Visions of Chains

by Regan Hastings

  He stopped dead beside one of the bare trees, turned her to face him and wrapped his big hands around her shoulders, then looked deeply into her eyes. “It’s all there. In your mind. Lost in time, all you have to do is remember who you were then. Concentrate on bringing forth that lifetime. Remember her and all you did and thought and said and felt.”

  Deidre grumbled, “Well sure, why didn’t I think of that?”

  “I didn’t say it was going to be easy,” he reminded her, his voice a low rumble.

  “No, you didn’t. And it’s not. How’m I supposed to—”

  “You have to stop fighting it. Stop pretending that the woman you were is separate from you. Once you’ve accepted that long-ago life and reclaimed her, you’ll remember.”

  Looking into those amazing gray eyes of his, swirling now with magic and secrets, she could almost believe him. But doubts were still racing through her mind and the task felt impossible. “I’m trying Finn. I really am. But that long-dead woman is as foreign to me as a stranger on the street. I’m not her.”

  “No, you’re not,” he said, voice deepening as his gray eyes swirled pewter. “No more than I’m the same Eternal who lived in those times. We all change, Dee. We all grow and all of the other touchy-feely crap psychologists today talk about until you want to hack off your ears to avoid listening to them anymore.”

  She smiled ruefully. That was the Finn she knew. Crabby, irritable, impatient.

  “But the point is, no matter how much you change, there’s still that core of you that remains.” He eased his grip on her slightly. “Your soul is you. Through however many lifetimes you live, that soul stays with you and somewhere inside, you know that.”

  “Yeah,” she admitted with a brief nod. “I guess I do. So maybe the truth is, I don’t want to remember the woman I used to be. She doesn’t exactly sound like a fabulous human being.”

  And other memories worried her, she reminded herself. That elusive piece of the puzzle that both fascinated and repelled her, like a storm, brewing in the distance.

  “None of us were perfect.” Finn hugged her. “But that long-ago witch? She had her moments.”

  “Then why don’t you just tell me where she—I—might have hidden it? Save us both some time.”

  “Don’t you think I would if I could?” He gave her a shake that convinced her he was as frustrated by all of this as she was. “I don’t know what you did with the Artifact shard you were entrusted with.”

  “Just great.” She broke free of his grip, though she missed his hands on her.

  Shaking his head, he told her, “My memories of that time can’t help you.”

  “So, we’re back to square one.”

  He gave her that half smile again and Deidre swore she felt her toes curl. Then that smile disappeared, his entire body went on red alert and he yanked her behind one of the stark skeletons of a cherry tree.

  “What’s—”

  “Quiet.” He slapped one hand over her mouth and she got the message fast.

  Deidre nodded and peeled his fingers off. Looking at him, she mouthed, What is it?

  Scowling, Finn lowered his head until his mouth was beside her ear. He held up one hand and said, “Take it, hold on tight, focus your magic and look out over the Reflecting Pool.”

  Confused but willing, she threaded her fingers through his and felt the instant pulse of connection burst into life between them. She delved deep, drew on her magic and stared at the long, narrow strip of water between the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument. The water was still but for a ripple of movement caused by the wind. Lights shone on the surface and the stark outline of the Washington spire lay like a shadow across the water.

  “What do you see that I don’t?” Her voice was less than a whisper. Hardly more than a breath.

  He increased his grip on her hand until her fingers throbbed in time with her heartbeat. “Wait for it.”

  Deidre concentrated, drawing on her newfound magic more deeply. She felt it building inside her and she opened herself to it, allowing the ripples of power to rush through her veins. Like supernatural carbonation, it sizzled and popped along every inch of her body. It was a dizzying yet triumphant feeling, knowing that she was at last capable of commanding her magic. She stared hard at the Reflecting Pool and where a moment before there had been only darkness, now Deidre saw a ribbon of color snaking along the pool. Soft shades of gold and orange flared briefly, then faded, only to reappear again farther along the way. It was beautiful, yet every instinct she possessed screamed danger.

