by Janene Wood
Rachel was a brand-new experience for her. Refusing to lie down and roll over had been a risk, but having studied her at length, it seemed the only way to gain a proper foothold in Stazia's life. And if today was anything to go by, it was working.
Today was a turning point. As crazy, frantic and desperate as Stazia had been last night when Rachel found her trashing the apartment and bombarding the street below their fourth-floor window with bottle after bottle of expensive wine, that was how elated, excited and overjoyed she had been this afternoon when she returned from her outing to the Spire. So elated, she was overflowing with unsolicited information, including details of where she had been, what she accomplished, her plans for the future and why she was so hell-bent on destroying her family – and if things went according to plan, killing off or subjugating most of humanity as well. The why was as crazy, illogical and unreasonable as Rachel expected, but it frightened her how incongruously ordered Stazia's thought processes were when it came to how.
So, Rachel finally knew why they were in London, and a great deal more besides, though nothing that helped in her own personal quest. It was a significant step forward and it reassured her that the last few weeks had not been a complete waste of energy, but she was disappointed nonetheless. She was tired and wanted to go home.
Enduring Stazia's attentions, day after day, was proving more onerous than she could have ever predicted. And not just in bed. Since Stazia asked her to move in, a mere three weeks after they met, her lover's reliance on her had become suffocating. Rachel couldn't leave the room without the other woman asking where she was going, what she was doing and how long she would be gone. She sought her opinion on every tiny decision, no matter how inconsequential.
It was a good thing Rachel insisted at the very beginning on retaining her independence, or she would have had no respite at all. It was only due to Rachel's intransigence on the subject that she was grudgingly allowed to come and go as she pleased. It was only a few precious hours of freedom here and there, but it served a dual purpose: it kept Rachel sane enough to continue her charade, and it reminded Stazia how lonely life was without her.
Now that Will was no longer around, Rachel was the only person Stazia trusted, and she planned on taking full advantage of that exalted position. She just needed to be patient and stay the course.
So even though today had been a breakthrough, the source and depth of Stazia's powers remained a mystery. She wasn't a spell-caster; that much she already knew; witches could sniff each other out a mile away. At first, Rachel thought she was Alete, but her father's deeply ingrained teachings reminded her the Alete were genetically predisposed to being “good”. They also had only one gift. Stazia failed on both counts: she had several gifts Rachel knew of and by no stretch of the imagination could she be deemed “good”.
Whatever Stazia was, Rachel reluctantly admired her single-mindedness, but wished she was less reliant on her unsavoury friends. That creep Dmitri, who called himself “the Wolf”, like being a vicious predator was something to be proud of, ogled Rachel constantly, as if she was a prize heifer at the Royal Easter Show, and Jasper Leach, the outrageous queen, was little better. He might not be interested in her sexually, but corruption oozed from him like sweat and it was all she could do not to let her revulsion show. Suri with his cold, dead eyes and those disgusting spiders crawling all over his body, was the worst of the lot, even worse than the professor, who at least retained some humanity. Rachel made it a point to stay well away from the crazy witches.
To them, she was just Stazia's latest squeeze, and she played the part to perfection. All those years of pretending to be something she wasn’t had made her a superlative actress. And Stazia got off on the others thinking she was a dim-witted bimbo, which was a bonus. They laughed about it often; it was a rare moment of honesty between them.
Rachel closed her eyes and sighed softly, waiting for Stazia to fall more deeply asleep. Not long now till she could slip out from under the covers, step into the shower and scrub her body from head to foot. Her patience had been tested today, more so than at any time since she started this journey. This whole affair was so completely against her nature; it was becoming more of a struggle every day to keep her true feelings hidden. But she must! Her entire future was at stake.
It was so long since she had been happy, she could scarcely remember how it felt. The last time she’d been truly content, with no demands on her time save those of her husband, was that wonderful week in Mexico before all this began. She thought about it often during the long, sleepless nights in Stazia's bed.
A United Front
Kate came back to herself with a start and immediately put her hands to her head. The pressure inside her skull was excruciating, much worse than before she picked up Magdalena's journal. It must have been the pain that brought her back, or perhaps she had simply reached the end of the memory she had become so immersed in.
She pondered for a moment Katryn's near-fatal experience during the thunder storm and her subsequent transformation into...what? An Alete? Or something else? That wasn't made clear, but whatev–
“Aaargh!” cried Kate as her headache suddenly doubled in intensity. The severity of the pain, along with the whispering inside her head, threatened to send her over the edge into madness. What was wrong with her? Why was this happening? The situation was becoming intolerable. She was reluctant to admit it, but maybe she needed professional help.
