by O J Barré
His mother dabbed at her still-flowing tears. “I’ve asked myself, and him, that same question many times over the years. Truth is, I think he’s done the best he could. He’s not a lovey-dovey man, even with me. And as a surgeon, he basically lives at Emory. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you, Mitchell. He does. And he’s proud of the man you’ve become, even though it broke his heart when you chose to become a lawyer rather than a surgeon. He hates it, but respects that you stood up to him.”
Her words didn’t make him feel any better.
She cradled his face between her hands and lightly kissed him on the forehead, nose, and chin. Then she kissed his eyelids, his cheeks, and his lips.
Energy surged through Mitch, and his hurt bubbled up and out in a wail. “Mother, why didn’t you raise me as a druid? You knew I wanted that more than anything in the world. Lugh and Jake had to teach me what little I do know. From what you just told me, both you and Hamilton were powerful druids. Wouldn’t it have made sense to let me train?”
“Yes, and I regret that to this day. But once I fulfilled my duty to the Awen Order, your father made me promise to stop practicing. And to not raise our son as a druid. He wanted you to be ‘normal’—like him.” She wiped his tears with her knuckle. “Not that there was anything normal about you, Mitch. You were always extraordinary and still are. I just wish you hadn’t ‘inherited’ your dad’s arrogance.”
Stung, despite the good things she’d said, Mitch decided to hit her with Hamilton’s dirty secret—which was why he’d come over in the first place. “Did you also know that you’re only one of the many women Hamilton had relations with? All in the name of a female heir?” She had the grace to blush and look away.
“Yes, Mitch, I do know. It was Hamilton’s duty to produce a viable heir for the Awen Order. As the lineage is over a thousand years old, it was a heavy burden for one man to bear. If it makes you feel any better, it ruined his marriage. And from what I understand, Alexis was the only woman Ham ever loved. But most of his progeny turned out to be boys. Or girls that weren’t Awen material. Until Emily.” A light sprang to his mother’s eyes, along with more tears.
“Though we had signed a contract, it nearly killed me to give your sister to the Hesters. But you must understand, it was an honor to be chosen. For every one of us women. And our spouses. Because without the Awen, our Order loses its power to protect Earth. And protecting Earth is the reason the Order exists.”
Mitch shuffled his feet, anger spent. He felt hollow inside. Calm, even.
“I hope you can forgive me,” his mother lamented. “Can you see that this is bigger than any one person?”
Mitch nodded. He did understand. But that didn’t mean he had to like it. Or approve.
“Plus, sweetie, every one of those families was financially compensated. Quite handsomely, too. Especially us, because your sister turned out to be the Awen.” There was a flash of pride in her eyes before she stood and held out a hand. “Come with me. I want to show you my secret room.”
**
Mitch squealed out of Canongate’s driveway and floored the BMW down the avenue, before slamming his brakes at a stop sign. The anger that had been eating him alive was gone. Instead, he felt empty. And he still reeled—Emily Hester was not only Mitch’s sister but his twin. Which made Mitch feel nauseated.
He lowered the window and sucked in a breath. The day he took Lugh home from the hospital, Mitch had placed an illegal tap on his cell phone. Sure enough, Emily had called Lugh a couple of days ago. She was hiding in the Bahamas, and Mitch planned on seeing her soon.
He would fly to Nassau and meet Shalane. Then, together they would haul Emily back to Georgia. Not for the reward money, though money was always good. But because Mitch was determined to show the druids that he was better than the one they had chosen as Grand Druid.
Manny’s Party
After too many winter weeks indoors, Shalane turned her face to the sun. The speedboat skipped over the tops of the waves, spewing salty spray. She stiffened her arms on the seat behind her to keep from bouncing into the rowdy sea.
When Mitch had called with news of Emily’s whereabouts, Shalane had booked the first flight to Nassau. There, she paid a small fortune to an islander to motor her to Zephyr Cay, where Emily was reportedly holed up.
One of Shalane’s loyal devotees had grown up in the Bahamas. As chance would have it, he still maintained a beach home—of all places—on Zephyr Cay. When she’d contacted him about her trip, he’d told her he was throwing a shindig. And according to Manny, the entire island turned out for his famous pig roasts.