  And it was heading right at them.

  “Oh my God, what is that?”

  “Demon trace energies.”

  His breath was warm on her cheek, but couldn’t combat the icy-cold ball of dread that single word had dropped into the pit of her stomach. “Demons? Here?”

  As she watched, that swirl of color kept moving, drawing closer and closer to them.

  “Yeah.” Finn pulled her away from the tree and gave a quick look around, assuring himself that they were alone. “Demons in DC. What better place for ’em, if you think about it.”

  “What do we do?”

  “Follow it,” Finn said, already moving after the energy patterns. Deidre wasted no time falling into step behind him. Fear dried out her mouth and made her palms damp. She didn’t have a clue what she was supposed to fight with or what she would do with a demon if she did manage to capture or kill it. But she figured it was time she learned.

  Finn moved like a shadow. If she didn’t know where he was, he would have been hard to spot. Thankfully though, it was late enough that not many people were wandering around the darkened President’s Park. They followed the demon to the Ellipse, where a short white fence enclosed the grassy area. While a ring of elms encircled the Ellipse, only a solitary Colorado blue spruce—now glittering with Christmas lights—stood within the fenced boundary.

  Finn jumped the fence, then waited for her to follow. Deidre took a step and stopped. She looked over her shoulder and Finn whispered, “What’re you doing? Come on.”

  “I heard something.” She wasn’t sure what. A quiet crick of sound, as if someone had stepped on a twig, snapping it in two.

  “Move it,” he snarled and headed off after the demon.

  Right. Demon. More important than noises. She held on to the top rail of the fence and swung her right leg over. Then something grabbed her from behind, dragging her back and away from the fence. She took a breath to scream, but an arm wrapped around her throat and squeezed. She could hardly see Finn, as he blended into shadows, following his quarry.

  What the hell? Demon? Witch hunter? Fed? All these thoughts and more flew through her mind in an instant. Then all questions were answered.

  “Gimme your money.”

  The words came fast and low and Deidre’s heart slid back down into her chest. A mugger? Sure, it was scary, but an everyday, run-of-the-mill mugger? On her list of terrifying entities, a mugger was down so low, she hadn’t even considered it. Hell, with what she had been afraid of, this was practically a relief.

  He kept a tight hold on her neck, and patted one hand up and down her body as if looking for a wallet or anything else he could steal. Fury suddenly eclipsed surprise and relief. With everything already going on in her life, Deidre wasn’t going to be the victim of a random thief. She didn’t plan her next move. She simply reacted.

  Grabbing hold of the thick forearm pressed across her throat, Deidre planted her feet, bent in half and pulled, flinging her would-be attacker over her shoulder to land on the snow at her feet. She was panting for breath and her heart was thundering in her chest when Finn bolted back across the fence to join her. The mugger struggled to his feet and Finn took a step toward him.

  “No,” she said and moved in herself. Now that she got a good look
at the guy, she could see that he was the man she’d seen wandering behind them on the sidewalk earlier. He’d only waited for them to separate, however briefly, before attacking the one he thought would be the weak link.

  Well, she wasn’t. Not anymore. Her self-defense courses would have helped her out here anyway. But after days of training with Joe and the other members of Finn’s group, Deidre was confident, strong and too damn tired of being attacked.

  “Stupid bitch,” the man murmured. “I only wanted your money.”

  “But it’s my money, isn’t it?” He came at her again and she swung her right leg out, catching him in the abdomen with her knee. Breath wheezed out of him and he bent over, arms wrapped around his middle. Before he could straighten up for another try at her, Deidre hit him again, this time with both hands locked together. She slammed her fists down on the back of his neck and he dropped like a dirty stone.

