by P. C. Cast
At his mention of my change in career, the warmth I’d been feeling from the familiar talk chilled. I studied my tea miserably.
“You look bad, Bugs.” Dad’s voice tried for a joking tone, but the lines that creased his forehead deepened as he spoke. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”
My eyes shot up to his. I never could hide much from him—actually I’ve never tried. Even as a teenager I told him everything. I blinked as a sudden thought washed over me. Maybe Rhiannon hadn’t been able to hide her true nature from him, either. Maybe he’d known Rhiannon hadn’t been me.
I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders.
“I don’t know how to begin. It’s complicated.”
“Life’s complicated,” he said simply. “Just start at the beginning—we’ll work it from there.”
“Dad, I haven’t been me for the past six months.”
Dad nodded his head and agreed. “Yep, yep. You were damn rude to Mama Parker. Good thing she loves you so much. Glad you’re back to normal now and—”
I held up my hand to stop him.
“No, I don’t mean I haven’t been acting like myself. I mean I haven’t been me—literally.”
Whatever comment he was getting ready to make died on his lips as he studied my face.
“Explain what you mean, Shannon Christine.”
His use of my middle name told me he was taking me seriously.
“Do you remember that six months ago I had an accident?”
“A car accident—of course I remember. You were out of it for days. Worried us practically to death. I knew you were going to wrap that damn Mustang around something some day. Too fast…” he muttered and shook his head in disgust, ready to rekindle an old argument.
“It wasn’t a normal accident, Dad. And I didn’t wrap it around anything,” I added, exasperated. “I bought a pot at an estate auction. It was an old burial urn. On it was a picture of the High Priestess Goddess Incarnate for Epona.”
“Celtic horse goddess.” He nodded. (Dad’s a well-read man, as the mounds of books all over the living room can testify to.)
“The goddess was me—or more accurately, my mirror image,” I paused to be sure he was getting all of this, “from another world in another dimension. A world where mythology exists instead of technology, and where some of the people there mirror the people here.”
“Shannon, this is a silly-assed thing to joke around about.”
“I’m not joking!” I looked at Clint who, until now, had remained silent. “Tell him,” I prompted.
“Sir—” Clint’s steady voice seemed to lend sanity to mine “—hear her out. She’s telling you the truth, and she can prove it.”
My eyes narrowed briefly and I shot him a what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about look. Prove it? Clint just nodded encouragement.
I cleared my throat and turned back to Dad. “The pot caused my accident, and more than that. It caused me to be pulled into the other world and exchanged for my mirror image, the Goddess Epona’s Incarnate.”
His eyes widened, but he didn’t interrupt.
“So the bitch that has been screwing with my life and my family and my friends for the past six months hasn’t been me!” I finished in a rush.
“You’re saying you have physically not been in this world?”
I nodded.
“And the woman who quit your job, married then buried a millionaire and has been jetting all over the US of A isn’t actually you?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“Shannon…” He started shaking his head. “Do you have any idea how flat out crazy that sounds?”
“Hell yes!” I stifled the impulse to scream and continued in a more normal voice. “I’m the one living it, and it sounds ridiculous to me.” I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples as nausea growled in my stomach and a headache pounded with each heartbeat. He wasn’t going to believe me.
Then Clint’s strong hand was kneading the knotted muscles of my neck. “Mr. Parker—” he spoke with the calm voice of reason “—it’s late and Shannon has been through a lot today. Maybe it would be best if we slept on this and finished explaining in the morning.”
“You do look like hell, girl,” Dad said to me.
I opened my eyes. “Dad, Suzanna’s dead.”
He jolted in surprise. “Little Suzanna! My God, how did that happen?”
Clint broke in. “That’s only part of the story, Mr. Parker. Right now it’s enough that you know that it just happened tonight, and Shannon had to watch her die.” His voice had taken on a hard protective edge that surprised me.
