Divine by Choice

by P. C. Cast

“I expect you to keep our girl safe while she’s still here.”

  “You have my word on it, sir,” Clint said solemnly.

  “Good…” The word trailed off into a soft snore.

  Clint followed me out of the room.

  “Where’s a ladies’ room?” I was blubbering like a baby as I flagged down a passing nurse.

  “There’s one right outside the waiting room over there, honey,” she said, patting my shoulder and giving me a kind look.

  “I’m going to go blow my nose, wash my face and try to stop bawling,” I hiccupped to Clint.

  “I’ll be in the waiting room.”

  One thing I can say for them, hospital restrooms are certainly clean, even if the toilet paper is rough on the nose. I splashed water on my face, hating the red, puffy way my nose and eyes looked.

  “Maybe Dad was right,” I said to my reflection while I sniffled back more tears. “Maybe I can use the Goddess’s power to visit.” Speaking the words aloud enabled me to eke out a smile. “So this isn’t really goodbye. I’ll just figure out a way to come back and see him—even if it’s just through the Magic Sleep.” I knew I was Scarlett O’Hara-ing the situation, but if I didn’t spend time thinking about it tomorrow, I’d be a blubbering, pregnant wreck today. And I was pretty sure that would leave me in no shape to deal with Rhiannon, let alone Nuada. I blew my nose again and squared my shoulders.

  Clint was sitting in front of a TV that was tuned to a local news station. Seems it was snowing—again. I could hear the weatherman taking a lot of abuse from the newscasters.

  “Better?” He stood up and gave me a concerned look.

  I nodded. “Sorry about that, I—” And something flashed onto the television screen that tugged at my attention. I tilted my head so I could see around Clint to the TV.

  The perky blond newswoman’s smile was twisted sardonically. Over her left shoulder was the Playboy bunny logo, and underneath it huge, black letters read: BROKEN ARROW TEACHER TURNS FROM TEACHING TO TANTALIZING.

  “Ohmygod,” I breathed, my attention focused on the screen like it was a car wreck.

  “Now some local news that’s much hotter than the weather. The publicist for former Broken Arrow High School English teacher Shannon Parker has announced just this morning that the thirty-five-year-old has been asked to pose nude for Playboy magazine. And it’s already creating quite a stir—seems the ex-teacher, who currently resides in Chicago, is insisting the photo shoot take place back in her home state of Oklahoma.”

  Her cohost made some glib remark and they changed to sports. I felt dizzy and sat heavily into the nearest chair.

  “You’re not going to lose it again, are you?” Clint was peering at me with a guarded looked on his face—like he wasn’t sure if fight or flight would be his best choice.

  “Hugh Hefner!”

  “Come again?” Clint sounded as if he thought I’d lost my mind.

  “That’s who the hawk-looking guy was who was with Rhiannon when I saw her through the probe.” I shook my head. “Posing in the friggin nude for friggin Playboy! Dad is going to shit.” I covered my face with my hands and slumped down in the chair.

  “He’ll know it’s not you.”

  “Yeah, but that won’t make a damn bit of difference, no one else will know.” Suddenly I sat straight up and uncovered my face. “She’s coming to the forest. She wants to get you away from me, and she thinks a sexy Playboy shoot in your backyard will do it. And she’s calling Nuada there as some kind of backup plan.” It all came together. “The bitch wants to bump me off. She’s probably going to try to feed me to Nuada like I’m a real big kitty treat.”

  “She’s at her most powerful within the forest,” Clint added.

  “So am I,” I said determinedly. “And I have three things she doesn’t have.”

  Clint gave me a questioning look.

  “One—experience. I’ve been involved in killing Nuada once. All she’s done is taunt him awake with sex and evil. Two—the forest acknowledges me as Epona’s Chosen. And three—” I smiled at him “—I have you. Your power amplifies mine, and she has no clue how much. Actually, I have a very strong feeling that she has completely underestimated me, which is really good for us and really bad for her.” I stood up and grabbed Clint’s hand. “Let’s go. I’m sick of tiptoeing around in her shadow.”

