SHAMAN
FRIEND
ENEMY
OLIVIA LAWSON TECHNO-SHAMAN BOOK TWO
M. TERRY GREEN
CHAPTER ONE
SK SCOWLED AS the pulse at Livvy’s jugular vein jumped to life. He leaned forward, staring at it, and furrowed his dark eyebrows. Lately, all of her healings were like this.
He leaned back far enough so he could look up at the client, who was lying in an ornate four-poster bed. As usual, he hadn’t stirred. SK looked back down at Livvy, who hadn’t moved since she’d lain down on her mat and put on the goggles.
Her diaphragm began to rise and fall at a faster rate. He slowly shook his head and pressed his lips into a tight line.
Get in, get done, get out. It was one of the first things that shamans learned. What was she doing?
Despite the fact that he knew she wouldn’t hear him, he urged her on. “Come on, Liv,” he whispered.
Except for her, the client, and himself, the well-appointed bedroom had been vacated. Electricity was almost guaranteed now. Her shamanic power had grown quickly. He glanced around the molded baseboards although he knew nothing was plugged into the outlets. When she called down her spirit helper in the Multiverse, he’d know in the real world. In his entire career as a shaman’s intercessor, he’d never seen anything like it. Then again, he’d never met anybody like Livvy.
He looked down from where he sat cross-legged on the floor next to her. Again, he leaned forward. Above the silver goggles that she wore, he lightly brushed a lock of gleaming white hair from her forehead. Tiny beads of sweat had started to form.
What was taking so long in the Multiverse?
• • • • •
In the Underworld, Livvy watched the clouds streaming by overhead.
“Yeah, I know,” she said. “I know.”
Her spirit helper was trying to guide her to the client. The only trouble was she didn’t want to see the client. Not just yet.
She stood in the central plaza of the Underworld, a downtown district that appeared much like her real-world home of Los Angeles. In the distance stood the pyramid-shaped roof of city hall. The high-rise buildings that surrounded the plaza towered above it, the clouds seeming to skim their roofs. The water of the fountain that had conveyed her there gurgled gently behind her.
A rumble of thunder slowly rippled through the mass of boiling clouds and internal flashes of lightning reflected off the myriad windows nearby. Livvy ignored them and crouched down to examine the small group of objects on the ground in front of her.
Something was wrong with the setup: a clear crystal pyramid, the engagement ring hanging from the tip, the ankh, a heptagram carved from amber, an amethyst heart, a soul catcher amulet, a kila dagger plunged into the ground, and a small polished garnet in the shape of a human skull.
“Why doesn’t this work?” she muttered. “It has to.”
A different arrangement maybe? She bit her lower lip. The descriptions had been so vague.
Again, thunder rumbled overhead. She glanced skyward and then glared at the objects, trying to think. Maybe it was something about the process, not the artifacts. What else needed to be done?
A quick burst of lightning arced across the sky, from one end of downtown to the other, and sent harsh shadows skittering along the ground.
Damnit, just a few more minutes!
The following peal of thunder reverberated through the Underworld, echoing endlessly and vibrating nearby windows.
“Fine!” she yelled.
She frowned at the objects on the ground before she scooped them up and put them back into the inner pockets of her jacket.
If it didn’t work, it didn’t work–again. She wasn’t going to be able to figure it out here.
She stood, hands on hips, and looked up at the clouds. “All right,” she grumbled. “Let’s do this.”
The clouds streamed away, the entire sky moving in one direction–the direction of her client. She took off at a jog that quickly turned into a run. The longer you stayed in the Multiverse, the harder it was to return to the real world. It was a fundamental rule of shamanism. You delay, you stay. It was time to find the client and get out.
It was past time.
Spirit traffic appeared normal. Various animal guides roamed to and fro–a number of birds perched on the surrounding ledges, a lion that could have been from the plains of Africa sprawled on the sidewalk. A large elk stalked slowly past it. There were also the occasional ancestor spirits, though not many. Two men crossed the plaza together, small but wiry with jet-black hair cut in bowl shapes, wearing only thongs. Each carried a large staff and each had a white bone labret through their lower lip. Neither they nor the animal spirit guides took any notice of Livvy. Their business wasn’t with her. Only her own spirit helper had anything to do with her, and her spirit helper was impatient.
At the end of the block, the clouds took a new direction. She turned right to follow them, keeping up the sprint. She passed buildings and streets, spirits and ancestors, running as fast as she could–which was fast. Her power as a shaman was directly reflected in her abilities in the spiritual realm and, the way that power had grown in recent months, it seemed as though it had no upper limit. She nearly flew down the middle of the street, her speed only hampered by the need to change direction. At first, it had taken her by surprise but now she found she liked it.
What had been wrong with the object arrangement in the plaza? Everything was there now. As far as she knew, she wasn’t missing anything.
Suddenly, the clouds stopped streaming. Livvy skidded to a stop, her boots grating and skipping along the pavement. She had almost missed the client.
“Fletcher,” she said.
