by O J Barré
“Huh,” she said flatly. “I had not seen this.” In the accompanying picture, Shalane’s arm was draped over Patty’s shoulder with her hand cupping Patty’s boob. “Oh, great,” she moaned. They were both high as kites, and you could tell.
Making a mental note of the reporter’s name, she glanced at Latoya over the screen, then handed the phone back. Patty didn’t need to read the article. She knew all about Shalane and her vices. Which were more numerous than a reporter could know.
But she planned to contact a reporter about Nergal once she got back to L.A. It might as well be this one.
Latoya’s expression was sad and concerned. She tapped the phone with a silver manicured nail. “I felt bad for you when I saw this. Are you okay?”
Patty gulped and realized her own hands were clenched tight. She relaxed them and gave Latoya the most pitiful look she could muster.
“Yes, mostly. Shalane was nice at first. Lately, not so much. I decided to leave her this morning and made it as far as the bus stop. She found me and dumped me here at the airport with a ticket back to L.A. Once I get there, who knows?” She shrugged and let the corners of her mouth sag.
The actress laid a hand on Patty’s wrist. “You poor girl.”
Patty rolled her hand over and entwined her fingers with Latoya’s long, warm ones. “It’s sweet of you to care. Thank you, Ms. Cloud.”
Latoya rubbed Patty’s hand briskly between hers before letting go. “Call me Latoya. Do you have a ride home from the airport?”
Patty wagged her head and looked down at her own stylish shoes, courtesy of Shalane. With a soft knuckle, Latoya lifted Patty’s chin. Their eyes met, and Patty knew she was in.
“You do now. My limo driver will drop you wherever you’d like.”
A welcome warmth filled Patty. That had been easy. Almost too easy. “Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother.”
“Nonsense.” The actress tossed her long brown hair. “It’s no bother at all.” Her voluptuous lips retracted in a smile that revealed perfect white teeth. Tiny gold hearts decorated the front ones.
Patty stared for a second, having never seen orthodontia like that, then sat back and breathed a sigh of relief.
**
Shalane mounted the stairs of the tour bus two at a time, thankful to discover Cecil was still out. She itched to answer the email she’d received from Mitch Wainwright. He had been out of the country since their brief, but tempestuous fling in Atlanta. Now he wanted to meet her in Asheville, North Carolina, the next stop on Shalane’s tour.
Sinking into her desk chair, she flipped open the laptop, heart thumping as she clicked the link. Her crotch twitched in anticipation. Their last hookup had been mind-blowing, and not just the sex. Something had happened to Shalane that weekend, something unrelated to the physical attraction she felt for the mysterious man.
She reread the last paragraph. “I have news about Emily Hester’s father. If revealed, it will serve to vindicate me, and likely bring an end to the Hester Empire. That will be a day of jubilation. I would like you to celebrate it with me.”
She certainly would. Not because she knew or cared anything about the Hesters he spoke of. But because the attorney had captured Shalane’s fancy, and possibly her heart.
She stopped short and replayed her last thought, horrified at the connotation. No way should she have feelings for that man. He was a misogynist who cared nothing for Shalane or her feelings. Or anyone else’s for that matter.
Nevertheless, she tingled all over at the thought of seeing Mitch again. Which gave her further pause. For the first time since her coming of age, Shalane’s insatiable sex drive had been nonexistent. And it had started after spending that night in Atlanta with Mitch Wainwright.
Fear ran roughshod over her anticipation. Shalane buried her face in her hands and pressed her thumb in her throbbing eye socket. Exhaustion descended, weighing her down. Even her head felt heavy when she lifted it to glance longingly at the bed.
Rising slowly, Shalane shucked off her clothes and peeled back covers the maid had straightened. She climbed in and stretched, luxuriating in the soft, expensive sheets. The image of a sexy blond-turned-redhead filled her thoughts. Mitch insisted the woman meant something to Shalane.
Sitting up, she stuffed the pillows behind her and called on Archangel Michael to show her the memories related to Ebby Panera and Emily Hester. She took three breaths, anchored, and entered a meditative state.
Shalane was in the Atlanta rental car. From the woods emerged a petite woman with curly red hair. Shalane followed her to a park, left the car, and hurried down the path to lean against a boulder.