  PART III

  CHAPTER 1

  The ride back to the forest was long and exhausting. We left Broken Arrow at a little after 9:00 a.m., stopped in some nameless town about six hours later to refuel the Hummer and ourselves (we found an open Sonic Drive-In. I felt up to a foot-long chili-cheese dog and tots. Don’t ever say I’m not a brave woman). Four hours later as the sun was setting, Clint finally braked to pull off the blacktop road and onto the snow-obscured path that led to his cabin.

  “Nagi Road,” I whispered as I studied the innocent-looking stretch of road outside the window. “Ghosts of the dead.” I would have known that road anywhere, even if my eyes were closed. It had a feeling to it—a sad, lonely feeling. I lifted my hand and pressed it against the window. “I will remember,” I murmured to the spirits that seemed to hover invisibly over the snow-covered road.

  Yes, it was still snowing. Not hard, but enough to let us know it still meant business.

  “Talking to ghosts?” Clint asked softly.

  “Definitely,” I responded quickly, making a mental note to be sure my handmaidens poured libations in remembrance of the Indian warriors at the next festival of the full moon.

  “Shit! It’s freezing.” My breath drifted around me in the frigid air as I got out of the Hummer and ran for the cabin. I kicked off my boots inside the door and followed Clint over to the fireplace.

  “Just takes a second for this place to heat up.” He smiled at me over his shoulder. “Have a seat—keep your coat on for a little while. You’ll be surprised how quickly you’ll get warm.”

  I nodded and did as I was told. The trip down had served to thaw Clint’s withdrawal. He and I hadn’t exactly chatted like old friends, but he was definitely out of his cave again. I knew it was selfish, but I preferred him this way—charming and attentive (who wouldn’t?). And, of course, as we had gotten closer and closer to his home, he had begun to relax. That stiff way of holding himself, like he would break in half if he bent too quickly, had almost disappeared.

  “There—” he finished feeding dry logs to the starter twigs “—that should do it.” He busied himself lighting the old-fashioned kerosene lanterns that stood on the sturdy end tables.

  “Do you think she’s here yet?” I asked.

  He sat in the rocking chair that faced me. “Well, I don’t think so, but I know one way we can find out.” He nodded toward the door.

  “You want to go look for her? Oh, please, no, not the grove. I’m just too damn tired.”

  “I think there’s an easier way. The trees might let me know if she was somewhere within the forest, but I’d be willing to bet a good load of firewood that they definitely would tell you.”

  I perked up. “Huh. I’ll bet you’re right.” I thought back to the twisted scene I had witnessed the night before. “Clint, I don’t think the trees like Rhiannon very much. I mean, not only do they call me Epona’s Beloved, and not Epona’s other Beloved, but I didn’t sense that they were helping her at all in her nasty little ritual. Do you think that’s really possible?”

  “Before I knew you I would not have thought it possible. But she’s not like you are with the trees. It seems she pulls power from somewhere—I mean somewhere in the land—but I know the trees don’t speak to her. And I know they didn’t welcome her like they did you.”

  “They were definitely silent in the grove in Chicago,” I added.

  “You’re the Goddess’s Chosen, Shannon my girl. She’s not,” he said simply.

  “Then let’s go see if the trees will rat her out.” I grinned and headed for the door.

  As he had last time we had walked in the forest, Clin
t led the way. The other trip we had taken to the heart of the forest seemed like an eternity ago, but it had only been days. It’s so odd, the way time flows.

  The forest was cold and beautiful. It looked formal dressed all in pristine white. Flakes floated gracefully around us as we plowed our way forward. It wasn’t full dark yet, so the clouds still reflected soft gray tinted with just a touch of the mauve the departing day leaves behind like a discarded scarf drifting down the sky.

  I studied Clint’s back. He walked strong and straight; all signs of the pained cripple had vanished.

  We hadn’t gone too far when he stopped abruptly and I almost crashed into him.

  “Over there.” He pointed off to the right of the trail and linked arms with me to help me navigate the rougher ground. “The trees aren’t as old as the ancient pin oaks in the glade, but I don’t think we need to go all the way there to get help.”

  The moment we stepped off the path I heard the whisperings.

  Welcome, Beloved!

