eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

 

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

 

Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

2932 Ross Clark Circle, #384

Dothan, AL 36301

 

Otherness: Rift

Copyright © 2006 by Rina Slayter

Cover Art by Jason Stoddard

ISBN: 1-59998-159-9

www.samhainpublishing.com

 

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

 

First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: October 2006

Dedication

To Jen for getting me into this mess. To Jason for wallowing in it, too. And to Angie for standing by with the mop.

Chapter One

Throughout dinner, Liz had stared out the huge bay window instead of at her boyfriend. Maybe that was a hint. The restaurant was beautiful. Reith’s coastline all the way up and past Osric House was mesmerizing. However, drowning herself in the surf had more appeal than thinking about the size of tonight’s check. But Bryan had insisted on this place.

Funny how on the nights he was paying, dinner out meant drive-thru and when Liz was paying, it meant candlelight and a menu she had to translate for him. Dammit. She’d given up what would have been a perfect girl’s night with Tayna for this…this…crap.

Looking down at the three raviolis in her swimming-pool-size bowl, Liz wished Bryan would pay this time and be different, surprise her, and…and…be romantic for once and have some mercy on her pocket book.

“So what I was thinking is that you could get me a real mixer and maybe a set of drums or something and I can just lay down my own tracks.” Bryan’s voice strained through a mouthful of lobster.

Liz snapped back to her unfortunate reality. “What?” She resisted the urge to use the mauve linen napkin to clean out her ears.

“I could be like a one man band and do my own demos and stuff.”

She ignored that insane bit about her furnishing the equipment. This wasn’t the place for that can of worms. “Even if you did your own demos, what would you do with them once you recorded them?” Liz set down her fork now that her bowl was empty.

Bryan stuffed more lobster in his mouth, butter dripping from the corner as he spoke. “I dunno. I could start giving them to people to listen to.”

“You mean record companies, managers, agents?” Progress? Wouldn’t that be a joy?

“No, I’m not good enough for that yet. I was thinking like when I play at bars and stuff I can hand them out.”

“You’re completely missing the point.” Liz shook her head. “Just because you think you need to be perfect doesn’t mean you can’t get your stuff out there. I mean, how do you know you aren’t any good?”

Every night, Liz fell asleep to Bryan’s smooth practicing. He was the best guitarist she’d ever met in that his music came from his heart, somewhere deep within his soul. Playing his guitar was his way of sharing his beautiful magic—even when he thrashed through speed metal.

It didn’t matter that the lyrics made no sense. They were beautiful. His playing was beautiful. He was beautiful. But too damn afraid to put down his joint and go beyond jam sessions and his own living room.

Hell, it was her living room now. She’d taken full—not just half—responsibility for the rent for the past two months. The only thing he paid for was more pot and she didn’t want to know where he got the money for it.

The waiter refilled Liz’s lemonade, bringing her back to the present. She scrutinized Bryan as he fiddled with the tail on his plate. Why had she thought that with her support, he’d realize his potential? It was always barely below his surface, waiting to break out and show the world. But he was never motivated enough to take that next step. He might never be. That thought had her both stuck and torn.

“You only think I’m good because you’re my girlfriend.” He set down his fork and sighed. “You have to say that.”

Liz bit her tongue. Reaching for her lemonade, she forced herself not to explode. This restaurant was not the place to have this discussion for the millionth time.

“Whoa, pumpkin, you all right?” There was concern in his voice, but did he care about her or whether she’d stick him with the bill?

After using the cool drink to calm her fire, she smiled. He had no idea how badly she wanted to come over the table and shake some sense into him.

What was it about today that made him particularly irritating? Liz took a mental inventory of her calendar. Was it PMS week? No, not yet. “I’m fine, babe. Just dandy.” Was she perhaps fed up with his bullshit? Maybe. Definite maybe.

“Good, because you’re acting weird tonight. You keep looking out the window and stuff and you haven’t even critiqued the food.”

“I guess my mind is on other things.”

“Oh, like what?”

The server arrived with the dessert menu, saving Liz from having to come up with an easy answer or lie. The three raviolis were supposed to be the main course? “Like dessert.” Liz faked another smile.

Bryan seemed satisfied, but he kept glancing over his menu. “Lizzie, you’re bullshitting me.”

“No. Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re like that.”

“What?” She met his gaze, denying the fury sizzling beneath her surface.

He wasn’t buying her act at all. “You need to tell me what’s on your mind. Straight up. No chaser.”

“I don’t think I should do that right now.”

“Yeah, you should. Why are you being such a bitch?” Bryan grinned, a malicious twinkle in his hazel eyes. “What’s up?”

“Chocolate. Lots of chocolate. Oh and whipped cream.” Liz studied her menu, no longer willing to so much as glance toward him.

“Dammit, Liz. What the fuck has gotten into you tonight?” Bryan didn’t have the decency to keep his voice low as he leaned forward.

She met his gaze with harsh intensity. “Keep your voice down, okay? I’m frustrated, but let’s not talk about it until we get home.”

“Oh, no, no, no. We’re talking about it now. I’m not gonna wait ‘til we get home so you can sit back and stew all this time. What is it about me that’s pissing you off? I put all my dirty clothes in the hamper like you asked me to. What the fuck?” His voice didn’t lower, it rose.

The waiter had been heading toward their table, but turned to help someone else instead.

“Well, hooray for you. Putting your dirty clothes away means that for the first time, you actually heard something I said and did the requested action. Cleaning up. What a concept, huh?” No matter how she tried to whisper, her words came out at volume.

Bryan ’s eyes were wide. This was the first time Liz rose to his challenge in public or otherwise and he obviously wasn’t sure what to do about that. “What the hell? I didn’t piss in your Cheerios. And if I did, don’t you think you should tell me?”

“You couldn’t handle it.” Her jaw tightened. Why did he have to push the matter? Why was she so damn willing to push back for a change?

“Oh really? I’m a big boy. I can handle a lot more than you think. What the fuck? Come on, the whole place is lookin’ at us. Might as well put on a good show.”

The waiter stepped next to her. “Please keep your voices down or I will have to remo—”

She hollered right over him. “It’s not some fucking show, Bryan. Welcome to my life. I’m sick of you and I can’t stand to sit back and rot anymore. When you quit your old job because, as you say, ‘you were tired of it’, and then blew off the job I hooked up—for free beer, no less—I should have given up on you, but I didn’t. I let your music carry me, but goddamn it Bryan, I can’t wait any longer. I don’t want to bide my time, pay your bills and clean up after you anymore. I’m done. I am so fucking done, Bryan. Done with you.” The words blasted out of her mouth faster than she could temper them, but so what? He needed to hear them. Unfortunately, there was an audience. “Sorry, everyone. Have a great dinner.”

Even the waiter was stunned for a moment. “You need to leave now.”

Before Bryan could get his head out of his ass long enough to realize what had just happened, Liz stood, emptied the cash from her wallet and let the twenties flutter onto the table before heading toward the door. “Sorry, sir,” she said to the waiter then gritted her teeth, fighting tears that threatened to wreck her night further.

Vaguely, she heard Bryan calling after her, but she’d meant what she’d said. She was done with him. She didn’t need him and there was no reason to stay around him any longer.

In the back of her mind, she heard him screaming and cussing at her, but what a fucking asshole for using that kind of language in such a nice restaurant. What a fucking asshole for making it so easy to lose her cool. And what a fucking asshole for being such a fucking asshole.

 

* * *

 

Tonight was the big night. Tayna was staking her claim to her own little world. The patronizing mauve and floral patterns of the new part of the house—the part her dad and mom lived in when this was their home—had offended Tayna’s senses for long enough. It was time to move out.

Well, sort of.

Sure, it’d take the work of an army to make this part of her house livable, but she’d found a few partial bolts of velvet in one of the rooms. They’d kick ass for decorating. Fuck yeah. Every little bit helped. She was crafty. She could make something out of nothing if she had to.

Tayna retrieved some candles and holders from the new side of the house and began setting them up in the parlor. The carpet definitely needed to disappear. Same with all the sheets over everything. No wonder her dad had sealed off this half of the giant, sprawling house. It was a mess.

Sometime around 1910, about five thousand square feet were added on. Or maybe only half that and the rest was added in the fifties. It was hard to tell. She didn’t know a damn thing about architecture.

Whatever its history, this house was her future. Tayna whisked sheets off antiques of many vintages. And the time was now.

Interrupting the beginning of Tayna’s future, the door chime sounded.

“Shit.” Tayna braved her way back to the new area without a candlestick. Better not be a false alarm. She was supposed to be alone tonight. Did that mean she’d have a lonely future? Never mind.

Nearing the front door, Tayna heard pounding, then another ring of the chimes. Clyde the caretaker didn’t usually knock after ringing the chimes. He’d use his key. So, who the hell would stop by at this hour?

As Tayna reached the foyer, the lock clicked and the door came open, but it wasn’t by Clyde’s doing.

“Tayna.” Liz was in tears and there was probably only one loser cause for it.

“I hope that bastard gets hit by a car one of these days.” Tayna wrapped her arms around her sobbing friend. “Sweetie, he’s not worth your tears.”

Bryan had always represented everything dickhead to Tayna. He was lazy, unmotivated and although he didn’t hit Liz, he treated her like shit. Whatever happened tonight, he must have really fucked her over because she’d never shown up like this.

And had never used Tayna’s shoulder as a tear-catcher because of that asshole.

Liz started to calm down. “I’m not sure I’m crying about him.”

“Are they tears of joy?” Tayna held Liz at arm’s length and studied her. Nice silk dress meant expensive restaurant. Light brown hair tied back in a rubber band meant she’d done it on the way over because it was getting in her face and she’d cut the rubber band out later rather than pulling out her hair with it.

Poor girl. She’d just been through some kind of hell, but the spark in her green eyes vaguely screamed of joy.

“I left him.”

“Woohoo!” Tayna threw her head back and hollered as she started doing the happy dance. “That’s great! You deserve so much better.”

“I know.” Liz’s words fell from her lips.

But that wasn’t good enough. “Ummm…lots more conviction, lots less pout, please.”

“Gimme a little while, okay. I’m still getting used to this.”

“Ah yes, the lack of a boat anchor hanging from your waist, dragging you through the depths of despair. The lack of a ball and chain shackled to your ankle, keeping you from living your life.” Tayna grinned. “Welcome to my world. Take a load off, stay awhile, stay forever…or at least until men learn how to behave a little bit.”

“Or a whole lot.” Liz managed a teary-eyed grin.

“That’s my girl! Follow me, dearie.” She headed for the kitchen. Tonight had gotten off to an interesting start, but Tayna knew just the thing to make it sing. Her new lair could wait until tomorrow. Seeing Liz finally buck up and drop that fool was worth celebration. Everything unimportant could wait until tomorrow morning or longer.

Opening the giant freezer, Tayna threw an arm up in the air and whooped once more. “Super duper double triple chocolate deluxe royale. It’s in here, my friend. The cure to all that ails you.” As Tayna pulled the tub of sinful ice cream from its perch, Liz hunted through cupboards until she found the chocolate syrup. Tayna nodded approvingly, but reminded, “You’re forgetting the sprinkles.”

“Oh yeah. Sorry.” Liz retrieved the chocolate sprinkles from the spice cabinet. “And you almost let me forget the cocoa powder and the chocolate shavings. Where are the chocolate chips?”

“Got ‘em.” Tayna plunked the sugary sin onto the counter and proceeded to prepare midnight madness sundaes.

Mid-scoop, Tayna glanced at her friend. There was happiness, but lots of grief under its surface. Liz was willingly allowing Tayna to spin a web tricking the sadness into escapism rather than wallowing in it. That much was for sure.

Liz’s eyes told the real story. She felt lost. Or maybe like she’d lost something. But lost what? Losing a loser wasn’t worth being upset about. Tayna piled a mountain of chocolate into a large bowl and then slid it over to Liz for finishing touches.

“Maybe if I were prettier or something, I wouldn’t attract creeps like Bryan.” Liz sighed as she drizzled syrup onto the chocolate mountain.

“Maybe if you were uglier, you’d attract men with better personalities.”

“No. I’d attract men who were desperate.”

“Honestly, Liz, I don’t think it has anything to do with the way a person looks or acts. I mean, I’ve got a friend who’s absolutely, stunningly gorgeous. Voice like an angel. Beautiful flowing blonde hair. Sweet as all this sugar and she can’t hook a man to save her life.”

“She probably just chooses the wrong guys.” Using her finger, Liz swiped some syrup that was trying to escape down the side of her bowl.

“I’ve seen the guys she likes. I’ve seen the guys she’s dated. They’re perfect matches for her. They look cute with her and stuff, and they go out on a couple mind-blowing dates, sometimes even do the do. But then the guy chickens out. I don’t get it.” Tayna’s ice cream mountain neared completion. Her mouth watered, dreaming of the bliss about to be had. Hopefully, it would help Liz stay away from the dark path toward hell over something so stupid as Bryan.

Liz moved her bowl away from all the toppings so that Tayna could have a go. Ice cream always made difficult things easier to swallow. And chocolate made the world go around, so the two together should cure all ills.

“I’d like to meet this friend of yours. Maybe we could learn a thing or two.” Liz took a bite and smiled, but her eyes remained sad. “I just want one date. Just one decent date. I’m trying to cut my losses here, but it still hurts. All I wanna do is forget. Go on one date with one of your friend’s nice guys and remember what it’s like to talk about things other than power chords and weed-induced dreams.”

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll call her tomorrow and we’ll see if we can all get together for dinner. Sound like a plan?”

“Redo the girl’s night we were supposed to have tonight?” Liz licked her spoon. “I’m so sorry, Tayna.”

“Hey, hey, hey. None of that. Look at all the good that came from you flaking. I’m officially moving into the old part of the house, you left the dickhead… It’s all good, Liz. And you’re staying here tonight, right?”

“Oh…uh…I dunno.”

Tayna recognized that look. “The ghost stories are not true. This place is not haunted like all the little kids say.” Okay, so maybe it was, but that was no reason to keep her away was it.

“And besides, it’s not like I can go home.” Liz sighed.

“Dammit. Drown your sorrows in chocolate and smile ‘til your heart’s content. We are tough chicks who don’t need a man around. And more importantly don’t want a man around unless he can improve our situation. From the looks of things, the best improvement we can make in your situation is that big fat bowl of chocolate yummy and a good night’s sleep. We’ll figure out the rest tomorrow.”

“Ummm…Tayna?” Liz chuckled, this time there was a spark of something sweeter than pain in her eyes. “I hate to break it to you, but according to that clock on the wall, it just turned tomorrow.”

“Shut up and eat your ice cream,” Tayna said with her mouth full. “Before I eat it for you.”

With any luck and maybe some more work toward high spirits, Tayna wouldn’t find Liz crying in her Cheerios tomorrow morning. Thank goddess.

Chapter Two

It had been—and still was—a long day of cataloging. Liz sat up and the book on Victorian restorations of castles and folly-building fell from her knees to the floor, reminding her that looking at pictures didn’t count as reading. But after spending the day cross-referencing what the inventory said versus what was really on the shelves, it was no wonder she couldn’t focus on words anymore. Wendy and Jennifer had been called away to help shelve, so Liz was all by herself. In a way, it had been her tedious little slice of heaven.

Liz picked up the book and filed it back on the shelf before pulling off her gloves. The back storage room of the library was off-limits to most people. Only a handful of professors and library aides were allowed among its treasures.

Years ago, when Liz was still a student, she’d shown up ready to work in the reference section. Outside the Archive Room in the back, a whole brigade of professors, ankles wet, were stacking books and other artifacts on folding tables set up amid the books she was going to straighten.

Naturally, Liz had set down her bag and joined the rescue. She knew most of the professors, had them for a class or two. They didn’t question her security clearance in such an emergency. She found herself rescuing a monastic manuscript, a stack of playbills from Elizabethan England, a Bible with Latin and a whole lot of gold on the cover, an early copy of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night…the list went on and on, piquing her interest in that back room until she couldn’t stand it anymore.

Within a week, she had petitioned all the necessary professors, the curator, the librarians, even the chancellor. She started as sort of an assistant curator of the collection. The position was created for her because she was skilled enough to help in restoration as well as sharp enough, having been a history major with an interest in photographic techniques for archival purposes.

While the current curator was on sabbatical somewhere in France, Liz got to be in charge, but she still answered to the supervising professors.

The newest books in the Osric Collection were from 1897; the oldest from the eighth century. There was a little bit of everything from illuminated manuscripts to playbills and pamphlets. In other words, the Osric Collection was Liz’s precious playground.

Her cell phone vibrated, nearly scaring her out of her pants. She pulled the flip phone from her back pocket and checked the ID to make sure it wasn’t Bryan. After pressing talk she happily listened to her best friend.

“All right, Lizzie. I hooked up with Andrea. She said everything’s cool.” Tayna sounded excited. “Oh and hi, how are you?”

With a chuckle, Liz shook her head. “I’m okay. I’ve been wondering if you’d forgotten about me. I’m still not ready to face Bryan again. He’s been calling all day, leaving voicemails alternating between ‘baby come back’ and ‘I’m gonna kill you’. He’s driving me nuts.”

“More nuts than usual, huh? Just ignore him. He’ll go away.”

“But Tayna, he’s still got my stuff in the apartment.”

“But you still have keys and I know how to destroy guitars.”

Liz locked the door to the rest of the library and retreated into the darkest reach of the Archive Room. After setting the alarm, she went through the back door and locked it behind her. “I’m not even sure I care about my stuff anymore. I can get more castle models. Clothes are easy to find. Some of those books are hard to come by, but I could probably find them on eBay anyway.”

As she walked around the outside of the library, she marveled at its massive size and gothic-style windows amid later rectangular sash windows. The building had been renovated many times. It was a veritable cornucopia of architectural styles and likely as old as the town itself. 1845. Before the Gold Rush, but after California declared independence from Mexico in 1836.

“You can find anything on eBay, dearie.” Tayna must have gone out driving, there was a low rumble coming through the cell connection.

“I’ll be out front in a millisecond. You anywhere close?” Liz rounded the corner and, sure enough, there was Tayna in her primer black ’72 Ranchero. “Get in, babe.” Tayna hung up.

Re-pocketing her phone, Liz hopped into the car. “As long as there are thrift stores, I guess I don’t need my stuff at all, do I?”

“We’ll get it back from him. Don’t worry.” Tayna rolled her eyes as she pulled from the parking lot. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way. And he’ll have to get through me if he wants to mess with you.”

Sitting back against the blue-blanket-and-green-towel-covered bench seat, Liz looked out the window until Tayna pulled into a guest parking space at an apartment complex about five blocks from the university. Nice place.

A blonde woman came out of a door on the bottom floor. She waved excitedly as Liz and Tayna got out of the car. Wow. Tayna hadn’t been kidding. Andrea was gorgeous.

“Is this Liz?” The thin, sweet, perfect blonde smiled and held out her arms for a hug. “I’m Andrea.”

Liz walked right into the girl hug. It felt nice. Her heart warmed to Andrea immediately. Like they were long lost sisters meeting for the first time.

“Come on, you two. I could use a little help,” Tayna called out.

Turning toward Tayna, Liz and Andrea saw what all the fuss was about.

Dinner. It was in the back of the Ranchero. And there was a ton of it.

Once in Andrea’s kitchen, Tayna started opening foil and cardboard, revealing a truly international feast. Curried chicken, pizza, tacos, Mongolian beef. She must have stopped at every restaurant on her way to the library.

Liz had never felt so welcome. Everything was great. Showing up at Tayna’s last night hadn’t been a bad idea after all. Honestly, Liz hadn’t a clue where else to go. Tayna’s door was always open. But, all last night, after the ice cream was eaten and the beds turned down, the house had creaked and settled. It was terrible. Liz hardly slept a wink between worrying what she was going to do about Bryan and hearing the house come alive. A few times Liz could’ve sworn it was going to pick itself up off its foundation and run away.

The kitchen was bustling with movement. “So, Liz, I hear you just broke up with your boyfriend. That’s got to be tough.” Andrea opened cupboards and drawers so that everyone could find what they needed.

“No. She just returned from a sanity vacation, but she’s fine now. The guy’s a guitar-playing, pot-smoking loser who isn’t worth a flea let alone Liz,” Tayna cut in while unfolding some foil to reveal flatbread and then opening a wide styrofoam cup of hummus.

“Come on, Tayna. That’s a little harsh.” Liz shook her head. “He wasn’t complete bullshit. He never cut me off whenever I rambled about Master James of St. George and King Edward’s Iron Ring of castles in North Wales.” Liz grabbed a taco and then spooned some salsa onto her plate.

“No, Liz,” Tayna interjected. “He probably just ‘yeah’ and ‘uh-huh’ed. I sincerely doubt he actually dug anything about the thirteenth century.” She licked her fingers and began in dumb guy parody. “Wow! That’s fascinatin’ shit. You mean, like medieval dudes used to huck dead pigs into castles when they was fightin’ and shit? Whoa…gnarly.”

As much as Liz didn’t want to admit it, Tayna had a point. Liz chuckled and added, “Well, yeah, dead, rotten pigs are more aerodynamic than horses and they make a better splat.”

Tayna built on that with, “And if you light them on fire…” until Andrea cringed and shouted, “Ew! Ew! Ew! We’re eating dinner here. Yuck, you two!”

“Sorry.” Tayna winked at Liz. “Pass the carnitas, will ya?”

Liz let out a much-needed laugh as she performed the request. “That’s medieval history. Both disgusting and fascinating at the same time.”

“For you, maybe.” Tayna spooned the cooked pork mixture onto her plate.

“Y’know, maybe that’s the trick.” Andrea put her hand on Liz’s wrist. “Maybe you should hook an intellectual this time.”

“Just what I need. A geek like me.” Liz spooned some curried chicken onto her plate while pondering what her ideal boyfriend would be like. “We’d have late nights in heated debate about who the real King Arthur was.”

Tayna vigorously shook her head as she hurried to finish chewing enough to speak. “No, you guys can have heated debates about whether or not all the positions of the Kama Sutra are physically possible and then dare each other to try them and find out for sure.”

Now, she was onto something. Perhaps another history buff actually would be a decent catch. They could go to cheap restaurants with international food and maybe write reviews for a local paper in exchange for free meals. Not a bad idea at all. As Liz looked down at her plate, the curried chicken, pizza, tacos and chow mein made her smile.

When she looked up, her gaze caught on the hummus container and she had a rather odd realization. “Hey, I didn’t know the snooty Indian place did take-out.”

“They don’t.” Tayna swallowed and set down her taco. “I sat down at a table and told them I was in a really big hurry. When they brought the food to the table, I made my cell phone ring and got them to box everything up like a doggie bag.”

“Tayna, I swear one of these days I’m gonna have to take lessons from you. It’s like magic. You always manage to come out ahead.” Andrea shook her head. “Know any good spells for love?” Her joke hung amid giggles.

“Love spells. That’s funny. Hell, I’m willing to try anything.” Liz grinned. The idea was interesting in an ancient Celtic kind of way. “You got a love potion or something?” That way she wouldn’t have to camp out at libraries or bookstores in search of her next boyfriend.

“You’re funny.” Tayna shrugged and then stood. Ceremoniously, she waved her hands in the air while chanting some odd gibberish. She then mimed a building—complete with a slanted roof and little windows. Switching gears, she mimed a ball and then, with a sideways grin across her lips, tossed the imaginary ball at the door.

“Thank you, thank you.” She bowed deeply before licking her fingers and picking up her glass of soda. “To Bryan, may he fall down a set of concrete stairs. To Liz, who is now free to build as many models of The Tower of London as she’d like. To Andrea, for making Liz move in. And to myself for no real reason other than that I’ve got the two most bestest friends on the planet.”

Utter shock wracked through Liz’s body. “What?” She looked at Tayna then Andrea. There had to be some mistake. Did Tayna just say that Liz was moving in with Andrea? While the idea was nifty and all, wouldn’t it be a huge imposition? Living at Tayna’s was creepy, but it wasn’t like she didn’t have the space.

Andrea smiled. Was she okay with it? “When Tayna told me what was up, I reminded her that I was looking for a roommate to help with the rent. Are you interested?”

Liz was speechless. She looked back and forth from Andrea to Tayna.

“I know you hate my place, Liz.” Tayna stood and started hunting through the cupboards. “Andy, if she doesn’t hurry up and accept your offer, I’m going to accept it for her.”

Liz finally found the words. “Yes. Thank you, Andrea. I-I…that’s really nice of you. I don’t know what to say.”

“Just say you do dishes and you’re in.” Andrea’s eyes were bright as she got up from the table and began sliding margarita glasses from a rack under one of the cupboards.

“Uh-oh. I hope we have a dishwasher.” Liz laughed with her two friends as they cleared the table.

During a natural lull in girltalk, eerie silence set in and the doorbell rang. Tayna and Liz followed Andrea to the door as she opened it.

Despite the strange feeling in her chest, Liz was relieved to see a dorky teenage boy with a pizza box. He bared his braces for a grin at Andrea. “Deliv—wow! I think I’m in love.” His eyes glazed over and he shoved the box into her hands. “Thanks!” The kid didn’t ask for money before tripping over himself and stumbling away.

All three women looked at each other in silence before busting up laughing.

Liz turned to Tayna. “Love spell, huh? Maybe you should work on it a little more. Free pizza’s always handy, but I think we’d all rather have a hot man instead.”

 

 

 

VooDoo loped through the shadows. Down Main Street. Up Grand Avenue.

He paused, watching his feet come to a stop. Deciding where to go, he leaned against a storefront. It felt cold through his T-shirt, so he moved next door. The glass was slightly warmer, but hardly worth thinking about. He continued.

As he stepped past the hundred-year-old buildings, he inhaled their essence. They, too, were warm, almost hot, comforting.

VooDoo drifted through the darkened walkways. Streetlights obstructed by trees created mesmerizing imagery on the concrete.

The buildings were cooling off. Why was that? They no longer threatened to scorch his pock-marked fingers. And there weren’t any pretty ladies about. Wasn’t that why he’d come?

As VooDoo reached the garden public area at the center of the Reith University campus, the clock tower began chiming.

One, two, three, four.

Where’s five? No five?

Four a.m., then. Not much time left to find a pretty lady love.

Rats. Another lonely night instead of bliss.

But a rat might make a good friend this eve. Hmmm…

Shifting his attention, VooDoo pondered the concrete planter at the center of the square. It was warmer nearest the library.

Books? Why did books get hot?

He headed for the library vestibule, knowing the old wooden doors would be locked and that they might scorch his flesh. Although from the higher vantage point, he could keep an eye on his surroundings. Watch for something pretty to happen upon him.

It was only a matter of time. Good things came to those who waited.

That’s what they say at least.

Who’s they and what gave them the right to say anything?

But are they pretty? Would they hurt him? Turn him into something else he’s not?

VooDoo studied the darkened courtyard, eyes glazed over, lost in tormented thought.

Chapter Three

Who was shaking the bed?

What was shaking the bed?

Wait a minute. Why was the bed shaking?

Liz opened her eyes from what she thought was a funky dream, only to discover a potential nightmare. It wasn’t only her bed that shook. The whole room, the whole building was shaking.

She looked to a clock on the nightstand just as it lost power, the digits going dark. Dammit. The sun wasn’t up yet.

Earthquake. Nice first morning in her new place. Ugh. All of the doors in the apartment swung, some on creaky hinges, until one by one…wham…they slammed—wham—shut…wham-wham. Through the walls, she heard various things rattle and then hit the floor. Not a whole lot of breaking glass or any huge thuds of furniture falling over, thank goodness, but there’d definitely be a mess to clean up when the world quit rocking.

Shit. She didn’t even want to think about the mess she’d have to clean up when she got to work. There probably wouldn’t be an undisturbed book in the entire library.

“Liz!” Andrea hollered. “Liz, are you okay?” Flashlight in hand, she blasted into the room as the shaking died down.

“I’m fine. I’m fine, but what the hell time is it?” Liz sat up on the side of her bed.

Andrea paced frantically. Had she never been in an earthquake before? “I dunno. God, I dunno. What are we gonna do?”

“It’s okay. Do we have a battery-operated clock here somewhere?” Liz stood up, ready to grab Andrea’s flashlight as she flashed it around the room. Instead, Liz grabbed Andrea’s wrist and tilted it to get a better look at her watch. “Twenty after four.”

Andrea laughed, snapping out of the worst of her fit. “Oh yeah, I forgot about my watch.”

“I thought you lived here all your life. Do you freak out every time there’s a quake?” Liz stood up. “I’m going to the library. It’s probably a mess and I better get started early.”

“Every quake is new and scary. I got trapped under my canopy bed in the super-duper big one when I was six years old.” The rattling of the building calmed along with Andrea’s voice. Hopefully her nerves would follow.

“Speaking of bed, you should probably go get another couple hours of sleep.” Liz looked through the pile of clothes that both Tayna and Andrea had contributed. It was Liz’s temporary wardrobe until she could get up the nerve to face Bryan and get her stuff back. With this damn quake, she wondered if she’d ever get anything. Maybe it wasn’t important.

No. It was. But it could wait.

Andrea shined the flashlight on the pile of clothes. “Are you kidding? I can’t sleep. Not after that.” She smoothed a hand over her hair, twisting her ponytail.

“Then maybe start picking stuff up. The kitchen’s probably a wreck.” Liz traded her pajamas for a giant green sweatshirt with blue butterflies and a pair of jeans that fit nearly perfect. Not too shabby. At least something was going her way so far. She headed down the hallway.

Andrea let out a hard sigh. “I’m glad you’re okay, but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to earthquakes—little or otherwise.” She followed Liz out of the room and shined her light everywhere she could. “I gotta call Tayna. Make sure she’s okay. It’ll probably take a while to get through, though.”

“Yeah, power’s gone. Phones probably are by now, too. Try emailing when the power’s back up.” Liz grabbed her cell phone and stuck it in her back pocket. Service had to come up eventually. “I’ll probably be at the library all day and night. ”

Andrea nodded, her anxiety continuing a slow drain probably induced by Liz’s calmness. “I hope you don’t get stuck there that long.” She tossed the flashlight to Liz, forcing a realization. Living here was going to be beneficial for both of them. They’d both help each other rather than hinder. Wouldn’t that be a refreshing change of pace?

“Thanks, Andy. Me, too.” Liz headed out the door, thankful that fate had landed her with Andrea instead of Tayna.

It would have been nice to drive to the university, but Liz’s car was most likely still parked at the restaurant unless an even worse catastrophe had struck. Bryan didn’t have keys to it, and hopefully he knew better than to have it towed.

Liz made a mental note to get her car as soon as possible. Luckily, R.U. wasn’t a long walk. It gave her time to ponder her options with Bryan. Initially, she’d thought her explosion at him was too much, but now it was looking more like a blessing in disguise.

She’d been away from him a little over a day and hadn’t missed him. Not at all. She felt like there was a big hole in her life, but not that it was an empty hole in need of filling—and not that leaving Bryan had caused it. More like it was always there, but she’d been ignoring it and now it was bigger.

Now, it looked more like a neon sign screaming that something needed to be done, a new leaf needed turning.

Everything was still dark when Liz arrived at the library. The exterior emergency power at the university didn’t come on until she was in the courtyard. There was a twenty-minute lag between when the battery-powered lights and the generators kicking on. The system was a dinosaur. Last year’s test led to replacing a few light bulbs rather than the entire setup.

As she got closer, she refocused her sight on the side of the building. A big section of stucco had fallen off, baring structure underneath.

Same thing had happened during the quake when she was a kid, but on the other side of the library. She stared upward. This side was stone underneath, not brick. It must have been renovated sometime during the last hundred years. The fact that anyone would build anything out of brick or stone in an earthquake area was completely absurd, but back then, they didn’t really have much else to work with.

She swallowed hard as she neared. Under a pile of flaked-off stucco, half of the front vestibule was collapsed and laying in a big heap. She didn’t want to think of the horrors beyond. It hurt too much. Her book babies were in there and they better be okay. She broke into a run.

After climbing the rubble, she made her way into what was left of the vestibule. One of the doors had fallen away with its wall. She gritted her teeth to hold back tears. How much damage could this place—her heaven—sustain before crumbling? With a heavy heart, she tossed aside a stone cherub from the previously gorgeous doorway.

The hole in the vestibule was big enough to crawl through. Hopefully the security people would get here soon and keep everyone else out. Hopefully. Very hopefully.

The Osric Collection was most important. The basement automated system would probably be okay, but the Osric Collection in the Archive Room had better still be intact. None of it could be replaced. So much history could be lost forever.

The super-old, fragile first editions and illuminated manuscripts had been donated by the Osric family when the university was built and every other year more were added. They were a vast wealth of information from the medieval period through the Victorian era.

Legend had it that they were rescued from a big fire in the old library after the huge San Francisco quake in 1906. They’d also survived the flood. But the flood wasn’t as legendary as what this quake had done.

The building wasn’t burning and for that, she was quite relieved. But things were still pretty bad. As she crossed the first floor, there was hardly a book on a shelf anywhere. Some of the shelving units had toppled, their “earthquake proofing” brackets twisted and gnarled. Emergency battery-powered lights were very dim. Some had already gone out.

She shined her flashlight toward the back. The door to the Osric Collection was hanging open, crookedly wedged against the floor.

And there was more rubble spilling through it.

No. No. Liz hurried, jumping over books and desks. What the hell had happened in there?

As she approached, the faint sound of scraping also spilled out with the chunks of plaster and wood.

What the hell was happening in there?

Liz jogged the rest of the way over more books, office supplies and computers. Upon entering, she heard footsteps running deeper into the room and anger flooded through her. Someone had illegally invaded her space. By the time she aimed her flashlight, the footsteps had disappeared through a gaping hole in the outside wall.

A stone wall.

Using her flashlight, she traced the stone from the hole over to a section she’d never seen before. Just yesterday, inside the door, there was a plain white wall to the left with a photo of Kyre Osric when he donated an early copy of Milton’s Paradise Lost.

Now, there was a twisted pile of lath, brick and plaster.

And above that, there was a small cutout in the stone. Like someone had built a boxy shelf directly into the wall.

Heart pounding, Liz approached cautiously. Why the hell hadn’t security kept out whoever had been in here? Why the hell hadn’t she gotten here sooner to keep out whoever had been in here? Dammit.

On the back of the cubbyhole, partly scraped away, was an inscription. It was hard to make out, but it looked something like, This B__k is protected. R__m__al is str___ly Fo____den and w___ brin_ Gre__t Woe.

After laying down the flashlight, she sat down on the edge of the pile and traced what was left of the letters with her fingertips. This had to be the strangest thing she’d ever seen in the library, and definitely the most intriguing.

She said the words aloud as her fingers helped decipher them. “This Book is protected. Removal is strictly Forbidden and will bring Great Woe.” Leaning back, unsure what to make of anything anymore, she felt something pushing against her ass. Standing, she reached back figuring it was the jagged edge of a rock, but then remembered the cell phone in her back pocket.

And it had a camera. She scrambled it out and snapped pictures of the cutout, the inscription, the wall, and all the plaster, brick, wood and stone. Hopefully the pics would show all the detail. The room was awfully dark and her camera phone didn’t have a flash.

In her flashlight’s beam, near the front of the cubbyhole, Liz noticed a piece of what looked to be leather. Re-pocketing her phone, she knelt and picked up the scrap to examine it more closely. There was just enough juice in the flashlight’s batteries to see an old, dirty, gold leaf design glint on the leather. “Ward Family…” And it was embossed in the same fashion as the medieval, jewel-encrusted Latin bibles.

The strip looked as though it had been ripped away recently. The tear was fresh, light in color and jagged.

Could whoever had run out the hole in the wall have ripped off this bit of leather, scraped at the stone and made off with some old book? A book with Tayna’s last name on it, no less. Something had the hair on the back of Liz’s neck standing on end.

“What have we here?” Chancellor Higgins’s voice made Liz jump up to standing, dropping the leather and the flashlight. A troop of security officers filtered into the room. “Liz. You’re a little early for work.”

She hurriedly picked up the things she’d dropped. “Yes, sir. I wanted to make sure everything was okay and clearly it isn’t. And in more ways than just half the building falling down.” She hid the scrap of leather in her hand as she casually placed it in her pocket.

When the chancellor saw the cutout in the wall, he pretty much forgot about Liz as he inspected the area with his high-wattage flashlight. She stood there, wanting to bolt to Tayna’s before he started asking questions she couldn’t answer. Or worse yet, became a suspect in the case of the missing book.

“This building is not safe right now. Why don’t you come back later when we can secure it enough to start picking up all the books?” The chancellor didn’t look back at her.

She took the hint, glad she wasn’t a suspect, and hurried out of the library. There was no good reason for a book with Tayna’s family name to be walled up and forgotten in the library when her house was just a stone’s throw away. And that damn cheesy inscription made this whole thing seem like some kind of spark that’d set off a medieval witch hunt. It just didn’t feel good, either.

 

* * *

 

Kyre awakened to the sound of chimes. It was six a.m. Switching off his alarm, he sat up in bed.

“Oh shit.” The words fell from Kyre’s lips as he shot to standing and hurried to cover his T-shirt and boxers with a robe.

The earthquake had awakened him, but he’d fallen back to sleep before checking on the rock room. The process of selection hadn’t yet been completed. If the chosen items were damaged—

He didn’t finish the thought. Instead, he rushed downstairs, dodging a busted picture frame, jumping over its glass shattered and strewn over the hallway rug. No big deal. Margaret would take care of it when she got a moment.

Rushing into the geode room, Kyre took in the state of disarray. Bowls of rough ruby and tiger-eye had spilled onto the floor. The central, three-foot-tall amethyst geode tower was inches from toppling. Lining the walls, each shelf’s contents remained intact, but not as immaculately straight as Kyre’d left them last night.

After repositioning the giant amethyst, he approached his preparation worktable. The willow branches were thankfully left alone. He slid them to the edge, next to onyx bowls, and then separated the quartz. He inspected each piece. The clear and smoky varieties weren’t supposed to mingle for fear of energies combining, but as long as each point remained whole, there was no need to make new choices today. The integrity of his arrays were still intact, but their innate power may have redistributed. While it wasn’t a cause for alarm, it wasn’t ultimately favorable.

What a crappy time for a quake. Just when he was finally making headway on his latest project. Was this some sort of cosmic warning or sign that he needed to change direction in order to avoid the chaos that happened with VooDoo?

No, he reckoned the higher powers were helping him. They wouldn’t want another walking disaster like VooDoo, either. He was too volatile and yet useless at the same time.

Kneeling, Kyre gathered the smaller rocks, temporarily storing them in the pockets of his robe. As he stood and replaced the gems in their respective bowls, a shiver ran up his spine, raking his nerves outward through his fingertips, burning like a tiny bolt of lightning.

That wasn’t normal crystal energy. Were the higher powers trying to tell him something? Was he actually on the verge of moving to the next level and curing VooDoo? Why the fuck couldn’t he read that zap? Fear gripped his chest. Precognition didn’t normally require this much deciphering.

Satisfied with the rock room, he hurried down the hall. In the entryway, he hurdled a toppled stainless steel sculpture.

Beyond the foyer, he dialed in a code on an old rotary telephone fashioned from a cube of stainless steel with an equally squared-off handset. A secret door to his library slid open and he dashed inside hoping his powerful and precious world wasn’t damaged.

Every screened cabinet remained closed, the books behind unmoved. Kyre sighed deeply. Only his laptop appeared relocated. He crossed to the antique writing table at the center of the room and pushed his computer more squarely onto its leather blotter.

Laughter flowed through his throat, but his unease refused to dissipate. Jolts excited his nerves. Something somewhere was very wrong.

He drew open the top writing desk drawer and removed his most prized possession. One of his great grandmothers had kept a diary. She’d commented on life with Owain Osric and her life in general.

Her father-in-law had started the university. When she’d married his prig of a son—for his money of course—she began a miserable life save for her time in his library. She used to sit at this writing table and doodle in her journal.

Kyre lost himself in memories of studying her writing, her dream world of rotting paper and leather.

Her longing for love helped Kyre survive his teenage years beneath his parents’ thumb. Showed him that he wasn’t alone in feeling trapped. Her life inspired him to change his own positioning and escape his confining cage. Natalie and Aidan Osric’s untimely deaths coincided with Kyre’s freshman year of college, freeing him in ways he’d never anticipated.

Locking the diary safely away, Kyre crossed to the door. Owain had once held the world in his fingertips without knowing it. He had a wife and family—which he neglected.

Did he have any idea how precious such possessions were?

Once outside the library, Kyre turned off its generator-powered lights and locked the door before continuing on.

The kitchen was still dark. No tea, no breakfast set up on the table, no curtains opened and pulled back. As of five-thirty a.m., Margaret and Bentley were late. How could a little earthquake keep them from coming to work today?

Letting in sunlight, Kyre drew back the curtains from massive, south-facing windows. He set the teapot on to boil and returned to the wall of glass. Down in the valley, much of the town was without power. No buildings were in complete ruin, no huge piles of debris littered the street. There were repair trucks tending to various areas, rescue vehicles with flashing lights, but sirens off. Busier than an average day, but still on the quiet side. No real reason for Margaret and Bentley to be late.

Hell, was it really that big of a deal? The house was still in one piece. The lawn could wait a day for mowing. He could pick up some of the fallen stuff. There would only be a couple dishes in the sink. Or Kyre could go out to eat.

It wasn’t like they were easily replaceable, either. Bentley and Margaret had been in the family for years and had acquired several special skills according to the Osrics’ very special needs.

The teapot hummed, bringing Kyre away from the floor-to-ceiling windows. He poured hot water over the leaves in his press. Lavender and bergamot mixed with the rich scent of black tea as steam rose from the water.

Letting the elixir steep, he picked up his telephone, intending to call Bentley, but service was dead. He looked out the window. Phone company trucks were spread throughout the town. Workers in baskets next to poles coordinated with men on the ground near boxes. Service was likely an hour or two away from restoration given the amount of trouble spots.

Plan B. His cell phone acted like it didn’t want to keep signal, but that was nothing new on the outskirts of town. He chucked the useless phone onto the granite kitchen counter. What good was technology if it didn’t work?

Hell, Bentley and Margaret would arrive in due time when they were good and ready. Then, the house would be cleaned and all would be well.

Two of the glass tabletops near his leather couch had vibrated loose and cracked. Everything looked off. Off-kilter. Out of place. Unstraightened. It needed to be remedied.

He realigned the canisters on the counter next to the stovetop. His hands were practically shaking. Everything should be fine. It just didn’t feel fine.

Once tea was poured and milk added, Kyre returned to the wall of glass. The Miracle Mile was intact. All of its trendy shops jutted eclectically from the undamaged sidewalk and street. Scentorium in particular sustained little damage other than the front window displays were in disarray. Now, it looked like what was once a pyramid of shampoo and conditioner lay in a heap under a sprinkling of soap bars.

Kyre trained his gaze away from the middle of town. Surprisingly, the Ward Manor stood as though defying the laws of physics. That damn shit heap should have fallen. It was a fucking eyesore. Especially right next door to his university. Whoever owned that pile of rubble nowadays should either restore it or demolish it. No one was living in it. For fuck’s sake, who’d live in a shithole ruin?

Wait. Was a chunk missing from its wall? Maybe part of its roof, too. Kyre refocused his gaze on it. Wouldn’t that be great? Next step would be pulling down the entire building. Doze it and build apartments or dorms.

Kyre carefully uncovered his telescope to get a better view of the damage.

Only a section of facing had fallen off the Ward Manor. Big deal. Too bad it wasn’t the whole damn building. One big pile of trash. Hell, he’d personally pay for a dump truck to haul away the wreckage.

After another sip of tea, Kyre set the cup in its saucer, the small clank a juxtaposition with the crashing of Ward Manor rubble in his head.

Zooming out he peered back through the lens. The university appeared unscathed, but crawling with security. Good. Science buildings, Speech and Communications, Music, even the theatre appeared to have shrugged off the quake.

He trained his sight back toward the Ward Manor, hoping the crumbled section was actually structural damage amid the rubble. His view caught an edge of the library near the dilapidated mansion and the air rushed out of his lungs.

“Holy shit.” Tea spilled as Kyre set the antique cup and saucer on the nearest glass and stainless steel table that hadn’t cracked.

One of the walls of the library was leaning.

He squeezed his eyes shut and reopened them in disbelief.

And lower in the same wall was a gaping hole.

“No.” A hole in that position would leave the Osric Collection vulnerable.

Sharp pain overcame his heart as though it was being eaten by acid. Kyre recoiled and backed away from the telescope.

Damn Owain for being a philanthropist rather than a collector. He never should have given up those books. They were Kyre’s history, his legacy, in some cases his family and friends. And damn the man’s will stating that one or more books every two years must be donated. That damn library was too unsafe to hold a teddy bear let alone priceless antiquities.

The books belonged in this house. In Kyre’s private library. Not in the fucking university library where anyone could walk off with them. The damn building might end up a twisted pile of shit and it better not swallow the books. His books.

With renewed vengeance, Kyre tore himself away from the windows, his robe catching air in his wake. As he exited the kitchen, his cell phone rang and he was torn.

“Fuck!” Curiosity won. Through clenched teeth, he answered the phone, “Osric.”

“Mr. Osric. H-Hello. I t-trust all is well up at your home?” Not good. Chancellor Higgins wouldn’t be calling unless something was wrong and he wanted money to fix it.

“I see the damage to the library. Is my collection secure?” Kyre retraced his steps to the windows, hoping to ensure the best reception. And that perhaps he’d misjudged the damage to the library.

There was a pause without static. The chancellor was caught. “Everything is fine, actually. That’s why I was calling.”

“I’m coming over.”

“No, that’s not necessary, Mr. Osr—”

Kyre hung up on the bastard and threw his cell phone against a brushed aluminum sculpture so hard, the plastic casing shattered.

Chapter Four

Liz jogged next door to Tayna’s house. This was too much to deal with right now. Too much. The Osric Collection—her precious book babies—was in jeopardy and yet there was something even bigger nauseating her, tearing her insides out.

The ancient, ornate wrought iron gate out front of Tayna’s house was latched, but not locked. Releasing the rusty catch, Liz hurried through. If that inscription over the forgotten cubbyhole was right and the leather really was from a book with Tayna’s last name on it, she could be in trouble. Maybe even more trouble than the Osric Collection if the book thief wanted women, too.

Giving the gate a good shove to get it closed, Liz stepped beneath the grand archway facing the street. Determination set her sight on the Ward Manor and instead of continuing, she froze in her tracks. The quake had rattled down some of the facing on the old wing. Had the epicenter been right under the university fence? The Reith University Library and Tayna’s house were only separated by a wrought iron fence that matched the giant front gate.

Jeepers creepers. Tayna’s whole wall hadn’t fallen but the damage looked pretty extensive. Bad day. Very bad day. Tayna was going to have to sell a lot of essential oils and handmade soap to cover that kind of rebuilding.

Although somewhat creepy, this rundown mansion was romantic with its ancient trailing rose vines, almost like a sort of gothic fairyland rather than an actual residence. Too bad the creepiness was all-encompassing. Just being close to the building made Liz’s nerves jump up a notch…and she hadn’t thought that possible.

Once through the inner gate, Liz was greeted by the trickling of the fountain. At least that old thing hadn’t toppled over. Its gentle sound was soothing, almost reassuring, but at this point, nothing could calm her completely. Well, except maybe hopping into the fountain, tossing in some fancy soap and shutting out the rest of the entire world. But that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, either.

As Liz raised her hand to grasp the knocker, Tayna opened the door and immediately started talking. “So, I’m hoping everyone’s okay? Andrea got through on my cell phone for about thirty seconds.” Tayna picked up the hem of her skirt and stepped through the doorway, her gaze focused beyond. “The library looks fucked. Wait. Why are you here instead of there?”

Liz took a moment to reel in everything Tayna just said. Hung on the library statement, Liz turned to face the structure, studying it while deciding where to begin. “Other than the big damn earthquake, something’s not right.” She considered the size and shape, but felt like she was missing something right there in front of her.

“When are things ever right?”

“Good point. But now that I’m looking at it, the library really isn’t right. How old did you say your house was?” Liz considered the structure. Why was it looking so off-kilter? Did the earthquake jostle her brain, too?

Tayna put her hands on her hips. “Supposedly, this place was built by my great-great grandfather Dr. Alphonse Ward somewhere around the early 1840s before the Gold Rush when there was no one here. He was a recluse. Why?”

“That’s exactly my question. Everything else in California that survives from that long ago was built out of adobe or wood. But stuff is looking older than that to me today. Did you see your own damage?”

“No. I was only looking at the library. Pretty crazy shit.” Tayna headed out of the courtyard.

Liz followed, still wracking her brain and wishing the odd sensation growing and gnawing at her solar plexus would shrink and disappear. Tayna stopped when they reached the missing area of plaster, but rather than study her own house, she turned to the library.

Both women looked upward to the third floor where most of the outer facing had fallen. It was stone beneath, but not like big smooth bricks piled in rows. The wall of the library had a herringbone pattern in long rough stones. Not the kind available at the local brickyard. They were too uneven, almost like they were chipped by hand, but who in his right mind would want to do an entire building like that and then cover up all the hard work and aesthetics?

Tayna turned back around and surveyed the damage to her house. “No big deal. I’ll get Clyde to patch it over. From the look on your face, I thought the whole wall had come down or something. You looked way too worried.”

“Oh, sorry.” Liz hadn’t even realized how worried she was until Tayna brought it up. But since when did Tayna worry about anything other than the quality of the incense she burned during holidays?

“Don’t scare me like that. Next thing I know, Dad’s gonna make a surprise visit and find half his house fell down and you just know he’s gonna blame me for it somehow.”

“If the shoe fits…” Liz joked, hoping to ease her own worries more so than Tayna’s.

“Hey, I told you. The barn falling down had nothing to do with me. I just happened to be coming out of it when the main roof beam broke. That damn barn was probably even older than the house.” Tayna went back to the front door she’d left open. “You gonna come inside or what are you doing? Don’t they need you at work?”

Liz followed Tayna into the giant, overly snooty entryway, marble floors, garish gilt staircase, sickly mauve wallpaper and all. “Do you have any family trees written out?”

“Not that I know of.” Tayna stopped and turned to Liz. “What’s with all the weird disjointed questions today? You’re all over the map.”

Rather than asking questions that would only lead to more, Liz pulled the scrap of leather from her pocket. “I went to the library as soon as the world stopped shaking. An inside wall in the back fell. There was an inscription about some book which wasn’t there anymore and this scrap of leather.”

“You’re the history geek. Why are you showing this to—” Tayna interrupted herself as the gold leafing glinted. “Holy shit. Where did this come from again?” She studied the scrap more closely.

“I think it came from some old book that someone wanted to hide or protect or both so they walled it up in the back room of the library. And to be totally honest, it kind of reminds me of a medieval bible—without the holiness.” Liz’s heart pounded all the way up into her throat.

“That’s fucking weird. You’re freaking me out.” Tayna’s eyebrows drew together. “We don’t donate to the university. I don’t think we ever have. Why the hell would there be a book with my name on it walled up there?”

“I don’t know and the book is gone. Someone stole it.” Saying the words felt like a dam breaking. The crushing feeling gripping her solar plexus relaxed, but with the flood came a different kind of nervousness.

“Oh how nice.”

“Tell me about it. I have pictures if you want to see them.”

“Of the book?”

Liz pulled her phone from her pocket. “No, just the hole in the wall. I still need to download them, though.”

“Let’s go fire up my computer now that the electricity’s back on. Did you want something to drink?” Tayna headed deeper into the house. She paid more attention to the scrap of leather than to where she was walking and smacked her shoulder against a doorway on her way to the kitchen.

“I guess I could use some water.” Or a massage. Or one of those super-relaxing aromatherapy baths Tayna and Andrea mentioned last night after the margaritas were poured…when things were still somewhat simple in comparison.

Tayna tossed the leather on the counter and then pulled out tall ceramic mugs with painted butterflies. “How old is that scrap? You said it got ripped off of some old book?” She filled the cups from a drinking water spout off the sink. “I mean, maybe Dr. Ward donated it eons ago. He was pretty eccentric. And probably the last of my ancestors who even might’ve donated. We started going broke after him.”

“I have no idea how old it is or who put it there.” Liz took a deep, soothing drink of water.

“Is there a way of finding out how old it is?” Tayna headed out of the kitchen and into the den.

“What? Like have it carbon dated?”

“Come on, Liz. Like duh.” While the computer booted up, Tayna hunted in drawers and on the floor. “I don’t know where my data cable is.”

“It’s okay. I can download wirelessly.” Fiddling with her phone, Liz willed her hands to quit shaking. This was ridiculous. She had to set her cup of water down in order to work through the menus on her phone.

“Let me know if it works.”

Without much further ceremony, the pictures thumbnailed on the screen.

“Shit, some of these are pretty dark, Liz.”

“Email them to me. Andrea’s got Photoshop. I’ll lighten them and then you can see what I’m talking about.”

Tayna set about saving and sending the photos. They might take a few tries before going through if her data connection hadn’t recovered from the quake yet. “Y’know what, Liz? If you can’t find a science geek to help out with this, I’ll take the science building by storm instead.”

“No, that’s okay.” Liz continued to scrutinize the images. “I do know just the geek to ask. She might not be able to help, but she can tell me who can. All I’ll need is a small piece of the leather.” She tore off a corner and handed the rest to Tayna. “It’s probably better not to talk about any of this until we know what’s really going on, okay?”

“Who’m I gonna tell?” Tayna shrugged. “The only time I leave the house is to buy groceries and work in my pathetic excuse for a garden. And why the hell would I talk about it?” From the top drawer under the computer, she pulled out two sandwich bags. Handing one to Liz, Tayna carefully folded the larger piece and slid it into a bag.

Liz put the tiny corner into the other bag and filed it in her pocket. “Your mouth runs away with you sometimes.”

“Me? Never.”

“But if you see something you recognize in these photos, let me know. I mean, while you’re going through all the stuff in the old wing, if you come across something with writing like in the pics, call me. It might help figure stuff out.”

“Yeah, most definitely.” Tayna clicked send. “Curiosity’s got ya good, huh?”

“Me? Never,” Liz lied through a mocking grin, hoping that it was only curiosity thrilling her, rather than the something worse she’d initially thought.

 

* * *

 

Kyre Osric pulled his black Jag into the handicapped parking space closest to the library. No cop in his right mind would write Kyre Osric a ticket. He essentially owned the university now that his parents were dead. Aidan Osric had set a bad precedent by blindly writing donation checks whenever Higgins asked for a buck or two. But Kyre Osric wanted nothing to do with Reith University other than his books hidden away in storage.

The damn landscaping favored aesthetics over function so Kyre had to carefully cut through a flowerbed and over a low hedgerow in order to reach the walkway to the library courtyard. All the rent-a-cops milling about looked like overkill on this side. Those idiots should be in the back, making sure no one entered the gaping hole.

