Czytaj książkę: «Sorceress of Faith»

Selected praise for Robin D. Owens

“Robin D. Owens…provides a wonderful, gripping mix of passion, exotic futuristic settings and edgy suspense.”

—New York Times bestselling author Jayne Ann Krentz on Heart Duel

“Like a well-played symphony, Guardian of Honor resonates in the hearts of those fortunate enough to read it.”

—Huntress Reviews

“Fans will gobble up Guardian of Honor and still be hungry for more.”

—The Best Reviews

“Robin Owens blends medieval history, a richly layered magical world and fine characterizations to weave a spell-binding story in Guardian of Honor.”

—BookLoons

ROBIN D. OWENS
SORCERESS OF FAITH

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The Usual Suspects: Kay Bergstrom (Cassie Miles), Liz Roadifer, Janet Lane, Sharon Mignerey (www.sharonmignerey.com), Steven Moores, Judy Stringer, Anne Tupler, Sue Hornick, Alice Kober, Teresa Luthye, Peggy Waide (www.peggywaide.com), Giselle McKenzie

To Kay

Who encouraged and supported me from the

beginning and continues to do so—

my stories would be so much less without you

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

1

Boulder, Colorado

Late spring, early morning

She was running, running, running. Marian wished the passages were narrower, twistier, because the thing that chased her was huge and deadly. With each breath putrid air seared her lungs. The cavern’s corridors oozed slime.

She stumbled, clutched the plastic ball holding her hamster close. Looking down at her cross-trainer shoes in horror, she saw the laces were untied. She always tied them in perfect double bows.

A vibration hit her back. The monster’s breath. Stitch cramping her side, she used terror for a burst of speed and reached narrow upward stairs. Fresher air, laden with blood instead of poisonous acid, fouled her nostrils. She climbed, thinking the thing behind her could flow up the stairs. It wanted her blood, her guts, her brains.

Bumping from side to side, scraping skin raw, protecting her pet, she jumped up the steps and burst out onto a wide ledge of rock. With agility she didn’t know she had, she pivoted, avoiding the edge, hit the cliff face. Leaned into it. Gulping night air, she felt the thing brush past her, and fall screaming.

She couldn’t stop herself from looking down. Saw something worse than the huge shattered body of the monster that had hunted her. Her younger brother Andrew was surrounded by chanting black-robed druids who looked like death personified. Some of the druids held scythes, some gongs, some chimes.

Prone Andrew was, more pale than he’d ever been in life. Shrieking, “Nooooo!” she put the ball between her feet, lifted her arms as if she could call thunder that would set his heart to thumping again, push his blood; lightning that would nail his soul into his body, fire the spark of life.

A wet chuckle came next to her, freezing her blood. Slowly she turned her head to see a cowled figure with gleaming red eyes, a face not quite human but which might have been a man’s, once. He opened his mouth wide, and it got larger and larger, ready to swallow her whole. She raised her hands, fingertips arcing blue fire—

Marian Harasta jolted from the dream, covered in clammy sweat. Morning light streamed through the high windows of her garden apartment and she gasped in relief.

Before she could exhale, the chimes sounded, rippling through her nerves and echoing in her mind. Then the gong reverberated, arching her body off the bed. Her vision blurred and distant chanting rushed in her ears. She was bowed for one long moment before she fell back onto the bed, panting.

First the nightmare. Now the sounds. For the past months, dreams and auditory hallucinations had peppered her life—sleeping and waking. She steadied herself with even breathing. She would figure out what was happening to her. She’d had a full physical the week before, and a psychological evaluation, too. And she was perfectly fine.

The strangeness had started with sounds, then the dreams, then an itchy feeling as if she were a butterfly escaping from a constrictive cocoon, ready to stretch her wings. The notion was more than a little scary because her academic career was on track and her life tidy and under control. Except for Andrew, her half brother with progressive-remitting Multiple Sclerosis.

Brrrrinnng. The telephone. She flung off her covers and stumbled from bed, staggering to the phone charger on the kitchen counter. She had to blink a couple of times to read the caller ID. Her mother, Candace. Hell. The relationship with her mother, too, was out of Marian’s control. She let voice mail answer.

Marian wiped her face on the sleeve of her flannel nightgown, pondering options to understand, then fix, her problems. She couldn’t discuss this with her academic professors of Comparative Religion and Philosophy, or her advisor sheparding her through her doctorate. Her university profs would not understand. She didn’t want any oddness attached to her spotless reputation as she planned on a professional career.

Since the problem wasn’t physical or psychological, she’d considered psychic phenomena. Since she’d been fascinated by alternative spiritualities for years, she thought she might find help there.

She’d examined all the notes from all the classes she’d taken outside the university—New Age classes that fed her thirst for knowledge—searching for answers. Somewhere there was a solution for what plagued her and she would find it.

As she padded to the bathroom, she checked on her hamster, Tuck, curled in his cage in the alcove. A half-chewed piece of carrot was within paw reach. All was well in his small world.

Marian only wished it were the same for her. She worked hard to keep her life in order, and usually succeeded, but lately…

In the shower as water slicked away sweat, she decided to call Golden Raven. The lady leaned more to Native American beliefs than Marian did, but she was more open-minded than many and would listen without judging. She might know of instances similar to Marian’s experiences. That would be a good step in controlling the weirdness that had invaded her life.

“Yes,” she muttered as she dressed for her work-study job. “I need Golden Raven.” She went to the telephone. Should she call Golden Raven or Candace? Glancing at the clock, she thought it might be too early for Golden Raven. If Marian didn’t phone Candace back, her mother’s mood would turn nasty and her demands would escalate. Inhaling deeply, Marian called the residence of Candace’s sixth husband, a mansion in an old, upscale area of Denver.

Candace’s tone was sharp. “Well, Marian, it’s good you called.” Papers rustled in the background. Since Candace didn’t launch into speech, Marian figured her mother was multitasking.

Excellent. Maybe they could get through a conversation without damaging each other. “What do you want, Mother?” asked Marian.

“Hmm? Oh, yes, Marian. You must come down here to Denver for a fund-raiser tomorrow night, Friday, 7:30 p.m. Cocktails and dinner.”

“Why, Mother?” Marian was deeply entrenched in academia now; she’d never be a person who could enhance her mother’s status in any way. Thank God.

Candace heaved an exasperated sigh. “Trenton Philbert III remarried a month ago. A woman who runs one of the largest occult shops in Denver. Why he married such a creature, no one knows. I just learned he and his new wife will be at the benefit. Trenton dotes on the woman and his contribution is necessary for us to meet our goal.”

Ah, various cities competed to raise the most money and Candace intended to prove she was the best. Candace continued, “So I need to keep his wife happy to keep him happy.”

Instead of zooming in on the woman like a barracuda.

“I can’t imagine that anyone would have any idea what to say to her.” Creature was still in Candace’s voice. “Then, I thought of you, of course. With all your…experience in that area.”

Sounded like Marian attended seances and channeling every night.

Hooking up again with the Denver New Age community might not be a bad thing. In one way, Marian could even convince herself that her company would be beneficial for the unknown woman. And there were some good, kind people in Denver society that Marian would like to see again. Too bad her mother didn’t happen to be one. Despite her methods, though, Candace was great at raising money.

“I don’t think so, Mother.”

“I can make it worth your while,” Candace continued.

Marian waited for the bribe. Bribes sometimes worked. Marian had to know more about the situation to figure out whether the favor was worth whatever Candace was offering.

“I know you’re studying too hard. Having the rest of your college fund would make life easier.”

In Candace’s mind, Marian was always studying too hard. Candace didn’t understand that learning was a pleasure. Though she understood that knowledge was power, at least when it came to playing the Denver social game, using secrets.

“Marian, did you hear me? I told you that I could release the last of your college fund.”

Good bribe, and if bribes didn’t work, Candace used the threat: Withholding her college fund now, Andrew’s welfare when he’d been younger. He was twenty-four, four years younger than Marian. She’d tried to take care of him, since Candace was uninterested in her son.

“I’ll think about it,” Marian said.

“I need a commitment,” Candace snapped. “I’ll call Andrew. It may take some doing on his part, but he’ll come.”

“No, Mother, I don’t want you bothering Andrew.”

Candace ignored her. “Of course he’ll come. The Colorado Charities Fund disburses money to the Multiple Sclerosis Foundation of Colorado. I always have an advantage when campaigning for the Chairmanship of the Fund drive—with poor Andrew being afflicted with MS, and at such an early age, too.”