  She was breathing heavy, but if anyone had asked her how she was feeling at that precise moment, she would have said that she felt great. She’d taken a stand, done what she had to and shown not only herself but Finn that she could be counted on in a crisis. All in all, she owed the mugger a big thank-you. Not that she would give it to him.

  “You okay?” Finn asked after a long minute while Deidre stood over the mugger, staring down at him in triumph.

  “Yeah.” For a second or two, she considered what had just happened. A week ago, she might have been a weak noodle about now, wanting to swoon quietly in her room while she slugged back a couple of glasses of wine to recover. Now, she just felt . . . energized.

  How quickly things could change, she thought, tearing her gaze from the mugger to look up at Finn. “You know, I’m really good.”

  “Oh,” Finn told her with a slow, approving smile, “you’re way better than good.”

  Chapter 28

  Shauna woke up in a cold white room.

  She was strapped to a table that was leeching warmth and strength from her body at a dizzying speed and she knew. It was made of white gold. Swallowing hard, she tried to move, but her naked body was strapped down tight. She lifted her head to take a look at her situation and nearly wept. Though the straps across her body were canvas, the shackles attached to her wrists and ankles were white gold. Like the table. She wouldn’t be able to escape their grip and lying here naked, like some sacrificial lamb, told her that escape really was her only option.

  Shauna almost laughed at the skimpy white towel someone had tossed across her, covering her from boob to groin. As if the thing she’d be worried most about in this situation was her modesty.

  Her brain was still foggy, but bits and pieces were coming back as she pulled in one breath after another of the medicinally scented air. Max. He’d done this to her. He’d made love to her, then drugged her and brought her . . . where exactly?

  Shauna’s eyes wheeled to the left and she saw a metal tray covered with different medical instruments. A counter held a sink, a paper towel dispenser and a black phone. She glanced around the rest of the room quickly. No windows to the outside world, but there was a glass partition between this room and another, filled with chairs arranged in stadium seating.

  Not good.

  If people sat in those chairs to watch a show . . . then she was going to be the entertainment.

  “Doc Fender,” she whispered brokenly.

  This had to be his lab. Where he experimented on witches. Where he tried to drain their powers and—Oh, God. Max had turned her over to a madman who was going to kill her—but not before torturing her first.

  Terror wormed its way into her heart. She was choking on a knot of desperation in her throat and a single tear escaped the corner of her eye and rolled into her hairline. No one knew where she was. No one would even miss her until tomorrow when she was due back in the tunnels. Max had chosen the perfect time to betray her. There would be no rescue coming. There was only her and her will to survive.

  When the door opened, she jerked against her restraints and shot a wide-eyed stare at the man stepping into the room.

  Tall, with a full head of flyaway gray hair and blue eyes hidden behind round glasses, Dr. Henry Fender didn’t look like a psycho. In fact, he had a kind smile, an Old World charm and a soft voice that practically begged you to trust him. The whole country thought of him as a miracle worker. No wonder that Max had believed Shauna would simply come here and leave without her magic.

  Fender had built up an entire organization around the idea of stripping magical abilities safely. The Seekers treated him as a prophet, showing them the way to rid the world of dangerous magic. The only problem was, it couldn’t be done. The public never knew that Fender tortured and killed the witches brought to him. Though they probably wouldn’t have cared if they did know. After all, what was one more dead witch in the grand scheme of things?

  And now, Shauna was going to be that dead witch.

  “I won’t tell you anything,” she said, through chattering teeth.

  Doc Fender gave her that patented smile, smoothed one hand over her forehead and said, “My dear. Of course you will.”

  Her heartbeat kicked into a hard gallop in her chest as she looked up into his eyes and saw . . . nothing there. Just emptiness. And she knew, deep within her, that she would never be strong enough to survive this man’s attentions.

  Though it did her no good, Shauna fought the restraints again, feeling the roughness of the canvas straps dig into her stomach and thighs.

