The Awakening (Immortals)

by Joy Nash

  “I won’t ride in a human-made vehicle.” He touched his finger to her chin, urging her to meet his gaze. “Go and dress. It’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

  Christine sighed. “I don’t have any choice, do I?”

  “Not if you want to attend the opening. It starts in two hours.”

  She shut her eyes briefly, gathering her courage—both for the translocation and what she had to do afterward. Find a way to leave Kalen. She knew it wouldn’t be easy. Kalen was sure to have the gallery warded. And then there was the matter of her heart, and her guilt at deceiving him. How was she going to find the strength to walk away?

  “All right,” she told him. “I’ll be ready in half an hour.”

  She fought back tears as she dressed. Pearl had laid out a simple, strapless gown of indigo satin, tight at the bust, snug at the hip and thigh. The skirt flared just below the knee into a swirling blue cloud. The matching stiletto sandals made her appear almost tall and willowy. She grimaced. Not exactly the most practical attire for running away, but it would have to do.

  She sat at the dressing table in the Rose Room and swept her hair into a loose bun. Behind her, reflected in the mirror, the door opened. Kalen entered, attired in formal Scottish evening wear of white shirt, short jacket, and tartan kilt. A furred sporran hung at his waist. The gold buckles on his shoes shone.

  The costume only served to accentuate the primitive power of his body. His hair, severely tied at his nape, drew attention to his harsh cheekbones, slanting brows, and dark eyes. Christine drank in every line of him, committing the image to painful memory. It would be all she would take of him when she left.

  Their eyes met in the mirror.

  “You look lovely,” he said softly, advancing.

  He halted behind her, his fingers dipping into the pocket of his jacket. A glittering necklace appeared—a collection of thin, silken cords strung with translucent stones. Christine watched as Kalen draped it about her neck. Each gem was a teardrop reflecting a dazzling rainbow. As soon as it touched her skin, she knew that it was more than a simple necklace.

  She touched it, awed. “Why, these aren’t stones at all, are they?”

  “No. Each one is a drop of sea spray, spelled to hold its shape. Do you like it?”

  “How could I not? It’s the most astonishing thing I’ve ever seen! Where did you get it?”

  “It’s a gift from the mermaids. They saw you in the window, it seems, and recognized your power as akin to theirs.” He bent and kissed her bare shoulder, sending a delicious thrill over her skin. “When we return, you can thank them in person. The merfolk will be accompanying us to Annwyn.”

  “I’d like that,” Christine said, swallowing around the lump in her throat. She would never travel to Annwyn.

  Kalen took her hand and helped her rise. “Ready?”

  For the jump to Edinburgh. “As ready as I’m ever going to be.”

  He drew her in close, hip against hip, his strong arm encircling her shoulders. “Don’t worry,” he said, his lips at her temple. “Just relax. It’s easier that way.”

  “They say that about plane crashes, too.”

  Kalen chuckled. Her body went rigid as she braced herself for a terrifying, nauseating trip. Twenty seconds, Kalen had said. Longer than either of the other jumps she’d made. She could survive twenty seconds. She hoped.

  It was the longest twenty seconds of her life.

  A loud whoosh…a sensation like her body exploding, each cell spinning into nothing…the sick, helpless feeling of being totally without anchor. And it went on and on…

  When her feet touched solid ground she kept her eyes squeezed shut. Clutching Kalen’s shoulder, she waited for the twisting world to right itself.

  His low voice held a note of concern. “Are you all right?”

  No, she was not. She took a deep breath and cracked open her eyes. “I’ll live.”

  “Forever,” he said gently. “I’m counting on it.”

  She looked away quickly, not wanting him to read the truth in her eyes. Forever. With Kalen. It was a dream she yearned to grasp. If Tain and Kehksut were defeated, and if Christine survived the battle, maybe Kalen would come back from Annwyn for her. Or maybe he’d remember how she’d lied to him and decide she wasn’t worth the trouble.

  The room they’d landed in was beautifully furnished—soft, thick carpet, antique furnishings, exquisite paintings. The heavy, brocaded drapes were open. A multipaned window faced the buttressed steeple of a stern graystone church. Beyond its spire, the road rose to meet a castle on a high hill.