The books were fragile, some worth millions, not to mention their research value. No one should be allowed into the Osric Collection without proper authorization. The books were irreplaceable.

When the library flooded a few years back, Kyre had tried to reclaim the collection, but a clause in Owain Osric’s will prevented ownership from reverting back to an Osric. Kyre couldn’t change that particular detail, so he amended the rule to state that the books were to remain in the university’s ownership and could not be transferred to anyone—with the surname of Osric or otherwise.

Kyre’s breath caught at the sight of the ruined vestibule, burning the blood behind his eyes, making his stomach turn. The damage was worse than he’d thought. How the hell did one God damned earthquake do all this damage? Was the epicenter under the library?

Being a bit slow in the recognition, a guard almost stopped Kyre. The flicker of recognition in her eyes led her reddened lips to close and her hand to lower. Kyre ignored the young woman as she backed away apologizing. He climbed the rubble up the front steps and through the wrecked entry. As he set foot inside the door, the chancellor greeted him.

“Mr. Osric. Hi.” Higgins extended his hand, preparing for a shake. Hadn’t he learned not to bother? Instead, the wimp regrouped and gestured toward the door. “Let’s go outside where the air isn’t as dusty.”

“No. I’ve seen the exterior damage. Not all of it is structural. I’m more concerned about my books. Are they intact?” Kyre looked over Higgins’s shoulder, but the dusty darkness and fallen shelves prevented him from seeing into the Osric Room.

“The Archive Room isn’t safe to enter.” The chancellor put himself between Kyre and the books, holding his arms outward as a pathetic barrier. The politics of the situation weighed heavily and warred with Kyre’s temptation to step on this ant.

But Higgins had been Aidan Osric’s best friend. Kyre stared at the chancellor, making sure the unspoken was understood as he said, “Then make it safe. I don’t hand money to beggars like my father did. Call me when it is safe to view my collection.” He turned and left, ignoring whatever Higgins was whining about. Arguing would go nowhere. Ultimately, that pathetic man’s decision overruled Kyre’s right now. There was no sense in pushing the politics. Not yet.

 

* * *

 

Liz dialed the number and counted each ring. When a woman picked up, Liz put on her most cheerful grin and asked for Jeff Wenkanson. Her skin itched with jittery excitement and she crossed her fingers hoping she’d survive the call without too much stuttering or other stupidity.

The symphonic hold music wasn’t soothing enough. Liz swiveled back and forth in front of Andrea’s computer, the edge of the chair hitting the table hard enough to wake the computer out of screensaver mode.

Tayna had ended up resending some of the library shots because the filename extensions had unexplainably changed between Tayna’s and Andrea’s computers. Minor delay, but other than that, it had been smooth sailing. She’d used Photoshop to lighten some, but the important details shone through the darkness with decent resolution. What was left of the inscription was legible enough and there was no mistaking the stonework.

The hold music came to an abrupt stop, refocusing Liz on the task at hand.

“Hi, this is Jeff.” He sounded friendly at least.

“Hi Jeff. My name is Liz Spencer. Jennifer Martin told me to give you a call. I’m the acting curator of the Osric Collection in the Reith University Library and I need a little favor.” Her words flowed with newfound confidence. Using her title made this feel more legitimate even though doing something like this should require the permission of her supervising professors.

“So I heard. I was just on another line with Jen. She said she wanted to cash in a favor and that you’d give me details, but she didn’t tell me anything about it.” He continued with a chuckle, “I must admit, I’m almost scared. Last favor she did for me was pretty big and I’m barely more than an intern.”

“Oh…I…well…I didn’t tell her all the details because, quite honestly, I’m not sure I know all the details. And as for you being scared, I hope this favor isn’t too huge…”

“I hope so, too. Tell me all about it.”

Liz wasn’t sure where to begin, but she had to start somewhere. “Jen said you minored in medieval history.”

“Yeah. My emphasis was British history.”

“Good. I-I was hoping that maybe I could email you some photos of the library over here? And see what you think.” Liz took a deep breath.

“Sure. Go ahead and send the pics to jeff@ladytwilight.com—before you wonder, it’s my sister’s domain name.” He paused, letting out a breath. “Y’know, so far it hardly sounds like I’m doing any sort of favor.”

Liz threw together an email, sending him the clearest of the photos. “After you see these, I’ll ask for the real favor.”

“Okay, I’m ready when you are,” Jeff spoke through a smile. “I heard your library got wrecked pretty good this morning. It shook out here, but nothing fell off my shelves or anything. Jen said it was pretty weird. Like the first five seconds did a bunch of jiggling and then everything just sort of stopped. I wasn’t awake enough to notice.”

“Yeah, by the time I was really aware of what was going on, the worst was over. It reminded me of one of those little four-pointers with a couple six- or seven-point zaps at the beginning. Those were what woke me up.”

Now that she was thinking about it, yeah, that was a pretty strange quake. They usually roll in, do a bunch of shaking and then roll out. But the morning’s quake was like a kamikaze blast dying away quicker than it had arrived. “I just clicked send. You should have them momentarily. They’re shots of some of the stonework on the outside. Let me know when they arrive.”

“Okay. Cool.” He paused as he shifted the phone. There was typing going on in the background. “So, you work with the Osric Collection. I’m already jealous.”

Liz was stunned. “J-Jealous?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, I would give my left arm to see half that collection in person. Illuminated manuscripts really crank my wheels if you know what I mean.” Jeff chuckled. “My favorites are the little doodles in the margins—”

“Yeah, the day to day world of the times is the best.” Liz mentally kicked herself for interrupting him, but darn it all, he had to go and mention her favorite part of the Osric Collection. “If all goes well, maybe I can sneak you in once the smoke clears. I’ll show you ‘Pangur Ban’.”

“You have access to the infamous copy of St. Paul’s Epistles? Wow! Pardon me while I jump for joy.” The man was definitely a geek. Then his demeanor changed, his voice registering surprise. “Whoa…hey…I just got the pics you sent. Ummm…this is the Reith University Library? Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh. I took the pics myself.”

“You mean there’s a building with rough herringbone stonework in California?” He was in disbelief, too. “Looking at what you’ve sent, I’d almost swear I was looking at a low chunk of the curtain wall at Peveril Castle in Derbyshire.”

Liz nodded. Lost in the moment, she’d forgotten she was only on the phone. “Uh-huh. Yeah, I know. It rings of eleventh century Saxon, doesn’t it?”

“Well, yeah, but this is California.”

“I know.” Liz sighed preparing for the big reason for calling. She would have much rather talked in length about the eleventh century for awhile, but there was something more in the present in need of his help. “Now that you’ve seen what I’ve seen, would you be willing to carbon date a piece of leather I found in one of the walls?”

“Shit yeah! Errr…uh…sorry…I’m a little excited here. Umm…yeah, I’d love to process it. I’m wishing you could email or fax it to me or something, but I guess I’ll just have to wait for the mail. Wow. Yeah. This is incredible.” Damn, he sounded so cute, all excited and everything. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d spoken with someone who got this excited over stonework, of all things.

Hell, maybe after the whole thing blew over, she’d invite him up to see the whole Osric Collection, not just a book or two. They could pore over all the masterpieces together. If he was fluent in Latin or Welsh or maybe Old English, they could translate and read to each other. Sharing those books with someone as excited as Jeff would be a dream come true.

The collection was in nearly every language, some of which she couldn’t read a single word. But that didn’t matter. The illuminations were gorgeous. Her favorites were Beowulf and early copies of some Shakespeare, but it was fun to read through old property titles and certificates, too. There was even an original license to crenellate signed by King Edward III in 1366 for Harewood Castle in Yorkshire. Liz bet that Jeff would be just as excited about it as she was.

Without second thought, she decided to up the ante. “If you think those pics are insane, let me send you one more. It’s from where I found the leather. It got walled in behind lath and plaster. I wish I had dates for it, but I’ve got nothing.” Liz clicked send on the lightened picture of the cubbyhole. “Here’s the real catch, though, Jeff. You can’t tell anyone. No one knows about what I’m sending you.”

Sincerity poured through the phone. “No worries, Liz. Your secret’s safe. I’m just really glad to help. This is pretty exciting for me.”

“Me, too.” Liz pulled the sandwich bag containing the tiny piece of leather from her pocket. “I’ll get the leather in today’s mail.”

“I’ll be waiting on the edge of my seat.”

“Thank you so much, Jeff.”

“Oh, you’re quite welcome, Liz. Thanks for getting me involved.”

“Let me know what you find out.”

“I most definitely will. Bye.” He sounded so damn adorable and talking to him eased the odd ache in her solar plexus like everything was going to be okay once the riddle of the leather was solved.

“Bye.” Was this wishful thinking? Liz hung up and went in search of an envelope. She had half a mind to drive it down to Livermore herself, but decided it would be safer to wait. There was no sense in rushing what could be one of the biggest discoveries in California history even if the man helping her with it might be worth discovering, too.

Chapter Five

Tayna stood in her front yard, hands on hips, admiring her gigantic, humble abode while Liz’s pictures played a slide show through her mind. Not knowing what to make of them, she shrugged. This old place had so many secrets and needed so much work.

All she really needed was the kitchen, a bathroom and a bedroom. Everything else could wait. Okay, so a living room, too, would kick ass. Oh, and a workshop for oil extracting and soap mixing. Gotta keep her business in business after all.

The old wing had been sealed since before Tayna was born. Grandma Violet was the last to have lived there and she’d moved out to help take care of Tayna when she was a baby. Dad and Mom had hardly been home much. They’d started a family, but apparently that wasn’t a good enough reason to stay put.

Ten years ago, her parents had left on a world cruise and never returned…nor called or written. Whatever. She didn’t need them anyway. They’d shrugged her off, so she’d done the same to them.

Tayna hurried to the garage in search of trash bags. The faster she cleared the old wing, the sooner she could start her new life in it. Too bad Grandma Violet would only witness it in spirit. At least she wasn’t gone for good, though.

Tayna hadn’t reached the door when the familiar rumble of a big engine approached and she turned around with a grin. “Clyde! My favorite master of plaster!” She greeted the old handyman as he drove his truck up to the garage next to the collapsed barn.

“Tayna! My favorite master of disaster!” Now in his late sixties, Clyde had been a friend of her father’s for eons and didn’t have the heart to leave Tayna all alone when her parents had split. He probably only stayed because he loved the old place and loved Tayna like the daughter he only wished he had. But she’d never asked to know for sure, afraid they’d both get all mushy about it. Eww.

“Some of the roads were a little broken up. I had the devil of a time getting here.” Once out of his truck, Clyde wiped his brow with his dirty orange handkerchief before tucking it back in the top pocket of his overalls. “Did anything break on the inside? The outside isn’t looking all that great.”

“I cleaned up inside.” Tayna pointed to the old section. “But I’m moving in there and I don’t want the wall to fall on me in the middle of the night.”

He ruffled Tayna’s hair. “I was wondering how long you would hold out.”

“They’re not coming back.” It was high time she admitted it aloud. “I know. I was just worried that if I got into the old part and they did come back, I’d get in big trouble. Now, it’s kind of rebellious liberation. I’ve uncovered treasures beyond my wildest imagination.”

“Next thing you’ll find is a secret passageway to another dimension.” Clyde chuckled. “Or a room chock full of gold and jewels.”

“Right and then like curses on Egyptian tombs, monkeys will start flying out of my butt and attack the whole state of California, causing it to fall into the Pacific in two minutes flat and only you and I will survive because we’re floating on one of the military life rafts I found in an old footlocker upstairs.”

“Could happen.” Clyde’s smile was contagious. “And if it did happen, it would be to you of all people.”

“Hey, I resemble that,” Tayna joked as she followed Clyde to the damage.

They both stared upward in silence for a moment.

“Gonna need a big long ladder,” Tayna said.

“Nope. Scaffolding.” Clyde scrutinized the ten-foot wide spot high up at the second floor between two windows. “Doesn’t look like the cracks are too serious. Have you been up to those rooms?”

“Not yet. My redecorating scheme hasn’t touched the second floor. I’ve barely made it out of the parlor.”

As a team, they went inside and inspected the rooms. One crack was big enough to let in sunlight, but Clyde didn’t seem fazed by it. He inspected the ceiling. “You can go ahead and get back to your redecorating. I’m going to be here a little while.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’m going to be traipsing through the attic before I get to patching anything. I’ll let you know if I find any good treasures.”

“That’s a deal.” Tayna gave him a big hug. “I’ll let you know if I find any, too.”

She headed out of the room and down the hallway to the stairs. An icy cold wind swept the landing, causing her to shiver and rub her arms. Tayna wondered if she would ever get used to that initial chill.

“Ah yes, there it is.” She inhaled deeply. “The scent of roses always follows a lady. Is that you, Grandma Violet? Aunt Doreen? Or Grandma Charlotte?”

On the first floor, Tayna waltzed into the old kitchen. A cleaning crew would have been nice, but with a good broom, anything was possible.

In the space of an hour, Tayna had the floor sparkling, the countertops spotless, the sink in working order, the cupboards devoid of spider webs, the cook stove ready to fire up, dried herbs hanging on the walls and the scent of apples and cinnamon in the air.

“Next.” She grinned as she flitted into the dining room, broom in hand.

By late afternoon, the whole first floor was clean and consolidated. Ugly furniture in one of the back rooms, nifty furniture in the parlor. Rome wasn’t built in a day and it was due time for a little thirst quenching.

She went to the kitchen for a tall glass of water. Refreshed and ready to get back to the grind, Tayna rinsed out her cup and set it in the sink. An odd feeling crept over her skin and through her bones, dragging her out of the mundane excitement of discovering nifty old knickknacks and into a more strangely thrilling excitement. Echoing through her body, the room thrummed with energy. A section of wall beckoned for further exploration, dazzling her senses as she moved closer. The panel was the average size and shape of a door with molding up and over.

Tayna tapped on it with her broom handle. “Hmmm…” It sounded hollow. She pressed her hands against the paneling, pushing on it, trying to slide it to one side, the other, up, down. It wouldn’t budge and Tayna wasn’t stupid enough to smack a big gaping hole in her kitchen, especially if whatever was behind it wasn’t interesting, all her precognition exhilaration be damned.

She went out to the garage and grabbed a crowbar. Clyde had half his scaffolding built on the side of the house. The man was incredibly quick. She left him to his work, intent on her own little adventure.

The white wood trim was held on by finishing nails and the paneling was painted in place. She shoved the crowbar next to a lower corner and gently started yanking until she’d worked the entire panel loose all the way around.

At long last, she pulled away the paneling and sure enough, there was a door behind it. Eureka! Tayna set the secret panel aside. Maybe Clyde could put a hinge on it and the Ward Manor would have its own hidden passageway…or whatever was behind the blue wooden door.

Expecting it to be locked, Tayna tried turning the old ceramic knob anyway. It creaked and groaned, prompting Tayna to set down the crowbar in order to get a better grasp on the knob. Her nerves raced, but the anxiety was positive.

Tayna put her foot on the counter next to the door and gave a good hard grunting yank.

She nearly landed on her ass as the door swung open. The space beyond greeted her with unfriendly darkness. She looked lower as a chilling breeze blasted up the stairway in front of her.

A basement. One that probably hadn’t been opened for at least fifty years, maybe tons more than that. Tayna ran into the new section and rummaged through closets and drawers in search of a flashlight and batteries.

“Score!” She located both and hustled back to the open door, hoping there would be something in there. Shining the light down the stairs revealed an empty room.

Bummer. Maybe before it was sealed up, it was useful, but now there was a whole lot of nothing down there. Damn.

Tayna braved the wooden stairs. A few were loose, but none struggled to hold her weight.

Only one thing in that godforsaken room even remotely resembled a treasure—there were very few spider webs, no insect or rodent carcasses and hardly any dust she’d have to clean. It was probably the only room in the old part of the manor that didn’t need a single sweep of Tayna’s broom and for that, she was grateful…not to mention a little creeped out, but she’d manage.

 

* * *

 

“Poop!” Andrea shouted to no one as a glass tester of rose-scented body lotion shattered, its contents splattering on the earthy slate floor in front of the perfume counter. She set the rest of her armful of testers onto the glass and shoved them off to the side. “Why now?”

The store had fared pretty well through the quake. Just when she’d gotten most of the confounded mess cleaned up, she’d gone and made a new one. Darn it.

Shuffling into the back room, Andrea drew a rag from the kitchenette cabinet. At least the spill was rose-scented. That was the silly thing about working here at Scentorium. Even when stuff went wrong, it wasn’t horrible. So the place smelled a little more fragrant for a few days. Big deal. At least it hadn’t spilled on a customer. The store had been empty most of the day save for Mrs. Inglestrom buying a full array to replace her losses while explaining over and over how odd the earthquake had been and how it scared her Pomeranian, Lulu, half to death.

As Andrea wiped away the goopy mess, she wondered how Liz was braving the clean up at the library. Probably a few million more problems than here at the shop.

But judging by how she’d handled the quake this morning, Liz had nerves of steel. Tayna hadn’t been flowering it up when she’d said Liz “kicked ass”. Still, what a crazy way to start a new friendship.

Breaking her reverie, a tall, dark-haired man walked in and started quietly perusing the display next to the door. From behind, the man was quite impressive. Tall and commanding. Broad shoulders filled out a charcoal gray dress shirt as he picked up a bar of soap and inhaled its scent.

He set it down and picked up a bottle of peony-scented shampoo as she moved closer to get a view of his profile. Even at well over six feet tall, he didn’t slouch, as though proud of his height. His hair was almost black, neatly kept short, parted and styled back without heavy products—like it would feel soft rather than crunchy if she were to run her fingers through it. Long eyelashes over dark eyes moved as he read the label.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Andrea put on her sweetest smile and tried not to look too desperate. This guy could be the one to break her bad luck dating streak, too. Oh please, please, pretty please?

“Yes.” His voice was as smooth as velvet. Turning toward Andrea, he returned her smile and her knees got weak. When their gazes met, the tingling turned to a shiver running down her spine. Dark brown eyes, almost too dark.

For a moment, he seemed a little distracted. His gaze crawled upward from her toes to face, not pausing anywhere in between. She uneasily crossed her arms in front of her chest.

He had a certain presence. That commanding presence which had looked great from behind, but facing her, was enough to make her nervous about being in the shop all by herself after dark. Good grief, why she feeling so silly about this fellow?

“W-What is it you’re looking for?” Andrea forced out her retail patter while trying to ignore how darn physically attractive this handsome creature was.

Setting down the bottle, he faced her fully. “Something lovely.” His eyes smiled more than his sharply sculpted, unparted lips.

“Lovely?” Her heart raced. She wasn’t sure if he had expressed what he was looking for or simply making a statement about what he was looking at.

“You carry essential oils, I trust.”

“They’re right over here.” Andrea gestured toward the shelves next to where she’d pulled the lotion testers from earlier. Although very pleasing to her eyes, the man still seemed off, making her both excited and uneasy without a way of figuring out how or why.

He raised an eyebrow and sighed. “Is this all you have?”

“I can order others. The quake shattered some of our inventory.”

“What an unfortunate waste.” He shook his head, ultra-dark eyes squinting a touch as he took in the labels on the tiny bottles.

“Yeah.” Andrea thought it was more of a waste to have such a hot man in the store and not know for sure what to do with him.

He shifted his gaze back to her. “Forgive me for sounding forward, but may I ask your name?” His question hung in the silence for a moment while Andrea considered answering it.

She didn’t want to ensnare herself, but she also didn’t want to be rude. Jill’s policy was to wear store logo tags, not name badges. “I’m Andrea.”

“I’m Kyre.” He smiled with potentially trustable sweetness in his eyes. “Kyre Osric.”

Those two words explained tenfold. Rich boy, lived in huge ultra-modern house on a hill behind big gnarly gates, seemed to abhor philanthropy yet gave lots of money to Reith’s university. But he rarely mingled with the unwashed masses of city folk. Supposedly, he was around the same age as Andrea, but she’d never actually met him before.

According to the newspaper, his parents had disappeared under strange circumstances and were presumed dead. Several rumors had circulated about him, his parents, and his house, but for the most part, Andrea had always fantasized that Kyre Osric was just a lonely rich man locked within a high tech jail.

But standing here before her, he gave the impression of worldliness whether he was imprisoned or not. As for loneliness, she recognized it in his eyes now that she knew his name. He was trying to hide it, but to Andrea, everyone wore loneliness on the outside.

Kyre extended his hand and Andrea felt strangely compelled to take it for a quick handshake. He didn’t linger and she wasn’t sure what to make of it. Was he going to ask her out, strangle her behind the counter?

Nonetheless, she followed through. “Hello. Pleased to meet you.” Maybe she’d been overreacting. But to what? He was polite, but instinct kept telling her something was wrong.

“I see you carry rosemary and peppermint, but what I need is helichrysium and wormwood if you can get it.”

“We should have helichrysium. Like peppermint, it helps relieve pain among other things.” Andrea searched under the display. “Wait.” She looked up at him as he stepped back and scrutinized the overstock shelves. He had too much money to be a thief, but for some reason, Andrea wished she hadn’t opened the cupboard doors. “What do you need these oils for? I might be able to substitute some.”

“There it is.” Kyre picked a bottle out of the overstock section. Wormwood.

But Scentorium had never carried it before. It was dangerous in large quantities.

Maybe Jill had ordered it and never put it out. “I didn’t know we had any here.” Andrea tried to play it off. “I’m glad you found some, though.” She grabbed a bottle of helichrysium and shut the cabinet. “Just these? Is there anything else you need?”

“There’s plenty else I need, but I fear oils alone can’t quench that thirst.” Kyre smiled and for a moment, the store seemed to come alight. The man had a gorgeous smile. Sparkling white teeth and one of those sweet, uplifting glints in his eyes, pushing away the loneliness for a moment.

But she’d heard his line in various incarnations about a million times before and she had a stock answer for it. “I know what you mean. Sometimes it takes shampoo, soap and lotion, too.” The sooner she could get him out the door, the better. He gave her too many conflicting feelings and that wasn’t a happy-feel-good thought. She crossed to the register to ring up his purchases. “Are you sure you don’t want to indulge in some lavender bubble bath?”

“Lavender is one of my favorites, actually.” He gestured to her flowing shirt without checking out her cleavage. “Give me your best.” Handing her a credit card, he casually leaned against the counter. “I don’t suppose you get a whole lot of men in here, do you?”

Andrea retrieved a bottle from one of the displays behind the counter so she wouldn’t have to chance passing too close to Kyre and risk…risk…risk being attacked by creepy-crawlies that’d make her both happy and terrified at the same time. “We get our fair share of men in here. Mostly gay—or guys searching for birthday or anniversary gifts for their wives or girlfriends. But the trend seems to be changing a little. Single guys stop in now, too. More covertly, though. They’re still unwilling to admit to their manly buddies how nice a good, hot, aromatherapy bubble bath can be.”

He lightly chuckled as he signed for his purchase and then his dark gaze swept upward to her eyes. “Thank you very much, Andrea.”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and goose bumps flittered up her arms. “You’re welcome.” She bit her tongue to keep from accidentally inviting him to come back any time. Darn the rehearsed lines of retail sales.

As soon as he crossed the threshold and out of her world, Andrea shook, wiggling from her shoulders downward, trying to get rid of the iggy feeling he gave her. Yeesh! When he’d looked at her that last time…cuh-reepy. Good thing he didn’t try to ask her out. Yuck.

Andrea watched through the front window as Kyre walked to the other side of the street. For all his family had given him, she sensed a danger about him. Or was that just his dangerously good looks? Her goose bumps livened once more. What was it about that man?

Chapter Six

Wake up.

Take up.

Shake up.

Up.

Up.

Up.

What? It made no sense.

VooDoo.

Where?

Now!

Bolting upright on his makeshift bed of dirty clothes, VooDoo scanned the room. Something had called his name. He’d heard it through his sleep. No one knew his name.

“Who’s there?” He fumbled turning on his bare light bulb lamp.

Silence.

“Where are you?”

Where are you, VooDoo?

He screamed at his mind’s wickedly loud intruder.

Care to play a little game? The voice in his head boomed, Hush! Overpowering his hollering.

VooDoo’s breath ceased. Choking, he rolled out of bed onto the floor, gasping, groping.

Care to play a little game?

He nodded. If gaming was necessary to regain breathing, he’d play. He’d play anything. He knew lots of games. He created games all the time. Hide & Seek. Blind Man’s Bluff. Hear No Evil, See No Evil, Speak No Evil. His world faded to gray before air inflated his lungs once more.

A breeze blew through the room, seeming to come from the closed window. Real? Imaginary? Which side was he on? His imagination floated a box of crayons before his eyes. Taking it, he scuttled to the wall and clawed a deep groove, marring the wallpaper perpendicular to his last mark. Last mark. Last week. When the dream crossed into the real. The woman was discovered. Perfumed. Golden. Sweet. Beautiful. No VooDoo.

He dropped his mind’s crayons, the colors flying about the room in iridescent swirl. Purple transposed Green. Pink ate Yellow. His world closed in until he was coated with colored wax, stiff and fragile. Why was waking up always such hell?

“And where the fuck is my game?” He shouted to his empty studio apartment, provided by Kyre without much care after the crush. “I want my game! You asked me to play a game. I want my game!”

VooDoo inhaled deeply. Flowers and urine.

Must be time to use the bathroom. But tile echoed. Strongly.

More urine and flowers.

Once in the filthy blue bathroom, VooDoo did his business, surprised by the silence of the room. It had never been quiet before. Why was it quiet? Who made it quiet? Quiet was nice.

Zipping his pants back up, he wandered back to his main area, sliding along the walls for balance. Waking up was always hell. Always hell.

He stood for a moment, trying to clear his imagination, make it shut up for just one moment. His mind’s eye caught a glimpse of a stone wall crumbling as he leaned against it. Death’s door open, he narrowly escaped rubble. Torment, flying insanity moved through space and time. Landed near a hole. A hole that bore the cursed word among other evils. Had to erase Ward. Evil. Had to erase twice.

There was a book.

What did he do with it? VooDoo rampaged, shredding his living space in search of a book. Heavy and thick with the power of sleep. It was a special book. Bringing joy and sorrow and grief and pain with pleasure and intrigue.

Where did it go?

VooDoo…

He froze. “What?” Moving only his eyes, he searched his hovel. The kitchen counter was coated with ants and roaches. No book there. The corner with boxes remained unmoved, undisturbed as well it should have been. Demons lived in cardboard. Those boxes were horrible ugly. They tasted of old waterlogged popcorn. They stacked like the worst game.

Game. No. The boxes couldn’t be the game. No. Wicked game. No.

He forced himself in the direction of the brown rectangular demons. After three steps, he stumbled over something hard and landed with a sharp thud.

Buried under fast food bags and newspaper, he discovered the thick book. Caressing the torn leather cover scorched his flesh. He yelped and withdrew his hand.

Was it unhappy? What made him stay with it? The wicked thing. How dare it fill his mind’s ear louder than his own thoughts?

Squeezing his eyes closed, VooDoo inhaled deeply. Fresh green grass. Again. Daisies. Again. Chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven.

Jumping away from the book, he wished for a dream to come true. In his kitchen, there was warmth. The insects shrank and walked backward from whence they’d come. The stovetop beckoned. He opened the oven and without a mitt, pulled out a sheet full of cookies.

The book. It had made cookies.

Cookie sheet in hand, he raced back to the middle of his floor and dove next to the book. Something was different. Breeze returned, filling the apartment.

He picked up a chocolate chip cookie from the sheet. The sugary bliss coated his mouth with joy. His mind’s eye saw a waterfall of melted chocolate. Hot as lava, slow as molasses, delicious. VooDoo closed his eyes, lost in yummy reverie.

There were boats on a sea of chocolate. Lollipops lined the beaches. A cotton candy cloud rained chocolate chips. The boat’s deck became overrun and it listed. A hurricane blew in. VooDoo sought the eye for its peaceful respite.

A loud snap returned his attention to dingy reality with a strange book open to a different page before him. Was it the game? Did it hide games? It looked like fun.

Flattened between two pages were a rattle from a snake, a swatch of lizard skin, a frog’s leg, a rat’s tail. Was that a crayon? A crayon in his book? No. It melted away before his eyes. Its bluish tint wrecking the pages. Darkening them like night with wicked hue. All but the raven in the corner. On the corner. The corner of a fence. The fence around a house with a tree. A lone tree with many upward-reaching branches. Who left this tree there to die with only a couple reptiles, an amphibian, a bird and a rodent in its company?

VooDoo ate another cookie. A smile came from within, brightening his mind for a moment. At least the book’s voice had quieted. But look what happened. The book opened to a different page. Where was the game? Had it abandoned him like the one before?

Another page. The book had another page past center. Lots of L. Many rivers and a big A. Organized by shape, words trickled from top to bottom, landing in a pool where a pair of hands washed. Someone had colored the page purple and there was a pointy chunk of violet glass at the bottom of the water. Maybe the hands weren’t washing. No, the hands dropped the glass. It gained power that way. It strengthened the hands.

If the hands were to remove it from the water, they would experience a clarity. A clarity? “I don’t understand.”

You know more than you understand.

VooDoo vaulted upward, propelled by his own fear. He grasped his head. “Stop! Stop hounding me.” He fell to his knees. His insides crushed and buckled before pushing out against inevitable infection. Who or what was invading and why?

Chocolate. VooDoo needed a cookie. He took another cookie, savoring it as the ones before. His breathing normalized.

Pushing forward, he replaced himself near the book. His new book with old leather and fabric and bits and pieces of things he didn’t understand. It welcomed him with poetry. Pretty poetry of the eyes. Mesmerizing VooDoo as he analyzed the page. Well past half, the pages were like paper. Could they burn? Or rip? The pictures were pretty. The words unfamiliar, but their meaning obvious. If he could grasp their sounds, he could grasp his existence, his new purpose. The meaning would no longer be lost behind a stack of ruined boxes or underneath a pile of rancid cheese.

The book’s voice, its scream, imploded, leaving his mind in frozen uncertainty. VooDoo scrambled away, crashing into cardboard. It was bent. Everything twisted. He closed his eyes tightly and rammed his fists over them. No more light. No more book. But there was no way out. It had a hold of him, possessing him like a broken tool. He obediently returned to its pages. This time nearer its end.

He was alone again in his space. His dank dreary space. Alone. But there was a spark within him. A newness he couldn’t deny grew heavy in his heart, in his soul. It was the book. The book could bring him what mattered most.

It could be friendly or evil. It knew how to bake cookies. It knew how to build houses. It knew how to move mountains, part seas and eradicate diseases. The tattered, old, musty-smelling book knew all of that and more. It knew that VooDoo wasn’t the one to transfer its knowledge. It knew that VooDoo wasn’t the kid he used to be. It knew everything. Scarred and beaten, VooDoo knew it was about what had happened to him.

He inhaled deeply. “Yes!”

His lair was still a hovel, but VooDoo exuded pride, a reason to be real. His back straightened. With practiced grace, he lowered himself to the floor, careful not to touch the book and soil it with human fingertips.

Desire raged through his body. Sexual, spiritual energy coursed through his veins. He brought himself to standing and ran a hand through his hair.

“Where am I to go? Am I pretty now?”

Rushing to the mirror in the bathroom, he inspected himself. Gently mussed, not messed, short brown hair framed sharp cheekbones. Chocolate brown eyes sharing simultaneous mischief and care. A torso strong with definition hidden beneath a grimy T-shirt. He pulled it off over his head. It wouldn’t do for this evening. Perhaps there was a prettier shirt in his collection.

In the closet hung a dark red button-down shirt. Sliding his arms in the cotton sleeves, he inhaled deeply. Musk and flowers. Next to a black leather jacket a pair of charcoal gray pants begged to be worn in place of his current faded denim. The silk felt divine. Socks and leather boots completed his ensemble, completed him. Such incredible power was to be had when in position to score.

Straightening his shirt, he tucked it into his pants while casually approaching the book. “I assure you, dear book, if joy encompasses me for longer than this night, I shall do your bidding.” He knew not of what he spoke.

Leaving the book alone in his little world, VooDoo headed out into the night.

Chapter Seven

Liz’s back was going to be sore tomorrow. She sighed, trying to straighten up while taking in the Osric Room. Wendy and Jennifer had helped clear part of the collection away from the broken wall before they’d headed downstairs to straighten up the automated system. There just wasn’t anywhere safe to put these precious books. The maintenance guys had patched the gnarly hole on the outside, but this room was still vulnerable.

At this point, the only thing left to do was wait. All of the books were either back on the shelves where they’d come from or in their respective cabinets or drawers. Some remained stacked, but she’d kept them off the floor at least. There wasn’t enough space to store the collection anywhere else that had decent security systems.

After the flood a few years back, the collection had been evacuated to a corner downstairs to avoid damage from humidity. But since then, the automated storage system had grown to include that area. Obviously, when it came time to patch up the wall on the inside and make it pretty again, something would have to be done, but first priority was getting the library back open for business. It was the only library for quite a few miles, not to mention school was currently in session. Students had research to do.

Liz wiped the sweat from her brow and let out another sigh. It was really saddening to see this room in such shambles. She reminded herself that with a little more work, everything would be fine, but deep down, she knew that wasn’t entirely true. It’d take more than some plaster—maybe a tanker of glue and a few boulders.

Every library staff member had been working all day to get books back on the shelves and desks righted. Teamwork had accomplished a lot, but the library wasn’t small. Liz pulled off her dust mask and walked out of the Osric Room. She waved at Shelly, one of the aides who’d been re-shelving the reference section.

For the most part, Liz’s immediate area outside her precious room was empty of people, but full of computers and chairs that had been moved out of the way to facilitate access with carts.

It looked both hectic and peaceful at the same time. Now that was an odd thought. True, but strange.

What Liz needed most was a break from the dust. The janitor had cleared away the rubble where the wall had fallen, but plaster fog still lingered in the air even outside the room. She rubbed her eyes and ran a hand over her hair. Tightening her ponytail, she leaned against the counter outside the Osric Room door.

Dreams of an after-work, nice long bubble bath using some frou-frou stuff from Andrea’s shop enticed Liz’s achy muscles. Fragile books were just as heavy as regular books, but they required a lot more care in moving them. Some were in special crates and that didn’t make them any easier to lift, either. Tomorrow was going to be painful.

It had only been two days, but living with Andrea was heaven. She picked up her dirty laundry, didn’t leave socks in the living room, the bathroom never looked or smelled like a bomb went off. It was wonderful. Liz couldn’t have asked for more.

At some point she would muster enough courage to get her stuff from Bryan, but between Andrea and Tayna’s hand-me-downs, Liz had a wardrobe for weeks.

“Liz!”

Oh no. That raspy, smoked-out voice was recognizable anywhere. She turned to face the bane of her existence as he hurried, stepping and tripping over stacks of books near shelves.

“Liz, baby.” Bryan’s hands were out as he tried to keep balance and forward motion concurrently.

“How the hell did you get in here?” Liz choked out. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be in here and he couldn’t be thinking that anything had changed. “You have to go. You’re not allowed in here, Bryan.”

“No, Liz, don’t make me go. I came to see you.” He’d shaved for a change. Was his shirt really tucked in? He almost looked presentable except for his reddened hazel eyes and his tattered old boots.

“What if I don’t want to see you?”

“You have to, baby. I love you.”

“It’s far too late for that. And you need to leave or you’re gonna get me in trouble.” She kept her voice down, hoping no one would notice. Glancing up, all the aides were gabbing among themselves on the far end of the reference section. Damn. None of them were paying enough attention to rescue her.

“No, no, Liz. I need you. When are you coming home? All your stuff’s there and I miss you. I want to build a castle with you, Liz.” His sincerity was gripping, but not convincing.

“That would be a first.” Liz backed away and he moved forward, cornering her against the wall outside the Osric Room. She tried to sneak sideways, but he blocked her with his arm.

“Look, Bryan, this is crazy. I mean, you see this place. Did you ever consider that there are some things that I need to deal with right now?”

“You’re coming home with me…right now.” His voice was a study in desperation and growing anger.

“No, Bryan, I’m not. I’ll get my stuff as soon as I can, but I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

He grimaced and then sighed. The scent of stale alcohol wafting in her face nearly made her retch. Tears welled in his eyes but she didn’t care. Not one bit. He’d lost all his chances. No amount of convincing could crumble her guard as she’d always let him in the past. “Please leave, Bryan.”

He grabbed her arms just below the shoulders. “Liz. Didn’t you hear me? I said I love you and you’re coming home now.”

She struggled to break free, but his grip was hard.

“You’re hurting me,” she warned, staring daggers at him—big, fat Viking daggers, not dirks.

“No. You’re hurting me.”

“Stop it.” Liz wiggled and tried to get out of his grasp, but he pinned her to the wall. Forcing his leg between her thighs, he started ripping at her borrowed sweatshirt. What the hell had gotten into him? He’d never been physically forceful before. He’d always stopped at words.

Wait. He’d always stopped because that was when she’d always given in. Dammit. Not this time. She spat on him.

Suddenly, he flew backward, tumbling to the floor against the counter. She’d never known her spittle was telekinetic, but hey, anything to get that bastard away.

In delayed reaction, Liz’s world started spinning. A sleek, dark-haired man towered over Bryan. “Get out now.” The man’s threat sounded bigger than those Viking daggers she’d stared at Bryan a few moments ago—more like broadswords, claymores perhaps.

The sudden coward didn’t waste any time. “Liz, I’m gonna trash all your shit if you don’t come get it.” He ran out as fast as he could, tripping and stumbling. The damn drunken fool.

The tall man turned to Liz. “Are you okay?” New softness in his voice washed over her like that warm bubble bath she’d been dreaming of before Bryan had interrupted.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” While straightening herself, she realized who had just rescued her and her hands froze mid-dust-swipe from her jeans. Meeting his gaze, she forced a tiny smile. “Thank you, Mr. Osric.”

The books belonged to the university, but the chancellor had told her that Kyre Osric wanted them back. And more importantly, to kiss his ass whenever he came in so there’d be no reason for him to think they’d mistreated him, his money or his collection. But this was the first time he’d come in while she was there and what kind of rules applied if he interrupted an assault? Liz leaned against the wall while doing her best not to look like a deer in headlights.

“It’s okay. Just call me Kyre.” For a moment, she thought he was going to put his hand on her shoulder in a gentle gesture, but instead, he held it out. “If he ever comes by here again, you have my permission to toss him out, or call me and I’ll do it for you.” His eyes smiled more than his mouth, showing of honesty.

Liz clutched her sweatshirt together with one fist and took his hand in her other. “Thank you, K-Kyre.” It was strange to call him by his first name. Like there was too much separation between their positions—and due to his legendary assholishness, although he wasn’t exhibiting any of that at the moment.

His handshake was strong and brief. In photographs, he didn’t look as striking as in person. Then again, what camera could capture a man’s presence, especially one as powerful as Kyre Osric’s?

“Looks like I got here in the nick of time.”

She gritted her teeth and then let go of her shirt—newly plunging neckline be damned. Bryan was not going to win this round. He’d ripped her shirt and hurt her pride, but dammit if he would leave her whimpering. It was hard enough to figure out what to say and how to act around Kyre.

“Yeah, and I need better taste in men.” Liz shook her head, wishing the moment weren’t so awkward. “I’m sorry. I feel like I should be a better hostess or something. A-Are you here to check on the Osric Collection?”

“You’ve never met me, yet you already know me too well.” He grinned. “I can only assume you know my name from my legacy, but what is your name?”

Liz shook her head. “I’m useless,” she cursed herself. “No. I’m Liz. I’m the acting curator of the Osric Room for the time being. I swear I’m mostly just a well-trained aide, though.”

“The books are very special to me and I’m sure you can understand why.”

“Oh yes, Mr. Os—Kyre. They’re like precious jewels to me. I even call them my book babies.” How corny could she possibly sound? What had gotten into her? The effects of her encounter with Bryan had faded into a strange, schoolgirl giddiness. “I’m sorry. They’re just very special to me.”

“I’m glad they’re in good hands if not my own.” He had a gentle demeanor given the circumstances, but she could tell that he was itching to cut through the crap and get into the Osric Room. Chancellor Higgins had told her that Kyre wasn’t allowed in there under any circumstances until the wall was fixed. The cubbyhole could be cause for a major excavation and therefore postpone repairs and ultimately the reopening of the library. That could take years and the university couldn’t afford it.

But also given the circumstances, didn’t Kyre have a right to know?

She led him inside the Osric Room. He glanced toward the shelves and grimaced at the dust. His eyebrows drew together as though he was truly in pain when he saw the hole in the wall. Kyre swallowed hard as his gaze tracked to the cubbyhole and he knelt in front of it.

Liz was about to tell him her story in hopes of killing some of his unease, but he pressed his fingertips into the letters of the inscription and she bit her tongue. This whole situation was too damn nerve-wracking. She grabbed her sweatshirt, holding the torn edges back together.

“Where’s the book?” His head snapped back to face her as he rose to standing. “If someone went to all this trouble to hide it, where did it go, Liz? Do you have it? What did you do with it?” He’d gone from Prince Charming to accusatory devil within the space of two seconds—legendary asshole extraordinaire.

She put her hands up, uncaring about her suddenly exposed cleavage. “Whoa, take it easy. I don’t have it and I don’t know where it is. I never even saw it.”

“Leather bound, thick and very old. There was a book here, Liz. If you didn’t take it, who did?”

“W-Well when I got here just after the quake, there was someone running out the hole over there.” She pointed. “Maybe that person took it. I don’t know, Kyre. I never saw it.”

“God damn it!” He paced back and forth. “What is wrong with you people? Are you that inept? How could you lose a book like that? Did some fucking imbecile take it?”

Liz stepped up to bat. “You know what? I don’t care who you are, or what you rescued me from but you need to leave now. There’s no goddamn book in the goddamn hole and you have no right to talk to me like that. Get out of here, Kyre—Mister Osric—before I throw you out.” What the fuck was up with men lately?

“God damned Ward family,” he said under his breath. Then with a loud growl, he turned and walked out.

Liz grabbed the internal phone and dialed the basement. When Wendy picked up, Liz told her to get upstairs and work in the Osric Room for the rest of the day and keep everyone else out. Hanging up the phone, Liz ran out the back door, hoping to get to Tayna’s house before Kyre did.

How the fuck did he know the book was bound in leather?

How the fuck did he connect it to Tayna’s family?

Fuck him…and all men for that matter.

 

* * *

 

Damn it all straight to hell. Kyre marched out of the library. The Ward Manor had never hit the market or he would have known about it, so God damn it, there had to be at least one Ward still living in that pile of shit.

All this time he’d thought the Ward Family Rede was only a legend, but the damn thing existed. The damn book had been holed up and forgotten about. Fuck! He shoved his fist into his pocket. The Rede’s information would have been quite useful six years ago when things had gone awry.

According to Hilary’s diaries, she didn’t know much about the book except that it was remarkably special—like it held some sort of higher knowledge that was related to both the Wards and the Osrics. But she had no idea.

In an old copy of The Song of Roland, one of the Kyre’s ancestors had written the words, “seek the Rede.” From that discovery when he was twelve onward, Kyre had hunted through his family library.

More books had the inscription in the same handwriting, but none described the Rede in detail. Only that it was essential for survival. But survival of what?

He didn’t bother getting his car. The Ward rubble heap was just on the other side of the university fence. And the walk might do him some good because his ferocity needed taming before he reached that house or he was likely to shred whoever answered the door before inquiring about the book.

According to great-great grandmother Hilary, there had been several raids throughout the 1810s and early 1820s before she’d married Owain Osric. From the north, the Russians were looking for otter pelts. From the south, the Spaniards were looking to conquer more land and people. And Reith fell right in between. To make matters even more complicated, the whole area was Kashaya Indian territory.

At the time, the Russians and Spaniards hadn’t encroached the area above San Francisco yet. Hilary’s father, Arnold, had been an outlaw searching for free land in a place where no one knew his name. Of his band of travelers, Arnold was the last to survive. Knowledge of herbal medicine ultimately kept him alive and made him valuable to the Kashaya.

He took a wife and settled in. There were several villages throughout California and for the most part, the tribe moved with the seasons. During the summer, they fished and gathered along the coast. Winters were spent inland, sheltered in the mountains.

Hilary met Owain Osric when she was seventeen and marriage to him wasn’t her choice. Her parents were ailing and she didn’t want to leave them.

But Owain had money. Lots of it. He lived in a giant house, with many head of cattle, sheep, and horses. Fields of corn and other vegetables stretched for several acres around his mansion. He also had a library of very rare books. His home was like an oasis hidden amid the wilderness surrounding it.

Arnold made a deal that would ensure his daughter’s safety. When he met Owain Osric, he gave Hilary to him in exchange for protection from the Spaniards. They were heading northward, stirring up trouble in skirmishes. The Russians employed several Kashaya, but Hilary’s father didn’t trust them and the Aleut otter hunters they’d brought with them. The Osrics were friendly, but not all tribal members were aware of that. Tension had been growing in the area for decades.

Once married off, Hilary never wanted to leave Owain’s library. She read volume after volume and Owain rarely disturbed her. A few times, while drunk, he’d mentioned another family. The one across the way, in the lowlands.

The Wards. They were a bit strange, having neither cattle nor fields, yet they did not starve.

The God damned Wards and their dilapidated, pieced-together mansion. Ignoring them had been easy until now. If they had the Rede, Kyre would have to take it back. They had no business with it anymore.

Hilary mentioned the Rede in three places. One of which was simple: The Wards kept it hidden. It was supposedly their lifeline, providing all that they needed. But there was no mention of sealing it up somewhere. Why would someone do that and not come back to retrieve it?

The next mention of the Rede centered on it being a book of “hocus pocus” as Hilary called it. She mentioned that Owain wasn’t sleeping because he kept thinking about the book, but she never found out how he came to know if it.

Because he was getting on in years, she attributed his insomnia to old age. She never suspected that the Rede held higher importance, but Kyre knew instinctually that its existence had gifted both families.

Later on in her diary, Hilary wrote of more hostilities. Cattle disappeared. Horses returned without riders, saddles and the like. The Osric staff dwindled along with its livestock. Sure, they weren’t hurting for supplies just yet, but the missing people were trusted friends who would not have left under any circumstances. Was it the Spaniards? The Russians? The Kashaya?

On a summer day, Owain found one of his men in an outskirt of Reith. His throat had been slit. But part of Hilary’s recollection didn’t make sense. She said the body had been lying outside the Osric walls. What walls? Osric House didn’t have walls surrounding it. There were wrought iron fences just like the Ward Manor, but no stone walls.

Hilary also mentioned reading one of her books in the south corner, leaning against cool stone as she sat in poetic bliss while reading Shakespeare. Numerous little incongruities like that popped up throughout all the volumes of her diary.

During the summer of 1822, some kind of struggle between the Russians and the Kashaya erupted. Hilary mentioned finding muskets and arrows on the edge of Osric property and not wanting to get involved.

There was another occurrence between the Spaniards and the Kashaya a few years later and Hilary was beside herself having found one of her cousins dead when she’d snuck out for a walk in the nearby forest.

The forest was now the Reith Recreational Park and had dwindled to about fifty trees. Kyre glanced toward the treetops poking above the houses beyond the Ward Manor, wishing Hilary were still around to enjoy her forest—or what was left of it. He reached through the wrought iron and opened the rusty gate.

The third mention of the Rede had been the most puzzling. In 1837, Hilary wrote about it having been in existence long before the Osrics had come to the New World. But there was no date for when they’d left or landed here. The entry went on to mention that the Wards and the Osrics had provided support and had been instrumental in California declaring its independence from Mexico in 1839.

The university records only went back to Owain Osric’s donation in 1841 shortly after Hilary had passed on. But there was no mention of the Rede.

Kyre scrutinized the decaying mansion. Perhaps the Ward family was once rather large. Their house was much larger than Osric House. Perhaps one of those filthy pigs stole the Rede and hid it deep in the rubble. Scaffolding was set up near the damaged wall. Someone was definitely living here.

If Osric ancestry went back earlier than the nineteenth century and Ward history was wrapped up with the Rede as well, Kyre would finally get some answers here. He swallowed hard. What if he found a long lost relation here? Another claim for his inheritance. No.

Although only mentioned twice in her diary, Hilary had two sons late in life. It seemed that Owain wanted to leave a legacy after all. Marcus and Andrew were born in the years shortly before her death. Kyre wasn’t sure they’d ever known their mother.

Owain fell ill in 1842 and it was unclear who raised the boys, but they both survived until adulthood. Only Andrew had children, Andrea and Michael.

Kyre had once asked his father about his ancestry. Rather than a story to satisfy his curiosity, Kyre had received a hard slap. His tearstained cheek was red for hours afterward and he wasn’t sure if his father’s unorthodox answer meant “don’t ask” or “I don’t know”. Either answer garnered the same result, sometimes coupled with a leather strap or wooden spoon. Thereafter, he never spoke unless spoken to.

Certainly Kyre couldn’t go to school bruised, so at Mom’s urging Dad hired a teacher to home school his son through the rest of high school. That was fine, but very lonely. Kyre never had friends to play catch with. Servants used to toss a ball with him, but as his father grew more violent, they began looking for other jobs. Mom made excuses rather than finding a better way and Kyre started avoiding his parents at all cost.

Kyre approached the courtyard. Whoever lived in that house had to know what happened to the Rede. In fact, they probably knew all along.

With a tight fist, Kyre pounded on the door. “Come on. Face me.”

He pounded again, harder, hoping the decrepit building would fall open like the library had.

Chapter Eight

Chocolate chip cookies happily baking in the oven, Tayna hiked herself up on the kitchen counter and dangled her feet over the side. “Cool shirt. That thing new?” She motioned to Andrea while grabbing a batter-covered mixing spoon and giving it a good lick.

Andrea looked down at her light green, flowing shirt. Flowers and birds were embroidered in a riot of colors streaming down the sleeves and framing the neckline. “Yeah. I couldn’t live without it. I splurged. I got a lavender one, too, but I wore it yesterday.”

“I dig it,” Tayna said, handing Andrea the other spoon from the mixing bowl because otherwise it would go to waste. “Yeah, a lavender one would kick ass. So, how’s it going with you and Liz? I didn’t steer you two wrong did I?”

Andrea licked some batter and then grinned. “No, everything’s great. It’s only been a couple days, but everything’s cool.”

“Thank goodness. Maybe tomorrow we can go pick up her stuff from dingus head’s place.” Tayna laved the tip of her spoon. She’d spent the day clearing more of her new quarters. And the cookies were to celebrate the new functionality of the old kitchen. Her new world was almost finished and growing more and more delightful by the minute.

“Was Bryan really that bad?” Andrea leaned against the counter.

“What do you think?” Tayna wasn’t sure how to answer beyond that. In some ways, he was horrible. In others, he wasn’t. “He’s one of those jerks who needs to grow up before he can score a woman like Liz. She saw his musical genius, but ignored the fact that he’s not really that man yet. Hell, he may never be. Some boys never grow up.”

Andrea shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I learned that, too, huh?”

“If not from your own dating disasters, certainly from mine!” Tayna shook the spoon at her.

“So, when are you going to show me the rest of your new digs?” Using her spoon, Andrea did a mini-sword fight with Tayna and then gestured toward the doorway, further into the house.

“We’ve got time right now.” Hopping down from the counter, Tayna waved her spoon like a magic wand and then placed it between her teeth as if it were a rose during a tango. “Shall we dance?”

Andrea followed suit with a giggle. “We’re not going to dance all the way through the house are we?”

“And why not?”

“Okay, well, as long as you’re leading…”

Room after room of refurbished splendor greeted them, sometimes surprising Tayna at her own mastery. During her renovation, she’d gone on instinct more often than just trusting her eyes.

In one room, everything had felt like it was too tall so Tayna’d swapped high tables for low and rather than having sofas or chairs, she’d opted for futons and pillows. That was the room with the gorgeous hardwood flooring. No scratches over the years, either. Odd, but nice considering its age.

Once in the living room, Tayna twirled Andrea and they separated to facilitate exploration. A little velvet and a whole lot of eclectic antiques went a long way. The living room held the best of the couches and chairs, and it had been a tough choice between magenta and gold.

But gold had suited it best. According to her instinct, it made it easier to let the sunshine in through the grand bay window—partially blocked by scaffolding at the moment, but that’d change. The magenta set ended up in the parlor where bright color felt more appropriate…along with the best conversation pieces. Go figure.

She hadn’t gotten to all the rooms, so she’d closed their doors and put hand-painted plaques on them. No one would ever suffer their emptiness. Someday they’d be full of treasures, but for now, Tayna simply whisked Andrea beyond them.

The Blue Room. The Rose Room. The Lollipop Room. She’d given others bizarre but fitting names. Lady Tayna’s Paradise of Ward Knickknackery. The Room of Abandoned Hope and Preconceived Notions. The Room of Reclaimed Treasures. The Elevator to Nowhere. Whatever had struck her fancy at the moment had landed in paint on the beveled chunks of wood provided by Clyde’s quick handiwork.

“Where did you come up with these names?” Andrea licked the last bit of batter from her spoon.

“I dunno. Probably the same place people go to when they’re trying to name a perfume.”

“So true. And this also explains a lot about the batch of soap you sold to Jill last time.” Andrea nodded, her blonde hair shimmering in the reflected light from the gold leaf wallpaper. “Happy Flowery Sunday and Thoughts Best Left At Sea were the strangest.”

“They sell, don’t they?”

“Okay, yeah, very well.”

“I rest my case.” Tayna playfully swished her nose in the air and then glanced down the hall. “We should get back to the kitchen. Gramps down there says we’ve only got one more minute before yummy time.” She pointed to the antique grandfather clock at the end of the hallway.

Andrea followed while Tayna skipped toward the staircase.

“I’ve been looking forward to these cookies since you called me during lunch. It seems to be strange customer week and everything outside of work is odd, too.”

“Nothing’s odd for me.”

“Tayna, you reinvent odd every minute. No wonder you think your life is normal.”

“Normal schmormal.” Tayna laughed, waving her magic wand spoon while doing a pirouette.

As if perfectly on cue with her magic, the sound of footsteps clomped overhead.

Andrea gazed upward, perplexed. “Yeesh. Ghost?”

“Nope. Just Clyde. He started in the attic in case there’s off-season rain to go with the off-season earthquake.”

“I never knew there was a season for earthquakes.” Andrea headed down the stairwell as if trying to hurry away from Clyde’s footsteps.

Funny how the footsteps didn’t unnerve Tayna one bit. She grinned. “Maybe there is and maybe there isn’t, but either way, I don’t wanna get rained on.” She traipsed down the stairs behind Andrea. Passing through the living room, Tayna glanced out the window. A small zap of energy flittered up her spine.

