Starting at the north edge of the circle, Michael lit the kindling, intoning, “I purify the air and make it pleasant for you, Deira, so that you may call upon us and judge our love.” He repeated the action at the east border, followed by the south and west. When they stood within a blazing ring of fire, he turned back to Emily.
At his signal, she picked up her bag of flowers and herbs—rosemary to consecrate the circle, wormwood for evocation, mallow to exorcise black magic, and belladonna to make their souls receptive to Deira’s spirit—and walked around the fire, tossing the contents upon the pyre as she recited, “I purify the atmosphere and make it pleasant for you, Deira, so that you may call upon us and judge our love.” With each handful she tossed, the flames leapt higher and higher, dancing and writhing as they slowly took on a queer, bluish cast.
Blue, the color of truth, ancient wisdom, and spirit communication. Had Deira arrived then?
Unnerved by the notion, Emily warily backed away from the flames, her wide-eyed gaze never leaving them as she slowly inched backward, watching as they steadily rose against the blackness of the maiden stones, fusing and flickering into what to her mesmerized gaze appeared to be a human form.
Human. Yes. The shape was distinctly human … and female. She had just decided that she could see the hourglass curve of a woman’s body with a head of shooting sparks for hair, when she felt a hand upon her shoulder.
Too startled to scream, certain that the spirit had somehow escaped its fiery shell and now stood behind her, she spun around in panic. For several beats she stared unseeing, blinded by her terror. Then her vision cleared and she saw that it was Michael, her darling Michael, who looked back, worry written on every plane of his handsome face.
Meeting her gaze in silent query, he gently cupped her cheek in his palm, mutely begging for reassurance that all was well. She smiled and nodded, readily giving him what he sought. How could all not be well when he looked at her like that, so tender and full of love? He continued searching her eyes a moment longer, as if deciding for himself, then nodded back and released her. Glancing away now, he pulled his watch from his overcoat pocket, squinting to see the dial as he angled it into the light. When he saw the time, he frowned and tipped it toward her so that she, too, could read the hour. It was late. Eleven forty-seven. They must hasten to finish the evocation spell if they were to appeal to Deira at midnight.
Tucking his watch back into his pocket, Michael moved to the opposite side of the tomb, where he kneeled before the white candles. Emily sank to her knees before the black ones, shivering as the damp chill from the ground cut through her heavy skirts. After both had bowed their heads to pay deference to Deira, Michael uncorked the vial of oil.
Made from the essences of fennel, tansy, rue, wormwood, yarrow, fir, and sandalwood, the maceration was held sacred for its ability to consecrate. Picking up one of the white candles, white signifying the purity of their hearts and the sincerity of their love, he anointed the symbol incised into the wax, saying, “I consecrate thee in the name of Deira, the wise and the just.”
When he had set it back into place, Emily, being the cursed party, picked up one of the black candles, which Rebecca had said were used to remove hexes and banish spiritual discord, and mirrored his actions. Alternating white and black, they consecrated all eight candles, after which Michael rose and lit the two tapers from the ring of fire, which continued to burn steadily around them.
Handing one of the tapers to Emily, they switched sides, with Michael lighting the black candles and Emily lighting the white ones, chanting in unison, “With these candles and by their light I welcome thee, Deira, this Samhaine night.” When a second, smaller ring of fire burned upon their makeshift altar, Michael moved to kneel next to Emily. It was now time to present their offerings.
Emily’s was a fragrant bouquet of purple heather, lavender, mint, and Solomon’s seal—the heather to invite the spirit, the lavender to symbolize love and peace, mint for protection against evil, and Solomon’s seal to appeal for spiritual aid—which she laid next to the candles, entreating, “Accept my offering and hear my plea for mercy, O Deira, the wise and the just.”
Michael’s offering was the incense made from sandalwood, anise, and acacia, all of which enticed spirits, with a dash of frankincense to petition the spirit’s blessing. Pouring the aromatic powder into the brazier, he lit it with his taper, uttering, “With this offering I appeal to you, O Deira, the wise and just. See our love and lift our curse, grant us the blessing of peace.”
