by Rae Morgan
Drake strode out of his bedroom. His anger poured off him in colored waves like a human aurora borealis. In the small hallway off his bedroom, the twins had shifted to their canine form and stood at attention. The sound of their growling reverberated within the small space, rattling the artwork on the walls.
“Guard Rhea. Don't let anyone past you.”
As Drake stormed past, the two closed ranks, placing themselves directly in front of the bedroom's double-doors. Two gruff barks signaled their understanding. Their low snarling resumed as he swept through the living area and out into the elevator lobby. Whatever black magick had occurred, it was enough of a threat to upset the usually placid Russians. He couldn't ever remember seeing them this agitated.
The elevator doors opened. Betsy rushed out.
“You've got to come quickly! It's Keir!” Belying her small stature, she grabbed his arm and pulled him into the elevator. Jamming her hand repeatedly on the button for the basement, she continued, her voice filled with stress. “Yorrick is gone!” Betsy paced the small confines of the elevator car, her hair flying wildly around her tear-streaked face. “Someone released him. The destruction is ... Keir ... Keir must have tried to stop the escape-”
Drake's gut clenched with dread. The thunder he'd heard could only have resulted from a very powerful spell. And he'd heard two claps.
“Is Keir ... dead?”
Betsy shook her head so hard her long, curly hair whipped around her like a cloak in a high wind. “Not yet. But the elders who responded to the thunder-did you hear it?” At his abrupt nod, she struggled to speak, but for a few seconds could only produce hiccupping sounds of distress. Finally, she managed to whisper, “The elders can ... do nothing for him. They sent me for you.”
Drake, as the head of the Coven of the Wolf, was one of the most powerful witches in the world, but he was not known as a healer. Spells and wards, both protective and offensive, were his strengths. He wasn't sure he could do more than the very talented elder healers.
But he would try for Keir's sake. He owed him.
Keir Bettencourt had turned his back on his own blood when he'd chosen to support Drake over Warrick. Keir's older brother had turned to the dark side of magick and then plotted to take the leadership of the coven away from Drake. Drake, as the only male child of the Morgan dynasty, was the heir by birth. But Warrick, as the eldest son of a Morgan female witch, carried the wolf mark and thus was the designated heir apparent.
Yeah, he owed Keir a lot.
Betsy failed in her attempts to muffle her sobbing. Drake reached out and pulled her to him, offering what comfort he could. He would do his best to save Keir, but feared that would not be good enough. If the spell was one of Warrick's twisted, dark chaos magick aberrations, they might never figure out the counter-spell.
The elevator doors slid open. The scene in the basement was worse than Drake could ever have imagined. Whoever had sprung Yorrick had also destroyed half the basement area and pulverized the guards placed there by Keir. To Drake, it looked as if Keir had reached the scene just as Yorrick and his rescuer were about to leave. Keir's body was still intact, unlike the other poor souls.
Rhea! Betsy's agitated state had caused him to leave her alone with only two shapeshifters and no protection wards. He touched the amulet and sighed with relief. She was safe-for now. He mumbled an incantation and sent a protective spell to engulf the entire floor where his apartment was located. As long as Rhea and the twins stayed within the magickal barriers it would hold.
Having done what he could to protect his woman, he handed Betsy over to one of the female elders for comforting. Then he moved to Keir's prone body lying among the wreckage and the blood and remains of the guards. Kneeling, he reached out to his cousin with his hand-and all his senses.
Keir still breathed, but it was slow and shallow. Worse yet, the respirations were decreasing with each second. Drake looked to his left at Egbert, the most senior of the healers. “How was he breathing when you first arrived?”
“If you are asking, ‘Has his breathing deteriorated since my arrival on the scene?’ My answer is yes.” Egbert stroked a hand over Keir's head. “He is dying. Like a clock winding down.”
Drake muttered a foul curse. His anger barely contained. Anger would do no good.
“Any ideas on how to reverse the spell?”