Fury veiled Marian’s vision in a red haze. Good thing that the phone was industrial strength; otherwise it would have crumbled under her grip. How Candace could think of her own son that way…

“Andrew is a person with a challenging disease. Don’t define him as a victim.”

Candace sniffed. “Believe what you want. Now, about the fund-raiser, tell me whether the weather will be clear.”

Heat crept up Marian’s neck. She’d always had weather-sense. She shifted and felt the connection to Mother Earth, one reason she loved the garden-level apartment. “Clear and cool,” she said.

“Good. Your drive down from Boulder should be fine, then.”

Rubbing her forehead, Marian said, “I’ll be there.”

“I thought so, and bring that delightful Professor Wilse with you.”

Marian shuddered at the thought of Jack Wilse. Mistake. She admired his body but deplored his values. He’d manipulated and used her, too, before her mind got her hormones under control. It was inconceivable to her now that she’d had a brief affair with him. “He won’t be coming with me.”

“Marian, you can’t attend alone! How will it look? Speaking of looks, you have used that exercise club membership I bought for you so you’d lose those extra pounds, haven’t you?”

“My weight is my own business.” Candace would continue to comment on it anyway. “I will be coming alone—or not at all. If you want me there, deposit the rest of my college fund into my account and e-mail me the details.” Marian hung up.

Mistake. She’d allowed her mother to manipulate her. Would she ever learn? But this time, she’d gotten the last of her college fund. With chilled fingers she reached for her appointment book, flipped to the end where she’d listed her five-year plan. She inserted Friday’s date as the day she’d receive the money that would set her free from her mother, and launch her fully on her career path. Ahead of schedule, but right on track. She wouldn’t allow anything or anyone—especially her mother—to control her again. Her own mistakes might be bad, but they were hers. Hers to learn from.

She felt as if she’d been stung, and poison was spreading through her system. Like so many times before in her life. That’s what happened when you were raised by an unevolved Scorpio.

Grumbling, Marian stalked through her living room. A book from the bookshelf-lined walls thumped to the floor. She stopped and stared. There was a gaping hole on the second shelf where she kept her Wiccan books neatly alphabetized by author.

She swallowed. Even before she picked up the book, she knew what it would be: Craft Your Own Ritual, by a well-respected Wiccan. It was the third time this week that volume had fallen from the shelf.

As usual, the crisp pages fell open to a full-moon ritual. Rising anxiety made her pulse race. She closed her eyes and colors swirled behind her eyelids, followed by a flash of the image of Andrew from her nightmare.

Her eyelids flicked open. Her chest tightened. All the recent coincidental signs pointed to her conducting a full-moon ritual. Marian glanced at the yearly moon phase chart she’d framed. Full moon tomorrow night, Friday—the same night she’d agreed to attend Candace’s benefit.

A knock came at her door and a tingle ran up her spine. She pushed aside the curtain draped over the apartment door’s small window, looked out. Golden Raven stood on the threshold. She smiled until the lines deepened around her blue eyes and framed her mouth. Beyond her was an old van packed full of boxes, ready for a long trip.

With a sigh, Marian opened the door.

“I heard you call me,” Golden Raven said.

Jaquar’s Tower, Sorcerers’ Mue Island, east of LladranaLate spring, that same morning

Jaquar stood naked in the alcove that held his magical supplies and looked into the round ritual room of his tower. A faint blue-green steam eddied and flowed along the lines of the pentacle carved into the stone floor. His shoulders tensed at the thought of plane-walking—leaving his body behind to float astrally through different layers of existence. He was a Circlet—the highest rank of Sorcerer—of Weather Control and plane-walking, but he’d been focused on the second craft for the past three weeks.

Putting off the moment when he’d have to look in the Enhanced Mirror, the last step before the ritual, he turned back to the work counter and set his hand on the upper leaf in a huge book.

He’d made the book himself. Each sheet was a non-physical plane he’d traveled. Sheets were arranged in the same layers as the planes themselves. A being existed on many planes, but a good plane-walker like himself could separate himself from his body and explore one layer at a time.

The leaf he’d turned to was the plane he’d visit. One of seething, low emotions—evil emotions only. A plane for monsters, not humans. But he was tracking a monster. The monster that had killed his adoptive parents three weeks ago.

A chime notified him that the ritual should be started within the half hour. Jaquar inhaled deeply and went to the left end of the narrow alcove. There he unfolded the three-paneled mirror. To ensure he didn’t get lost amongst the planes, he had to know himself, and for that he used the mirror.

He scanned his physical appearance. He was taller than the average Lladranan male, had filled out in maturity. His strong body appeared nothing like that of the abandoned street boy Simone and Torrence Dumont had found and raised. But the awful inner loneliness of the boy before he’d known them filled him now. He’d once thought he’d never feel that desolation again.

His body showed a few childhood scars. His eyes were still the hated deep blue that made him an oddity in a brown-eyed culture. Some ancestor had not been Lladranan.

He’d lost weight since the deaths of his adoptive parents, but not so much that it would compromise his strength. His black hair touched his shoulders and looked limp, not as shiny as it should. The silver streaks denoting Power had visibly spread over the past three weeks as he’d searched for the evil thing that had killed his mother and father. Both had been powerful Circlets, yet the horror had sucked them dry of magic and energy and life.

As Jaquar had searched the planes for the killer, he’d grown in magical wisdom and Power, discovering new layers. These new planes would be valuable in tracking the horrors that invaded Lladrana.

The northern magical boundary of mainland Lladrana had been failing, gaping open so that hideous evil creatures could slither through to prey on the people. First the smaller horrors would cross, such as armored snippers. Then the greater monsters would attack in groups—renders and slayers and soul-suckers. And the sangvile. At the same time, frink-worms had started falling with the rain, affecting even the Tower community’s islands.

The horrors had never reached the Sorcerers’ town of Coquille-on-the-Coast where his parents had lived until Jaquar had led the sangvile there. He had answered the Marshalls’ call for a Sorcerer, given them information, then left. The sangvile had attached itself to the flying horse he’d ridden from the Marshalls’ Castle to his parents’ house. He’d left the deadly thing there, unknowing. Just two weeks past, the key to restoring the magical boundary had been found—too late for his parents.

He met his own hollow gaze in the mirror. “Mental,” Jaquar said. The reflection in the mirror changed and he saw the white sparkling of his brain, the waves of strong mental energy. The rhythm of his energy was good. His mind was clear.

“Magical,” he ordered. The mirror showed his Power radiating out in colorful bands from his body. Lladranans tended to judge magic by the tones and tunes it made, but the mirror reflected it visually. There were no breaks, no streaks of blackness. His Power had never been stronger. Good.

Jaquar hesitated. “Emotional,” he whispered, and saw his body shrouded in grief. Fury and vengeance glowed red in his eyes and heart. Not good. But he wasn’t going to travel to any plane that needed lighter, more uplifting emotions.

He’d be able to find that ugly lower plane easily, blend in, cruise through it.

“Spiritual,” he said. Again the darkness, nearly smothering the gold aura tracing his body. Ragged spikes showed how his spiritual health fluctuated. Perhaps when he’d destroyed the sangvile he would make an appointment with the Singer for a personal Song Quest. A Song Quest would tell him how best to manage his grief and guilt. Later.

“Physical.” There he was again, face strained, changed since his adoptive parents had died. He recalled his last leave-taking with his adoptive parents, no more than a month ago. Parents, they would have corrected him, not “adoptive parents.” They’d been right in that as in so many other things. Though they hadn’t birthed him, had only taken him off the streets when he was eight, they’d been his parents.

His last memory of them was as they laughed at some joke his father had told just before Jaquar left their home. They were framed in the golden light streaming from the doorway of their house. His mother, round of face and body, leaning into his father, the aura of love radiating from her….

Just the moment before, her sweet breath had caressed his cheek as she’d kissed him farewell. Her scent had wound around him—the flowery herb fragrance that had been his comfort from the moment she’d claimed him as her own.

His father had hugged him hard, as always, and Jaquar had felt the strength of Power and body that had always meant love and safety.

No more. Ever. All because of him.

He had brought their evil killer to them. The odd boy they’d saved from the streets had ultimately led their deaths to them, far before their time.

“Off.” His image faded and he was glad.

Unhurried, he walked to the pentacle, closed the circle with a hummed note, and settled into a soft pallet in the center to begin his quest to find and destroy his parents’ slayer. He sang.

When the Songspell ended, his astral shape slipped from his body with an easy pull and a tiny “pop.” Hovering over his physical form, he felt light and free.

