She sighed then sniffed the air and gagged as a stray current wafted the fetid odor of death into her nostrils. That was the usual sign of a long-standing repression. This wasn’t going to be easy, though she hadn’t really expected it to be.
Angela explored, walking in a rough, spiraling path that would cover the most ground and end at the forest’s edge. That was where she expected to find the most trouble. She skirted several of the pools, noting that they were situated close to where she had started at the center of the clearing. He had a lot of bottled-up emotion that would take a great deal of work to clear up.
As she searched for the source of the odor, she peered at the hummocks and thick clumps of grass. Angela stopped and nudged one with her toe. It was a soldier’s helmet, wound tightly by the coarse sedge, representing a tightly held memory that needed to be released. The other mounds probably hid similar artifacts. Let’s stay focused, she told herself. We can look at the smaller problems later. She continued searching.
There was cluster of especially large, grassy humps near the verge of the forest ahead. Approaching it, Angela noticed that the smell was getting stronger. She covered her mouth with her hand. There was a cloud of flies over the humps, and she suppressed another gag reflex when she saw the partially stripped bones of a hand protruding from one of the mounds. She looked for a fallen branch for prodding the mound and found one nearby.
She cautiously pushed at the largest hump with the stick. Suddenly, the ground shook with a low rumble, and the wind whipped the tops of the trees with an almost human howl. She pulled the stick back. The shaking continued, and Angela had trouble keeping her balance.
“I’m sorry, Simon. This isn’t going to be easy.” Angela began levering up on the mound, revealing more of a badly decomposed human body. It was small and could have been a woman or boy.
Angela jumped as a deer crashed through the thick underbrush, charging at her. Angela backed hurriedly away, and the deer trotted up to stand between her and the mound. The earthquake diminished as the wind died down. But the deer snarled in an undeerlike fashion, revealing gleaming fangs.
It had been years since Angela had seen creatures like this. “Aw, crap. Not one of you guys. What did I do the last time?” She snapped her fingers. “Right.”
She walked away from the fanged deer toward one of the stagnant pools. Reaching the water, she found a soggy branch that was half-submerged. She pulled it out and carried it back toward the deer. It dripped with slime.
The stagnant pools represented repressed emotion, blocked and toxic. The stick, impregnated with the emotions of the pool, could bring them to bear on the instinctive defenses expressed by the deer.
The ground began to shake again, and the wind picked up as she neared the deer. A branch struck the ground with a loud thud nearby. The deer began to growl, its lips quivering, and its eyes tracked the stick as she held it up. With a rapid flip she tossed the stick at the deer. It tried to dodge but failed. As the stick struck the animal, it screamed, shuddered, and limped away.
Something crackled from far above. Angela looked up and dived out of the way. A gigantic falling branch landed with a crash where she had been standing. Something thrashed in the underbrush. A large brown bear skidded to a halt and reared up, roaring a challenge and revealing a mouthful of yellow fangs. It must have weighed at least a thousand pounds.
“Shit! You’re just not gonna let me near that, are you?” She came up in a crouch and backed away from the bear, which appeared to be content to stand guard. Angela looked around the area again. The stagnant pools of emotion, the mounds of half-buried memories, and the terrible weather were too much to take on right then.
Putting some distance between her and the bear guarding the mounds, she scanned the ground near the center of the meadow. After a moment, she found a patch of barely visible linoleum floor and stepped on it. The patch spread as she walked until the clinic reappeared around her.
Simon was a picture of misery as he wept, shuddering and curled in a fetal position on the couch. Angela retrieved a box of tissues from her desk, took a seat in her chair by his side, and waited quietly. After a few minutes, he had calmed enough to struggle upright, his useless legs dangling over the edge of the couch. He wiped at his wet face, his bloodshot, swollen eyes staring into a private abyss. She handed him a tissue. He hesitated then dried his eyes and blew his nose.
“Simon,” she said. “Take your time. I know that was rough.”
“God. Damn.” He was breathing heavily, but he nodded.
“Okay? This is going to take a little longer than I expected. You’ve got a lot of buried trauma and blocked emotion to work through.”
“That was really, really hard. I’m…” He shook his head, his Adam’s apple bobbing repeatedly as he swallowed.
“I understand. I’d like to pick this back up soon if that’s okay with you. However, you’ll need some rest. I’m giving you some B12 vitamin supplements. I’ve found that they really help you recover from dream-walking fatigue. Would you be willing to come back tomorrow for another session?”
He nodded.
Cassandra was lying on the bed in the sailboat’s master cabin. Her eyes were closed. Angela’s voice still echoed in her head, along with Simon’s wordless agony.
After a moment, Cassandra’s eyes opened, and she sat up, hugging her knees. Her face was wet with tears. The magnitude of his suffering was overwhelming, more than she had ever thought possible.
Angela was writing up Simon’s case report when Eric rapped on the doorjamb. She glanced in his direction, pushing the keyboard away. “C’mon in.”
Eric threw himself in the chair across the desk from her. “The suits are being a pain in the ass. Again.”
“What?”
