Visions of Magic a-1 Page 6

  A swift, sharp stab of regret shot through her but she defended herself anyway. “He was attacking me.”

  “Found you out, didn’t he?” the guard taunted. “Knew what you were and so you had to kill him. Shouldn’t have done it in front of witnesses, though. That was stupid.”

  Shea took a deep breath. “That’s not what happened.”

  No one would believe her. No one would ever hear her side of the story. New laws were being rushed through Congress every day. Laws that said dangerous witches weren’t entitled to a trial by their peers-because their peers were in prison. No human jury would sit on a trial for a witch because they were too afraid of retribution.

  So there were no trials anymore.

  Witches were now immediately imprisoned and, if deemed warranted, executed.

  “It’s exactly what happened,” the woman said. “You’re no better than your aunt. And if you weren’t wearing that chain around your neck, you’d kill me in a heartbeat to escape, so don’t bother telling me any lies.”

  The slurs on her aunt stung. Mairi had been one of the kindest, most gentle people Shea had ever known. And in one horrifying instant, she’d become Public Enemy Number One.

  Shea’s gaze dropped to the name tag the guard wore. JACOBS. When she spoke again, it was in a calm, rational tone. If she could win this woman’s understanding, maybe even make a friend here, there was a chance she could make her new life a little less hideous. “Officer Jacobs…”

  “Don’t say my name!” she shouted, cheeks paling even as she pulled a nightstick from her belt and slapped it hard against the white gold bars, making Shea jump back farther and drop the sheets and blankets to the cold, cracked linoleum floor at her feet.

  The harsh whack stilled everyone nearby. The silence was almost as unnerving as the racket had been before.

  “Don’t ever say my name,” the woman said, eyes wide, mouth twisted into a feral snarl. “You try and spell me, witch, and you won’t live to see your legal execution. You’ll die right here.”

  Shea’s gaze locked with the guard’s-and what she read in those dark brown eyes sent a chill racing through her. There was no safety anywhere now, she thought, realizing that the guards here had complete control over the inmates. And the “accidental” death of a witch wouldn’t even raise an eyebrow.

  “Don’t you push me, Witch. Understand?”

  Shea nodded, holding her breath, leery of even thinking about arguing, lest it show on her face. Slowly, the women around them came to life again and hushed voices once more whispered into the stale air. Seconds ticked past and the activity in the prison continued as if nothing out of the ordinary were happening-and that was probably true.

  Threats and beatings were nothing new in the prison system, Shea realized. And not even the ACLU was willing to stand up and speak for a witch.

  She was alone here.

  Atonement, Torin had said. Was this part of it? Was she being punished now for something that had happened in another world, another life?

  Alone, she shivered at her own thoughts and the empty dread filling her.

  As the guard moved off with one last fulminating look, Shea slowly walked to the cell door to look out at her new home. The cold from the white gold did battle with a new kind of chill inside her.

  Someone in the distance shouted, “Lights-out!”

  One by one, the overhead lights blinked off as Shea looked across the dozens of women in nearby matching cells. Darkness crept along the cellblock and those women’s faces receded into the shadows.

  As the last light flickered out, Shea understood a horrible truth.

  They were all alone.

  Chapter 11

  Two men wouldn’t have stood a chance at breaking into the internment camp nestled deep in the forest.

  Two Eternals, on the other hand, encountered little trouble.

  Torin felt the drain to his powers from the proximity of the white gold that had been sprayed across the chain-link fence surrounding the camp. Though his magical abilities were weakened by the man-made element, his physical strength remained. He and his fellow Eternals had been created to be strong, nearly invincible. As if the demigod who was their creator had foreseen that one day man would find a way to abridge their magic, he had seen to it that Eternals would never be completely defenseless.

  Torin and the others like him boasted superhuman strength and endurance. Their magic was not as extensive as that of the witches they protected, but their physical abilities were more than a match for the witches’ enemies.

  The guards at this prison wouldn’t stop him from finding Shea.

  Comfortable in the shadows as he would never be in the light, Torin moved with stealth, focused solely on the prisoners locked within the grim walls. There were armed guards patrolling the perimeter, and roving white lights swept the cleared area in front of the camp with clockwork precision.