He stayed in the same physical plane and rose above his Tower, his island, to orient and anchor himself. As was customary, his was the only Circlet Tower on the island, and the island itself was small. Most circlets lived on their own island in the Brisay Sea, east of Lladrana. He’d wanted one only a few miles from Coquille-on-the-Coast where his parents lived so he would visit them often.

On the physical plane, the sangvile had two forms: one, a black spiderweb, and the other, a manlike dark energy. Its rudimentary, nasty emotions were that of an evil predator. As strong as it was now, if spread out in spiderweb form, it would cover a house. The man form would be a giant.

The monster had gloated over the pain and fear it caused, laughed in malicious glee at its feast of Circlets and their Power. Those tainted emotions had leaked through several planes and led Jaquar to it. He had found the horror too late to pin it down, set it ablaze and watch it die.

Below, he saw his Tower, round and of red stone, with a flat roof and a walkway around it; Mue Island, looking like the blunted top of an archery arrow, slightly southwest of Coquille-on-the-Coast. He drifted even higher, until he could see most of Lladrana, the rocky hill where the Marshalls’ Castle sat—in the middle of Lladrana, far from the ocean, east and north of Coquille-on-the-Coast. He tugged on the cord between his astral self and his body. It held firm.

Then he plane-walked, searching for the sangvile.

He passed through several known planes to reach the one he wanted, tuning himself to its unique vibrations. Only on this plane could he pinpoint the hideous energy of the sangvile.

And there was the monster that had slain his parents. And Jaquar lusted to destroy the sangvile with all the fierce desire within him. Here, the sangvile was a gliding black smudge.

Jaquar was back on the hunt. Though this lower emotional plane was a gray nothingness, Jaquar could dimly sense the geography of the physical plane below, where the sangvile roamed. Here, the image of the sangvile was a gliding black smudge, traveling northwest from Lladrana. Jaquar followed.

No sights; worse, no sounds. The dreary atmosphere made his emotions all the more powerful.

The sangvile moved. Geographic familiarity, physical reference points, were gone. The sangvile was far outside the borders of Lladrana, flying north with information and energy and magic to give the Dark.

Jaquar’s astral self followed. As a mind-shadow, Jaquar had no eyes to weep or voice to scream his grief. The emotions that gave him the strength and cunning to track the beast scoured him, made him vengeance incarnate. He would kill the servant and destroy the lord. No price was too high to pay.

The thing hesitated in flight, then lashed out with a black-energy tentacle. Jaquar ducked, drew back. Was it aware of him? Aware of something as predatory as itself, as ruthless?

Coalescing into a streak of dark lightning, the horror sped up. The monster was near its…nest?

Ahead, the grayness of the ethereal plane changed. In the distance was a black point. Jaquar sensed something huge and vile and pulsing.

2

In front of Jaquar seethed a mound of evil so dark that it swallowed all light, all energy. The sangvile rounded itself into a ball and arced downward into a hole of red, with tentacles of gray and acid green and black. The mound radiated a loathsome, diseased feeling that seemed to coat Jaquar with slime.

The place was inimical to all humans. And it was hungry.

No price was too much to pay to avenge his parents.

Jaquar flung his astral-self into it.

And hit a magical shield. Rebounded, stunned and aching.

He spent his rage battering the magical barrier with all his might, all of himself. He shifted to planes above and below and struck the shield time and again, then returned to the first plane.

Jaquar Dumont. A sneering voice resounded in Jaquar’s head along with a hideous clash of notes. He stopped his fruitless assault. Hovered. Wondered whether to reply, if acknowledgment would make him vulnerable.

The great Jaquar Dumont, bastard with tainted Exotique blood, the voice continued, and Jaquar realized it was human—and male.

A human Sorcerer consorting with the horrors and monsters that invaded Lladrana? Had Jaquar been in his physical form he’d have been sick with revulsion. Did Jaquar know the voice? He didn’t think so. He did sense the Power of the Sorcerer. The Sorcerer was nearly a Circlet—but he wasn’t the true and ultimate evil. The man served another.

The Sorcerer laughed at Jaquar. So, you have found us, but only on this low plane. You cannot break the Dark’s shield, nor harm this nest. No Sorcerer or Sorceress of Lladrana can.

Come out and fight! Jaquar threw the mental call to the human.

The Sorcerer snorted. If and when I exit our nest it will be with an army, or allies so strong that no one will be able to stop us.

All of Lladrana will fight you! Jaquar shouted, trying to pierce the shield with Mind and Power alone. Futile.

More sneering laughter. The Marshalls have discovered how to raise the magical barrier against us. But in two weeks they have not done much. The Marshalls are few and slow. The boundary still has many gaps.

Wild shrieking came from the human. If he’d been sane at one time, he wasn’t now.

Gathering himself into a spear of Power, Jaquar arrowed to the red maw-gate of the pulsing mound. And was flung away.

The sangvile is safe from you, as are all the servants I control. You will never be able to pass the shield on any plane. No Lladranan with Power can breech this forcefield. No Lladranan can hurt this nest. The voice insinuated into Jaquar’s mind as he continued to batter at the gate. Since you loathe the sangviles so much, I will set more upon Lladrana. Soon. Aimed at Circlets.

Despairing, Jaquar continued the assault until his energy faded and he had only enough strength to return home. He awoke hours later, body stiff, psychically blind since he’d abused his Power. With croaking voice, he dismissed the magical pentacle.

Jaquar staggered to his desk and fell into his chair, ready to record all he knew of the sangvile, all he’d learned in his pursuit. His face was colder than the rest of him. He lifted his hand and touched his cheek. It was wet.

Boulder, Colorado

The same morning

Marian froze. “I didn’t call you.”

Golden Raven raised little penciled-in eyebrows and pushed by her to enter the apartment. “I heard you.” She tapped her head, glanced around and took a seat on the couch.

“I find that very strange.” Just as odd as everything else that was happening. Marian shut the door.

Golden Raven wore tight jeans and shirt that did nothing for her heavy figure. But unlike Marian, Golden Raven accepted her body. “I know you do, but just listen. My vision was of you and a young man who looked a great deal like you—except he had black hair instead of your red.”

Andrew. Marian had never told Golden Raven about him. Marian had met a lot of frauds while taking New Age classes, and Golden Raven wasn’t one of them. The woman was a brilliant forecaster.

Tilting her multi-shaded blond head, Golden Raven surveyed Marian’s apartment. “Very much like you, Marian. Books, papers, everything too neat and tidy. Still striving for perfection, I see.”

“Golden Raven, I’m running late for my job—”

“Our paths are not the same, but I had to tell you of the vision before Wood Elk and I left for the West Coast.” She looked at Marian, eyes narrowed. “You have a great deal of intelligence, and more—just plain magic in you, right beneath the surface. But you dabble. You don’t commit yourself to freeing your powers.”

Marian wasn’t accustomed to teachers berating her. She stood stiffly beside Golden Raven.

“You dabble, not taking what you learn seriously. Yet I feel a brilliant spark within you, humming just under your skin.” She tapped Marian’s chest above her breasts. “Strong magic.”

“Golden Raven, it would be interesting if that were true. But—”

“You feel your psi powers trying to break free and even now reject them. I heard you calling me this morning—can you deny that?”

“No.” But she wanted to. On the other hand, she’d always had an internal push to find…something…ever eluding her. Could it be magic? Could she have strong psychic powers? She’d only been aware of her weather sense and her connection to Mother Earth.

Golden Raven grasped Marian’s arm, then stilled, her eyes going blank and unfocused. “The full moon. Tomorrow night.” Golden Raven sucked in a breath and stepped back from Marian, breaking the physical connection. She shook her head, then met Marian’s eyes. “I don’t know what it means. I can’t tell you. Except that this full-moon ritual is very important for you. It will be life changing. For you and your brother.”

Her words were as fearsome as Marian’s nightmares, and seemed just as real. Believe, or not? Golden Raven had mentioned Andrew again, the bait Marian would always swallow.

She said steadily, “When I said your name this morning I wanted to ask if you knew others who had had experiences like these I’ve been enduring.”

“Your psi potential demanding to be fulfilled. Do the ritual, find one who will help you direct it. As for your brother, he is linked to you and I believe he will be…greatly affected in a good way by your psi development.” She opened her mouth, then shut it and shook her head again. “No, I should not tell you, even if I could. I’m sorry, Marian. I must go now, and Blessings upon you.” With a little duck of her head she turned and left the apartment. The door clicked shut behind her.