  “Edinburgh,” Kalen told her.

  The scene might have been charming, had it not been obscured by a dirty veil of rain. Usually rain cheered her. Not now—this rain left bloodred streaks on the window.

  The street below was nearly devoid of activity. The few souls who did brave the storm walked swiftly, heads down and shoulders hunched. Christine turned away, her heart heavy. She’d spent the last week sheltered by Kalen’s magic, on an island untouched by death magic. Now, back in the real world, she was shocked by how much the human world had degenerated in the short time she’d been hidden away.

  She glanced up at Kalen. His expression was grim as he moved to draw the curtains. With a sigh, she turned back to the room. It was part of a large suite. Several doors led to other rooms—she caught glimpses of a dining room, kitchen, and bedroom. She could see nothing amiss. No doubt the building was under heavy magical protection.

  “Where are we?” she asked. “A hotel? Is the gallery nearby?”

  “Right under our feet, as it happens. These are my private rooms on the upper floor.” He guided her to a brocaded sofa. “Sit for a moment and catch your breath. I need to check with Fiona, my gallery manager. She’s Sidhe—all my employees here in Scotland are. She’ll need to know tonight will be deLinea’s last show. Mac asked me to brief her on the evacuation.”

  He moved to an intercom panel on the wall. Lifting the receiver, he spoke in low tones while Christine reviewed her options. Her plan—such as it was—involved slipping out of the building while Kalen was greeting his guests. The wards would have to be lowered at the gallery entrance to allow Kalen’s human patrons to enter. If she was going to leave, that was her best bet.

  Her first move when free would be to contact Amber. With Christine’s passport and money tucked away at the Faerie Lights in Inverness, she was going to need some help getting out of the country. Amber and Adrian had the resources to help her get on a plane to Seattle as soon as possible. They would be disappointed about Kalen, of course, but that couldn’t be helped. Every time Christine thought about what would certainly happen if Kalen joined the battle against Tain, she felt ill. She wouldn’t risk him.

  His instructions to his manager complete, Kalen moved to her side and helped her up from the couch. “Come. The guests will be arriving soon. I want to give you a preview of the show.”

  He led her to a small elevator set discreetly in an alcove. Inside, there was barely enough room for two people—especially when one person was as large as Kalen. Anchoring Christine snugly in his arms, he bent his head and kissed her deeply as the elevator cab dropped.

  “I love you,” he said. “You are my life. I will never forsake you. Remember that.”

  “Always,” Christine whispered. Her heart squeezed so painfully she was sure it was bleeding.

  The elevator door swooshed open. With his hand placed protectively on her lower back, Kalen guided her onto the main gallery floor.

  The building must have been several hundred years old, but the space Christine stepped into was modern and dramatic. At least three levels had been gutted to produce one soaring space. The floor seemed to float; a sleek black staircase led down to a foyer at street level. Polished chrome railings gleamed and unobtrusive lighting cast a dazzling glow. Colors were neutral—stark white, shining black, muted beige. A perfect foil for the art displayed on curved stands and freestanding easels.

 
Music played, drifting from hidden speakers—Manannán, of course. Tables spread with white linen and set with crystal and china graced the perimeter of the space. A dozen or so tuxedoed Sidhe waiters stood nearby, waiting for the guests to arrive.

  “They function more as guards than servants,” Kalen told her. “They’re Mac’s clan. Nothing gets by them. You’ll be entirely safe here. I’ve got magical protections everywhere.”

  “What about the entrance? Won’t the guests have to pass through the wards?”

  “We’ll bring the spells down, but only for as long as it takes the guests to enter. Stragglers will be turned away. We’ll go downstairs just before the doors open. But right now, I want you to tell me what you think of the artist I’ve chosen to spotlight the show.”

  They traversed the gallery floor to the dais upon which the central exhibit was displayed. It took a full thirty seconds for Christine’s dazed brain to register what her eyes were seeing. Floating as if in a dream, she allowed Kalen to guide her up the steps onto the stage.