  The Chosen One has returned!

  “No, we don’t have to travel any farther to get help,” I assured him, and I reached out, letting my free hand brush trunks, basking in the warmth of their acceptance.

  An enormous pine loomed in front of us. Its long-needled branches, which began well above my head, were clumped in glistening white. The sharp odor of pine washed over me, calling alive Christmas-morning memories.

  “Hello, old one,” I said, pulling my glove off and pressing my palm against the sticky bark.

  I hear you, Epona’s Beloved.

  The voice in my head was rich and masculine.

  “Will you aid me?” I asked.

  You have only to ask, Chosen One.

  I nodded at Clint. “He’ll help.”

  “I never doubted it,” he said, brushing an errant strand of hair from my face.

  Oh, Goddess, he looked strong and handsome.

  Tearing my eyes from his I refocused on the tree. “Is there another like me in the forest?”

  There is no other like you, Beloved of the Goddess.

  I sighed in frustration. How the hell do I communicate with a tree about Rhiannon? Then something the Goddess said flashed into my mind. Just before she had plucked me out of the grove in Chicago, she had said, Enough of this perversion.

  “Not like me then. Someone who has my appearance, but who perverts Epona’s will and consorts with evil. Have you seen her?”

  Not for some sunrises.

  “So she’s not here now?” I asked quickly.

  She is not.

  “Thank you, old one.” I turned to Clint. “She’s not here yet.”

  Evil comes, Chosen One.

  “What?” I felt a chill run through me that had nothing to do with the weather. “You mean her?”

  I feel another—an evil that has passed through here before. It returns.

  “Now?” I squeaked. “Is it here now?”

  Not yet, but soon. Not many more sunrises. It comes.

  “Will you tell me when it gets here?”

  You need only ask, Beloved of Epona.

  “Thank you,” I repeated. I took Clint’s arm. “Let’s go back. I’m freezing.” We stumbled to the path and began walking quickly to the cabin.

  “Nuada?” Clint asked.

  “Of course. The tree says he’s on his way back here. Not here yet, mind you, just on his way.” I tried to let go of Clint’s arm and he grabbed my hand so that I kept walking beside him. “It really freaks me out to think that he’s so damn evil that the trees can feel him when he’s not even here.” I shivered.

  “And Rhiannon resurrected him.” I glanced up at Clint.

  “What the hell’s wrong with her?”

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  “Really,” I persisted. “It doesn’t make any sense to me. You say she’s so like me physically, and our auras are the same. But it’s like she’s rotten inside. I just wonder why.”

  “Maybe she got all the evil and you got all the good.”

  “Oh, please. That theory might fly if I was a saint, but I’m not. I’ve done my share of shitty things. I have my share of mean, nasty thoughts. I’m certainly no saint.”

  “So, you’re normal. Most people have some bad in them.”

  “You’re right,” I had a sudden thought. “And maybe she has some good in her.”

  Clint raised his eyebrows and looked down at me like I was nuts.

  “Well, maybe she does!” I repeated as we entered the cozy cabin.

  “You’ll pardon me if I don’t adhere to your theory. I’ve spent more time with her than you have,” Clint said simply, as he led us back to the cabin.

  I was still deep in thought as I kicked off my boots and hung up my coat.

  “Shannon—I asked if you’re hungry,” Clint repeated, sounding exasperated.

  “Oh, sorry. Yeah, I guess I am, kinda.”

  “Why don’t you look through the middle drawer of my dresser for something more comfortable than those jeans to wear to bed, and I’ll fix us a couple of hot ham-and-cheese sandwiches.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I called to his back.

  I could hear the homey sounds of cooking as I pawed through his drawer. My hands sank into the well-washed thickness of a sweatshirt. Holding it up, I could barely make out the round logo on the front. It was a top-hatted beaver who was displaying playing cards in one hand and a white-tipped cane in the other. He looked like a furry, bucktoothed mini-gambler. Around the insignia were the words Beaver Air 125th Fighter Squadron. On the back there was a black-and-white picture of an F-16, the outline of the state of Oklahoma and another gambling beaver, with the words BEAVER AIR emblazoned over it, and Oklahoma Air Guard 138th Fighter Group Tulsa Oklahoma in bold letters under it.