Every time she’d looked out the windows beyond the scaffolding, she couldn’t help but wonder if there was something bigger going on. Psychically, she was starting to believe in the strangeness as a greater reality than what met her eye. That maybe her house was older than Dr. Alphonse. That maybe the library was, too. After all, both buildings shared the same brickwork underneath. They could have been built by the same mason. Realizing she’d lingered, Tayna skipped into the kitchen before Andrea could inquire about the hold up.

Using a mitt, Andrea pulled the cookies from the oven and inhaled deeply. “Mmmmm…Yummy!”

In search of a spatula, Tayna started opening drawers. They were all empty. “Shit. I never moved silverware…and spatulas…” She opened bare cupboards. “…And plates from the other kitchen. Oh well, so much for celebrating my kitchen. Let’s just move to the new one… Or I guess now it’s the old kitchen.”

“We don’t really need any of that stuff, do we?” Andrea questioned, hungrily eyeing the cookies.

“Probably not, but I’d feel better if we were in there. Like if we stay in here, the cookies are going to catch on fire or something silly like that.”

Andrea immediately picked up a mitt and full cookie sheet. “I trust your judgment because if it would happen to anyone, it would happen to you. I’m surprised your house is still standing.”

“Now, now. I think it’s karma.” Tayna grabbed the other sheet and followed Andrea.

Once in the mauve kitchen, Tayna felt more at ease, but still something wasn’t quite right. There were spatulas and plates and soon two glasses of milk to go with the cookies, but something was making her back muscles tighten. None of the otherworldly inhabitants of the house, be they imaginary or not, had frolicked, bringing their icy cold breezes with them. What the hell was making her wig out?

“You okay, Tayna? You got quiet.” Andrea shoveled cookies onto a plate.

Tayna momentarily got lost in lala-land. Her mind’s eye conjured a blurry flash of light. It was gone before she could focus on it enough to make heads or tails of it. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just got creeped out for a second.”

“You sound as bad as me after one of my iggy guy customers yesterday.”

Tayna grabbed a warm cookie. It started to break in half, but she lifted it and caught its sugary joy in her mouth. While still chewing, delighting in melted chocolate happiness, she raised her eyebrow, hoping Andrea would continue. Creepy guy stories were always fun when they involved girlie stuff like perfume. The oddball single men who came into that shop probably had some serious skeletons in their closets. Or maybe even real dead people skeletons. Eeek.

Andrea finished chewing her cookie and drank some milk. “Have you ever met Kyre Osric?”

“No. Heard he’s a jerk. A real bona fide asshole even. Never seen him. Never want to. I don’t care how rich or ‘eligible bachelor’-ish he is. No thanks.”

Tayna’s unease continued as Andrea went on. “At first, I thought he was hot and hoped he’d ask me out. He’s my type, but then when he looked at me, I felt like there were worms crawling all over my skin.”

“Yeah, well who knows what goes on in his house on the hill? Maybe he’s a wicked sorcerer and he unleashed a bunch of invisible worms to wiggle and squirm all over you, sucking out your life force one jolly at a time.”

“Tayna!”

“Sorry, couldn’t help it. Whenever you tell me you helped a weird guy, my imagination goes crazy. When that one pervert with the…uh…inappropriate hole in his pants kept coming in, I was seriously considering standing guard and smacking all the creeps. I ain’t afraid of no pissant man. But don’t you get freaked out working by yourself at night?”

“I can’t always help it. Jill likes to take long breaks sometimes.”

“All the more reason we need to pool our resources and start our own shop.”

“Absolutely.”

The women scarfed down a few more cookies, breaking a few and playfully feeding them to each other. What a great little celebratory afternoon. Too bad Liz was working. She could have shared in the joy. Tayna was about to ask if Andrea knew what time Liz thought she might be done at the library, but a knock at the front door interrupted her thoughts before she could get a handle on them.

Tayna’s sense of urgency went through the roof and she ran out of the kitchen, Andrea in hot pursuit, asking what all the hurry was about.

She got her answer when Tayna threw the front door open and Liz came flying in, closing the door behind her and leaning against it. “Tayna, what do you know about Kyre Osric? Bryan came over and started messing with me and Kyre pulled him off and then I showed him the back room and the cubbyhole and he freaked out about the book like he knew what it was and I think he thinks you know something about it or you have it or something and he’s really really pissed off and probably on his way here right now.”

“Ummm…take a breather, babe. There’s fresh cookies in the kitchen,” Tayna said, trying to make sense of what Liz had just babbled on about. Sparks lit her eyes. Whatever had happened with Kyre or Bryan was pretty big. That much was evident in Liz’s tense jaw and worried gaze.

“What did that weirdo do?” Andrea stepped closer to Liz.

“First he was all heroic and then he wigged out over the book.” Liz took a deep breath. “I dunno. He went from zero to freak in about two seconds and I thought I should warn you.”

Tayna stepped back as Andrea joined in. “He came into the shop last night. That guy is one seriously hot, but creepy man. Hey, what happened to your sweatshirt? You okay?”

“One word: Bryan,” Liz said.

Foot in front of foot, Tayna left her two friends talking in the foyer, their words echoing into nothingness. They’d be safe, but Tayna needed to get out of there. Go somewhere. Time was running thin. Heat splayed over her back, making her feel as though she was being chased. Something was after her.

Tayna hurried to her side of the house, intent on using her broom to fight off whatever creepy-crawly was coming after her. She made it as far as the old parlor before the urge smacked her like a brick.

The basement.

She ran.

 

* * *

 

“What’s with men lately?” Andrea shrugged, still studying Liz to see if she was hurt. “Y’know, there’s probably another sweatshirt around here somewhere that you can wear.”

“No. I’m okay.” Liz considered the tear, holding it outward and then smiling. “If this look hadn’t gone out in 1985, I’d be fine, huh?” Nothing else seemed battered. Maybe she really was okay.

But just in case… “You sure you’re fine?” Andrea double-checked. The air in the hallway went cold, sending a shiver up her spine.

“Yes. But this place is just as creepy as Kyre.” Liz must have felt it, too.

Andrea motioned toward the kitchen. “Let’s go grab some chocolate chip cookies.” They’d be the perfect diversion.

Liz paused, inhaling. “Are they still warm? They smell divine.” She went into the kitchen, Andrea following. It seemed like they both felt the strangeness, but neither wanted to admit it. Usually Tayna would toss in her two cents if something was weird, too.

“Yum yum yum. Tayna’s quite the cookie chef.” Andrea giggled, trying to let go of the eeriness as she piled the last of the cookies onto a plate. The hairs on the back of Andrea’s neck stood on end as she suddenly realized that Tayna hadn’t followed into the kitchen. “Where did she go?”

Liz noticed the same thing and shrugged. “Maybe she’s in the little girls’ room or something?” She didn’t sound too sure.

“Maybe.” Andrea set her spatula in the sink.

The sound of knocking came from the front door, intensifying the crackling fire in her nervous system. What on Earth was going on?

“Did you guys order a pizza?” Liz finished chewing her cookie and then her eyes bugged out. She must have been thinking the same thing Andrea was thinking.

Heading directly to the door, Andrea waved at Liz to stay back. The last thing she wanted was to cause trouble if Kyre really had come to see Tayna. With her foot guarding the amount the door would open, Andrea turned the knob and pulled. “Hello.”

The man looked downright furious, steam-coming-from-the-ears, pissed off. Gaze blazingly intense, Kyre Osric clearly wasn’t having a good day and Andrea hoped he wouldn’t throttle her first, ask questions later. She waved again for Liz to stay back because miming a phone and dialing 911 was too much to get across.

His hands were in his pockets and restrained fury read all over his face. “Andrea? What are you doing here?” He spoke through a tight jaw. “Do you own this place?”

She considered her options. Lying would probably be bad. Telling the truth might make him ask more questions. What was left for diversion? “Hi, Kyre. How are you doing today? What brings you here?”

His eyebrows shot up. Did he really think she would answer his questions straight up? Duh. “I…well…I just…wanted to,” he stuttered, looking down at the welcome mat before continuing, “I want to talk to the person who owns this property. I might be interested in making an insane offer to buy it.”

“Really? Well, it belongs to a friend of mine. I just came over to borrow her vacuum cleaner. Mine broke.” Retail patter. Andrea focused on her retail patter in order to flesh out a good enough lie to snow this lunatic and get him out of here. “I’ll pass on your interest, though.” She started to close the door, but he put his hand on it.

“Her vacuum cleaner? A woman owns this house? What’s her name?” Kyre’s interest was not only evident in his expression, he wasn’t withdrawing his hand from the door, either.

Darnit. It was too late to hide now. She couldn’t say Liz lived there. And glancing over her shoulder, she discovered that Liz had disappeared, too. Darnit again. Andrea returned her gaze to Kyre as he relaxed. His gaze rested on her necklace before sweeping upward. For once, his perusal didn’t make her skin crawl. He seemed lost in thought, but intent on her answer. She sighed. “Tayna. Tayna Ward.”

“You mean a Ward still lives here?” He slid his hand lower on the door.

“Yeah. Kinda like you’re an Osric and you live at Osric House, right?”

Kyre grinned and shook his head. “Sorry. Yes. How foolish of me.” He bit his lip for a moment. “I appreciate your time, Andrea. I’m sorry if I scared you. I was a bit flustered when I first arrived. I came from the library and as you can tell, it’s not in the shape I’d like it to be and…I don’t know why I’m—I’ll just come back at a later time and talk to…Tayna was it?” The man was losing his marbles as he stood there blinking. And blushing, too. His hand shook as he pulled it from his pocket and ran his fingers through his dark hair.

“I’ll let her know.” Andrea started to close the door, but he still held it. She looked down at his hand and then up into his eyes for emphasis, but he didn’t get the hint. Instead, she got lost in his near-black gaze for a moment. His eyes had such depth and loneliness. She wanted to reach out to him, take his hand and lead him somewhere into sunshine just for a moment. Maybe it would touch his soul and warm him.

“Thank you.” He nodded and backed away, releasing the door. She almost followed him as he turned and walked out of the courtyard, through the gate, down the pathway, through the main gate, to the sidewalk and continued away. His departure left an absence in her—a strange emptiness—and her fear washed away.

What in the world was that about? She pulled back from the doorjamb and fear returned with a vengeance as she slammed the door, her mind foggy. “Liz! Tayna?! Where are you two?” Andrea roared at the top of her lungs. She was scared and didn’t know why. Nothing made the right kind of sense. “Darn it. Where’d you guys go?” She ran into the kitchen. Finding it empty, she blindly searched the rooms off of it. “Come on. This isn’t funny. Where are you?”

Had they literally disappeared into thin air?

Andrea got all the way into the old parlor when Liz came in at the same time.

“Where’s Tayna?” they said in unison and both shrugged. “I dunno.”

Chapter Nine

That had to be some kind of spell. Kyre swore he was in complete control, but his raging erection told him otherwise. He got into his car and drove home while rewinding the harrowing experience in his head. This was a fucked up day.

Once Andrea had opened the door, all of his rage had spilled out onto the cracked concrete. As he stood there, all he could think about was sinking his cock into her, melting with her, becoming one with her.

Sure she was hot, but so what? No woman ever had his attention so securely. If she’d started ordering him around, he would have obeyed without question. That was not right. He never lost his mind and body like that. Never. Why was she so mesmerizing?

She didn’t seem magically inclined or enhanced. Her power was all in her femininity. Her full breasts, only barely hidden under thin, light green rayon, waist tiny enough that he could encircle it with his hands. Lift her high before settling her down on his chest, lying in bed together after a passionate interlude, worshipping each other’s body, her legs intertwined with his.

What was this insanity? This burning need for her.

Kyre parked in his garage and listened to the door automatically close behind him. The metallic clanging was an unfortunate reassurance that he hadn’t slipped into another dimension. This was his reality and Andrea was some kind of bewitching goddess.

A witch. She had to be. There was no other explanation. Of all the God damned tricks to be had, she pulled out a Lure spell. But why or how? She must have incanted it before opening the door.

No. He’d listened. There had been silence before the door came open with that angelic face immediately filling his vision. Whenever he closed his eyes, even to blink, he still saw her face. Her blue eyes glistening as though hiding a precious secret. Did she have any idea how much work it would take to get rid of this damn hard-on?

As he got out of his car and went into his house, he grimaced. There wasn’t enough room in his pants or his life to be comfortable with what had happened.

Kyre expected a Ward to know some kind of hocus-pocus, but not Andrea. Was this Tayna—or whatever her name was? Did she place the hex? No. Once again, there was no sound before the door had come open. Fuck. What the hell was going on that he couldn’t control himself, his actions? He’d turned into a blithering idiot. That wasn’t okay. Not okay at all.

Kyre paced in his kitchen. Margaret and Bentley were working in another part of the house or maybe outside in the knot garden. He put a pot on to boil, then trained his telescope back to the Ward Manor. The Rede had to be there. It had to be within those walls somewhere. Hidden in a basement, a closet. Maybe Tayna had already used it. That would explain the grip that Andrea mysteriously had on his cock, leading him around like a schoolboy. No. If that were the case, he would have sensed it before walking up to the door. He would have felt the sharpness of its grasp. The scent of magic swirled around that which was inflicted. Kyre knew it all to well.

The Ward Manor entryway was clean. Andrea was clean. Her only scent was that of some strangely beautiful perfume. Fuck! Maybe there were pheromones in it. She worked with that shit day in and day out. She had unlimited access to it. But if she were trying to attract a man, she would have shown more physical signs. Her body language had been closed, perhaps misdirecting. And she would have been the same when he’d come in to the shop.

The teapot hummed, drawing Kyre away from his telescope. He turned down the burner.

Spooning leaves into a press, he considered his options. Pouring water over the leaves, he watched as they swirled. Bottom line, Andrea had moved him. She must be the one he’d been waiting and preparing for. He couldn’t screw this up.

The more he thought about Andrea, the more he wanted her. In his arms, away from the rest of the evil in the world. He’d love her and cherish her. Unlike Owain to Hilary. They’d spend each moment embraced in each other’s love. They would retreat up here away from the world. Everything would be beautiful. No sorrow. No pain. No hopes dashed. Nothing lost. Everything gained.

And so what if Tayna had the Rede? She could keep the damn thing until he was good and ready with Andrea by his side. Then, he would track down the book and steal it out from under Tayna’s nose. How hard could it be? The Ward Manor wasn’t small, but with the right information, he could pinpoint all of its secrets. Maybe even send Andrea in for it. She’d be pliable enough and this time, Kyre would maintain control over his creation. She’d be his perfect companion.

Andrea. His focus belonged on her. He belonged with her. She belonged with him. It was that simple. Really.

He poured tea into a tall ceramic mug. All he needed were his notes so he could look over them. Make sure that this time nothing would go wrong. Make sure she didn’t get out of hand like VooDoo had. He was quite a series of unfortunate mistakes. Andrea would be perfect. Stunningly perfect. Kyre wasn’t a rookie at this shit anymore.

 

* * *

 

“Aren’t we a pair?” Andrea chuckled.

Liz looked concerned. “You okay? Did Kyre wig you out again? I heard the part where he was asking about Tayna. I was trying to find her, but I didn’t see where she went.”

Catching her breath, Andrea tried to get a handle on her sanity. Whenever she blinked, she could still see Kyre’s eyes—looking at her like he’d found something he’d lost or missed. Wanting her. Had that been desire?

Liz waved her fingers in front of Andrea’s face. “Vacationing in lala-land?”

Andrea squinted. “Yeah. Sorry. Kyre did kind of wig me out again.” She shook herself down. “Cuh-reepy.” Rubbing her arms, she looked around the room. “Any luck finding Tayna?”

“You guys are so sweet.” Tayna stepped into the room. “Checking up on me. Making sure I’m okay.” She motioned for them to follow and like puppies, Liz and Andrea did.

“Where the heck did you go?” Andrea crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I had to fend off Kyre Osric and his high and mighty ick-factor. He says he wants to buy this place, but I’m not buying his story one bit.”

Once in the kitchen, Liz leaned against a counter. “I don’t know what it is about that guy, but he’s shown up in too many places, too near to all of us. Are we cursed? Perpetual bad luck? Or is he just one big funky coincidence? And why the hell did you bring us in here?” Her eyes narrowed at Tayna who stood balancing on one foot, then twirled around once.

“Forget the fool.” Tayna erupted with joy, her arms raising, palms up. “I want to show you my new treasure. It’s a work in progress, but it’s the coolest thing I’ve found since I started working.” She crossed the kitchen. Digging her fingernails into a groove in some old molding, Tayna drew back a large piece of paneling.

Both Liz and Andrea moved closer. Was it a door to a secret passage to somewhere else in the house? That would be pretty cool.

After opening a faded blue door, Tayna revealed a dark space with steps leading down. She grabbed a flashlight from the countertop nearby and shined it down into the space. “I’m going to have a real herb cellar.”

Liz stuck her head through the opening as Tayna swooshed the light around. “This is awesome, Tayne. If I ever get my crap from Bryan, I’ll give you my kitchen table. It’s got herbs and stuff carved into it. I always kept a tablecloth on it because Bryan feared his weenie would shrink if he had to eat off a flower-covered table.”

Tayna lifted an eyebrow. “You mean he had a weenie to worry about?” she joked, but continued seriously, “We’ll load up my Ranchero with whatever you want to take. I’ll help whenever you wanna go get everything.” Flicking off the light, she closed the blue door.

“An herb cellar? Only you, Tayna.” Andrea shook her head. “Most people would bring in some racks and do a wine cellar.”

Letting go of the secret paneling door, Tayna pointed at Andrea. “See, I knew one of you would figure it out. I’m gonna have my cake and eat it, too. I can bring in herbs from the garden, prepare them on Liz’s table, then open a bottle of swill as my reward for hard work.”

Andrea momentarily considered all this fanfare. Tayna must have been hiding out in her newly discovered cellar, but why didn’t she just come out and say it? Maybe Kyre really was bad luck. Like walking under a ladder or opening an umbrella indoors. Too much was too strange.

“And if there’s ever a bomb threat, you’ve got a place to go.” Liz grinned. “I know whose door I’ll be knocking on.”

“Just make sure you use the old door because I’m going to seal off the other one once I’ve got this half of the place ready.” Tayna picked up a broom that had fallen over and stashed it upright next to the secret door. “It’s never too late to start over, is it?” She looked at Liz inquisitively and put her hand up.

“You got that right.” Liz finished Tayna’s high five with a quick slap.

The day had faded deeper into twilight, making the kitchen noticeably darker. Tayna must not have gotten the electricity working because she didn’t bother with the light switches. “Anybody feel like ordering a pizza?”

Andrea and Liz just looked at each other and shook their heads.

“What?” Tayna questioned.

Andrea offered a conspiratorial glance at Liz. “Hey, Tayna, I’ll order it, if you go pick it up.”

Chapter Ten

Morning sun shone through the bent vertical blinds covering the front window. Looking around Bryan’s filthy one-bedroom apartment, Andrea gained a whole new respect for her roommate. Without question, Liz was a brave woman.

Fast food wrappers covered the kitchen table. Socks, boxer shorts and T-shirts lay crumpled in heaps on the floor. Beer bottles—some empty, some partial—were strewn about, suggesting that Bryan had taken a last swig and then dropped them…no matter where he was standing or sitting. Cigarette butts—wait, those were joints—cluttered dishes and ashtrays haphazardly stationed around the living room, some on top of models of castles.

There were only three things not coated with some form of grime: two guitars and an amplifier. All three commiserated in a corner as though shrinking away from the rest of the floor’s terror.

Andrea consciously avoided breathing deeply for fear her nose might never recover from the pandemoniac putrescence assaulting it. Why had she neglected to bring air freshener? Oh yeah. Livable dwellings shouldn’t reek this badly.

Liz started uncovering castles and Victorian homes, putting the structures into boxes in a pile near the door. “Essentially, if it’s clean or buried, it’s probably mine. You guys can start anywhere.”

Taking her cue, Andrea joined Liz in removing soda cans from the balcony of a Victorian home. No wonder the woman was so happy being Andrea’s roommate. Everything made complete sense. This place was absolutely filthy, unkempt and from what Andrea knew of Bryan, he must have been the same. Eww.

Seeing the wreck of a living space gave her the heebie-jeebies and sent her heart out to Liz. How had she put up with him for so long?

“All right, ladies.” Tayna burst in with a sparkle in her eyes. “This is now an ambush, a kamikaze run if necessary, but we are laying siege to this place and removing anything girlie or historical. And if there’s something you like, feel free to take it, too. Right Liz?”

“No.” Liz shook her head. “Let’s just get my crap out of here. I doubt he’ll be gone long. We got very lucky.”

“Maybe he’s job hunting,” Andrea ventured, hoping for the best.

Tayna shook her head. “He’s probably passed out in an alley somewhere. Have I mentioned how stupid he is?”

Liz smirked. “Grab an end of this thing.” She pushed the couch toward the door.

“Let me at least clear it off.” Andrea jumped over some unidentified, yellow, gooey-looking detritus to pull more trash from the striped green couch. “Then again, are you sure you still want this thing?” Underneath, it looked to be old—maybe made before 1950 or so—but after the ick-factor of Bryan’s mess on it, was it still worth carting out of here?

Tayna yanked her end toward the door. “Let’s get it out to my Ranchero. I’ve got upholstery cleaner at my place.”

“Good. My grandma gave me this couch.” Liz readjusted her grasp on the wooden arm as she followed Tayna out the door.

Alone in the room, Andrea shook her head. She still didn’t know where to start. When Tayna had called saying to meet at this address, she wasn’t real specific about what she was asking. Helping out was fine, but when the task was this daunting…

Hopefully, Bryan wouldn’t come home while they were still getting stuff out. Whether he was drunk or sober, the last thing Andrea wanted to be involved in was a fight. She’d likely end up killing the jerk…or at least helping Tayna punch his lights out.

Because the living room was impossible, Andrea went into the bedroom and opened the closet. She pulled out a pink duffel bag and started filling it with every feminine article of clothing she could find. Liz didn’t have much, but what she did have was nice. There were a couple of sweaters totally worth borrowing.

After the closet rack was empty, Andrea grabbed a mint green bag and raided the floor of shoes. There was a little space left on the side, so she rummaged through every drawer and pulled out the last of the clothes and underwear before dragging the bags into the living room by the door.

Liz and Tayna must have gone out on a second trip because the kitchen table was gone. Good. Tayna always had a knack for taking things that were wickedly odd and making them as holy as a shrine. Goodness, her whole house was a prime example.

And it was no wonder Liz didn’t want to live there. Andrea couldn’t live there, either. Too strange. Tayna was wonderfully friendly, but her house was far from it.

“So, that’s all you have left? Just clothes?” Tayna entered the living room, her purple broomstick skirt flowing with each step. How did she not get it tangled on—or stuck to—anything?

“I put her clothes right here.” Andrea pointed to the bags. “Are we really that close to being done? I thought there’d be more underneath all of everything.”

Liz sighed. “I don’t have much.”

Suddenly, Tayna walked over to Andrea and studied her. Under such close scrutiny, she shrugged. “What are you doing, Tayne? Is my fly down or something?”

Liz had picked up one of the bags and was about to lug it out the door, but she stopped. “Tayna? What’s up?”

Circling Andrea a second time, Tayna finally spoke. “I dunno. I just have an odd feeling like…I dunno. Weird. I can’t put a finger on it, but it doesn’t feel good. Or maybe it’s just odd…something I haven’t picked up on before.” Tayna’s circling was unnerving…and not in the least bit confidence-inspiring.

Andrea crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Maybe Bryan’s on his way home and we should get out of here as fast as we can,” Andrea offered, hoping for a diversion.

“Well, I’ll admit that I’m still new at this stuff, but there’s really something to it.” Tayna picked up the other bag.

Andrea grabbed an open box of books and followed out the door. “Rewind. What do you mean?”

“I mean, that spell I did the other night was real.” She stopped walking before reaching the car. “Holy shit. That’s all it is. I did that love spell. Maybe you’re about to meet your man.” She did a loaded-down jump for joy, but Andrea still didn’t feel right.

“Yeah, that has to be it.” Liz shoved her bag in the backseat of Andrea’s car. “You get premonitions sometimes. So do I. But what was that about a love spell?”

“I can do stuff. Low-level stuff. I don’t really know how, but I do it. And sometimes stuff works.” Tayna looked confident, but then she abruptly turned to go back into the apartment.

Liz laughed as she followed. “You’re some kind of witch, huh?”

Andrea was at a loss for words. A witch? No. That was all hogwash and besides, Tayna didn’t even own a pointy hat. Well, maybe… Actually, looking back over their friendship, Andrea realized that, yes, it was entirely possible. Tayna did have a sort of sparkle about her. She did “magically” have things go her way sometimes when the odds were against her. But as for hocus-pocus…that was absurd.

And most of all, Andrea didn’t sense any danger at all right now—only weirdness—so Tayna’s premonition or feeling or whatever it was about danger had to be wrong.

Besides, Andrea liked the other interpretation better. She’d much rather meet a wonderful man to fall in love with. Her mind went aflutter with ideas on new additions to her wardrobe, getting her hair done, manicure, pedicure, a good waxing.

Wouldn’t that be great? Mr. Right wouldn’t even know what hit him. He’d see her and instantly be in love. Did it work both ways, though? Would she recognize him? Jeepers, would it really matter if she looked like a million bucks or like she just got out of bed? No sense in spending all that money if it wasn’t going to matter. If only it was really that easy.

But with Tayna involved, it might actually happen.

Andrea put those foolish thoughts out of her head and went back into the apartment. This was the last trip. Thankfully, Liz’s book collection was sizable, but not unmanageable. There were mostly non-fiction but some pretty cool historical romances and mysteries were tossed on the stacks between medieval costume books and British Monarchy biographies. Not a bad collection to have around.

Once everything was all packed up, Liz looked worse for the wear. She would probably miss bits of her old life, but it was time to move on. Andrea already planned on doing something nice for dinner tonight. She and Liz could spend the whole evening reorganizing the shelves in the living room so that all the books would fit. Seeing Liz start over gave Andrea hope that she could, too, if she ever needed to.

“To forward motion!” Tayna mocked a raised glass in her hand.

Liz and Andrea answered in unison, pretending to clink their invisible glasses. “To forward motion!”

“Yeah, let’s motor on outta here.” In the lead, Tayna paused to hold the door. “We’ve all got work to do.”

Andrea emptied her load of books into the back of Tayna’s Ranchero. “See you guys later.” She went to her car. It was time to go pretend Scentorium was hers for the rest of the day.

Chapter Eleven

After finding the cheapest apartment in Reith, Jeff prepared to call Liz Spencer. For the next month or so, he’d be living in a rundown apartment, and it would totally be worth it. That was certain. The next month was going to be absolutely crucial for finding out the truth.

Dialing the phone, Jeff took a deep breath to try and calm his nerves. Hell, it was futile. No amount of deep breathing could hide his elation at this point.

“Hello?” Liz answered and Jeff’s heart pounded even harder.

“H-Hi. This is Jeff Wenkanson from the Lawrence Livermore Lab. Have you got a second? I’ve got some rather interesting results for you.”

She paused and there was static. This was her cell number. She could have been anywhere. “Yeah. I’ve got all afternoon now.”

In his palm, Jeff held a piece of a bigger mystery than he’d ever imagined. And to think it was in the shape of a half square inch of old leather. “Good. Because…ummm… Wait. Are you sitting down by any chance?”

There was another pause and Jeff swallowed hard as he leaned back in his chair. This was unreal. Absolutely unreal. Never in his wildest dreams could this scrap have come into his possession simply by being in the right place at the right time. Never.

“I was afraid of that.” Liz sighed. “Yeah, I’m sitting now.”

“Good. You might even want to sit on the floor so you don’t risk falling out of your chair when I tell you my findings about the leather.” Jeff bit his lip. Monumental. Absolutely monumental. He was already making mental plans to pack his journal and his laptops as soon as he got home.

Liz chuckled. “That’s okay. I’ll take my chances.”

“Keep in mind that I ran it more than once or twice…or even three times. I even checked and rechecked my calibration every time in between. Hell, I even ran things that I knew for certain how old they were because I was in complete disbelief.”

“Jeff, just give it to me straight up. Please?”

“1139 give or take twenty-eight years.”

“Holy shit.” Her shock registered loud and clear. “I…well…I… You weren’t kidding when you said I might fall out of my chair. Holy shit. I mean, I was prepared for 1870. Maybe even 1840. But twelfth century?”

“Me, too. Where did you get that piece? Is there more?”

“Twelfth century. Shit. It can’t be native to California, then. I almost wish it was nineteenth century.”

“I took another hundred looks at those pictures you emailed the other day and…well, this leather has to be from whatever book was in that cubbyhole. All that inscription and stuff, right?”

“You haven’t told anyone have you?” Concern overtook shock.

“There was some gold leafing on two edges of the piece you gave me. It reminded me of a border. Like around a corner. It was on the very, very edges.”

“Jeff, did you tell anyone about this?” Concern turned to worry.

“Do you have more of this leather? Is there more gold on it? I want to see if I can figure out the pattern. It’ll tell us more.”

“Jeff? Hello? Can you hear me? Did you tell anyone?”

“A team should be arriving within a day or so. I couldn’t let this slide.”

“Let this slide? Jeff, no one knows about the damn leather.”

“I didn’t tell anyone about the leather. I just told them that the library was worth a closer examination.”

“No! No, no, no. You’re pulling my leg now aren’t you?” Liz’s chuckle sounded forced. “The leather’s twentieth century. No big deal. No chance for anything older than 1830 or so in Reith. You really had me going there, Jeff. You really did.”

At that point, he hated to break it to her. “Seriously. I’m not kidding about any of this. I even hooked myself up with an apartment there so I can have a place to stay while I study the site.”

“No!” Liz hung up and Jeff sighed.

Well, that could have gone much better. It sounded like she’d shoot him if she ever saw him in person. Crap. How else was he supposed to get in?

For the sake of history, that little bit of leather was a huge discovery. It was generally assumed that the non-Native people in Reith arrived before the Gold Rush in the 1830s and didn’t bring much with them. The fact that one batch of settlers brought a very, very old book, one of the oldest in the world perhaps, was shocking. It was reason to inspect the site for other evidence to be dated and find out exactly how long that area has been inhabited and where the people came from.

Liz was right. The leather dating to the nineteenth century would have been surprising, but not unfathomable. 1139 was beyond imaginable. The inscription in the pic that Liz had sent mentioned a book and judging by the age of the leather, that book might only be a bible. But unless there was something particularly special about it, who would go through the trouble of walling it off? Maybe boxing it up and hiding it in a crawlspace, an attic or the false back of a closet. But an entire wall refaced to conceal a book?

Hell, he’d probably find out tomorrow when he got to Reith. Maybe Liz just didn’t want to talk about it, but she had the book safe and sound this whole time. And maybe if he could get back in her good graces, she’d let him see “Pangur Ban” as well as the uber-special book that had been spirited out of the world’s reach and forgotten.

Jeff turned off his computer and headed away from his borrowed desk, switching off the light on his way out. Plans for finding a futon and a good reading lamp swirled in his head. The only other thing he’d need was patience. A healthy dose of patience.

 

* * *

 

Careful selection was essential. Kyre considered the quartz crystals laid out on his rather crowded basement altar worktable. Five pieces he’d winnowed from his collection of over a hundred. Five from which, without the Rede, he’d have to guess the best suited for his task. Five.

Five too many.

Kyre closed his eyes, the intense strain of blind decision-making reaching familiarity. Palm down, he spread his fingers and waved over the crystals, reading the innate energy of each one. Would it be enough? Was it the right shape and type?

The shards came alive, sparking, shimmering. His mind’s eye saw it perfectly. Reacting on instinct, Kyre snatched the brightest crystal. Its tingling rippled down his arm. An easy choice this time. But several items remained to be chosen. Many of which held enough power to make or break the Removal and Cleansing processes.

Kyre hadn’t initially taken much stock in the ingredient-choosing ceremonies, but after the mistake VooDoo turned out to be, no skimping on his selection processes could be allowed.

He’d already selected the proper willow branch and pyramid of crystal, the pewter, paper and glass bowls, the amber beads. The Removal and Cleansing processes required vessels and props. And not just any. They had to be of the perfect size, shape, density…perfect for storage and manipulation of a human life force, a human soul.

But the instruction manual had been lost years ago. The Ward Rede.

Eyes opened, Kyre slammed his fist onto the altar, jarring everything including the shard in his palm. The fucking Rede had been found and stolen. Stolen. Before he’d learned it was more than legend. Why hadn’t he gone to the library as soon as the quake hit? That book should be in his hands right now. Why hadn’t he been worried? Why?

Because his innate sense hadn’t awakened him to the book’s existence. Hell, it hadn’t even come alive through scrying. What the fuck was wrong? Were there further curses on the book? In that case, whoever had it would suffer a rude awakening.

With a blast of telekinetic energy, Kyre sent the unchosen crystals to a glass box near the entrance to his basement chapel. Light from the stained glass near the ceiling glinted off the shards as they flew.

For a moment, Kyre considered the quartz in his hand. Propelling it away from his skin, hovering it before his eyes, searching its length for anomalies that might need to be compensated for. Rotating it psionically, he scrutinized it further. It was perfect. Perfect for his purposes anyway.

Gritting his teeth, he snatched it from the air, anger nearly causing him to shatter it against one of the granite walls. The God damned Rede. It was ruling his thoughts, but he fought back.

Clear it. Clear it. Clear it.

Through clarity achieve greatness.

Through clarity achieve greatness.

Through clarity achieve greatness.

Find what is right within you, not without. Within you, not without. Within you, not without.

Kyre felt his body relax. As the tension left his shoulders, down his back, he sent it through his bare feet into the earth. Deep within the earth, away from his body and his consciousness.

Away from his magical work. His space had to be clear or mistakes would be more difficult to avoid. The items might control him rather than vice versa.

Returning to his altar, he placed the crystal in a glass bowl and set it next to a tall pyramid of smoky quartz. Instinctively, he left the altar and traversed the basement. The time had come to choose a blade.

Standing in front of the huge cases, Kyre considered the weapons, knowing he’d need something that could be wielded easily in one hand. He stepped beyond pikes, claymores, broad swords, rapiers, and toward daggers, stilettos, dirks and miniature knives.

With a smile, he regarded his collection. His gaze kept returning to a simple, bejeweled stiletto. Its blade had a tiny inscription worn faint over time. The antique weapon had a rough-cut ruby set into the hilt surrounded by gold and silver inlay extending down the handle.

Simple, but perfect.

He removed the stiletto from its case and brought it to the altar, carefully laying the pretty blade with the other chosen items. Its glint was pleasing, seemingly glowing with feminine energy, its silvery shimmer shining like a woman’s smile. The blade was sharp and fickle, but worth everything to tame.

It beckoned his grasp, but he resisted. The stiletto was powerful, but Kyre’s strength was far greater. Assembling such a collection required having higher power than its ingredients. Greater strength even without the Rede.

That damn book again.

Kyre stepped back and breathed deeply. Taking in clarity, sending out all that threatened to distort and contort down through his feet, deep into the earth. Bury it far from him and his space. His sacred space.

When peace overcame him, he approached a wooden chest in the corner of the room, set at a diagonal. Kyre extended a hand while nearing the old chest. It opened and began displaying its contents.

Lengths of muslin, velvet, burlap, women’s dresses, men’s cloaks, silk scarves swirled above the chest. Using minimal strength, Kyre controlled the fabric display. Holding the energy up, he swiftly propelled the fabric encircling himself at the eye of a tornado. He closed his eyes, relishing the breeze. The scent of roses among mold permeated his senses.

At what felt to be the proper moment, Kyre shot a hand into the whirlwind and caught a length of fabric. Eyes remaining closed, he telekinetically replaced the fabric not chosen into the trunk and closed it.

The clunk of the lid brought Kyre’s eyes open to discover what he’d retrieved. A long strip of muslin dyed with indigo, a Celtic knot pattern painted around its edges.

Carefully folding the fabric, Kyre returned to the altar, noticing the extra effort each step required. Without rest between choices, this intense exertion would exhaust his physical resources.

Two steps from the altar, Kyre halted, unable to move forward. Pushing his weight backward, he stumbled to the center of the room, but had no control over any other directional movement. His weight lightened, requiring no strength to remain upright. He swallowed hard, unsure of what was happening.

Paralysis set in. He tested his body. Only his head had the ability to move. Psionically, he set the room on fire, searching for the cause of this detainment. Nothing. No answers.

“By my shadow, show thyself.” he whispered, gathering momentum. “By my shadow, show thyself.” With a gasp, he bellowed, “By my shadow, show thyself!”

The muslin slithered from his grasp, caressing his hips, around one leg twisting downward, then up the other, passing over his crotch as it wrapped around his torso, sailing upward until fashioning a tightening noose around his neck. Constricting. Too tight.

By my shadow, desist.

By my shadow, desist.

By my shadow, desist.

But Kyre’s mental and physical strength waned. His breath cut short. The room darkened then became a brilliant shade of indigo as Kyre fought, hunted for any amount of reserve strength left in his weakening body.

Fly upward.

Unsure how high, Kyre levitated as the muslin continued swirling around his neck. He pushed upward, the fabric twisting until he brushed one of the wooden underground ceiling beams.

The muslin contorted, wrapping itself around a beam before resuming its tightening swirl. Kyre gasped, filling his lungs, sparing some energy to theorize why the muslin had attacked. It was fabric for goodness’ sake. Where did it get such power?

Then again, he’d chosen it from the whirlwind, so more than likely, its innate power had joined his energy to attract him. Another easy selection…that drained not only energy, but nearly his life.

He reversed his levitation and went down to the altar to retrieve the stiletto. Maybe the muslin could be tamed.

As soon as Kyre picked up the stiletto, the muslin flew down and began orbiting the blade. Caught off guard, he nearly dropped the weapon, but instinct prevented him.

Now what? He shook his head. During the VooDoo process, Kyre hadn’t been so carefully honed in on each selection, therefore hadn’t encountered this much danger.

The smoky quartz pyramid sparkled in the light from the high windows, giving him an idea.

He pointed the stiletto at the pyramid and telekinetically nudged the muslin. Taking his suggestion, it flew around the tall shape, encasing it completely.

With a sigh of relief, Kyre replaced the stiletto onto the altar. Damn. If this was only the beginning, the end was surely hell.

 

* * *

 

Liz wasn’t sure if her back was aching due to hefting the couch, the books yesterday or all the stress combined, but after three grunts, she and Tayna got the flowery kitchen table out of the Ranchero.

There was too much going on, too much to think about, too many things to do. The whole fucked up situation with Jeff Wenkanson would have to wait. She put it out of her mind in favor of getting the rest of her life in order.

“Earth to Liz? You okay?” Tayna hopped down from the tailgate. “Last piece. Straight to my happy herb room.”

Following Tayna’s lead, Liz picked up her side of the table and went side by side toward the house.

“You better not be thinking about him again, Liz.”

“I’m not really thinking about anything in particular. There’s too much to think about.”

Tayna banged the double doors open with her foot as they do-si-doed the table. “Everything happens for a reason. I mean, I don’t know what to make of the leather either, but I do know that if it really is important enough, I’ll find the answer. Until then, there’s no sense in stressing.”

She had a good point, but not good enough. Liz backed her way into the kitchen. “It’s not that simple… And really, I don’t think I want to talk about it.”

“Right. If we stop talking about it, you can start thinking about other stuff. Like how the hell we’re going to get this table through the kitchen and down that little set of stairs.”

Liz set down her end and surveyed the distance. “If we lift it high enough or flip it over, we can get it at least onto the other table. But down the stairs, I guess we’ll have to go sideways. What do you think?”

“I think you’re right, but let me prop the door so we can go straight down.”

Easy as pie. A few more grunts later, the table was heading down the stairs into the dark little room. Keeping a death grip on one of the legs, Liz carefully handed the old table down to Tayna.

“Liz? Can you reach my flashlight on the counter up there?” Tayna sounded strained. “I know the room is empty, but I’m not trusting it.”

“I don’t blame you. Hang on.” Liz stretched as far as she could, her hand winding around the doorframe. “Right outside the door, huh?”

“Yeah. Do you need me to move up a little? I’m afraid to take another step down until I make sure there’s nothing here.”

Liz felt the plastic cylinder as she toppled it over. “Almost got it. Push up a little.”

Big mistake. As Tayna shoved, the tabletop grazed Liz’s shin, knocking it hard enough to lose her balance. Yelping in pain, she nearly crushed the flashlight in one hand and twisted the wooden leg in her other, causing the table to come apart and tumble toward Tayna with Liz not far behind. They landed in a twisted heap of flesh and wood.

“Ummm…ouch.” Tayna shimmied out from under the tabletop. “You okay?”

“I’ve been better, but yeah.” Liz removed herself from the pile. Taking inventory of what hurt now and what would probably hurt tomorrow, she dusted herself off. A few bruises on her legs. Her wrist felt jammed. Her knee was definitely going to ache for a few days. “How about you?”

“Like a squirrel playing in traffic.”

Liz chuckled. “That’s about right.”

“Sorry about the table.” Using the light through the open door, Tayna gathered up pieces of wood. “But it doesn’t look like anything broke. I can probably fix it. What do you think?” She started sliding joints back together.

“Might as well, then.” Liz knelt to pick up the flashlight. The beam illuminated a corner of the room where a wispy spider web swayed in a breeze that Liz couldn’t feel.

Tayna futzed with the table. It creaked when she flipped it over. “Liz? You see something?” Tayna approached.

Both women watched as Liz shined the flashlight up and down all over the grimy wall. The only thing truly odd was that a piece of molding was missing along the bottom. Liz washed light over the rest of the walls in the room. No dead things. Dusty spider webs. Grime…

But the molding continued everywhere else except where the thin web swayed.

Without a word, Tayna turned and headed up the stairs. Liz was caught. The room went cold. A shiver blasted down her spine. This was the exact reason there was no way in hell she’d stay at Tayna’s place. And, of course, the flashlight dimmed. Great. Fucking great.

Blasting up the stairs, Liz smacked right into Tayna coming down the stairs.

“What are you doing?” Liz hollered as the women tottered down toward the floor again, smashing into the wall. “Ow…again.” She wanted to get back up the stairs, but with Tayna down there, the temperature raised back to normal.

“I’m gonna open this fucker.” Tayna used a crowbar to hack and lever the wood loose. “Hold the light closer. Damn batteries.”

“This house is freaking me out, Tayne.”

“If I’m gonna stay in this pile of shit, I’m gonna know every nook and cranny of it.” Tayna ripped off a chunk of wood and tossed it aside before resuming her vengeful attack. “I will not be stuck listening to freakin’ weird noise after ghost after whatever rat or creepy-crawly walking around if I don’t know exactly all their hiding places.” She yanked another chunk of wood away. It was better just to let her go. “I’m sick and tired of it. This better be the last little surprise in this fucking ancient, dilapidated dung heap or I swear I’m really gonna lose my mind.” Tayna paused, glancing back at Liz. “Y’know, I found a whole crawlspace on the second floor filled solid with rat carcasses and skeletons and shit. It was disgusting.”

“Ummm…gross. I hate to bring it up, but what if that’s what’s down here, too? What if there’s another icky pile of old skeletons or something? Like what if there were a bunch of people murdered before you were born and they’re all buried down here and that’s why your house is so creepy?”

Tayna smirked. “Okay, now you’ve completely lost it. I thought I was bad, but you’ve really lost your mind. Murders? You’re under way too much stress.”

“You’ve noticed.” Liz seriously considered going back upstairs, but Tayna was so close to uncovering treasures of the yet-to-be-determined variety. Curiosity won.

Shining the slowly dimming light over the wall again revealed a recessed ring handle. Tayna was still furiously hacking away at the wall, but the sound of wood alternated with a metallic thudding.

“Tayna. Hang on. You found something.” Liz pinpointed the latch. “Try it.”

Looping the crowbar through the metal ring, Tayna braced one end on the wall a few inches beyond and yanked toward her.

And yanked again, harder.

And again.

And again.

And furiously again.

And with her foot up on the wall.

“Whoa, Tayna. Chill out,” Liz intervened, but Tayna didn’t relent.

And then a door came open a crack.

“Holy shit this thing is heavy. What’s it made of? Iron?” Tayna continued wrestling.

Liz tried to join in, but there wasn’t enough room to help. The big, old wooden door looked thick and was bolted with a ton of metal. “I don’t know, and I’m afraid to find out.”

Once she muscled the door open wide enough, Tayna grabbed the flashlight and thrust it into the darkness along with her head. Then smacked the flashlight.

“What’s back there, Tayna? Be careful.” Liz’s curiosity dueled with her sense of danger.

Tayna leaned back through the doorway. “A big old hallway full of nothing…or at least nothing I can see because my damn flashlight’s going dead.” She grimaced. “Fuck it. I got too much shit to do and you probably do, too. No carcasses down here at least.” She switched off the flashlight and headed for the stairs. “Thanks for the table, Liz. Once I actually start drying herbs, it’s going to really come in handy. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Liz didn’t know what else to say. The impact of this little adventure hadn’t hit her until this moment. It seemed like the earthquake had shaken everything up, making things more obviously out of the ordinary, and she just now fully realized that the style of the door was not of this century. “Give me that flashlight for a second.”

“It’s almost dead.” Tayna tossed it.

Liz shined it on the door again. The darn thing was more than five layers thick. She swiped away dust on the front of the door to reveal ornate ironwork with bolts every few inches. “Tayna. This is a really, really old door.”

The flashlight died.

“Go figure. This whole place is seriously old, Liz. Big deal.”

“No, like as in this door was not made some time in this century or the last. Like as in either whoever put this door here got it from an antique store who got it from Europe because nothing’s this old in California or—”

“Then why cover it up if it’s so nifty?” Tayna sounded as intrigued and shocked as Liz was feeling.

“I have no clue. And I really want to leave now.” Liz hurried up the stairs. Why were so many answers leading to more questions?

“Sure. Go on right ahead.” Tayna pointed. “I gotta get some new batteries anyway.”

Chapter Twelve

In the blink of an eye, Tayna slapped in the batteries and flipped the switch on the flashlight. “No more games.” The threat was aimed at her entire house as she fiddled with the flashlight. Something had the hairs of her neck standing on end for increasingly longer periods of time since the quake. It was nerve-wracking and sometimes made her hands shake.

Liz hadn’t noticed, but the whole time they were down in the new herb cellar, Tayna was on edge, anxious, practically to tears a couple times. Or at least that was what Tayna’d felt the need to suppress.

“Fuck this.” She put the flashlight on the kitchen counter and in search of an extension cord, headed out to the garage.

Clyde always kept everything in order. No surprises. A hundred-foot extension cord was wound around a nice portable spool. Perfect.

Whatever the dungeon underneath the house, she was ready to take it on. All of it. Whatever skeletons, rats, whatever, whatever, whatever. The jitters needed to go away, so whatever was causing them had to be destroyed.

As far as a decent light was concerned, the best she could find was a droplight. It had a hundred-watt bulb in it at least. Progress. Definitely progress.

She stomped back into her kitchen and plugged in the cable. Just in case, she grabbed the flashlight and shoved it in her pocket. Going down there in complete darkness without a Plan B would really suck.

Tugging on the free end of the cable, Tayna headed down the stairs and got the light turned on. “Nothing can live down here without light.” She said it aloud for her own reassurance. “I hope I’m right.”

Sliding through the ancient door, Tayna gave it another shove for good measure. It creaked open another couple inches, nothing spectacular. And the annoying feeling of being in a bad horror movie would not go away. Like somewhere there was a party of people munching on popcorn and hollering, “Don’t go in there! It’s dark! You’re gonna get your head chopped off!”

Then again, if a horror movie actress becomes aware that she’s in a movie, would she expect the axe murderer to come after her? Would it help to know?

It was certainly worth a try. “I know you’re in there, Mr. Boogieman.” Tayna shined the droplight into the darkness, certain she’d lost every ounce of her sanity.

The space didn’t feel cold anymore. The walls looked solid and faced with wood. The floor was dusty, but there weren’t any rodent carcasses. Thank goodness for that or this hallway would surely stink to high heaven like the room upstairs.

Wait a stinking minute. Why wasn’t there a rank musty smell down here? Tayna inhaled, trying to discern the odor. She’d definitely smelled it before. Like flowers or cookies or…things that the basement should not be smelling like if it had been closed up for who knew how many years. Yeesh.

She staved off the urge to run back upstairs. Fully committed to the bad horror flick her life had become, she pressed onward.

Before the end of the hallway, instinct kicked in. She stopped, the only sound her frantic breathing. “Why did I stop? What’s here?” she whispered to no one as she scrutinized the immediate area.

Lifting the droplight, Tayna illuminated the end of the hallway. Aside from two doors, nothing looked abnormal. Her palm itched to open them, but her gut told her, “hell no”.

“Bad horror flick. What happens in bad horror flicks? The dumb girl walking in the spooky dark hallway gets close to where things get interesting and what happens?” Tayna craned around in the spot where she stood. “The axe murderer comes at her.”

After a deep breath, she let a mini-spell fall from her lips on an exhale. “Grant me safe passage. Grant me safe passage. Grant me safe passage.”

That was instinct. Her mind’s eye conjured what looked to be a spider web two paces ahead. That strange yet familiar scent rushed past her in a gentle breeze, drawing her toward the glistening web.

Tayna stepped forward and the walls began shaking. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as she ran back to the heavy door and shimmied through it, completely defying everything her instinct dictated.

Once in the herb cellar, she leaned against the table and a laugh burst from her constricted throat. “You fucking moron. Aftershock from the quake. Duh,” she said aloud and shook her head.

Through the ancient door again, she tromped directly to the back. Of course, that weird scent was probably just one of her ancestors still haunting the place. There was no goddamn axe murderer. Maybe some kind of booby tr—

The web. She’d have to untangle the web or get through it or something. Nearing, she noticed it wasn’t as dense as it had appeared. Sliding from side to side, she swayed past the first vertical bits, and then stopped.

The droplight. She had to set it down or it would break the web. There was no other choice. Switching on the flashlight, she made her way through the maze, following the scent of roses or cookies or both. It was easier to switch off her brain than let it maintain fear of the dark, spooky unknown.

There was only one door at the end after all, not two. The second must have been an illusion. Whoever or whatever set all this stuff up had some serious sorcery power. Or maybe this was all some kind of freaky dream and Tayna was about to wake up any second.

Beyond the web, even less dust-covered horizontal surfaces. She grasped a black iron knob and twisted.

Consulting instinct, she weighed her choices. Going back would only spark her curiosity and what if this was her one chance to see what was down here? Going in could get her killed, but did she really know that for sure?

She yanked the door wide open and stepped inside. Shining the flashlight around, preparing for the axe murderer, she discovered a roomful of…well…props.

The walls were stone and all had shelves from floor to ceiling. Weaponry hung around the door, causing Tayna to move further into the room. Who knew exactly how secure those axes and swords were. Crystals and rocks in various bowls glinted along one wall. The one straight ahead held lengths of fabric, small weaponry and bits of dried plants and larger trees.

The other wall held books. Tayna was instantly drawn to them. That familiar scent blowing on a gentle breeze made Tayna smile. “I don’t know who you are, but you wanted me to find these, didn’t you? That damn earthquake shook everything up including your grave, didn’t it? Is this your library? Were you into some wicked sorcer—”

Tayna’s chest was suddenly constricted by an unseen force, stealing her breath , but she managed to choke out a few more words. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to offend.” She must’ve guessed wrong.

Air returned to her lungs and she took that moment to breathe deeply. “Remind me not to make any more assumptions. I’m just the dumb girl in the bad horror movie. I see the axe, but where’s the murderer?”

The scent dissipated, and Tayna’s fear subsided. She grinned, taking in the joy of what she’d found. All of her little escapades had been based on a history of magic—her family’s history of magic.

Or at least that’s what she wanted to believe as she walked over to the bookshelves and started reading spines.

A bunch of numbers. Each spine had a number on it. They were organized, but some were skipped. 1730, 1702, 1687, 1665. The numbers got smaller as the shelves got lower. 1577, 1529, 1494, 1420. And lower. 1367, 1340, 1302, 1286. All the way down to 1187, 1104, 1050, 988, 903, 877…802.

The spines themselves didn’t match each other. They were bound differently.

What the hell was up with those numbers? Tayna grabbed a book from the bottom shelf. The spine read, “745”.

She gulped. The book was bound with leather and there was a Celtic knot work design forming a border along its edges.

She opened it. The pages were thick and decorated in bright colors. Animals interwoven among what looked to be letters and numbers, but what language was this?

“Oh my fucking goodness.”

Tayna snapped the book closed and replaced it on the shelf. Bolting upright, she grabbed the book with the highest number on it. 1836.

Throwing it open, she wasn’t sure whether she was surprised or not.

The numbers were dates. Years. The entry she’d opened to was dated 29 November 1836.

Sinking back to the floor, she read from the book. It talked about the Rede. What the hell was a Rede?

It claimed that as long as the Rede remained with the Wards, it kept the worst evils at bay. Evils? What? Like taxes or rain? Or earthquakes?

Tayna skimmed and flipped a few more pages, but nothing made enough sense to figure out exactly what the Rede was. It sounded like a book or talisman or maybe a prop for a spell because it always seemed to be mentioned when the author wrote about using magic.

The web outside the door had been put in place to protect the Chronicles. Tayna looked up at the rest of the books. “Chronicles. Okay, I’m following. But what the hell is the Rede?”

The web could be deactivated using a simple spell. “Okay, good to know.” The spell was listed. No big deal. “Tell me about the Rede.”

The author wrote of it as though it needed no explanation until Tayna flipped more pages. “Oh shit.”

The Rede was a big fat powerful book of spells, incantations, instructions and all-encompassing magical knowledge, so powerful it practically had a mind of its own.

And in the wrong hands could cause great woe upon those whom it was used against.

Oh no.

Oh shit, no.

 

* * *

 

Everything smelled pretty. Alcohol, sweat, even the dim lighting. Sticky vinyl lined the booth. Padding was soft and squishy, dipping down further than necessary.

But VooDoo had found his heaven.

Three women laughed at his jokes. Second night in a row, he’d never been so jubilantly blissful. Second night in a row. He was on the top of his game. The women thought he was pretty, too. He charmed them with a smile, a wink. Particularly easily.

The bar had blue lights. The dance floor was jumping. VooDoo stifled the urge to writhe with all the warm bodies. Three ladies were enough. They didn’t need names. Or at least he hadn’t asked. Names weren’t something he wanted and the women didn’t care.

They’d needed his cock last night. He’d willingly surrendered it, too. Again and again and again. Until he thought he couldn’t give any more. He’d taken real good care of them—same as they’d taken care of him.

The blonde lounged in his lap, tracing his jaw with her long blue fingernail. She smelled nice. Not as nice as chocolate, but nice like fresh paper.

The brunette next to him slid closer, the scent of licorice preceding her. She murmured something about a replay of last night as she reached over VooDoo’s shoulder to tap the lady with the black hair.

