by S. E. Akers
I raced towards the pedestal, ready to end his little lesson. The quakes and sounds of the pounders falling like dominos boomed behind my steps. I felt the iron’s effects as soon as I picked up the ball. Now came the hard part. Getting back over there as speedy as what I’d come would be impossible, not with me feeling as listless as a lead weight.
I took a deep breath and started my not-so-nimble trip back. The first one to drop on my return almost nailed my foot. I managed to rally a bit of extra strength, but it wasn’t anything to brag about. Fighting through the iron’s hold was like trying to bust out of a tightly bound cocoon of supernatural Saran Wrap. Even with the weeks of “resistance training” I’d endured, I didn’t think I’d built up that much immunity to its effects. Maybe a little, though not enough to help with a ceiling full of iron pillars the size of port-a-potties gunning for me. The walloping pounds were getting closer with every sluggish step I took. Ten more strides were all I lacked to reach the finish line. The longer my gaze remained on the house steward’s smug face, the angrier I grew.
I was merely four steps from victory when one of the iron pillars pegged my calf and sent me straight down onto the mat with a gut-busting “THWACK”. All I could do was wail. There was no easy way to scoot out from underneath it either. My bare left hand was pinned under there along with over half my body, allowing the energy-draining metal full contact with my skin. Blearily, I watched the iron ball slip out of my other hand and then roll its way towards Silas. It came to a stop with a mere bump against his shoe. And he didn’t even bother with bending over to collect it either. Then again, why would he? His prize was all sprawled out and squished between a peg of iron and a potholed floor.
His lengthy strides carried him towards my fallen frame with the pride of a general. The amount of self-satisfaction I sensed fueling his gait forced me to shift my stare. It was actually coming at me stronger than the iron. Even after he’d bent down, I still couldn’t look at him.
The house steward cleared his throat. “Each of those pillars represents your emotions and the hold they have on you, Ms. Wallace. You can avoid them some of the time, but eventually they all will come crashing down. You can’t maintain focus when you allow your feelings to bury you. Considering all that has yet to be accomplished by the diamond’s hands, you can’t afford the distraction. That’s why I chose this lesson. I wanted you to experience a taste of your impending crash if you refuse to bridle those pesky feelings.” Silas rose up, eyeing the iron pillar that had me pinned. “Hopefully, it won’t come to it.”
“You’re leaving me here?” I groaned.
The house steward took a calculated step closer. “Let’s get one thing straight, Ms. Wallace. I’m not here to be your knight-in-shining-armor, and I don’t make a habit of helping anyone who doesn’t attempt to help themselves.” Silas turned with a sharp pivot and then marched a straight path towards the door. “Oh, and Ms. Wallace . . . If you do find yourself on your last breath, feel free to give me a little whistle,” he barked coldly and then shot me back a superficial glance. “You never know . . . I might come.”
With a shovel, I grumbled. I was so weary my face couldn’t even form a surly enough look to mirror my anger. My head crashed to the floor with a “thump”. Laid out twice in one day… This was one time I prayed Tanner wouldn’t show up.
It took me over an hour to finally get out from underneath that thing — tugging and twisting in a flinch the entire time. Then I crawled straight to the red jasper table and stayed there for another hour. I didn’t see or hear neither hide nor hair from Tanner. Maybe that was for the best? Maybe I needed the night to dampen the humiliation I felt over my most recent failure (and the damn bra)? It couldn’t hurt, and the sunny dawn of tomorrow mornings had served me well enough in the past — sort of. Plus, hiding out in my room ensured I wouldn’t have to face Silas either. I’d thought about what he had said while I was lying there. I did have a lot of emotions churning, most of them rooted in frustration and fear. But who wouldn’t in the same situation? My dream was just a crappy byproduct of them. I didn’t need him serving up any reminders. I was dealing with them. They hadn’t sent me over the edge of the cliff yet. How could they when I was still trekking up the mountain? There was, however, one thing that pained me to admit: how much I was craving my amethyst. I didn’t want to be so dependent upon its effects. I’d already used it way too much to get over horrible hills much easier in the past, instead of naturally and on my own. Really? If someone carries you, have you really jumped that hurdle? As much as I wanted to feel some sort of connection to Tanner, I couldn’t afford to have any magical purple crutches carting my butt down destiny’s path.