He sat at a small table on the sidewalk, outside what appeared to be a small café. He might have been waiting for a latte except that he was dressed in pajamas. Of course, the latte would never come no matter how he was dressed or how long he waited. The look of the downtown landscape was just that–a look, a means by which Livvy could navigate the Underworld.
As Fletcher raised his gaze, he cocked his head at her. “Olivia?” he replied, in a thin, dry voice.
Fletcher Mosely was eighty-one years old and in dire health despite a liver transplant. Although it wasn’t typical for an octogenarian to be the recipient of a replacement organ, Fletcher Mosely wasn’t your typical guy. He was a multi-billionaire. When he had learned of the recent motorcycle death of one of his employees, someone who had already agreed to be part of an organ donation program, he immediately contacted the family. The young man was brain dead but his liver was in excellent shape. Although there was nothing to be done for the boy, at least the family was never going to have to worry about money again. Fletcher’s story had raised outcries from other families whose members were waiting their turn for a liver transplant. It had mattered little to him. At this point, only one thing did–survival.
Unfortunately, the new liver wasn’t working as advertised. The operation had gone perfectly, as expected from the top-notch doctors he had hired. His body had accepted the organ with very few complications and was not rejecting it. And yet, the liver was not doing its job and nobody had been able to tell him why–except Livvy.
“Yes, Fletcher,” Livvy said, as she approached and stood next to him. “It’s me and we’re in the Multiverse, the spiritual plane. We won’t be staying long because we’re gonna get you healed and get you out of here. How does that sound?”
He smiled much as he did in the real world, without mirth. Mostly, it was a look of satisfaction. “Most excellent,” he said.
Livvy and SK had both thought Fletcher’s symptoms sounded like a case of bad energy, leftover from the body of the donor. That energy needed to be extracted.
“All right,” said Livvy. “I need you to take off your pajama top.”
He smirked as he stood and undid the buttons. “You’re sure just the top?” he said, eyeing her. “For a good looking girl like you, I’d be glad to–”
“Sure, honey, sure. Never hurts to ask.”
He tossed the pajama top to the chair and Livvy had her first view of the area around his liver. It was bad energy all right and in a big way. The skin there was completely purple, like the worst deep bruise that could be imagined.
Apparently seeing something in her face, Fletcher decided to look too. “Oh my god,” he said, the smug tone gone. “Oh my god.”
In the real world, the bad spiritual energy was undetectable, even to a shaman. This was Livvy’s first time seeing it and Fletcher’s too.
“Turn around for me,” she said.
Without a word, he raised his arms slightly and began to turn his tall but frail frame, shuffling in place. There, on his back, was a matching mark, just like the front but mirrored. The bad energy had gone clean through.
Fletcher craned his neck to see. “Is it back there too?”
“Yes, it is.”
He turned to face her. “You can fix it though, right?”
“Yes,” she said simply. “Let’s step out here.”
She took him by the hand and led him to the middle of the street. Already the wind was starting to pick up. The clouds above swirled as lightning arced back and forth, faint thunder tracing its course. He glanced up and then back to her and gripped her hand.
“Okay, Fletcher,” said Livvy, moving around to his side. “I’m going to need you to stand absolutely still. It’s very important.” He turned his head and stared at her. “No matter what you see or hear, you mustn’t move. Can you do that?”
He only nodded.
“I need you to let go of my hand now,” she said.
Instead of letting go, he grabbed harder. She felt the warm slickness of his grip as he squeezed.
“Fletcher, it’s going to be all right. I promise but you need to let go of my hand.”
Slowly, he released her hand, let his arms drop to his sides, and faced forward.
“Good,” she said. “Here we go. Remember not to move.”
She reached her left hand in front of him and settled it directly over the black spot. The skin there was cool and smooth. Slowly, she reached her other hand up to the sky.
“Lightning,” she said.
• • • • •
This part always made SK nervous. Although glad to have reached this point of the healing and despite having been through it hundreds of times, he knew it was still unpredictable, still dangerous. A dim blue luminescence formed in the power sockets. He kept them in his peripheral vision. He had positioned himself at a point in the room where he was not directly between any of the outlets.
The glow brightened and a faint reflection of the strange light was caught in the highly polished silver of Livvy’s goggles.
Her breathing grew quicker.
Any moment now.
He glanced at each of the sockets, now glowing bright blue. A small white tendril of electricity snaked out of one. He smelled the faint odor of ozone.
This is it.
• • • • •
A white-hot bolt of lightning zigzagged from the center of the whirling clouds above and exploded onto Livvy’s hand. Its energy raced down her body and into the ground with a buzzing and crackling that made her teeth vibrate. Violet sparks poured off her upraised hand like falling water, completely surrounding the two of them.
Fletcher did his best not to move, although he had flinched at the explosion. Now his eyes were squeezed closed against the bright light and sparks, his mouth clamped shut, and his hands rolled into fists, waiting.
Livvy kept her left hand on the black spot on the front of his torso and slowly lowered her right hand behind his back, still channeling the lightning strike, bringing it lower. Then, smoothly and without hurry, she placed her right hand on the black spot on his back.