Which meant Ebby, aka Emily Hester, should be there.
Her heart beat faster. Nobody ran out on Shalane Carpenter. Not without giving up something dear. Plus, she now knew that Ebby had a brother. And if the hatred was mutual, Shalane would relish being the one to deliver her to him.
**
Shalane prowled the perimeter of the party. Dark had fallen, and still no Ebby. Maybe she wasn’t coming. Maybe Mitchell’s intel had been incorrect. Either way, Shalane had pulled a lot of strings to be here. Enough, that both Cecil and her manager were livid.
Her devotee Manny didn’t know she was here. Shalane had called from the airport with the news she couldn’t make it. Now she was Lolita Lozano, a singer-songwriter. The clueless Manny had flirted relentlessly with Lolita since Shalane had walked through the door.
The night was hot and sultry. True to his word, a couple-hundred people roamed Manny’s estate in various stages of drunken undress. Miniature lights threaded around the dance floor and through the palm grove, lighting the path to the beach where the crowd spilled over, dancing, laughing, drinking, and necking.
Her Bahamian driver and several of the locals had formed a drumming circle on the beach near the drink hut. The beat resonated in Shalane’s chest, and her twat responded to the gyrations of the scantily-clad men and women. After weeks of not much feeling down there, she welcomed the lust growing in her loins. Still, she refrained from taking a partner.
Most were intoxicated on Goombay Smash, a potent punch laced with several different types of rum. Shalane had abstained from that, but she had taken a few tokes from the bongs as they passed. The Sativa did little to calm the edge vibrating her nerves.
Annoyed that she couldn’t join the revelry, Shalane tapped her foot and swayed with the beat. She would like nothing more than to lose herself in the throng of islanders engaged in the singular pursuit of fun. But she couldn’t forget her primary purpose was finding Ebby.
But what if she was never coming? What if Emily really was dead?
Grabbing a drink from the bar, Shalane downed half. If Ebby wasn’t coming, she might as well let her hair down. Maybe she’d partner with one of the sexy locals. Or more than one. Then tomorrow, she would scour Zephyr Cay. She wouldn’t leave until she found her quarry, or determined Mitch’s lead had been false.
At the edge of the lanai, Shalane kicked her slides atop a pile of sandals. She glided to the improvised dance floor and wiggled her way to the center. The song changed and the cadence slowed. Sweaty bodies bobbed to the bongos and strings.
Someone caressed her shoulder, and Shalane turned to find it was her glistening host. She let him take her hand and twirl her around, then dance her across the crowded floor to a corner partially hidden from the partygoers. There, he pulled her against his muscular form and a delicious sensation flooded her tummy.
When he rubbed his hard cock against her clit, Shalane gasped. And when he lifted her off the ground onto his exposed bulb, she came then and there. Groaning, she tightened her arms around him and sawed up and down. He moaned and collapsed into her, pumping jism inside her spasming cunt. Shalane bounced and came again and again.
Devouring her lips, Manny held her against his still-hard cock and thrust harder. She surrendered to his plundering tongue, and came one more time, hard and heavy, as the music crescendoed and the dancers howled.
Breathless, Shalane regained her feet and clung to Manny to get her bearings. He guided her onto the dance floor and sashayed her to the liquor tent. With a knuckle tap to his ebony chin, Shalane disengaged, pulled her skirt down, and bellied to the bar as her host disappeared with a wink. Smiling, she used a napkin to wipe his cum from her bare crotch, then tossed it in a flaming metal drum.
The tempo of the music intensified. The entire clearing was a sea of people—the dance floor nearly indistinguishable from the surrounding area. Scantily-clad partiers grated to the frantic beat. Those standing on the sidelines swayed or bounced in time to the rhythm, absorbed in conversations impossible to hear.
Accepting a drink from the cheeky bartender, Shalane fished out a chunk of ice and rubbed it on her chest. It melted quickly, joining the pool of sweat between her breasts. Grateful for some relief from the sweltering heat, Shalane tilted the plastic cup and let the sweet rum punch cool her insides.