I watched my dad’s eyes narrow speculatively at the man sitting beside me. “All right then, son. Let’s get our girl to bed.” Dad walked over to the couch and took my hand from my forehead, pulling me to my feet. He hugged me, patting my back. Then he sniffed at me. “Good lord, Bugs, you smell terrible.”
“I know,” I said miserably.
Still holding my hand, he pulled me toward the hall that led to the bedrooms, grabbing the oil lamp from its resting place in the foyer. The first room to the left was the guest room. Dad opened the door and walked into the room, fumbling in the bedside table’s top drawer for matches to light the thick, vanilla-scented candles that decorated the dresser, then he turned and looked pointedly at Clint.
“This is Shannon’s room. I’ll bunk you up in the daybed in the office. That all right with you?”
“Yes, sir.” Clint held his gaze.
Dad nodded and grunted before turning back to me. “I think there are some old nightshirts and other things of yours in the dresser there, and I imagine there’s enough hot water for you to take a quick shower.” He wrinkled his nose at me. “You need it. We’ll get all this straightened out in the morning.”
I stepped gratefully into his embrace and whispered, “I love you, Dad,” against his chest.
“I love you, too, old Bugsy.” Then he turned and pushed Clint out of the doorway. “Come with me, son,” he said before firmly closing my door.
Dad’s typical protectiveness made me smile as I rummaged through the top drawer of the dresser. Sure enough, I found a couple pairs of my old jeans, and a well-worn sweatshirt, as well as one of my favorite old nightshirts, the one that had a picture of Santa pooping down a chimney. The caption read How to tell if you’ve really been bad. It had been a Christmas gift from a student.
“Oh, what a beautiful sight!” I sighed happily as I also found a pair of my panties—soft violet silk from Victoria’s Secret—with a butt. “Damn, I’ll be glad to get out of these thongs!” It’s amazing how little it takes to make me happy when I’m stressed.
Dad was right. There was just enough hot water for a quick but complete shower. The water acted as a tranquilizer, and I barely pulled the nightshirt over my head and stumbled back to my room before my eyes began to blur and close. I blew out the candles and crawled under the quilt my grandma had made decades ago. Reaching down to the foot of the bed, I unfolded the goose down comforter and pulled it snuggly around my shoulders. I breathed in deeply. The sweet scent of vanilla mingled with the unique smell of the clean, well-used old quilt; it was the scent of memories, reminding me drowsily of my childhood as I surrendered to the feeling of security and let sleep claim me.
I know for most people it’s hard to tell such things as they sleep, but my sleep has always been mine to manipulate, and I knew I slept deeply and dreamlessly for hours, so my unconscious body felt rested and refreshed when my spirit drifted into DreamLand.
I was reclining on gigantic down-filled pillows that floated on violet-colored cumulus clouds. Fat black-and-white cats were lounging around me, purring contentedly. Jamie Fraser (of Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander books) was explaining to me (in his sexy Scottish brogue) that he was dumping Claire and that I was now his true love. Hugh Jackman (in his Wolverine persona) was frowning in displeasure at Jamie, but he said he wouldn’t duel for my affections until he had finished giving me a proper foot rub. I op
ened my mouth to tell the boys to be good and not fight over little ol’ me…
…And I found myself sucked out of my body and through the roof of my parents’ ranch house. Hovering in the snowy sky was a bizarre experience. It was like the white crystals were inside me and around me all at the same time.
“Ugh! Feeling sick again!” I said to the night.
Breathe, Beloved. I noticed the voice in my head was stronger and clearer than it had been since I had been forced into this world.
“You sound like Clint,” I said aloud. The Goddess didn’t answer, so I did as she instructed, inhaling the crisp, icy air deeply. Almost immediately my vertigo faded. It was disconcerting to realize that I was becoming not just experienced in the Magic Sleep of spirit travel, but comfortable with it.
I gazed around me, amazed at the change in the land below. It looked like a scene from a Colorado winter postcard. Dad’s pastures had been transformed from the green of Oklahoma pin oaks and junipers, to the enchanting white of a snow-bathed wilderness.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered.