Marian barely saw her go as emotions churned inside her. She needed another shower, although a hot bath would be better to banish the sudden chill.

She might have shrugged off the continuing auditory illusions, might have ignored Golden Raven’s advice to find another teacher. Might have continued to “dabble” in New Age spirituality on her way to receiving her doctorate. But she would never ignore any threat to her brother. Andrew was the person she most loved. She’d do the ritual tomorrow night.

She’d anger Candace by not appearing on demand, couldn’t in good conscience take her mother’s money when she wasn’t going to follow through on the favor of the fund-raiser. That meant putting her career on hold, getting a job—leaving her college fund with her mother. Marian squared her shoulders. So be it.

If a full-moon ritual was important to understand the strangeness happening to her and if it could help Andrew, she’d do it. And take it seriously, by God—or by All the Powers that Were.

Lladrana

The same day

Jaquar had just finished recording his journey in his lorebook when a crackle of lightning had him jerking his head to the crystal sphere on his desk. He flicked it with his fingernail, ping, and accepted the sending of another Circlet.

Cloudiness filled the crystal, then dissolved to wisps. Two people finished the Songspell that allowed them to communicate with Jaquar and stared out at him. A shaft of pain speared through him. Jaquar was accustomed to speaking only with his parents this way, and they would never sing to him again.

Chalmon Pace and Venetria Fourney—on-again, off-again quarreling lovers—gazed at him. They both bore the mark of great magical Power, thick streaks of silver at both temples in their otherwise black hair.

The last Jaquar had heard, Venetria had been backtracking the sangvile. She’d lost an aunt in Coquille-on-the-Coast.

“Bad news,” Chalmon said gruffly.

Jaquar grunted.

“Venetria’s information, compiled with what I’ve gleaned from the oldest lorebooks, tells us that the appetite of the sangvile is exponential.” He cleared his throat. “And it prefers those with Power. The monster is directed at us, the Circlets of the Tower Community.”

With stiff lips Jaquar said, “We lost eight strong Sorcerers and Sorceresses in Coquille-on-the-Coast. That can’t be allowed to happen again.”

The other two nodded. “We agree,” Chalmon said. “We must protect ourselves from this horror. We’re sure you are right—the sangvile followed you from the Marshalls’ Castle.”

Jaquar laughed harshly. “I thought it was too weak to attach itself to me. I thought it would hide and garner strength in the Castle. Instead it knew I could lead it to a richer feast later.” He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself for that. “You said its hunger is exponential?”

“Yes,” sighed Venetria.

“It’s back at its master’s nest.” The words pulled jerkily from Jaquar, he didn’t want to think of his journey to the red maw, his vain assault, the gloating triumph he’d sensed. Nevertheless, he told Chalmon and Venetria.

They were both pale when he finished.

“It’s coming back, and not alone,” Venetria whispered. “More than one sangvile?”

“Yes,” Jaquar said. He’d be ready for the horrors, and he wasn’t averse to attacking. “We need more to find the nest, to understand what this ‘master’ is and how to battle it. I’ll organize the effort.”

Chalmon frowned. “I don’t know—”

Jaquar gestured, stopping Chalmon’s protest. “I’ve lost the most. Isn’t that the Tower Community tradition? The one who is most passionate gathers Powerful Circlets of the Fifth Degree and directs them?”

The two looked at each other again.

“We’re all concerned with the defense of Lladrana and now finding the master who directs the monsters to invade,” Chalmon said.

Smiling coldly, Jaquar said, “If anyone wants to challenge me for leadership, I’m available.”

Venetria dipped her head. “So noted.”

Chalmon shrugged, turned the subject. “No Sorcerer or Sorceress could pass. No Lladranan with Power could breech the shield. That means we use someone from the Exotique land. Someone for the Tower community. Our Exotique.”

“We could ask the Exotique Alyeka,” Venetria said.

“She’s one of the Marshalls. We can’t be indebted to them. We’d lose our independence,” Chalmon snapped.

“Summoning our Exotique is already planned,” Jaquar said.

“The master said, ‘No Lladranan can harm the nest,’ as if just the presence of one who is not Lladranan can hurt the Dark.”

“A natural weapon,” Chalmon breathed.

“Think what she’ll be like when she’s trained!” Venetria said.

Jaquar said, “The Summoning Song will bring to Lladrana a person who will work well with us.”

Venetria sucked in a breath. “Yes, but she must be strong if we are going to send her to the nest.”

Jaquar said, “Any Exotique the Marshalls can contact will naturally be strong. As eldest and most powerful of the Tower, I believe Bossgond sent the Marshalls a list of the proper qualities.” Jaquar felt his mouth twist. “Bossgond didn’t notify me, but I received an acknowledgment from the Marshalls.”

Frowning, Chalmon said, “Bossgond didn’t tell me, either. It is time he breaks this hermit existence.”

“I’m sure he’d be glad to hear you tell him so,” Venetria said sweetly.

Chalmon continued. “The Exotique must be well-trained before we send him or her to this master you discovered, Jaquar. He or she must at least be trained enough to report what is found in the nest.”

“We may not have that luxury,” Jaquar said. “Not if the maw spews out more sangviles, as well as the other horrors—the slayers and soul-suckers and renders.”

“And dreeths.” Venetria shivered. She’d barely survived a battle with one of the winged lizards.

Chalmon scowled. “Yes, we must be prepared to sacrifice the Exotique, for the good of Lladrana, for the planet Amee herself. Knowledge is more important than one life. If worse comes to worst, we could attach a reporting orb to her and send her with a destruction spell—perhaps she’d be able to untie that weapon knot you have.”

“I would go myself, if I could,” Jaquar said.

Venetria looked at him sharply. “You are the best plane-walker. You already tried. Do you think the shield applies to all planes?”

Again Jaquar’s laughter was bitter. “It applied to as many as I could reach within the limits of the spell—twenty or so. I’m not sure exactly where or what the physical location is, but it’s big.”

Making a note, Chalmon said, “Other things to research—the shield, whether it is only magical or is physical also. Where the nest could be. When the Exotique comes, I’ll train him or her.”

“No! If she’s female, like the last one, she will want a woman as teacher!” Venetria said.

“The new Exotique is mine,” Jaquar insisted.

Now Chalmon barked laughter. “All of us will want to work with someone so Powerful. This is exactly why we need the Marshalls to Summon her. We don’t work well together.” He shot a glance at his lady. “Sometimes not even those who are intimate with each other.”

Jaquar’s heart tore. His father and mother had been an excellent team, stronger together than apart. Perhaps that’s what had drawn the sangvile to them.

Chalmon and Venetria sniped at each other, then Chalmon faced him.

“We’ll call a Gathering for tomorrow at the Parteger Island amphitheater to discuss all this,” Chalmon said. “I’ll move the process along.”

Venetria sent him a fulminating glance, then looked back to Jaquar. “What is the Marshalls’ price for the Summoning?”

Jaquar said, “I promised them objects, not favors. Some books, most of which are duplicates in all our libraries. Whatever magical weapons we have. Old battlespells.”

“A price easy to meet,” Chalmon said.

Venetria nodded. “Yes. I think I only have two weapons in my Tower—what of you?”

“One,” Jaquar said, but it was an incredible one, something that perhaps only an Exotique could handle.

“I have four,” Chalmon said.

“Of course you must pretend you’re the best,” Venetria said. And then they were arguing again.

“I’ll coordinate with the Marshalls as necessary in the days to come,” Jaquar said. He wouldn’t lie to the Marshalls, but he wouldn’t welcome them unless he had a use for them.

With thumb and forefinger, Jaquar tapped the crystal and Chalmon and Venetria disappeared. An hour later he had sent the contract and books as first payment to the Marshalls for the Summoning.

Then he crossed to his armchair and sat again, letting the soft, old leather settle around his body. He wondered if the other Circlets had forgotten one very important thing, and if they had, whether he could take advantage of it.

The Singer, the Oracle of Lladrana, had prophesied that the next Exotique would be best suited for the community of the Tower. The Singer had also told them of the time of the next Summoning—when the Dimensional Gates between Lladrana and the Exotique land aligned. The Marshalls knew this. It was tomorrow night.

In all the history of the Tower, the Sorcerers and Circlets had never come to an agreement in a day. Chalmon was too optimistic. He wouldn’t be able to forge a plan amongst all the individual personalities of the Tower.

Jaquar sank back into his chair to sleep. It would be a long time before he could face his bedroom adorned with the quilt his mother had made and the landscapes his father had painted.