Soon, Ebby Panera emerged from the woods. Shalane stepped into her path, excitement mounting. Only Ebby wasn’t thrilled—she was angry. They argued and fought, then Shalane blacked out. But she’d seen enough.
Once out of the trance, Shalane’s anger mounted. Ebby’s real name was Emily Hester. She had found her power and had somehow managed to sock Shalane with a memory charm.
That’s why Shalane had forgotten. That’s why she had awakened in the park with no memory of Ebby or Emily. Grabbing her cell phone, she called Mitch Wainwright.
Closing In
Maw’s thoughts churned. He hadn’t notified Shibboleth about the fiasco in Agartha. Inanna was supposed to be dead at Maw’s hand. Now, his mercs had let both her and Ishkur escape. On top of that, witnesses at the bar reported the presence of two other parties—a petite doctora, and a burly Draco wearing a black hooded-cape.
Not one of the bystanders admitted to getting a look at the Draco’s face. And though he walked with a bent posture, and a pronounced limp, the reported-size matched. Inanna had survived. Now Maw was convinced that Nergal had too.
Furious, Maw half-walked, half-slid down the last hill. At the base, he signaled the others to wait. He strode to the place where the signal had originated. The clearing was empty. He circled, inspecting, but the ground was swept clean.
“Spread out,” he barked. “Search high and low. The scum are here somewhere. Or at least a clue as to where they headed.”
When that yielded nothing, the Dracos grumbled. Maw had marched them from the compound before breakfast. If he didn’t let them eat, he’d have a mutiny on his hands.
“At ease. Eat. Drink. Fill your flasks from the spring.”
Maw’s hand-picked warriors settled haphazardly around the clearing. Presently, a recruit still wet behind the ears, a Draca who had proven her worth in the field, fished a handheld from the creek. Maw snatched it away and stared at the damaged screen.
Needles of impotent rage coalesced into one fiery inferno. He threw back his head and roared long and loud, then slung the broken phone in exasperation. So much for tracking Ishkur and Inanna the easy way.
Instead of slamming against the side of the mountain and bouncing off as Maw expected, the device disappeared. Curious, he charged in that direction and found a barely-visible path that appeared to lead into the mountain. He entered the bushes. His company followed as he navigated a series of switchbacks through the dense foliage. When he reached an opening, he signaled them to hang back.
Ducking into the cave, Maw detached a lightstick from his belt and shone it around the interior. The only clue of occupation was a faint aroma of smoke. Ordering his warriors to follow, Maw strode to the rear of the cave.
Under the Kapok Tree
Emily turned right onto the gravel lane that served as Zephyr Cay’s thoroughfare. Once uninhabited, the island had become a self-sustaining, if tiny, community after the lower-lying islands succumbed to rising seas. Home to one of the world’s smaller blue holes, Zephyr Cay hosted a plethora of plant and animal species, some of which were native to the Bahamas.
She strolled in the general direction of the blue hole, savoring the sweet aroma of jungle flowers.
“Got the pigs, the fixings, tents, lights, servers—”
Emily jerked around to see who was talking. Manny, the owner
of the neighboring estate, appeared alone at the end of his driveway.
Had he been talking to himself? He shoved something in the mailbox and threw up a hand. Emily waved back, but kept her head down. When he didn’t strike up a conversion, she breathed a sigh of relief. She needed every moment of her alone-time.
In no particular hurry, she walked slowly to the spectacular clump of pale pink trumpets she had seen the day before. As their intoxicating scent washed over her, Emily consulted the pocket guide Khenko had loaned her after poking fun at her endless questions. The healer was a wealth of knowledge, but when asked about this plant, he’d merely said, “Stay away.”
Emily had seen similar blooms in California known as Angel’s Trumpet. Pale white or yellow, they drooped toward the ground. These pointed upward. She rifled the pages of Wildlife of the Caribbean, and stopped at a picture of the pink flower. “Devil’s Trumpet” the caption read. She sneezed and held her nose.