I looked back toward the barn. A warm light glowed from behind the shuttered windows and the snow piled in graceful, curving mounds around the base of the barn. Surprised, I noticed that the mounds actually came up several feet against the red and white of the barn’s siding.
“There must be almost three feet of snow down there.”
It is not natural, Beloved. The Goddess’s voice rang in my mind.
“I know!” I spoke aloud to the listening night. “It never snows like this in Oklahoma.”
It is because what is unnatural has entered this world. True evil is at work here.
The Goddess’s words drove crystallized shards of fear into my body.
“Nuada.” The name was a curse on my lips.
You must stop him.
“Me!” I yelped. “I don’t know how to stop him!”
You must, Beloved. You are the only one who can.
“How? The only reason I was able to figure out what to do in Partholon was that I was surrounded by a world of people who understood magic. They helped me. And you helped me!”
You trust yourself so little, my Beloved one. I was alarmed to hear the divine voice in my mind beginning to fade. Rely on what is within.
“No! Don’t go!” I felt panicky. “I don’t know what to do!”
The ancient ones will guide you…as will the Shaman in this world…
“Epona!” I yelled the Goddess’s name. “What ancient ones? What Shaman?”
Remember—the voice was so faint I had to strain within to hear her last words—You are the Chosen of a Goddess…
And, like mist, she was gone.
CHAPTER 7
I gulped in air and sat straight up.
“Shit!” I swung my feet around and almost leaped out of bed. “You’d think coming back to Oklahoma would be a normal experience. Oklahoma used to be entirely normal…mundane…boring even. Damn, I could use some good ol’ fashioned Okie boredom,” I muttered at my dim reflection in the mirror above the dresser. Pawing through the top drawer, I snatched at a pair of old jeans, the homey sweatshirt, followed by a thick pair of workout socks. “But, no! Instead you’re pregnant, scared, in the middle of a blizzard, being chased by some big-ass booger monster,” I kept talking to myself. “And starving.”
I shut up as I opened the door and tiptoed to the kitchen. Goddess knows I wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep, and all of a sudden scrambled eggs, toast and bacon sounded incredibly yummy. At least I knew my way around.
I felt through the drawer we called the gobble drawer—I knew it held a little bit of everything, which should include matches to light the oil lamp that always sat on the kitchen table.
“There you are,” I whispered as my hand closed around the familiar box shape.
“You could have saved yourself some trouble. I think your dad left matches over here by the lamp.” Clint’s voice scared me so badly I almost peed my pants.
“Damnit, Clint! What the hell are you doing sitting out here in the dark?” Before he could answer, I struck the match. He was lifting a mug to his lips as the golden spark illuminated his face. “And why didn’t you say something? You scared the shit out of me.”
“You looked like you were on some kind of mission. I thought I’d just sit here and stay out of your way.”
“Huh,” I grunted at him and lit the lamp, adjusting the wick so that the edges of the kitchen played in a trembling light. I turned my back on him and started pulling eggs and such out of the refrigerator. “Why are you awake?”
“Why are you awake?” he countered. “After what you’ve been through the last couple of days I would have thought you’d be due for a good long sleep.”
“I slept,” I evaded, searching through the cabinets for the right pots and pans.
“You had another one of those dream things?” His voice was gentle.
“Yes,” I said without turning.
“You saw ClanFintan again?”
“No.” I checked the gas flame and spread out plenty of bacon in the iron skillet. “This time I just floated around and had a brief conversation with Epona.” I glanced over my shoulder at him. “I’m making eggs and bacon for everyone. Don’t tell me you’re not hungry.”
“I would love for you to feed me.” His eyes met mine and their brightness hinted at a double meaning. I looked away quickly.
“What did your Goddess say?”
“Oh—” I flippantly cracked eggs into a bowl “—let’s see—evil is loose—Nuada must be stopped—the ancients will help—the Shaman will help—trust myself.” I whisked the eggs maniacally. “Only I usually prefer to avoid evil. I don’t know how to stop Nuada. I don’t know any ancients or a Shaman. And the one thing I do firmly trust about myself is that I am way out of my league here.” I realized I was fighting tears, which only pissed me off more. The morning sickness may have let up, but the hormones were certainly still in full swing. Wonderful.
