by J. D. Glass
“She tried to bind her, Sam.”
“I know,” she answered quietly, remembering the cross over Tori’s heart chakra, representing the pain that’s slow to fade. A bruise like that could have been a simple mark to begin the binding, but this particular pattern was a combination of symbol and initial; Trace had been attempting to create a complete thrall. Then there was the night Samantha had followed the trail of bright red dots to the smear on Tori’s doorknob and had found Tori half awake but clearly out of it, a neat, straight, and slightly too deep gash on her arm—the left arm, the side traditionally associated with stronger flow from the heart…
She’d known in that instant several things: Had Trace not known before, then she had discovered Tori’s relations then, for if Tori hadn’t revealed it herself, it had been scryed through her blood—and it was no secret who Nina was married to.
Samantha herself had bandaged the cut, had recognized the second mark of the binding ritual, the trance state, probably drug induced…and she’d also performed the unbinding, shed her own blood, to break it.
The Law was the Law: to interfere not in another’s free will, to give aid when asked, unless clearly, clearly, free will had been violated. Samantha had done that, by performing the unbinding, but she was still bound by other aspects of the Law; she was forbidden from interfering in any way.
And…what could she really have said to Tori, anyway? How could Nina or Samantha have told her about Trace, especially after her reaction when she’d heard of Kerry’s past association with Nina?
The Law had been followed, respected: Tori had been unwillingly bound, then freed. Her choice, her free will had kept her from being bound again, from becoming a vessel, or a thrall. Perhaps Samantha had skirted the edges of the Law by offering Tori alternative ways of spending her time, but they were offers only, not directives, and Tori had made those choices freely, without prompting. She’d thought they were safe; Tori had broken free, perhaps with a little help, but still free, whole and healthy after, and not too long later so very clearly in love with Jean.
Nina sat up and buried her face in her hands. “She…she raped her. God, Sam, she hurt my little sister.” The words were anguished, torn, and Samantha’s heart ached for both of them, for the wife she so loved whose heart bled for Tori’s pain, and for Tori herself, whose own goodness had been used to betray her, for what Samantha knew from experience Tori had yet to go through.
She held Nina carefully as she schooled her own mind against the memories. Nina, whether she wanted to admit it or not, was an empath. She literally felt not only textures, but emotions, thoughts, through her skin. Bound as closely to Samantha as she was…but Samantha would not willingly or easily put the strained control that protected her wife and their children at risk, but there were things they had to discuss, things that Nina had to know. Nina’s aura carried her sorrow, which Samantha could tell she was trying so very hard to not let touch the energy field that surrounded their children.
“She’s marked two chakras on her, one over her heart, where she hurts most, where you’d hurt most if something happened to her, and the other—she knows you’re pregnant.” Samantha felt the first hint of ice in her heart as she realized what it meant. “Nina, she’s blood linked to you through Tori.”
Nina nodded against her chest. “That’s what I thought. What do we do?”
Samantha kissed her head, then cautiously released her. She walked over to the dresser she’d folded her pants on and took her cell phone out of the pocket. “I have to call my uncle,” she explained as she dialed. “I’m gonna need backup.”
Samantha watched Nina shift on the bed. She seemed oddly calm, even knowing what the dangers to her, to all of them, were.
Perhaps…Samantha considered. Perhaps Nina was still in shock, mourning even, over what had happened to Tori. She’d cried for hours, silent tears the first night, her head pressed firmly against Samantha’s heart, and again after the deposition, unable to take comfort from her or from Kitt. Her stillness now worried Samantha.
“Uncle, it’s me,” she said into the phone as soon as the message beep sounded. “Get the soonest flight if you can. It’s hungry and coming our way.” She clipped her phone shut with a nervous snap.
“Are you okay?” she asked as she sat next to Nina on their bed. She ran her fingers through the shiny, rich length of her hair.
Nina turned eyes that shone with tiredness in the half-light of the room. “I’m fine. You know what? I’m just gonna get a glass of water.”
Samantha jumped up. “I’ll get that for you.”
Nina stood and stretched her arms above her head. “I’m not a veal, you know,” she said with a smile, “and it’s good for me to move around, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, you’re not a veal,” Samantha responded. “I just, you know.”
Nina kissed her gently. “I do know. It’s one of the things I love about you. Besides, nothing bad is allowed to happen today, you know that, right?”