“No.” The elderly healer shook his head. “It smacks of Warrick Bettencourt's evil doings.”
“Damn the bastard all to hell!” Drake stared at Keir, willing his cousin to show some sign that he was sentient. But Keir remained motionless, possibly only a few precious minutes from death.
“Drake? Betsy?” Rhea's strained voice reached Drake through the layers of anger and grief surrounding him. “What's wrong with Keir? He's not-”
Drake turned his head and found Rhea standing slightly behind him with Boris and Igor still in hound form glued to her side. She held onto Igor's collar as if she were using him for a brace. The look on her face was a mixture of horror, shock, and sadness.
“He's dying. It's a spell, and none of us can reverse it.”
“What do you mean? Can't all spells be reversed?”
“Most of the time. Time is always of the essence in successful counter-spells,” Egbert replied before Drake could find the words. “But in this instance, time isn't the issue. He's still breathing, and where there is life, there is hope. But we can't unravel the spell. A chaos magick spell is superficially unpredictable. But like chaos mathematics, if you know the key, you can find the pattern. Once the pattern is found, a method of reversing the spell, or its damage, would soon follow.”
“Isn't it just a matter of healing?” Rhea had moved closer and now knelt next to Drake. “Isn't that what healers are supposed to do? Why work to find a spell?” She reached out and laid her hand on Keir's head, next to where Drake had his.
“Mistress Rhea,” Egbert said with a sad sigh in his voice. “We have tried all our methods. This is beyond our holistic practices. We must find the key to the spell.”
Rhea sighed and stroked Keir's head, her hand brushing against Drake's with her soothing movements.
As if mimicking her, Keir sighed-a small exhalation, but the sound whistled around the cavernous basement room like a gale force wind.
“Master Drake, she is the key,” Egbert said in hushed, almost reverential tones. “Mistress Rhea has healing ability.”
“But, what am I doing?” Rhea looked confused.
Drake smiled his encouragement. “Whatever it is, you need to seek it in yourself and concentrate on passing it to Keir. What were you thinking when you stroked his head?”
“I was thinking that chaos is like a tangled ball of yarn, once you find the correct thread, you can straighten out the mess.”
“Then do that. Close your eyes, go deep within, and find the thread,” Drake urged. “I'll help however I can with my link to you.”
Rhea's brow creased. “I'll try, but what if-?”
“Rhea, please try,” Betsy begged as tears streamed down her face. “You are the only hope he has.”
* * * *
Rhea nodded, then turned to concentrate on her hand lying next to Drake's. Closing her eyes, she began the small circular movement she had used previously. Each time she brushed by Drake's hand she felt a frisson of energy.
“Drake, do you feel that?”
“Yes, whatever you are doing is creating some sort of energy. I've never felt it before, so it must be yours.”
“What is it like, children?” The eldest healer's voice was filled with restrained excitement.
“Like a chilly, almost mint-like, balm or ointment,” said Rhea.
“Yes, that's it,” Drake said. “I've never felt anything like it before. It's uniquely Rhea's.”
Egbert sighed, his breath brushing over Rhea's shoulder. “Blessed be the Goddess.”
Rhea shut out the murmurs of excitement and awe spreading throughout the room. Instead, she concentrate
d on seeking out something just beyond the reach of her conscious mind. She knew the other plane was there just beyond her reach, the one in which Drake had wooed her, loved her, for the past several weeks. The key to finding the correct thread was there. But how did she get there?
Rhea. Come to me, my love. I'll help you.
Why can't I do it on my own yet?
You will. It takes some training. Will being on the ethereal plane help you heal Keir?
I don't know for sure. But I think so-it feels right.
That's good enough for me. Cover my hand with yours. I'll take you.
Eyes still closed, Rhea felt for, then covered Drake's hand with hers. The menthol-like energy coming from her body increased a hundredfold, sending a shiver throughout her. Drake must have sensed her discomfort, because he pulled her between his knees then back against his chest, without dislodging their hands from Keir's forehead. Her trembling stopped, and the chilled energy became more tolerable.