I’m not being stubborn. I stomped up the stairs feeling determined. I’m simply striving for some much stronger will!
And as far as the house steward was concerned, my head remained firmly in its respective place — still three-feet above my ass! Case-closed!
I was about to head into my room when Silas came strutting down the stairs, carting a service tray. “Excellent,” he breathed. “The mouse has successfully made it out of the trap. And here I was thinking I might have to bib and feed you right there on the floor. There’s one accomplishment for the da— Oh, pardon me . . . for the week,” he snidely corrected.
“How did you know I’d planned on having dinner in my room?” I questioned, eyeing the meal service. “Just another ‘good guess’?”
Silas simply roused an artful smile and nodded for me to head on into my room. I shook my head with a heated sneer as I stepped inside, not giving the first flip about the gesture I’d hurled.
Evasive telepath, I grumbled. A sneaky suspicion sent me scrambling to snatch my hilt off the stand beside the chaise. After his latest stunt, I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to find something “special” waiting for me under that fancy silver server.
He placed the tray down on the table, noting my stance with a grin. “Don’t worry. This one’s not as rare,” he quipped and then lifted off the lid.
I gave the Cornish hen and rice dish and unamused glance. “So much for bad things happening in threes,” I cracked back.
“Well,” Silas muttered, “In your case, Ms. Wallace, the night is still young.”
Inescapably, I gave my hilt a few pensive squeezes. His handiness aside, I started wondering just how much the house steward would actually be missed around here. A little? A lot? Surely there was some other supernatural out there looking for a magical day-job?
Silas had just finished arranging the place setting on the table when he looked up and remarked, “I trust you had plenty of time to think about your lesson this afternoon.”
“Actually, I never gave it a second thought,” I fibbed while I polished off my nails with a frivolous rub.
Silas propped the empty tray on his hip. “That’s unfortunate. Couldn’t even rouse the discipline to focus on an important dilemma such as that? Humph . . . You’re worse off than I thought. Maybe you should try meditating?” he suggested. “Relaxing and self-regulating that hard-head of yours might be just the crack it needs. I would be delighted to instruct you, if you’re willing.”
“After your last lesson?” I posed with a skeptical laugh. “I think keeping my eyes open at all times around you would serve my hard-head much better.”
Silas rolled his eyes and then started heading towards the door, only to stop shy of the threshold. “Oh, that reminds me. You are to remain down here for the rest of the evening.”
“Why?” I’d planned on it anyway, but his request sounded more like a punishment.
“Because Professor Grey is entertaining company upstairs in the study and wants you to remain out of sight,” Silas instructed.
I was all-ears now. “Who’s up there?” Silas remained as silent and still as a statue, which only added to my frustration. “Won’t you tell me?” I posed.
“If Professor Grey had wanted you to know, he would have issued me instructions to do so,” Silas
assured. “Or relayed the tidbit telepathically to you himself.”
“I thought you were all about honesty?” I countered.
“Oh, I am,” Silas assured, “but evading isn’t the same as a lie . . . Don’t you agree, Ms. Wallace?”
That sounded particularly wry. I chose to ignore it. “Is it another Talisman?”
“Maybe,” Silas shrugged, stretching his brows. “Maybe not.”
All right. “Is it Malachi?”
“No,” Silas replied.
“Helaine?” I blurted.
“NO,” Silas responded sternly. “Professor Grey isn’t in the habit of entertaining evil cretins in his house. Those get locked in the dungeons as you very well know.”
“Well if they don’t pose any threat, then why doesn’t he want me to meet them?” I quizzed.
An almost twisted glaze of ambiguity lacquered his moss-green eyes. “I’m sure he has his reasons,” Silas replied.
Yeah — To drive me CRAZY… “I suppose,” I mumbled.
“Just be advised that the wards on the doorway won’t allow you to pass. Professor Grey has already seen to that.”
“Naturally,” I sulked. Sadly, Tanner knew all of my wild hairs far too well.