Clint’s hands closed over mine so that my psychotic whisking stilled. He rested his chin on the top of my head and pulled me back against him.
“I’m here. Your dad’s here. Between the three of us we’ll figure this thing out.” He guided the bowl back to the countertop and turned me around to face him. He put one hand on my shoulder; with the other he lifted my chin so that my eyes met his. “You are the Chosen of a Goddess. Don’t forget that.”
“That’s what Epona reminded me of, too.”
“Well, if you won’t listen to the Goddess, will you listen to me?” His dark eyes smiled down at me. “After all, I am the mirror of your husband,” he said playfully, unknowingly mimicking ClanFintan’s tone so accurately that I felt my heart leap in response.
“Yes, you are,” I whispered tremulously.
He read the yearning in my face, and his teasing instantly sobered. I was close enough to him to feel his breath catch, and the hand that he had placed on my shoulder tightened. Then the fingers that were resting under my chin moved, gently tracing the curve of my cheek down the side of my neck. They threaded their way around until he was lightly caressing the back of my neck. A chill of response fluttered through me.
“Shannon my girl,” he spoke the endearment in a hoarse whisper as he bent to touch his lips to mine. The kiss was fleeting and deceptively chaste. He pulled his head back so that he could look into my eyes.
“Let me kiss you, Shannon.”
“You just did.” My voice sounded breathless.
“That wasn’t a kiss, love.” His half smile was full of promise. “Let me kiss you, Shannon,” he repeated softly.
I wanted him to kiss me. I needed his mouth against mine. His wonderfully familiar lips curled into a brief, full smile when I silently nodded my permission.
Then his arms were sliding around my body and I felt myself following old pathways as my hands crept up around his broad shoulders. Our bodies pressed together as our lips met. I could fe
el the restrained passion in the tautness of his body as he took his time tasting my mouth. I let my tongue meet his.
I have always loved the wonderful mixture of clean lines, muscular hardness and surprisingly smooth, soft places that blend together to form the body of a man. I ran one hand down his arm, delighting in the strength I felt there and marveling at the way I could make this strong man tremble just by taking his tongue within my mouth.
Exactly like ClanFintan. The dreamy thought was a fist in my stomach.
I pulled abruptly back and out of his arms. Shakily I ran a hand over my eyes and pushed my hair out of the way.
“I’m…” I faltered as both of us struggled to regain control over our breathing. “I’m sorry. I don’t want…” But the words died in my mouth. “No, that’s not true. I do want. I want your hands on me; I want your lips against mine. You are just so much like him I can’t help but want that.” I looked at him beseechingly. “But I’m married. And not to you.”
“You’re married in another world, Shannon, not in this one.”
“Would it matter to you?” I shot back at him. “If I belonged to you, would you mind me sleeping with him—be it in another world or not?”
His silence was all the answer I needed.
“I didn’t think so. The facts don’t change. Be it here or there, I’m still married to another man.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Shannon?” my dad’s voice broke in.
Clint and I both jumped guiltily.
“Um…” I was having a hard time meeting his eyes. “Good morning, Dad.”
“You better turn that bacon,” he said as he walked over to the kitchen table and sat in a chair across from Clint. “And you can pour me some coffee, too.”
I did as he asked.
“Thanks, Bugs.” He sipped his coffee while I poured the scrambled eggs into the waiting skillet. When he spoke, his voice was thoughtful. “I can’t say I understand or even really believe what you started to tell me last night. But I do know you well enough to know that you believe it. And you’ve never been a flighty girl, so there must be some truth to what you’re saying. I’m willing to hear it with an open mind.” He sipped his coffee again and glanced at Clint. “But first I want to know who the hell you’re married to, and why this man’s here with you instead of your husband.” His expression said that dads are not very keen on the whole you’re-committing-adultery-with-my-baby thing.