  “Now, now,” Fender said, leaning over to pick up a scalpel off the nearby tray. He held it up, admiring the sweep of the miniature blade and allowing the overhead light to glint off the sharp edge. “No point in trying to get away, my dear. We both know you can’t. Don’t put yourself through the misery of disappointment.”

  As opposed to the sheer terror of torture.

  “I am sorry that we’re meeting here,” he said with a sigh and a long look around the small, sparse room. He shook his head in sad disappointment at his surroundings. “My personal lab is far better equipped for the work you and I have to do today. But having you turned in was such a surprise, I’m afraid we’ll simply have to make do with what’s available.”

  Oh, God.

  He gave her a proud smile. “I want you to know that all of my instruments are crafted of the finest white gold. Only the best is good enough for my work. The blades, of course, are stainless steel—much easier to hone a razor’s edge.”

  Shauna couldn’t tear her gaze from that scalpel as Doc Fender turned it hypnotically.

  “Don’t do this,” she heard herself whisper.

  He smiled gently. “Let’s begin.”

  Chapter 29

  “Do I really need to know how to make a bomb?”

  They were back in the tunnels and sitting on a bench in the armory. Deidre could admit, at least to herself, that she was becoming more comfortable down here. At least, it was safe. She didn’t have to be on guard for an attack every minute. Yes, it had been nice to go topside and breathe in some fresh air—but that trip had also reminded her that she didn’t belong in the real world anymore.

  This was her world now. These tunnels. Their chamber with the crystal-studded walls and the oversized bed. And, most importantly, this man. Her Eternal.

  Her gaze locked on his as he leaned over a small table littered with metal pipes, cotton batting and anything else the well-equipped terrorist might need.

  He looked at her and quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t you want a well-rounded education?”

  She quirked her eyebrow right back at him. “Depends. Are these magical bombs?”

  “If we could do it that way, we would. But no. These are just your everyday pipe-bomb explosives.”

  “Then thanks, but I’ll pass.”

  “Shauna knows how,” he teased.


  Deidre laughed at his attempt to use her recently honed competitive spirit to get her agreement. He was sneaky, she was discovering. And something of a smart-ass as well. It was weird, but she had started to enjoy her time with Finn. She hadn’t expected to be anything but miserable down here in these godforsaken tunnels. But he was hard to ignore. And hard to avoid forming an attachment to.

  After the incident with the mugger last night, she’d sort of had a come-to-Jesus moment. Oh, she’d known about the magical danger and the feds and witch hunters and every other damn thing in the world that wanted to kill witches.

  But last night, a simple, ordinary mugging could have gotten her killed. Deidre never would have finished this quest. Never would have accomplished a damn thing that really mattered.

  It all could have been over in an instant. Not because of supernatural forces, but because life sucked sometimes. Because you could be fine one minute and dead the next and there were no guarantees about any of it.

  Long after they’d left their mugger behind, battered yet alive, and returned to the tunnels, Deidre had lain awake in Finn’s arms. Sometime during the night, she’d realized she wasn’t ready to die. There was too much she wanted to do. To set right. She wanted to complete this task of atonement—not because she felt any sympathy for the witch she had once been and all of her bad choices. But because she owed it to the world to do what she could to save it. Especially since she had been one of the women to set all of this misery into motion.

  And if that meant facing memories she would rather leave buried in the past, then that’s what she would have to do. She was strong enough. She believed that, now.

  Plus there were all the women like her who were locked away in prisons. The little girls who grew up scared to be who they were. Someone had to help them. Someone had to fight for them. Like Joe had told her, when things got bad, people had to stand up, however they could. Deidre was ready to do that.

  With her head on Finn’s chest, she’d listened to the silence—the absence of a heartbeat—and had asked herself if they were doing the right thing in not Mating. If they had just done what they were meant to do, she might have all of her memories by now. By holding themselves back, were they risking too much? The world? Those doubts were still with her. She looked at him now and wondered if he regretted their choice to be together and yet separate, as much as she was beginning to.