Black hair woman laughed as she ran her hand under the blonde’s ass to grope VooDoo’s inner thigh. She was the prettiest. Mysterious and sensual. She smelled like an exotic flower needing to be plucked over and over again.

Beauty existed in strange ways. The pretty book with its special words was VooDoo’s most prized possession. Without it, blonde girl would never be on his lap wiggling against his cock, grinding her ass on his thigh. Without the book, he’d have no friends. Pretty girls made great friends. He loved pretty girls.

And wanted to keep loving them. He reached an arm around the brunette’s shoulder, sliding beneath her arm to grasp her breast. When her head tossed back on a moan, VooDoo began a massaging motion. She liked it. Yes, she did. Her eyes sparked white heat.

Brunette lady nudged blonde and they switched places. Black hair unzipped VooDoo’s pants. Heaven. Brunette’s lips locked onto his, her tongue teasing, eliciting immediate response low in his abdomen. He tasted her, mating his tongue with hers. Strawberries and lightning. Rosemary and plastic.

She straddled him, her moist heat practically burning his crotch.

VooDoo.

Sammy!

VooDoo.

As though a noose tightened around his neck, he jerked backward, head slamming into wood paneling as he gasped for air. Pain gripped his stomach, twisted his lungs. There were no more cookies. Everything went cold.

He pushed the brunette woman away. Amid a host of curses, she slid over the table. Blonde lady grabbed his arm, yanking him out of the booth. She hollered epithets.

Get out now.

Go. Go. Go.

Cold. Everything was cold. The only stripe of warmth led toward the door. He followed it. The pain stifling his senses decreased with each step. Once outside, his ears were bombarded with sound. Water rushing, fire burning, electricity buzzing. Which way? Nothing was warm. Nothing.

It was all dark. Dead dark. There had to be light somewhere. The night couldn’t be completely black. He rubbed his eyes, scratching them, willing them to see. How would he find his way home?

Home.

Bouncing off brick, stone, flesh, steel, VooDoo bounded through the night. Loping through the darkness. It cradled him, bruised him, tore out his innards. His senses choked, lost in the night. The wicked night.

He sniffed the air.

Chocolate chip cookies. Where did they come from? He craned his neck in the darkness. Blue whispers met his gaze, sparkling, twisting, distorting everything but the pain in his heart.

VooDoo!

He screamed at the excruciating intrusion, blackness surrounding him. Purple waves crashed through his mind. Then warmth swirled around him, tugging at him, guiding him.

Home. Was this home? It smelled like cardboard and chocolate. He blinked. Vision returned. Easy and thick. Pushed forward from within his chest, his heartbeat rapidly fluctuated, wavering, cooling. He closed the door. Brass felt cold. VooDoo willed his heart back into his body for fear it would get left out in the cold.

The book fluttered. VooDoo jumped, landing crookedly and tumbling onto cardboard. It attacked him. He couldn’t free himself from the sticky paper.

Erupting from each box, yellow light forced VooDoo’s eyes shut while he crawled free. A rustling noise caught his full attention. Reopening his eyes revealed intrigue. Page after page turned in rapid succession then repeated in the opposite direction.

The book was glowing hot.

He scuttled toward it. Skidding up onto his knees, he scooped the book into his arms. It bayed and cried, worried about its plight.

It wanted him to hide it somewhere or the evil would take it. The evil. Evil. No. Can’t let the evil have it. No, no, no.

Burrowing back under cardboard, VooDoo tried to set the book down but it leapt back into his arms. Burrowing under cloth, he tried again. The book would not leave his grasp. He ran toward the door, but the book prevented escape. Becoming too heavy to lift, the book trapped his hands underneath it, crashing to the floor inches from the threshold. His back ached, twisted from the fall.

Cold tears fell onto his cheeks. His fingers were gnarled and bent under the heaviness of the book. He rested his head on its cover. But it went wicked hot and he shot upward, finding strength to carry the book away from the door, deeper into his apartment. Into the kitchen where things smelled like mold and sweat. Onto the crunchy, mucky floor.

VooDoo opened a cupboard and shoved the book into the empty space. Cold. Very cold. He pulled the book out and wrapped himself around it, his body wracking with each sob. He would have to protect it. No matter what. He needed the book or he’d never have a friend. It took care of him. It loved him. He would have to keep it safe.

“They’re coming… No…” VooDoo swatted air around him, unable to control himself. “I’m sorry. They’re coming. The evil’s coming. All of it.”

The right hands.

Hold tighter.

Sammy.

Chapter Thirteen

What a beautiful day to turn over a new page in history. Jeff parked his Jeep in the Reith University parking lot. Scaring up spare change for a daily parking ticket, he went to the vending machine. Quarters shined in the sunlight as he slid them in and retrieved his ticket. Today was hopefully going to mark a milestone in his budding career.

Putting the printed slip onto his dashboard, he grabbed what he called his geek bag. It carried his laptops, tablets, PDAs and a notebook in case he had an analog moment—it happened rarely, but happened nonetheless. He’d even tossed in a tiny LED flashlight and first aid kit because as a self-described geek, he’d used those more often than his notebook.

Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he headed toward the library. It was easy to spot with all of the yellow tape and people scurrying around taking pictures, measurements, doodling on PDAs. Jeff hoped they’d remember he was the one who’d broken the story. He’d placed the calls.

He’d left his job as the assistant to an assistant’s assistant to see if this would pan out. With inside information from Liz, he would really blow the lid off this puppy. Get in all the big journals, explode onto the scene and hit the big time.

But something felt wrong. As he got up to the building, an older man stomped toward two people holding cameras.

“Who sent you?” he shouted. “The building is closed for construction. There’s nothing to see here.”

With the look of furor in the fellow’s eyes, Jeff decided not to approach. Besides, according to Liz’s pictures, there was much more to see on the backside of the building anyway.

As Jeff circled, the grumpy fellow’s voice blasted up in volume a few times in a gnarly rage. He was probably someone important like a chancellor or someone. But still, didn’t he understand how monumental this could be for California history?

Once around the corner, Jeff stopped and stared upward, understanding firsthand what Liz had photographed. Wow. Herringbone. Jeff chuckled as his imagination conjured a group of Saxons or Normans erecting a tower.

Wait a minute. Tower. Jeff went back around to the front of the building. It was D-shaped on either side of the wide front door.

And it looked more like a gatehouse from a thirteenth century castle. Like one of the big ones that Edward I did in North Wales. Harlech Castle or even one of the town wall gates of Conwy.

Jeff swallowed hard. What had Liz discovered? More importantly, how was he going to get back in her good graces so he could get into that library? Wait. It had to be a folly like the one at Penryhn.

Reith University was started in the nineteenth century when fake castles were all the rage. Maybe some eccentric builder had a fascination with castles. But still. Follies usually had more windows. And what was this thing doing in California?

“Please, sir, you need to leave.” A somewhat familiar-sounding woman’s voice came from behind him.

He spun around to face her. “Liz Spencer?” Jeff really wished he’d planned a good conversation for when he saw her because she was absolutely gorgeous and he was instantly afraid he’d trip over his tongue—figuratively and literally. Her green eyes, although studying him with frustration, were alight with intelligence. There was more than just a light on in her attic—there was a whole party going on in there. And from the venom her eyes registered, that whole party was a hunting party, ready to spear and ponask him.

“Jeff Wenkanson. You— You—” Arms crossed just beneath her heaving—and full—breasts. “I asked you to keep quiet about this.”

Damn, she was foxy when she was upset…all fiery and ready to rip his head off. Wow. While that turned him on, he obviously turned her off. Jeff stepped back and shook his head, reminding himself that he better come up with something good to say or he’d never be able to push inside and see the cubbyhole. She honestly looked hurt underneath all that anger.

“Liz. I—I—I’m sorry.” And jeepers creepers, he wasn’t kidding.

“Sorry isn’t good enough, Jeff. I trusted you. I thought because you had the same interests I did, that you’d understand.” She gritted her teeth, then continued. “Just go home, Jeff. There’s nothing to see here anymore.”

But she didn’t walk away.

And Jeff couldn’t bring himself to back away either. He stood there in dumbfounded silence, cursing himself for alerting so many people before he’d seen the place in person. He’d had no idea this many people would show up. They really were everywhere. It was further testament to how big this discovery could be, but as he stood there face to face with Liz, he wished he could rewind time and take back the calls he’d made.

Liz closed her glassy eyes and took a deep breath. Reopening them, she gritted her teeth again, her gaze begging him for help.

Jeff opened his mouth to say he was going to leave, especially because he’d betrayed her trust, but different words came out instead. “Look, you know as well as I do that this is huge and could change both of our careers…or break them. I didn’t come here to screw everything up. Honest. If it’s any consolation, I didn’t tell anyone about the leather.”

She dropped her arms. “Just don’t, okay?”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“Lot of good that’ll do me.” She shrugged.

“Shit. I know. I’m sorry.”

“Show me.”

Jeff had no idea what to make of that. “Show you?”

“Make all these people go away. Get them out of my life before they completely ruin it.”

“Ruin it?” Jeff shook his head. “I was thinking more like they could get to the bottom of this and make us out to be heroes.”

“I want everyone to leave me alone.”

“I—I can’t move mountains. They’re engineers and researchers and all sorts of geeks. I can no sooner tell them to leave than have the building demolished. You know they’d just dig it back up again.”

“Look, Jeff. I appreciate your help in dating the leather, but can you please just go away? I’ve got enough to deal with. And before you ask me for the umpteenth time, there is no more leather. And what you saw in the pictures is all I know.” She let out a hard breath.

There had to be more going on than she was admitting. There had to be. He felt it, but didn’t know what to do about it. About her. He wanted to help somehow, but how?

“Liz, did you notice that there was a pattern in the gold on the edge of the piece you gave me. Did you see that? If we can identify it, maybe we can find out what family owned it, maybe who put it in the wall. Who knows what else? Between what the two of us know, we can crack this thing.”

“I’m at my wit’s end. Y’know…I…I don’t know why I’m talking to you anymore. You sold me out, Jeff, and I am so done with this whole thing. I don’t want to know how old anything is anymore. I don’t care at all as a matter of fact. Let it be 3000 BC for all I care.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

She was about to walk away, but hesitated. Her eyes registered a pushing-pulling like she was just as unsure as he was if she should stay or go.

Jeff didn’t know what else to say. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask what made her change her mind about her discovery, but he refrained. How could she no longer care about something she was so excited about… “Liz, can we go somewhere and talk? Not about the library or the leather, either.”

“No, Jeff. We can’t. I’m sorry.” Liz turned on her heel and went toward the building, skirting around researchers as she made her way inside.

Why the hell did he want to run after her? To find out what else was going on in her life? And why did he care so much about her that he’d practically forgotten the reason he’d come to that town—the damn cubbyhole and all the illuminated manuscripts in the Osric Collection?

Jeff sighed. Turning around, his gaze caught on the fence and then focused beyond it to another building on the other side. There was scaffolding up to a damaged part of the outer wall. More stone.

In a herringbone pattern.

 

* * *

 

Tayna turned another page in the old book. Because Liz’s table had come apart, it had been a lot easier to get it down into the super-secret room.

The closest chair had been one from the kitchen and Tayna’s ass would surely regret sitting on hardwood all night without a cushion, but this stuff was fascinating. Only the later books were written in English. And a lot still mentioned things that she didn’t understand no matter the language. The handwriting changed every forty years or so. Was this an alternate history that various authors continued throughout the years?

Tayna propped her head on her hand. Poring over a page describing how wonderful the garden in the backyard used to be, the words started going out of focus. She readjusted the reading lamp she’d brought down from the parlor and plugged in to the droplight.

Without the mystic web, getting in and out of the room was no problem. The book had given specific instructions for dissolving the web and like magic—wink, wink—Tayna had cleared the hallway.

This magic shit was her bread and butter. Reading how some of her ancestors practiced—some of their rituals and spells made Tayna wish her parents had told her about all this. Hell, if she’d known Grandma Violet might have been into this stuff, Tayna would’ve tried to talk about it. Then again, Grandma Violet’s ghost still haunted the place. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

The book currently holding Tayna’s attention was one of the youngest. It had more about gardening and healing than anything else. There were bits here and there about the Rede, but not enough to piece together where it could be or even what it looked like. The later authors weren’t as big on drawing pictures as the early ones were.

Once words were completely blurry, Tayna closed the book and yawned. Her body was done, but her mind still reeled with intrigue. There was book after book about ancestors she never knew she had, things in the town that weren’t familiar and tons of great little spells and bits to explore later. She replaced the book onto the shelf from whence it came.

Shaking some sleep from her weary brain, she went over to the crystals and rocks. The amethyst pyramid caught her attention, but right now, she was too tired to do anything more than accidentally turn herself into a toad with the darn rock.

Something simpler…the clear crystal ball. About five inches in diameter and perched on a stand made of wood, the ball seemed her best bet for a window into the past. Maybe it still held energy from the last person who used it.

Grasping only the base, Tayna brought the setup to her worktable and sat down in front of the crystal orb. It felt ridiculous, but even through fatigue, this shit was fascinating.

Waving her hand over the ball, she focused her attention within it, and then rested her hands on either side. Tayna gazed into the core of the crystal. Wow. The thing was alive with energy. Too much, in fact. It was difficult to concentrate and the images were not only incredibly vivid, but far too plentiful, scrolling by at a crazy clip. She tried to grab an image and decipher it, but every one of them flew too fast.

But she wasn’t giving up. Hell no. Not while this close to making sense of chaos.

Finally, she caught one of a man holding a crystal shard. Yes! She couldn’t see his face, but he was dark-haired and reasonably tall compared to the altar he was using as a worktable. Lots of bowls were spread out. It looked like he was trying to choose ingredients for something. She’d done that a million times for her little spells before.

Was this guy some kind of sorcerer? Then again, who cares? He was wearing modern clothes. Tayna wanted to see something historical. Some knights in battle or a gentleman helping a lady into a carriage. Not this guy. Yawn.

“Tayna?!” Liz shuffled into the room. “What the hell are you doing?” She motioned to the crystal ball.

“I was…ummm…It’s not important.” Tayna blinked rapidly, trying to readjust to the lack of light on Liz. “What the hell are you doing down here?”

Liz finally walked within the lamp’s sphere of light and Tayna got a good look at her. Something was wrong. Not on the outside, though. She looked fine. Oddity pressed against Tayna’s solar plexus and linked toward her friend. “Liz, you okay, sweetie? You look like hell.”

“I feel like hell, too.” Liz didn’t look up. She was fascinated by the crystal ball. “The library’s being invaded by geeks right now. The guy who did the carbon-dating showed up, too.”

Tayna shook her head, trying to refocus. It didn’t work so she stood and leaned against the table. “Geeks and guys. Not a good combination. I mean, other than you, I never knew a geek I liked.”

When Liz’s gaze met Tayna’s there was an understanding. No words needed to be spoken. They were written all over Liz’s face.

Tayna filled it in for her. “You like him, don’t you?” The oddity dissipated.

“No. He fucked everything up.”

Tayna let out a good hearty laugh, bringing blood flowing back through her veins, re-energizing her. “But you like him. You think he’s cute or smart or something. You like him. What was his name? Jeff? Don’t try to deny it. You like the attention. His attention.”

Liz put her hands up in supplication. “No, Tayna. Don’t you get it? Attention is bad right now. Chancellor Higgins was through the roof because of all the people everywhere. I just hope that Kyre Osric doesn’t find out about all of this.”

“So what if he does. Big deal. Let the poor little rich boy worry. Besides, you’ll have Jeff to console you if anything goes wrong. I bet he wanted a piece of you. Was he cute?”

“Dammit, Tayna. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry right now.”

“You know my answer to that, girlygirl.” Tayna put an arm around her best friend and squeezed. “Wait. I know just the thing to take your mind off everything.” Tayna steered Liz over to the bookshelves.

As she neared, Liz stopped. “W-What are those?” She looked around, taking in the whole room. “What the hell is all this stuff?”

Tayna didn’t answer. Truthfully, she didn’t quite know how. It seemed more fitting to just pull a book from the shelf and open it to any random page. One from the bottom shelf would probably make Liz’s eyes bug out.

“950,” Tayna said, thrusting the open book toward Liz, an illumination of a man stepping through a stream on one page, large letters on the other.

“950?” Liz took the book. Then ran over to the table and set the book down under the light. “Holy shit.”

Now that was more like it. And very easy. Liz was completely lost in the pages while Tayna stood back, arms folded, pleased with herself. “Yeah, holy shit is right. Can you read any of that?”

Liz studied it. “It looks like Latin. I’m getting a few words. The author is talking about fording a stream just like the illumination shows. I don’t know what this is about, though. I—I—I don’t even know what to say.”

Tayna chuckled. “Then don’t say anything. Just read. They get easier as the date gets higher.”

Liz’s head shot up and whipped toward the book wall, her eyes squinting with the lighting change. “Is that—? All of those—?” She didn’t wait for an answer, approaching the books with newfound wonder.

“Yep. Just close your eyes and pick one. I’ve been doing it all night.”

It was fun to watch Liz scrutinize the books, her nose only a few inches away from each spine. She was truly speechless. It was great. She was like a kid in a candy store who’d just been handed a fifty-dollar bill and didn’t know where to start.

“Are these the real deal?” Liz turned around and put her hands on her hips. “Or are you just fucking with me?”

“Honestly, Liz, I’m not fucking with you. And really, I don’t know what they are. They appear to be chronicles of year after year with a bunch of different authors. I mean really, I only know two things about them: jack and shit.”

Liz pulled a book, brought it back to the table and opened it.

“What number?” Tayna followed.

It was open to a catastrophic illumination, but Liz flipped it closed, holding the page while looking at the cover. “1312.” Then reopened it as Tayna knelt on the floor and rested her head on the tabletop.

There was a group of people standing on one side of a tidal wave and avalanche. A woman in the center held a big fat book in one arm, her other hand raised. The avalanche and water crashed down on another group of people with animals circling them. Mostly cattle and sheep, but dogs and cats, too.

From the look of fascination on her face, Liz must have been able to read some of the words. Tayna kept silent, afraid to blow Liz’s concentration.

After what felt like an eternity—but was probably only a minute or two—Liz finally spoke. “You remember history class when the teacher talked about how the Northwest Passage didn’t really exist?”

“Okay, whatever.” Not really, but Tayna could pretend.

“It did. And these people…” She pointed to the group with the lady holding the book. “These people closed it.”

“And this is supposed to mean what to me?”

“It may not mean much to you, but y’know that scrap of leather from the damn book that some thief ran off with?” Liz pointed to the woman again. “That book is this book.”

Tayna didn’t know what to say.

Liz closed the volume. “Can I take this home?”

An eerie feeling of urgency grasped Tayna’s belly. “I don’t think it should leave this room.”

“You’re right. It probably shouldn’t. Hell, as much as I should keep trying to figure them out, I really shouldn’t either. If Jeff asks too many questions, I might end up giving him answers.” Liz stood up and replaced the book. “And you need to get some sleep. I should just go. Yeah. I’m gonna go home and maybe take a nice long bath and try to forget today. Yeah.”

Tayna laughed. Liz looked deranged. The same kind of deranged she was when she found out she’d gotten the job at the library. Delusional, but content to take the next step in her life whatever it might be. Grabbing Liz’s shoulder, Tayna steered her out of the super-secret room. “That sounds wonderful, Liz. You do that. I’m gonna get some sleep.”

Liz took a big deep breath. “Yeah, you need it.” She nodded. “Wow. What a day. I’ll call you later or something.”

They went to the front door.

“I know.” Tayna smiled. Hell, Liz would probably call later and ask if the whole super-secret room was a dream she’d had. “See ya later.”

“Yeah, later.” Liz closed the door behind her.

And Tayna used the last of her strength to keep from collapsing right there on the tile. It looked so comfortable…

 

* * *

 

Andrea was really looking forward to dinner tonight for some reason. All day, she’d been thinking about spaghetti. No sauce. Just olive oil, garlic and maybe a few other spices. Essentially, whatever smelled good in her spice rack.

As she headed up the walkway to her apartment, her purse slipped off her shoulder and tangled with the bag of bath goodies she’d gotten at work. Liz would probably like a good long relaxing bath at some point and Andrea had needed to replenish her home stock.

Once inside her apartment, she dumped everything on a kitchen chair, her cell phone tumbling out of her purse and crashing onto the floor.

“Gah!” Andrea picked it up and ran a finger over the newly-scratched corner. Oh well. It couldn’t look like new forever. She set it on the chair next to her purse, her stomach already intent on a nice home-cooked dinner.

Hopefully Liz liked spaghetti, too.

Andrea grinned. She could already smell the pasta cooking. What was it about spaghetti today? Yummy, yummy, yummy.

As she opened the big cupboard below the stove, the doorbell rang. Andrea paused. Who on Earth could that be? She had half a mind to ignore it and get dinner going, but what if it was important? Or maybe someone for Liz. Maybe dropping off a package or something.

Andrea tiptoed to the door so whoever it was wouldn’t know she was home in case she didn’t want to answer. Silently, she peered through the peephole.

And couldn’t believe who was standing outside.

Why was Kyre Osric at her doorstep?

He didn’t know she was there, did he? Andrea tried to pull away, but something kept her in place, watching him through the peephole. His dark stare held her gaze through the tiny hole.

What an attractive man.

Andrea tried again to pull away, but her shoes seemed glued to the floor. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

Was he finally there to ask her out on a date?

Maybe. How did he know where she lived? Goose bumps broke out on her arms.

One hand on the lock, she slid it open, then cursed herself. Now he knew someone was home. She pushed against the door, fighting the urge to open it. The burning desire to remove the door from between them. Her emotions battled. Her body told her to open the door and run into his arms, her mind demanded she replace the lock and go hide under her bed.

Swaying the battle in favor of opening the door, he knocked this time. Politely. Andrea blinked tightly before reopening and refocusing through the peephole. Kyre’s gaze washed over her again, his dark eyes mesmerizing her with mischievous charm. She wished she’d worn something nicer than jeans and a long, flowing, side-slitted shirt. Something with cleavage. Something that would help her score a nice date with him. Maybe go out for some super spicy Indian food? Yum, yum, yummy.

The click of the door handle made Andrea start. What the hell was going on? Why was she opening the door to Kyre Osric?

What the—

No!

She fought to keep it closed, but it was no use. The door was in motion.

But then it jerked to a halt after opening about four inches. Thank goodness for the chain. She must have slid it into place when she’d gotten home—a habit she hadn’t yet broken since Liz had moved in.

Andrea’s heart beat a mile a minute, all the way up into her throat. She swallowed hard, unsure what to say now that she was looking directly at Kyre. Damn, he was beautiful. One of the most gorgeous men she’d ever seen. Strikingly handsome…and with a very charming smile.

“Hello, Andrea.”

“Hi,” she whispered, unwilling to say more.

“I’m sorry to bother you.”

“Th-that’s okay.” She cleared her throat, fighting to get her voice working.

“Are you busy? I could come back later.”

She nodded, but couldn’t get the right words out. Her mouth defied her brain. “I’m not busy at all.” The words felt foreign, like an entirely different language.

Kyre’s gaze again locked with Andrea’s. Something was very wrong. Very, very wrong. But what? Her goose bumps weren’t going away. And why did she want to slam the door on such an incredibly hot date?

Andrea finally got her mouth working. “How did you find me? Why are you here?” In her mind, there was force in her tone, but the words had come out too gentle, sweet and scarily inviting.

The look in his eyes softened. “Lucky guess, perhaps?” Kyre grinned and casually put one hand in the pocket of his charcoal gray slacks. “It’s good to see you.” He seemed so nice, so charming, standing there like a lost puppy looking for a friend.

Andrea smiled. “Good to see you, too.” She mimicked his stance, one hand going into her pocket, her shoulders relaxing. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. Dinner out sounded great. In fact, all day long she’d fantasized about how wonderful it was going to be.

“I’d like to take you to dinner tonight. What do you think about Italian? Maybe some spaghetti a la olio?”

“Oh, Kyre, that sounds positively yummy. Oh yes, please.” Without further hesitation, she closed the door and removed the chain. Spaghetti sounded ten times better than Indian food tonight. Mmmm…spaghetti with herbs—from her spice rack.

Andrea fully realized what she was doing and her hands flew back. But try as she might, the rest of her body wouldn’t move. She couldn’t pull herself away from the door. In fact, her hand grasped the handle and opened it again. What was going on? Why weren’t her mind and body in agreement?

He wasn’t so bad. Best-looking man she’d ever seen, actually. Dinner with him sounded like heaven. She wondered if he was as charming in bed as he was standing there offering his arm for her to take.

With a pleasant grin, she curled her fingers around his bicep. Strong. He was probably a stallion in bed. Maybe the best lay she would ever have. Why the hell was she thinking about having sex with this man? Never in a million years—

The front door magically closed behind her as Kyre led Andrea away.

Mmmm… Dinner was going to be absolutely wonderful. “I love spaghetti.” Andrea dreamily smiled up at him, all her hesitation fading into dark, precious oblivion.

“Of course you do, sweetheart.” Kyre patted her hand. “And so do I.”

Chapter Fourteen

When Liz put her key in the door and turned, nothing happened. Andrea must be home. The door already being unlocked, Liz turned the knob and went in. “Hey Andy, you home?”

There was no response as Liz closed the door. Maybe Andrea went to get the mail or something.

Liz went immediately to the refrigerator and hunted for something quick and easy for dinner.

Settling for a couple hot dogs, she nuked them in the microwave. Maybe Andrea had dinner plans. Or maybe she’d run off with the pizza boy and was so ecstatic she forgot to lock the door. Wouldn’t that be a hoot?

She’d seen Tayna do stuff today that would have gotten her burned at the stake in 1692. Anything was possible.

But Liz didn’t want to dwell on Tayna’s new development. The woman had always been weird. Seeing her with the crystal ball had only confirmed unspoken suspicions. And that whole room… Was that some kind of magical prep room?

Were those books the real thing?

No.

Yes.

No.

“Do I really care?” Liz said aloud after swallowing the last bite of her first hot dog. “No…”

Caring about the books would lead her to investigate them further and what if she ended up blabbing about them to Jeff? What then? Giant inquisition? She’d rather have her toenails pulled off or wear spongy leather boots and have boiling oil poured over them. Or better yet—do that to Jeff.

When they’d talked earlier, she’d struggled not to invite him in. What was that all about? Looking into his green eyes, she’d wanted to share all the details. Like somehow he could help her make sense of them. But darn it, he’d made the whole mess worse. Just carbon-dating the leather had screwed stuff up. Every bit involving him made everything bad. Bad, bad, bad. Jeff was not someone she could trust anymore. With anything. For any reason.

Even when his eyes had pleaded with her to let him help.

Even when she hadn’t found it within herself to walk away from him and completely dismiss how being close to him had made her heart pound.

Damn him. Damn him straight to hell. Liz made a beeline into her room and shimmied out of her shoes while munching on the other hot dog. If she didn’t quit thinking about him soon, there’d be one more geek investigating the hell out of the library, the leather and Tayna’s books.

No, no, no. She shook her head. Whether books and everything else were real or not didn’t matter. Not now. What mattered were the giant piles of boxes around the apartment and getting her life unpacked and in good working order. Tayna’s basement was not important right now.

Licking her fingers after finishing her last hot dog, Liz grabbed a box next to the stack of books and models in her room.

At this point, anything was better than thinking about history, Jeff, the library, all of that crap. Chancellor Higgins had been so furious, he’d shut the whole library to everyone, sending Liz home when she’d tried to help the maintenance guys put tarps over the larger cracks. The man had worked himself up to a gnarly rage.

Served him right for trying to get money out of Kyre Osric without letting him look at the damage first. Tomorrow, hopefully everything would get nearer to normal and she’d get back to work on the Osric Collection.

Dammit. As Liz pulled a few books from her box, she grimaced. There were far too many books in her life at the moment. She closed the box and grabbed another. Arthurian legend and medieval architecture would have to wait. It wasn’t like she had shelves set up yet anyway.

The next box wasn’t as heavy. And hopefully non-book related.

If those books in Tayna’s basement were real, then why were they sealed up for so long? Shouldn’t they be in a museum somewhere?

Dammit, Liz get your mind off books. Would you really want to be by yourself under that creepy house in that freaky room where no one can hear you scream?

Her conscience had a point there. Pulling aside the sweater used as packing material, Liz retrieved her Roman oil lamp. Small, round and with olive branches circling it. Eight hundred or so years ago, it was used for light. Now, after being dug up, it would sit—Liz looked for the best place to put it—next to her bed so that one day she’d fill it with olive oil, add a wick and read by its amber glow before falling asleep.

Back to books. She sighed and went back to her box. Was there anything that wouldn’t bring her back to books?

Griffin figurines reminded her of fairy tales. Lion rampant figurines reminded her of Scottish history, coats of arms, ancestry. Maybe one of Tayna’s ancestors was a reclusive lunatic who was locked down there in the basement with nothing but a stockpile of ink, blank volumes and a good fountain pen. That’s why the handwriting supposedly changed. Yeah, maybe that was it.

Stop thinking about it!

Liz took out all the figurines and arranged them near the closet. At some point, they’d go on furniture, but right now, there wasn’t enough empty space to put them on.

One of the little red ceramic griffins brought a smile to her face. It was the first one she’d bought. Commemorating her discovery of Edward I’s “ring of fire” castles in northern Wales.

She picked up a resin one. That had been when she was really into south Wales and the border with England. Wait a minute. She went back to the box. What happened to her coins? They were just replicas, but she’d collected them from kingdoms who’d minted before 1000 AD.

An old sock jingled. Tayna or Andrea must have had some forethought and put all the coinage in there. Liz reached in and retrieved the contents. She laughed as her tiny pewter bard came out with the coins. That little guy used to study with her during midterms and finals. She’d always figured that if a Celtic people with no written language could remember lengthy stories and sing them, she could write an essay about whatever her teacher fancied and flower it up as her little Celtic bard man would have done a few thousand years ago.

She pulled another box from the pile.

Rusty arrowheads, a stiletto one of her ex-boyfriends had given her for her Renaissance Faire costume, a really old dirk she’d found at an antique store. The guy behind the counter had claimed it’d been in his family for years and was supposedly used at the battle of Bannockburn in 1314. In any case, Liz had fallen in love with it despite its rather well-used condition.

But here in her new room, there simply wasn’t enough space to display all these things. She closed the box and put it under her bed. Maybe when she was more settled in, she’d worry about weaponry and ask Andrea if it was okay to show it off in the living room.

Liz chuckled. It would suck if Andy walked in right now and saw this ton of wicked metal. She’d probably run away with her arms flailing, thinking Liz was some kind of twisted murderer. Poor girl. There was nothing to fear. Just about everything in that box would probably shatter while slicing a stick of butter. Well, except the stiletto, but the only sharpness on that thing was the tip.

Liz had a little scar on her belly to prove it. One year for Ren Faire, she’d tightened her corset a little too much, slid the dagger between her breasts to show it off…and then bent down a little too quickly to fasten her shoes. Ouch. From then on, the stiletto was the very last part added to her costume.

On second thought, she pulled the stiletto from the box and set it near the oil lamp. If some creep tried to break in while she was home, she would be ready for him.

The next box on the pile was easy. Two of her castle models—Rhuddlan and Harlech, English on Welsh soil—were nestled together.

Rhuddlan Castle had started off as a Welsh establishment, but Edward I took it and rebuilt its defenses. When Liz had first read about it, she’d wondered about its transition. That area of north Wales had been inhabited by so many people. Tribes of Celts built hill forts nearby, the Romans took some of the settlements, various Welsh princes had control at one point or another.

That last stand of the Welsh against the mighty force of Edward I must have been incredible. And Rhuddlan Castle was laid out more as a diamond with the gatehouse on a corner rather than in the middle of a wall. It seemed harder to take because it was easier to defend.

Liz shook her head. She was off in the thirteenth century again just looking at her castle models and couldn’t help but wonder if Tayna’s lunatic ancestor fantasized about history as much. Did the author of the books make up fantastic stories or write down what he or she actually saw?

Wouldn’t that be fun? Liz looked at her clock and was instantly shocked. She’d been in lala-land unpacking her treasures for hours. Then again, that was why she’d kept everything—to escape the present real world for a while.

Satisfied with her progress on the dwindling pile, Liz opened another box and grinned because its contents gave her a great idea. Bubble bath and soaps.

She wasted no time trucking the box into the bathroom and turning on the bathtub faucet.

 

* * *

 

With a swift burst of thought, Kyre lit all the candles in his basement workroom as he led his beautiful Andrea down the stairs.

She’d remained eerily quiet on the way to his house. Her tenacious spirit tested his strength and willpower. Before reaching home, she’d let go of his arm three times. He’d steered her back to him, but something about the woman had his senses in disarray, threatened his focus. He’d become very protective of her, yet didn’t understand why.

“Have a seat, Andrea.” He aimed her toward a brushed aluminum chair in the middle of the room, facing away from the altar worktable.

She considered the chair, then defiantly glowered up at him. Feisty little lady. The depths of her blue eyes were devoid of vivacity save one tiny spark. His force ran through her deeply, but he couldn’t reduce her fire to embers. No matter. In due time, he’d tap into that part of her, too.

With a small mental burst, he persuaded her to sit down. A grimace tightened her lips and then receded at his urging. She was a great choice for transformation. Lots of spunk to work with.

Considering Andrea for a moment, her spark concerned him. But a length of silk would solve that problem before it happened.

From the holding area near the door, he retrieved some silk scarves—tame compared to the trunk’s contents. “Which ones do you like? What’s your favorite color?” The bright squares of fabric floated almost weightlessly as he brought them to her.

“I like green.”

Kneeling behind her, Kyre reached forward and took her left wrist and bound it to the chair using the green one.

“Stop it.” Andrea pulled her right wrist away from Kyre’s grasp, then under his suggestion, relaxed. “I like yellow.”

After securing her to the chair, Kyre stood, his heart gnawed by a strange grief. But was its origin his or a reflection of Andrea’s? Through all of their linked inner turmoil, it was difficult to discern where he ended and she began.

“I’m really hungry. I thought we were going to dinner.”

He felt her internal struggle for control, but wouldn’t relinquish it completely because he needed her. All of her. “We’ll have dinner a bit later. Right now, I need to prepare it.” Kyre headed to his worktable. There were three more ingredients to choose.

“Home cooked? I thought we were going out? The candlelight is nice, but this is a strange restaurant. It reminds me of a steakhouse except those aren’t hunting rifles on the wall. Are those real swords? Yikes. Strange place.”

“Please, Andrea. I’ll tend to your needs in a moment. I’m a terrible host, but allow me time to prepare and I shall be your willing servant.”

“Mmmmm…I love you already.”

Her words had him whipping around, blood rushing through his veins. Stalking toward her, he searched her mind for their meaning. Did she have any control over herself?

If only her words were already true…

She sighed. “Okay, I’ll shut up now. You need silence. I’ll give that to you.”

He stopped in his tracks, formulating a reply, but refrained. She was babbling senselessly and wasn’t conscious of her words. He locked his mind with hers, hoping to ease her into relinquishing complete control to him, make her trust that there was nothing and no one to fear.

Back at his table, he set out five apples. Waving a hand over them, he searched for the one with the most intrinsic power. Closing his eyes, he waved again. This time, one overflowed with life. He palmed it before opening his eyes.

The apple was small and variegated in color. He set it near the crystal shards and lengths of fabric he’d spent the day choosing—over a day, now.

“Kyre?” Andrea shattered the silence and nearly his patience. “I hate to ask, but what’s for dinner? Is there even a stove in this room? If I’m going to set the table, I need to use my hands. They’re stuck.”

“Please, sweetheart. I’m almost ready for you. Just one more minute.” Intent on making a quick selection before Andrea interrupted again, Kyre laid out sprigs of sage. Once his hand was in motion, she stirred, shaking her chair, clumsily scuttling it along the cement floor.

Pulling his hand away from the sage, he aimed his fingers toward the restless female. With a spark of energy, her chair glued itself to the floor. “Please, sweetheart. I’m trying to concentrate.”

“But I’m hungry,” Andrea whined and it tore at his heart. She wilted, slouching uncomfortably sideways. Poor woman. It didn’t look like an act and watching her wither broke him up pretty good.

Kyre returned his gaze to the worktable. From the discarded apples, he chose the largest and then walked over to the weapons wall to grab a dagger.

When he turned toward her and began slicing the apple, she screamed as though under a vicious attack. Sharp wailing assaulted his mental connection with her, ringing in his mind, scrambling his intentions, nearly making him drop the apple and dagger.

To rescue his senses from her painful overload, he lashed out trying to silence her without killing the damn sweet, innocent rose. She was divinely beautiful.

Using a charge of mental energy, he stole the scream from her throat. Turning the sound back on itself, he sent it down into her abdomen until she ceased, frightened by the strange sensation.

His heart sank. Her eyes registered such terror and shock that he considered releasing her. Why was she so afraid of him? Why couldn’t she understand that he would never hurt her? “Hush, sweetheart. You’ll be okay.” But would he? This wasn’t supposed to be so difficult. This wasn’t supposed to soften his resolve.

Kneeling next to her, he finished slicing the apple, pushing aside the anguish he felt from her. “There’s no need to be afraid, Andrea.”

“Don’t kill me. Please.” Her glassy blue eyes pleaded.

Kyre looked down at the dagger. The blade. It was the reason for much of her fear. He laid it on the floor and slid it out of reach. A wave of relief surged as her gaze followed the dagger. Kyre intensified that feeling, hoping to benefit from the artificial push, too.

Sharing her feelings through his connection, Kyre sent reassurance, offering it as a precious gift. “I would never dream of killing you, sweetheart. I swear I don’t have it in me.”

Intuitively, he felt some of her fear subside, reverberating through her mind and down her body. If only there were an easier way to keep her calm and steady. If only she trusted him. If only…

She will. Soon, in fact. And he needed to stop worrying. Damn it. What had gotten into him?

Holding a slice of apple to her lips, he urged her to take a bite. She was apprehensive at first, but hunger outweighed fear.

As she bit into the next slice, Kyre’s gaze locked on her reddened lips. Soon he could take possession of them. Soon she would be his. Soon he would have everything he’d ever wished for in a companion—a lover and friend combined. Andrea would be his soul mate. Soon.

He took his time feeding her the apple. Right now, she wouldn’t look at him, but he’d change that. She’d be in love with him and he’d never have to be lonely ever again. They’d spend every waking moment together, anxious to talk about how nice the weather was or read to each other from a seventeenth-century copy of Romeo and Juliet.

After she finished the last slice, Kyre backed away, afraid to continue his reverie in case his changing process didn’t work on her. In case she accidentally ended up like VooDoo.

Kyre’s heart panged at the thought of potential failure again. “I’m almost ready. You should sleep.” Andrea was amazing already. Tweaked to perfection, she’d love him forever. Make up for all of his losses.

“But I—”

“You’ll be okay. I promise.” He patted her silky, spun-gold hair.

Before she could muster enough strength to fight him, he focused on only Andrea, suppressing her consciousness despite all of her fighting. A wave of guilt rushed over him. He raised his attack, working through her emotions as they mingled with his, forcing himself to shove beyond them.

But the guilt lingered, clouding Kyre’s take on who Andrea really was. What the hell was up with her? It was like she charmed him whenever he was near. He hadn’t felt an ounce of guilt during this same process with VooDoo. Andrea had a certain magic that drew Kyre in and prevented him from acting on the most violent of his primal desires for her.

Instead of molding her, he wanted to climb inside and get lost in her sweetness.

Wait. What? Where the hell did all that come from? The chaotic emotion swirling within his link to her seemed unnatural. Like she’d forced herself upon him, not the other way around. What was that about? Would it end up hindering the change?

That was ridiculous. Kyre sighed deeply, breathing out emotion, breathing in strength and restoring domination over her mind…as well as his. No one could steal control from him. Nothing could overpower him, least of all a woman!

A sad whisper floated, lightly echoing in the room. “I don’t want to die…” Andrea began to cry.

Without looking at her, Kyre felt the tears hot against her cheeks. Her anguish drew him to her, but he resisted. Resisted running to her, taking her into his arms, assuring her that everything would be okay…

Damn the witch straight to hell where she came from.

Kyre gritted his teeth and ignored her cries. She’d learn to be quiet or suffer. His intent wasn’t malicious, but how does one explain that to a person who neither understood nor practiced magic?

It grew increasingly difficult to hold mastery of her while delineating the innate power in the objects for the process. But he sorted out the sage and telekinetically moved the un-chosen leaves to the holding area near the door. Damn woman. How dare she interfere?

Nothing could hinder his progress. Nothing. Least of all a witch. Her cries were in vain, their sound now erased before reaching his ears. Only one more ingredient left before the real fireworks could begin. Before he could release the mind link and have her as putty in his hands.

Kyre laid out sprigs of rosemary and tuned in. Easy as pie. The last ingredient was within his grasp. And dear, sweet Andrea could rest easy knowing his attention was now fully on her.

Step one was to steal Andrea’s essence and deposit it in the onyx bowl on the worktable. From there he would cleanse her body and then build her essence into all that he needed her to be.

But if he didn’t get her under soon and kept waxing poetic about how beautiful their lives would be together, he’d never accomplish anything.

Damn woman, calm the fuck down or I might end up killing you! Kyre sent the words directly to Andrea’s mind, her responding emotions be damned.

The witch’s internal cries increased in volume with heart-wrenching dread.

Turning toward her, Kyre raised his arms high as he began the chant. “Clarity of mind. Clarity of spirit. By my power, let her soul extract.”

Her sobbing tapered as he continued. “Clarity of mind. Clarity of spirit. By my power, let her soul extract.”

Her shimmering essence began its path toward submission as he carried the spell onward.

Perhaps he wouldn’t need the Rede after all.

 

* * *

 

Sleeping a few hours during the day once Liz left, then studying all night hadn’t exactly done wonders for alertness, but Tayna wasn’t about to give up. There had to be something useful in those damn Chronicles.

Or at least some fun little incantation to play with. Spells for lighting candles and sweeping floors were easy. A couple books offered stronger alternatives, but even so, they were still ones she knew—actions she could already telekinetically perform. She wanted something bigger and a zillion times more interesting than house cleaning.

After a long drink of water, Tayna left the kitchen and went back down into the basement, ready to take on the Chronicles some more. It was after midnight. Living nocturnally would have to do until she cracked the damn books. Besides, there weren’t any windows down there. If she trained her brain well enough, it would never figure out that she should be asleep.

Once facing the books, Tayna pulled out 1790 and flipped through its pages. One of the illustrations jogged her memory of a different volume. But which one?

What year had the battle that looked like it was between three groups of people? It wasn’t clear who everyone was and the illustration wasn’t captioned, but where the hell was it?

Leaving 1790 open, Tayna went back to the shelf and pulled 1845. She distinctly remembered that one because it had details about what was planted in the garden and oddly enough, not much had changed.

Flip, flip, flip, page after page after page. Nothing. Tayna went through four more books before finding a match. Curiosity wasn’t sure why it was so important, but instinct put her on a mission to find every instance.

As she flew through more books, they stacked up on her table, open to the proper pages. Five books had a variation on the battle, no caption and no reference to it in the text. She scratched her head…and then shook it to force away sleep. Intuitively, she guessed she was done, but at this point, the act of being “done” meant zilch if it wasn’t obvious what she was looking for.

To free up some workspace—and kill time while she pondered the damn drawing, Tayna replaced the six other books that didn’t match.

Intuition must have been malfunctioning because her mind drew a blank. She received zero audio input and no extrasensory perception or visions on the subject. None of the books tingled as she ran her fingertips over them, either. Ugh.

“I know I’ve got the books out. Anyone care to tell me what to do next?” Tayna called out, breaking the silence. “Ancestor here, ancestor there? Anyone? Anyone haunting at the moment? Help?”

No response.

“Hello? Should I give up and go to sleep? Anyone? Clues please…I’m lost here.”

Tayna went back to the table and laid out the books in order by date. They spanned sixty years. The earlier showing a vague portrayal of the battle, the later showing increasingly more specific details—such as two of the groups having varying degrees of darker skin than the third.

“I’m still not getting it. What the hell am I looking at and why does it feel so important? Anyone?” Tayna looked around the room. “Shit. Am I really alone down here?”

It was hard to believe, but none of the usual ghostly presences were responding. Upstairs, there was always someone offering his or her two cents whether they be a dead cat or some oblivious servant still serving iced tea to invisible employers. Somebody always chimed in, said a few words, blew her skirt up, pointed her at a wall. But down here, right now, she got zero.

Tayna shook her head. “I know I’m on to something but I don’t know what. Maybe gust some wind at me. Make something glow. Hell, point me out the door and I’ll forget about the whole thing and get some sleep.” She shrugged. “I know I don’t know jack about history, but here’s your chance to teach me something. Did you write all these books for nothing?”

Aha! Finally Tayna’s directional sense came alive, pulling her head first toward the shelves of rocks, her solar plexus coming alight with positive energy. Thank goddess. Closing her eyes, she let her hand be lifted toward the shelves. Bingo! Her fingers curled around wood. Was it the base of the crystal ball?

Her eyes sprung open. “Yes! Thank you! Sorry I didn’t think of it sooner.” Shit, scrying should have been her first choice especially since the ball was so active before. Dumb, dumb, dumb.

Tayna cleared enough space on the table to accommodate the ball as well as the open books. Once seated, she cleared her thoughts and relaxed her shoulders, letting all tension dissipate before focusing her gaze into the ball.

Images flew through it at an alarming rate, making separating them far too difficult. With a blast of energy, her mind lashed out, snatched an image and quickly worked to decipher it before it got away.

A battle scene.

Arrows, bullets, axes, muskets, horses.

But then it jerked out of Tayna’s grasp. Gritting her teeth, she tried to catch it again.

Dark eyes, feathers, long dark hair, leather, brown canvas.

Gone again.

What the fuck was up with her that imagery kept escaping? Her hand fisted. The array was not only too strong, but too fast. She couldn’t slow it down enough to get any useful information. And it was starting to drain her resources, not to mention frustrate her. So close, but so damn out of reach. She smacked the table, jarring the books and tottering the ball. “Gah!”

Concentrating anew—before she broke something—Tayna made the tough decision to let the battle go and try grabbing a different image. Something to learn from or at least understand before the aggravation became overwhelming.

Eyes wide, her mind lashed out. Heat grew at the base of her skull.

A river deep in a canyon.

“Big deal. Show me something interesting. I’m not in the mood for a boring nature hike.”

Then an avalanche tumbled into the river.

Animals scrambled out of the way. Some got stuck and stoned to death. Tayna closed her eyes when the rocks encroached on what looked to be weary travelers in covered wagons. Ouch. Her spine became electric, jolts spidering up over her scalp like lightning. Payment for this scrying crap bit…hard.

After a deep breath, she opened her eyes again, grateful that the great outdoors had disappeared. This time, a candlelit room—with a high ceiling—filled the ball, but pulling all the details from the mist was too difficult because of the massive exertion required to hold the image steady.

A man stood at one end. His hands were busied with something on the altar in front of him. And he looked like that dark-haired dude Tayna had seen the other day, but he was dressed in modern black clothes this time. Strange. Why the hell was she getting imagery of this guy again?

A collection of leaves whizzed toward Tayna’s window of view before disappearing. Sage? Fuzzy and sort of silvery, some of the leaves were variegated. They really looked like sage, but at such high velocity, they could’ve been anything.

Wait a minute. The guy was some kind of magic user. And a powerful one if he could move loose objects telekinetically and keep them from deflecting all over the freakin’ place. Damn. If she wasn’t cleaning, her adventures in telekinesis mostly made bigger messes. This guy must have been pretty damn good.

But why was he so important? What was he working on? He dinked with another pile of greenery. Tayna wished for a zoom knob. If she could see all the stuff on the table, she might know the spell he was prepping. It looked like a complicated concoction for a ritual or some other ceremony. Nobody would pile up that much crap if they weren’t using it for something big.

As he picked up a branch, the image jerked and disappeared like an old-fashioned television losing signal. The ball was empty and Tayna’s heart dropped, mimicking the void. She stood up so fast her chair fell over. More zaps of lightning whipped over her skin, tingling with eerie urgency, building a scream in her throat.

Someone, somewhere was in trouble and this guy was causing it.

Running purely on adrenaline, Tayna ran to the shelves and pulled tiger-eye, malachite and a dirk with a jeweled hilt. She didn’t know what she was about to do with them, but instinct was guiding her and in it, she had complete faith.

As she brought the items back to the table, the books fluttered, opening and closing, pages shuffling. One by one, each stilled and Tayna swallowed hard. What the fuck was all that about?

Oh well, whatever. Her nerves began calming as she scrutinized the books. They no longer displayed the illustration. This time their pages revealed poetry or…a broken spell perhaps? Hot damn.

A few words graced each page, but read in succession from the oldest to the new, they amassed a crude semblance of order.

To attain interference, assemble green patience, eye of cat and sharpness of will. Then shall you begin your quest.

“My quest? What?” Tayna glanced down at the stuff she’d collected and chuckled. Damn, it felt good. “At least I got the ingredients right. But what the hell am I supposed to do with them?” She aimed her words toward the books, but that felt like the wrong direction. She righted her chair, sat down and spoke toward the crystal ball. “Attainment achieved, seeking further direction.”

And my sanity as well. I seem to have lost it somewhere in the shuffle.

The ball remained empty, but the room felt alive, surging with a crackling life all its own. This was why Tayna loved magic—the passion it brought to the world around her. She had no idea what the hell she was trying to accomplish, but that never mattered—only that she was on the verge of accomplishing something. This all felt right, but at the same time, her brain stepped in, reminding her that she very well could be a lunatic.

Well, she’d be damned before checking in to the loony bin and as long as she was below ground with no windows, who’d ever find out she was nuts anyway?

Diving back into her…uh…quest, Tayna picked up the tiger-eye, malachite in one hand and the dirk in the other. It all had to make sense sooner or later. Focusing her energy inward, Tayna tested whether she was supposed to absorb the essence of each item or keep everything separate. She didn’t get a clear response.

Without conscious effort, her fists rose and hovered above the crystal ball. One word fell from her mouth. “Interfere.”

Finally, she was on the right track. Tayna steadied her hands while focusing her strength on the proper words to use. Her sixth sense told her that she was halting some form of evil even though she couldn’t tell exactly what it was, how it came about, or what it did.

More words entered her mind, this time forcefully blasting out through her vocal chords, sizzling them with their own sound. “By my power, cease. Halt your extraction and restore the light. Halt your extraction and restore the light. Halt your extraction and restore the light.”

Tayna’s primary sight was blinded. Her mind’s eye fluttered open and closed such that she couldn’t make out what her spell was causing. Her body tightened, constricting her windpipe and shrinking her sense of hearing. Instinct reinforced feelings that she was doing the right thing, accomplishing something good, overpowering something evil.

With hardened resolve, Tayna focused all of her energy into the spell. Whatever this thing was, it felt immensely powerful and required full concentration.

Her stance weakened, but Tayna forced her hands to stay poised over the ball. The muscles in her arms burned and ached to relax, but she held them fast, invoking every last ounce of her strength.

Suddenly, a peacefulness overcame her, an odd juxtaposition against the violent turmoil as it subsided. She dropped her hands to the table, rocks and dirk spilling near books. The ball glowed green, then gold, then returned to normal as her primary vision recovered and her body seemed to re-inflate now that the constricting pressure had dissipated.

Tayna leaned back in the chair and shook her head. Exhausted. That damn spell took nearly everything out of her, but she felt strangely empowered. Like she’d either unlocked internal power she hadn’t known existed or maybe sucked away some of the wicked energy and turned it positive within herself.

If that was what doing real magic felt like, hot damn, light up the world ‘cause Tayna was on a rampage. She was gonna kick some serious ass even if it killed her!

Chapter Fifteen

Daylight?

None.

It smelled early.

Where was the daylight?

Twisted branches surrounded rough skin. Or was that leather surrounding paper?

New bed companion. Linoleum wasn’t soft and cushiony. Slept three times, but without pillows, the book felt uncomfortable.

Book?

VooDoo jumped up and promptly fell over, scrambling on hands and knees out of his kitchen.

The book was his friend.

His enemy.

It kept him sleeping.

Asked too much.

It used him as a shield.

The book was just a book.

VooDoo slouched against the wall. Looking into the kitchen, the book remained still. In the corner. On the floor. It was silent, but VooDoo remembered in this twilight morning what that book had done to him.

Brought him hope. Tore it away. All for some kind of protection he didn’t know how to offer. It forced images of chaos into his dreams. Nightmaring long into the day, hiding under newsprint, cardboard, cotton knit, denim, VooDoo couldn’t escape the book.

Maybe he didn’t need to.

No.

Control was bad.

Were those cookies? The scent invaded his consciousness like an old friend. VooDoo crawled back into the kitchen. Armored crawlers scurried away as he pulled open the oven door.

Fresh baked chocolate chip cookies. With walnuts today. Why was today special? Plastic didn’t melt when it touched the tray.

The cookies would taste better far away from the book. VooDoo hoarded the cookies—his cookies—into the other room near his bed, and feasted.

As each melted chocolate morsel swished against his tongue, he reminisced about his days as a boy when Mom used to make cookies with sprinkles on top. Maybe she knew what the book had done. She must have followed it somewhere, instead of bringing it home.

The book flew from the kitchen and landed in front of him. Yelping, whimpering, VooDoo dropped his cookies. Hiding his face in his hands, he protectively crumpled.

But the book was warm.

Sweet and warm.

It smelled like apples.

Warm apples.

How did it know that apple pie was food of the gods? VooDoo removed his hands from his face and stared with newfound wonder at the book. The very smart book. His key to finding friends.

It could be his friend.

But his cookies had disappeared. His mind’s eye conjured new ones and he wasted no time scarfing down three more in case they left him alone again.

Warm apples. The book opened to a page full of apples. One word.

Choose.

Choose what? There were five.

Choose. Sammy. Choose.

The words shifted on the page. Swirling, reconfiguring so fast VooDoo’s mind couldn’t keep up. What did it want him to separate? Why did it want to know now?

Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold. Hot.

The last hot one. With a sticky finger, VooDoo touched the last apple. Variegated in color and smaller than the rest. Why did it matter?

Take the book to safety. Tear it apart. Keep it together. The room was empty, but VooDoo sensed activity.

The book stirred. Its pages swayed and flashed green light. Yellow light. Red light. Blue. Something was lost in the blue.

Where did the damn cookies go?

Another page.

Interference.

The extraction stopped, but the feeling was familiar. A ripping motion. Jagged edges and fear. Inconsolability. Change brought forth through cleansing and reassembly had gone awry. Not again. No, not again.

Hide the book. He had to hide the book from all who knew of its existence. Where?

Wait. Who knew? How would anyone know? He had it of his own accord. No one knew.