He would not argue with the rest of the Sorcerers and Sorceresses at Parteger Island, had no intention of compromising. The Exotique was his. For knowledge. For vengeance.

Colorado

The next evening

Power hung in the air like a fine mist ready to condense into dewdrops. It shimmered with every ripple of chimes, every strike of the gong—the music only Marian could hear, had heard for the past month. Now the sounds reverberated in a pattern that set her nerves humming as she finished taping a ten-foot red pentagram on her living room carpet.

She took a shaky breath as she connected the last line of the star-shaped pattern and sank back on her heels to calm her excitement. She wiped her damp palms on the sweats she’d put on after her bath. Biting her lip, she examined everything again. She’d had to scramble to craft the ritual, to get the herbs and tools. There’d been no time to practice.

No negativity, not now. No doubts. So she shoved them aside.

Soon the exact moment of the full moon would finally come and it would be time to act. To perform a ritual that would bring great change into Andrew’s life and her own. To ask for what she wanted most, a miracle—a healthy brother.

In order to clear enough space to tape the pentacle, she’d had to stack books around the edges of the room, evidence that her hunger for knowledge had burgeoned until it was nearly a craving. She felt like the Chinese Dragon, ever pursuing the Pearl of Wisdom. Someday she’d find just the right knowledge that would make her whole, or set her free: the key to herself.

Marian stood and put away the tape. She checked the alcove where her hamster Tuck sat blinking at her in a corner of his plastic cage. He seemed to feel something unusual, too, since both his cheek pouches were huge with food.

“Nothing to worry about, Tuck.” She smiled at him, then rubbed her arms. Crossing to the door of her garden-level apartment, she pushed aside the small curtain over the door’s window to look out. Twilight was falling.

Hands on her hips, she scanned the rest of her preparations; her altar was fine, the notes for her ritual were on her PDA in the pentagram. A small spiral of smoke from the incense burner twisted, sending lily-of-the-valley scent through the room. The smoke sparkled silver.

Marian blinked, narrowed her eyes and stared. The glitter in the powder shouldn’t carry up into the smoke, and she thought she’d seen a flash for an instant. Maybe. Maybe not. Tonight was a night for stretching all she was, experiencing all she could.

With a sigh she looked at her gray sweats, still wavering between doing the ritual in a gossamer crocheted cotton broomstick gown or nude. She should be less self-conscious, able to accept her plumpness as pleasing.

Just as she was about to shuck her sweats for the gauze dress, the telephone rang. She glanced at the clock and bit her lip. It was only an hour before the full moon and she’d wanted to be at the climax of the ritual when that occurred. She debated answering the call. Hesitated. Then she ran across the living room floor, hopping over the star-points to reach the kitchen and pick up the telephone.

“Hey, sis.” Andrew’s light voice floated across the line, and she smiled.

“Hey back.”

There was a heartbeat’s pause. “Is everything okay there? I had a feeling…” he said.

“Everything’s fine.” She eyed the red-taped pentagram on the floor.

“Candace isn’t giving you grief over anything, is she?” Their mother had asked Andrew at the age of four not to call her any variation of “Mommy.”

“She wanted me to attend a benefit tonight, but I…wanted to study.” She was studying, learning.

Andrew groaned. “Yeah, the Colorado Charities. Sent her a check for them, and one for the Multiple Sclerosis Foundation of Colorado, too. She didn’t say thank-you, but I believe she was pleased. I don’t have much contact with her anymore. Might be better for your mental health if you backed away, too.”

“I will, soon,” Marian said.

Andrew’s snort came through the phone line. “Wrong. You’re always trying to reconcile with her. It’s a girl thing. Or maybe it’s just that you think a perfect life should have mother-daughter happiness. Too bad your dad didn’t leave you as well off as mine did me—you wouldn’t be at her beck and call over that college fund.”

He didn’t offer her money from his trust fund, and Marian was glad. “How are things going with you?” she asked.

“I get it, previous subject closed. I’m doing good, sis. Turned in the new game project today and I’m going off on sabbatical.” He paused, then words rushed from the phone. “I’m in remission right now, but—uh—I’ve had a few incidents—”

“Andrew!” Fear spurted through her.

“—and I want to try out that program we talked about last year, the one set on Freesan Island in the San Juans. Sort of a retreat, and they want us to minimize contact with outsiders. The codependency thing, you know.”

“Andrew!”

“So I won’t be available or calling you for about six weeks.”

“Did you do another check on these people? The system?”

Andrew laughed. “You always have to be in control, sis. Not an issue I’ve ever had.”

No, Andrew had always been at the mercy of his condition, his workaholic father and a series of stepmothers, most of whom found him distressing.

He continued. “The camp’s A-Okay. I know you’re frowning—”

The warmth in his voice almost made her smile.

“But they aren’t after my money and won’t sell me to labs for experimentation,” he said. “Dr. Chan recommends the program and you know how much we both trust her. I also had my financial advisor and my private investigator check it out.”

“They’ll be careful with you?” Oops. “Tuck worries about you.” Now she knew he was rolling his eyes.

“Sis!” A slight pause. His voice deepened. “I’m a man. I know how to work around my health issues. I plan to live life, not merely exist.”

“All right, all right. You have my blessing. Go and enjoy yourself.” She didn’t know why those phrases rolled from her lips. But they both knew the day-to-day risk he lived with.

“Hey, I was the one with the funny feeling, not you. Make sure Tuck takes care of himself. Oh, and you take care of yourself, too. Uh—by the way, will the weather be good?”

A familiar feeling whispered through Marian. “It should be pleasant but cool to start off with, then showers. Take your rain gear.”

“Will do. Love ya. Bye.” He smooched into the phone and hung up.

When Andrew left Colorado for California, he’d made it clear that he wanted to live as much as he could on his own. He wanted her to pursue her studies in Boulder as she’d planned, so she’d made herself let him go. He had been as desperate to live independently as she had been. Currently he had a housekeeper, a nurse who specialized in caring for people with MS. The matronly woman had separate quarters in his home. Andrew had a car and driver.

Their sibling relationship had actually improved. If he wanted her with him, he knew all he had to do was call.

Tuck rattled in his cage and brought her back to the moment. She studied the pentagram and found her pulse thumping fast. Andrew had phoned just before the ritual. Surely that was a bit of magic in itself. Further, he was trying another new program—could this ritual influence that? She didn’t want to think about what Andrew would do when the disease became more debilitating.

Andrew’s telephone call had thrown Marian’s timing off. She’d have to hurry through the first part of the ritual, use her notes on her PDA. Not perfect. Perhaps she should delay the ritual until next month? She wanted to, to ensure it would go more smoothly, but she dared not.

She walked around the star to her bedroom, stripped out of the soft cotton pants and shirt and folded them. Then she freed her still-damp hair and fluffed it, enjoying the feel of the strands as well as the slight tugging on her scalp as she ran her fingers to the shoulder-length ends.

Returning to the living room, she lit the candles, drew the outer circle, summoned guardian spirits. Palpable energy charged around her. The chanting she’d heard in her dreams sounded as if it came from her stereo, until she couldn’t tell if it was real or only echoed in her mind.

At the last minute, on impulse, she put the plastic ball with her hamster into the center of the pentacle, too. After all, when Andrew’s and her own life changed, so would Tuck’s, even if he only dimly sensed the alteration. He was an essential part of her life, so he should be included.

She stepped into the center of the pentagram and lifted her voice in counterpoint to the music. Lightning flashed. Incredible. Nothing like this had ever happened before. Energy raced through Marian, making her feel powerful, like a goddess, and she laughed. A bright carnelian-red ribbon of light unrolled, then curled around Marian and Tuck. She stared at it in disbelief.

She grabbed Tuck’s plastic sphere. With one small tug, they were swept through a hole, like thread through the eye of a needle.

Power spiked and whirled and changed. She lost her connection with Mother Earth. That deepest connection she’d felt all her life, snipped.

They were somewhere else, in a wind-whipped corridor of dust brown. A corridor to where?

Tuck’s ball was torn from her grasp and she screamed. She looked, listened, reached with all of her senses, flailed arms and legs and couldn’t find him. He’d been her companion for two years. She cried and grieved.

Adrift and alone in pummeling, whistling winds, she felt terror rip through her. Felt no links to anything. Not the earth, not the trees, not the moon or stars. All that she’d recently realized had spoken to her of her place and her life had vanished.

She reached mentally, emotionally for Andrew. Screamed and heard silence again.

Nothing.

3

She found herself on a cold floor.