As Drake pulled her with him onto the plane, she felt the tingling that had presaged her other out-of-body experiences. It began at the base of her neck, then traveled down her spine. Soon the chill was overlaid with the usual sexual feelings she associated with Drake in this place. She quite literally ached for him-and it distracted her from her need to help Keir.
Drake? We can't do this now. We must save Keir.
I know. I know, my love. Direct your sexual feelings. Join them with your healing energy.
I'll try.
But how in the heck was she supposed to do that? This was all new. She hadn't even known that you could do things on the other plane of existence other than sex.
She sighed and dug deeper into her inner self, then re-focused her thoughts away from Drake and pleasure toward Keir and healing. “Mind over matter” became a mantra as she found the tangled skein of yarn, just like she'd imagined it.
One thread in particular jumped out at her. As her projected self reached for it, something warned her not to grab it.
Why aren't you taking that thread, my own?
Because it is tainted with evil. See how it glows. It's a trap.
Rhea's alter ego moved around the skein. She wasn't sure what she sought, but trusted she would know when she found it.
And she did.
There, lying almost hidden below several layers of tightly wound yarn, was the thread she sought. Carefully, she separated the convoluted layers and pulled on the thread.
At first the thread pulled easily and began to unfurl from the chaos of the tangled skein, but then she met resistance.
Drake! I'm not strong enough.
Are you sure you have the correct thread?
Rhea concentrated on the thread in her hands and saw that it would save Keir.
Yes. Help me pull. When I say stop, do so.
As you will, my own.
Drake's alter ego covered the projected Rhea's hand and added his strength and power to hers. The mass of yarn began to unravel once more. As they neared the bottom of the tangled mess, as the yarn began to re-arrange itself into more orderly patterns, Rhea called a halt.
Why are we stopping?
Because we are through. The pattern we now have is Keir's life essence. To do more would cause harm and imbalance in him and our world.
I'm in awe of your power and your wisdom, my own. It will be as you will.
Rhea felt the pull of returning to the real world. She found herself still within Drake's arms. The repressed sexual feelings of the other world and the intense chill of her healing energy had receded and were almost gone.
Sighing, she allowed Drake to take her full weight. She was afraid she would fall onto Keir, whose color had improved and breathing had gained strength.
Drake pulled her away from Keir so that Betsy and Egbert could take their place.
The healer smiled as he checked over Keir.
Betsy held Keir's hand and kissed it, her tears now ones of happiness. “Thank you, Rhea, for my Keir's life.”
Rhea smiled. “You're very welcome. I'm just glad I could help.” She turned to Egbert and asked, “Will he really be all right?” Rhea felt he would, but needed confirmation from the wise old man.
“Yes, Mistress Rhea, you have healed him. His pulse and respirations are those once again of a healthy young male. You have performed a miraculous feat. Later, you must sit with myself and the other healers and explain your journey. We could learn much from your experience.”
Rhea was embarrassed, but pleased at the praise from such a senior witch. “Thank you. I would be honored. But I'm not sure what I did or how I knew to do it.”
“Don't worry, my own. I'll sit with you and help interpret.”
Drake nuzzled her neck, then took a little lick of the exposed skin. She shivered in response. The sexual feelings always just below the surface whenever Drake was near rose to the surface at Mach 3. She moaned.
“Drake! Behave yourself,” she scolded. “Remember my rules?”
Drake laughed. “Yes, my love. Sorry. I'll save it for later.”
“Damn right you will. We hadn't finished our, um, meeting when we heard the thunder.”
“Oh my Goddess!” squealed Betsy, who now held Keir's head in her lap. “You mean you haven't finished the conjoining yet?”
“Betsy!” Rhea and Drake shouted at the flustered woman in unison.
“Oh, sorry.” Betsy grinned. “Not a topic for a room full of people who've just witnessed a miracle healing, huh?”