They then joined hands and bowed their heads, waiting for a sign that Deira had accepted their offerings and was ready to judge their love. They waited …
And waited …
And waited …
Emily was just beginning to think that they had failed in their quest when she heard what sounded like a roaring sigh issue from the tomb before her, followed by a blast of arctic cold that seemed to cut through her flesh and pierce her soul. Apparently Michael, too, had felt and heard the spirit, for he gasped aloud. Gripped by shuddering dread, terrified of what the being would do next, Emily glanced at Michael in panic.
He stared straight ahead, as if in a trance, his eyes wide and his face frozen in an expression of incredulous awe. Petrified of what she might see, but compelled by Michael’s expression to look, she followed his gaze, feeling her own face mirror his at what she saw.
A shimmering blue vapor had risen from the tomb, swirling and undulating into what looked to be the silhouette of a woman. As Emily gaped, too paralyzed by fear to do more, there was a blinding flash. When her vision cleared a moment later, she saw that the figure had became lit from within, now sparking and flashing like bottled lightning. Floating silently over the tomb, it appeared to be waiting … or was it judging? Emily struggled through the sludge of her fright, trying to recall Rebecca’s words, to remember what they were to do next.
They must… they must … yes! It was time for them to prove their love. They must open their hearts and show Deira what was in them. As she glanced back at Michael, poised to plead her case, he abruptly broke from his trance. Rather than look amazed or intimidated by the apparition, he appeared angered by it, a low, feral growl issuing from his throat as he rose to his feet.
His teeth bared and his narrowed eyes staring steadily at the spectral haze, he reached up and savagely ripped the protective amulet from around his neck. Tossing it into the brazier, where it caught fire from the incense and burst into a ball of shooting embers, he snarled, “I stand before you, Deira, with only my love to protect me. So hear me … judge me. Look deeply inside me and see the truth of what I say. I love this woman, more than life itself, and there is nothing I would not sacrifice for her. She is everything to me—everything, damn it!—my heart, my soul, my joy, and my passion. She is my very salvation, and I need her as surely as I need the air I breathe, as surely as my heart must beat and my blood must course through my veins.”
His fist was raised now, shaking, and he was practically screaming the words. “Judge me, Deira! Judge me now! I gladly risk my life for the chance to remain with this woman, for I would rather die than live without her.”
The instant the words left his mouth there was a boom that made the earth quiver violently beneath them, as if it were being torn asunder. A second later a bolt of blue lightning streaked out from the mist, striking Michael’s chest with a crash that resonated like thunder. Mindless of everything but her fear for Michael, Emily threw herself against him, collapsing with him to break his fall as he slowly crumpled to the ground.
Crying his name over and over again, she clutched at his still form in panic, her frightened gaze urgently searching his face as she willed him to speak. His eyes were open and staring fixedly ahead, his pupils so dilated that his jade irises appeared swallowed up in blackness. His smooth skin, which had been warm and flushed with health only moments earlier, was cold and strangely waxen, his
handsome features frozen into a contorted mask of stunned surprise.
“Michael, love, speak to me. Please speak to me,” she begged, this time kissing his pale lips. She didn’t detect so much as a whisper of breath. Afraid, more afraid than she’d ever been in her life, she pressed her trembling fingers to his throat, desperately searching for a pulse.
Nothing. She moved her hand slightly to the left, still nothing, then to the right, again nothing, frantically groping for something, anything to indicate that he lived. When it was apparent that she would find no sign there, she lifted his limp arm. Weeping now, praying to detect even the slightest palpitation to give her hope, she felt his wrist. There was an utter absence of life.
Her body now wracked with sobs and her soul keening its grief, she violently ripped open his coat and pressed her ear to his chest. It was completely still, utter silence.