  “Why…they’re mine.”

  He smiled down at her. “Yes.”

  And they were. Her paintings, her creations, framed and presented as masterpieces. Faith hung on a glittering background of gold, Hope on a shining sheet of silver. Modesty, Generosity, Joy, Vision…and all the rest. They were all there.

  Only one virtue was missing—the one she hadn’t known intimately enough to portray. Love. The sudden constriction in her throat told her she’d have no trouble painting it now.

  She turned wondering eyes on Kalen. “What have you done?”

  “Given your talent the recognition it deserves. I only regret that it comes now, at deLinea’s final show.”

  “But how did you find them? These paintings were in Rome. You don’t even know my address.”

  He shook his head and smiled. “Small obstacles.”

  “But…” She turned back to the exhibit, suddenly frozen with panic. In just a few minutes, the gallery doors would open. People would enter. Strangers. They would view her paintings not as beloved children, but as commodities. And they would pass judgment. Would they smile and nod? Grow thoughtful? Laugh and make disparaging comments? Or worse…would they be unmoved?

  A windstorm of butterflies beat their wings in her stomach. How had she ever thought she wanted her soul displayed before strangers? For a moment, she couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

  “Christine?” Kalen’s whisper carried a touch of selfdoubt. “Are you angry? I thought you’d be pleased.”

  She struggled to find her voice. “I…I am pleased.” Her smile was forced, she knew, but it was all she could manage. “I’m just overwhelmed. My work—my true work, not the tourist scenes—hasn’t ever been shown.” She swallowed. “It’s humbling.”

  It was made even more humbling by the knowledge Kalen had done this for her. Because he loved her. And all the while she’d been plotting to leave him. Tears of guilt burned her eyelids.

  “Come with me,” he murmured, glancing across the room. He took her elbow. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  Christine blinked as he guided her to a stunning older woman. She was tall and willowy, her upswept blond hair gone to silver. The black sheath dress she wore was as elegant as it was understated. Pointed ears declared her Sidhe ancestry.

  “Christine, this is Fiona, my gallery manager.”

  Fiona inclined her head. “Miss Lachlan. An honor. Though it hardly matters under the circumstances, I should tell you that the advance viewing of your show netted several offers between six and seven hundred thousand.”

  Christine’s jaw dropped. “Dollars?”

  “Pounds sterling, actually.” With a nod, Fiona excused herself to check on last-minute arrangements with the caterer.

  Christine stared after her. Seven hundred thousand pounds? That was more than a million dollars! Someone was willing to pay that much for one of her watercolors? It wasn’t possible.

  “You shouldn’t be surprised,” Kalen told her as he escorted her down the stairs to the foyer. “Your work is…magical.”

  Christine looked at him in surprise. “You can’t really mean that. You only displayed my work as a favor to me. You think contemporary art is garbage.”

  He grimaced. “I’ve reconsidered. Your paintings…” He shook his head. “The moment I saw them, I knew they were unique. Unlike anything I’ve ever seen, in this or any other century. They’re…timeless. Ethereal. Created from a dream of another world.” He cleared his throat. “A better world.”

  His praise warmed her. Impulsively, she went up on tiptoe, unfurling her magic and sending it to him in a searing, openmouthed kiss. After a brief reflex of surprise, he absorbed her power. Christine pressed close, love and lust rippling through her body. The gallery, her paintings, the escape she’d soon make—all of it faded from her consciousness. For one brief, shining moment, there were only two lovers joined by magic. If only it could last. But she knew that was a foolish dream. The world was on a collision course with hell. People were dying. She had no right to be here, safe in the arms of the man she loved.

  A chill ran through her. She ended the kiss, unlinking her arms from Kalen’s neck and stepping away. She rubbed her bare arms, shivering. Kalen’s gave her a concerned glance. He might have spoken, but at that moment Fiona reappeared.

  “Kalen, it’s time. Quite a crowd’s gathered outside in that foul rain. Shall I bring down the wards?”

  “Is everyone in place?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then, by all means, admit our guests.”