“Sac town’s tightening their tutus.” He picked up a pencil and started flipping it. “Our rep said they don’t know when or even if we’ll get the money to hire staff.”
Angela threw up her hands. “Dammit! I thought we were through with all that. When I talked to them just the other day, they told me it would come through in a week or so.”
“I know.” Flip. Catch. “They’re playing dirty politics with the DMH budget again, and this time they’re dipping their sticky fingers into the grants program.”
She got up from the desk. “Is there someone else we can talk to?”
Eric shook his head. “I don’t think so, hon.” Seeing the expression on her face, he relented. “Well, maybe.” He gestured with the pencil. “I’ll take another stab at the bureaucrats. But Angela, there’s something else.”
“What?”
“I heard a rumor that someone doesn’t want us taking PTSD patients. One of my friends at the club told me he heard that some vets were angry. Said they were being handed off to the fags. I think that means us.” He rolled his eyes.
Angela sighed and stared out the window, her hands in her pockets. “Looks like it’s going to be a while before we get to have a clinic.” She turned around. “How’s your client load?”
“Well, it’s raining patients, regardless of the hypothetical homophobic vets. There’s all kinds of business for me as a therapist, and at least we can still get paid for our own VA patients.” Flip. Catch.
“Yeah.” She paused and looked more closely at the shadows under Eric’s eyes. “How’re you doing? Personally, not professionally.”
“Well, you know we marched at UN Plaza in the City, right? The media showed up and asked Bobbie about our stance on the war with ISIL—”
She interrupted, shaking her head. “No, I mean, really personally.”
He looked away for a moment. Flip. Catch. “I’m not sleeping much lately.” He glanced back at her. “You know, it’s been a while since I’ve seen my own therapist. So, yeah, I know. I’ll make an appointment with her.” He dropped the pencil in a cup on her desk and cracked his knuckles.
She studied his face. Something was bothering him. But if he didn’t want to talk about it, Angela w
asn’t going to press him. “Take care of yourself, Eric. And as for the bureaucrats, let me know if anything changes, okay?”
“Sure.” Eric got up. It was his turn to study her face. “Angel, honey? We should both go out soon. I think we’ve been under a lot of stress lately.”
Angela smiled. “Soon. Yeah.”
He saluted ironically and left.
Angela’s phone rang. She retrieved it from under a pile of papers and answered it. “Hello?”
“Angela, dear?”
“Oh, hi, Nana.”
There was a crackle, then Nadia spoke, her voice high and agitated. “Angela, someone’s trying to frighten us. The muskers. They raided Dan’s trailer.”
“Poor Dan! Is he okay?”
“They took him away,” Nadia snapped.
“Why? Dan’s harmless.”
Angela heard a voice in the background. “They can’t just do that. We’ve got rights!” It sounded like her cousin Riley.
“Riley?” Nadia’s voice was somewhat muted as she replied to him. “You should know better. The cops don’t care about us.” Then her voice was louder again. “His neighbors complained about the music. Usually the cops show up, warn him, and he turns the stereo down. Not this time.”
“Lawyers!” Riley was shouting again. “We need lawyers. There’s got to be something we can do.”
“Will you calm down?” Nadia shouted back. Then to Angela, she said, “I had a vision, Angela. Something is hunting us. Dan was just in the way, but I’m afraid it wants you. You need to watch yourself.”
“Nana, Dan’s got a green card, right?”
“Not anymore, he doesn’t.”
Angela rubbed her face. “Are you sure this isn’t just someone trying to get back at him? He can be hard to deal with sometimes.”
There was silence on the line.
“Never mind. Sorry I asked. Nana, I promise I’ll be careful. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“I will do that, dear. Call me tomorrow, please.” Nadia hung up.
Angela set the phone down, propped her chin in her hand, and stared into nowhere. Her instincts told her that something was going on in the Otherworld, but maybe she was just being paranoid. It could simply be one of those bursts of random bad luck that occasionally happened. She hoped she was simply projecting her own difficulties on the world.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
War in Heaven: Isolation
Root Hexagon, Bald Eagle
The commanding angel guarding the Root Hexagon saw a misty vortex appear high above the crater near the great crystal. His body began to fray a bit at the edges, and he struggled briefly with the temptation to lay down his arms and surrender. Regaining his composure, he observed the flux, waiting.
The swirling mist pulsed, coalescing into the form of a radiantly beautiful woman with six-fingered hands and a long-boned face. Diamond Angel. Her eyes were focused on the Root Hexagon, and hovering near the artifact, she appeared to be seeking a way into its heart. As she descended slowly toward it, she neared the dissolution bomb. Sparks crackled on the crater floor nearby. Then, with an explosive snap, a huge discharge of energy enveloped her. She threw her head back and howled silently.
“Iron Star!” The commander’s shout echoed.
General Iron Star appeared at the lip of the crater, his hands on his hips, and his head lifted proudly as he glared at his foe. His hands dropped when, with unexpected strength, Diamond Angel pulled herself free of the trap. The General reached into a pouch by his side, took out another, smaller object, and hurled it at the intruder. There was a flash, and a net of pearlescent strands of light enveloped her.