“No—no!” she wailed, her voice rising with her sorrow. “No, damn it! I shan’t lose you, Michael. I cannot! I love you … I need you.” Gathering him in her arms, she cradled his head against her breast, dropping kisses on his cold lips as she brokenly pleaded, “Do not leave me, my love. Please come back. Please,” again and again. When he remained lifeless in her arms, she raised her tear-ravaged face to Deira, who floated serenely before her, gripped by savage rage at what the being had done.
Her voice low and impassioned, she glared at the spirit, hissing, “Damn you, Deira. Damn you to hell. He’s mine, do you hear me? Mine! And you shan’t take him. If I must fight you to keep him, then so be it. I welcome the battle.” She was so inflamed now that she shook with the fierceness of her fury.
Laying Michael’s inert form upon the damp ground, taking care to rest his head on his flaring coat capes, she staggered to her feet, her fists clenching at her sides and her breath coming out in harsh rasps as she screamed, “I challenge you, Deira! I challenge your powers with the strength of my love for the life of this man!” With that she flung out her arms to invite the wrath of the spirit, heedless of everything but her love for Michael and her desperation to keep him by her side. “Do it, Deira! I dare you!”
“E-Emily?” called a hoarse voice.
Emily glanced down quickly to see Michael struggling to sit up. He looked slightly stunned, but none the worse for his terrifying experience.
“Michael … love? Is it truly you?” she exclaimed, her heart filled with a rejoicing such as she had never before felt. Why, she could almost hear it sing, a sound like angels on the wind.
He frowned and shook his head, as if to clear it. “What a queer question. Of course it is me. Who else would it be?” By now he had stumbled unsteadily to his feet.
Her tears flowing freely in her relief, Emily let out a cry of gladness and threw herself into his arms, wanting to hold him close, determined never to again let him go. She had almost reached them when there was an explosive flash of blue and another crash of thunder. Then everything went black.
“Emily, love. Speak to me. Please speak to me!” The voice was frayed and hoarse, raggedly pleading.
Michael. It was Michael’s voice … coming out of the darkness. Emily groped in the smothering blackness that engulfed her, blindly fighting to find him in the impenetrable shadows. Nothing. She couldn’t find him. She tried to call his name, to alert him of her presence, but no sound came out. Again she tried and again she failed.
“I love you, Emily. Dear God, how I love you!” he fiercely declared. Then something fell upon her cheeks, something wet, like droplets from a gentle rain.
“He truly does loves you, as you do him.” The words floated through the shadows, as delicate and ethereal as a dream. In the next instant there was a dazzling flash of blue light, one that exploded and flared in the darkness, then a woman materialized in its glowing midst, the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen.
Deira. It had to be Deira. Though she couldn’t tell the color of the spirit’s eyes, or the texture of her hair, or even the shape of her features for the blinding luminescence surrounding her, Emily saw her with her heart and soul, and they proclaimed her beautiful.
For several moments the spirit simply floated there, radiating power and something else … something gentle and serene, almost soothing … then she slowly raised one flaming arm, extending it to Emily. “I have judged you and found your love worthy. Go forth and live in peace.” With that verdict, she vanished, as did the darkness, and Emily found herself gazing up at Michael.
His beloved face was pale and streaked with tears; his eyes were red, the thick fringe of his lashes spiked with moisture. He was weeping. “Michael?” she murmured, frowning at his tears.
“Emily?” His voice was splintered, breaking with emotion. “Oh, Emily, my dearest love!” he exclaimed, hugging her protectively to his chest. “I thought I had lost you.”
All that had happened came flooding back at his words, and she suddenly remembered the sight of him lying lifeless in her arms. Unnerved by the memory, she pulled his face close to hers, wanting to feel his breath, to reassure herself that he was indeed all right. When it fanned across her cheeks, so warm and fresh and comforting, she smiled and fervently whispered, “I love you, Michael. How I love you,” then pressed her lips to his, passionately demonstrating the truth of her words.
Michael moaned and eagerly returned her kiss, his mouth moving hungrily over hers, matching her brush for famished brush, nip for greedy nip, lick for ravenous lick, practically devouring her lips in his urgency to savor every luscious inch of them.