Fletcher convulsed between her hands as the energy traveled through him. His hair lifted as did hers, swirling in the surrounding static discharge field. Livvy looked down at her glowing hands, light blue sparks dancing around them like tiny, erratic fireflies. She watched the black spots beneath them begin to shrink.
“Just stay like that, Fletcher,” she yelled. “You’re doing fine.”
• • • • •
With a bright blue flash and a loud crack, the outlet with the tendril of electricity popped out of the wall and tumbled to the floor, blackened and smoking. Then another did the same.
SK heard a scream from somewhere beyond the closed bedroom door, in the hallway where the family was waiting, but he dared not take his eyes away from the wall.
Two writhing snakes of electricity had made their way out of the empty sockets and were inching toward one another. With a sudden start, SK stood. They were leaving scorch marks behind them and he could smell ozone.
“Oh no,” he said as he glanced down at Livvy. “Control it, Liv–and hurry.”
• • • • •
Livvy pressed her hands together, squeezing Fletcher’s torso between them. He grimaced but kept his eyes shut and body still. The wind swirled around them, carrying some of the tiny blue points of light from Livvy’s hands. Like a slowly turning dust devil, the breeze carried the sparks with it as it rustled their hair. Fletcher’s pajama bottoms ballooned and the long tail of Livvy’s jacket began to rise. She pushed her hands together with one final effort and then released them.
In an instant, the lightning receded and the wind died. Their hair and clothing fell as though normal gravity had been restored. The two of them stood in complete silence.
Livvy slowly leaned to the right to see Fletcher’s back. It was clean. The purplish black spot that had marked the bad energy was completely gone. She gently took Fletcher by the shoulders and turned him to face her. The spot on the front was gone too. Only smooth clean skin was there. She looked at his face, which was still grimacing with his eyes shut tight.
“It’s okay, Fletcher. You can open your eyes.”
He opened one experimentally and peeked at her.
“We’re done,” she said smiling.
He raised his eyebrows and opened the other eye and looked down. He ran a shaky hand over the skin. “You did it,” he murmured. He looked at her, grinning madly. “You did it!” he yelled and hugged her.
“Yeah,” she managed to get out.
“Of course she did it,” said a voice from the sidewalk. “She’s the Lightning Shaman.”
Livvy spun around nearly toppling Fletcher.
Was someone else here?
A young raven-haired woman stood watching them. Her long silky hair matched her flowing black leather duster and black, mid-calf utility boots. She wore a gleaming pendant of onyx on a silver chain and she seemed at ease. This was another shaman.
Impossible!
“Yes,” replied Fletcher. He had no clue that anything was wrong, his voice elated. “Yes, she is!”
For her part, Livvy was speechless. She gaped at the woman, who simply stared back, her face not showing a hint of any emotion, good or bad, and yet somehow very threatening. Her stance was wide but her hands were in her jacket pockets, relaxed.
Livvy’s mind raced. The only other time she had ever seen another shaman in the Multiverse was when she had broken centuries of rules to work with other shamans using networked goggles. As far as she knew, no one else had done it since. No one had so much as tried, not even her. The problem was that she knew she wasn’t networked. She was working solo. How could this possibly be happening?
“Did you see it?” asked Fletcher, as he started to approach her.
Livvy quickly grabbed his arm and jerked him back.
“I did indeed,” said the woman. “And I would really like to stay and chat with you about it,” she said, staring directly at Livvy, “but I think I’ll take my leave.”
With that, a bright flash of light took her place, and she was gone.
Livvy blinked before check
ing left and right. The woman had not needed the fountain to leave the Multiverse.
By all the gods, what was going on?
Fletcher looked down at Livvy’s hand on his arm and up to her face. “Friend of yours?” he asked.
Livvy didn’t answer. She had never seen the woman before, never even heard of a shaman who looked like that–the jet-black hair, darkly glinting eyes, olive skin, and full lips. No, this was not a friend of hers and, like the woman had said, it was definitely time to leave.
Still gripping Fletcher by the arm, she started a brisk walk up the street, back toward the plaza and the fountain.
“Let’s go,” she said, tugging him along and glancing backward. “We’re getting out of here.”
CHAPTER TWO
DOMINIQUE SLOWLY SAT up and removed the goggles.
“Water,” she said hoarsely, eyes still shut, and held out her hand.
A chilled bottle was immediately slapped into it. She raised it to her lips, but the cap was on. She quickly twisted it off. Then she drained the entire bottle, opened her eyes, and threw it at the woman who’d handed it to her.
“Next time make sure the cap is off,” she snarled.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Pip as the bottle bounced off her and landed on the floor. She quickly retrieved it. “Um, how did it go?”
Dominique gave the redheaded, freckled girl a sideways look.
“It went well,” she said.
Very well.
The Lightning Shaman had obviously been surprised. Then again, so had Dominique. For once, the reports had been true. The Lightning Shaman’s power was immense–palpable, even at a distance. The lightning had been staggering, and the shaman herself, stunning: her white hair shining like glass, her skin glowing with vitality, as pretty as the rumors.
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