“Datura, or sacred datura, is a poisonous perennial plant that is also cultivated as an ornamental flower. Sometimes used as a hallucinogen, it is classified as a deliriant and anticholinergic. Other common English names include jimsonweed, moonflower, devil's weed, hell's bells, and thorn-apple.”
Glad she had resisted the urge to pluck one, Emily stepped away from the dangerous beauty and slid the pocket guide in a fanny pack. She mopped her brow and resumed her walk, slicing through the hot, stagnant air.
The jungle teemed with birds unfazed by the tropical heat. They tweeted and chirped and chattered in the trees, calling to one another and zipping about. Peering eagerly from side to side, Emily tripped and almost did a face-plant in the rutted lane.
Regaining her balance, she consulted the guide, identifying flycatchers and phoebes and a West Indian Woodpecker that tapped out a dinner beat against a tall palm tree.
“Bob-WHITE, bob-bob-bob-WHITE.” The shrill call from the copse near her feet startled Emily. Deeper in the jungle, the refrain repeated.
She wheeled as a quail family burst across the road, mama and babies running to escape an unseen threat. Relieved she wasn’t under attack, Emily chuckled. The birds looked like the northern bobwhites that roamed the woods at Wren’s Roost. She consulted her guide and darned if they weren’t.
Turning back toward the blue hole, she almost collided with a black and white butterfly. It fluttered across her path and meandered aimlessly before lighting on a spray of red pentas. This one she knew. The Zebra Longwing was Florida’s state butterfly. And poisonous, though not as deadly as Devil’s Trumpet. Leave it to Emily to uncover the treacherous.
She took a long gulp from her water bottle. At least the pretty pentas were medicinal. She’d learned they were used as a natural remedy for snake bite, diarrhea, roundworm, and malaria. Gazing around at the beauty of the jungle, Emily sighed.
Some of the worry and anxiety that were her constant companions seemed to have melted away. She had sorely needed to be alone. Her wounds might be mending, but she was suffering from a nasty case of Not Enough Alone Time. Which usually meant too many people, for too many days in a row.
At the Atlantean Center, that included two bossy dragons. Talav and Ooschu were alike in many ways, but both had eccentricities. Talav was forward and acted without thinking about consequences. But she was also kind and gentle when she wasn’t pushing Emily to connect with her inner Awen. Ooschu shared Emily’s melancholic tendencies and her moods were as unpredictable as the wind. In the ocean, she was graceful and acrobatic but tripped over her own feet on land.
But both dragons exuded deep, compassionate wisdom that soothed Emily’s demons. At times, the Keepers made her feel invincible. Especially when the Awen appeared.
Wishing she’d taken the hat Khenko had offered, Emily rounded a lazy curve and halted. The lane opened to a sandy beach she hadn’t noticed on her previous walk. Had she taken a wrong turn?
She glanced back in the direction she’d come. There had been no turns.
Puzzled, she sighed when the wind kicked up to cool her sweaty brow and less-mentionable places. White hibiscus blossoms and tall grasses waved gaily in the newly-sprung coastal breeze. The creek that babbled beside the road detoured to rush downhill toward the sea.
Emily followed the path to a narrow strip that was strewn with Sargassum seaweed. Kicking off the borrowed sandals, she wiggled her toes in the hot sand, then tiptoed through the seashell-laced sargassum to the warm, gently lapping Atlantic.
She could get used to this life. Emily had always wanted to retire on the beach, or to a cabin on a mountaintop. Maybe she would combine the two. But that was somewhere in the far distant future. Assuming she lived that long.
She thought of Lugh MacBrayer, and her pulse quickened. Should she try to contact him again in the Otherworld? She’d been practicing. Her pre-bed ritual these days was a brief yoga session with Khenko in the activity room, lights out by 9pm-ish, then her forays into the Otherworld.
She’d gotten quite good at contacting the dragons and Khenko. But she’d also spoken to her Da a couple of times, and once thought she’d sensed her mother. Cu and Hope had yet to answer, or anyone else she’d tried.
A mewing seagull wheeled overhead, then soared out to sea. A family of iguanas she had disturbed upon arrival, crept cautiously back onto their rock, while a pair of squawking Cuban parrots played hide and seek around the trunk of a sprawling kapok tree.