The book knew. The book had enemies. The book had friends. The book had everything.

Except the proper owner with the right hand. No one could own something as powerful as the book. It guided every action, burned its contents into oblivion.

Bitterness boiled through VooDoo’s veins. He recognized that feeling. He knew it intimately. This book could sit and rot on its own. Let it fall into a pretty cave and disintegrate. Let it bake in hell.

No one knew about it. The book was a figment of his imagination. A figment of the book’s imagination. It didn’t exist outside.

It would stay in VooDoo’s apartment. No one would find it. The crawlers would protect it. Easy. Days would pass without friends.

The book slammed closed then opened once more, causing him to jump back. What this time?

He stalked toward it, wary of its maneuvers. Anticipation grew stronger.

His mind’s eye conjured a small, dark-haired woman with her arms raised.

Interference.

And a familiar man with his arms raised. Kyre. No. Please no.

Cleansing.

White hot terror flooded VooDoo’s senses. Flight. He bolted away from the book.

A wall stopped him cold. He pressed on with all his might, but it held fast. He couldn’t escape the visions in his head. Man and woman. Woman and man. Crossed up. Fighting unknowingly. Danger levels increased through lack of written word. Volume decreased through lack of certain knowledge. VooDoo smacked his head against the wall, trying to clear the wicked waves.

A rift was created, one he couldn’t traverse. He tried. He tried, but the book held him back. The book kept him from release. The book offered release, but the hands were wrong. All wrong. His hands were wrong.

Where were the right hands? He rubbed his eyes, clearing them of tears and cookie dough. His hands didn’t look wrong. They were strong. They were right. But somehow not. They simply were not right. The book—

The damn book.

VooDoo picked himself up and away from the wall. Standing proudly, he straightened his hair and put his wrong hands in his pockets. Approaching the door, he stepped over the book.

It snapped closed.

No more book. No more hands. No more cleansing. No more interference. No more man. No more woman.

No more VooDoo.

He walked out of his apartment, carefully closing the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

Liz yawned as she poured a cup of coffee. Another day of dealing with the library and the zoo it had become. She’d just finished a bizarre phone call with Chancellor Higgins. He’d thanked her for helping. He had never been verbally appreciative before. Today was looking pretty good from this corner of the kitchen.

Stirring in milk and then sugar, Liz leaned against the counter top. The scent of Andrea’s morning coffee usually greeted Liz before she’d even tossed off the covers. Maybe Andrea was working the late shift today and decided to sleep in. Liz grinned between sips. Maybe Andrea’s date went late last night. She was a lucky girl.

Liz took another sip. At least someone was getting some. Inhaling coffee steam, she rejoiced in the warm scent. Heaven. As she stood there in jeans and a T-shirt, she noticed a bag on the kitchen table.

It was from Scentorium. Did Andrea bring home some goodies? Liz grabbed the bag and opened it.

“Holy shit.” There was a ton of stuff in there—trials and testers plus some full bottles of lavender bubble bath and shower gel. All that stuff would’ve been great last night. Once the water had filled the tub, Liz’d discovered all her bath products had leaked out and mixed in on themselves, leaving her with only one pathetic little bath oil ball and a bar of soap. She’d made the best of it, but wow. Too bad she hadn’t seen all this last night.

Liz took the bag into the bathroom as she swigged her coffee. Everything fit neatly under the sink. Closing the cabinet, she stood and set her cup on the counter before pulling a brush from the drawer and doing something about the frizzy mop on her head.

A little hairspray and all was well. She headed back to her room to grab her shoes and socks.

Andrea’s bedroom door was open.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead.” Liz knocked on the doorjamb. “Coffee’s in the—” Her words caught in a laugh. Andrea’s room was empty. The bed was still made. That lucky little devil had slept at some guy’s place last night!

Liz shook her head as she went to her room. Maybe Andy found the man of her dreams. She hadn’t said anything about going on a date. But then again maybe Liz just hadn’t heard her mention it. Yesterday was such a whirlwind.

Ready to head out the door, Liz pulled out her cell phone to give Andrea a call and make sure she didn’t forget about work—with all that passionate sex going on and all, that lucky devil.

With the phone to her ear, Liz headed into the hallway.

A strange buzzing noise came from the kitchen. Liz switched the phone to her other ear. What the hell was that noise?

She went into the kitchen. Andrea still hadn’t picked up. She must still be enjoying—

Liz swallowed hard. The reason Andy hadn’t picked up was because her cell phone was on a kitchen chair, vibrating.

Her keys were next to it.

And her purse.

Cold dread iced Liz’s veins. Hanging up, she ran straight for the door. Why hadn’t she thought to call last night? Why, why, why? Andrea would never leave for the night without locking up the door. Hell, sometimes she even put the chain on it and Liz couldn’t get in without ringing the doorbell. Shit.

Liz flung the front door open with one hand and pressed Tayna’s speed dial number with the other. As soon as she’d stepped onto the porch Bryan blocked her path.

“Not now, Bryan.” Liz listened to Tayna’s phone ringing as she tried to push past Bryan, but he wouldn’t let her go.

“Baby, you’re all I think about.” At least he didn’t smell like hard liquor, just stale beer.

“I don’t have time for this, Bryan.” She heard Tayna’s answering machine pick up, but decided not to leave a message.

“You don’t need time. Just listen.” Bryan’s words weren’t slurred. His reddened eyes reminded her of the mornings she’d found him on the couch after a night of drinking and smoking. “I love you, Liz. I can’t live without you. I wrote a song for you. I even made it slow. Just like you like. It’s got lines from Shakespeare, too…well okay, just a couple words. I didn’t know a whole line. Please, Liz. Come home.”

“How the hell did you find me here?”

“It doesn’t matter, does it? I followed you because I love you and I want you back. I miss you.” He put his hand on her shoulder and she almost gave in. His eyes pleaded. He was always a wreck when things he cared about hadn’t gone his way. And she’d always wanted to help him. “I need you.”

She shrugged him off and tried to get past again. “Bryan, go home. You don’t belong here.”

“No, you don’t belong here. You belong with me.”

“Wrong, Bryan. I belong with someone who can hold a conversation. And—and a job. And someone smart enough to know when enough is enough and go away.” Liz matched his gaze and mustered her strength.

“I’ll do anything for you, Liz.”

“Don’t do anything for me, do it for yourself. When I see your name on a marquee somewhere, I’ll knock on the backstage door, but until then, get out of my way and leave me alone. I have bigger things to deal with than a drunken pothead.”

“Is that what you think of me?” Bryan dejectedly paused long enough for Liz to sneak by. He followed as she headed to her car. She almost felt guilty for telling him the truth straight up, no chaser, but maybe he needed to hear it that way because he’d never listened before. The words had never sunk in.

“Yes, Bryan, that is what I think. Now get out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours.” Liz unlocked her car. “Go take all this good emotion and write another song. Put everything in words and music and make something of it. I know you can, so go and show me you can do it. Go.”

Bryan stood there, speechless, as Liz got into her car and started the engine. When her eyes met his, she knew he’d heard her. Pain crept into her heart. But so did hope. If he did get his name on a marquee, she’d come see his show. That was what she’d wanted from him their whole time together. She’d wanted to see him succeed at what he loved, just as she’d succeeded at what she loved.

Maybe someday, he’d get it right. Maybe.

Liz pulled out of the apartment complex and away from Bryan’s sad eyes.

 

* * *

 

Tayna awoke to the pain of a nasty crick in her neck…and her face stuck to the worktable. She peeled herself up and shifted her neck and shoulders. How long had she been asleep?

The last thing she remembered was piecing together that Interference spell. It must have worked. Whatever it did, it sure had worn her out. She didn’t even remember laying her head down.

Tayna stood and stretched her arms above her head while shaking out her legs. Pulling her energy inward, she focused on her heart and allowed it to pump life into her blood and through her body. The stiffness dissipated as she breathed deeply.

Her eyelids were still drooped, but her interest was still piqued by the crystal ball and the books. All the Chronicles on the table had been closed and stacked up—maybe at some point during her sleep. Whatever. Magic was magic. She’d always wanted to do it in her sleep and now she could say she probably had. Life was good.

Tayna sat back down and marveled at how flat her ass felt. Damn. She was about to go get a big fluffy pillow from upstairs when the crystal ball came to life again with a myriad of images flying through it.

What would she grab on to this time? Tons of snapshots fluttered like pages in a flipbook. Some in color, some gray, some sepia, but all moving too damn fast to catch.

“Come on.” Tayna sighed, ready to give up and go get that pillow before her ass went numb.

Then one image froze long enough for her to tune it in. Using her mind to steady it, the movie began playing like an old silent western.

An open field with trees on one side. Tayna focused harder, trying to control her frame of view. The big field told her nothing. Turning, she caught a glimpse of water in the distance and moved toward it. The field ended in a cliff overlooking a beach.

Turning back, she watched the clearing near the trees. Wind blew.

And an Indian ran near the edge of the trees.

Tayna zoomed in toward the man in leather and feathers, but he was gone before she could make out where he went.

Pulling focus wider, she tried to recognize the location. It had a sort of déjà vu feeling to it. Like she’d been there before, but at this moment, it wasn’t familiar enough to differentiate from any other meadow.

A dark-haired man wearing a hat and brown leather canvas hunched down in the brush near the trees.

Whoa. He wasn’t wearing modern clothes. Hot damn, finally something historic that she recognized! The guy had that old west flair, a rifle in his hands and a revolver on his belt.

After a few moments, the guy went into the forest and Tayna followed as best she could. He wasn’t easy to track. She lost ground, but didn’t lose sight of the guy.

Once through the trees, Tayna hardly believed her eyes. There was a slaughter going on, utter chaos.

Blond-haired men shot rifles at dark-haired men. Indians shot arrow after arrow, threw axe after axe at both groups. And another group encroached. They wore cloaks and lots of leather. No one was wearing a recognizable army outfit. Who were these people?

Tayna shifted her focus, trying to find an identifying characteristic of the land, something that would help her figure out what the hell she was watching. Cranking up the sound wasn’t an option, nor were subtitles. She couldn’t read anyone’s lips, but she felt their pain when words turned to death screams.

As she turned, she gasped. The fucking battle was happening in her backyard. Her house, gray stone without stucco and without the new wing, stood in the deep background. Tayna was afraid to blink for fear she’d lose the imagery.

Shifting focus again, she noticed the library, but there was no fence between it and her house. Looking across the valley, Osric House stood on the same high hill overlooking the ocean. Holy shit. A huge group on horseback streamed down the hillside toward the battle.

People were dying left and right. Who the hell were they? Dammit. Too bad Liz wasn’t around. She’d know. She was the history geek.

Tayna caught sight of a familiar face. A man. He was running out of her house. She wasn’t sure how she recognized him. She zoomed in.

He kind of looked like her dad.

Holy shit. He looked like one of the guys in the paintings in the parlor. That’s where she’d seen him before. Blue eyes, short curly dark hair. What the hell was his name? It was snooty. Like Ashton or Alphonse. Something like that.

He was carrying a big fat book and had men and women surrounding him, protecting him. They shot rifles and pushed everyone away as they all ran toward the library.

One of the approaching marauders reminded Tayna of that guy on the coffee cans at the grocery store…Juan Valdez.

And another looked like Rutger Hauer.

Indians, Spaniards, Russians, and a group of people protecting a book. This had to be nineteenth century Reith sometime before California became a state.

Alphonse or Ashton, whatever the guy’s name was, ran into the library while his friends stood guard, fighting like crazy—and dying.

Tayna followed the guy with the book. He met up with more guys inside as they…

“Holy shit.” Tayna couldn’t believe her eyes.

There was a hole in the wall of the library and they put the book in it.

Tayna zoomed in as far as she could. The only glimpse of the cover afforded the words “Ward Family Rede” on leather… The same color and font as the piece Liz had brought over after the earthquake.

Men closed the book in the wall as Tayna’s long-lost ancestor loaded guns. His hands shook so much he could barely get the bullets into his revolver.

The room was bare save for the people bustling about. Tayna zoomed back, wanting to see what the rest of the library used to look like.

As she pulled out of the room, all she saw were bloody men and women dying, killing each other, landing in heaps on the floor. Tayna gasped as she saw one man head directly for the room where her ancestor was.

From behind, the fellow looked just like that guy she’d seen in modern clothes the other night.

Tayna swallowed hard as she watched her ancestor and the tall dark-haired man duel, both fell to the ground motionless, blood pooling, and then all activity in the room ceased.

It was too much to watch. She backed out of the library. Outside, a blonde woman scurried toward the library, narrowly missing arrows and gunshots.

The Indians retreated. The Spaniards picked up their dead. The Russians were already out of sight.

One dark-haired woman, whom Tayna swore was in another of the parlor paintings, crawled toward the library.

The imagery disappeared and Tayna leaned back in her chair, blinking for what felt like the first time in her life.

She stood up, trying to comprehend everything she’d just witnessed. She’d hoped to learn a thing or two in the crystal ball, but what a fucking eyeful of ouch.

Damn. Tayna rubbed her eyes and turned off the light as she slipped into the hallway. In a daze, she found her way upstairs and into the parlor where the familiar faces stared down at her.

Falling to her knees in the middle of the room, Tayna wept, reaching out to all the ghosts she’d ever known in that house, wishing they could comfort her, wishing she could comfort them, wishing she knew what the hell to do with what she’d just learned.

Chapter Sixteen

Making notes about the old dilapidated mansion, Jeff used a stylus to scribble on his PDA while he leaned against a tree near the street. The driveway gate was closed and attracting a crowd of people anxious to get a closer look at the stone wall on the side that an old man was repairing. Jeff had hollered out to the fellow from the other side of the library fence, but either the guy hadn’t heard or didn’t care to answer.

A familiar voice approached from behind Jeff.

“Sir, I have a bit of an emergency going on and I’m going to be a little late. I’m so sorry.”

Jeff turned around to see Liz talking on her cell phone.

“I’m all right. Once I get to the bottom of everything, I’ll be in, I promise. How crazy is it over there?” She stared down at the sidewalk while walking quickly.

“Most of them left? That’s great.”

Jeff stepped toward her. With all the cars around, she must have had to park down the street and walk to the library.

“Yes, sir. I know. Everything’s coming down on me all at once. I swear it won’t happen again and I’ll be in as soon as I can. I’m so sorry.” She reached into her jeans pocket and struggled to retrieve something, the denim tightly showing off her curves. Damn, she looked hot even in a T-shirt with a cartoon jousting knight on a steed.

“Okay.” She sighed as she got about ten feet from him. “Thank you, sir. I really appreciate it. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She hung up the phone and looked up, her gaze squarely meeting Jeff’s. Her green eyes held a million emotions he couldn’t read. She hid them as recognition flared.

“Liz—” Jeff couldn’t get anything else out before she turned and took in the scene of everyone around the gate. He jogged the last few steps over to her.

She didn’t turn to him. Her jaw dropped open and Jeff wasn’t sure what to say. He came up next to her, hoping she’d throw him a bone, maybe thank him for getting some of the people away from the library. Wait. Why wasn’t she continuing on to the library?

“What the fuck is going on?” Liz stared dumbfoundedly at all the people, without acknowledging that Jeff was standing next her

“I got them to leave the library,” he offered.

“Uh…thanks.” She didn’t sound entirely pleased. Not at all in fact.

“What’s wrong?”

“This is my best friend’s house, you asshole. How the fuck am I supposed to get in there now?” When she turned to him, her eyes were glassy.

Jeff was speechless. This was not at all the reception he’d anticipated.

Liz stormed away from him, over to the side of the house farthest from the library.

Regaining some semblance of order in his twisted thoughts, he hurried after her. “Shit. I thought I was doing the right thing. This house looks as old as the library. I tried to get everyone out of your way.”

“It didn’t work, Jeff. Sorry.” She spat the words like venom.

“Dammit, Liz. Is your friend home? I knocked on the door, but no one answered. There was some guy messing around on the roof, but he wouldn’t talk to me either.”

“Jeff, leave me alone. I really mean it this time. I’ve got much bigger things going on than the age of these goddamn buildings. I need to talk to my friend. And I can’t fucking get in there!” Tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Whoa, Liz…” His heart went out to her, practically ripping through his chest. He didn’t have all the pieces of her puzzle and it ate at him. What the hell was worth crying over?

He reached out, but she shoved his hand away and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m just at my breaking point right now.”

That was an understatement. Jeff sighed, wracking his brain. He’d fucked up again. How the hell was he supposed to make right by her if he kept screwing up like this? He needed her help, not her hatred. And it seemed like every time he talked to her, things got worse. Like being around was really ruining her life. “I’ll get you in there. If it’s the only right thing I figure out how to do, I will get you in there.”

She faced him squarely, her sad eyes searching his, imploring him not to mess up again.

“I won’t fuck this up. I promise. You can trust me this time. How hard can it be to clear a path?”

“Save it. I’m not gonna listen to you anymore. Just get the crowd away from the gate so I can get in and lock it before they push through.”

“Your wish is my command.”

Without another word, Jeff escorted her back to the gate and through the crowd. Once through the gate, she produced a ring of keys and locked it. Before turning toward the house, she shot him a quick glance. That was probably as close to a “thank you” as he deserved anyway. Hell, if the situation had been reversed, he probably would have gone ballistic.

People bombarded him with questions. He lied to them, saying that the woman he escorted knew the owner of the house and was going in to ask permission for everybody to come onto the property.

He watched her all the way up and into the courtyard, taking note that she’d let herself in the door without knocking, ringing a bell or even calling on her cell phone.

The crowd around him there at the gate showered him with more questions, but he ignored them.

Then for once, the right words came to him. Jeff told everyone that there was nothing to see and that they should all go home.

No one believed him. They dispersed. Some started circling the house while others headed back toward the library.

Jeff stood there at the gate, staring at the old mansion, wishing he hadn’t so utterly screwed up.

He didn’t know what else to do.

 

* * *

 

“Wake up. Wake up, wake up.” Tayna rubbed her eyes and yawned as she put the kettle on to boil. “Come on. I don’t need sleep. What could I possibly need sleep for? Sleep is for wusses. I don’t need sleep. Not at all. Nope, not me.” She leaned against the kitchen counter for a moment before opening her tea cupboard and yawning again.

“What’s gonna light me up. Gimme something to light a fire under my ass. Come on.” She perused her selection from green to oolong to black, then back to green. “How about some Kukicha Hatsukura?” It tasted like fresh grass clippings, but whenever she’d brewed a strong cup, it kept her wired for hours. “Yes, please.”

Opening the tin, she inhaled. “Mmmm.” Now if she could stop talking to herself, she might not go completely insane due to lack of sleep.

“Screw it.” Talking to herself was probably the only thing keeping her awake while waiting for the water to boil.

Tayna spooned a heavy amount of tea into her press and looked back at her well-used stainless steel teapot simmering on the stove. “Hello? Any minute now. Can’t you see I’m dying here?”

The sound of the front door opening had Tayna on full alert. It slammed closed and Liz’s voice rang out in a frenzied holler. “Tayna!? Where the hell are you?”

“In the kitchen, my dear.” Tayna barely had the words out of her mouth before a bedraggled Liz flew through the kitchen door, right into Tayna’s arms. “Shit, good to see you, too… Umm… Long time no see…?” Tayna wrapped her arms around Liz. “What the hell is going on? You okay?”

Liz hadn’t found words yet, so Tayna held her at arm’s distance. She looked like she’d been through the wringer. Her eyes were somewhat sad, crazed, distraught. Breathing came out raggedly as she struggled to get herself calmed down.

“Either you just got attacked by a vacuum cleaner and lost or you need to start talking because I can’t read your mind.”

Liz chuckled, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. She looked down at herself, then shrugged. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Start in the middle and work your way out. I’ve got all the time in the world.” Tayna pulled a second teacup from her collection and set it near Liz.

“Andrea didn’t come home last night.” Liz bit her lip.

“And judging by the look on your face, I’m thinking that she wasn’t out on a hot date with some stud…”

“I dunno. She left her keys, her cell phone, her purse, everything…” Liz’s voice quavered.

The teapot whistled and Tayna promptly pulled it from the burner. “Okay. I’m not really ready to process all that before I’ve had my tea, so let me ask what else is going on because you hardly ever use your keys here.” She poured the hot water into her tea press, watching the leaves and stems swirl.

“Really, Andy’s the most of my worries right now.”

“No holding out on me, Liz.”

“Bryan must’ve followed me. He knows where I live now and—” Liz gritted her teeth. “I hate him.”

“So do I, and I know you’re still holding out on me.” Tayna grinned, intuition tingling as she set the teapot back onto the stove. “I can’t help if I don’t know the whole story.”

“Do you know where Andrea might’ve gone?” Everything about Liz was tense. Her jaw, her shoulders, her mind. It all radiated from her in crazy waves that Tayna had trouble fighting. Her sixth sense was waking up, but unfortunately, the only stimulation available was Liz’s consternation.

“I don’t know. Would you feel better if we called the police?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Tayna wanted to retract them. Instinct went nuts with worry. No police. Bad idea.

“Yeah—or wait, no.” Liz sighed. “I don’t know. I can’t think when I’m like this.” She put her hands to her forehead.

Tayna poured tea into the two cups and then emptied her press into her decorative Celtic knot ceramic teapot. “It’s okay, I take it back. No cops. Let’s go downstairs and see if I can find her.”

“And Jeff sent all the researchers here. He thought he was doing me a favor.”

“As long as my gate’s closed, they aren’t getting in, so don’t worry about it.” With the pot in one hand and her cup in the other, Tayna led the way down into the basement, glad Clyde had shut the gate and that her lockdown spell was working. She’d redone it specially to allow only trusted visitors and keep everyone else out.

“I’ll try not to…” Liz trailed off.

Once inside the super-secret room, Tayna clicked on the light and put the teapot down on the table.

Liz walked up to the crystal ball. Bending down, she looked in it. She set down her cup and inspected the ball further.

With Liz being that close, Tayna’s sixth sense kicked in. “Just don’t touch it.”

“Why?” Liz looked up.

“Because it’s a particularly live one and I don’t want anything to break its ability to work.”

Liz shook her head. “So, you really use this thing?” She tilted her head. “All I see are swirls of the room and my face.”

“You have to know what you’re looking for.” Tayna crooked her finger, beckoning Liz away from the precious orb. “Allow me.”

The women traded places and then Tayna sat down. She was about to peer into the ball and look for Andrea when Liz started making choking noises. There were no more magical booby traps or anything. Tayna did a quick sweep of the room with her intuition, but came up empty-handed. What was attacking Liz?

Before Tayna got to her feet, Liz started laughing. “What the hell kind of tea is this shit?” She swirled her cup. “Did you mow the lawn and then run some hot water through it? This stuff is terrible.”

Tayna fell back in her chair, shaking her head in relief. “Sorry. I didn’t even think to warn you. It’s pretty loud. I’ve been up all night and that’s the only shit that’ll keep me up all day, too.”

“You can drink this crap?”

“It’s an acquired taste.”

“Grass. I’m drinking brewed grass.” Liz took another sip. “Not bad now that I’m over the initial shock. Damn, I think I needed that. What have you found out with that thing?” She motioned to the ball.

“A bunch of shit I don’t understand.”

“I hate to ask, but…such as…?”

“A big battle between Spaniards, Russians, a couple different kinds of Indians. A guy carrying a big fat book, running out of my house before the new wing was built and going into the Reith University Library before it was part of the university and then hiding the book in a wall before some more guys patched it up. Then another guy showed up and dueled and both guys died while a couple of women were still crawling around in the aftermath.” Ouch…the retelling hurt almost as bad as the witnessing.

Liz’s jaw dropped. “Well, that was a little more than I thought you were gonna say.”

“I know.” Tayna shrugged. “This history crap is all gibberish to me.”

Movement swirled in the crystal ball, interrupting the moment. Leaning over, Tayna grabbed an image.

A river in a deep canyon. Two groups of people, one carrying a big fat book.

“Oh no.” Tayna held the imagery as it flew through the ball.

“What?” Liz hurried to the table and looked in the ball. “I can’t see anything. What are you seeing, Tayna? Do you see Andrea? Where is she?”

The scene was the same as illuminated in one of those damn Chronicle books. An avalanche and flood crashed down on a group of people while another group forged ahead. The people out front circled a woman holding a big fat book. The witch was casting a spell. Who the fuck were these people?

In her head, Tayna ran through the list of books she’d looked at, but couldn’t remember which ones the illustrations were in. “That’s what I get for running on two hours of sleep. Fuck!”

“Tayna, what do you see?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to run down the quick version of this catastrophe the same way as the battle, but this time, Tayna spared the long explanation. She’d read the words off the witch’s lips. “You remember the fabled Northwest Passage, right?”

“Yeah, what does that have to do with Andrea?”

“Nothing, and yet possibly everything. I’m watching a woman cast a spell that closed it…” Tayna paused to get a stronger hold on the imagery. “Part of her spell uses the words, ‘By Osric Family power’, and I’m pretty sure that the people I’m watching be slaughtered are my ancestors and their livestock. I recognize one of them from one of the paintings in the parlor.”

“But that was forever ago. sixteenth century.” Liz stopped short. “Fuck. Tayna, do you know what all this means?”

“Not really, but I’m thinking there’s more at stake here than just some old falling down buildings, a stack of old books and my long lost ancestry.”

“We can’t go to the cops about Andrea. It’s bad enough all the researchers are trying to crack the library and everything, but the cops are gonna want to cover every lead and talk to all of her friends. We can’t call attention to you and whatever magic or psychic stuff you’re doing… You could get thrown in jail as a suspect or for all we know, burned at the stake.”

Tayna dropped the imagery and looked up at Liz. “Take a nice long drink of tea and chill out, babe. You’re totally losing your mind. Besides, give me some time and I’ll find Andrea. I feel like I’m close, but this damn thing picks and chooses what it shows me. Hell, grab a book and see what you can figure out. I’m gonna give this one last chance.”

Tayna reached into her pocket and pulled out that old scrap of leather from the book. Pulling it out of the plastic bag, she set it next to the ball and concentrated on gleaning energy from it. Or information. Something that would help make sense out of chaos.

Liz didn’t say a word, just refilled her cup and went over to the bookshelves. Getting comfortable on the floor, she pulled out a volume and sipped her tea.

The room went cold, but Tayna intuitively felt there was no cause for alarm. Liz didn’t look up, so Tayna trained her focus back into the ball. It felt like she had a ton of playing cards in her hand—so many that she couldn’t remember how to play the game anymore. The leather held power, but it was distracting.

In an effort to reset the proverbial game, Tayna finished off her tea, refilled her cup and then took another swig. Think, Tayna, think. Organize your cards by suit. Something has to make sense soon.

Emptying her mind of everything except Andrea and the Osrics, Tayna took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Intuition had her thinking the two were connected somehow, but there was no obvious link. She opened her eyes and focused into the crystal ball, the texture of the leather overtaking the orb.

Reaching out with her mind, she grasped a quick impression of a woman stealing a book from another. Neither face was familiar and the time period sparked Tayna’s memory of a Chronicle she’d flipped through.

The image faded away, but Tayna focused on it, replaying it in her mind over and over again. The big fat book was the Rede. It was the book that was closed up in the library. It had come from the Wards, but judging from the various visions lately, that book changed hands a lot. Whenever the Osrics had it, bad things happened. Whenever the Wards had it, there was status quo, or at least nothing crazy happened and the Wards recovered from whatever the Osrics had dealt out. It was like a bizarre magic family feud throughout the centuries.

If all this stuff had really happened and wasn’t just a brilliant figment of Tayna’s overactive imagination… The same imagination that used to get her in trouble for lying to her parents about where she’d been on the nights she hadn’t come home. The same imagination that had kept her occupied in her room when her parents had refused to read her bedtime stories…

“Wait, wait, Tayna! Check this out!” Liz broke the silence and so-imagined imagery. “If I ignore everything I’ve ever known about California history and use that little story you told me plus what’s in this book, I think we might be on to something. I was ready to give up on all this shit because it’s become the bane of my existence, but dammit, if I accept magic as real, I can say that you have been cursed. So have the Osrics. And by some miracle you’ve all survived to this day. Check this out.” Liz brought a book to Tayna, but her eyes couldn’t focus on it.

Tayna wasn’t sure she wanted to play this game anymore. It wasn’t fun. It just kept pointing out how little she knew and how much she wanted.

When Tayna didn’t respond, Liz read from the book. “17th of May, 1837. The Rede was lost. I’m the only survivor in Reith and I wish I were dead. Alphonse was murdered by Stephan Osric. There was chaos all around which according to history signified that the Osrics once again had possession. The Rede died with my Alphonse and I swear by my strength that if I live through his loss and the loss of my legs I shall spill Osric blood until there is none left to spill. Ashton will arrive on the morrow and I don’t know how to tell him of his father. I don’t know how we will rebuild. I don’t know how we shall live if the Osrics possess the Rede.”

In the silence following Liz’s words, Tayna’s belly clenched. Clutching it, she doubled over onto the floor. It was as though she felt the pain of the woman who’d written the Chronicle entry.

And then it was so much more.

Through a mystical haze, Tayna heard one word, “Osric.”

Liz was kneeling next to Tayna, shouting, asking questions, but there was no way to overcome the grip. Tayna’s sixth sense had never grabbed her this hard. Tears came to her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words were stolen from her throat.

Osric. Osric House holds a key.

As the words washed over Tayna, she gained a semblance of control and set about redirecting her internal energy. Her stomach relaxed and she uncurled. Finally, her vocal cords worked again. “I’m okay. I’m okay now. Too much happened all at once. We learned too much all at once.”

Liz helped Tayna back into the chair. “You are scaring the shit out of me. Don’t do this to me, Tayne. I’ve had enough today. I don’t need any more. None. No more freaky stuff. No more shit I gotta deal with. You hear me?”

Tayna managed a grin as she shook off the lingering twangs from her over-active sixth sense. “Pour me some more tea.” Tayna grabbed the base of the crystal ball and carefully relocated the beast to its spot on the shelf. “I’m done with all this, too.”

At the table, Liz was fiddling with the leather scrap and Tayna’s cup was full of grassy green tea. Her mind’s eye saw a lawn. A perfectly manicured lawn. The lawn in front of Osric House. She shut her eyes and squeezed them. No more visions today. No more intuition. No more history.

“I hate to ask, but what do we do now?” Liz’s shaky voice permeated Tayna’s twisted senses. “What do we do about Andrea?”

“You go ahead and go to work. Maybe get rid of some geeks. Maybe use that bit of leather to lure them away. Leave Andrea to me. I’ve got an idea.”

Chapter Seventeen

After a one-hour power nap and changing into all black, Tayna was ready to see if her little hunch was correct. She snuck out the back way from her house and escaped all of the geeks with their laptops and PDAs and cameras.

It sucked to have to sneak out, but in case things went sour, she’d have a bunch of witnesses who thought she hadn’t left. Tayna hadn’t even told Clyde where she was going. This was too important to screw up. She had to know.

Her feet pounded the sidewalk, street after street and upward to Osric House. Her moment of truth was at hand. Plan A swirled in her head as she continued to formulate it.

Osric House front gate. Tayna saw it from almost a block away. Perhaps a frontal assault wasn’t the wisest idea. She slipped around the side, trying to find an area that was hidden enough to sneak up to the fancy house.

An old man was tinkering in an antique barn. Tayna made her way past him and snaked along a hedgerow. Magically, she cloaked herself. Last time she’d used the little spell, she was sixteen and tiptoeing past her parents on her way out of the house to a party. Today, she was putting it to a more serious test. A dog ran through the hedge, stopped to sniff, but didn’t see her. So far, so good.

Once up to the house, Tayna focused her senses inward for direction. She almost let out a laugh when her instinct guided her to the front door. Earlier, it had seemed like a stupid move, but now, her intuition had her placing her gloved hand on the doorknob and, with a little unlocking spell, turning it.

Her heart beat up into her throat with the adrenaline of entering the house without permission, but she pressed on, heightening her senses to any movement, sounds, any presences.

Nice place. Very modern decor. The entryway was high with an open stairway. Reminding herself she was there for Andrea, Tayna strengthened her cloaking spell and tiptoed through the entryway, arriving in a living room. She had no idea what she was looking for. Her brain told her that if Andrea was there, she’d be in a bedroom, but Tayna’s intuition led her toward a decorative set of shelves near a giant ornate filigree mirror.

Which was smarter, her brain or her instinct? It seemed pretty damn stupid to want to look in a mirror rather than rifle through rooms, but going against instinct had greater potential for disaster.

At this point, lacking a decent amount of sleep, Tayna figured it best to shut down her thoughts and go by intuition alone. Her tiny little brain was full and having trouble keeping up, anyway.

Standing in front of the mirror, Tayna was pleased that she couldn’t see her reflection in it. Power surged through her veins as her gaze caught on a trinket laying at eye-level on a shelf. She picked up the marble-sized piece of amethyst and inspected it.

Lots of windows within it, but its innate energy pulsed with a steady rhythm. Damn, this thing would’ve been great for that Interference spell. It could have helped stabilize the ripple effect Tayna had felt afterward.

Did the current Osric use the amethyst? Was he as much of a magic-user as his ancestors?

Tayna almost chuckled. Was she as much of a magic-user as her ancestors? Duh. Obviously, the fruit didn’t fall far from the tree, even when the damn fruit was never taught how magical the tree was. Tayna gritted her teeth and focused her energy away from her ancestry to the Osrics. Did they have anything to do with Andrea’s disappearance?

The amethyst gave off a tiny spark, jolting Tayna’s fingertips. That was all the “yes” she needed.

Slipping out of the living room, Tayna found herself in the dining room, but couldn’t understand why her instinct would guide her there.

Staring at the stainless steel china hutch, Tayna looked for more clues, but discovered that instinct hadn’t brought her into that room to look at dishes. A door opened and closed. Footsteps crossed tile. Someone was heading down the hallway.

The strides were long, masculine, maybe belonging to Kyre Osric, but Tayna was afraid to look. Not that she’d recognize the guy anyway. She’d never seen him, nor did she want to take a chance of her cloaking spell failing.

When the footsteps faded, Tayna tip-toed into the living room. After a fruitless glance down the hallway, she slipped through the door, taking care to be both stealthy and quiet.

Once in the front yard, she kept to a planter and ran down the hill. The front gate was unlocked, but she was worried someone might see it open.

She vaulted herself up onto the gate, scaling one side and jumping down the other before her full course of action hit her.

She’d stolen the amethyst from Kyre Osric.

Whoops!

Well, it wasn’t like she was going to knock on his door and return it. She looked in it one more time.

The word “Andrea” glowed within the violet depths.

Tayna went home and put the magical stone under her pillow as she slept.

 

* * *

 

Jeff’s pencil seemed to weigh a ton. Perched on a bench facing the library, he sketched each brick of the exposed work high on the wall. Photos captured a moment in time, but sketching allowed a closer study of each subject. It was Jeff’s zen at the moment.

To most people, they were just chunks of rock, but to Jeff, they were artfully-shaped hunks of rock. Who the fuck was he trying to kid. He should go home. Cut his losses. Run home with his tail between his legs, never to venture off the porch and pretend to be a big dog ever again.

He’d screwed up everything. The anti-Midas touch was solely his. What good were intentions if they ended up causing disaster anyway? He sighed, pencil growing even heavier.

He’d never be anything more than a lab assistant. He’d never find success anywhere outside of school. He’d never make a difference in discovering what we today know about yesterday. Never, never, never.

But he continued sketching the D-shaped tower. His pencil stroking across the paper, edging each stone, graying the mortar between. Learning about the men who carved and those who placed each stone.

“Jeff, you really want another chance?”

Pencil flying, sketchbook tumbling to the cement, Jeff nearly had a heart attack when Liz walked up.

Shit. She asked a question, too. He scrambled to pick everything up. “Yes, no. I dunno. Maybe.”

Liz leaned down and handed him the pencil. “I can’t think of anything you could fuck up worse, and you’re the only other person who knows about the leather, so can we go somewhere and talk? I got kicked out while they fumigate.” Liz spoke a mile a minute, making Jeff’s head spin. Did she really just say she wanted to talk? Hell, was she really standing here in front of him or was his overactive imagination transposing her sexy frame and voice over some historical mason who’d built the library before it was a library?

Liz waved a hand in front of his face. “Hello? Jeff? Earth to Jeff. Golden opportunity here. You a taker? At all? I need help. This is your one last chance. What do you say?”

Standing up and filing away his sketchbook under his arm, he found his voice. “I say, hell yeah and I promise not to screw things up anymore.” But he couldn’t stop fiddling with his pencil.

“Good. Let’s go grab some coffee.” Liz started walking before the whole sentence was out of her mouth. Usually, being in a hurry was good.

In order not to dink with the pencil, end up breaking it and sending splinters everywhere—thereby messing up again—Jeff slid the pencil on his ear. Out of sight, out of mind, out of fingers.

The air crackled with some kind of excitement, but Jeff was afraid to give in and enjoy it. Every time he glanced at Liz, a pang of…of…specialness…went through him. What the fuck was “specialness”? And why did she have this kind of effect on him?

Yeah, she was incredibly attractive in that smart-girl-next-door kind of way, but why was he all of a sudden willing to follow her anywhere?

She noticed him looking. What had been lips pursed in ragged determination turned into a glowing smile. “What?”

“Only you, Liz.”

“No, Jeff, only you.”

Neither required a response. There was a silent understanding that they were on to something. At that moment, he was certain that this was bigger than two people meeting, sharing a common love of history, and using all of that for something greater. Together. There was something about them being together, discovering and learning. Ugh. Was he falling in love with her or what she could do for his career?

They walked the final block in silent company. Whatever was going on in Reith, he was glad he’d come. He was almost ashamed to think he’d been ready to go back home with his tail between his legs. That seemed like so long ago now, too. Odd. Very odd.

Main Street was rebuilding after the quake. Dumpsters lined the edge of the sidewalk, but for the most part, the town was getting back to normal. This was the first time he’d walked through in years.

Having Liz with him made the journey more of a pilgrimage. Like in a past life he’d lived in Reith and was going home. He waved at the shopkeeper of the hardware store as the man tossed a bent shelf into a dumpster.

“Good day.” The fellow grinned, wiping his hands on his apron.

“Very good day,” Jeff replied.

Liz looked between the men as she passed, then to Jeff. “You know that guy?”

“No.”

She shrugged, then reached for the door to Caffeinations. Moved by sudden chivalry, Jeff lunged, opening and holding the door for her as she walked through. He finished with a gentle bow.

“And what color is the sky in your world today?” Liz chuckled in amusement, motioning to his display, but her eyes were a touch sad.

“It’s an ever-changing array of warm colors from red and magenta through golden yellow.” Where the hell did that come from? “And I am so full of shit, I don’t know what to do with myself.” He stopped short of spouting flowery sonnets or something equally as bizarre.

“That’s obvious, but my sky’s purple today and it’s only getting darker.”

“Sorry to hear that, but Liz, I gotta ask.” Jeff hesitated, but couldn’t back out now. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“I already told you.” She turned from him to study the menu board above the counter. “You’re the only one on the outside of my life who knows anything about the inside.”

Heavy. Jeff glanced at the menu for no reason. He always ordered plain coffee. There was no sense in even looking. Pulling out his wallet, Jeff placed his order.

When Liz tried to pay for her fancy coffee, he imposed, even going so far as to grab her wrist before the bills got anywhere near the cashier.

“It’s on me. I owe you more.”

Liz shrugged. “Thanks.” She let out a sigh and returned the money to her pocket.

As soon as the drinks were placed on the marble counter, Jeff picked them up and headed for the additives table. “Cream? Sugar?”

“I’ll get it.” Liz began fixing up her coffee as Jeff dumped his usual mountain of sugar and river of cream into his cup. He had to slurp the level down a little in order to stir without spilling. Why the hell was a tornado forming as he used the stirrer?

Liz chose a table in a corner. “Okay, I don’t have a whole lot of time and besides, I don’t know that we’ll get anything figured out today or not. My life’s going crazy and I need a sounding board.”

Jeff nodded, figuring it better to just let her talk, lay it all out and hope things would start making sense.

She reached into her pocket and hunted for something. When she flopped it onto the table, Jeff’s jaw dropped.

It was a scrap of leather. Old leather. With the words “Ward” on it. Jeff looked from the leather to Liz’s face. “That’s not— Is that—”

She nodded.

Setting aside his coffee, Jeff picked up the bit of leather. The gold leaf glinted in the stylish coffee house lighting. Along one edge, Celtic knotwork was clearly definable, but there wasn’t enough of it to make any kind of distinction of what it meant or perhaps which tribe had designed it. He was about to set it back down when due to the lighting, he noticed an indentation where the gold had flaked off. Holding it sideways, using the light to help reveal texture, Jeff caught the word and said it aloud. “Deceangli.”

“What?” Liz leaned forward, scrutinizing the leather. “How do you—”

“That’s what it says.” Jeff pointed to the lower right hand corner. “See.”

“Holy shit. I didn’t see that before.” Liz brought a hand to her forehead, completely befuddled.

Jeff had no idea what to say. He didn’t want to go into a treatise on ancient Welsh history if she already knew who the Deceangli were, but at the same time, he was having trouble biting his tongue. Fascination like this didn’t bite him in the ass everyday. Who had put “Deceangli” on the leather centuries after the Deceangli fell out of the history books? And why would someone have written it in the first place?

Liz took the scrap into her hand. “And I thought I was going to be talking Celtic design with you, but it looks like the Celtic stuff was added later. But I don’t understand why ‘Deceangli’. North Wales. What, two thousand years ago? Maybe more?”

“Yeah. I don’t remember a whole lot about them other than where they lived because of the hill forts they left behind. How much do you know about them?”

A loud beeping sound startled the two of them out of ancient Welsh history. Liz grabbed her cell phone and pushed a button. “Let me guess, Chancellor, the Osric Room is clear?” She paused as she pocketed the leather. “I’m just down the street getting coffee. I’ll hurry back.”

Damn, damn, damn. Just when things were getting good.

Liz hung up her phone and stood. “Sorry, Jeff. Duty calls and he sounded a little irritated. Thanks for your help.”

“I—I really didn’t do anything, though.” Jeff shot out of his chair. “Was there something else you wanted to talk about? I’m real good with Welsh history.” He hurried after her.

“I was going to talk about other stuff, but I don’t think I need to anymore. I’m gonna crack this thing and everything’s going to fall back into place. Everything’s going to work out and life’s going to get good again. I’m gonna go into the Osric Room and it’s going to be heaven again. I’ll see you later. Thanks, Jeff.”

“Bye.” He let her go. Why did she always do that? Come into his world, throw it in an uproar and then leave like nothing happened. Was that some kind of magic talent she had? Share just enough to intrigue him and then vanish before he could get something to bring back home.

He had half a mind to blow the lid off the leather now, but without the hard proof and Liz’s blessing, it just wouldn’t be right.

Maybe if more leather or the whole book materialized… Wouldn’t that be a treat? The Deceangli didn’t have a written language. Whoever embossed the leather had been trained in Latin. Was the inscriber a descendent of a member of the tribe or of a Roman invader?

Jeff took a drink of his coffee. In his haste to follow Liz, he’d landed outside the hardware store. What the hell? Maybe shopping for a houseplant would take his mind either off of the leather or Liz or going home or…or…or…all the damn research he wouldn’t be able to resist doing once he got back to his apartment.

Yeah, right. Jeff headed toward the university.

Chapter Eighteen

Cold marble.

Stiff neck.

Kyre awoke with a start. Dressed in clothes from the night before. He licked his lips, trying to get rid of their dryness.

Why the fuck was he lying on the floor in the basement?

Stiff and achy, his neck crunched back into place as he drew himself to sitting. Massaging his back, he paused on the cold hard floor.

Andrea snoozed nearby, still tied to her chair, her body drooping. She didn’t look empty. Shit. Did the spell fail?

Kyre’s stomach growled. Pulling himself to standing, he stretched.

He’d fallen asleep mid-spell? Asleep? On the floor? She wasn’t through Clarification yet?

His stomach growled again. Food. Energy. Must refuel.

Fuck everything else. He ran a hand over his hair. Food was more important.

Trudging up the stairs, each step heightened his mental awareness. Stalking into the kitchen, he grabbed his keys instead of the refrigerator handle.

A vacuum cleaner hummed upstairs. Margaret, on her weekly routine. Normalcy. Why the fuck was there murk instead of clarity in his head? What the hell had knocked him out so God damned hard?

He started his car and pulled out of the garage, passing by Bentley on a riding lawn mower.

“Good day, sir.” Bentley nodded.

“Good day.” Kyre yawned and drove down the hill.

Food. Marty’s Diner? Damn. Had something interfered with the spell?

Interference.

The word swirled in Kyre’s mind, bouncing and washing over him such that the events of last night crashed through his mind in glimpses rather than linear events.

Something had drained him during his casting the Clarification spell. He couldn’t remember getting out the third repetition. He’d started it, but couldn’t recall its completion.

Maybe he’d misjudged the power of the ingredients or hell, Andrea’s innate power. She was awfully feisty. Yeah. She’d interfered. Or her defiance had.

No wonder she didn’t look completely empty, hanging on the chair. She wasn’t. She’d fought.

Interference.

That had never happened before. Not from an outside force. He’d interfered with himself many times, but those were the early days, when he was still discovering his power. Lack of confidence caused quite a few early spells to fail. It was all a matter of concentration to overcome. Concentration and belief. From those days, he’d trained himself to believe in his power and all that he could do with it. He’d made himself an outlet for all he’d learned and since then, hadn’t failed a single cast.

Until last night.

Marty’s was about a five-minute drive. Kyre’s stomach growled again. Whatever interfered had bite—and a lot of balls—to not only step in, but drain his energy, too. Impressive, but God damned annoying.

He parked in a handicapped spot and rushed in. The sooner he ate, the better he’d feel. The better equipped he’d be to Cleanse Andrea, get the ball rolling again.

“Hey Mr. Osric.” Natalie winked. “Your usual?” She pulled her order pad out of her green apron.

He nodded.

“Comin’ right up.” The girl didn’t walk, she swished. Even in a hurry, she moved like she was lighter than air. Nice to look at, but Kyre was never interested in looking, especially when Natalie was probably half his age.

While waiting for Jimmy and Mick to cook up his triple BLT and fries, Kyre leaned against the counter and took in the customers.

Anyone magically inclined would have a glow, an aura of strength. The joint was dead…save one. In the farthest seat at the counter. Kyre stood up straight to catch sight of the fellow hunched over a cup of coffee.

Kyre swallowed hard, cursing his lack of energy for hindering his second sight. The fellow at the end of the counter shivered.

VooDoo.

The painfully familiar twinge of loss grasped Kyre’s heart like a vise. Every time he laid eyes on his mistake of a creature, it hurt anew. Sadness and fear and an ever-empty loneliness.

Making an unsuccessful attempt to force the pain to stop, Kyre approached VooDoo. Would it be too much to say hello, see if there was anything that could be done?

Kyre’s sixth sense came alight when VooDoo’s head shot up. Their gazes locked for an instant before VooDoo shrieked, a deafening agony echoing against orange vinyl, formica, glass and metal.

VooDoo jumped out of his seat. Leaving it spinning, he shoved past Kyre. Crashing over tables, people and small children, the pathetic soul clawed his way to the door, tripping over and getting entangled in a chair. Regaining his footing, he slammed into the door, scuttling to push himself against it hard enough to open it to his freedom.

Once VooDoo got outside, Kyre helplessly watched him run across the street, cars skidding and swerving to avoid the raving lunatic wailing and running with his arms flailing.

“Gee, you don’t look scary at all to me. I wonder what that guy’s problem is.” Natalie eyed Kyre up and down. “Here’s your order, Mr. Osric.” She set a brown bag onto the counter near the register.

Kyre took the food and replaced it with a hundred dollar bill. “Thanks.”

He walked out, ignoring her thanks for his sudden generosity. He ate the burger on his way home. He needed the fuel. Needed the strength. Even if only to make the damn pain in his heart go away. He couldn’t screw up Andrea. No matter what wanted to Interfere. He was much more powerful, much more confident, much more in tune.

And unfortunately much more scared than he cared to admit.

 

* * *

 

It was cold outside. Colder than the coffee VooDoo had watched swirl. Colder than cold. But strangely not freezing. He was moving too fast to feel frozen.

Why were people shrinking away? What was that loud noise emanating from his chin? VooDoo closed his mouth, but the sound persisted.

Burning acid in his arm muscles had him releasing their reach for the sky. He couldn’t reach the sky anyway. What use was there in trying?

All he wanted to reach was a friend. Not the beast VooDoo left behind at Marty’s, swishing in coffee creamer without sugar.

There was no sugar at all on the street. Just people, trash cans, and piles of bricks with glass.

VooDoo searched. The noise in his mouth seemed to fly from his throat and get caught in his tongue, reverberating against his lips. Why wouldn’t it stop? It jarred his concentration. If he was to find his salvation, he needed silence. No roaring engines or people gasping.

Didn’t they know he was powerful enough to shut the entire world up? Didn’t they know that with the wicked book, he could move mountains and finish the miracle that K—Ky—Kyr—

VooDoo fell to his knees. Smashing to the pavement like a lump of wet newspaper. Where were those damn cookies?

The noise in his mouth sounded odd now. Almost like a cry for help. Who needed help? VooDoo looked around. No one was there to protect him.

Large hands tore at VooDoo’s shirt. He didn’t want to open his eyes, but he had to. He had to look where he was going.

Everything was a blur. Colors flashed white hot. Putrid liquid fell from his mouth, red with pain from his tongue. He writhed against the grasp of large hands.

Transported against his will, VooDoo moved through chaos to a twilight serenity of cold concrete and cigarette butts. Unicorns, butterflies, snakes, fairies, a naked woman. Tattoos of despair.

Why wouldn’t the noise stop?

He closed his eyes on all the blue ink as it moved away from him. Epithets and curses permeated the cacophony. Where was happiness?

Cookies? Where could he get cookies and forget Ky—?

VooDoo swallowed a whimper. The name was too hard to bear this day.

His knees ached. They were red. The air smelled orange instead of like chocolate or sugar.

No sweetness anywhere.

VooDoo screamed.

He was trapped in blue ink dragon hands again. He screamed louder. No one listened.

Twisted faces. Broken glass. Rug burn. Or was that wood? VooDoo flailed. Every muscle spasming, wanting desperately out of the grasp of the blue ink dragons.

Cold. Sharp. Stinging. Mutilating. Skidding. VooDoo’s face slammed onto concrete. His knees burned with the heat of a thousand infernos.

What did it matter anyway? His knees were red and he didn’t care. He had the book. The book had him, but all was lost. All was to be lost if he couldn’t own the book. It wouldn’t keep him safe and he couldn’t keep it safe.

He couldn’t keep it safe from Ky—

Scrambling to regain balance, VooDoo failed to escape the name of his creator.

Kyre. Kyre. Kyre. Kyre Osric. Kyre Osric made your VooDoo fail.

Wetness was everywhere. All over his pants, his face, his shirt. Everywhere. Some red, some clear. All over. All over. Painful to look at. Painful to hear the echoes, the sobbing.

Falling into the gutter, VooDoo studied oily iridescent liquid as it mingled with the redness of his pants.

The noise in this throat calmed as he watched the swirls. People spoke volumes, but none dared touch. It was just as well. Home was only across the street. That was where the book hid. It would have answers, wouldn’t it?

What happened to the cookies? VooDoo sniffed the air. Nothing. Emptiness. Rotten paper. His knees ached as he walked on them, dragging them.

He grabbed a big rusty metal thing attached to a metallic blue box. It was sturdy and bigger than a car. Trucks were strange like that.

Pulling himself up, he sat on the metal. Its chill permeated the fabric of his pants. It was a warming chill. Unsteady. Uneasy to understand how both sensations could appear in one object.

What was everyone saying? Where did all the people come from?

Home. Pushing himself to his untrustworthy feet, the sound of anguish escaped his lips before he bit them closed. His body was too heavy to move.

Across the street. Just the street. No more. The cookies would be waiting for him amid rotten cardboard. He was certain. But he had to get across the street first. Noises increased. People shied away.

VooDoo pointed himself toward his apartment building. Using his last ounce of energy, he flung himself into the street toward home and chocolate chip cookies and the book that would save him.

The street swirled like creamer in his coffee. Why was it doing that? Buildings crumbled and fell into the void. The blue truck distorted. Black hair, blonde and brunette shook in his mind’s eye. Then Kyre looked at VooDoo with an otherness akin to despair.

The only thing that mattered now was getting across the street.

Through the haze of the world twisting around him, a chrome giant pressed against his shoulder, burning him more than the pavement against his face, his hands, his ribcage, his thighs, his knees. His already reddened knees.

The square chrome giant roared then squealed as VooDoo’s body reacted, rebelling against damage. Regrowing, renewing, the blood in his veins flowed briskly, carrying life, delivering it to the pavement.

But VooDoo held on to it.

Even as it forced his world into darkness, he made his body fight back. Against the pain, the horror, the loss, the emptiness.

Until darkness overcame the agony in his throat.

 

* * *

 

After another power nap, Tayna started brewing a strong caffeine elixir—more green tea. Tossing the amethyst in the air, she telekinetically held it before her eyes, not so much to study it, but to practice her skill.

While swishing the orb corkscrewing toward the ceiling, Tayna poured tea into her cup. Releasing hold, she floated the amethyst down onto the countertop. It was getting easier and easier to manipulate objects. Opening the old wing of the house must have stirred up more than a bunch of dust.

She grabbed her cup and teapot and headed down to the basement. The amethyst followed. Being a kleptomaniac had never sounded like much fun. But what did it matter? If Kyre Osric had something to do with Andrea’s disappearance, then that little purple trinket might help uncover the truth.

Navigation through darkness was no longer a problem. After setting the teapot and cup on the worktable, she turned on the light. Since she’d discovered the secret room, more than just the door had opened to her.

Getting as comfortable as the hard chair would allow, Tayna settled in. Focusing her power into second sight and gathering what energy the amethyst had to offer, she peered into the crystal ball.

What would it have for her today? Kyre Osric and Andrea madly in love and forsaking the world around them? Tayna chuckled at the thought. Maybe that was the best-case scenario.

But Andy wouldn’t have left behind her purse and stuff. She’d never been that flighty.

Images flew through the crystal. Tayna held her palm out and called the amethyst to rest in it. Closing her fingertips around it, she relished its warmth, its energy and let it magnify until the stone gave off a purple glow. Loosening her grip, Tayna let light spill out as she flipped her hand palm down, fingers curling like a cage around the levitating amethyst. Aiming the beams toward the crystal ball, Tayna concentrated on deciphering the string of imagery flying through the crystal.

“Show me something I can use,” Tayna murmured. “Something I can make sense of. Show me Andrea. Show me where she is right now.”

Tayna’s senses sparkled, sending tingles through her veins. She was on the right track, concentrating perfectly. The world had a tendency to fall away when she dove deep enough into her intuition.