Marian didn’t believe her senses. It felt as if she was on stone, not the threadbare carpet in her apartment. The scent of the room changed from lily of the valley to jasmine and sandalwood. As she inhaled, the air felt more humid. The space around her seemed larger, sounds echoing.

When she heard ragged breathing not her own, she squeezed her eyes shut, sure she was dreaming. Maybe experiencing out-of-body travel, though that had never happened before. She must be safe in her apartment. She didn’t want to think otherwise.

People started talking—not in English but in what sounded like mangled French. As part of pleasing her mother, Marian had learned French and spoke it like a native. This wasn’t true French. She thought her heart would jump from her chest it pounded so hard. This couldn’t be happening. If she kept her eyes closed, it would all go away and she’d be home and safe and never dabble with magic ever again.

With one singing ripple of chimes, her whole body arched involuntarily. Despite her will, her eyelids flew open.

A circle of faces peered down at her, all slightly Asian in appearance with dark eyes set in golden-toned skin. Marian gaped. An older woman with golden streaks of hair at each temple and compressed lips held up both hands palms outwards.

“Vel coom,” she said.

With only a little deciphering, Marian translated the word into “Welcome.” She wasn’t sure what to do. She still couldn’t connect to Mother Earth, let alone Andrew. Of course this whole thing could be a hallucination, or worse, madness.

What should she do?

“Vel coom!” the woman shouted, gesturing for Marian to get up.

Why didn’t the woman help her? Marian squinted and saw flowing lines of—energy? electricity? the Force? between her and the circle of richly robed figures. There were at least sixteen people surrounding her, evenly spaced along the large circle, pairs dressed alike. Swords were sheathed at their hips. From what she could see, the figure on the floor beneath her was a huge pentacle—a star in a circle—larger than hers, about fifteen feet.

She licked her lips and felt the dampness. The floor was cold flagstones under her, not carpet. Her breath caught in her throat as her mind spun with possibilities that she really didn’t want to consider, sorting and analyzing. Her brain told her she wasn’t on Earth, and she was in the midst of strong magic.

And she was lying in a big circular stone room, with wooden rafters and high windows around the top.

She wanted to think of anything except that she was in a different place. Naked.

Just the thought of her nudity made her flush—probably from her toes to her hairline.

The people continued to stare.

Since it didn’t look like they were going to approach, it was time to put reality to the test and rise and—she gulped—pretend she wasn’t ashamed of her body.

Marian stood with shoulders back, hips tucked, stomach sucked in, hoping her blush wasn’t as red as it felt. Keeping within one point of the star, she walked about five feet to where the others stood, outside the circle of flowing red energy-lines. Visible magic. If she weren’t so scared, she’d be impressed. Everything looked fascinating, would be fascinating, if she could engage more of her mind than her emotions. But dreams ran on emotions. This had to be a dream.

Her brain said it was, but her senses contradicted that notion. Her emotions spiraled out of control until she controlled the panic gritting her teeth. Act logically! Observe, at least.

The women were all as tall as she—at least five foot eight—the men taller. They all had black hair, dark eyes and golden skin—and silver or golden streaks of hair at one or both temples.

Marian pointed to a gray cloak a woman wore and made the motion of swirling it around her. Unfortunately, in response to her actions most of the men’s gazes locked on her breasts. She wanted to melt into the floor.

Marian cleared her throat. Was this real? Why were so many people here if she’d only needed one teacher? “Where? Um—when? I don’t know—May I have the cloak, please?”

The woman who’d spoken earlier stared at her, frowning.

All she wanted to do was find a corner and hide. That thought reminded her of Tuck and she forced back tears. He was gone. What chance did a hamster in a plastic ball have in the winds of that corridor?

This experience had already cost her more than she’d expected, Tuck.

But she’d stood around long enough. She’d act as if this was real, try and figure out what was going on, get her act together. Be bolder, take action. Take control.

Ka-Boom! Thunder rattled the silver gong at the edge of her vision. The gong responded with a low echoing tone. A flash of light blinded her. Heat and vibration struck her, sent her flat to the pavement again.

She blinked but could not see. She rolled to her side.

Arreth! The word rang strange in her head, but the image of herself, still on the floor in the point of a carnelian-red pentagram, teased her mind. Stay? Cloth brushed against her ankle—someone was in the pentacle with her!

Swords rasped from scabbards.

A scream bubbled from her lips but emerged as a weak cry. So much for being bold. She’d try again in a minute. Strong fingers curved over her shoulder, squeezed in simple comfort, almost she thought she heard a tune. She sat up, choked, coughed. The hand moved from her shoulder to her nape, patted her upper back, then left, taking the funny music in her ears with it.

Arreth. Stay, the masculine voice whispered in her mind. Telepathy. She believed in magic, sort of, she’d just never experienced so much of it.

Then his hands closed around her upper arms, and she was lifted and pulled back into the center of the pentagram. Her ears rang. Again the hands fell from her and the music stopped.

Her vision began to clear. Beyond the afterimages of floating neon blobs, she saw the rich robes of those surrounding her. They held swords pointed at the man standing beside her.

But their gazes slid over to her. She got the idea they were fascinated by her pale skin that turned pink, red, then back to white.

She blinked, then looked up at the man. He was about six foot four. His face was broad at the forehead, with wide streaks of silver at both temples, emphasized by the golden headband he wore. His lips were full and mobile and dusky. He smiled down at her and offered his hand. She met his eyes. They were deep, deep blue in a tanned face.

A jolt of prophetic foreknowledge sizzled to her center. Uh oh. Major, major MISTAKE!

This wasn’t her teacher. This was her doom.

The wide eyes of the Exotique woman drew Jaquar. They were a lighter shade than his own and for the first time in his life he found blue eyes beautiful.

A flicker in her gaze and the Power pulsing around her were signs she was experiencing a vision. His touch on her mind was too superficial to share her natural melody, but it was sweet.

The Exotique’s full mouth lured him as much as did her soul-tune. He shook the sensual thought from his head, strove to ignore her nudity. She looked delicious, but he had a use for her and it wasn’t as a lover. Still, he smiled his most charming smile, hoping she’d trust him.

When he’d touched her, a lance of pure desire from their mingled energies had shot straight to his groin. No. Despite what his body wanted, he could not allow himself even affection for her. If he had sex with the Exotique, there was a chance they’d bond. He couldn’t risk that. She was the weapon of vengeance he’d set loose on the Dark like a blazing arrow. For his own peace of mind, he dared not become attached to her.

“Jaquar Dumont,” Swordmarshall Thealia Germaine said flatly from the circle of Marshalls surrounding them, obviously unhappy that he’d shown up uninvited.

He paid little attention to the Marshalls, watching as his Exotique crossed to the pentacle, squatted and touched the flowing magical red lines. Sparks flew, and she recoiled.

Standing, she slowly extended her arm through the barrier of magic. It didn’t hurt her. Jaquar let out a relieved breath. The Summoning had worked, bringing an innately powerful mage from the Exotique land to Lladrana. A woman whose power would be potent here.

She tugged on the gray cloak of one of the female Marshalls. With raised eyebrows and a smile, the Marshall gave it to the Exotique. She donned the cape, then looked around, very serious, examining the circular Temple, scrutinizing the altar with the rainbow crystal lamps that also served as chimes, and the huge silver gong beside it.

With narrowed eyes, she gazed at him and where he stood in the center of the pentagram, the place of Power. She gestured for him to move away. Demanded something in a language close to, but not Lladranan. “Leave…go…home.”

Jaquar smiled and shook his head. She scowled and marched back to stand in the center of the pentacle with him, muttering what seemed to be her own words of Power. But they would do no good. The Marshalls had closed the hole between worlds.

She was still close to him and Jaquar had trouble ignoring her softness, warmth and unusual fragrance. Her nudity under the cloak was impossible to forget.

“Dumont!” Thealia snapped. “We did not expect anyone to use this pentacle today except the Exotique. You of the Tower should leave the entire Summoning to us.”

He inclined his head and took the offensive. “Greetings, Swordmarshall. We of the Tower Community thank you for this Summoning. However, we thought Exotique Alyeka would be leading this ritual.” He was friends with the other Exotique—he might have been able to persuade her to release the new lady into his care.

“The Singer foretold that the second Exotique is to bond with someone here and it should not be Alyeka. She should not be present. Even she listens to the Singer, now.”

“Ah,” Jaquar said, smiling and gesturing to himself. “Well, I am here and the lady can come with me.” Time to get out of here, before any other Circlets showed up to try to take the woman for their own apprentice. He’d paid for the Exotique, now he should take his prize and leave.