  Christine stared at the door. It was time. Her chance at escape had come. All that was left was for her to take it.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The next fifteen minutes were a blur of unfamiliar faces and murmured greetings. Christine stood at Kalen’s side in the receiving line, a false smile nearly cracking her face as the appropriate banalities sprang to her lips. All Kalen’s guests were clearly wealthy. The human women were beautiful and slender, draped in silks and dripping with jewels. The human men, arrayed in tuxedoes or traditional Scottish attire, all but reeked of power and money.

  There were a few magical creatures in attendance as well—a group of tiny fluttering faeries and a trio of sultry Selkie men with long sable hair and smoldering dark eyes. The Sidhe guards stood silently, but she sensed their watchfulness. Their presence at the door was a problem, but not an insurmountable one. Kalen had, after all, unwittingly handed her a powerful tool that would ensure her escape.

  She waited until about half the guests had filed through the Sidhes’ security checkpoint. The wards wouldn’t remain down much longer. She touched Kalen’s arm. “I’m going to visit the ladies’ room.”

  “All right. Hurry back.”

  In answer, Christine laid her palm against his cheek. He took her hand, kissed it, then searched her eyes before letting it go. Christine fought to keep her expression neutral. If he saw any reason to doubt she would return, he didn’t show it.

  “I’ll be waiting,” he said.

  She left without looking back, though she wanted to in the worst way. Blinking back tears, she slipped into the ladies’ room. As she’d hoped, it was empty. Quickly, she crossed to the nearest sink and cranked open the faucet.

  The sound and sensation of running water calmed her. She held her hand under the thin, clear stream, seeking her magic. At once, the sea-foam necklace Kalen had given her combined with the trickling flow to send sparkling waves of magic over her skin. Working quickly, she raised a glamour. Wrapping it around her, she summoned the image she wanted. Male, middle-aged, with a thick waist and a bald spot that was badly concealed by an oily comb-over. He wore a long raincoat over a hand-tailored tuxedo jacket and kilt. An umbrella was tucked under one arm.

  When she was sure the illusion was firmly in place, she stepped out of the ladies’ room. The men’s room door was nearby; both doors were out of sight of Kalen’s position. If he spotted
her once she emerged from the hallway, she hoped he wouldn’t see through her disguise. She traversed the foyer to the entry, acutely aware of his presence just yards away.

  “So sorry,” she said to Fiona, who stood greeting the last of the guests at the door. “I’ve just had a message, most urgent, I’m afraid I can’t stay.”

  “A shame,” Fiona murmured. She looked closer and frowned. “Mr.…”

  “Weatherby,” Christine offered. “Timothy Weatherby.” She wasted no time in hurrying out the door to the street. “Pleasant evening to you.”

  She was out. The breath left her lungs in a rush as she hurried down the street. It was still raining like a fiend. Her umbrella, though hoisted overhead, was useless—it was an illusion, after all. As was her raincoat. Within moments, she was drenched and chilled to the bones.

  She wouldn’t have minded if it had been a normal rain. It wasn’t. It was something sinister and deadly. The oily deluge falling from the leaden sky left smears on her skin that looked like blood and smelled like death. She ignored the crawling sensation as she hurried up the street, her high heels skidding on the scum coating the sidewalk. She was forced to slow her steps and keep to the shelter of the buildings.

  She crossed one intersecting street and hurried on. There was a pub on the next corner—it looked like it was open. She’d stop there and call Amber. Then she’d ask directions to the train station and head for the closest airport. Intent on her plans, she didn’t notice the hissing sound until she was almost upon the alley from which it emanated. A cloud of acid smoke billowed from the narrow archway, tendrils reaching out to swirl around her ankles like snakes. She shrank back into a doorway, heart pounding.

  Scraping footsteps approached, claws screeching on cobbles like fingernails on a blackboard. A dozen shadowy figures darted from the alley, accompanied by a miasma of filth. Unseelies. The foul monsters could be nothing else. They were even more hideous than she’d imagined. Roughly human, with corpse-blue skin and twisted, emaciated limbs, they looked like a nightmare sprung to life. Bulbous heads perched on lumpy torsos, translucent bat wings unfurled from hunched shoulders.