Light from the amethyst mingled with imagery in the crystal ball, illuminating Andrea. Tayna tuned in closely, training her eyes and mind to memorize every detail.

Andrea was at work. It looked like she was selling essential oils to a tall guy wearing dark clothes. Tayna tried to tilt her frame up to catch a glimpse of his face, but she was unsuccessful. Perhaps the guy wasn’t important.

Kneeling down, Andrea opened the cabinet doors on the bottom of the display. She pulled out a bottle and handed it upward.

There was a small flash of color from the man’s hand down onto one of the shelves. A bottle appeared out of thin air. Oil of wormwood. The man had conjured it.

Tayna tried to tilt up again. Who was this guy? She still couldn’t get up to his face. All she could see was Andrea looking creeped out and swallowing hard.

As Andrea went to process the sale, Tayna made a connection. Andy’s shirt had the same embroidery as the one she’d worn the other day. The light green one. And she’d mentioned having a lavender one—which she’d worn the day before.

Holy shit. For the first time, Tayna was able to pinpoint the exact day an event had happened. The man in the ball was Kyre Osric. Tayna’s intuition lit with confidence in her assumption and then went crazy as she pondered whether he had Andrea or if he knew exactly where she was. Guilty as charged.

The amethyst ignited, causing Tayna to release containment. Imagery in the ball lost, she chased after the orb as it rolled a fiery path toward the Chronicles.

“Fire into ice. By my power, convert.” She cast as she ran, stopping the flame from engulfing the old books.

Better safe than sorry, she levitated the now dripping-wet ice-ball amethyst, dragging it to the rock shelves and depositing it in an onyx bowl. “Calm down, you little piece of shit. I’m stronger than you are.”

No kidding. Tayna considered her words. She’d said them without forethought, but their truth was overwhelming. She collapsed onto the chair and took a long drink of her tea. Whoa.

Where was all this newfound power coming from? Housecleaning was one thing, but converting fire to ice and banishing objects from causing further harm? Those weren’t parlor tricks. Was she possessed?

Oh dear goddess, she sincerely hoped not.

 

* * *

 

“Thanks, Margaret.” Kyre filed past as she struggled with the vacuum cleaner in the hallway.

“Don’t mention it, sweetie.” The words croaked sarcastically from deep within her throat. She was never sunshine.

“Take a break,” Kyre said. “Make yourself some tea. I’d suggest a sandwich but you haven’t been to the store in awhile, huh?”

“Have a nice day.” Margaret clopped down the hallway, carrying the vacuum in one hand and loosening her orange gingham apron with the other.

Kyre headed down into his workroom, assuming he could pick up wherever he’d left off before so rudely falling asleep last night. Finish extracting Andrea’s essence, sprinkle in a little of his, reconstruct her and voila! his soul mate. He rubbed his palms together in preparation.

The room had an odd scent, stopping Kyre just past the doorway. Light streamed in from the high windows, illuminating the air, reflecting off dust and smoke.

Smoke?

“Manifest.” Had someone come to visit? “Show yourself.” He surveyed the room. All was silent. The smoke twisted, but did not stir into recognizable forms. “Show yourself.” Kyre repeated as he sharpened his senses.

No response.

Andrea’s chest rose and fell lightly, her breathing barely audible. Did she have a presence following her? A guardian angel? The smoke could be that manifestation. But it wasn’t concentrated around her.

What the hell had happened last night? That smoke hadn’t been here when he’d awakened, had it?

After one more step, Kyre halted and waited. Something in the room felt off, dangerous.

But the scent became recognizable, wafting up on inhale, teasing his nose with perfume and essential oils mixed in harmony. Flowers and spices. But why hadn’t Andrea’s perfume been this strong before?

Focusing on the origin of the smoke, Kyre traced it to the worktable. As he neared, his heart sank. Dread filled him.

The onyx bowl held the source of smoke.

The perfumed essence was Andrea’s.

She’d been wide open to contamination for who knew how long. It swirled and bubbled like witches’ brew. Precious witches’ brew. Breaking Kyre’s heart in a million little pieces.

“No, no, no.” He shuffled through the remaining ingredients on the table. The sage was too old. The apple was browning. This was the recipe for disaster unless he could reconstruct her. But even then, last night’s blunder could cause irreparable damage. She may not regain—

Kyre couldn’t think about it anymore. Heat grew behind his eyes as he forced the tears not to fall.

Last chance to save her. There was no turning back.

He cut open his finger, allowing blood to mingle with Andrea’s essence, hoping it would be enough. There was no time for the proper and lengthy preparation of his essence. Frantically, he fabricated a spell. “Meld and become one. Meld and become one. Become one.”

A tear fell into the mixture. Kyre backed away. “Shit.”

That tear could be enough to kill her, but there was no way to extract it. Fear gripped him anew as he glanced toward her sleeping form. She looked so sweet, so soft. How could he soil her like this? How did this happen?

And why the fuck had he turned into a blithering baby over a God damned spell. If it doesn’t work, big fucking deal. There were plenty of other women out there. Andrea just had a certain sparkle about her—a certain glow. He returned his attention to the mixture and grinned.

“Double double toil and trouble.” He laughed as he picked up the onyx bowl, the elixir bubbling, swirling with life.

“I command thee to reconstruct.” Kyre telekinetically called up the remaining ingredients from his worktable. The unfortunate events of last night were meaningless. As a magic-user, he would chameleon and make do. This wasn’t his first attempt at fabricating a spell. His last transformation had gone awry, but this one would be different as long as he believed in what he was doing. As long as he believed in his superior skill and understanding of the magic at hand. No problem.

She wouldn’t turn out like VooDoo.

With careful concentration, Kyre removed the bowl from the mixture. Letting it shatter on the floor, he atomized Andrea’s new essence, surrounding her body.

Flowers. Sweet-smelling flowers. The mist twisted and distorted, wafting around her.

“I command thee to reconstruct and leave room for improvement.” Damn his vocabulary. Kyre struggled to find a better command. Believe, God damn it!

“Reconstruct, refresh, renew this fertile flower so that she may grow under my guidance.”

The mist closed in on Andrea’s body. She did not stir. Sparkling fog lilted around clockwise before swaying opposite.

“Reconstruct, refresh, renew this fertile flower so that she may grow under my guidance.”

Andrea opened her eyes as the mist seeped into her body. She screamed.

Kyre raised his arms and bellowed, “Reconstruct, refresh, renew this fertile flower so that she may grow under my guidance!” He commanded the elixir deep within Andrea, overtaking what was left of her old self, her old memories, her old being. Taking over her world, reconstructing her.

Everything silenced. The smoke dissipated, drawn into Andrea’s skin. She looked at him with love in her eyes.

Success. Sweet success.

He knelt in front of her. She smiled and his heart melted.

“Kyre, my love. You’re too far away.” Her voice was gentle as she lightly struggled against her binding. “Come here so I can gouge your eyes out. I want to eat them for breakfast tomorrow.”

What?

“Kyre, don’t look so shocked, sweetheart. I love you so much. I want to break all of your fingers. One by one. Twist them all the way back and then crunch them sideways.”

Ouch. Kyre clutched his heart.

“You’re so beautiful, Kyre. I want to feast on your broken fingers. Yes, my love. My forever love.”

He backed away, his worst nightmare coming true.

“Come here, sweet one. We can do it together. Rip out your heart and feast on it together. Just you and me…”

Chapter Nineteen

The Deceangli tribe. North Wales. Now that was a lot to work with even though the time period wasn’t consistent with the dating of the leather. Liz grinned as she approached the library.

The Deceangli were somewhat peacefully conquered by the Romans, did a lot of copper mining and built a string of hill forts near Rhuddlan. Militant, but in those days, to keep land, tribes had to be. Especially with the Romans trying to conquer everyone.

This new angle was good. It meant that whatever that book had in it, whoever wrote it was educated. The Deceangli kept no written legend and faded from history once conquered by the Romans. Perhaps when the Romans left Britain, at least one tribe member lived to tell a few tales.

Good news. Very good news. Maybe the kind of news Tayna could use, too. Liz made a mental note to call as soon as there was a break in the action.

Around the back of the library, a group of researchers made notes on their PDAs. Liz went straight for them. “There’s nothing to see here. Please respect our rebuilding.”

They looked at her and one by one all five jaws dropped. Was her fly down? Liz mentally took inventory and found nothing out of place before realizing that the researchers were focused on something over her shoulder.

She turned around to discover a group of police officers with Chancellor Higgins in the lead. “Liz, I need to speak with you immediately.”

“I gathered that from your phone call. Is the Osric Room clear?”

The officers tried peacefully escorting the researchers away, but they weren’t interested in leaving. Jeff got caught in the scuffle and pulled out his identification. The researchers laughed in his face as well as the police officers’.

“Liz,” Higgins began. “This is the last straw. The damn exterminators were a bunch of guys with bug spray, taking notes and photographs of the Archive Room.”

“What?” Liz’s world spiraled. She glanced at Jeff as he tried to talk the researchers away. He looked in her direction, eyes reassuring her that he’d take care of everything.

“Liz, I can’t have any more of this. You’re fired. Get your things and go.” Higgins’s fury ignited.

Before she could formulate a word edgewise, he turned on his heel and headed for the fracas. Who knew geeks could be so militant?

Her gaze locked with Jeff’s. She shot venom through it, too. This was all his fault. There would have been no one invading her library, her precious Osric Room, if it hadn’t been for Jeff Wenkanson—creep deluxe.

Dammit. Numbness crept in, tingling from the inside out. How could this have happened? Tears welled, but she refused to let them fall. Ouch. First Bryan, then Andrea, then her job. What was next? Tayna, too?

Without realizing it, Liz had walked all the way to the Ward Manor. Ignoring the slightly-thinned geek squad, she shoved through the gate, locking it behind her. From there, she ran to Tayna’s door.

And hoped she got there before her heart completely shattered.

 

* * *

 

Together, Tayna and Clyde lifted the lid of an old weathered chest. Stale antique air wafted out, causing Tayna to wrinkle her nose at the peculiar scent. On top, there was a floral-papered tray full of pens, inkbottles, stationery, an ink blotter, mother-of-pearl buttons and small spools of thread. Nothing that gave the name of their owner, however. Oh well. Tayna picked up the tray and set it aside on the floor of one of the old bedroom closets where the wall had cracked. Maybe there was something in all this old stuff that’d help her figure out what to do about Andrea.

The bottom of the trunk was mostly empty save for some yellowed muslin. Tayna pulled it out. Holding the fabric up revealed pantaloons and two slips.

Clyde grinned. “Great stuff. Looks like it hasn’t been touched in forever.”

“I feel like I’m in an antique store, but the stuff’s all mine.” Tayna stood and held the pantaloons to her waist. Spinning around, she laughed. “There’s another fifteen or so of these trunks to go. I hope I can put together a full outfit. That’d kick ass.” But not until this whole Andrea thing was solved.

Clyde nodded. “Give me a hand unstacking them and I’ll take them downstairs into your parlor.”

The air in the room chilled. Tayna and Clyde looked at each other questioningly.

“I don’t think it’s from these chests,” Clyde said quietly.

Tayna felt the urge to go downstairs and see if Andrea had magically appeared on her doorstep. “Yeah. I don’t think so either. Something’s up. I’m gonna go check it out.”

“Should I come with you?” Clyde raised his eyebrows.

“Tayna! Where the fuck are you?” Liz’s frantic voice carried. The air in the room returned to normal.

“Ah.” Clyde motioned toward the door. “Catch up with me later. She really needs you now.”

Wasting no time, Tayna rushed out of the room. “I’m coming down, Liz. What the hell is up?”

“I just wanna curl up and die.” Tears fell down Liz’s face.

“No you don’t. You want cookies. Trust me. Cookies are a million times better than curling up and dying, trust me.” Tayna pulled her best friend close. “What’s going on?” It felt more serious than boy trouble. Tayna’s world spiraled—what if Liz had found out the worst about Andrea?

No. Tayna checked her intuition. No. Wherever Andrea was, she was alive. There wasn’t a void in Tayna’s heart where Andrea’s presence occupied.

“Higgins fired me today,” Liz squeaked between sobs.

Tayna breathed a sigh of relief. “So what? You don’t need him. And I’m glad the bastard let you go before he could try and take all the credit for what you discovered.”

“But I didn’t discover anything.”

“Come on, Liz, walk with me.” Tayna led the way down into the kitchen. “You discovered the Chronicles and the Rede and all that stuff. You’re gonna make sense of everything and fuck anyone who says any different. You’ve got proof.”

“It’ll all be discredited anyway because it wasn’t a dig. The sites are all contaminated.” Liz shook her head. “I appreciate everything, but I still lost the best job I ever had. I’ll never get to go in the Archive Room ever again.”

“Never…ever…say never, Liz.” Tayna put a finger under Liz’s chin and lifted it. “Never. You hear me? ‘Cause if it means that much to you, I’d be happy to blow another hole in the wall just to get your sorry ass in there. I got no prob with that, girl.”

Liz grinned and shook her head.

“Besides, you’ve exchanged one stack of old dusty books for another. One’s less discovered, too. Isn’t that better than the ho-hum yawners in the Osric Room?”

“Okay. I’m buying.” Liz sighed. “For now. But only because it does free up my time for helping you find out what happened to Andrea.”

“That’s more like it.” Tayna kissed Liz’s cheek. “Everything’s gonna be fine, girlygirl. Don’t freak out anymore, okay?”

Liz managed a little smile.

“Grab the mixing bowl and the sugar or I swear I’m gonna smack you.” Tayna went to the refrigerator and retrieved eggs.

When the cookies were in the oven and beginning to scent the kitchen with their yummy goodness, Liz pulled the leather scrap from her pocket. “Did you notice this on the corner down here?”

“I never really looked at it.” Tayna looked where Liz pointed. “What does it say?”

“D-E-C-E-A-N-G-L-I. It’s the name of an ancient tribe of people who lived in North Wales since BC and through the whole time the Romans came and left.”

“Yeah, and that was?”

“The Romans arrived around 75 AD and left around 400 AD.” Liz set the leather scrap onto the counter next to the stove.

“How do you know all this stuff? And what does it have to do with anything?”

“The Deceangli tribe didn’t leave much behind except for some lead pigs used in copper mining. Hell, we aren’t even sure that’s the real name of the tribe. I’ve seen it as Ceangi and various similar ones, but bottom line, if this leather is a thousand years old and whoever was messing with it knew that name, then whatever’s in that big elusive Rede book might be equally as old. Like knowledge that has been lost for all this time.”

“I guess I’m following, but all it makes me want to do is get a hold of that book even more.” Tayna grabbed an oven mitt and handed another one to Liz. “And I think Kyre Osric is our biggest problem. I think he’s got Andrea.”

“Do you know that for sure?” Liz pulled a tray of cookies from the oven.

Tayna followed, placing her tray onto the stove burners. “I never saw what he looked like, but yeah, I think I can point a finger at him.”

Incredulously, Liz closed the oven door and looked at Tayna. “Let’s go get her, then.”

“We’ll be turned into newts.”

“I thought you do magic.” Liz set down her mitt.

“I just dabble.”

“Dabble, my ass Tayna…don’t get me started. You do a helluva lot more than dabble.”

Tayna shook her head. Just how much magic was prudent to admit to? Especially the kind of stuff she’d been doing lately. “I need more magic in order to do more stuff.”

Telekinetically, Tayna dragged open a drawer and floated a spatula to a rather dumbfounded Liz.

She tentatively took the utensil and started shoveling cookies. “What about the Chronicles? Is there something in there you can use to get Andrea back?” Liz was clearly fighting the urge to inquire about Tayna’s parlor trick.

“The Chronicles? That’s an awful lot of books, hon. I’m not a fast reader by any stretch of the imagination, magic or otherwise. Plus, I can’t read half of them anyway.”

Pulling a dish from the cupboard, Liz arranged the chocolate chip yummies on it. “I can read them.” She bit into a cookie.

“Still, that’s a lot of fuckin’ books. What we really need is the Rede. It’s supposed to be the be-all-end-all and have every spell all in one place.” Tayna hopped onto the counter and sat next to the plate of cookies before taking one in each hand.

“But we don’t have it and we’ve got no way of locating—” Liz interrupted herself. “I’m an idiot.”

“Coulda fooled me.” Tayna gobbled down a mushy warm bit of heaven.

Using thumb and forefinger, Liz picked up the leather scrap and dangled it in front of Tayna. “Use this and see what you can find.”

“Gah!” Tayna said with her mouth full before swallowing the sugary lump. “Damn, we’re both morons. Let’s go see what I can see.”

Holding the secret door open, Tayna waved Liz down the stairs.

“Where are the lights?”

Tayna followed. “Don’t need ‘em. I cleared out all the booby traps and stuff. Just keep walking.”

“Booby traps?” Liz’s voice shook.

Tayna grabbed Liz’s wrist before heading to the back room. “Wait a second.”

“Why?”

“I wanna know if you feel it, too.”

“Feel what?”

“It.”

“It?” Liz tugged her wrist out of Tayna’s grasp. “If you mean the odd temperature drop and the overwhelming feeling like we need to get out of this room, then yeah, I feel it.”

“Just checking. When I first discovered this room, it didn’t do any of that. Now, it practically screams ‘beware!’ and I don’t know why.” Tayna continued down the hallway into the secret room.

“Have I mentioned you’re a freak?”

Tayna giggled. “Thank you. I’ll try harder next time.”

“And go for completely insane?”

“How about raving lunatic?” Tayna turned on the table lamp. “Or what about something mysterious like sorceress or necromancer? Equally as deranged, but in a much better way.”

Setting the scrap of leather on the table, Liz shrugged. “As long as you can find the Rede and Andrea using only this strip of leather, I’ll call you whatever you want.”

The crystal ball glowed as Tayna pulled it from its shelf. “Magic-user will suffice for now because I can’t make things appear out of thin air and I can’t actually communicate much with the dead. Both in time, though. Lately, it’s like someone flipped a switch somewhere, turned on all of my psychic bullshit power and upgraded it to the real deal.” Tayna telekinetically lifted the leather scrap from the table and hovered it above the ball.

“You just dabble, huh? You’re so full of shit.” Liz shook her head and smirked.

“Yeah, but you’re not creeped out about it, huh?”

Liz wrinkled her eyebrows. Aha. She’d figured it out. “All right, all right, I’m getting used to it. It’s not possible to write off magic and ghosts and stuff when I read about them all the time. History’s full of otherness and the unexplained.”

“And so is the present.” Tayna grabbed the leather and fiddled with it.

“And crystal balls help foretell the future, not repeat the past, right?”

Ah yes. Crystal ball 101. “They tell you what’s important. It could be past, present or future. I never know until I get going.”

Too bad Liz wasn’t qualified to scry or Tayna would’ve given up her seat. Hell, if Liz scried, she could probably go all the way back to one of her favorite Welsh castles during a big siege. Those real men clad in leather and metal, clanging and banging swords against each other. Liz would know who they were, why they were doing it and probably how to do it better than they could. Tayna momentarily pondered the amount of effort required to teach someone who wasn’t gifted how to scry and stopped before her head started spinning.

Tayna relaxed her body and strengthened her telekinetic hold on the leather. Damn. This kind of stuff got easier every time she tried it. Like using her power strengthened it. Bitchin’!

“Bitchin’!” Liz grinned and Tayna wondered if some kind of thought transfer had occurred or if it was just coincidence. In any case, Tayna was ready for the fireworks to begin.

“Grab pen and paper from the shelves. I’ll need you to take notes. Just don’t try to talk to me or I’ll lose all the imagery, okay?”

After a short hunt, Liz had everything she needed and set up shop on the floor near Tayna. “Ready, boss—Sorry. No more talking. Got it.” Liz shifted her attention to her work and waited.

Tayna pushed her focus deep into the ball while fidgeting with the leather, floating it around in circles. The idea was for it to influence the images in the ball. Maybe get it to act like a magnet, separating what was relevant from the craziness.

Her tactic was smart, but not smart enough. She couldn’t grasp an image even if her life depended on it. Oh, what a pisser. It was like being stood up for a date without the jerk even calling. All that prep and the guy screwed up the whole thing. Men. Balls. Fuck ‘em.

Tayna’s eyes glazed over. Her vision blurred as she went further into trance than she’d ever been. Hot damn! Gradually, she lost track of her location. Only a small portion of her consciousness was aware of her surroundings, the rest was lost in the crystal imagery.

“Lots of white.”

There were little black dots in the white and she was looking upward. “Ceiling tile. Suspended ceiling.”

Before getting lost in all the dots, she forced herself to look down. “Tile on the floor, too. Lots of little gray splotches. More white.”

She couldn’t make out the walls, though. They were just white and distance was too hard to judge. Was it a hallway or a room or just some wonky place with only a ceiling and a floor? “Make some sense, dammit.”

Wish granted. “Electronic beeping.”

Dulled feeling, a muted awareness of physical pain washed over her body. But the sensation was more masculine than feminine.

“Recovering. Someone is recovering by himself. It’s a guy. A twisted guy. He doesn’t know what side is up, just that he’s got to get out.”

Whoever this guy was, he had some kind of magical power if he really was healing himself. The vision suddenly clarified with sharp detail, startling Tayna.

“Hospital. It’s a hospital. Gimme a room number.”

Tayna gritted her teeth and yanked herself completely out of the image and looked at Liz. “Did I get enough?” Her memories all blurred together.

“Oh hell, yeah.” Liz nodded. “Let’s go.”

Tayna shook her head and the leather scrap floated to the tabletop. “Okay, cool. I’m gonna grab some cookies on our way out. Then you can tell me exactly where it is we’re going.”

Chapter Twenty

Kyre’s hands shook as he picked up his teacup. The clattering china unnerved him almost as much as Andrea had. Her sad eyes and hurtful words. She probably wasn’t even aware of what she’d said.

Or maybe she was.

It was highly likely. Her essence had been sitting in that bowl for hours, just begging to be contaminated.

Kyre accidentally dropped his tea, the fragile china shattering on the countertop, brown liquid dripping down the cupboard faces. This wasn’t supposed to happen again. He wasn’t supposed to fuck up again. Kyre grabbed a towel and started mopping up the mess all the way down to the splash on the floor.

He knelt, pushing back until his legs went to one side and he leaned against the center island, the tea and porcelain forgotten, lost in his heart’s anguish for what he’d done to Andrea.

What the fuck was going on?

Why was he lamenting this tragedy like this was the end of the world? Someone had to be playing a cruel trick on him. A tear fell from one eye, cascading down his cheek.

Enough was enough.

Kyre stormed out of the kitchen and down the hall. What to do? What to do? He couldn’t leave Andrea in the basement. Not like that. He punched in the code and the library door slid open.

Once safely inside, Kyre walked to the center of the room and opened all of his senses. “Talk to me. Who knows what went wrong? Who knows how to fix it? Who knows what I need?” He opened his hands out to the side and closed his eyes in order to concentrate more clearly.

VooDoo. A female voice streamed into Kyre’s consciousness.

“What of him?” he said aloud.

Live. Learn. Then shall you know.

“Out with it or I’ll leave her like this,” Kyre warned. There was no time for riddles.

A spell of love will prevent you. Seek VooDoo.

Love spell? “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. She cast a fucking love spell? Damn it. That witch. I’m leaving her like this. She can rot.” Kyre’s hands closed into fists and he nearly lost contact with the mysterious woman.

Seek VooDoo. Seek VooDoo. All shall be revealed. The witch is not evil. Not Andrea.

“Sure.” Kyre huffed. “Then tell me where VooDoo is.”

Follow your instinct.

“Wait. Who the hell are you? Do I know you?” This had to be the first time turning to necromancy yielded clear words. Another spell must have been cast over him. Something bigger. Talking with spirits had never been this easy.

Lady Hilary.

Kyre’s heart filled with warmth. “Hilary. My sweet Hilary. Can you help me find VooDoo? What is it you ask of me?”

Learn from your mistakes. Study the man you tried to make your brother. Recollect him and you shall find all methods for which to repair the damage done.

“But where, Hilary?” Kyre felt his muscles relaxing of their own accord, lightening, easing his whole body, clarifying his sense of direction.

A flash of light had Kyre opening his eyes to his empty library. Everything remained in place, but yet a certain chaos loomed.

Kyre grinned with confidence. That chaos—well, the lack thereof—would lead him to VooDoo and then he could set about fixing everything. He’d have that happy family he’d always coveted.

Once out of the library, his senses were clear. Intuition had him facing toward the kitchen, but the chaos seemed greater there than toward the garage. With each step, the craziness diminished.

In his car, he let instinct take over. Hilary had extracted all of his earthly stresses, thereby magnifying his psychic sense of direction. All he had to do was follow it.

Obeying traffic, Kyre navigated through the chaos toward Reith General.

The hospital? Was VooDoo hurt?

 

* * *

 

Whether or not Tayna had a gift, Liz had no reason to deny it. She looked out the window of Tayna’s Ranchero on the way to Reith General and wondered what she’d gotten herself into. Tayna kept pushing the boundaries of Liz’s belief system and imagination. There should have been something creepy and strange about all that, but there simply wasn’t.

Liz chalked it up to the whole world exploding because of the stupid earthquake. This was California. They happened all the time.

“What was the number?” Tayna pulled her rattletrap into the hospital parking lot and looked for a spot while munching down the last of the cookies. This was like a moment of truth. Hopefully, Tayna could deliver.

Liz looked through the notes she’d scribbled from Tayna’s babbling. “712.” After haphazardly refolding them, Liz shoved the pages back into her pocket. Maybe they’d need to study more of the murmured nonsense later.

Three non-handicapped spaces from the door, a car pulled out and Tayna slid the Ranchero right on in. “Just like magic, huh?”

“Let’s hope so.”

“Come on. You’ll get used to it.” Tayna shut off the ignition and got out. “You ever been up that high in this old place?”

The hinges squeaked as Liz gave the door a good hard push to close it. “Not since my late grandpa had his heart attack when I was nine.”

Tayna plowed ahead without looking back. What were they really going to find? That mysteriously, the Rede had teleported into a broom closet on the seventh floor and that room 712 was actually the janitor’s office? This was absurd and Tayna couldn’t see how crazy it was. She sped toward the elevators, nearly leaving Liz behind. If she hadn’t held out her hand to stop it, the elevator door would’ve closed.

“I thought you were following me.” Tayna shrugged. The old guy standing next to her eyed the crystal-hilted sword hanging from Tayna’s neck before she pulled her tank top out and deposited the tiny dagger under the fabric.

Smirking to herself, Liz realized Tayna had to be right. That they really were going to rescue this big powerful old book from the hospital. Tayna was that freaky and did have that sparkle about her. Without setting her next to normal people, Liz had all but forgotten that her best friend really wasn’t like everyone else. It was absolutely conceivable that all of her questions would be answered by the contents of room 712. Heavy.

Liz’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest when the elevator finally opened on the seventh floor. The old guy went to the left and Tayna went to the right. Liz followed, looking around to make sure no one was paying a whole lot of attention…and to take note of alternate exits just in case.

Tayna hooked a sharp left into a room, Liz lagging slightly behind. What they found in the room looked normal on the surface, but a creepy feeling overtook Liz. There was a man in his late twenties on the bed, murmuring like when Tayna was scrying, but his eyes were rolled back.

Tayna gasped.

Liz wanted to run out of the room. “There’s no book here. Let’s go.”

“Tayna Ward. Ward Rede. No.” The man’s rich tenor voice held fear. “No. Faster. No.”

Tayna opened her mouth as if to say something, but remained quiet as she stepped closer.

None of the machines beeped any differently despite the man squirming under the covers.

The hair on the back of Liz’s neck stood on end. “Shouldn’t we get out of here? He’s freaking out.”

“He said my name and the book, Liz. I’m not leaving here without him.” Tayna waved a hand over the man and closed her eyes as though trying to concentrate on something.

No way. No fucking way. It was like watching a train wreck or a nasty car accident. Liz didn’t want to see anything, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from Tayna and the odd, creepy guy. Maybe one of the nurses would come in and interrupt. Yeah. That was it.

“Check his chart. What’s his name?” Tayna glanced at Liz.

Fumbling, Liz located some paperwork, but there was no name. “John Doe. I don’t know.”

“Then I’ll have to guess. I don’t know what he knows, but damn…” Tayna resumed waving her hands over him. Closing her eyes, she mumbled something. Liz was ready to snap.

The air in the room felt heavy and cold. A gentle breeze tossed the curtains on the other side of the room. Luckily the other bed was empty or surely someone would’ve pushed a panic button. Liz was ready to do it herself, but Tayna opened her eyes and grinned. She had an air of reassuring confidence, signaling that even though Liz thought things looked downright insane, Tayna still had control.

Then the man sat bolt upright, forcing Tayna to step back.

Focusing on her, he shouted, “It’s mine! You’ll never have it. Never!” Tossing away the covers, he unhooked himself from all the machines and ran out of the room before Liz could hardly blink.

Tayna started after him, hustling out the door, leaving Liz unsure whether to follow them or go a different way before nurses or security tackled her.

Too late. A rather large, scowling nurse stalked into the room as Liz tried to make her escape. “What is going on in here?”

“I don’t know. I was next door and heard all the racket. I thought I could help. I know CPR.” Liz hurled the lame excuse while shrugging her shoulders.

The nurse wrinkled her face and harrumphed when she saw the empty bed.

By the time the nurse looked back, Liz was already two doors away in the stairwell she’d noticed on her way in. Only a few people saw her in the hallway. She hoped none of them would be able to identify her in a line-up if anything came of this…this…this misadventure.

Why had she come here with Tayna? Fuck. This whole thing was a disaster and where the hell did Tayna go?

The Ranchero was still in the parking lot. Liz looked around, but there was no sign of Tayna. Leaning against the nearest car, Liz sighed. The car’s alarm went off and she jumped.

Nice. Liz was leaning against Kyre Osric’s Jag and it was going as nuts as she was feeling.

“God help me. Please. Just put me out of my misery.” Liz backed away toward the building, ignoring all the stares from patients and loved ones. Maybe walking back to Tayna’s wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Or just walking home. Either one.

Liz’s cell phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket and answered it.

“He’s touched the book. That’s why he’s so fucked up. He’s magically fucked up.” Tayna sounded out of breath.

“I don’t even care anymore Tayna. Let’s get the fuck out of here. This is a fucking nightmare and I want out. Fuck the book. Fuck the fucking book. I’m done with the goddamn book.” Liz hung up.

Tayna came out of the building and headed straight past Liz to the Ranchero. “All right. Okay. More cookies, then?”

Liz nodded. She didn’t know what else to do.

Chapter Twenty-One

Ramming his hands into his pockets to keep them steady, Kyre tried to concentrate. Pulling within himself, trying to relax. Hospitals always spelled trouble. Too many people in pain, dying, in heightened emotional states.

Hilary was gone. Or if she was following, Kyre couldn’t sense her clear enough anymore. The only decipherable bit he understood was that VooDoo was somewhere on an odd-numbered floor.

Dodging old folks with walkers, various wheelchaired souls, and all their assorted friends and family members, Kyre worked his way down a hallway. Dulling his psychic abilities to quell the bombardment, he refrained from turning them off completely. People in pain, whether dead or alive, put out a lot of energy and could knock the healthy off balance.

But Kyre wasn’t going to be a casualty. No way in hell. He needed to get the one casualty he’d created and get out of there before anyone noticed.

Passing a young, bookish boy wheeling his mom and an oxygen tank down one hallway had Kyre flashing back.

He’d met and soon damaged Sammy about six years ago in the Reith University Library. Six years ago. Damn, time flew, didn’t it? When Kyre saw a good thing, he knew it. Six years ago, that good thing was Sammy.

Kyre had been searching for a book on Celtic artifacts, wanting to remember more details about the Lindisfarne Gospels when he’d peered through the rack and saw a high school boy. Brown hair, parted on the side, brown eyes intently studying a book about Welsh history. The boy flipped through pages, hunting some particular detail, perhaps for an assignment at school.

“Hey, Sammy, why don’t you get your mom and dad to help you?” A smarmy blond punk led a pack of others. “Oh that’s right, you don’t have parents.”

Sammy looked up from his book. “Yes, I do. I have foster parents. Leave me alone, Kevin.” He was hardly fazed on the outside, but Kyre recognized that act. Inside, Sammy was about ready to cry and run away.

Kevin smacked Sammy’s book out of his hands as the boys erupted in laughter. “Nerd! You’re the biggest geek in the whole school. Why don’t you go home to your fake parents and write a term paper about why no one loves you?”

Kyre knew what would happen next and hoped he could get to the other side of the aisle in time.

“Shut up!” Sammy yelled and scuffled.

Rounding the shelves, Kyre watched as Sammy lashed out, knocking two punks against the shelves. The other two were poised and ready, but Kyre grabbed one of them. “Get out of here. This is not the place.” He sent the kid tumbling down the aisle.

Kevin swung at Sammy, who ducked out of the way before landing a good stomach punch. “Go away, Kevin!” Sammy backed up, his gaze flashing terror toward Kyre on one side, Kevin on the other. There was no escape and Sammy couldn’t seem to decide which would be the easier adversary to defeat. Damn, Kyre vividly recalled what it was like to be in that position…and it hurt all over again.

He stared at Kevin. “If I ever see you in this place again, I’ll personally drop kick you out of here along with the rest of your little friends.” Kyre pointed down the aisle. “Go. Now.”

Blinking up at Kyre, Kevin backed away. Looking down at Sammy, the punk pointed a finger. “I’ll get you for this.” Turning tail, he jogged out of the aisle and joined up with his friends.

“Don’t worry about him.” Kyre extended a hand. “I’m Kyre Osric. And I’m not going to throw you out because of those jerk-offs.”

Sammy swallowed hard, eyes still glassy. He took Kyre’s hand and squeezed. “Thanks. They’re just pissed because I won’t do their homework anymore.”

“You never should’ve started in the first place. It’s all downhill after that.” Kyre nodded. “Heaven forbid you should write a paper that scores lower than a C.”

“I already tried that, too.” Sammy grinned.

“What are you studying? Maybe I can help.”

Sammy sighed. “Welsh history up to a thousand years ago.”

“Looks like you’ve got yourself a study partner.” Kyre grinned. “I’m Welsh and quite versed in history.”

Kyre had never forgotten the way Sammy’s eyes had lit up. Like he’d found a new hero.

And what a lousy hero Kyre had turned out to be.

If only he’d known how important it would be to keep a close eye on VooDoo. Then there wouldn’t be this mad dash through the hospital where the injured and ill faces stared in wonder at the man stalking through the hallways, peeking in rooms.

Damn it. Where the hell did that kid get to?

Kid. VooDoo was far from the kid he used to be. Kyre’s heart pounded harder every time he saw a boy who resembled Sammy, escalating with each step toward the kid until at the last moment, realizing the mistaken identity and moving on. If he’d done this right the first time, there wouldn’t be any problems like this.

It was one thing to pay for mistakes, but this was a whole different kind of payment. Sure, Kyre’s money provided for VooDoo, but his heart paid a far larger price. And likely would for the rest of his life.

And now Andrea was added to Kyre’s list of pain. Would she have the same effect on him if he couldn’t fix her?

A mother pushed a smiling blonde daughter in a wheelchair. A brother helped a little blonde sister use her walker. A husband led his beautiful blonde wife on his arm as she struggled to stand on a weakened ankle.

As Kyre headed back to the elevator, he saw a nurse organizing a tray of medications. Methodically, she straightened the aisles of drugs so she’d know what was there, who to give them to, how to administer them, double-checking everything to prevent a life-threatening error. Each drug was chosen by a doctor, a person who knew what to prescribe, how many doses, how often. Once the doctor had carefully chosen everything, all the nurse had to do was follow instructions. Foolproof.

Fool-fucking-proof , he cursed to himself as his mind drew forth memories from six years ago.

 

* * *

 

“Can I help you, sir?” The sweet-voiced saleswoman startled Kyre as he rummaged though a rack of old dresses in a junk-filled booth. She looked him over like she was about to call the cops.

“Velvet. I need some velvet.” Kyre couldn’t keep the urgency from his voice. All he needed for the spell was a scrap of used velvet and figured this antique mall should have something. “A dress or skirt, maybe a coat. The color doesn’t matter.”

The woman nodded and beckoned. “Something velvet, huh? Do you know what size thereabouts?”

Following closely, he scanned each booth. Jewelry, kick-knacks, sets of dishes, old tools, old dresses, but still no velvet.

“There’s one booth in the back. The lady who owns it brought in a velvet coat the other day. It’s gorgeous.” The woman dodged around a table and chair as she entered a booth of real and reproduction Victorian things. “How much were you willing to spend?”

“The sky’s the limit.” Would she please hurry up? There was still one more stop before he had everything he needed to make this damn thing work.

The woman reached into a rack of petticoats, slips and dresses. After sliding most out of the way, she retrieved a black floor-length cloak. It had large, very elaborate rhinestone buttons. “The buttons alone are crystal and practically worth their weight in gold—”

“I’ll take it.” Kyre reached for his wallet and thumbed through for a credit card.

“All right, then. I’ll bring it up front for you.” She smiled as though finally realizing that he needed the cloak, not its history, not its price. And it was about time.

After it was carefully wrapped and the credit card slip was signed, Kyre thanked the woman and hurried out the door as her “Have a nice day” or whatever she’d said, bounced off his back.

Next stop was the grocery store. His list was long, but there wasn’t anything on it that couldn’t be found at one place.

He grabbed an apple without considering which kind it should be. Weren’t they all the same? Red Delicious, Gala, Granny Smith, why should it matter?

The spice aisle yielded everything he needed. But while in produce, he’d forgotten to look for fresh herbs. Hell, rosemary was rosemary, wasn’t it? Whatever. He grabbed a bottle and tossed it into his cart.

Vessels didn’t matter, either. Standard mixing bowls should work. He put a whole set into the cart. And tossed in various spoons, a whisk, and a handful of big knives and serving forks just in case. This was going to be his first attempt at a complete transformation. He’d tame it as it unfolded. None of his other spells had backfired, so why should this one? Kyre was a magical genius.

Yeah, so fucking genius that he hadn’t considered the consequences of his actions. So fucking genius that he hadn’t realized his creation could never surpass the sum of its parts.

In fact, the strength of its parts—Sammy’s parts—couldn’t overcome the strength of the poor materials Kyre had chosen for the spell. He should have used instinct.

But no, he was too fucking magically genius for that, wasn’t he?

Hallway after hallway, Kyre searched, bringing new meaning to the term tunnel vision. True, there were several off-limits areas, but about halfway through the fifth floor, Kyre’s intuition practically ignited, chaos diminishing.

VooDoo was nearby.

“Sir?” a nurse called out as Kyre brushed by. “Is there something I can help you with?”

He swung around and politely shook his head. “No. Thank you.” Truth was, the hairs on the back of his neck were on end. The fifth floor was devoid of VooDoo and he didn’t need to finish searching to know that for sure.

Calm it down. Calm way down. Focus.

The pain in his heart wrenched. This was torture. He was feeling no less than what all the sick and injured were feeling, except that Kyre felt everyone else’s pain mingling with his own. He couldn’t block everyone out and still keep his intuition honed in.

He pressed the button for the elevator. Come on. There’s no time. Without VooDoo, there’s no hope for Andrea. Or Kyre, too, for that matter. If things got any worse, he swore he’d go insane.

The world swirled as his thoughts receded again.

 

* * *

 

“Welsh history. Hmmm… What do you want to know?” Kyre contemplated the best way to overtake Sammy. They shared iced tea at Kyre’s kitchen table.

“My paper has to do with the Celts in North Wales and what happened when the Romans moved in, conquering.” Sammy turned to a fresh page in his notebook. “I’m mostly fascinated with a couple of the tribes up there, around what is now Rhuddlan. The Deceangli, mostly. Do you know anything about them?”

Kyre hid his surprised expression carefully. The kid had unknowingly happened upon a descendant of that tribe. “Well, I know a little, but what do you need for your paper?”

Sammy cocked his head to the side. He must’ve suspected something. “There’s not much written, so just tell me whatever you know because then if there’s something I haven’t read, I can research it further or maybe my teacher will give me an A just because I found out something she didn’t know.”

It was tough to start in on what Kyre knew about his ancestry because he’d been forbidden to talk about it in detail. High magic and all the superstition involved had always gotten his family in trouble. But since Sammy wasn’t going to leave with his memory intact…or at least not in the same manner as he was right now, Kyre told the kid everything he could remember from reading the diaries of his ancestors, interpreting the drawings and paintings as best he could.

By the time Kyre was done, Sammy’s notebook was full. Toward the end of the history lesson, Kyre started explaining all the magic. Sammy interrupted with a ton of questions. Finally, including the all-important one. “Can you do magic like those people did?”

“Would you like to see some?”

Sammy jumped out of his chair. “Would I?!”

Kyre stood and beckoned. “Let’s go into my magic lair. That’s where I do most of my work. You can help me with a spell I was working on. It’s for a sort of transformation.”

“Wow!” Sammy grabbed his notebook and followed Kyre down the hall and down into the magic lair. As soon as he set foot in the high-ceilinged basement, his eyes widened and he didn’t seem to know what to look at first.

“Just don’t touch anything without asking, okay?” Kyre closed and silently bolted the door. “Some of this stuff’s pretty powerful and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Sammy questioned every scrap of fabric, every leaf and twig, every weapon, and every hunk of metal before making his way to the worktable where Kyre had set out all the ingredients he’d gathered the day before.

“Hey, Kyre. You said we were going to do a spell.”

“Preparation is everything.” Kyre gestured toward the velvet, spices and such on the worktable. “All these must get mixed up properly and into a vessel…sometimes known as a mixing bowl.”

“Is there a recipe? How do you know how much to use?”

Kyre considered the question carefully before answering. “The original recipe was lost long ago. I think I’ve recreated it—with a few substitutions—but it should work just fine.” His answer seemed to suit Sammy well enough.

The truth was too hard to admit—the spell was almost entirely fabricated through a mixing of his innate magical knowledge and the bits he’d cobbled together from various texts that referred to the transformation.

“Okay, well then, what do we do now?” Sammy looked anxious. He was honestly the perfect base, unafraid of being around Kyre and in such a strange room in the basement. It was almost a shame to take the boy’s life and rearrange it. But there was no better time than the present. If Kyre was going to graduate from parlor tricks into the real world of magic, he had to start somewhere.

Placing a hand on Sammy’s shoulder, Kyre mumbled the words for a calming spell, then a connecting spell. The kid fought at first, but this was a parlor trick that Kyre had mastered. His strength was in persuasion…and Sammy acquiesced. Kyre led him to a chair near the center of the room and sat him down comfortably. Care had to be taken or the spells might break and a frightened teenager was not someone Kyre wanted to deal with.

It was almost like charming a snake. Sammy sat down and closed his eyes. That was Kyre’s signal that his spell had taken. There wasn’t much time before it would wear off, so he had to be quick.

He crushed the rosemary and tossed it in the mixing bowl. Cut an apple. Ripped a chunk of velvet. It was almost like mixing cookie dough, preparing the ingredients, then tossing them into the bowl while chanting the beginning of the cleansing spell. With the large spoon, Kyre stirred everything up. The final ingredients were essences—a little of Kyre’s and all of Sammy’s.

Placing his hands on Sammy’s face, Kyre summoned his inner energies, drawing out the boy’s essence. This was a whole lot easier than he’d imagined it would be. A sparkling gray mass floated in the air like heavy smoke. As though being poured, it flowed into the mixing bowl. Sammy twitched a little, but did not stop breathing.

All was going well. Very, very well.

Extracting a tinge of his essence, Kyre added himself to the mix. The matter coagulated into a liquid state as all the ingredients broke down and mingled with each other, bonding, becoming one mass.

Kyre raised his arms and cast the transformation spell over the bowl. The room glowed an ominous purple and suddenly somewhere in the back of Kyre’s mind, he was worried. But he was beyond the point of no return. He had to continue and if problems arose, deal with them one at a time.

But then things started happening too quickly. The entire room erupted, shaking every weapon, crystal, everything away from the walls, off of the shelves and hurling them in a tornado, Sammy being the center of the madness. Kyre backed into the eye of the storm. He couldn’t get a clear intuitive read if this was supposed to happen or not—if this was part of the spell. It looked like a nightmare. But what high magic didn’t?

As the room swirled, Kyre gathered only that which had been in the mixing bowl and hurled it into Sammy. As each bit permeated the boy’s skin, Kyre felt a sharp prick, as though Sammy were a giant voodoo doll.

Separating the mixture from the tornado became increasingly difficult. Kyre’s pain swelled to near-blinding proportions, but he had to finish. Even if it drained all of his strength. He had to at least stop the wind.

Kyre grabbed onto Sammy’s chair as energy waned. The force of the wind was directly proportional to Kyre’s strength. As he fell to the floor, everything stopped.

There was only one step left and Kyre simply didn’t have the strength to do it yet. He let his eyes close for some much-needed sleep.

Chapter Twenty-Two

When the elevator doors finally opened on the seventh floor, Kyre was almost afraid to get out, afraid of what he might find when he got to VooDoo’s room. The hospital’s inhabitants both real and in spirit form stabbed through Kyre’s consciousness. He forced himself out into the hallway as an elderly couple took his place in the elevator.

Focus. Somewhere on this floor. He’s here.

Kyre’s chest ached, heart pounding madly. Was he making a mountain out of a molehill?

When had high magic been so small?

Absolutely never.

He saw a sign pointing toward the restrooms and followed its direction, propping the outer door open as he passed through. Once in a stall, he summoned the necessary strength and cloaked himself. No one would see him scouring the seventh floor.

Once back in the hallway, his intuition flared, guiding him away from the chaos. Some leads were weak, but he focused on them, honing in, letting them take him to VooDoo, sending his mind to the past.

 

* * *

 

The spell had felt a little shaky toward the end. Like something was off, but Kyre hadn’t been sure why. The only certainty was that the transformation had completed. Any minute now, Sammy Markenburg would open his eyes and be the little brother Kyre had always wanted. Someone who idolized him, and blindly followed him simply because of that fact.

The lair was a mess from the spell. Kyre set about reversing the disaster while contemplating his performance throughout the process. Not bad for being unable to locate the true recipe. As each dilemma arose, he’d mollified the whirlwinds without wearing himself out.

He picked up a scrap of velvet from the big black cloak. Antique, for sure. It reminded him of something his grandmother would wear when she read him bedtime stories. She’d enjoyed dressing the part whenever she could. Now, the cloak was shredded down to barely more than a pile of buttons and tattered silk lining.

As Kyre worked the fabric from hand to hand to hand, Sammy stirred. Watching the young man, Kyre stepped closer. The moment of truth was at hand. How well had Kyre’s mastery manifested?

Sammy grabbed the edges of the chair, his knuckles fast turning white. Kyre dropped the velvet and knelt nearby. He wanted to be the first thing Sammy saw when he woke up, welcome the boy to his new life.

When Sammy’s eyes opened, dread coursed through Kyre’s entire body. What had once been attentive, smart eyes, now looked dull, not lifeless, perhaps confused or maybe malfunctioning. They blinked a few times, clearing the confusion, gaining chaos as though the mind behind those eyes was no longer stable. Those implications mirrored in Kyre’s mind. He felt like he wanted to run away screaming, but yet he remained planted in front of the boy.

His thoughts battled for attention. Should he consult the books? Go over what he’d inserted or modified? His knuckles burned in sympathy. This boy was no longer normal by any stretch of the imagination.

Returning to the present, Kyre stared at Sammy. His life-size voodoo doll. What was to become of him now? Pain gripped Kyre’s heart without hint of ever letting go.

No more magic. Never again.

Hogwash.

Better magic. More practice. Maybe given enough time, Kyre could fix Sammy.

Yes. And he needed to do it now. Maybe through fixing Sammy, Andrea could be rescued, too.

Rounding the final unexplored corner, Kyre’s intuition ignited his senses. VooDoo was nearby. Physically, a dull ache worked through Kyre’s body as though VooDoo had been recently injured and recovered.

But where exactly was he?

Still cloaked, Kyre went from room to room. A few elderly women blinked toward him, but must have convinced themselves that they hadn’t actually seen anyone.

Barely outside of room 712, the hairs on the back of Kyre’s neck stood on end. Liz Spencer emerged and nearly walked right through him. Grabbing the doorframe, he hurried in, dismissing Liz as she went toward a stairwell.

Like a ton of bricks, the sensation hit him. VooDoo had been in that room and had been there very recently. A nurse grumbled as she dealt with machines.

Whatever had happened to VooDoo, he’d either healed himself or someone else must have. The nurse looked somewhat perplexed. What the hell was going on?

Kyre hurried to the elevator and thankfully caught it empty. Uncloaking on his way down, he suspected Liz was somehow involved with VooDoo’s disappearance. It was both a blessing and a curse that Kyre’s senses were calming down. A blessing because his head threatened to explode and a curse because now he really had no idea where to look for VooDoo.

Barreling out of the hospital, Kyre recognized the wail of his car alarm. Its lights flashed until he pressed the key fob making the ruckus stop. As he approached the car, an old Ranchero sped away…with Liz in the passenger seat.

Wasting no time, Kyre got in and tailed the Ranchero. A small dark-haired woman drove.

Concentrate on what you need. Let all else go.

“That kid is mine,” Kyre murmured as he let intuition dictate which way to go next.

 

* * *

 

What a crappy day. Jeff trudged down the hallway to his apartment.

He’d gotten Liz fired.

That was all he could think about. It was all his fault. Everything since he’d shown up. He’d totally interfered and screwed everything up for her. Everything. Was there a single thing he’d done that hadn’t affected her life negatively?

Shit. There wasn’t a damn thing.

His neighbor’s door was wide open. The strange guy who mumbled a lot. Jeff peeked in and was downright appalled at the detritus heaped as far as he could see into the apartment. Didn’t the guy ever take out the trash? How long had he lived there. What a putrid stench. Jeff dumbfoundedly stared through his neighbor’s doorway.

The guy blasted into the living area, frenzied and babbling senselessly. His clothes were rumpled like he’d just put them on, no button or zipper used. The fellow seemed so distraught; Jeff couldn’t keep from knocking on the doorframe. “Hey. Is everything all right? I live next door. Do you need some help?”

The man dropped to his hands and knees and tossed aside bits of moldy, wet newspaper. He grumbled while trying to pick something up. Did he even know Jeff was still standing in the doorway?

Jeff was poised to knock again, but the guy started struggling with something on the floor. Stepping inside, Jeff gingerly squatted, trying not to touch anything. No wonder the roaches always seemed to come from the wall he shared with this guy. Ewww.

Yanking and pulling at something, the fellow grew even more frantic. “Need to get it away. Make it go away. Wrong hands. Go. Go away now.” He struggled with what appeared to be an old book.

But what was he trying to do with it? Why couldn’t he just pick it up if he was trying to get rid of it?

“Wrong hands. Must go. GO!” The fellow hopped up and stumbled over Jeff while running out the door, arms flailing. More nonsense poured from the guy’s mouth as he trotted down the hallway.

But with the man gone, Jeff got a better look at the source of craziness. Picking up the book, he thumbed through it. Old. Very, very old. Illustrations on muslin, handmade paper, writing in Latin.

Goodness gracious, this book might be the big break he needed.

Cautiously, he closed the fellow’s door and went over to his own apartment. This book was very important. The cover was a little beat up. A section of leather had been completely removed and there were scratches in it like someone had taken coarse sandpaper to it.

Jeff turned on his lamp and with the book in his lap, sat on the floor. Incredible. Absolutely incredible. There was no title page or introduction. It just started in as though maybe it was someone’s diary…someone who didn’t know how to write.

The whole first section mostly consisted of illustrations. There were drawings of various herbs and animals and implications that they should be mixed together. Maybe recipes. And according to a few somewhat resembling cartoons, they must have been instructions for healing…and wait… Was this perhaps some kind of spell book?

It didn’t all look like a cookbook. Not everything had ingredients that were edible and sometimes figures were shown making and applying what appeared to be poultices of strange concoctions.

One section focused on a battle.

Jeff rubbed his eyes in disbelief. One of the armies was dressed in red, with armor…like Roman warriors. The other army was dressed more like British Celts. Turning a page brought a smile to his face. It looked as though all of the Romans had been slain by fireballs raining from the sky. He couldn’t help but wonder if some artist had pulled this battle out of history and documented it or if it had been recorded real time. Each section held incredible detail, but the saga ended abruptly when the sky erupted.

The next section looked to have been done by a different artist altogether. This person spent more time on recipes than current events, though. Still, no words, just drawings.

As he thumbed his way through, Jeff realized that this book could catapult him into the big time. Actually, him and Liz. He owed it to her after all he’d accidentally put her through. With a little bit of luck and a whole lot of research verifying this book, Jeff and Liz could firmly get their names known. Of course, step one would be getting her to talk to him again. From there, everything would get much easier.

Turning a page, he vaguely recognized a map. The words clwyd and valle crucis and moel hirradug were scribbled clearly enough for him to theorize that this was a primitive map of Northern Wales.

After the map, the language changed. Latin mixed with Old Welsh, Breton, Gaelic, Old English and even a few dialects Jeff couldn’t decipher, let alone identify. The authors’ writing grew more sophisticated further on in the book.

Some passages could be translated as dates, but without knowing who the author’s king—or in some cases father—was, Jeff couldn’t determine exactly what year the author referred to.

There were also a few location changes. At one point, there was a Viking ship transporting a group of people. A woman holding a book had one hand raised and appeared to be commanding either the wind to blow into the sails or perhaps make rain stop…or maybe both. It was hard to tell. Some kind of chant was written in triplicate amid the swirls of wind.

Fascinating stuff. More healing. A few more authors. Then finally a real date: November 16, 1327.

On that date, a different woman holding a book raised her hand and…Well, shit. It looked like she closed some kind of gap between mountains. Maybe some kind of passage…“Holy shit,” Jeff said aloud as he traced a finger along the wide mountain range. “Rocky mountains. The goddamn Northwest Passage was real. Some woman said all these words and closed it on this other group of people along with all their cattle and stuff.” He traced a finely printed group of phrases. The language was unfamiliar, but the way the picture was drawn led him to believe that this big old book really was some kind of high-powered witchcraft instruction manual.

At that realization, Jeff wasn’t entirely sure he should be thumbing through anymore.

But a quick flip through the rest of it probably wouldn’t hurt.

It became much more dependent upon the written word than the earlier stuff. Dates went from the fourteenth century up through the nineteenth century. Tons more recipes. Some didn’t look like they were for benign purposes, either. Broken hearts, dead ravens, mutilated cows, people with black splotches all over their bodies.

There were no chapter breaks, but if Jeff would’ve inserted them, they’d alternate between sections of death and mayhem and areas where crops flourished and children were born healthy. Essentially, cycles of wickedness followed cycles of goodness on and on until the final pages.