He strode to her and curved his right arm around her. The quiet notes stringing between them deepened and took on a richness. The Exotique took a step away, but stumbled, so he kept his hold. Her blue eyes narrowed and her mouth thinned. Her innate, powerful magic flared and set the gemstone lamps on the altar chiming. She stared at them and shivered.

Bong! The gong thundered, announcing another presence traveling into the closed sphere of the pentacle.

Venetria materialized inside the star, along with a pile of books and two magical weapons. She glared at Jaquar. Though his ears still rang with the sound of her arrival, he heard her shouting.

“Jaquar Dumont! You will not claim this Exotique as your apprentice. Doubtless she will relate better to a Sorceress.” Venetria tossed her head, gave the woman one quick, penetrating look, then offered her hand to the Exotique.

Eyes wary, the woman touched Venetria’s fingers. A clash of tones echoed in the round Temple as the women’s hands met. Venetria dropped the Exotique’s hand, flicking the incompatible energy from her fingertips, then converted the gesture into a wave as she spoke to the Marshalls.

“The books you requested—the ancient spellweapons at my disposal, and instructions to use them.”

Clang! This time the altar crystals rang and the sound ran around the outstretched steel of the Marshalls’ swords in a bone-shivering scale.

Inside the pentacle, the two women stumbled against Jaquar. Chalmon appeared in the north point of the pentagram.

Jaquar set his teeth, shouldered Venetria aside and steadied the Exotique, enduring the sensual and powerful string of notes rapidly deepening into a melody. They were already forming a connection.

Chalmon glared at them. Beside him was a stack of books and four weapons.

“This is ridiculous,” Swordmarshall Thealia said, sheathing her broadsword. The other Marshalls followed suit. She studied the gifts in the pentacle and her smile was as sharp as her sword. Her lip curled. “I see that those of the Tower are cooperating as usual, which is to say, not at all.”

Jaquar grasped the Exotique’s arm. “As you can see, our energies do not clash. I sent payment for the Summoning yesterday. On behalf of the Tower, I again thank the Marshalls.” He glanced at Venetria and Chalmon, who stood in opposite points of the star. “I claim this Exotique woman as my apprentice.”

Chalmon scowled. “No.”

No price was too much to pay to find and destroy the master and avenge Jaquar’s parents. “Then you challenge me. Tests of Power or a duel of sorcery. The Marshalls can set up a procedure and officiate.”

Swordmarshall Thealia made a disgusted noise. Chalmon stiffened in outrage.

The Power in the pentacle was incredible, radiating from four strong mages. Jaquar sensed that the Exotique was merging all the energies, changing them until they melded into a single Powersong that he could use easily. She was inherently a strong Sorceress. He couldn’t wait to mold her raw power into focused magic.

Sunlight shafted through a high stained-glass window, framing the voluptuous woman by his side in a pointed arch, painting the pale skin of her face, hands and feet in jeweled colors, illuminating her like a fine vellum manuscript. Her aura glowed vibrant silver and turquoise, indicating strong and unusual Power. The tune between them was distracting. She was beautiful beyond compare in body and spirit.

A pity she might have to be sacrificed to stop the sangviles from leaving the Dark’s nest.

Time to leave. Jaquar looked around the large round stone room of the Temple—at the Marshalls who seemed to be communing and approaching a decision; at Chalmon and Venetria who stood in the pentagram with him and the Exotique woman, but in opposite points; at the Exotique herself who appeared less dazed.

Definitely time to go. He began gathering Power.

Bong, Bong, Bong! Suddenly the ringing of all the glass in the room—from the windows, the storage crystals in the rafters and chandeliers, the chime crystals on the altar—resonated through his head.

A few seconds later his ears stopped buzzing and he saw the oldest and strongest Sorcerer of them all, Bossgond, holding a satchel. Chalmon went to Venetria, protectiveness radiating from him.

Jaquar’s stomach tightened and his lips pulled back from his teeth in a silent snarl as he anticipated failure. There was no way he could best Bossgond. Disappointment seared him. He wanted the Exotique, he had plans for her.

What Bossgond’s plans were, he couldn’t imagine.

The greatest Sorcerer wore a stained, shabby robe that didn’t disguise the sticklike, knobby bones of his body. His full head of hair was golden except for a small streak of black in the middle—denoting his great Power.

He put his satchel down. Ignoring the rest of them, he bowed slightly to the Exotique, then touched his fingers over his heart. “Bossgond,” he said in a deep, rich voice that sent a small hum through the gong.

He took two steps and held out a swollen-jointed hand. She placed hers in it. A white flash of their auras merging sent a single, resonant note from the silver gong. The Exotique blinked, then her lips curved. The Song between the old man and the young woman must be comforting to her.

Jaquar ground his teeth. His prize was slipping from his grasp.

With gentleness and grace the old man raised the Exotique woman’s hand to his lips, then loosed it. Jaquar wondered what sort of music had spun between them—notes, or more. Then he remembered the songs that had linked him and his parents, resonant from the moment they’d found him. He’d been their apprentice, too. Grief gripped him. To distract himself, he watched the Exotique.

Standing close to Bossgond, the Exotique was his height. She wet her lips, then placed her hand above her breasts and said, “Marian.”

It was a good name—a name everyone could pronounce, unlike the first Exotique’s, Alexa. Jaquar wasn’t the only one who released a soft sigh.

Bossgond reached down and took a large crystal orb from his satchel. He sang two notes and color whirled inside it, forming a picture.

The scene in the sphere-crystal solidified into Alf Island, Bossgond’s home, and his tall, stately white Sorcerer’s Tower. A small image of Bossgond walked with Marian, obviously instructing her. Marian was dressed in a beautiful velvet robe and carried a staff of deep mahogany inlaid with twining silver and gold leaves.

Then the image turned to night. The tower’s outer wall disappeared, showing the top ritual room as dark; the level beneath was Bossgond’s suite, lit with mellow crystal lights. He worked at a desk. The next floor down was richly appointed for a woman. Papers, books and jars of herbs cluttered a beautiful desk. Marian sat at it, looking intense. Her staff leaned against the wall, glowing the same deep red as her hair.

With a hum from Bossgond, the scene inside the globe faded. He set it back into the satchel, then spoke one carefully pronounced sentence. It wasn’t in a language Jaquar knew.

Marian did. She smiled at him. A sincere smile. She looked around the room, her expression turning wary. She nodded stiffly to Chalmon and Venetria. Marian studied the Marshalls who stared back at her but she didn’t move from the center of the star or indicate she wanted to be with them.

Jaquar thought she meant her glance to slide over him, but it snagged and they gazed at each other. Her blue eyes held intelligence, focus, determination. She would have been perfect for him—no, for his purposes. No chance of wresting her from Bossgond, even if she’d been willing.

The old Sorcerer looked at Marian and repeated his line.

“Yes,” said Marian, and it was close enough to the Lladranan ayes for Jaquar to know she agreed.

Bossgond turned to the rest of them. “The apprentice, Exotique Marian, is coming with me. I anticipate that she will graduate from apprentice to scholar in two weeks.”

Venetria gasped. Bossgond sent her a chill look and she made a strangled noise. Chalmon set an arm around her shoulders. Now they looked like a couple again.

Bossgond met Jaquar’s scrutiny. “Does anyone here in this Temple challenge me?”

4

Silence filled the Temple at Bossgond’s words. The old man grinned. “I didn’t think anyone would want to engage in a sorcerous duel with me.” He held the gaze of Swordmarshall Thealia. “Please open the pentacle so the others can leave.”

Swordmarshall Thealia drew her baton from her sheath, stepped to the Power lines and sang an opening spell. The flow of Power bent back on itself, allowing egress from the pentacle to the rest of the Temple.

“Clear out of the star and circle,” Bossgond ordered.

Chalmon strode out, head high, body tense. Venetria followed, and from the sour look on her face as she glanced at the new Exotique, Jaquar knew she recalled that Marian’s energy didn’t mesh well with hers.

Neither Chalmon nor Venetria had suffered anything except a little scraped pride from this debacle. Unlike himself—his plan was a shambles.

Bossgond stared at Jaquar and raised an eyebrow. “Go,” he repeated.

Slowly, Jaquar complied.

“We would like the additional books and weapons,” Thealia said. “The Summoning was not as hard as that of our Exotique Marshall Alyeka, but it was done at our risk and with our Power and in our Castle Temple.”

The old man inclined his head. “Agreed. If the Tower Community was disorganized enough to pay you three times, then you should take advantage of it.”