Her unsuspecting devotee had resumed his station greeting new arrivals beneath a cascade of white lights. A flash of scarlet caught Shalane’s eye, and an electric shock jolted her system. Manny’s arm was around none other than Emily Hester.
Ebby was alive. And here.
The redhead glanced in Shalane’s direction, scanned the crowd, then back again. Reacting quickly, Shalane lowered her face and let Lolita’s long hair fall across it. When Emily’s scrutiny passed her over and returned to their host, Shalane exhaled and stared.
Red hair looked good on Ebby. The mass of riotous curls was swept back and pinned. But something else was different. When they had first met, Ebby had no inkling of the power Shalane sensed within her. That had changed.
She seemed tired and anxious and worn around the edges, but Ebby Panera exuded an air of command. She had somehow managed to embrace and develop her latent powers—and without Shalane. That stuck in Shalane’s craw.
Towering over Ebby, was a lanky man of obvious American Indian heritage. The hooked nose and sandy hair didn’t quite match, but the man stood with an unconscious dignity and grace; the demeanor of one born into power and privilege. Shalane might like knowing him under different circumstances. But tonight, he was her competition.
She watched them together for another minute, envious of the way Ebby stuck to his side. Then a dark, petite man sidled up to the couple and put an arm around Ebby’s date, drawing him close for a quick embrace and warm kiss.
Satisfaction curled Shalane’s lips as Ebby greeted the newcomer, then stood alone, resignedly eyeing the revelers on the dance floor. Ebby panned the crowd again, and Shalane ducked, then the redhead followed her companion and the native through the writhing mob. Shalane shifted to keep the dancers between them and twisted her ankle, nearly falling on her ass.
Why, oh why, had she given up and gotten toasted? Her head was woozy from the Goombay Smash and too many bong hits. Now she’d probably sprained her ankle, and if she didn’t pee soon, her bladder might burst.
Speaking a spell to keep Ebby on the premises, Shalane fished her shoes from the pile, dangled them in one hand, and hobbled through the crowd keeping her head down. She took a last look and entered the house via a side patio, then wove her way through the rambling bungalow.
“Great. There’s a queue for the bathroom,” she mumbled, crossing her legs. “And no air conditioning.” Sweat beaded on her upper lip and dribbled down her décolleté. Her ears buzzed and her face flamed. It was hotter in the Bahamas than Hades.
But Ebby Panera was here. Alive and in person.
Fanning her skirt, Shalane schvitzed and waited. Christ, it was hot. Schnockered or not, it was time to put her plan into action. Then, Shalane would meet Mitch and fly Emily back to the mainland. And blessed air conditioning.
**
Emily waded through the cannabis haze that extended next door to the Atlantean Center. The neighbor’s backyard was crammed with half-naked people—drinking, smoking, and gyrating—all in manic party mode. Uneasy in crowds, Emily crossed her arms.
Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since lunch in town. Emily trailed Khenko and his friend Randall down a short path to the beach, where the rich aroma of spiced pork overtook the pot smell and made her mouth water.
At the roasting pit, a young Bahamian with laughing eyes and a smile that showcased perfect, white teeth, spooned pulled pork onto a paper plate. Beside it, another cutie added the traditional peas n’ rice, creamy potato salad, coleslaw, and a hunk of Johnny Cake. Emily carried it to a seat at the nearest table.
Like his namesake the stork, Khenko folded his long frame onto the wooden bench. Randall slid a heaping plate next to him and went off to get their drinks from the nearby tiki hut.
The meat was succulent, simmered for hours in the roasting pit with smoky spices. The potato salad and sweet coleslaw she pushed to the side, but ate every morsel of the peas n’ rice, and nibbled half-heartedly at the Johnny Cake. Randall returned with three plastic cups and claimed a newly-abandoned seat.
When the rum and grenadine concoction struck her palette, Emily gagged. She managed to swallow the strong, sweet liquid, shuddering when the burn trailed down her throat all the way to her belly. Shaking like a poodle, she pushed the rest aside.
The sense of impending doom she’d had all afternoon was quiet for the moment. Emily was almost enjoying herself, despite the late hour and unyielding heat. The long nap had helped with the fatigue that had dogged her since the earthquake. She breathed a heavy sigh, grateful the air was fresher out here.