Scribbled with a weak hand, one particular entry was cryptic.

 

Hope in rebirth. Let the rift not eternally divide.

 

The words were written in the middle of the page, followed by:

 

Lost May 17, 1837. May the Rede be forgotten until in good hands it befalls. I wash my hands of this dilemma.

-Alphonse Ward.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“We’re gonna fuck the fucking book, huh?” Tayna grinned. “Could be fun, but I gotta worry about the paper cuts.”

Liz was so done with all of this. All of everything. If one more thing blew up in her face, or even turned out marginally wacky, she swore she was ready to jump off the nearest cliff.

Well, maybe that was a bit much. Besides, things could still get worse. Not much, but definitely worse. “I just think we should focus on Andrea, not some wild goose chase with a book and a deranged lunatic.”

Tayna unlocked her front door and ushered Liz into the house. “I don’t even get a courtesy laugh anymore? Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“My sense of adventure isn’t failing, it’s everything else. It’s the direction the adventures keep going. South. If I don’t start adventuring north and soon, I’m not gonna be much good. I might as well check myself into whatever mental hospital that loony guy came from.”

“Hey, he can’t help the way he is. Magic fucked him up pretty good.”

Liz shrugged. “Maybe I don’t know a whole lot about the stuff, but it seems like it does more harm than good. I mean, if it’s supposed to be all fine and dandy, why can’t you just consult your crystal ball and figure out a way to get Andrea back?”

“Liz, we’ve been through this already. It’s not that easy.” Tayna filled a pot with water and set it on the stove to boil. Her answer for everything was always a strong cup of tea, but what the hell good was it really except to prevent sleep?

“Wait a minute. Let’s hit the books. You said yourself that there’s spells and stuff in them. Maybe we can find the right spells to get Andrea and maybe uncover a secret stash of gold hidden in the walls of the library. After that, we can start working on building men so we wouldn’t have to do any more of this dating bullshit. Just—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…hold on a second.” Tayna pulled out two teacups. “First up, that’s a lot of books to even try to speed through, not to mention that there’s more than half that I can hardly read the doodles in the margin let alone the text. And second, all the rest of that stuff you talked about…don’t even worry about it, babe. I’ve seen you bounce back from worse.” The pot started whistling so Tayna removed it from the burner. “But…hmmm…the man-building stuff could be fun. Let me know if you read anything about how to do that.”

“Let’s just get down there and start looking. The sooner I find that spell, the sooner you can cast it.” Liz picked up her cup and headed toward the secret door. Neither woman acknowledged that rescuing Andrea was really the spell they wanted.

With each step down into the basement, Liz felt worse and worse. Something was too strange, too…wrong. Oh well. The Chronicles were her last hope. Perhaps she’d learn a thing or two about Reith while she was at it. Once Andrea was out of Kyre’s clutches, Liz could start working on Tayna about going public with some of the books. Or at least letting more qualified historians look at them.

Once in the room, face to face with the towering shelves of Chronicles, both women sighed.

“Big job ahead of us.” Tayna set the tea things down on the worktable. “I hope you don’t get too creeped out down here.”

“Tayna, I’ve been creeped out since the moment I met you, but right now, with everything one-upping everything else, I don’t think I even have the time to be creeped out anymore.” Liz’s gears suddenly started to turn. “And if you’re such a high-powered magic whoop-dee-doo, can’t you just use some of that psychic energy divination crap to figure out what books to look at?”

Hands on hips, Tayna faced the bookshelves. “Hmmm…Nope… Well, not really… Maybe… Ummm—”

Liz approached Tayna, wondering what the hell had made her stop talking so suddenly. The wall of books still looked the same. Nothing was out of place, no empty spaces. But Tayna’s stare was eerily locked on it and Liz didn’t think she could break the silence to question it so she sipped her tea instead. Somehow it was comforting.

Tayna closed her eyes and slowly stepped around in a circle. Once, twice, then her right hand came out, palm toward the spines of the books, tracing each shelf. She got all the way down to the end of the bottom shelf and still hadn’t chosen a book yet. Must be another one of her strange little ways of getting into the groove.

Taking another sip, Liz continued watching, not particularly caring that the reading frenzy hadn’t commenced. Just when she’d had enough and was ready to pull out any random book from the fourteenth century, Tayna stood up and rammed her shoulder against the corner between the bookshelves and the shelves that held all the rocks and daggers and stuff.

“Tayna. What the hell are you doing?”

She grunted and pushed harder. “I don’t know yet, but I gotta do it.”

“Well, do you need help?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Tayna made room as Liz set down her teacup and joined in throwing her weight against the corner, careful not to hurt anything. Maybe Tayna found a stash of gold after all. Maybe instead of being in the wall of the library, it had been squirreled away down here in the super-creepy basement where all the ghosts could watch over it—why was that sounding plausible all of a sudden? Liz grunted as much as Tayna while shoving against the corner.

It budged.

Liz and Tayna raised their eyebrows, then shoved harder.

And harder.

And harder…until a small section about two feet wide opened up.

“Something told me we needed to open this space, but I’m not brave enough to go poking around under there just yet.” Tayna backed away, scrutinizing the gap. “Because something also told me we need to read a couple books before this makes sense.” She turned and grabbed her cup of tea, downing it before pouring another.

“Why is that not confidence-inspiring?”

“You’re good, Liz.” Tayna clanked her silver rings against the outside of the cup as she palmed it. “All I could figure out was that magic is involved—well duh—and that the book or books that have what we need are somewhere in the middle shelves.”

It was Liz’s turn to stare at the books. “Does that mean sixteenth century or seventeenth?”

“Well, how about we try both?”

 

* * *

 

Go. Go. Got to get right hands. VooDoo loped down the street. His hands weren’t right. The book told him so. Only one person would know which hands were right. Only one person could tell him who had the right hands.

Only one person could give him the chocolate chip cookies he wanted.

No. There wouldn’t be any cookies there. VooDoo never had cookies anywhere other than fresh out of the oven in his apartment. Why was he running so fast without cookies?

Nothing nowhere made any kind of sense. His feet halted on the pavement. Dropping to his knees, VooDoo began to cry. Who was that guy in his apartment? What did he want with the book?

Why had the book wanted VooDoo to run away?

He sat on the sidewalk and tried to calm down. His destination had to be close by. Had to be. The cement was warm.

VooDoo’s mind’s eye conjured the book, so close he could almost reach out and touch it.

To fix, clarify. Clean. Restore. Easy in the right hands.

The only hands VooDoo knew were those of Kyre Osric. They had to be the right hands. They’d be warm. They’d give him cookies for the very first time. They’d take away the book. They’d make it stop haunting him. They’d make everything stop haunting him.

Or would Tayna Ward?

VooDoo shot to standing, torn between which way to go. It was so warm right here at the foot of this hill. But who had the right hands?

Did he need Kyre’s or Tayna’s? Man or woman? Did it matter?

Who could fix him? Fix. Help. VooDoo needed help, wanted help. Which way?

Women were always better helpers, weren’t they?

But this was all Kyre’s fault, so he should fix it. Make it better.

Where to go? What to do? “I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know,” VooDoo said under his breath. Maybe no one would harass him anymore. Maybe no one would pick on him. Maybe no one would look at him anymore. But would someone please give him cookies? He sniffed the air. Someone, somewhere had his cookies.

Shiny blackness rolled next to the sidewalk. VooDoo swallowed hard as he stared at it.

“VooDoo…Sammy… Come here.”

VooDoo cocked his head. How did the black thing know his names? Was that bad? It had no hands.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, buddy. Come here.”

Hurt? Oh no. That’s bad. He backed away, slowly so as not to startle it into following. Bad. But wait. It was warm. Warm, but shiny black and rolled. VooDoo froze.

A man emerged.

Oh no.

Kyre.

Kyre Osric.

Were his hands right?

VooDoo didn’t know, but his feet were glued to the sidewalk.

Kyre approached slowly. “It’s okay, buddy. I just want to give you a ride. I want to talk to you. Is that okay?”

Okay? Talk? Why would that be okay? Maybe it wouldn’t hurt. “Hands. Show me your hands.”

Crooked grin. Kyre chuckled, but this wasn’t funny. “You want to see my hands? Okay. Here they are.” He acted stiff, rigid, hard, unmoving, uncompromising. Probably not good. Unhappy.

Glowing fiery red with blue halos, large hands shone forth. VooDoo inhaled sharply, unsure. Between fingers, yellow strands sparked back and forth before all color morphed to green and a tree sprouted and grew tall. A tree like the ones in the book. Kyre’s hands were more right than VooDoo’s for sure. “Do you have cookies for me?”

“I can. If you get in my car, I’ll take you to them.”

Car?

Shiny black thing that rolled. That’s right. Those are cars. “Don’t hurt me more.”

Kyre softened, all rigidity waning. “I never wanted to hurt you in the first place.” He didn’t sound like a liar. “I promise I won’t hurt you.” He didn’t look like a liar, but the tree disappeared.

“What happened to the tree?”

“The tree?” Kyre swallowed, then looked left and right. He was ashamed of something, of hiding the tree.

“Afraid? Ashamed? Well, I’m hurt. I want to be fixed.” Where were these words coming from? VooDoo rammed his hands into his pockets before they started talking the way his mouth did.

Kyre leaned down. He wasn’t as overbearing when he was short. “Actually, I’m hurt, too. And I want to fix you, but I need your help.”

“VooDoo no help.”

“Only you can help me, buddy. I swear it.” Kyre wasn’t lying. His eyebrows gathered together, dark eyes pleading.

“In the car, right? I can help in the car and you’ll take me to cookies and everything will be warm and you’ll fix me and I’ll help you and, and, and…” VooDoo couldn’t grasp any more words. They slid from his mind too fast. And when they slammed back in, they swirled and ambushed his mind’s eye. There was no escape.

“Yes. I’ll help you.” Kyre put an arm around VooDoo’s shoulder. Warm. So very warm. VooDoo wanted to fall asleep, restful, peaceful sleep.

Once in the black shiny car, the world darkened. VooDoo watched out the window, but nothing was as bright as it had been before he’d gotten into the rolling machine. He wanted to ask why, but held his tongue.

Kyre was concentrating. But then he started talking while gripping the wheel. “I’ve got someone for you to meet. Together, maybe we can help her. Have you read any good books lately?”

“Hate books. Wrong hands. Hurt. Torment me.”

“Why? You used to love books, didn’t you?”

“Big book flips and burns and…magic is painful.”

Tense. Kyre was tense. All of a sudden very tense. Knuckles grew white. “How much of that book did you read, Sammy?” He faked a grin.

“Only what it showed me.”

Throat cleared. “Good. Maybe all that will help.” Car stopped in front of Osric House. Big Osric House. Scary. “We’re here.” He got out of the car and went around to open VooDoo’s door, but VooDoo wasn’t sure he should get out. That was a big house. How many cookies could he have in there? Last time was when he got broken. How can he go in again knowing he could be broken even more?

“Can’t go in without cookies.”

Kyre knelt to eye level. VooDoo’s frightened gaze to Kyre’s frustrated one. He motioned toward the house. “The cookies are inside. Down in the basement with that lady I want you to meet. We need to help her somehow. Do you think you can come with me?”

“I’ll go.” VooDoo considered the strange old white and metal house. “Slowly. Don’t show me your hands again until we see the pretty lady. Do you think she’ll like me?”

“I know she will. I hear she’s been lonely.”

“Okay. Just this once. For the cookies and friendship.”

Kyre closed the car door. Out on the grass, the world seemed to compress VooDoo. Pushing from all sides. Push. Push. Push back. “How do I get inside? Show me the cookies now.”

Leading the way, Kyre walked tall. His shoulders started relaxing, lowering with each step closer to the building. He didn’t walk with hard intent. More like agony. Slow, foreboding. To the entry courtyard space.

VooDoo stopped. “Just one cookie before I go in. Please? Please?”

When Kyre turned around, VooDoo was compelled to keep walking. “Sorry. I’ll have cookies when we get inside. I forgot.” Why was VooDoo’s body feeling magnetic toward the house, toward Kyre? Magnets and flesh weren’t alike. Properties far different.

“I don’t know, K-Kyre. I don’t know. I’m broken.”

Door opened and held. “I’ll fix you and we’ll fix the lady. We’ll be like one happy family.”

“I hope so.” VooDoo’s body was magnetized again. He was compelled to walk down a hall, then stood at a doorway until Kyre revealed an entry. They both went down. Tunnel vision. Nothing but white and black.

Beautiful blonde girl tied to a chair.

Painful memory of same ordeal. Silk around wrists still bound sometimes.

Nothing but black. What happened to the chocolate chip cookies?

Nothing but black.

Chapter Twenty-Four

With the book carefully bundled in a blanket and stowed in a cardboard box, Jeff strode onto the San Francisco State campus. When Jeff had told Proffesor Koji, the History Department Chair, about the Reith library, things had happened almost immediately. Inside three phone calls, Koji had gathered a research team and geared them up to investigate. He’d definitely know what to do about the book, too. And probably help Jeff apply for a research grant. Yeah. That would be fantastic.

Struggling with the front door, Jeff held it open with his back, careful not to jostle the box as he went through. Each hall had a plethora of new faces. Funny how in only a couple years, all the students he remembered had been replaced with a whole new crowd. Same nerd types like himself, but also the serious ones on their way to being teachers or working in the field.

Radiochemistry had been a good choice for Jeff, but archaeology was looking more and more fascinating with each step he took down the white-with-blue-stripe hallway toward the History Department office. Maybe he should have majored in history instead of only minoring. Naw. Then he wouldn’t have scored the gig at the lab, met Liz and gotten wrapped up in the Reith discovery. He might never have found this incredible book that could make the past his future. Hot diggity.

“Hi. May I help you?” Marcus said after licking and sealing one of the myriad envelopes on his desk. “Oh, hey Jeff.”

“Is Koji busy? I’ve got something to show him.”

“Let me go look. Wait. Do you have an appointment or does he know you’re coming?”

“No. But I’ll wait all day if I have to.”

“Okay.” Marcus balanced his stacks of envelopes before standing up and shuffling down a short hallway. He peeked into Koji’s office, but Jeff couldn’t hear the conversation. Please, oh please, let Koji be free.

Marcus turned and beckoned to Jeff. “He said, ‘Come on in.’”

“Cool. Thanks!” Jeff hurried, gingerly do-si-do-ing around Marcus in the hallway.

“Jeff Wenkanson. Just the man I wanted to see.” Professor Koji Akimoto sat behind an immaculate desk. His bookshelves held a mess of books, periodicals and various artifacts, but the desk was completely clear, begging for Jeff to set down the box. Koji leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “I keep getting phone calls from Chancellor Higgins at Reith University. Turns out there’s nothing to see in the library or anywhere near it. Can you explain that to me?”

Jeff gulped. Those weren’t the words he’d hoped to hear. “W-Well…uh…Actually, that’s because Higgins won’t let them see what’s really there. A-And I’ve brought probably the best thing from there.” Rushing to get the box open, he reached in.

“Have you?” Koji didn’t sound thrilled, but at least he hadn’t mentioned the Reith library again.

Picking up the book, Jeff unwrapped the blanket from around it. “Would you believe California history goes back before the nineteenth century?”

“Absolutely not,” Koji huffed. “But I’m willing to see your supposed proof.” His grin was almost encouraging. Almost.

“Well, have you seen any of the pictures from the Reith library? There’s herringbone stonework under the facade. The front of the library was sort of covered over, but it has what look like D-shaped towers like Harlech Castle or any of those thirteenth century beasts that Edward I built.” Jeff swiped the box to the floor and set the book in its place. “You ready for this?”

“Convince me, Jeff.”

“O-Okay. Check this out. It’s kind of like a cookbook, but I think it might be one of those old spell books or medical manuals. Herbs and stuff.” Jeff fumbled through the pages, stopping at a map. “Okay, North Wales, right?”

“Yes, Jeff. Gwynedd. Powys. Anglesey-Mona. Celtic North Wales.”

Turning more pages of herb drawings led to the Viking ship with chanting. Jeff paused there, but neither man said anything. Koji was looking increasingly impatient.

At the next pause, Koji scooted forward—hopefully intrigued—and slid the book closer. “November 16, 1327?”

“Yeah. And it looks like the Northwest Passage, doesn’t it?”

Loud uproarious laughter burst forth from Koji. Pointing toward the door, he leaned back in his chair. “Get out of my office, Jeff. I don’t know who did this, but he’s got a great imagination.” More laughter. “Come back when you’ve got something real to show me.”

“But wait. Look at this…” Jeff flipped through to more of the written words rather than illustrations.

Koji wasn’t interested. “Go, Jeff. If you’d majored in history perhaps you’d see the humor here.”

Ouch. “Sorry. I just thought maybe you could shed some light on this. I thought it was a great discovery after having been walled up for over a century. I guess I was wrong.”

“Even if it wasn’t an elaborate fake, what makes you think attaching your name to it would make this ‘discovery’ credible?”

“That’s why I’m here.” Jeff picked up the book and began wrapping the blanket around it again. His heart sank lower and lower by the second. Clearly, Koji wasn’t interested in the book…at all.

Jeff had been sorely mistaken to come here. Darn it. He’d gotten up early for this, too, so he could make the drive back in time to invite Liz to dinner or coffee or something, anything to help make everything up to her and show her the book.

“Come back when you’ve really got something, okay? Something more plausible than a cookbook—written partially in Latin no less—in California before the Spaniards or Russians got here.”

Jeff set the book back in the box and hefted it onto to his hip. “Okay. Perhaps I’ll come in next week.”

“I trusted you about Reith once, and now I’ve got a chancellor on my back. I’ve got enough trouble with Rakunas. Now I’ve got Higgins, too.” Koji’s tone edged back toward encouraging. “Keep trying. If you’re meant to find something, it’ll be right there in front of you and I’d like to see it.”

Ah yes, Koji’s famous speech. Well, this time, he was the one not seeing what was right in front of him. His loss. Jeff bit back his frustration and waved as he headed for the door. “Thanks for your time.”

“Good luck.” Koji’s words echoed in Jeff’s head. Luck? Yeah. That’s what he needed for the next time he saw Liz. She, too, would probably laugh at him for bringing her a fake book.

What a huge failure.

Jeff had failed at everything so far. Everything that mattered. Poof! Gone down the drain. He waved at Marcus who was jabbering on the phone while stuffing more envelopes.

What next? Back to Reith? And see if there’s a good recipe for chocolate chip cookies in this darn book? Did Liz even like cookies? Good golly, Jeff hoped so.

 

* * *

 

Liz looked up from 1739 and rubbed her eyes. For every interesting detail about the time period, there were a hundred humdrum yawners. And the authors—goodness they were drier than popcorn sometimes. She’d read tons of textbooks that were more enthralling.

A lot of the information in the Chronicles simply wasn’t pertinent. It was fascinating to learn what color the draperies in the maid’s bedroom had been, but page after page dedicated to their beauty simply wasn’t necessary—especially since the author hadn’t correlated it to anything else.

Stretching her legs under the table, Liz rubbed her eyes again while thinking over some of the stuff she’d read. Day to day life in California before everyone showed up to “conquer” it had gone in cycles. Boring one day, action-packed the next. Gee, history repeated itself all the time. Liz smirked, yanking her mind off of her future and back to Tayna’s past.

Here were these two families—bitter rivals—both trying to stay out of each other’s way for fear of death and destruction, but then if one side gained new power or skill, the balance was upset and then the other side retaliated. Sort of. Well, sometimes.

The Wards seemed to be the peaceful type, but when war was waged, they were ferocious, magically taking down Osrics as if they were toys. Of course, these Chronicles only told one side of the story. The real question was how far the apples fell from the tree. Was Tayna Ward strong enough to follow in her ancestors’ footsteps and get Andrea back from the supposedly equally powerful Kyre Osric?

As if on cue, an apathetic, light snore came from the direction of the bookshelves. Good grief.

Tayna had fallen asleep about an hour ago. She’d needed it, but still, none of this was confidence-inspiring. Defying her sense of dread, Liz turned another page. Another page. Another page. Eventually getting lost in the books.

On any other journey through time—through these books—they would have been a treasure. But right now, all Liz wanted was a page that read, “Instructions for rescuing friends from the wicked clutches of the Osric Family.” How hard could that be?

She turned yet another page.

Nope. No instructions. Nothing of the sort.

It was another map that she couldn’t tell was relevant or not.

Liz sighed, ready to set the book on the floor with the other maps she’d found. They all had either the Ward Manor or Osric House on them, but Liz’s mental Reith history maps didn’t go back far enough for comparison.

Sliding the book near the edge of the table, her gaze caught on calligraphy underneath a drawing of Osric House. Tracing the writing, she noticed a line. At first it looked like crude topography of the hill down into the valley, but as she slid her finger along, the line ended at the basement of the Ward Manor.

Was this the tunnel in the corner? Liz looked up at the cracked-open door, but wasn’t brave enough to get up and peek through it. The overwhelming creepy feeling that she’d tried to turn off whenever she was in this godforsaken room whirred through her, thrumming annoyingly.

Secret, dark passageways under centuries-old houses sounded fascinating to read about or watch on television. But in reality, this damn thing was giving horror movies more clout than Liz had previously assigned. In the back of her mind, an audience was yelling, “Don’t go in there! You’re gonna get your head chopped off by the giant crayfish!” or something…that dreaded something.

But that tunnel could lead to Andrea…and once she was back, Liz could put her life back together…or something.

She glanced at her best friend, curled up on the floor. Damn, that woman needed sleep. Waking her up now probably wouldn’t make her interested in diving into the tunnel—protective magic or not.

And anyway, the line might not be the tunnel. Liz stared back down at the book. It was just a line. Not very wide. It was probably just an accidental doodle. Quietly, Liz placed the map book on the floor next to her chair and sighed. Next up was 1789.

Or at least it started out as 1789, but then the author went off on a tangent and started randomly listing and explaining curses.

Curses? Or was this superstition?

Liz thumbed a few more pages in. No, this wasn’t superstition. Oh no, no, no. This was bigger, funnier…and sometimes scarier.

According to the author, this information was copied from an older book that was deteriorating. Okay, whatever, get to the good stuff. She read on. There were instructions on how to cast curses—what an ordeal—and explanations of ones already cast and the supposed whens and whys. Many of the curses were so old no one remembered when they’d been cast.

One curse placed on the Wards in the twelfth century declared they’d always be social misfits. Liz chuckled lightly. That suited Tayna to a tee.

Among other not-so-bad-sounding curses, the Wards were cursed to have such innate power they’d sometimes cast little spells without realizing them.

So much about Tayna made sense now. At any given restaurant, her food was always ready first. And whenever Liz had scoured every bookstore looking for one of her geeky, obscure castle books, it was nowhere to be found. But if she’d brought Tayna along—like magic—there it was, eye-level, faced out on the shelf closest to the door.

Curse? Yeah right. That wasn’t a Ward curse—that was an everyone-who-knew-a-Ward curse. The book needed an update…or perhaps a footnote.

Turning another page, Liz found a section on the Osrics. They were cursed to never grow a vegetable garden. But that wasn’t true. Liz recalled a decent garden near Osric House. But then again, would Kyre actually get his hands dirty? No. Good thing he was rich enough to have servants because a corollary curse stated that the house wall would fall to disrepair if vegetables did not grow on the property.

This was funny stuff. Liz poured over the interesting details, hoping to find something useful.

Osrics were cursed to own treasures, yet not enjoy them. Hmmm…that seemed about right. They have fiery tempers. Yeah. They also sometimes cast spells without realizing it. Go figure.

And people they try to magically alter always end up deranged.

Deranged?

Magically alter?

Didn’t Tayna say something about that guy in the hospital being magically screwed up? Did that mean “altered”? He’d seemed “deranged”. Holy shit. Liz’s heart pounded, worry overtaking her solar plexus as she swallowed hard. What about Andrea?

“Tayna…wake the fuck up. I think I found something.” Liz held the page open, skimming the rest of it for useful bits but there weren’t any…at least nothing obvious.

Tayna rolled over, but didn’t wake up.

“Tayna!” Liz got up and knelt next her. “Wake up, girl!”

Another snore. Then her eyes slit open before closing again.

“Hello Tayna!” Sheesh! She slept like the dead. “Come on. I need your help.” Liz shook Tayna’s shoulder.

“Hmmm?” Tayna opened her eyes again, wider this time, but she still wasn’t fully awake.

Liz retrieved the curse book from the table and shined the light down to better illuminate it. “Look at this. It’s a book of curses. Didn’t you tell me that the guy from the hospital was magically screwed up?”

Tayna squinted her eyes shut and then reopened them. “What?” She worked herself to sitting, skirt splayed in a perfect half-circle.

“Osrics are cursed. If they try to alter someone’s personality, that person ends up deranged. One way or another, the person is screwed up. Do you think Kyre would do something to Andrea?”

Swallowing hard, Tayna considered what Liz said, then consulted the book, tracing the words with her fingertips. “I dunno. It doesn’t look good, though.” Tayna flipped to the next page and continued reading.

“We gotta go in there and get her. Ram the front door or something. What if she ends up like that guy? All spouting nonsense and stuff? We can’t let that happen to her.”

“Liz…Liz. Chill out. There’s a reversal spell here. Don’t worry about it.” Tayna kept reading. “Oh, that’s cool. They’re cursed to feel guilt for their victims. Torture like that is good. I hope he’s suffering triple anguish for that guy at the hospital.” She grimaced. “He’ll rot in hell if he did anything to Andy. But then again,” she shrugged. “If she’s screwed up, I can probably fix her with the reversal spell.”

“‘Probably’ fix her?” That wasn’t good enough.

Tayna looked at Liz. “I can’t be sure of anything anymore, babe. From where I sit right now, there’s a damn good chance we won’t even get to Andrea, let alone be able to fix her…if Kyre messed with her. And y’know, I don’t even wanna think about that yet. We can’t do a damn thing until we know where Kyre has her. Did you find anything about the dark tunnel thingie?” She motioned to the corner.

Gritting her teeth, wishing she was brave enough to run through the tunnel herself, Liz crawled to the group of books containing maps and dragged them over. Why couldn’t this whole process be easier? Have only one book to peruse? Or better yet, just rewind life to before Bryan and try again. But no. Life has no rehearsals. She started setting out the volumes. “Not nearly as entertaining as the curse book, but here’s what I found.” Spread out chronologically, the one with both houses landed in the middle.

Briefly glancing at the later ones, Tayna skipped to the oldest. “The Ward Manor used to be a lot different, huh?” In 1604, it was hard to tell where what was now the university stopped and Tayna’s property began.

Consciously holding back a grumble caused by Tayna’s lack of focus, Liz asked, “Is there anything here that says what’s up with the spooky tunnel?”

“Oh Liz, it’s not spooky. Why do you always think everything in this place is spooky?”

Liz smirked, this time refraining from wasting time on a long explanation of the obvious.

“Okay, never mind.” Tayna studied the books again.

“I rest my case.” Liz moved to get a better view of the map containing both houses. Some areas were gray or faded, but the houses were definitely connected by a line.

Tayna turned the page. “This is pretty nifty. Looks like that thingie hooks up to Osric House. It’s supposedly booby-trapped and—” she paused and looked at the spine of another book “—probably forgotten between 1764 and 1797 because it’s not in the later maps at all.”

Booby traps? Great. This was a fucking bad horror movie. Giant crayfish and all.

“What’s a siege tunnel?” Tayna questioned as she repositioned the book in her lap.

Now there was a real cause for worry. “Well, medievally speaking, that’s what you dig when you want to get under the curtain wall of a castle. Usually, you mine underneath, which weakens the wall above and hopefully makes it fall down. Is that what the book is calling it? A siege tunnel?”

“Kinda. If you read every fourth word, it says that the Osrics started a siege tunnel. The Wards got wind and grabbed their picks, meeting the Osrics somewhere in the middle. Shit. That’s like two miles of tunneling between the houses, isn’t it?” Tayna kept reading.

“Yeah.” Liz mentally kicked herself for not noticing the damn book had gone into code. “Does it say when it was done?”

“Nope. Just—” Tayna made quotes with her fingers “—‘many years ago’.”

“Does it say why it wasn’t bricked up or filled in?”

“All it says is that there’s a large space at the midway point where both sides fought until near death.” Tayna turned another page. “Then it goes on, out of code, to talk about new draperies being installed in the parlor. What a fucking tease, huh?”

Liz rolled her eyes. “What? You wanted to read about a grisly battle where both sides were so bloodthirsty they nearly wiped each other out of existence?”

“Well yeah.”

“Then you need to read more medieval history.” Liz started to get up. “If that’s the kind of shit you like, you’d really dig it.”

“I would?”

“Yeah. And probably learn a thing or two about how nothing really changes, we still repeat history, just with faster killing machines.” Liz went back to the books on the table.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Jeff’s drive back to Reith had taken no time at all and neither had coming up with a Plan B for the book. The Wards had no money, but the Osrics—well, they were clearly loaded. Jeff parked in front of Osric House. It was a gorgeous mixture of Victorian splendor and modern convenience perched on the highest hill in town.

Jeff headed up the Osric House walkway, intent to see if Kyre Osric would consider hiring Jeff to research the blanketed book in the box at his hip. Then he’d really have something to offer Liz.

Halfway up the walk, a gray-haired, heavy-set woman pushed a small green plant into the dirt next to a well-groomed shrub. She seemed sweet, humming as she worked. On the side of the house, an older fellow worked a hoe in what appeared to be a rather large garden. Business as usual perhaps? Jeff reminded himself to concentrate on the task at hand. This was monumental. He couldn’t screw up this time.

As he neared the woman, she looked up, startled, but smiled. “Hello. May I help you?” She pointedly looked Jeff up and down. Why’d she need to size him up like that? Strange. Very strange…and it sent his nerves in a bigger uproar, but he had to do this. He had to try.

“Good afternoon. My name is Jeff Wenkanson. I’m a—” he hesitated, but forced himself to continue even though it wasn’t fully the truth yet. “I’m a historian and I’ve come to discuss a book with Mr. Osric. Is he home by chance?”

The woman brought herself to standing. The man in the garden stopped working the hoe and leaned on it, intently watching. Good grief these people were strange. No. Actually they only felt strange. Their gazes seemed to bore a hole right through him and not only were they watching him with those gazes, they scrutinized his every twitch, sending the hairs on the back of his neck up to full attention and then some.

“A book?” asked the woman, one brow rising as her hazel eyes trained on the box.

Oh, all right. Jeff swallowed, setting the box on the ground to quickly unwrap the heavy volume. When he held it up for the lady to see, she grimaced, and then looked back toward the man in the garden. Was there mental telepathy going on? Was Jeff the only one out of the loop and glad for it because it felt too darn weird? He had half a mind to turn around and forget he’d ever been here, but unfortunately the other half of his mind wouldn’t let him skate clear. Doomed to follow through, Jeff looked over at the man.

The old gardener nodded.

Returning her attention to Jeff and the book, the woman sweetened again although her gravelly voice didn’t ease his nerves. “Mr. Osric doesn’t generally entertain visitors, but perhaps he will make an exception for such a remarkable book. He might want to add it to his collection.” She stepped toward the house.

“It’s not for sale.” The words were out of Jeff’s mouth before he could bite his tongue. Shit. He put the book in the box and started following nonetheless.

The woman stopped and turned back around. “Not for sale?”

He almost ran into her. “Well, I might make an exception.”

“Are you a dealer?”

“A dealer?” Of what? Drugs? “No, I’m not a dealer.”

“Good. Mr. Osric eats antiques dealers for lunch.”

Oh, antiques dealer. Red heat of embarrassment flooded Jeff’s cheeks. Something felt too strange. Too wrong. Too…too…creepy. As if confirming the suspicion, goose bumps rose on his arms. He mentally tossed it all aside. “No. The only antiques I work with are museum pieces. Studying them. Learning about the people who were in contact with them. It’s their history I’m interested in, not how much people would pay for them.”

“All rightie then.” She led him up to the porch. “Wait right here and I’ll ask Mr. Osric if he has a moment.” The woman produced a ring of keys from her apron. “Jeff Wenkanson, right? A historian with a very old book.”

Jeff nodded and grinned—hearing someone else call him a historian felt great even though she was creepy. As the woman disappeared into the house, door closing behind her, he readjusted the box on his hip and peeked over at the gardener. Would that guy ever get back to hoeing or whatever he’d been doing to the vegetables? Or was it more important to stare holes through Jeff? Yeesh.

To get his mind off the creep factor, Jeff reached into the box and opened the book. The damn thing was too thick and Jeff’s hands shook like last week’s earthquake. He fumbled and thumbed for what felt like eternity before finding a page that might be good enough to tease Mr. Osric into donating a chunk of change toward researching his family tree or whatever this book was about. In big letters at the top, the Osric name spread across the pages. Yeah. That’d be intriguing proof that Jeff could use to lure Kyre, make him see the authenticity of this old thing.

The door clicked open again and Jeff almost dropped the box. Kyre Osric had to be well over six feet tall, dark and menacing-looking, too, and probably only a few years older than Jeff if any at all. That was a surprise. He’d thought the guy’d be as ancient as the book. Jeff held out his still-quivering hand. “Mr. Osric…Hi. I’m—”

“Jeff Wenkanson.” Mr. Kyre Osric’s voice was as commanding as his crushing handshake. “I hear you have a book I might be interested in looking at.”

“Y-yeah. Right here.” Jeff tilted the box. Not that he really needed to.

“Would you like a cup of tea while we discuss your book?” Mr. Osric opened the door and welcomed Jeff into the odd stainless steel and white paradise.

Accepting a drink from this guy sounded way too…too…dangerous, perhaps? “No, thank you.”

“Fine then.” Once in the kitchen, Mr. Osric motioned for Jeff to have a seat. He gingerly did so, but left the box on the floor, nervous about getting fingerprints on the glass tabletop let alone whatever dirt the box might have on its bottom.

Picking up the book, Jeff kept it close, carefully setting it down on a white placemat. “So, Mr. Osric. I…uh…have this book and I’m looking—”

“Call me Kyre.” It was too hard to tell if that was a pleasantry or command. “Let me see that.”

When Kyre reached for the book, Jeff hesitated, but then quickly fingered it open to the page he’d found earlier, the one with the Osric name on it. “See, it’s got your name in it and I was thinking maybe it’s about your family and I was wondering if—”

“Fascinating.” Mr. Osric had only glanced at the pages before his gaze locked with Jeff’s. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

“Sure. I was hoping that—” What was Jeff hoping again? Oh yeah. Liz. The book. Rewrite history with her help. “You might…” Why were his words falling out of his mind before he could get them to his mouth?

“I’ll bet this book is very, very old.” Had Kyre seen what the book said at all? His dark gaze never left Jeff’s eyes. Did the man even blink? “I think it might have been in my family at one time. Many generations ago.”

Jeff wanted to add more to the conversation, but couldn’t figure out what to say. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Did you know that Reith is actually a corruption of Rhuddlan, the name of a town in North Wales?”

Kyre’s gaze monopolized Jeff’s attention and he began to relax into the conversation. “Is that what the book says?”

“No. Just something I’ve learned.”

Jeff unconsciously readjusted on the stainless steel chair. In doing so, he’d broken eye-contact with Mr. Osric. Blinking a few times for what felt like the first in centuries, Jeff looked down at the book. It was open to a different page, a cloth one toward the front. Maybe nervousness caused Jeff to pay less attention than he should have. “Those front pages—”

“They’re illustrated nicely, aren’t they?”

The question, hanging in odd silence, made Jeff look up again at Kyre and nod. But he couldn’t think of anything to say. What a strange encounter with nothingness. He couldn’t remember what they had been talking about. Oh wait. Kyre’s question rewound in Jeff’s mind. Oh yeah. The pages in the front. “They’re gorgeous.”

“And probably very useful. Thank you for meeting with me today.” Kyre grinned, first one side of his mouth curling up, then the other. Why did that seem so odd?

“You’re welcome. I guess I best be going.” Wait. Why am I saying that? Jeff tried to blink but couldn’t. We haven’t talked about a damn thing yet. Didn’t he need to get home and turn off the stove? Yeah. It was time to go.

“Certainly, I’ll see you out.”

When Kyre stood, Jeff picked his box up off the floor and rearranged the blanket. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. No. No, it wasn’t. He did have to get home. Boy, it was great talking to Kyre Osric. Wait. What was the reason for coming here again?

“I trust I’ll be seeing you at a later time.” Kyre led the way to the front door.

Jeff nodded. Where the hell was this place? How did he get here? White and stainless steel? Strange. Must be some kind of wacky dream. He put the box on his other hip so he could shake Kyre’s proffered hand. “It was great to meet you, but I’ve got a stove to go turn off.”

“Likewise.” Kyre’s grin did not fade as Jeff walked out the door, not taking his eyes off the tall man whose name suddenly escaped him.

A door shut. A cement walkway beckoned Jeff down to the street. Why was he carrying a box? A box with a blanket in it, no less. Strange. Jeff headed down the sidewalk toward…well…toward somewhere with a stove…home maybe? Wherever that was.

Oh well. Reith wasn’t that big. He’d find it—whatever he was looking for.

Hmmm… So Reith was a corruption of Rhuddlan. The words weren’t much alike even with Welsh pronunciation. Strange. The guy with the blanket in a box continued down the sidewalk through this strange little town.

 

* * *

 

No more waiting around. Tayna dashed through the stone doorway. Andrea could be in serious trouble, mayhem, chaos by now and who gave a shit what was in this goddamn tunnel. Horror movie or not, Tayna could take it. How hard could it be?

“Tayna!” Liz’s voice called from the opening. “What the hell are you doing?”

Stopping only to call back, “If you read something important, come get me. I’ll make sure the booby traps are gone,” Tayna cautiously hurried through the tunnel. “You’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. We’ll both be fine and so will Andrea.”

“I’m not sure I believe you, but I trust you.” Liz’s voice faded as Tayna worked her way further in. This being-able-to-feel-in-the-dark thing kicked ass, but she kept her hands out in front anyway. Caution was one thing, stupidity was another.

Stupidity. The word and its meaning washed over Tayna in one big gigantic shiver.

There hadn’t been any traps yet, but Tayna stopped anyway. Stupidly cursing her stupid self for being so goddamn stupid.

“Great candle of wisdom, if my path be true, light my way,” she began one of her newly acquired spells. Intuition sent a happy tingle down her spine. Yes! Her stupidity was waning.

“Great candle of wisdom, if my path be true, light my way,” Tayna continued, stepping deeper into the tunnel. It wasn’t cold and she wasn’t afraid. In fact, moving forward while chanting felt so damn right she had to hold back a giggle while finishing the spell, “Great candle of wisdom, if my path be true, light my way.”

A dull flicker appeared above Tayna’s head and she couldn’t suppress her laughter any longer. “Thank you!” This had to be the first time someone—or something—had considered her wise and true. Perhaps doing cartwheels would be somewhat inappropriate right now, but amid all the craziness, she had one thing to hold onto—she was doing something right! Woohoo!

Her magic flame brightened, warming as she continued through the stone passageway. No spider webs or rat carcasses greeted her. Nothing smelled funny. There was some dust, but after—what was it?—two hundred something years, that was understandable. The walls were pitted and scarred with pick marks. Damn. Back in the day, those people were dedicated. If this thing really went all the way to Osric House, it must’ve taken forever to cut. Talk about determination. Sheesh.

After about a minute or so, her sixth sense jolted awake. A horror flick would’ve brought in spooky music by now, but instead, Tayna’s solar plexus felt like it bore the brunt of a vise gradually tightening. She slowed her paces. There had to be a trap coming up…something.

A web came into view.

All that crazy-ass freaky pressure for a stinkin’ web? Tayna huffed. What was that dis-spell again? She racked her brain. It would be easier to get rid of the web now than have to deal with it later…or worse—have Liz find it. She’d freak.

The dis-spell was ridiculously simple. Raising her left hand, Tayna splayed her fingers as wide as they’d go. On the first pass to her right, she winked her right eye. Next pass to her left, she winked her left eye. Back and forth three times and all of the webs dissipated as far into the tunnel as Tayna could see, hopefully beyond, but if not, it wouldn’t be a big deal. The wink-wink spell. Who’d thought that up? Probably an ancestor with a bad sense of humor, but a lot of power. Shoving a complicated spell into so few movements required a lot of skill, after all.

Wait a second. Tayna looked around. Why wasn’t the air super-cold down here? The magic flame was bright, but it didn’t put out the heat of a tea-light, let alone a bun warmer.

And yeah, nothing smelled funny, but shouldn’t it? Shouldn’t there be some kind of wonky, wrong, old, antique store stench down here?

Shouldn’t it be hard to breathe? Shouldn’t the air be a century beyond stale?

“I need to stop asking questions, don’t I?” she mused. “There probably aren’t any logical answers anyway. I’m walking through a goddamn tunnel cut into solid rock centuries ago and then forgotten about. Logic has completely escaped this situation. How does someone forget something like this, anyway?” Tayna’s intuition spiked a sense of warning. “There I go with the damn questions again. Shutting up now.”

Maybe she should have packed a lunch. This could be awhile.

And what the hell am I gonna do when I get to the other side? Yell “Boo!” and hope Kyre Osric runs away? she thought and then promptly told herself not to think questions either.

Brain on hold for about fifteen minutes, Tayna paced through what looked like a never-ending stone hallway. Parts were smaller than others, but she never needed to duck. The flame flickered a few times, but didn’t go out. While that wasn’t encouraging, it also wasn’t discouraging because in her heart, she knew that this tunnel went all the way through to somewhere. She just had to get there. All in all, this wasn’t a Sunday afternoon stroll, but not entirely unpleasant so long as she didn’t think about the bigger picture.

Finally something on the floor came into view. She wanted to feel relieved that the passage wasn’t devoid of any objects, but her intuition wouldn’t let her. There should’ve been stuff strewn everywhere. Dead rats, giant bugs and snakes and gophers…whatever could sneak in and die in the space of two hundred years. But her sixth sense thrummed all the way up into her ears.

As Tayna neared, the thing appeared larger and larger until the light bathed it and she swallowed hard at recognition.

It was a human skeleton, fully clothed. Something dark—maybe blood —stained the stone around him. His flesh was gone, but his clothes were perfect. Black leather boots with silver buttons up the outside. Burnt orange trousers, brown button-up shirt with a massive slash across the back, exposing busted ribs. In her mind, she heard the man’s final scream as he extended his hand toward her.

Leaning down to get a closer look, her back stiffened , a jolt of warning. It was hard to decipher the emotions. Seeing the skeleton was creepy but was there also something bad about to happen? Something she needed to prepare for? Dammit. There was too much information bouncing off the walls and through her intuition in this part of the tunnel to get a clear premonition about anything.

She knelt next to the fellow, trying to decide if she should ignore him, or see if he’d talk to her.

Gah! Tayna are you nuts?

But there was a book in the man’s hand.

Damn curiosity. She examined the small volume further. The leather cover had “Ward” in fine lettering. Carefully, she removed the book from the man’s hand, booby traps be damned.

Malcolm Ward.

Father of Celia, Elizabeth, Violet, Aeden, Alphonse, Matthew and Talia.

Those were some of the names Tayna had read from placards on the paintings throughout her house. Was this guy her great-great…uh…super-duper-great grandfather?

A diary started with November 12, 1709. Tayna was torn between keeping the book for Liz and leaving it with the man who died while carrying it.

Intuition spurred her to keep going and her respect for the dead had her replacing the book in the skeleton’s hand. Later on, she’d tell Liz about it. She could geek on for as long as she wanted, but Tayna needed to keep moving.

As for Malcolm, she wondered if he would’ve rather had a real burial. Ugh. Too much to think about and far too little time. Her sixth sense heightened the feeling of urgency and for all Tayna knew, she could be the next fresh-clothed, rotten-flesh skeleton left down here to be forgotten if she didn’t get her ass in gear.

Moving further in, a curious thought entered Tayna’s mind.

Perhaps she should’ve put a time limit on this little expedition. Told Liz, “If I’m not back in X amount of hours, come look for me” or “Don’t wait up” or “Give me an hour and then come after me.” Oh well. A little late now. Tayna kept walking.

Then promptly stopped.

Malcolm had come the closest to home of several more skeletons.

The passageway pulsed with freaky, electric energy. “Okay, okay, this is now officially creeping me out. Can we cut out the eerie bullshit and get to the part where I feel okay to run through the rest of this tunnel?”

The word, “No” invaded Tayna’s mind and she wasn’t sure who—or what—had put it there and didn’t want to find out.

Instead, instinct had her kneeling at the next skeleton, a woman in a bright red jagged-ruffle dress and yellow leather lace-up boots. “Let’s see. What’s your name, sweetie?” Why am I talking to the skeletons, too? “So I don’t completely lose my fucking mind.” Great, now I’m answering myself, too. Ugh.

Tayna removed another leather-bound book from underneath the skeletal hand—this one with a gorgeous little diamond ring on her finger.

Tayna Ward.

Shivers shot down her spine as she dropped the diary without reading anything further. “Oh no, no, no, no… Didn’t need to know that. Sorry I asked. Gonna keep going now. Not gonna look at any more of these, either. No thank you. Intuition’s acting up again. Moving along now whether I want to or not…”

Skeleton after skeleton, all dressed in either burnt orange, brown, red or yellow—was there some kind of pattern here?—all clasped a small leather-bound book. It was too fucking scary that they were all holding their diaries. Way too fucking scary.

Instinct told her not to pick up any more books, so Tayna assumed she’d learned whatever it was that she’d needed to learn on this little interruption and kept walking, wading through her dead ancestors, trying not to disturb them. But the piles of bodies were growing taller, shattering Tayna’s nerves, jittering her bones, her veins, crawling her skin, sending her heart into erratic palpitations. Tears fell, wetting her cheeks, but she pressed on. This was all part of the scare, the grand booby trap. She continued but couldn’t keep from wondering why all these people were left here dead and forgotten like this.

Wait a minute. The colors on the clothing. Further along, some skeletons were dressed in blue and teal and green and plum.

This must have been the battlefield the Chronicle had mentioned. Here. Underground where there was no real escape. Shit started making sense. All the eeriness invading her senses had prevented her from thinking clearly. Tayna grabbed a diary from a blue-and-plum-clad man and flipped it open.

Erik Osric.

Father of Kyre, Owain, Stephan, Calia, and Tal.

Oh dear. The Wards and the Osrics really had tried to massacre each other out of existence?

Tayna replaced the diary. Stunned, she looked around at the rolling hills of skeletons, people who died among family, clutching a volume of their lives. “You people were crazy! Absolutely nuts!” Even worse than me.

Tayna swallowed hard. Good goddess, that was a sobering thought.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Tayna was a fucking nutcase, but Liz had let her go anyway. The woman had never listened to logic and reason before, so why would she start now? She’d come back if she needed help.

Not that Liz had any idea how her non-magic-knowing, frazzled little brain or tired, wimpy arms could help, but whatever. Since Tayna’d left, the reading had gotten easier without all the snoring. The only sucky thing was the hard wooden chair causing Liz’s ass to go numb.

She stood and rubbed it while shaking out her legs, but taking this little break made her feel strange—like she was close to finding something useful and shouldn’t stop looking. Extending her arms, she leaned over the table and focused on the open Chronicle.

It was a wonder the Osrics and Wards had lasted this long.

There were curses on livestock, first-born sons, trees, paintings, even the front door of both houses had at least one curse placed upon it. They must’ve had a specific lifespan, because as far as she could remember, Liz had never grown a wart on her nose after passing through Tayna’s doorway.

Silly stuff, very silly stuff, but then again, what if it came true? Maybe it was time-delayed.

Liz wiped her fingers over her nose. Nope. No wart yet.

And no useful information yet, either. She tilted her head back, ready to give up and follow Tayna into the tunnel just to see something more exciting.

Turning another page of curses, Liz’s blood went cold and she almost fell over as the phrases sank in.

 

Grand Curse.

Presumed older than time itself.

Originated by a very powerful magic-user not of Osric or Ward name.

Paraphrased: Both families shall torment each other, in repeating cycle, to near extinction. Beginning in the homeland, traversing great distances over sea, the families shall follow and thwart each other until land’s end is once again regained.

Thusly, we have landed here in California. The curse will not permit further travel. I suppose ‘tis good or we might have found ourselves nomadic enemies doomed to eternal wandering.

Living has become peaceful between the families as enough distance has been placed between our houses. But I fear the day when change befalls Reith. Never a century has passed without shattered peace between Wards and Osrics.

 

Then the book described a curse where the roof would leak and stain all the floors. Ugh. If there was a code to crack, it wasn’t obvious. Dammit. Liz ran a hand through her hair.

She needed to know about the Great Curse. What if Tayna was heading toward her death at Kyre’s hand because of this stupid, ancient third-party curse?

Gah. That was the final straw.

Liz wrapped her arms around the book and peered into the dark passageway. It was now or never and at least she’d have something to tell Tayna when she found her. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too late.

And hopefully Tayna had cleared all the booby traps.

Next to the bookshelves, there was a grocery bag full of batteries and a flashlight. Snatching them up, Liz stretched the drop light out as far as the extension cord would reach. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, but she ignored them and the damn feeling like she was being watched. This wasn’t a bad horror movie, this was the real deal and if she was going to get eaten by the giant crayfish…maybe she should go get a video camera.

Clutching the book like a life preserver, she hurried into the tunnel. It felt freaky, but the further she moved in, the less her nerves went crazy—like each step gained her another ounce of confidence. Weird, but whatever. She pointed the flashlight straight ahead and ran, assuming that if something big enough to trip her blocked the way, she’d see it before it saw her.

“Tayna!” she called at intervals, but there was no response. “Tayna!” The witch had to be around somewhere.

“Liz! Don’t freak out, okay?” Tayna’s voice wafted through the dark ahead. “There’s creepy stuff on the floor. You weren’t kidding about people killing each other.”

As Tayna’s voice silenced, Liz saw said creepy stuff. Skeletons. “Tayna!” Her mind reeled, unsure if she should run deeper or go back. There was death everywhere—the scariest in her own mind as she heard the screams of these people giving up their last breaths.

The tunnel walls started glowing and when a hand clamped down on her shoulder, Liz screamed bloody murder, assuming this was her last breath, too.

“Liz. Shut up. They’re already dead. Chill out.” Tayna shook Liz. “You brought a book? What’s the deal?”

There was a weird translucent flame above Tayna’s head. But she wasn’t running away. She didn’t even look scared. Fuck. She looked bored almost. Liz swallowed hard, trying to get her pulse and breathing normalized so she could talk. “Curse. Big curse. Osrics and Wards. Killing each other. Chasing each other.” Her vocabulary wasn’t working yet so she opened the book and let Tayna read.

In the meantime, Liz studied the weird flickering light above Tayna’s head. Magic? It had to be. And that little thing sure beat the heck out of Liz’s piddly flashlight. She shut it off and stowed it in the grocery bag with the batteries, assuming she might need it later. Better safe than sorry.

Safe? Now there was a concept. Nothing felt safe. No matter how calm Tayna was, the hairs on the back of Liz’s neck were still on end and now that the dead people had stopped screaming in her head, they’d all started talking at once. Like they were pissed off about being left down here. Liz’s world started spinning, threatening to collapse.

“Whoa, Liz. You’re not claustrophobic are ya?” Tayna didn’t look away from the book as she put a hand on Liz’s shoulder, steadying her.

“Maybe? No. I don’t know. I never was before.” Dizzy. Scared. She willed her mind to right itself. This was no time to cop out.

“Yeah, but shit’s weird down here. Chill out. Check out the dead people or something. I gotta figure this out.” Tayna turned a page.

Liz let out a hard breath. “Look at dead people. Okay…” She swallowed hard.

Why were all these people fully-clothed, but their flesh was gone? Not a stitch was out of place or stained.

Liz had seen pictures of corpses so naturally preserved that flesh did not rot away. The catacombs under the Capuchin Monastery in Sicily, the crypt under St. Michan’s at Dublin. But this wasn’t like that. Magic. It had to be more magic. And it wasn’t making this any easier.

Tayna broke the silence. “Why do I have the feeling that there’s more to the story?”

“Can we just get away from all the skeletons, please? I can’t think around them. They wig me out.”

“Sure. Cool shit, though, huh?” Tayna snickered, an amused grin stretching across her face. “I’ve cleared away some of the Osric side, but we’ve still got a ways to go.” Tayna handed the book back. “Curses, shmurses. I’d always figured I’d go out in a ball of flames, but never really thought there was a high probability of it. Hopefully, we’ll have Andrea back before I do any pyrotechnics.”

How could she say something like that and be totally serious about it? “Can we just get moving?”

Tayna led the way through higher piles of skeletons. “They’ve all got diaries with them. I suppose later on, you’ll want to explore the history lessons, right?”

“M-Maybe.”

Moving forward through the tunnel, Tayna began mumbling and Liz had zero intention of stopping her. If whatever Tayna was saying helped keep legions of ghosts and goblins from coming out of the ground and attacking, then let her mumble. Hell, let her wail. Hell, Liz wished she knew the mumblings so she could join in. She also wished she wasn’t so terrified. She’d seen scarier things than this tunnel.

But she hadn’t felt scarier things. There was a big difference. Huge difference. Monumental difference. If she’d known the difference, she wouldn’t have come down here.

And she’d thought seeing the “interesting” stuff down here would be better than staying behind and reading. Hah! Liz resigned herself to sleeping in the bed she’d made and followed Tayna into creepiness unknown.

Every fifty to a hundred paces or so, Tayna stopped and waved her arms. Sometimes nothing happened.

And sometimes, strange bat-like creatures blasted out of the darkness and flew overhead. One of them literally blasted through Tayna’s head. Were they solid or ethereal?

The next one smacked into Liz’s chest, knocking the wind out of her before blasting its way through. Okay, maybe they were both real and ghostly. She coughed and sputtered, leaning on Tayna for what felt like hours. The taste version of the scent of fresh plastic coated her mouth. Disgusting. Tayna started laughing her ass off, but it wasn’t funny…or worth arguing about.

After about five of those bat things, nothing fazed Liz.

Absolutely nothing. Not the cloud of snakes, the transparent arrows. Not even the tornado of wooden spikes. Nothing. Tayna kept cracking up laughing and eventually so did Liz. It was harder to be scared that way.

The tunnel tilted uphill, and the only wickedness left was the pain in Liz’s leg muscles. No more creepy-crawlies held even an ounce of scare-factor. Hell, at this point, the whole tunnel could fill with water, fire, demons, whatever and it wouldn’t be scary.

Okay, that was a lie. But it made Liz feel better.

“Do you see what I see, babe?” Tayna grinned as Liz focused ahead. The tunnel came to a dead end. “Let’s blast.”

“I’m ready when you are.” Liz marveled at how tough she sounded now.

But she didn’t dare ponder whether or not that was true.

 

* * *

 

Kyre’s blood simmered with the thrill of excitement as he closed the front door. Jeff Wenkanson was a very unlucky—and stupid—guy.