Jaquar stood outside the circle and watched helplessly as the old man handed Venetria’s and Chalmon’s offerings to the Marshalls. He’d wanted to ensure the new Exotique was trained in plane-walking, focus her studies on what he needed her to do, and what she would have to learn to make the journey and, if possible, return.

Thealia glanced dubiously at the six weapons. “All the spellweapons of the Tower Community were promised.”

“I have no weapons.” Bossgond stared at Jaquar. “I trust you will ensure the Marshalls receive the remaining payment from the rest of the Towers.” He examined the two swords, three knives and a pair of gauntlets the Marshalls claimed from Venetria and Chalmon. “I believe the last inventory of all the Towers stated we had twenty weapons.”

So the old Circlet had been studying the reports after all, just not commenting.

Swordmarshall Thealia laid a hand on her baton of Power.

Jaquar nodded shortly at her. “As Bossgond says, I’ll ensure the delivery of all the weapons, except…” He glanced from Bossgond to Thealia and swept a quick look around the rest of the Marshalls. “I was gifted a knot-weapon when I raised my Tower, too powerful for me to handle.” He grinned with all his teeth. “Should you wish to send someone for that weapon, I’ll be pleased to relinquish it.”

“Not me,” said Bossgond.

Thealia fingered the end of her baton but stepped back. “I’ll discuss it with Marshall Alyeka. We know nothing about knot-weapons.”

Bossgond reconnected the pentacle’s Power lines with a small wand of polished turquoise. He raised his head and sniffed, as if testing the flavor of the Power. “Very good,” he said, raising the Exotique’s hand to his lips.

After he’d finished the elegant gesture, Bossgond placed Marian in the center of the pentacle and began the chant that would whisk them from the Castle Temple to the pentagram in Bossgond’s Tower on Alf Island.

Marian listened to the old magician sing what she thought was a spell. It was amazing. She drew the cloak around her. Her hands and feet were cold. She’d agreed to go with the old man and it looked like she was going by magic.

Still, she could feel the pressure of energy, magic, whatever, gathering. Was there any chance that it might send her back home? Was this a dream about how to find her teacher? She’d like to believe it, but the bruises she had on her body ached with all-too-real pain. In an hour or two the marks would show on her skin.

With every moment that passed, Marian felt her hope fade that this was a dream.

She looked at the oldest mage again. She should have been watching her new teacher all along, paying attention to what he was doing, but there was too much going on. And he’d made it clear he would be her mentor, she’d learn. She hoped.

“I would be honored to teach you to use your Power,” he’d said. The cadence of his words had hummed through her, feeling right. She felt inherently she could trust him, unlike everyone else in this place. There was a smoothness of the energy of his intentions toward her that didn’t come from anyone else in the room.

Every other person who had touched her had snags in their Power flow toward her that she’d recognized as self-interest, specific goals in their minds as to how to use her. Bossgond hadn’t.

She understood now that the circle of people who’d brought her to this place were called Marshalls. She’d picked that word up. She’d always been a quick study and didn’t think the language would pose much of a problem, especially since it was close to French.

The Marshalls still ringed the pentacle, grouped in pairs and watching with interest. Since they’d been chanting when she’d come here, they had to be the ones who’d burdened her life over the past month. Their music was unique. The crystal lamps made of great gemstones and arranged in the colors of the chakra were the chimes she had heard. And she knew the sound of the silver gong.

Yet she didn’t feel at ease with those pairs dressed in matching colors, clinking with chain mail under their rich robes and carrying weapons. She didn’t care for this enormous, echoing Temple. Something about the atmosphere raised all the fine hair on her body.

Then there were the other magicians. The handsome Jaquar scowled at her from outside the pentagram, almost vibrating with intensity. Oddly enough, she could hear a stream of melodious notes coming from him and it lured her. No. Absolutely not. That wasn’t right. She trusted her instinctive impression of him as someone who could harm her deeply.

These people seemed to use music in their magic, but it was still difficult to believe that the trickle of tunes she heard from them was anything but her imagination.

She usually soaked in and analyzed everything around her, but all the new experiences demanded that she shut down the overflow of sensory information for self-preservation. She stepped closer to Bossgond.

Marian clutched the cape. The lining was soft and warm. She swayed to the chant. Bossgond had a fabulous voice. She’d enjoy listening to it, learning from him.

Slam! The huge door to the Temple hit the stone wall and a small woman shot into the room, followed by a big man who was reaching for her.

“Alexa!” the man called.

Unlike everyone else, the woman was pale-skinned, with a white scar on one cheek, short in stature, and though she had silver hair, she appeared young.

The Marshalls started to surround her.

“Wait!” the woman called. In English.

Bossgond gripped Marian’s upper arm hard and sped up his chant, the rhythm now almost syncopated, making her dizzy with the energy surrounding them.

The Marshalls’ protests drowned out most of the woman Alexa’s words. Marian heard, “Wait! I came as soon as I could. You need to know, you’re in Lladrana—”

Magic coalesced around Marian and Bossgond, a huge pressure of Power. She tried to take a step forward, but was held in place by an invisible force.

“Can I go home?” Marian cried, straining to hear.

“Not yet,” Alexa called.

“How soon?” Marian yelled.

Alexa shrugged. “Maybe a month!”

Marian bit her lip. What if Andrew returned earlier or had an exacerbation during his retreat? She could lose him! She would definitely lose her college fund…and her job.

What should she do? What could she do?

Her ritual had been in part to find help for Andrew. These people might be able to cure him. She’d just have to find the information and get back to him fast.

The man who’d followed Alexa plucked her from an irritated circle of Marshalls. Holding her protectively, he ran with her to the edge of the pentacle.

Alexa met Marian’s gaze. “Make sure you ask about Pair-Bonding. And the Snap!”

Bossgond intoned, “Vont!”

The room disappeared. Vertigo hit Marian, and in the next instant she fell onto a thick rug into which was woven a red pentagram.

“Gagghhh,” she croaked. Brilliant. Wonderful impression to make on her teacher—and now the man whose power she was under.

Surely she could beat him physically if she had to, couldn’t she? Heaven knew she had heft.

But he sat next to her, watching with concerned eyes, then stooped and brushed back her hair. Then he took her hand and helped her up with unexpected strength, banished the flowing energy lines around his pentagram with a whistle. Then he led her to a soft chair that looked a lot like a fancy outdoor lounger. A series of velvet pillows was attached to an adjustable wooden frame; the back was set in a reclined position and the footrest was elevated.

Marian sat, leaned back and arranged the cloak in folds around her. She’d kept a good grip on the front since receiving the cape and it had only flapped open a little now and then, but had saved her modesty.

In Lladrana.

Alexa had called it Lladrana. Who was she, and why wasn’t she the one helping Marian?

Bossgond, who’d gone to a sink on the far side of the Tower, came back with a goblet of water. From the sprig of leaves that floated on top she guessed it wasn’t just water. She picked the greenery out of the cup and sniffed. Minty. She dropped the leaves back into the drink and, keeping her eyes on the old man, swallowed a bit.

He smiled in reassurance, took the cup from her, drank some himself and handed it back. Had she looked that suspicious?

Bossgond went to a large cabinet and opened it. Out floated a sphere the size of an exercise ball. Large and blue-green-brown, it rotated slowly. Marian’s stomach tightened when she realized it was a globe, but that the oceans and continents were unknown to her. She looked away.

“Amee,” Bossgond said.

First things first. Finding out how time passed on this new world was of the utmost importance. All around her and through her, magic surged like electricity. She should be able to master it and use it to help Andrew, but how much time did she have?

She stood and moved closer to the globe, saw three large continents and a countrylike portion outlined in black.

When the globe completed one full rotation, she said, “One day.” As it continued to move, she ticked off the days on her hand.

Feeling a little foolish, she continued with her mime. She drew a pentagram, then sat on the floor. “Earth!” she said.

With skinny little brows raised, he said, “Exotique Terre.”

“Terra.” She nodded.

His eyebrows rose higher. “Exotique Terre.”

Marian sighed and repeated, “Exotique Terre.” With whooshing sounds and wide gestures, and more noises to indicate the gong and chimes and chants, she acted out her trip to Lladrana.

Then she went to the globe again and counted days as it rotated, tilting her head in a question. Was any of this getting through?

Bossgond frowned, then crossed his tower room to more shelves and cupboards. He returned with a crude globe of Earth, about five inches around. When she took the heavy ball of metal, she sensed someone from her own world had made it. The echoes of the Song of Mother Earth lingered. She could do better.