Rhea looked around the basement and realized that the room was indeed full of people. And they were all staring at either her or the slowly rousing Keir.
As if on cue, the room erupted with the babble of voices. Most of the words Rhea heard recounted her miracle healing of Keir to latecomers. Others spoke of the interrupted consummation of Drake's and her relationship.
Yep, she might have to hide away for quite a while before she could face any of these people again. Did all witches talk about other witches’ sex lives? Or, were she and Drake the only lucky ones?
Drake continued to hold her, placing his body between her and the people in the room. Boris and Igor, still in shifted form, walked over, sniffed Keir, then gave him a lick, after which, they took up positions opposite hers, just beyond Keir's prone body. They took no chances.
Someone inside the coven, inside this building, destroyed the part of the basement where Yorrick had been incarcerated and freed him. That same someone had killed two witches and almost succeeded in killing Keir. None of them were safe until the traitor, Warrick Bettencourt, and his followers were stopped once and for all.
* * * *
Drake hugged Rhea closer. He was sure she wasn't aware that she glowed with remnants of the energy they had expelled in the healing of Keir. He wasn't about to tell her and had to shake his head furiously at the curious onlookers who looked about to mention it. He sensed she was freaked out enough about her unusual powers and embarrassed by all the attention his coven was giving her. It would take time for her to accustom herself to the powers that had lain dormant and unused all these years.
Plus after the conjoining, she would have his, also. He would enjoy teaching her about his abilities and learning hers.
“Where's Yorrick?”
Drake looked at Keir who now sat up with Betsy's help.
“Don't you remember what happened?” Drake said.
Keir grimaced, then moaned as he stretched his legs in front of him. “I sensed something was wrong in the basement, so I came down to check on the guards. As I descended in the elevator, I heard lots of noise. It sounded like someone throwing things around, then I heard screams which seemed to go on forever.” Keir visibly shuddered and closed his eyes. “When the doors opened-all I saw was the blood. It was everywhere.”
Keir looked around and shook his head, then continued. “The room where Yorrick had been held was gone. So was he. But someone was still here. Before I could close the doors to seek help, something pulled me into the r
oom. I was immediately blinded then held immobile. After that I remember nothing, until just a few moments ago when I felt Rhea and you pulling me back from a bottomless pit.”
“Would you be able to sense the essence of the person if you came across him again?” Drake asked.
“I'm not sure.” Keir sighed. “Sorry. It was the traitor, wasn't it?”
“Yes. It had to be. No one else could have entered this building to get to Yorrick. Only one of our own would know the wards placed on this room,” said Drake.
The room echoed once more with the sounds of people discussing who might be the traitor and how they were going to find him.
Rhea shuddered, then whispered so only Drake could hear, “He's here. The traitor. It was his energy on that one thread-remember?”
Drake whispered, “Yes.”
“He's here in this room. It's his energy.”
Drake did not doubt her. Using his connection to her, he linked and sought the patterns she felt. Yes, it was a foul, toxic, energy. No wonder, Rhea trembled with revulsion.
Casually, so as not to call attention to the two of them, Drake shifted Rhea so that he could move quickly, if needed. To the others, to the traitor, he hoped it would look like he was settling Rhea in a more comfortable position. Then, he leaned closer to her ear and whispered, “Can you find him for me?”
Rhea assented with a small nod of her head.
Turning her head slightly, she glanced about the room.
Drake held his breath and waited as she moved her head slowly, nodding now and then to people who called out to her. Once, twice, three times she repeated the nice-to-meet-you movements of her head.
Then, she stopped and turned to him. She reached for him as if to kiss him.
“To my right. He's the tall one in the back. Shaggy reddish-blond hair. Blue-plaid shirt. He's talking to the elderly man in the blue jacket.”
He didn't need to look at the man she'd singled out. He'd been cognizant of who was in the room every single second. The man she'd described had come in after Rhea and the twins along with a crowd of other witches.
The man met the criteria Elspeth had outlined.