Visions of Chains

by Regan Hastings

  Chapter 26

  “Oh, God, I’ve missed you,” Shauna said on a satisfied sigh. She stroked one hand across Max’s incredibly defined abs and tipped her head back on the pillow to look at him.

  Candlelight flickered from the bedside table. Max’s dark skin gleamed like onyx and his brown eyes were soulful as he gazed at her. “I’ve missed you too, babe. Took you long enough to call this time.”

  She shifted on the bed, hooking one long leg over his muscled thigh as she leaned across his chest. “I got injured a while back. Had to wait for it to heal before I could come see you.”

  “Injured?” He frowned and dragged the tips of his fingers down the length of her spine. “What happened?”

  “It was nothing,” she lied, loving the feel of his hands on her. His body was pumping out heat and the slide of cool sheets against her skin was a sexy contrast.

  She loved this place. It was where she and Max had made love for the first time and just being here rekindled all of those sparkly feelings she’d had for him from the beginning. The walls were a soft green, oak furniture shone with polish and the rag rugs beneath the four-poster bed were colorful and bright. Everything about the B and B warmed Shauna to her soul. Being here with Max just made it all that much better.

  After doing a healing spell with Deidre every afternoon for the last few days, the weekend couldn’t come soon enough for her. Shauna had dressed and hurried to Max as fast as she could. In their room at the B and B, she had found him, naked and ready for her. God, she got chills just remembering that first orgasm when he’d backed her against the wall and taken her with his talented mouth. Now, two hours into her R & R, Shauna wasn’t nearly finished with the man she loved so desperately.

  “I don’t like you being hurt, honey,” he told her and pulled her up along his body so he could kiss her deeply, thoroughly. “I hate that witchcraft has put you in so much danger.”

  She looked at him and smiled. “It’s who I am, Max.”

  “I know,” he said, sliding one hand down to cup her behind. “And I want you to know, I’m really sorry about this.”

  “About what?” Frowning, Shauna fought the tingle of danger beginning to spread inside her. This was Max. She loved him. Trusted him. “What’re you talking about?”

  He sat up abruptly and drew her with him. Pinning her to the wall of his chest with the ironclad strength of one heavy arm, he reached for the bedside table and opened the drawer.

  Shauna watched every move as fear galloped inside her, pushing her heartbeat into a frantic rhythm that threatened to choke her. The candlelit shadows flickering across his face turned Max into a stranger. Something was wrong. Seriously wrong. He wasn’t acting like himself.

  And now that the sexual buzz was being buried under a ton of oh-shit, she realized that he had been acting sort of weird since she got there. Nervous. Jumpy. Really unlike him.

  Oh, God.

  She squirmed against him, not willing just yet to use magic against him. This was her lover. The one person in the world she trusted more than Deidre. How could she use her power to hurt him? “Let me go, Max.”

  In response, his arm tightened around her, making drawing breath an Olympic sport. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she couldn’t let him hurt her, either. Reaching deep for her magic, she called it up, focusing everything she had on the simple matter of breaking free of him.

  Her chant came soft and low. “Power fly and spirit soar—”

  “Oh, no, you don’t, little witch!” He pulled a white gold chain out of the drawer and when she struggled to escape his hold, he dropped it over her head.

  Instantly, a cold, draining sensation opened up inside her. The magic that had been at her fingertips moments ago was gone. Gasping, Shauna felt her power slide away, disappearing into a black hole opened up by the white gold searing her skin like dry ice.

  She was trapped as much by the delicate chain of magic-killing metal as she was by Max’s strong arm around her. She looked up at him, knowing that hurt and denial shone in her eyes.

  “Aw, now don’t look at me like that,” he said with a slow shake of his head.

  Her brain seemed to be racing despite the fact that her soul felt as if it were dying. Suddenly, she understood how that ambush on the raid had happened. She had told Max about their plan, so sure she could trust him. He must have informed the feds and . . . “Oh, Max . . .”

  As if reading her expression, he said, “I’m sorry about you getting shot. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  This couldn’t be happening. She knew him. Loved him. “Max, let me go.”

  “No can do, babe.” He kissed her forehead and she shivered.

  “Why?” she asked, as he pulled a syringe from the bedside drawer. “Why, Max?”

  He bit the protective cap off with his teeth, jabbed her upper arm with the needle and pushed the plunger home. Only then did he look at her. “Why? I’m losing my gym, Shauna. Got too far behind on the payments and they’re gonna take it from me. I can’t let that happen.”

  “But—”

  “You’re a witch, babe,” he said with a shrug. “You know how much money I’m getting for you?”

  “No, Max . . .” she said, hearing her own voice like a faraway whisper. Money. He was getting money for her. He was turning her over to the feds. To Doc Fender.

  Pain and fear blossomed inside only to be swallowed by the drug overtaking her. “But I loved you.”

  “Love you too, babe.” He stroked one hand across her short hair and even slipping into unconsciousness, she tried to move away from that traitorous caress. “You’ll see. Fender will drain the magic out of you. Then we can be together again.”

  No.