“Get out of my head!” she screamed, giving voice to her frustration and purging herself of all the anger, uncertainty and general dissatisfaction that had been building over the last several days.
And like that, it stopped.
The debilitating pain, the indistinct whispers, the feelings of rage and helplessness; they were all gone. Like someone had flicked a switch.
“What just happened?” she whispered into the eerie silence.
Kate nearly jumped out of her skin.
No way. It couldn't be. Kate didn't say anything more, she had to nip this insanity in the bud right now!
Crap! It was worse than she thought. She was revisiting her childhood delusions!
There was something so familiar and plaintive about the voice that Kate couldn't in all conscience ignore it. “George?” she whispered tentatively. “Is it really you?”
Kate’s eyes began to fill with tears as the implications of what she had done began to sink in.
And just like that, it was as if no time had passed and nothing had ever come between them. They talked non-stop for an hour and probably would have talked all night if the phone hadn't rung and interrupted them.
“Who on earth could that be?” wondered Kate aloud. She was reluctant to answer, and not only because it meant interrupting this long overdue reunion. In her experience, late night phone calls never augured well.
Kate's first instinct was the right one. As soon as she heard her brother Simon's voice on the other end of the line, she knew something bad had happened. Simon never rang. He wrote the occasional letter, but was more of an in-your-face kind of guy. Talking to him on the phone was like pulling teeth.
He got straight to the point. “You need to come home right away, Kate. Sam's bad. He needs you.”
Kate tried to keep the panic from her voice. “What happened?” Her hand went unconsciously to her throat where the violet chalcedony cross from Magdalena's journal still hung on its silver chain.
“He's got pneumonia. They've pumped him full of drugs, but they're not working. The doctor says he's probably only got a few more days if he keeps deteriorating. I know you can't do anything about...well, about his condition, but you can fix this, right?” His voice was pleading; another bad sign. Simon didn’t beg.
Kate squeezed her eyes shut as her brother's words washed over her, leaving her wallowing in a sea of guilt. Guilt she had managed to live with for the past eleven years, since the night of the accident, but which hadn’t abated one little bit. Nor should it, she thought bitterly. It was her fault Sam was in a permanent vegetative state, reliant on 24-hour nursing care and frequent medical intervention. She deserved to suffer at least as much as he did.
Was it only this morning she had been congratulating herself on finally being in a position to rectify the terrible mistakes she had made that night? Mistakes of ignorance and arrogance, and yes, admittedly, love, which could not be remedied, even with all the incredible breakthroughs medical science had made in the last decade. She recalled that brief moment when she first realised the magnitude of her error, when she considered letting him go. When she considered doing the unthinkable and snuffing out that tiny, precious spark of life which was the only thing keeping Sam tethered to this plane. But such had been her abhorrence of murder – because surely, that's what it would have been – that she immediately rejected it. In hindsight, perhaps it would have been the kind thing to do. The humane thing. No matter the cost to her soul.
Would her guilt upon committing such an atrocity have been any greater than it already was? It was a question she often asked herself, during the long, lonely nights when the weight of regret pressed heavily upon her. She still didn't know the answer, but she did know she wasn't God. Sam's life was a gift, a gift she had no right to take.
“I'll be on the next flight,” said Kate, choking back a sob. “Do me a favour?”
“Sure, what do you need?”
Unsurprisingly, her brother sounded tired. It was a terrible burden he had been saddled with all these years, and right now it must be untenable. Kate did what she could by sending home all the money she could spare, which wasn’t inconsiderable, but it didn’t make up for her absence. Yet another thing to feel guilty about.
“Will you pray for him?” she asked. “My prayers are next to useless, but maybe God will listen to yours.”
Simon was indignant. “Kate, what do you think I've been doing for the past eleven years?”
“I know, Si,” she said gently. “Pray harder.”
“I'll do my best,” he promised.
“And don't forget you have another brother,” she reminded him acerbically. “You need to ring Jack and tell him what's going on. I know you have his number because I gave it to you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said noncommittally.
Kate felt her anger rising. “Simon! If you don't ring Jack and God forbid, the worst happens before I get there, I will never forgive you. Jack needs this chance to make his peace with Sam. Not that I believe he did anything wrong, but he does. And he thinks you do.”
“Yeah, well, I'm sorry about that,” he said tartly, “but he's the one who did a bunk before I had a chance to get my head straight. We haven't exactly talked since.”
“So make it right,” she ordered. Why do men always have to be so stubborn? “I'll be there as soon as I can.”
Kate couldn't move for several minutes after hanging up the phone. Everything – and she meant absolutely everything – in her life had been turned upside down over the last few days. How was she supposed to deal with it all? And it was getting more complicated every day. This new twist in the fabric of her universe was just too much! What if she couldn't get a flight in time and Sam died?