Blotting sweat from her face with a napkin, she unfolded it and spread it over her food. The meat was tasty, but it was the first she had eaten since her arrival on the island, and her stomach felt queasy. She was wondering if another helping of peas n’ rice would calm it down when Randall passed her a bong.
Having never smoked Bahamian weed, Emily was curious. She took a small tug from the tall, cylindrical pipe, coughing when it overfilled her lungs. When it circled again, Emily took another, more tentative hit. Still, she coughed, hacking until the pork rose to the back of her throat. She waved it away next time, and giggled at Khenko cutting up with the others.
Until chills danced on the back of her neck and arms. Her spidey-senses flared to life, and the unnerving feeling returned full-force. Emily scanned the wide beach, searching for anything out of the ordinary.
Instead, she spied a row of recycle-potties. Excusing herself, she headed for them, weaving a bit in the shifting sand. The weed-rum combo had been mighty potent. She normally abstained, so it didn’t take much.
Wedging herself into a portable potty that stank of vomit and fresh excrement, she unrolled a fistful of toilet paper and held it to her nose to quell the stench. Gagging, she finished and escaped into the warm night air. On the fringe of the party, beyond the reach of the lights, she could hear the waves slapping against the shore.
Emily kicked her flip-flops at the edge of the jungle and strolled to the sea, stopping when a wave washed over her toes. As the water receded, tiny crabs scrambled from hastily-dug holes.
A late-rising thumbnail moon hung low on the horizon. Its meager reflection played on the surf and gently lit the underbellies of the breakers. Sinking to her heels in the warm sand, Emily squatted and rested her elbows on her knees, looking out across the ocean.
Where were Ooschu and the others? She hadn’t seen them since early that morning when Khenko convinced the bossy air dragon to give her a much-needed break. a-Ur’s plan to escort Emily to Beli scared the crap out of her. Even after all the training, Emily had no idea how to be a champion, much less a savior.
Thinking of the impossible task before her, Emily’s heart kerthumped, and a band tightened around her chest. Her hands began tingling, and soon the sensation traveled up the inside of one arm.
Was she having a heart attack? In the middle of nowhere? Please God, no. She was on a tiny island, one of the few remaining vestiges of the Bahamian chain, and it likely had no real doctor. Terrified of dying alon
e on the beach, Emily tried to stand, but the world tilted sideways and she stumbled forward. Saliva filled the back of her throat.
Falling to her knees, she barfed up the pork and peas n’ rice. When the waves brought it back to swirl around her, Emily groaned and tried to move out of the way. Round and round the world spun. She retched on hands and knees in her own vomit until nothing was left, then heaved some more.
When the vomiting finally subsided, Emily dragged herself a few feet to one side and splashed water on her face and mouth. She waited another minute just in case, then crawled ever so slowly on hands and knees toward the coppice. She kept her head down and breathed in and out, trying to convince herself it was an anxiety attack.
“My heart is fine. I am safe and secure. I am protected by a medicine man and three dragons. There is nothing to worry about at the present moment. Nothing at all. I am safe. I am secure. God’s holding me in his arms. God’s got me.”
By the time she made it to the edge of the jungle, Emily’s breath was ragged. She collapsed in the sand, sweat pouring from her brow and down the front of her thin dress. She tried to sit, but her head started spinning, so she flopped to her back.
Soon the world settled and stood mostly still. At least until Emily opened her eyes long enough to see a couple strolling in the surf holding hands. On the speakers, Bob Marley and the Wailers belted out “Jamming”. The local band must be taking a break.
When the tingling and tightness were mostly gone, Emily decided it was time to get back to the party. Khenko would be worried. But when she tried to stand, the symptoms came racing back.
Reciting Taliesin’s poem to calm her nerves, Emily stared at a star twinkling blue in the heavens above the palm fronds. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she gave in to the insidious fatigue.
A Helping Hand
What if they couldn’t get out? Or what if they did, and everything changed between him and Ethnui? Something sighed in the shadows behind Brian. It was barely audible, but his hearing had sharpened in UnderEarth. And he could almost feel whatever it was breathing down their necks.