  Then Max kissed her one last time and the world went dark.

  Christmas lights were everywhere.

  Sparkling white, multicolored, they shone from every bare-branched tree and draped across light poles and storefront windows. The air was clean and cold and a light dusting of snow drifted down from the black sky.

  In short, Deidre thought, it was perfect.

  Walking down Constitution Avenue with Finn at her side, Deidre felt almost normal. Well, until she concentrated on the buzz of power drifting from his hand to hers and back again. She glanced up at him and briefly studied his profile.

  His features were hard and tight. His gaze was constantly shifting, examining their surroundings, wary of attack. Worry rippled through her briefly, but Deidre fought it into submission. Finn would protect her. And she wasn’t exactly helpless anymore, was she?

  “What’re you thinking?”

  “Just that it’s great to be outside again,” she said.

  He nodded, then looked away, scanning the area. And seeing that fierce look on his face reminded Deidre that they weren’t just any couple enjoying a winter night. They were in the heart of the government, surrounded by enemies.

  She should probably feel guilty for talking him into this outing, but she just couldn’t. It was great to be outside. In the world. She felt as if she could breathe again.

  For a Saturday night, there weren’t many people out. Of course, since the whole witchcraft thing had come to light, federal agencies had really cracked down—asking for IDs, making random arrest sweeps—not to mention the early curfews. It was enough to convince most people to stay home at night.

  Still, down the block, a small crowd of people was lined up outside a club. Cars streamed along the road, headlights blazing a trail through the darkness and from somewhere close by, a Christmas carol droned in Muzak format. Their stroll was taking them toward the National Mall and Deidre cringed a little inside.

  “Is it safe to be this close to the White House?”

  He shot her a sidelong look. “Probably not.”

  If she’d been ho
ping for reassurance, she would have been disappointed. Thankfully, she’d been around Finn long enough to know that he would, at least, be honest with her. So now she felt on edge and a little less giddy about being outside in all the icy fresh air.

  Her gaze, too, swept the area, taking in the occasional pedestrian, the snow-covered limbs of the naked trees and lamplight sifting through windows to paint the sidewalks in bars of golden light. This was her city. She knew it well. And now, she was looking at it through a stranger’s eyes. A trickle of unease spread along her spine.

  If she had to make a run for it right now, she wouldn’t have a clue where to head. She didn’t even remember where they’d come up from the tunnels. Idiot, she told herself. Way to protect yourself. But the sad fact was, Deidre had been so thrilled to be getting out, she hadn’t been thinking about getting back in.

  She looked back over her shoulder as if expecting to see a neon sign reading The Entrance Is Here, blinking on and off. Naturally, all she saw was more snow, more Christmas lights and a lone man, walking head bent into the wind.

  Frowning, she glanced up at Finn. “So, where’s our chamber in the tunnels from here?”

  “Why do you need to know?” His hand tightened around hers. “Planning an escape?”

  Irritated that he could still assume she was ready to bolt even after she had told him she understood the need for secrecy, she snapped, “Yes, Finn. That’s why I went to all the trouble to find a disguise and talk you into bringing me out here. Because I’m an escape artist.” Shaking her head, she whispered, “Haven’t I earned some trust yet?”

  Silence stretched out for a long minute as if he was considering her question carefully. And that only spiked Deidre’s irritation. He had to think about it?

  “You have,” he said finally.

  “Wow, thanks.” She shook her head and tried to pull her hand free of his, but he only held on tighter. “I really appreciate the vote of confidence there.”

  “I trust you,” he said again, turning his head to look down at her. “But I know what it’s costing you to stay away from your family. To stay hidden.”

  “And you believe I’ll make a break for it?”

  “Can you honestly tell me you haven’t thought about it?”

  Hmm. She could lie and remain the injured party, or she could admit the truth and realize that he had good reason to have a little doubt.

  “Okay fine,” she blurted, the tension in her shoulders relaxing a bit. “I did think about it. But then I realized that going to my mother would only make her life harder, so what would be the point?” Shaking her head, Deidre huffed out a breath and said, “You said we’ve got thirty days to complete this quest, right?”

  “Yeah. Well, less now.”

  Deidre nodded. “Then I can’t risk getting caught, can I? So you’re stuck with me for the duration.”

  She tipped her head back and stared straight up. She couldn’t see stars for the clouds, but it was enough for her to know they were up there. The wind rattled tree limbs, making an eerie clicking sound that had her hunching deeper into the jacket she had found in the tunnels. “For right now, I can’t go to my mother. And unless the witch situation changes dramatically, maybe I’ll never see her again.”

  Oh, Deidre didn’t like the sound of that, but it was the only way she knew of to keep her mother safe and clear of the charge of harboring a witch. If the truth came out, her presidency would end in a scandal that would make Nixon’s look like a college prank gone wrong.

  But that wasn’t the worst of it by any means. Deidre had done a lot of thinking about this over the last several days and she knew darn well that not only could Cora Sterling lose her reputation and her position as president—she might even be looking at prison time.