  Flying beavers. Jeesh. Men—I shook my head. But I couldn’t help the smile that curved my lips.

  I listened to make sure he was still keeping busy in the kitchen before I pulled off my jeans, bra and shirt, and replaced them with Clint’s incredibly soft sweatshirt, which came down almost to my knees. I pulled the way-too-long sleeves up while I padded on sock feet into the kitchen.

  “Yum—sure smells good.” The frying ham sizzled in the cast-iron skillet. “Can I do something to help?”

  He glanced at me, smiling at the oversize sweatshirt. “I see you discovered my favorite.”

  “Oh…” I fidgeted. “I didn’t mean to wear your favorite. I can find anoth—”

  “Shh,” he hushed me. “I like you in it.” Before I was through blushing, he added, “Yes, there is something you can do. Make us a couple of salads. You’ll find the stuff in the veggie drawer.”

  We worked in companionable silence. Soon we were gnawing contentedly on thick ham-and-cheese sandwiches and crisp salads.

  “So, do you really have a plan to get rid of Nuada that has something to do with the trees, or was that just a line you were feeding your dad?” Clint asked through a bite of salad.

  “It was total bullshit. I don’t have a clue how to kill him. Oh, by the way, thanks for not blowing my story about Rhiannon helping us. Dad needs to concentrate on getting well, not on worrying about me.”

  He gave me a mock salute. “You’re the Chosen One—I’m just one of your adoring minions.”

  I ignored his comment but added, “And a damn fine cook.”

  “Why, thanks, Shannon my girl.” With a flourish he started cleaning up the dishes.

  “Let me help,” I said through a very unladylike yawn.

  “No, you don’t know where anything goes. I can do it quicker myself. Just go lie down. You and your daughter need rest.” He shooed me out of the kitchen.

  Actually, I was grateful. Even though the clock on the fireplace mantel said it was barely 8:00 p.m., I felt like it was past midnight. My body was craving sleep. Clint’s tall bed was mounded with comforters and I snuggled underneath them. Warm and contented, I curled on my side, staring sleepily into the crackling fire. The familiar
weight of my lids felt comforting and I allowed myself to drift off into seductive sleep.

  Sean Connery and I were floating on a giant raft that was shaped like a huge heart. We were somewhere in the Caribbean, and the water was a lovely clear turquoise. I was sipping a giant margarita and wearing…well…nothing but a smile and a tan (obviously I’m not pregnant in DreamLand). Sean was pouring coconut-flavored oil all over the back of me and whispering in his sexy Scottish accent how he was going to enjoy licking it off…

  …And I was suddenly suspended over Clint’s cabin.

  “I don’t suppose you could’ve waited till Sean had finished what he had started?” I sighed. DreamLand just hadn’t been the same since my Goddess had taken over.

  The Goddess ignored my quip and whispered within my mind. Beloved, it is time for you to see why events have come into being.

  “What events?” I was intrigued.

  Rhiannon’s fall. The Goddess’s voice was heavy with sadness.

  “You’re right. I do want to know.” After all, in many ways Rhiannon seemed a part of me. I felt compelled to understand how she had become so twisted.

  It will be a difficult journey, Beloved. We must travel through the layers of time, and we may stay only briefly. Do not speak. Touch nothing. You may only observe the past, not interact with it.

  “Kind of like Scrooge’s trip with the Ghost of Christmas Past?” I guessed.

  I thought I felt the tinkling of my Goddess’s laughter for a moment, then the words, Ready yourself, my Chosen One. Remember that I am with you.

  That sounded ominous, but before I could become too afraid I started floating up into the dark, starless sky. I went higher and higher, through the thick layer of snow-filled clouds until I popped out into the cold, silent night sky. More stars than I had ever before seen, even in Partholon, surrounded me. It looked like a goddess had broken a diamond-stranded necklace, and scattered the faceted beads across a blanket of black velvet. Then in front of me the sky rippled and opened. I just had time to peer into the shaft of darkness when I felt my soul ripped from its place in the night and thrown down that tunnel of colorless, churning black.