The commander grinned. It was an isolation trap, a device intended to restrain an enemy rather than destroy it. Diamond Angel struggled but was unable to free herself. She glared wildly in all directions, then her eyes settled on Iron Star. He swayed at the lip of the crater, and the commander rushed to his side to prevent a nasty fall. But Iron Star regained his balance, raising a hand before his face in self-defense.
With a flash of brilliant light, Diamond Angel vanished. Iron Star gestured, and two angels—in the livery of Bald Eagle’s dour ally, Gray Suit—appeared by his side. He lifted a hand from which two threads of barely visible light hung, glimmering.
“You will take control of the isolation trap which I have deployed on Diamond Angel. Report to me if there is any problem. In the meantime, use it however you see fit.”
The angels nodded. Each took a thread and departed. Iron Star crossed his arms and stared in silence at where his enemy had been suspended above the Root Hexagon. The commander, for his part, felt growing admiration for Diamond Angel, as he did for all creatures possessing great power. This was a worthy foe.
War on Earth
“Heard about the new clinic that’s opening up?” His buddy shrugged, and he continued. “Well…”
—
The pool player shifted his grip on the stick. “I heard the doctors are all gays.”
—
“You won’t catch me going in there.” He passed the bottle.
—
“Something’s gotta be done.”
—
“Someone’s got to…”
—
“I’ll do it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The Warrior Prays
A lifted hand, a plaintive cry,
A warrior prays, his fear defied,
And granted is that sacred plea
Though he’ll not hear the god’s reply.
“Lord Ares Obrimos, grant me strength.” Simon sat in his wheelchair before the altar of his god, his arms raised in supplication. He visualized the form of his god, seated on a great throne behind the altar in His palace, wearing bronze armor and crowned with a golden helm. “I offer You incense. I offer You the weapons of war.” Lowering one hand, he indicated the smoking burner on the altar and the short, leaf-bladed sword, unsheathed, lying next to it.
He lowered the other arm and bowed his head. “Today my courage failed me. My shame at what I did to those people…” He stopped for a moment, overcome again. “I need Your strength, mighty one. As a warrior and servant of justice, I ask for Your strength to overcome my greatest enemy: my fear.”
He sprinkled another pinch of incense, closed his eyes, and bowed his head once again, silently awaiting any omen or whisper of insight. He would not be disappointed if none came. That’s what he told himself, anyway. Ares helped those who helped themselves.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
War in Heaven: The Prayer
Palace of Ares
The air rumbled with the ceaseless sound of distant explosions in the large, dim, red-lit hall. Hung with weapons, vehicles, trophies, and other mementos of every conflict that had ever been fought between conscious beings, this hall was nevertheless empty of any living soul but one.
Tiny within the vastness, an angel of Ares stood at attention.
“You will go forth and guide her to the foot of my throne,” Ares’s voice boomed.
The angel bowed deeply then turned on one heel and strode toward where a swirling in the air announced the presence of a portal. The angel vanished within it.
There was a huge sigh. “Beloved Aphrodite, please do not interfere.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Shattered Glass
Angela waited at her desk for Simon. He was already half an hour late for his appointment, and she glanced at the clock with a frown. She knew that clients could get cold feet for a variety of reasons, but the dream-walking demonstration may have driven him away for good.
Perhaps it was because Simon was the first gadjo dream-walking client who knew about her talent. The Roma understood that their tribal shamans, the chovihanos and chovihanis, were blessed—or cursed—with extraordinary abilities. Her dream-walking was legendary even amongst that elite circle, but the Roma took it in stride as they did all such paranormal phenomena.
&n
bsp; Anglea had learned to prevent gadje patients from accompanying her when she went over. She completed the deception by calling her work hypnotherapy. Until yesterday, she had not considered exposing that paranormal ability to a non-Romani. The risks were too great, to her and to them. If Simon were indiscreet, the fame or notoriety that might result could be damaging to her career. It could also cost Angela her license or get her sued for malpractice.
To take her mind off of those concerns, she threw herself into her chores, cleaning out a huge backlog of paperwork and applying the finishing touches to an article she planned to submit to an upcoming conference.
Glancing at the clock two hours later, she picked up the phone and dialed, trying to reach Simon for the fourth time. She got his voicemail again. “Simon? This is Dr. Cooper. Please call me back as soon as you can.” She hung up.
The wind tossed the leaves in the trees with an oceanic susurrus, and there were secretive rustlings from the animals that lived in the forest. Angela poked aside a fallen branch with her staff and took a deep lungful of the clean air. The path was well worn, and though none of the paths remained the same from visit to visit, this one seemed familiar.
By that afternoon, Angela had given up on Simon. Whatever his problems were, he represented an intractable puzzle, and she knew only one person whom she could turn to for answers. After notifying Eric that she would be in her office and not to disturb her, a familiar routine by that time, she had entered the Otherworld.
“Granddad? George?” She walked away from her meadow, deeper into the forest. Sunlight dappled the duff and flashed in her eyes, making it difficult for her to see into the shadows.
The sound of humming floated down from above then vanished. Angela stopped and looked up into the canopy but saw nothing there. “Who is it?”
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