It was like a dream, kissing her … it had to be a dream. Surely no woman’s lips could be so very sweet, so very supple and responsive? And the way she moved against him, sinuously molding and undulating all that voluptuous softness against his love-starved body … he moaned again in lustful torment and pulled her more firmly into his lap, fire jolting through his loins as her rounded backside pressed temptingly against his quickening arousal.
Dear God, how he wanted her … here and now! He was consumed by an overwhelming need to ease her back and take her upon the grass within this flaming circle of stones. Maddened by his shattering urgency, he shoved his hands beneath her cloak and convulsively clasped her full breasts, the fire in his loins burning hotter when he felt her nipples jutting hard and swollen against her woollen bodice.
“Michael, oh, Michael,” she moaned, crushing her breasts against his palms, amorously urging him on.
With a groan he obliged her, his hands moving to the back of her gown where his trembling fingers found and clumsily unclasped the top five hooks. The modest neckline of her bodice now loose and sagging around her shoulders, he slipped his hand beneath the fabric, exploring the layers of flannel undergarments until he at last found her bare nipple. Clutched in the fevered grip of desire, he teased and coaxed it, his lust overtaking his reason as he deepened their kiss, his needful sex thrusting hard against her backside as his tongue masterfully ravished her mouth.
Emily sighed and melted against him, surrendering herself to the riot of pleasurable sensation. His mouth—mmm—how she loved his mouth. The taste was as heady as chocolate, the feel as intoxicating as wine. And the way he smelled … ahhh … like fresh shaving soap mingled with the spice of the incense … and something else … something primitive and earthy that stirred and titillated her senses. Then there was the thrilling feel of his arms and how his lithe body cradled hers, wrapping her in his strength and warmth. As for the electrifying way in which he touched her breasts … she sighed again, arching her back in voluptuous delight.
Oh! Such pleasure! She felt wonderfully hot and tingly all over, especially in the secret place between her legs, which seemed to melt and pulse with every erotic kiss and caress. Brazenly wondering how it would feel to be touched down there, imagining the rapture of his fingers exploring and stroking her, she wantonly spread her legs and pressed downward, forcefully shoving her now aching flesh against his thrusting
hardness. The friction of his arousal rubbing against her served only to intensify the throbbing.
Overcome by desire now, she grasped his left hand, which clutched at her waist while his right one fondled her breast, and shamelessly guided it beneath her rucked-up skirts. Moaning into his mouth, which still hungrily devoured hers, she shoved his fingers against the thin fabric enveloping the now wet recesses of her femininity
He froze for a beat, then emitted a low, guttural growl and cupped her in his palm. She parted her thighs yet wider and squirmed impatiently against it. Pulling her mouth from his to gaze beseechingly into his passion-drugged eyes, she breathlessly implored, “Please, Michael,” wiggling against his palm as her own hand slipped downward to stroke the hardness in his trousers.
A look of profound shock came over his face and again he froze, harsh, rasping breaths ripping from his chest as he stared at her. In the next instant he averted his gaze, but not before she saw the crushing ache in his eyes. “I am sorry, Emily. I cannot,” he whispered. His voice was fractured and raw, excruciatingly so, as if the utterance had been torn from his soul.
The steamy spell of seduction vanished at his words. Bewildered and more than a little disappointed that their intimacy should come to such an abrupt end, Emily frowned and murmured, “Cannot what? Why? I do not understand.”
He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head once, his mouth drawing into a taut, pain-filled line. “I cannot make love to you. You know that. I explained about my inability to do so.”
His inability? Her frown deepened as she became suddenly aware of where her hand rested and the violence of his arousal beneath it. Though she knew little about the actual act of making love, she understood enough from what Judith had told her and the snatches of bawdy conversation she’d eavesdropped from her brothers to comprehend what was involved. And judging from that comprehension, he seemed able enough to her to do the deed … more than able, if the size and heat of him were any indication.
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