Marveling at its enormous size, Emily left the water for the kapok. She crab-walked onto one of its larger roots, disturbing a willet and two tiny plovers. The willet took flight and the plovers dashed across a strand rippled by low tide.
Emily wasn’t sure, but thought they might be Piping Plovers. She flipped through the guide and confirmed her suspicion. An endangered species that wintered in the Bahamas, the plovers should be in North America by now.
She watched them for a while, then leaned against the kapok to peer up at its high, umbrella-like canopy. Something she’d read niggled at Emily. A Mayan something or another. The smooth, warm bark cradled her body as she flipped to the middle of the pocket guide.
The Ceiba tree, pronounced SEE-ba, (Ceiba pentandra; also kapok or silk-cotton tree) is a tropical tree native to North and South America, as well as Africa. Its name is Yax Che (“Green Tree” or “First Tree”) in the Mayan language.
“North America?” Emily wondered aloud. “Where in North America?” Then she remembered the ones she’d seen in Key West, Florida as a little girl. They’d looked so exotic, she’d imagined they’d come from a foreign land. Awed, she read more.
For ancient Mayans, the ceiba was considered the most sacred tree. It was the symbol of the universe according to Maya mythology, and represents a route of communication between the three levels of earth.
The three levels of Earth. Chills ran up Emily’s spine and scalp, and down her arms. She shivered and kept reading.
The ceiba’s roots were said to reach down into the underworld, its trunk represented the middle world where humans live, and its canopy of branches symbolize the upper world and the thirteen levels in which the Maya heaven was divided.
“So the Maya knew about the Underworld.”
A large wave crashed against the sea bottom and rushed to shore, driving the willet and plovers before it. A sudden gust of wind sent the gulls screeching. It slammed against Emily and rattled the long leaves of the kapok tree.
A memory clicked inside her. Of what, she didn’t know. The kapok trembled and a chill ran down Emily’s spine as the willet, the plovers, the parrots, and even the iguanas all turned to face her.
“Hail, Awen, Queen of the Druids,” they cried in unison. Then each of them bowed, including the iguanas, which was a sight to see.
Emily’s jaw fell open, and tears sprang to her eyes. She stood and clung to the immense trunk as a surge of love filled her heart. Then Awen emerged and swept Emily forward to acknowledge the creatures. In that crystalline moment, Emily could feel Awen inside her, and they dwelt
as one. It was odd, but not unpleasant like the times before.
Encouraged, Emily bowed again. “Hail Creatures of Zephyr Cay. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“And we yours, Awen,” the willet cheeped. The other birds tittered and the iguanas did push-ups on the rock. The seagulls, not to be outdone, lifted from the sea in unison and formed a semicircle in the air around Emily.
“Hail Awen, Queen of the Druids.”
Awen stirred and smiled upon them. “Hail humble gulls, seabirds of my heart.”
Emily bowed her head and placed her hand over her heart. The gulls lingered in the air a few beats, then reversed direction and dove for the sea.
Touched, Emily twisted to wrap her arms around the kapok, though her reach was less than half its girth. “Thank you, dear Ceiba, for sheltering me. I am in your debt.”
The tree shuddered. One of its leaves let go and drifted toward Emily. She plucked it from the air and turned it over. Eight separate, lance-shaped leaves were attached to one stem and formed a fan. Carefully folding them all together, Emily placed the gift in her fanny pack, then touched her lips to the kapok’s smooth bark.
Awestruck by what had transpired, Emily stared out to sea until the peaceful soughing of water on sand was interrupted by the strident call of a Sandhill crane. Moments later, Khenko’s metal bell clanged, calling her to dinner.
Wishing she could stay longer, she slid slowly from the kapok tree and started for the Atlantean Center. Her precious alone time had passed too quickly. But the Awen had appeared. And for the first time since this had all begun, the encounter left Emily with inner peace, rather than shaky in the knees.
Waylaid
A loud noise woke Brian. He sat up straight, disturbing Ethnui whose head rested on his shoulder. She looked around wild-eyed, then the chute lurched and came to a stop. The lights flared on and the alarm quieted. The doors slid open and without warning, they were ejected from the car.