with plants. The circular fountain was at the center of it all, providing sound, movement, and calm.
The strange familiarity returned with full force as Amari took it all in. Her head spun, and then everything went black …
'Amari!' said Caspar, somewhere through the haze in her mind.
Amari opened her eyes to find Caspar crouching over her, his hands on her face. Had her legs given way?
'What happened?'
'You collapsed.'
'I think I need to sit for a minute.'
'Can you walk? There are benches.'
Amari nodded, letting him help her to her feet and lead her to the solid granite benches around the fountain. The smell of lavender invaded her lungs, forcing her to put her head between her legs and take deep breaths.
'What's happening to me?' she gasped.
'Your brain's fighting itself. You spent a lot of time here—in the cloisters and courtyard—in previous lives. You've always loved to be outside.' He chuckled. 'You went through a poetry phase in the seventeen hundreds. You'd come out here every day, rain or shine, and wouldn't let anyone else be here while you worked. You said our closed minds would chase away your inspiration.'
Amari sat up and Caspar was close. Too close. He placed his hand atop hers. 'Don't fight the memories,' he said quietly, 'it'll make it harder. And don't fight me.'
He ran his thumb across her skin.
Amari snatched her hand away and moved a few inches along the bench. 'I'm married,' she said, looking away.
'But not for the first time.'
'You're delusional. All of you; it's the only l
ogical explanation.'
'If you say so.' Caspar got up. 'I'll give you some space … you don't like it when people crowd you.'
Amari huffed out a breath as he walked away. 'Wait. I have more questions … just, sit over there,' she said, pointing at the next bench over. Because I can't think when you're near, she didn't add.
Caspar sat. She watched his face for any victorious twitch, but his features gave nothing away.
'I don't even know where to start …'
Caspar just sat there, watching the water.
'I'm going to entertain the notion that everything you've told me is true,' she said eventually, turning the gold band around her finger.
'How gracious.'
She threw him a warning look. 'Don't push your luck.'
His lips quirked.
'What?'
'You've always been feisty; it's one of the many things I love.'
Amari's pulse raced. 'I have a husband,' she said. 'Please don't say things like that. It's inappropriate.'
Caspar raised an eyebrow. 'If you say so,' he said again.
'Urgh. Fine. If you can't do that, let's address it: you and me. We were married?'
A shadow passed behind Caspar's eyes. 'We were, more than once. And as far as I'm concerned, we still are.'
'Well, I disagree.'
'You won't when you wake.'
'Assuming that ever happens.'
'I assure you, it will.'
'Jesus, this is …' She paused, gripping the edge of the bench in frustration. 'I mean, assuming all this is true, what am I supposed to do about Dean? He loves me, and I love him.'
'Do you?'
She screamed inwardly, working hard to keep her face neutral. He was infuriating. 'Yes! Of course I do.'
'Did.'
'Do.'
'Really? Because I heard you wouldn't let him anywhere near you last night. Which, by the way, means you didn't consummate your marriage, so an annulment is definitely on the table.'
'An annulment?'
'Yes. Especially as he got on a plane and flew away from said unconsummated marriage mere hours after it occurred.'