“Really? Why’s that?” Samantha murmured softly against her lips.
“Because,” Nina answered after taking another moment to savor the softness of the mouth that pressed against hers, “tomorrow is my grandmother’s birthday, so nothing bad can ever happen. I’ll be right back.”
Once Nina had left the room, Samantha paced.
She had thought—probably wishfully, she realized ruefully—that it was over. She was mistaken. She would have berated herself but had no time. She had to think, to find the clues, because there was more: the last cut, the last symbol, a direct strike in so many ways to the seat of life, an actual bleeding cut both inside and out…
Oh, Tori, she thought in empathic sympathy, I should have found a better way—I’m so sorry I didn’t protect you better.
Dammit, what phase was the moon in? she wondered frantically. This had happened how many days ago? It had been a blood spell, cast in the waning moon, and tonight—Samantha calculated quickly—tonight it reached its nadir.
That bitch had had ungodly good luck with her timing, assuming it had been luck at all, Samantha thought grimly. Dammit it twice, because Trace had apparently found a way to get around the restrictions placed on her so long ago, to manipulate the energies in a different way, a dirtier way.
And the door had been opened with compassion, augmented with the power of death behind it, and all tied to the blood that ran through Nina and Tori’s veins, and Samantha’s as well, since that too was part of the lives Nina carried.
Samantha felt the ice that had touched her heart seep through her. This series of actions wasn’t simply directed at Nina for refusing Trace so many years ago, or anger—jealousy, even—at Tori for breaking free.
It all came down to the knife cut, she thought, the representational severing at the seat of life—it brazenly bore Trace’s initial, a challenge to Samantha, a threat to her children. As the final piece clicked into place, Samantha knew one solid fact with almost blinding clarity: in failing Tori, she’d failed them all.
The numbers on the clock face shifted, catching Samantha’s eye. Midnight. On the nadir. It was already too late to stop, or even deflect, Samantha realized as she started walking automatically to the door. She felt the gathering of power tingle on her skin, raising the hairs on the back of her neck. She felt the wood under her feet and gathered energy from the earth, breathed in slowly and drew it from the air, tried to center and draw it from aethyr, before she surrounded herself, then blew it out toward her wife, the only shield she really had time for. All she could hope was to blunt its impact, to—
“Sam?” Nina called in a tone that Samantha knew meant nothing good. She tore out of the room in a dead run, knocking on Tori’s door on the way.
She could smell the blood before she saw it, knew before seeing that this was it, was dangerous for her wife, for their children.
All she could hope was that they might all get through it, that that unholy glorified hound hadn’t finally gotten every
thing she’d wanted in one blow, Samantha thought as she caught her wife in her arms.
Tori stood beside her out of seemingly nowhere, helping her, helping Nina. There was a time to lead, and a time to follow, and Samantha followed whatever orders she received.
No matter what happened, Samantha swore to herself as she followed the stretcher that carried her world on it down the stairs and to the ambulance that waited outside, as soon as this was over? The hunt was on.
Author’s Note
If you are in a situation and you think you may need help, please visit this Web site: http://www.thenetworklared.org/english/resources/ natl_intl.html
Ketamine became a Schedule III drug in August 1999, and GHB was outlawed later in the same year. Both were legally available before that; however, GHB is easily made, while ketamine is still available via prescription.
In 2001, the state of New York passed SARA, the Sexual Assault Reform Act, which, among other things, created new provisions for crimes previously undefined and therefore unprosecutable under the law. In 2006 the statute of limitations on rape was eliminated.
About the Author
JD Glass lives in the city of her choice and birth, New York, with her beloved partner. When she’s not writing, she’s the lead singer (as well as alternately guitarist and bassist) in Life Underwater, which also keeps her pretty busy.
JD spent three years writing the semimonthly Vintage News, a journal about all sorts of neat collectible guitars, basses, and other fretted string instruments, and also wrote and illustrated Water, Water Everywhere, an illustrated text and guide about water in the human body, for the famous Children’s Museum Water Exhibit. When not creating something (she swears she’s way too busy to ever be bored), she sleeps. Right.
Works in progress include American Goth (Bold Strokes Books 2008).
Further information can be found at www.boldstrokesbooks.com and at www.myspace.com/jdglass, where you can check out the daily music plays, blogs, reviews of all sorts of fun things, and the occasional flash of wit.