Oh, God, that didn't bear thinking about. The idea was so horrifying it made her feel sick. She had to avoid thinking about that at all costs. Abruptly, she rose and ran to the bedroom and changed out of her pyjamas, pulling on clean jeans, boots and the first clean shirt that came to hand.
Oh, crap! She’d forgotten all about George.
Kate retrieved her keys, handbag and coat from the living room, and was out the door within five minutes of having made the decision to leave. It was imperative she get out of her flat and go somewhere she wouldn't be by herself. She needed to find a distraction before her head exploded. Or she threw up. Or both. Something mindless and physical, to give her brain a chance to reboot and find some mechanism to cope with all this crap.
Fortunately, she knew the perfect place.
Turning the car radio up so loud she could barely hear her own voice, she forced herself to sing along with each song that played, distracting herself sufficiently as she wended her way from Notting Hill to Soho. Tonight, all roads led to Istanbul. Once there, a few strong drinks and an infusion of loud dance music should give her a few desperately needed hours of respite from the drama of her life.
Istanbul's back entrance was reached by way of a narrow service lane which was parked out as usual, except for one empty space a short distance from the door. Bizarrely, every time Kate drove here there was an empty space waiting for her. On one occasion, she even followed another car down the lane – a car that was obviously looking for somewhere to park – and it drove right past an empty space, as if the driver didn't even see it. Over time, she just accepted it, expected it even, but it wasn't normal.
After grabbing her bag and locking up, she saw that another car had followed her down the lane and was idling with its headlights on. The driver stepped out of the vehicle and started walking toward her. She couldn't see his face with the lights shining in her eyes, but his aura was clear enough: a purple halo relieved by intermittent bursts of colour; as dark and erratic as binders themselves.
“Kate McDermott,” said the stranger. “You need to come with me.”
Kate swallowed the sick feeling that bubbled up in her throat. “You’re kidding, right? How stupid do you think I am?”
“The professor wants to talk. Come quietly and I won't hurt you.”
“Gee, how could I refuse such a tempting invitation?” she said sarcastically. “I'm afraid I have other plans, so tell your professor thanks but no thanks.” She glared at him, willing him to get out of her way, but he didn't budge.
Two dark sharps slithered out of him and began to form up on either side, adopting monstrous bodies designed to frighten lowly humans like her. And doing a damn good job of it. Even more alarming, the passenger door opened and another binder began making his way around the front of the vehicle.
Crap! Two binders and heaven knows how many tethers.
“I suggest you reconsider,” said the first binder smugly. “You know you can't fight all of us.”
All of us was right. The second binder had set loose three tethers of his own, making a total of seven Shadowkind. Okay, so when backed into a corner, bluff it out. It wasn't the best strategy in the world, but it was all she had. It was all in the delivery.
“Look, I don't know wh
at you want, and I could care less,” she told them, “so why don't you get back in your car and I'll let you drive away in one piece.” For all they knew she could be a black-belt at karate, right?
But she wasn't, so if they called her bluff, she was in trouble. She could deal with the weaker tethers, but facing down a pair of angry binders wasn't something she was equipped to do. Her preferred demon slaying routine involved daylight, crowds, plenty of distraction and a quick getaway. This scenario was the opposite of that.
One of the tethers giggled like a little girl and the others were mocking her, pretending to be afraid. So much for plan A. Okay, she would have to get physical. The first thing she did when she came to London four years ago was take a course in self-defense. Her intensity and commitment had impressed the instructor and he had taken a keen interest in her, teaching her a few extra moves after each class. They even went out a couple of times. Hopefully she could remember enough to dispense a little punishment.
“I'm going inside now,” she told them. “I hope for your sake you're gone when I come out.”
Kate took a confident step forward. Her destination was only yards away, but it felt like a mile. The two binders formed a line across the path in front of her with two of the tethers. Kate could see them more clearly now; the first witch was dressed in red leather pants and matching coat. His hair was also red, and hung down his back in an impressively long braid. This close, she could see he had a variety of facial piercings, and his cheeks and forehead were a veritable galaxy of luminescent stars and moons.
The second witch had a Merlin fetish and wore a long robe painted with large, presumably arcane, symbols. His hair was long and white, as was his beard, which was threaded through with colourful beads. Most striking was the intricately detailed tattoo in the centre of his forehead: a pentagram with a human eye at its centre. Kate's own pentagrams on the palms of her hands were itching uncomfortably and glowing softly in response to the presence of so many Soulless. It made her wonder, not for the first time, how the same symbol came to have such significance to two such diametric factions. Even though she hadn't known the purpose of her pentagrams till she turned 17, she always knew they weren't just decoration.