But that geek’s loss was Kyre’s gain. His incredibly simple gain. The book of all books had found him.

Barely refraining from a victory dance, he casually strode back into the kitchen. Whistling a made-up tune, Kyre pulled out a chair and sat down in front of the glorious book, anxious to get started. Today was his luckiest of days. A grin turned into laughter as he tilted his head back, exuberance thrilling his senses.

“Yes!” he shouted toward the ceiling.

The Rede’s ancient energy buzzed through his veins, empowering him more than any magic he’d ever produced. Damn, the book was incredible—giving his sixth sense extra jolts.

He set his hand on the cover. Victory. Ultimate victory reverberated throughout his body. Such magic. Such sparkling magic. Curling his fingers around the edge, he lifted the cover.

But it didn’t open.

He lifted harder.

The cover stayed shut.

With greater resolve, he tried again. Was it glued down? The book tilted along its spine as though he was lifting the whole volume and not just the cover.

No. He swallowed hard. Something was far too wrong here. Utterly wrong. Why wasn’t this thing coming open?

Lowering it onto the placemat, he took a deep breath and consulted his intuition. The air sizzled with high emotional energy. It thrummed through his solar plexus, but nothing about the Rede or the situation felt odd. Was he misreading?

Fuck no. This wasn’t a new trick. For all intents and purposes, this was just a book. It should open like any other book.

Why the fuck had it come open when that geek was here, but not now? What the hell was different now?

Lowering his fingertips near the middle of the volume, Kyre pried upward using all his physical strength and then adding mental, magical boost.

But the damn thing still didn’t open. What the hell was up with the God damned Rede? He was ready to throw it across the room.

The book was powerfully clamped shut, trying Kyre’s patience, threatening to snap his concentration.

As if it would help, Kyre glowered at the book, willing it to open as he finely tuned in to its power. Apparently, the Rede needed more persuasion. It’d been said that the book sometimes had a mind of its own.

And Kyre had never met a mind he couldn’t tame.

Searching his senses, he discovered that most of his elation was through the Rede’s persuasion—and damn was it relentless, feeding off Kyre’s lowered guard. No wonder that book wouldn’t open. It wanted his power instead.

But it was just a book. A harmless book. Hah!

Psychically, he pushed against the Rede, clearing it from his veins. Pressing with his hands against the cover, he worked away its magic, cleansing himself of the book’s will.

With each surge, Kyre imposed his will on the Rede. The battle relented, letting his blood flow unencumbered, relieved, relaxing. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, emptying his mind…then memorizing the way it felt. Free. Peaceful. In harmony with the magical Rede.

Opening his eyes, he lifted the cover.

Success.

One spell. He only needed one. The reverse and repair spell for Andrea and Sammy. Somewhere, it had to be on these pages.

As he flipped through, the leaves rose in temperature, fluctuating with the book’s temerity, but tamed by Kyre’s power. He always kept a finger in it—the Rede needed a little physical persuasion along with the psychic.

Twice the book gathered enough momentum to close, but twice Kyre thwarted it, snickering as he turned more pages, relishing the wonders of magic that this book had to offer.

On its third try, the Rede sent a spark into Kyre’s hands, zapping, burning his muscles for a split-second—enough to make him lift his hand.

The book flopped closed, defiance echoing through the crisp air.

“Damn you.” Kyre growled. Careful not to curse further, he changed his tone. “I can’t fix what I’ve screwed up if you don’t help me.”

The book remained shut, its scratched leather cover tightening.

“I thought parlor tricks were for children.”

The cover loosened, mirroring the tension in Kyre’s psychic connection with the Rede. He tried to lift it open again, but it didn’t budge. He smashed a fist onto the table next to the book.

What a piece of shit. He let out a hard breath and gritted his teeth so as not to curse aloud again. But that was foolish. These God damned shenanigans—

Changing tactics, he lightened his tone again. “Please help me find a way to mend my mistakes. Please.”

This was an all time low, talking to a book, begging it to open. He was too damned close to fixing his life for this bullshit to happen. Perfection was within his grasp, but only if this God damn—superlative, magical, precious, magnificent book would open and give him the tools he needed to make the world a better place.

In a beautiful flourish of muslin and paper, the Rede opened directly to a page that listed ways of counteracting controlling spells.

Better safe than sorry, Kyre flattened his hand on one page as he started reading and memorizing the other.

Without warning, the Rede smashed closed, crushing his hand.

 

* * *

 

Tayna grimaced and put her hands on her hips while glaring at the giant rock at the end of the tunnel.

“Too bad it’s not a light.” Tayna chuckled at her own bad pun, but Liz was too terrified to get it.

“A light?”

“Never mind.”

Liz laughed in delayed response.

“Sorry.”

“That was terrible, Tayna.”

“Yeah, well you’re so freaked out, I figured joking might help.” She considered the stone. “Lighten things up.”

Liz laughed again.

“No, no, I didn’t mean it that time.” Sheesh.

“Sure.” She chuckled. “Is Andrea really behind this stone? Because after all I just went through, there better be some kind of pay off or I swear I’m gonna kick your magically-inclined ass.”

Tayna didn’t want to lie. There was a huge chance that this was all a wild goose chase, but in her heart, she knew that getting through this tunnel would lead to Andrea…somehow.

But getting this side of the tunnel open was far more daunting than the Ward side. Shit. The Ward side was cake. This side…well… She scratched her head. “I dunno.”

“You don’t know?! Tayna! You don’t know anymore?” Liz threw her arms up in the air. “I’m going back and I’m calling the cops. I’ll just leave out all the stuff about magic and-and-and make up other shit to cover why I waited so long to report her missing.”

“Liz, do you have any idea how much hearing that from you pains me?”

“No. This is too much for me. Maybe you can live in your big, fat, older-than-time mansion with more ghosts than furniture, but that’s you, Tayna.” Liz turned to walk away, but paused. “I can’t do this.”

“So you admit that ghosts exist, right?” Tayna swallowed the rest of the painful stuff, trying to lessen the sting. Intuition had her realizing that yeah, this probably was more than Liz could handle. But after the bat-things, she’d seemed to get her shit together. Why was she losing it now? She didn’t even try to help open this end of the tunnel. She just stood there, near the wall, shoulders slumped, facing away from everything.

Terror and anger laced Liz’s words. “Yeah. There’s ghosts and there’s magic. I believe all that crap now, but that doesn’t change the obvious.”

“The obvious?” Tayna approached, swallowing hard, ignoring the crackling air around her best friend.

“We can’t move a boulder, Tayna. Last I checked, neither of us are body-builders. We’ll need a crane—a bulldozer—something big to get out of here on this side.” Liz’s mind was working, but Tayna was more concerned with the looming cloud of insanity. All of Liz’s senses were on full frazzled alert. She really was completely out of her element and not trusting Tayna to make things happen.

“We don’t need all that.”

“You’re gonna whip out a magic wand and zap this thing away?” Liz pointed, her eyes confirming the disbelief Tayna had felt.

Ouch.

“Liz, chill out. Read the curse book or something.” Tayna twirled, trying to disentangle all the feelings of doubt and frustration. “And quit being so negative. Andrea would punch through this stone for either of us, too, y’know.”

“Maybe so, but I do things differently.”

“No Liz, you don’t. You use just as much magic as I do, but in different ways.”

“I can’t open this tunnel.”

“No, but you can let me do it. You can help me, too.” Running a hand over the rock, Tayna sighed. “I’m gonna need all the help I can get.”

“Okay.” Liz approached, her sense of adventure perked up somehow. That was strange. Tayna didn’t argue. She watched as Liz put the curse book into the shopping bag with the flashlights and batteries before putting her hands on the rock, ready to push. “What do I have to do?”

“Think positive.”

Liz smirked.

“And stand somewhere behind me because this could get messy and if shit goes wrong, you might have to run all the way back to my house and call the cops—or paramedics.”

“That’s not confidence-inspiring, Tayna.”

“Neither is my magical track record up until this week.” She teased, laughingly making matters worse, but knowing that Liz’s spark would shine brighter if she were agitated.

“Tayna!” Liz jumped away from the wall and stood about five paces back. “I didn’t want to know that! Just do whatever it is that you do and make this go away.” Agitation ignited perfectly.

“Okay, you asked.” Staring at her heavy, gray enemy, Tayna concentrated on all the spells that might help. She needed one that could proverbially move a mountain. Shit. She’d never relocated anything heavier than a couch.

“Tayna? Should I worry yet?” Liz said barely above a whisper.

“No. Don’t worry.” Skirting the truth was much easier than quickly cobbling together a spell.

“Should I look for something in the book? Maybe you could curse the rock to be open whenever we’re near it.” Liz paused, then chuckled. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

Tayna turned to Liz and grinned. “Me neither.” And great goddess, it felt like the weight was lifted, like Liz was on Tayna’s team after all. This whole enhanced psychic feeling crap was fun, too.

“Just trying to help.”

“Not a bad idea, but I doubt the book’s gonna have something like that in it. Just keep thinking positive thoughts. I really need them.”

“Okay. I’ll shut up now.”

Shaking her head, Tayna returned her focus to the stone. The magic flame’s amber glow danced along the jagged surface, almost festively. Excitedly. Giving Tayna an idea.

Screw the whole come-up-with-a-spell idea. What this stone needed was a big blast of telekinetic force. Sure, it’d use up some energy, but she was feeling pretty strong at the moment. She had a little to spare.

She raised her hands in front of her chest as though getting ready to push the stone, but intuition made her pause. What was wrong? Was there a better way of doing this? Should she come up with a spell instead? Why did this method feel off?

When Tayna and Liz had opened the tunnel under the Ward Manor, they’d pushed.

A-ha! Try pulling!

Curling her fingers, wrapping them inward such that her palms faced away from the stone, Tayna sharpened her focus. This would definitely work. Her intuition confirmed it and a sense of accomplishment washed through her veins. Shit. She hadn’t even started yet and this whole thing was feeling positively fantastic. So engaging. So right. So easy to focus on the feeling of joy rather than the task at hand.

“Tayna? Hello?” Liz must have sensed Tayna’s diversion.

“Sorry. Magic excites me.”

“Whatever.”

Bringing her attention inward, Tayna focused on her palms. After pooling strength to her hands and arms, she slowly curled her fingers inward, moving them toward her chest as though grabbing onto a rope that circled the stone. Opening her mind, she willed the stone to move, then pulled harder on the magical rope.

Nothing happened.

She summoned more strength, lengthening the pool through her shoulders, and tried again, yanking hard on the rope.

Nothing happened.

Damn. Heavy bastard. She held firm while asking her intuition if she was still on the right path. Should she pull harder or add more strength?

Pull harder.

She did.

The stone opened like a door on rusty hinges and Tayna stumbled backward a few steps, but Liz prevented her from landing on her ass. Dust clouded, but began settling as Tayna dropped her hands and took a few deep breaths while leaning on Liz.

That was draining, but she was far from empty. In fact, she was full of more exuberance than when she’d first started.

“Tayna, you rock. Literally this time.”

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Me neither.” Liz cautiously stepped toward the opening. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Colored light streamed down from high windows, illuminating the room with whimsical hues. A tormenting chill overtook Liz as she followed the rays down to the center of the room where two victims were tied to chairs. The young man from the hospital and Andrea were gagged and motionless, both heads drooped.

Aside from looking like a torture chamber fun house, the room was empty, so Liz ran directly for Andrea. Dropping the bag, Liz worked on the knots. What sick fuck would use silk scarves to tie someone up like this? “Andy. Wake up.”

There was no response so Liz kept working on the bindings. They were tied so tight. Damn. Her fingertips started to hurt as she pried at the knots. It was amazing Andrea’s hands hadn’t turned blue.

In the corner near the opening, Tayna started chanting something. Liz looked up momentarily as her best friend walked—glided—further into the room. “That which has gone awry shall be reversed. That which has gone awry shall be reversed. That which has gone awry shall be reversed.” She jerked her arms back, fingertips bending unnaturally backward before she let everything fly forward.

A shockwave knocked Liz onto her ass, but Andrea’s head lifted—eyes unfortunately remaining closed, though. Dammit. Liz resumed her battle with the ties while the man opened his eyes and shook in his chair, nodding to get someone to come over to him.

Liz was torn, but Tayna started chanting again. “Through reversal comes restoration. By my power, make it so.” One last wave of Tayna’s hands and Andrea went limp again, her chin dropping to her chest.

A green haze encircled the man, capturing him within a whirlwind, hiding him from view. Oh no. Liz swallowed. Was this another of those moments when Tayna needed her to start thinking positive thoughts? She sure didn’t know what else to do and nothing was making clear enough sense to extrapolate.

She had half a mind to pick up Andrea’s chair and start dragging her into the tunnel, but the green haze distracted her, swirling around, making her hands jitter around the silk. The young man grunted and shook his chair, causing Liz to shift focus momentarily over to his eyes. The insanity had drained from them. He looked more human and a lot younger than he had at the hospital.

The green haze drew her to the man’s bindings. She got them loose but they wouldn’t untie all the way. Dammit. Kyre was probably gonna be down here any second. Liz glanced toward the door, hoping he hadn’t already walked through. Instead of seeing him, she saw blades. Lots and lots of blades. As she ran to the wall, she heard a man’s voice behind her, “Thank you, guys.”

Liz grabbed a dirk similar to her famous Bannockburn one and then ran back to Andrea. Go figure Kyre would have good taste in antique weaponry.

Tayna had removed the now-teenage-looking man’s gag. “Don’t mention it.” She nervously let out a fake-sounding chuckle.

The dirk slashed through silk like butter. “Come on, Andrea. Are you still with us?” Liz shook Andrea’s shoulder.

Tayna stole the dirk from Liz and worked on the guy’s ties. “Who the hell are you and why are you coherent, but Andrea isn’t?”

“I’m Sammy. I dunno why she didn’t wake up.” He stood up as soon as Tayna hacked through his bindings. “Destroy everything Kyre’s got on that table over there or he’s just gonna hurt me and her again. I’ll help get Andrea out of here.”

Tayna nodded and then went to the table. She began hacking up fruit and herbs and smashing crystals, altering everything while Liz got on one side of Andrea and Sammy got on the other. “I’m Liz by the way.” They lifted together.

“Wait.” Tayna’s word made Liz and Sammy freeze. “Does that mean that I didn’t actually reverse whatever bullshit he did to Andrea?”

Sammy’s only response was to Liz, “Let’s get out of here.”

They strengthened their hold as the door came crashing open.

Kyre Osric, carrying a thick, leather-bound book, strode into the room. All of Liz’s senses went into overload, petrified by Kyre’s presence. Her prevailing instinct was survival. He had the Rede and according to every goddamn word she’d read, whenever an Osric had the Rede bad shit had happened.

But he ignored the escaping trio in favor of Tayna.

Shit. Sammy hurried toward the door, dragging Andrea and Liz with him. She wanted to stay, to help Tayna somehow.

“Tayna Ward,” Kyre growled.

Tayna’s gaze met Liz’s. The words, “Get Andy outta here. I’ll take care of this bastard,” echoed in Liz’s mind. A wave of confidence washed over her and while she knew it was probably Tayna’s doing, she decided to use it. Nodding, she thought toward Tayna, “I’ll go get help.”

Tayna didn’t mentally reply. She grinned and then focused on her feuding nemesis. “Kyre Osric.”

The safest way out was through the house. Thankfully, Sammy knew how to navigate it.

“By the way, thanks for saving me,” he said as he got a better grip around Andrea’s hip. “I just hope we can get out of here before Margaret or Bentley sees. I don’t want to find out what they’d do to us.”

Liz already felt dead. Her life was playing out like a movie she was watching rather than participating in. She’d gotten Andrea back, but at what cost? Tayna? No. This wasn’t right. This just wasn’t right at all. “Let’s cross that bridge if we come to it. And thank you for helping me get Andrea out of there. You’re welcome for saving you.” Who the hell were Margaret and Bentley anyway?

In the foyer, next to some ugly stainless steel sculptures, Sammy fiddled with the front door handle as Liz took most of Andrea’s weight. “All the time that Kyre had me fucked up, I was paying attention, watching him. I knew that all he needed to meet was someone who had as much power as he does.”

Tears welled, but Liz wouldn’t let them fall.

“Once you guys came through the wall I knew Kyre was in trouble. Deep trouble. Your friend is really powerful. She’s got a lot of magic.”

“Let’s just get out of here, please.” Liz didn’t know why she wanted to cry. She’d accomplished the task—gotten Andrea safe. Everything should be fine.

Should be. But Liz had still left Tayna by herself—deserted her like she’d almost deserted Andrea. It no longer mattered how magically inclined Tayna was. Kyre without magic was a beast. And while Andy was breathing, she wasn’t responding. Just because there was a reversal spell, didn’t mean that Tayna had done it right or not been cursed to screw it up like Kyre had been cursed to mess up transformation spells.

Liz couldn’t stop the tears from falling anymore. Ignoring them, she pushed through the front door when Sammy got it open. Yeah, this week had been hell and was only getting worse, but no, she didn’t have to take it anymore. No more.

Outside, Liz and Sammy struggled to get Andrea down the front path and to the sidewalk. An old man in the garden looked up from his work and eerily leaned on his hoe, leering at the spectacle Liz, Sammy and Andrea were making. A shiver ran down Liz’s spine.

Enough with the fucking creepiness.

Enough. Enough. Enough.

 

* * *

 

Kyre had let them go. Sammy was whole again and helping Liz Spencer steal Andrea. They’d pay later. They weren’t the intruders burning his intuition. Certainly not. They were small time compared to the dark-haired vixen who was smashing his props to bits on the altar.

A black, wrinkled velvet skirt fell from around her perfect little ass and left her tiny ankles exposed. More dripping velvet in shades of charcoal and silver clung to her breasts, licking outward onto her delicate arms. Just watching her almost stole his breath away. Almost.

So this was the owner of the shit heap called Ward Manor. Enchanting fire brewed in her dark eyes, reminding Kyre of the last time he’d looked in a mirror. If physical proof wasn’t enough for her magical abilities, the air pressure increase from her powerful vibrancy compensated. Any other woman—any other witch—wouldn’t affect him this way. Wouldn’t tunnel his vision down to her striking sharp cheekbones, set jaw and luscious lips. Wouldn’t surge his blood so deeply, awakening his sixth sense to new heights while scrambling its signal, diminishing any benefit.

Tayna threw a chunk of rose quartz, hitting him on the forearm, making him fumble with the book, reminding him that she was still an intruder no matter how mesmerizing her innate power. Damn woman. She began walking sideways, so Kyre countered, finding a circle near the center of the room. Her gaze locked with his. Dark fire. Enchanting dark fire shone in her eyes. Mischievous rancor fueled it. A strange concoction, but instinct pinned her as everything she appeared and more—a worthy adversary.

“You broke into my home. Stole my projects. And yet you’re still standing there? Afraid much?” He willed her to back down, but she resisted.

Another chunk of quartz came flying at him, narrowly missing his head, shattering his psychic perusal of his lair.

She laughed and seized the diversion, shooting toward the hole in the far wall.

“Cease motion. Cease motion. Desist.” Kyre aimed the incantation toward Tayna, focusing it with one hand outstretched.

She froze mid-step, grunting, unable to move, all the crystal shards cascading from her hands, clattering onto the floor.

Impressive. Kyre tightened his grip on the Rede. Just holding it made spell casting easier. Good to know. Very good to know.

Kyre approached Tayna and the new breach in his basement. “Did you do this?” He looked into the darkness, then back at her.

Apparently all she could do was roll her eyes and grunt again.

“I’m impressed. You’ve definitely got balls. I like that.” He circled Tayna, resisting the urge to cup her cheek when he faced her. So small, so delicate, yet so God damned powerful. She smelled of roses, lavender, sage and apples.

And wasn’t any fun like this. He pondered how to use her magic. Maybe steal it with the Rede’s help. Settle her in down here and combine his power with hers to return Andrea back to normal.

Then exchange Tayna for Andrea in the grand plan. Mould this little mistress into the perfect partner. The perfect, powerful partner. Maybe. Tayna might be too dynamic, too explosive. She might not mould well. He circled her again, visually inspecting her feminine perfection. Divine. Absolutely divine. Bewitchingly beautiful.

But could he trust her? It’d take some time to gather ingredients again. And she couldn’t be magically restrained during any part of the real process. She’d have to want to be here and not cut through bindings.

Right. Like that was going to happen. If nothing less, she’d reflect his spell and charm him instead.

He decided to find out how true that might be. “Release head.” Kyre held his palm just above her hair, resisting the urge to touch it. “Release.”

“Full release. Full release. By my power, release.” Of course, she was a feisty witch. Damn it. He threw himself in front of the opening.

She wasn’t stupid enough to challenge him physically, though. Backing to the center of the room, she closed her eyes and pressed her palms together.

Things moved quicker than he could compensate for. A whirlwind developed and he was torn between its danger and the sheer magnitude of her display of strength. Crystal shards, daggers, books, a swath of velvet took flight as the tornado increased in velocity.

Kyre hugged the Rede, unsure if he should attempt to counteract the tornado. If he failed, all of the flailing items would become deadly weaponry, endangering his precious collection of magical props…and himself beyond ability to heal.

“What’s wrong Kyre?” Tayna opened her eyes. “Afraid?”

Intuition warned him to remain silent and maintain possession of the book.

“The Rede belongs to the Wards, Kyre. I wasn’t gonna fuck around with you, but that book rightfully belongs to me and I want it back.” She pressed her hands harder and the whirlwind picked up more speed.

He contemplated escaping through the tunnel, but psychically, he felt that he should stay. Stay here with Tayna. Stay with the witch.

“But we all want what we cannot have, Tayna.”

She released one hand and three shards hurled past his shoulder, slicing his shirt, and shattering against the wall next to the stone doorway. For a split second, she looked surprised, but then her eyes masked it into iron determination. “Don’t be so sure.”

Novice. She had to be a novice with way too much innate power and not enough sense…yet. Damn, he could use half of what she had. Add the Rede and he would be unstoppable. Completely unstoppable. The world would be at his fingertips. And what an intoxicating beauty to join forces with. This had turned into a hell of a lot more than he’d ever imagined.

“I won’t give you the book, Tayna. I need it to fix some of my mistakes. But steady your whirl and I’d be willing to share.”

Her face softened to controlled peacefulness. Complicated and intricate were her psychic actions as she shifted her natural strengths. He saw her features carefully shield from surrendering inner emotion and sensed the magic pushing her envelope of control.

“Did you know that Osrics are cursed to screw up every time they try to change someone? Did you know that, Kyre? You really should read up in your Chronicles. What? No Chronicles? You don’t understand how the Rede works? I’m disappointed in you.” Her peaceful façade shattered, sending a wicked chill down Kyre’s spine. “Hand over the book, Kyre. You’ll do more harm than good.”

“Osric magic goes back further than you know, Tayna.” He said her name slowly, letting both syllables hurl as much dynamism toward her as she was hurling in her tornado. “I can’t give it up, Tayna. But I am willing to share it.”

She considered him for a moment. The whirlwind lost a touch of speed. “Share? Do you even know how?” She closed her eyes and the tornado reversed direction.

“There’s a lot about me that you don’t know.” Kyre cautiously stepped forward, careful not to get too close to the flying weaponry. The wind rustled through his hair as he tried to glean some of its power. Did she have any idea how much of her strength was wrapped up in it, ready for the taking? Novice. She had no idea how empowering merely the vision of her and her prowess was. Her energy coursed through each item and the breeze it created in flight. It seeped into his veins, mingling with his virtue. He was no longer certain he should clutch the Rede so closely.

“Give me the book, Kyre. I want the book.”

“Then come get it.” Kyre held the volume barely out of range of the whirlwind. “What? Is your parlor trick in the way?”

The book suddenly flipped open, its pages flapping in the breeze. No, no, not now. Kyre tried to shove it closed, but it swished its pages from one side to another. All he could do was stare at it, willing it to close, but he knew better. It would close if it wanted to close and not before then. He focused his strength into keeping the Rede from getting swept into the tornado.

Tayna chuckled. “Parlor trick, huh?” Her voice hardened. “Take the hint, Kyre. Let the Rede—the Ward Family Rede—go.”

Kyre locked his gaze with Tayna’s. “Not on your life.”

The book slammed shut.

He clutched it close to his chest again, psychically on guard to fend off attempts at theft. Stepping to the side, around the edge of the tornado, he thundered, “Call it off, Tayna.”

“No.” But her energy would have to run out sometime.

Kyre advanced, anxious to learn her reaction. The tornado remained near the center of the room. It picked up battle-axes and halberds from the wall above Kyre’s head. Wow. And three two-handed claymores…

Damn it. He wished he could hunt through the Rede for a counteraction spell. His personal arsenal only had telekinetic force to combat her whirlwind. Sure, he was confident of victory, but at what price? Killing the tornado could kill himself, Tayna, probably the Rede, too.

“Whatcha gonna do, Kyre? Wanna drop the book yet?” Tayna snarled, the fire in her eyes sparking with intense passion.

“Not yet.”

“Okay. I’ve got time.” She was getting off on her gratuitous display of power now. It showed in her crooked-hip stance as well as through her grasp of the towering cyclone.

“You’ll run out of strength at some point.”

She smirked. “Not for a very long time.”

“You’ll get bored with it.”

“Nope. I’d get bored with you first.”

“Oh really?”

“Yep.” One arm shot to full extension in his direction. Her hand grabbed air and jerked back toward her chest. The perfect offensive.

He shielded the Rede, stealing strength from his legs and sending it to his arms and center of balance to keep the book from hurling into the whirlwind. “Close, Tayna. Real close.”

Another vicious yank had him stumbling. Protecting his guard of the book, he charged into the center of the tornado, halting mere inches from Tayna, inhaling her feminine scent. His knee stung from a direct hit, but he was otherwise unscathed…not to mention relieved.

And feeling strangely welcome within her deadly cocoon of magic. Her influence was explosive, blazing through his entire being, setting his soul on fire as she stared up at him. Emotion whirled in her eyes. Shock. Defiance. Fear.

Fear? She was the one blowing the wicked wind of death.

Assessing the tornado again, he decided against opening the book. She’d show another weakness eventually. All he had to do was wait. He unabashedly stared at her, sizing up her foxy little frame, letting his body hunger for her, his gaze plainly revealing his carnal desire for her. Delicious.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Jeff sipped lemonade as he turned another page in the historical mystery novel he was reading. Kicked back on his futon, life couldn’t get much better. Reading about a medieval coroner trying to solve the murder of a nun, Jeff set his now-empty lemonade glass onto the nearest flat surface. As it clinked down on an old textbook he used for a coaster, a strange realization hit him. He was about halfway through the book and couldn’t remember the beginning.

He marked his current page, and then shuffled to some earlier parts. Whoa. When had he started reading? Nothing looked familiar. Wait. When had he mixed up lemonade today?

Jeff set the book down, wracking his brain, trying to figure out what the hell had happened. He’d lost himself in books before, but this was a particular kind of lost—a scary kind of lost—not the usual great-book, page-turner kind. Scarier than crazy hop-into-the-book dreams about solving a fourteenth century murder, too.

Strange. “Wait one cotton-picking minute.” Jeff looked at the tattered, well-used paperback. “I’m such a dumbass.” Didn’t he have a better, more historically fascinating book to read?

He rolled off the futon and went over to the box where he’d been storing that old book. Digging around in the blanket, Jeff began to worry. The book wasn’t in the box. He yanked the blanket out, shook it, tossed it aside. Still no book. As if it would magically appear, he even shook out the box. No book. No book.

No book.

What the fuck did he do with it when he got home from—wait had he come directly home after talking to Koji? He must have. Hadn’t he? Yeah. Probably mixed the lemonade and then started reading. Made sense. Maybe. Well, not entirely. What happened to the friggin’ book?

Jeff went on a rampage, hunting through his apartment. Everywhere, including the refrigerator, he left no stone unturned, no blanket neatly folded, no backpack full of geek supplies, no shirt right side out.

No book. The book was nowhere to be found.

“Think, Jeff, think.” He pressed his fingertips to his temples and closed his eyes. Good golly, it hurt to think. “What the hell did I do with it?”

He remembered talking to Koji. The book had been in the box when Jeff had put it on the passenger seat of his Jeep. And as far as he could remember, it had been there when he’d taken it out of the Jeep. But what had happened after that?

Jeff opened his eyes. His empty lemonade glass was still sitting next to his now completely disheveled futon. When had he made the freakin’ lemonade? “Think, Jeff. Come on.” He didn’t like how shaky his voice sounded. “Was I abducted by aliens or something?”

Why did that sound plausible?

Scratching his head, he went into the kitchen to double check the cupboards.

Nope. Oh, wait. Maybe he’d called Liz and she had the book now.

But wouldn’t he remember that?

Just in case, he unearthed his cell phone and checked the call log. The last call he’d made was yesterday.

Okay, so that meant the book wasn’t with Liz. It wasn’t with Koji. “It’s not with me.” Who else would be interested in a book like that? Historic. Strange. Local history mixed with Celtic stuff. The kind of book Kyre Osric would probably want to get his hands on.

Holy shit. “That’s where it is.” Jeff grabbed his keys from underneath his empty backpack. If memory served, on the way home from meeting with Koji, Jeff had considered talking with Kyre Osric. That guy was creepy enough in legend, perhaps he was creepy enough in person. Creepy enough to steal a book and make Jeff forget about it.

Until now. He ran out of his apartment, locking the door before going to his Jeep. Hopping in, he cranked the key in the ignition and headed out while trying to formulate a plan for confronting Kyre.

But a five-minute drive wasn’t long enough. As a kid, Jeff had willingly starved because it had been easier to surrender his lunch money to the bully so as not to get beaten up. High school had seen him in much the same boat, except that he’d learned to be a better mathematician after surrendering his calculators to the same bully. Thank goodness there hadn’t been a bully in college or it might’ve cost him a laptop or two. How in the world was he supposed to stand up to Kyre Osric? How? How? How?

Coming up on Kyre’s house, Jeff noticed Liz and a teenage boy helping a blonde girl walk—well, they were practically dragging her—and then set her down on the grass next to Kyre’s neighbor’s house. Both Liz and the blonde looked like they’d been through the wringer.

Jeff pulled his Jeep to the curb and threw it into park. He jumped out of the car as Liz looked up, stunned, tears staining her cheeks. Ouch.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Her voice was a cross between exasperation and something he couldn’t identify, but hoped it wasn’t as bad as her tears implied.

Rushing, Jeff went to Liz’s side of the blonde. “Kyre stole the book from me and I was gonna try to get it back.” He wanted to wipe away her tears, but she didn’t seem to notice them.

“You gave the goddamn book to Kyre?” Her hands fisted, then opened like she was ready to throttle someone. The teenager gritted his teeth.

Jeff didn’t know what to say. “I didn’t give it to him. I don’t think,” he sputtered. “I—I—I don’t remember, actually. I think he tricked me.”

Liz just shook her head, eyes narrowing to wicked little slits. “Fucking brilliant, Jeff.”

“I wanted to see if he knew anything about it and if he’d pay me—you and I—to research it because it had his family name in it. But he took it.”

Liz stared dirks at him. “I’ll give you the hell you deserve later. Just get Andrea to the hospital, okay?” She turned to the teen. “Make sure she’s okay, Sammy.”

“Uh…okay.” Jeff cut in. “I look forward to a sound ass-whipping session. Where are you going?”

“I can’t do anything else for Andrea, but Tayna might still need me.” She turned and ran up into Osric House before Jeff had enough sense to stop her.

Putting an arm around Andrea, he helped Sammy lift her into the Jeep.

And she coughed and opened her blue eyes. “Who are you guys?” Andrea slapped Jeff, his cheek stinging brightly. “Where are you taking me? Let me go!” Stumbling out of the Jeep, she landed against the fence. Jeff rushed over to her, ready to do some explaining, but realized he didn’t have an explanation. Turning, she started laughing. “Is that you, Sammy?” Arms outstretched, she went to the teenager.

Sammy nodded, bewildered. “Yeah…” Then shrugged. Maybe he didn’t have an explanation either.

 

* * *

 

Crashing through the basement door, Liz wasn’t so sure this had been a great idea. Tayna and Kyre were standing too close for comfort while a loud, roaring tornado of sharp weaponry and magic junk flew around them. Tayna’s skirt was blowing in the breeze, but Kyre blocked her view of the door. This might have been a good time to slink back out front because it certainly didn’t look like something Liz could tackle all by herself.

But how the hell was all that crazy stuff happening in the first place? That was a million times bigger than Tayna’s magic flame or any of the other stuff she’d done. Or was that tornado Kyre’s doing?

Adrenaline rushed through Liz’s veins, warming her blood, pushing her mind to the limit searching her memory of all she’d read in the books.

Wind whipped at Liz’s hair as the horrible whirlwind ceased, dropping a clattering pile of weapons, crystals, fabric, two chairs and various other items in a circle around Kyre and Tayna. He still had the Rede, but what was he going to do with it? As he raised an arm, Liz’s instincts went frantic, buzzing through her, making her grab a stiletto perched in a case near the door.

Kyre raised his arms, poised to cast a spell on Tayna. Trying to evade him, she blasted backward, heading for the tunnel.

Liz reacted instantly, launching the stiletto at him. Having never thrown a blade before, she discovered that her objective wasn’t to slice Kyre, just smack him and then reload as quickly as possible. She’d chucked that fifteenth century stiletto and a twelfth century dirk before getting close to striking Kyre with a gorgeous, be-jeweled, second century Celtic dagger. It whizzed past his pant leg at hip height.

And dammit all to hell, Kyre didn’t even flinch. Had ruining that blade hurt Liz more than it’d scared Kyre? She hurled a large, slender seventeenth century dagger, missing completely, sparks flying as it skidded along the floor near the altar.

Liz’s heart stopped as a ball of teal fire blasted from Kyre’s fingertips. The damned warlock must have been using the power of the Rede.

“Tayna!” Liz screamed over the roaring blaze, sure it’d be too late. She threw another precious antique dagger at Kyre.

Reaching behind his back, he caught it before it could penetrate his shirt. “Now, now, Liz. This isn’t your battle.”

Tayna whipped around, the fireball going through her and dissipating against the stone wall behind her. Or at least it looked like it’d gone through her. Maybe Kyre had actually missed and it was too hard to judge from where Liz stood near the door.

Reaching one hand forward, the other back, in a quick jerk, Tayna reversed their locations and a magenta ball of fire blasted from her forward hand while the Rede yanked out of Kyre’s grasp and skidded along the floor. From the surprised look on her friend’s face, Liz guessed perhaps the Rede was increasing Tayna’s magical power, too.

But Tayna’s fireball missed him, licking over the floor, nearly singeing his toes. Shock turning to crooked grin, she approached Kyre as he wound up for another fiery blast.

“Newfound grace, Tayna? Light me up for real this time.”

Liz dove for the Rede. While sliding, it had come open.

Kyre laughed as he threw another roaring ball of teal fire at Tayna.

“Fuck you, Kyre.” She went to block, but tripped over the curse book.

Oh no, the pyrotechnics Tayna’d mentioned in the tunnel would make for a spectacular death, but not now! And not Tayna! Liz willed Tayna to incinerate Kyre instead.

The teal ball of fire enveloped Tayna as she struggled to regain her footing, screaming. Whatever had happened last time hadn’t affected her, but this one…this one must’ve hurt. Liz’s heart dropped. She couldn’t take her gaze from the infernal exchanges.

But then the fire dissipated and Tayna remained unburned. “My asbestos underwear is pretty handy, huh?”

Kyre apparently couldn’t believe it either, he left his arms down as he stalked toward her. “You and all Wards should burn in hell, if not by my hand.”

Looking down at the Rede, Liz hoped there’d be some kind of spell for this—a spell to get out of this—get Tayna out of this. Something she could use. This hocus-pocus stuff was freaky and new, but if it’d help, Liz would figure out how to cast a spell. Maybe not enough to overpower Kyre, but he was more intent on Tayna anyway. If there was something in the Rede that could just distract him…

But the pages wouldn’t turn. The Rede shook, blurring Liz’s vision. When she put her hand on the book to steady it, her sight held on a single line and she read it aloud without realizing it, “Of Wards and Osrics, the last in each line shall be immune to death until an issue is born.”

Kyre glanced first.

Then, Tayna said quietly, “Guess Mom and Dad went on a permanent vacation this time.”

Liz read on as Kyre and Tayna circled each other. Paraphrasing, she said, “According to the book, you guys will no longer thwart each other if you combine forces…and…” Hoping to find the rest of the story, she turned the page. In an effort not to laugh, she swallowed hard. There was only a big—rather graphically detailed—illustration on the two facing pages.

Glancing up at Kyre and Tayna, Liz gasped. Somehow, when her nose had been buried in the Rede, Kyre had moved in on Tayna. And she wasn’t pushing him away. She drew him closer, reeling him in like Liz had seen her do to other helpless males. That had always been Tayna’s easiest magic.

Liz watched as they gazed in each other’s eyes with such passion, such power, the air crackled as if in response. Small magenta and teal lightning flew between their bodies, electrifying the space around them.

When Liz chuckled and looked down at the Rede again, translation went hazy, but if she remembered correctly, ymgydiad had something to do with having sex. Yeah, that made sense now. Somehow. Her nerves stopped twanging, soothed by how well-suited Kyre and Tayna seemed to be for each other. Too bad they hadn’t met sooner.

Well, crisis averted at least for now—seeing as how Tayna had just climbed up into Kyre’s strong arms and started kissing him. She’d always handled herself well with bad boys—but Liz still needed to find something that would help Andrea.

And she didn’t want to do it here.

As she picked up the book, the back cover fell open to another intricate illustration. She left it open in her arms while heading toward the door.

The artist had drawn a group of people joining hands while facing a dark cloud. Names were next to each person—two of which were Osric and Ward. Taking one last look at Tayna and Kyre, seeing that they were far too involved, Liz decided to keep this last page to herself at least until tomorrow. It was better not to disrupt them from ending a thousand-or-so-year-old curse. And besides, at the moment, the world oddly felt right again. For the first time this week, everything felt okay. Her intuition and instincts weren’t frazzled anymore. But what about Andrea?

About two paces from the doorway, Liz’s reflexes had her holding up the Rede in self-defense. Her heart thudded against her ribcage as a large metal sculpture hurled at her, a…battle cry?…following barely behind it.

Jeff charged in, leading Andrea and Sammy in what looked like a ragtag army, all carrying various sculptures and things Liz had recognized from her path through Osric House.

“Liz?” Andrea lowered the broken vase she’d been charging with.

Flipping the Rede closed, Liz ran to her new roomie, hugging her probably tighter than necessary, but it felt so damn good to see her again. “I thought you were dead.” Life was good. Life was very good now. Life was better than it had ever been.

“No, just sleepy.” Andrea laughed and then looked further into the room, shock gripping her voice. “I guess Tayna’s okay? Should we worry about her with Kyre?”

Jeff stared at Tayna and Kyre and dropped the metal sculpture he’d been holding. Even Jeff being here was good. Like somehow he’d come into Liz’s life for a greater reason than messing it up for a few days. The confused look on his face was priceless. “Guess we should leave them alone?”

Liz started to lead the way out of the basement. Everything seemed like it was going to be okay somehow. “Yeah, thanks for trying, you guys, but it’s all over.”

Sammy chuckled. “Looks like it’s only just begun.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Liz closed the Rede and stowed it under her arm as she strode through Osric House, its energy feeling familiar as though she’d been in this mansion many times before.

“But we’ll find out, right?” Jeff’s enthusiasm carried over to Liz.

“Yeah. I hope so. In the mean time, let’s all go get a cup of tea.”

 

About the Author

To learn more about Rina Slayter, please visit www.rinaslayter.com. Send an email to Rina at rina@rinaslayter.com or join her Yahoo! group to join in the fun with other readers as well as Rina! http://groups.yahoo.com/group/fakereality.

 

 

When the strange antique dealer bestows Ella Mansfield with a weird necklace, proclaiming it magic, Ella refuses to believe. Why would she have a use for such a thing?

 

Believe the Magic

©2006 Melani Blazer

 

But she finds herself the target of some pretty odd characters, including the sexy but enigmatic Quentin, who becomes her guardian, her guide and her lover. Gradually she learns her necklace holds two of the ten original gems stolen from the fairy king - gems that control all the magic in the world. Ella realizes the need to believe, but even more her need to search deep within her heart to figure out who to trust, especially when those closest to her seemed to be following their own agendas.

With bad guys just a step behind them, Ella and Quentin use the magic to jump through time and space while bluffing their way out of questionable situations - in search of a plan. That comes to a screeching halt when Ella finds herself face to face with the man she's been trying to avoid.

Ella's an unlikely hero, learning as she goes - but the ultimate lesson involves a sacrifice she never expected to face, and one that all the magic in the world cannot undo.

 

Enjoy the following excerpt for Believe the Magic:

"Ella, you have to trust me. Please. Sometimes you won't be able to question me, or see the why behind what I say. Just trust me, okay?"

"I don't get it, Quen. I just don't get this at all."

"You don't have to. Just promise me you'll behave."

"You're treating me like a twelve-year-old."

His face was suddenly close, too close. "I wouldn't do this if you were twelve." His warm lips met mine, pressing, kneading, coaxing them apart. I leaned into him, letting his tongue graze past my teeth and inject a new kind of heat into my body.

I felt much colder when he stepped back. But at least it seemed what happened this morning, or whenever it was, hadn't been a fluke.

"No. It wasn't a fluke. Don't even think it."

The words worked like fuel on the fire that had started somewhere in my chest. I didn't analyze it, just reveled in it. It got me the last leg of the journey without another peep about the temperature or aches in my bones.

Camp was a deserted building just as cold as the barren fields outside it. Thank God the wind didn't slice through the walls. It tried, howling through all the invisible crevices. Did I mention it was dark? Black as pitch inside.

"I just bet there's no electricity here is there, brain child?" I wasn't sure where Quentin was in the room, but he was undoubtedly in hearing range.

"Nope. I'm trying to find matches."

Matches? Wasn't this a man who could do magic? Couldn't he make fire?

"Found ‘em!" he cried triumphantly. Guess he wasn't listening to me.

I listened for the scrape of the match and the flare of light. Quentin had found an oil lamp.

The inside of the building came to life in a flicker of orange. It was divided in half, one part a cold, empty laboratory area, the other a less than cozy living area. At least there was a fireplace.

"You are going to light a fire, right?"

"Of course." He strode toward the wood piled beside it. I was way confused. Why wasn't he using magic to get it done faster? With little thought I lifted a log and set it on the half charred pieces that had been left in the fireplace. Quentin sat back on his heels, but didn't turn around.

Something was definitely going on. My gems, now a fixture around my neck, throbbed with the use of power. Other than the little push in the snow, I hadn't used them much.

Was he waiting to see if I could start it? Could I? If I could, did I want him to know? He didn't answer. I had to guess he wasn't reading my mind.

I had done it before, hadn't I? Breathed fire. Well, that's not exactly the effect I needed now, unless I wanted to be the human torch. I thought it best I keep that little trick a secret.

I crossed my fingers and reached. Deep, deep down into the energy that was bundled in my cramped toes, aching calves, and stiff fingers. I drew in breath after breath and willed it to a central spot in my chest. It was time.

I pointed my finger at the center of the log. With knowledge that must have been the most primitive, because I certainly don't know how I did it, I transferred the power to my shaking fist.

I didn't trust myself. "Quentin, you wanna move?"

No comment, no glance in my direction, but he got up and stood against the adjoining wall.

"All right." I took a deep breath. "Here goes."

I swear it was the rise and fall of my chest and the shivers that still pulsed through my body that caused me to miss. And the recoil. I could blame the recoil.

The fireball bounced off the brick wall and landed just about where Quentin had been. Of course.

He jumped over and stomped out the red embers on the carpet. I expected something along the lines of "Nicely done, Ella." In pure sarcasm, of course. But he backed up against the wall again.

Concentrate, I told myself. I found the strength easier this time, still smoldering. I stoked it up and let it roll down my arm, puddling like lava in my fist.

I pointed my finger as if it were a long range rifle. I stepped forward, bent my knees and braced myself. Ready. It's now or never. Aim. Fingers still crossed. Fire.

I ducked behind the couch when the log exploded into splinters. Well, I guess we have kindling wood now.

The oil lamp was on the ground, a figure curled next to it. Had I hit him? Had those flying pieces flown into him like a hundred tiny wooden stakes?

He didn't move when I stood over him. I nudged him with my foot. "Quentin?" I was scared he wouldn't answer.

"Are we dead yet?"

"No. But it's cold and if we don't get the fire lit, we might have the option of freezing to death."

"I thought you were trying to blow this place up."

I shrugged. Sorry wasn't really an option, was it? I was too exhilarated with the power I had found to feel very remorseful. "No…I just um, atomized the log. Shall I put another one—"

"No," he cut in, waving his hands, and the light, above his head. "I'll do it already. The old fashioned way."

He doubted me, did he? I snapped around and tossed another piece of split wood where the other one had sat. For good measure I commanded all the tiny pieces to pile themselves around it. To my surprise, that all worked without a glitch.

I was physically exhausted. It had been a long day. Great sex, two travels and a trek through the tundra had drained me. The two previous fireballs hadn't helped. But I was closer. I might be able to make this one happen.

There wasn't much fire left in me. I let it swirl around while I chewed on the idea of Quentin thinking I couldn't do it. Wow. That helped.

I concentrated on the small slivers that surrounded the log. They would light easily. They only need a gentle touch. I squinted in the pale light and ran my fingers over the picture of the hearth I had in my head. Spark, I commanded. The light of a match.

The heat burned my fingertips. I held steady despite the pain. I envisioned the flames catching, growing. The heat was beautiful. The sun on my face.

"Shit, Ella. Holy Shit!" Quentin tackled me, grabbed me under one arm and dragged me outside.

"Quentin, the fire, I lit the fire. Why—"

He grabbed my wrist and shoved my hand deep in the snow.

I wanted to howl from the agony of it. "Damn it. That…it effing hurts!" I shouted.

Laughter bubbled up out of Quentin.

"It's not freaking funny," I tried to slap at him with my uninjured hand, but he scooted out of the way.

"Effing? Effing? Ella, if you're gonna say it, go for the gusto."

Oh, I was saying it all right, over and over. Mentally. I couldn't push it past my lips.

"You a coward? Think your Sunday school teacher is going to hear you? There's nothing but a few Eskimos for hundreds of miles and you can't bring yourself to say a simple word?"

"It doesn't matter what I say, Quentin. It's not going to take the pain away."

I thought he was going to fall back in the snow he was laughing so hard. And if he did, I just might feel enough compassion to bury him up to his chin and let him worry about frostbite in his delicate areas. I wanted to simply sit with my hand buried deep in the snow and writhe with the pain. I could almost envision the tips of those digits tearing open and peeling like a boiled tomato. I bet that's what they looked like too.

 

Will this Elven warlord be conquered by lust?

 

Lords of Ch’i

© 2006 Ciar Cullen

 

Cast out by an usurper to her clan’s throne, warrior Silver SanMartin throws herself at the mercy of her compelling enemy, Jet Atraud. The sexy warlord rules his Elven clan with an iron fist, but Silver finds she lords some power of her own. Jet can’t keep his eyes—or his hands—off his lovely captive.

 

In a battle to gain self-control and maintain his ten-year oath of celibacy, Jet tries to focus on the task at hand—conquering the enemy clans. Despite his strong will and best intentions, Jet cannot ignore his growing love for Silver. But can a sworn enemy be trusted?

 

Enjoy this excerpt from Lords of Ch’i:

 

Silver looked up again, and a shock of electricity ran through her at Jet’s intense stare. He looked from her eyes to her lips, and let his gaze wander to her breasts, pushed high by her gown. His eyes burned as she he assaulted her senses.

“You’re rather strong-willed, Silver. I don’t buy your apology for a second. And I think I rather fancy that about you. You’ll make a good bodyguard. What do you think of the gown? It’s been in my family for many generations.”

“Lord?”

“Yes?” He continued his sexual appraisal of her and her breathing quickened in longing. She let her gaze wander down his smooth stomach to his rigid cock, straining against the black silk wrap. Surely he can hear my heart, it’s so loud.

“Do you like what you see, Silver? You can’t seem to pull your gaze away for long. Do you know the whole time we’ve spoken, the whole time you’ve cried over the conflict and your brother, you’ve filled the room with your lust. You’ve stared at my mouth and my chest, my stomach, wondering how it would feel, how it would be between us. Am I wrong?”

“You are quite wrong, Lord.”

He laughed a little and motioned her to come closer. “I’d like a closer look at you in my ancestor’s garb. You must admit, it suits your figure, which is…” Jetre took in a quick breath. “Adequate.”

“Adequate? My figure is adequate? Why are we discussing my body? Your oath, your…”

“Have I broken my oath, Silver?” He worked his fingertips from her collarbone across the swell of her breasts. His touch blazed a fiery trail across her skin and his energy seeped into her veins. Which burns, she wondered—the touch of an elf or the touch of a lord? He slowly unfastened the clasps of her dress until he exposed her breasts. His calloused fingers and palms brushed across her skin like a kiss as he cupped one breast in each hand. His moan stirred her to quivering. He caressed her as if he’d found a priceless treasure he’d sought for a lifetime. Silver fought the sensations he evoked, but surrendered and cried out when he rubbed his thumbs on her nipples.

“Jetre.”

“Yes?” He continued his slow circles. “You find this unpleasant? Should I stop?” Jetre looked at her from beneath his dark lashes as he leaned in to suckle on one breast. His hot mouth assaulted her senses, his tongue darting across her nipple, his lips pulling and pinching. A low groaning sound came from far away, and Silver realized in shock it was her moan, her lust filling the air. She laced her hands in an errant strand of his luxurious hair and pulled it towards her face, smelling his scent—dark spices and male magic. When he moved to her other breast, the new pleasure sent her to the brink of orgasm, and he kept her hovered there for minutes. He broke away suddenly and looked into her eyes.

Silver panted, aching, throbbing, ready to push him to the ground and assault him. “You’re no virgin.”

“How dare you. Do you understand how you insult me, Warrior?”

“I honestly couldn’t tell you what I think right now if my life depended upon it.”

Jetre arched a brow. “It will come to you.”

Silver’s hands shook at the conflicting, overwhelming emotions consuming her. This man, this gorgeous man, her sworn enemy, now her master—was he seducing her? No, simply playing with his prisoner. No more, certainly. A tiny dagger of regret pierced her heart. Silver shuddered, the memory of his mouth on her still making her tingle, still making her throb and moist and ready.

What I wouldn’t give to lay with him, to feel him inside me… She cursed to herself. Too late, he heard it.

“Tell me, let me hear what you want.” His voice grew low and languid, his eyes nearly hidden beneath his black lashes. “Tell me what kind of lover you imagine me? What draws you? My look? My manner? Or my power?”

All of those. None of those. Don’t let him hear any more. Thoughts poured out, desire and longing overwhelming her, betraying her.

You’re the most beautiful creature. Take me now or leave me be. I don’t want to feel this way.

“Yes you do.” His voice was such a low whisper Silver thought she might have imagined hearing him speak.

Jet sat up straight, eyes now wide, spell broken. “I’m not one to take advantage of my position with a woman, with anyone. You aren’t required to placate me in a sexual way.” Jetre snorted. “Perhaps that’s only my ego. I couldn’t stand the thought of forcing myself on a woman. I’ve always assumed no woman would reject me, which is quite disturbing. Perhaps you don’t want me?”

Silver groaned. “Don’t mock me, Lord, you read my thoughts clearly enough. It’s bad enough that I’ve betrayed my kind. Don’t make me betray myself.”

Jetre ignored her words and stood, pulling the cord from his hair.

That’s his way? Play with me for a moment, send my world reeling, and dismiss me like a scrap of garbage.

“You’ll help me dress now, and we will eat and drink with the soldiers and their families. I intend to speak to the crowd of your presence here. Some of it will annoy you, badly, especially when I speak of your brother. Try to show restraint. Understood?”

“Yes, Lord.”

He turned and nodded. “Silver, in private, you may call me Jet. I’m a little less formal than most of the lords.” He held out a finger. “In private, mind you.”

She nodded. “Jet.” She tested the nickname on her tongue.

“One thing.” Jetre turned away again. His voice was quiet and Silver struggled to hear him. “Was it right? Did it feel right, what I did? When I kissed your breasts?”

It was the last question she expected from him, the most amazing thing. The great Lord Jetre, wondering if he had given her any pleasure. How to answer him?

“Because my ten years end in a matter of days.” He pushed his hand through his hair and laughed at himself. “I don’t want it said the oath made the lord incapable. How embarrassing. Is this your nature—to bring out the inner truths of a person?”

“How will I protect you from the women who will storm your quarters when your oath is complete? They’ll be more dangerous than Fire and Metal combined against you.” And how will I bear to watch it?

Jet laughed. “As appealing as that picture might be, I must pick only one. The second part of the deal.” He shrugged.

“I see.” A small knife poked at her heart unexpectedly. No doubt the woman would be Wood and was probably already betrothed to the lord. An elf, of course.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Jet toweled down and Silver turned away. From the corner of her eye she saw him step into his dark leather pants and pull on a thin, collarless, long-sleeved, black shirt. He went to the dresser and placed a kohl stick against each eye, blinking and wiping the excess from his cheeks.

“The woman will be quite fortunate, Jet. I hope that satisfies your ego.”

He inclined his head and smiled very subtly. “It does. Might I practice on you again some time?”

Silver closed her eyes. The pain came in very faintly, like the smell of a coming summer rain shower on the breeze. She wanted her sworn enemy, and she meant nothing to him. A plaything, a practice toy. Well, there are worse fates than being the whore of such a man.

He pointed to his tall boots and Silver brought them to him, helped him push into them.

“You did something terrible to me when you branded me, Jet. I know you did. You say you wouldn’t force a woman, but you charmed me in some way.”

Jet looked up at her, puzzled. “Nonsense.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Jet pointed to the dresser and his heavy, white-gold pendant, the Wu Xing symbol of his clan, the symbol of the Way of Ch’i. Silver brought it to him and fastened it around his neck. She bit back thoughts of Kilé and how she had fastened his pendant many times.

“Not many call me a liar without punishment. If Jaine or Art were here, you’d already be bleeding.”

“Yes, my lord. Based on my brief encounter with your formidable sister, I believe you.”

“Now my hair.”

“What about it?”

“Brush it.” He rolled his eyes at her.

“This is fucking awful, Lord.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

Silver went to the dresser, grabbed a brush, and pulled a cushion behind Jetre’s. She brushed his beautiful hair, wishing she could bury her face in it.

He turned suddenly and grabbed her by the neck. “I heard that.”

She cried out softly, even though he didn’t hurt her.

“They’ll have to wait a few minutes more.”

 

 

 

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