“Don’t look so glum, Ms. Wallace. You won’t be trapped down here for too long.” The house steward gave his lips a contemplating purse. “I suppose a couple of hours at the most? She’ll have her coat in hand and be out the front door before you know it.”
My entire frame froze on the spot. SHE? Talk about a total shock and awe blast. And he’d meant for that bomb to drop.
You jerk, I fumed silently.
Silas’ pucker stretched into a sly grin. “That should help you revisit the advice I gave you earlier and give it the healthy ‘second-thought’ it deserves.” He turned and headed up the steps straightaway, looking awfully buoyant after planting his victory flag. He cupped his hand around one of his ears. “My, my. I can practically hear that whistle crying.”
Unable to hold in my anger for a second longer, my tongue inescapably smacked the air with a rattling spit-fueled spray.
“Not quite a whistle,” Silas jeered. “Might want to work on that as well. It sounds like your Latin.”
My bedroom door closed with a thunderous “SLAM”. Though to be fair, Silas wasn’t solely responsible for fueling its force. Tanner and his female “mystery-date” were just as red-handed in kicking up that rude-awakening storm.
I swear if the monsters don’t kill me, the men will!
I stayed in my room for the rest of the evening, moping for the most part while my head spun with a plethora of questions and possible scenarios…and they weren’t pretty either. I eventually gave Katie a call. I had to do something in hopes of putting out that fire. I was surprised when she actually answered, grateful in fact. We didn’t talk long though. My BFF was getting ready to catch a movie with one of Bethesda’s covenmates, a guy named Fergus. I didn’t know if I was more bothered by her hanging out with so many different witches or her having a date with a guy who had made their intentions clear and was genuinely interested.
It must be nice, I grumped silently as I stretched out on the chaise. Yeah, I was feeling a tad green on this one. But my jealously wasn’t directed at Katie, more like the whole notion of romantic involvement. Not knowing what was going on upstairs didn’t help. I was a lot less stressed when guys weren’t on my radar. My brain kept urging me to pull the plug, but my heart kept overriding its pleas with evocative thumps. My eyes fell to an introspective close. Whether Tanner had any feelings for me or not, I was crushing hard.
Silas was right, I affirmed as I lay there feeling sorely amused. The night was far from over and then low and behold “Bad Thing Number-Three” managed to crop up, right on schedule — my last and final pummel for the day. Now I just needed them to come to an end. No restarts or repeats.
It wasn’t long before the hands on my watch heralded a welcomed sight: Friday was only a few hours away. The promise surrounding the anticipation of that particular day always seemed so rosy, even now, despite the fact that Talismans didn’t take weekends off. “Asleep” or “dead” seemed to be the motto for getting any restful downtime around here. I stared at the canopy bed. I didn’t care how charming its sweeping velvet and satin top looked, I still felt like I was about to crawl into a coffin. At the rate I was going, maybe that “restful break” I was craving would come at the same time? The old wives’ tale foretelling what would happen if you died in a dream swirled in my mind. It had to have started somewhere. I only hoped for my sake that it didn’t have a supernatural birth. I was already leery about hitting the sheets.
In hopes of working up some good juju, I took a quick shower, brushed my teeth, threw on some of my comfiest pj’s, and hopped into bed with my earbuds firmly in place. I dialed up some Meghan Trainor to fall asleep to. It wasn’t possible have a crappy thought listening to any of her tunes, not with their cute & catchy beat. I’d swear to it.
I turned the volume down low as I wrestled around in search of the perfect position. I ended up in a soothing side-curl, facing my father’s picture. His blue-green eyes were all the protective assurance I needed; they would nip any frightful latent thoughts right in the bud before any nastiness could sprout, guaranteed.
I was shifting my feet, getting cozier, when my toes brushed against something oddly cold. I scooted up in bed and then curiously peeked under the sheet. My eyes exploded not a startling-second before I sent all the covers over the edge of the footboard with a stout gust. Then I catapulted myself straight out of bed in a convulsive fit as soon as I spied the flesh and bone finger lying at the foot of the mattress.
“NO! That’s impossible . . .” I mumbled, hand pressing against my heaving chest. As calmly as I could, I leaned in for a closer look — and that’s when the damn thing moved.