  If the truth about Deidre came out, there would be conspiracy theorists determined to prove that Cora had known all along about her daughter. That it was the reason she had run for president in the first place and why she had been so “lenient” on the witches.

  No. The White House was definitely out of bounds.

  “Our chamber is below E Street, under the Spy Museum,” Finn said.

  That surprised a short laugh out of her. “Oh, that’s perfect.”

  “I thought so,” he mused, one corner of his mouth tilting into a half smile that Deidre didn’t see nearly often enough.

  His whole face changed when he smiled. He looked less predatory. No less dangerous, but somehow more . . . approachable. Which was probably why he didn’t smile more often.

  “Thanks for telling me.”

  He shrugged, as if trusting her with the location of their lair was no big deal—which she knew was a lie.

  “I know this is hard for you.”

  “For you too, I’m guessing,” she said. “I mean, we’re stuck together waiting for the right memory to pop into my head—we spend hours every day talking about the Artifact and the past and still I haven’t found that one memory I need so badly.”

  “We need,” he corrected.

  “Fine. The point is, I’m no closer to knowing what I did with the Artifact shard all those centuries ago and meanwhile—”

  “Meanwhile, we free witches. We train. We do everything we would have done with or without the Awakening.”

  “Awakening,” she repeated and that word stirred memories into a blur of images and scents and sounds. She was walking in DC, her Eternal at her side, and yet she was also in Scotland, then Paris, then Jerusalem.

  She rubbed her forehead and he saw it. “The memories are still scrambled?”

  “Yes. It’s confusing as hell,” she admitted and heard the surliness in her own voice but was unable to stop it. No matter how often they talked about the past, she couldn’t force the memories into linear fashion. They came twisted and jumbled as if now that the door to the past was open, everything she had ever done was anxious to be noted and recalled. “They’re my memories, but they’re not me, you know? My own life is starting to blur with those other women’s lives and sometimes, I can’t see the line dividing them anymore.”

  “Reincarnation’s a bitch all right,” he said.

  “Are you laughing?”

  “Hell no,” he assured her, though she was pretty sure she saw his lips curve.

  “Whatever. The point is, how am I supposed to sift through centuries of memories to find the one that we need?”

  He dropped her hand, then wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. Deidre sighed a little as she molded herself to the tall, muscled length of him, amazed as always that she seemed to fit perfectly against him.

  “Don’t tell me,” she muttered. “The answer is magic.”

  He snorted. “It always comes back to magic, Dee. It’s who we are. Why we are. Magic lives at our cores. There’s no escaping it. No pretending it doesn’t exist.”

  “I did pretty well for the first nearly thirty years of my life.”

  “No, you didn’t,” he said, glancing down at her as they walked along the serene winter splendor of the National Mall. “You were always different from everyone else. You knew it. You felt it. You just couldn’t put a name to it.”

  He was right. Just as he had been before when he first reminded her of all the ways she had felt . . . disconnected, most of her life.

  “You have to open yourself to it, Deidre.”

  She leaned her head against his shoulder and immediately felt a bright burst of desire flash inside her. She breathed into it, relishing the low-down stir of something wicked and delicious. The man was addictive. She couldn’t seem to get enough of him. Ever. Sex with him only made her want more. And right now, she wanted him badly.

  “Open myself to it,” she echoed. “I thought that’s what we’ve been doing almost nonstop. Don’t think I could get more open.”


  “Yeah,” he said and held her tighter, as if feeding on her desires. “Sex magic is working, but it’s not as strong as the Mating, so you have to focus your energies more fully on the target.”

  “Easier said than done, since I don’t know what that target is,” she reminded him. “I mean, every once in a while, I’ll get an image of the Black Silver.” She frowned as she tried to draw that picture up in her mind. It was hazy, indistinct, but everything in her recognized it.

  Gleaming in moonlight, its black curves and intricate knots made the dark metal seem almost alive. It bristled with power, with promise.

  Briefly, the present fell away.

  Chapter 27

  The past wrapped itself around her. The sounds of their footsteps became nothing more than a muffled counterpoint to the memories of lifetimes lived and lost. She knew where they were. Somehow her subconscious kept her walking and talking in the present while her mind drifted to another time, another age. They cut across the grass surrounding the Washington Monument, lit up by spotlights that made it glow like a beacon from heaven in the night. On the other side of them was the Ellipse, where the national Christmas tree glittered under a barrage of thousands of multicolored lights.

  Used to be that the tree wasn’t lit before December. But Cora had changed all that when she took office. Now the tree was electrified the first week of November—the thinking being that maybe in the time of witch hunts, a little extra peace-on-earth goodwill to men couldn’t hurt.

  In the distance, the White House stood, squat and sure of itself, bathed in lights bright enough to make it shine like a nova. Inside that building, her mother waited and worried. But there was nothing she could do about that, so Deidre deliberately turned from the sight and focused her mind inward, trying desperately to pin down the elusive memory that meant everything to them.

  “I can see the Artifact in the center of a pentagram. And I see a battle,” she said, voice soft, memories already fading. “But I haven’t seen the damn piece of the thing that I supposedly hid.”