“Uckkk!” I gagged and then pinched it up while my body rocked with skeevy cringes. I held the decaying digit out as far as my arm would stretch and then bolted into the bathroom. After a tank-rattling flip of the lid, I had that thing chucked & flushed down the pot not a dry-heaving minute too soon.
It wasn’t JUST a dream! Who the heck has dreams that follow you out like that? I closed the lid and fell beside the toilet in a daze. It was the diamond…whether Adamas was there or not.
I’d never had something like that happen before. I was actually a part of the memory or vision…or whatever the heck it was. Yeah, Adamas had spoken directly to me in one of them, and I’d come pretty close to getting fried by a bolt in another, but this was different — like crazy-metaphysical different. I doubted I would catch the first wink tonight or any other time my eyes drifted to a close. I was even a little skittish about blinking too long. I raked my fingers through my hair as I sat there rocking on the floor. My rest was subject to the diamond wand’s mercy, and that was an unsettling fact.
I dove straight onto the chaise lounge, gave the poofy neckroll a couple of smacks, and then jerked the chenille throw over my crunched fetal frame. There was no way in hell I was crawling back in my bed, not where that gruesome thing had been crawling around all day.
At least not until I wash the daggone sheets… GROSS!
The possibility of asking Tanner for a brand new set wasn’t out of the question. After all, Bea’s little golden lighter was tucked in one of the stacked boxes only a fiery flick from my fingertips.
CHAPTER 9
The stirring melody chiming from the bedside clock seemed pointless this morning. I was already up and had been the entire night. Even if The Sandman himself had dropped by waving sparkly grains and promising a night filled with pleasant dreams, it still wouldn’t have done any good. After finding that finger, I would’ve needled his dusty rear with the pointy end of my sword before I sent him packing.
I gave my heavy lids a brisk rub. Stair-stepping stacks of Beatrix’s grimoires and journals circled my hunched frame. I’d spent the past seven hours scouring their timeworn page
s for anything detailing memories or visions without uncovering the first pertinent thing — no parameters defining their boundaries or any set rules governing one’s experiences while in them. Was it too much to ask for a clear-cut instruction manual? Too tall of an order for the cosmos to fill? Then again, I’d left most of Bea’s books and scrolls in storage, thinking Tanner wouldn’t be too keen on seeing all that stuff over here. Who knew he had his own personal witchy Barnes & Noble downstairs? The stars practically decreed that those set-aside volumes probably held the answers I was desperately searching for. But I wasn’t about to have my BFF witch-wannabe run over there and check. Not a chance! This one was going down as a big ole “shame on me”. The only thing I found was a brief passage telling me things I already knew. Any memory a stone held could be accessed easily with the utmost amount of focus and desire (yeah, right…) and that one’s stone may choose to reveal something by way of a vision when it saw fit and on its own terms (been there, done that). So despite any fears of what I might kick-up, I tried focusing on Adamas and accessing the diamond, repeatedly. Nothing ever happened, with the exception of giving myself a massive headache. In fact, the resistance I felt pushing back was even worse than all the times I’d attempted dipping into Bea’s golden topaz. For something that held so much sway over my life, that daggone rock was as stubborn as it was finicky.
I dug my fingers into my temples. And its spank was as physically punishing as Karma’s. Undoubtedly they were working together as a mystical tag-team — both dead-set on torturing me.
The journals down in the library were probably my best bet at scoring something helpful, even though I had no idea where to start looking in that leathery haystack. Searching would be so much easier if all this stuff were stored on a computer. Now there’s one for the supernatural suggestion box. I was totally search-field spoiled and not the least bit ashamed to admit it. Who wasn’t? I did uncover a few tidbits highlighting dreams and psychic invasions — mainly how to manipulate them. I figured memories and visions fell into a similar category. Kind of? With the remote possibility of “dying in a dream” hanging over my head like the impending fall of a freshly sharpened ax, I was willing to try anything. I didn’t think some sort of magical filter could hurt. Who knows? Maybe it could keep the gross stuff from hitching another ride out? It was worth a shot.