  Which worked in their favor.

  It took only moments for Torin to realize the rhythm of the lights and understand how to avoid them. He shot a look at Rune, positioned off to his right, and nodded. As one, the two closed in on the enclosure, moving so quickly the human eye could barely track them.

  The guards were oblivious and would remain so for as long as possible. Torin approached the wall, reached within himself for the power of the flames and instantly found himself inside the camp. As brightly lit as the outside was, here it was pitch-black. It was a calculated risk, drawing on his flames. A flicker of a flashlight beam sliced through the darkness on occasion as guards moved through the prison on their rounds.

  I will find the cells. You locate the records room. See if there is mention of any new prisoners. Speaking telepathically to Rune, Torin parted ways with his friend a moment later. He had a more important mission to take care of.

  The white gold layered throughout the prison dampened his powers but didn’t shut them down completely. A witch, who was of the earth, was more directly affected. An Eternal was born of the sun. Created from the very fires of the star, the Eternals could more easily withstand the cloying pull of white gold. Though even they couldn’t withstand its proximity for long.

  Torin’s well-honed senses were tuned toward Shea. To the particular hum of her mind, her emotions. Her never-changing soul. After centuries spent near her, he knew the vibration of her life’s energies as well as he knew his own and so he was aware almost immediately that she wasn’t there. Still, he had to make sure.

  The cellblock wasn’t hard to locate. A huge building in the center of a barren yard. There were bars on the high windows and a guard posted at the steel door. Not a problem, since he wouldn’t be using the entrance.

  Once again, flames erupted across his skin, and this time Torin knew he wouldn’t go unnoticed. He was inside the prison proper. Guards would see the flash of brightness as his powers, dampened though they were, burst free, but they wouldn’t have enough time to stop him.

  Instantly, he disappeared and rematerialized inside the cellblock. Outside the building warning sirens wailed as word spread of his presence. He paid them no mind.

  Women in the cells awoke at the noise and started calling out to each other. And to him. He listened for one voice in particular and wasn’t surprised when he didn’t hear it. The time for stealth was past, so he called out, “Shea Jameson! Are you here?”

  “Get us out of here,” a woman shouted back.

  Other voices joined that refrain.

  “Who are you?”

  “What are you?”

  “Help!”

  His long legs ate up the vast hall separating two rows of cells. The white gold continued to affect him, but its presence wasn’t strong enough to completely incapacitate him. He felt the drain on his powers but refused to surrender to it, calling on his own inner strength to keep going. Nothing in this world or the next would keep him from his woman.

  “Is Shea Jameson here?” He suspected she wasn’t and yet he called out anyway, determined to leave n
o stone unturned. His shout thundered over the women’s softer cries and for a split second, silence followed.

  “Don’t know who she is.” A woman in the last cell answered him, her voice confidently shattering the quiet. She stepped up to the bars, grabbed hold of them and gave them an impotent shake. “Can you get us out of here?”

  He stopped to look into her pale blue eyes, reading the fear and frustration written there. She tore at him, this nameless prisoner. As they all did. If he could have, he would have freed all of them. He was an Eternal, created to protect and defend; it went against every instinct he possessed to stand by as any female-especially a witch-was harmed in any way.

  Even with the white gold chain around her neck and the bars separating them, he could sense her power, brutally buried within her. Fury for those who would cage women such as her-such as Shea-swept through him. But he had a mission. One that didn’t include playing hero.

  “I cannot,” he said. He didn’t have the time to linger and had no way to get the woman to safety if he did help her escape. As it was, precious seconds were already gone. Rune was no doubt on his way to meet him and Torin hadn’t found Shea. Or even a trace of her.

  “Damn it,” he whispered, as a sense of unease crept through him. He was wasting time while Shea was being held somewhere else, in a place too much like this one.

  The witch stretched one arm through the bars for him, but couldn’t quite reach. Her fingers closed helplessly into her palm. Blowing out a breath, she whispered, “You’re an Eternal.”

  Shocked, Torin narrowed his gaze on her. The Eternals were legend among witches, he knew. Their existence wasn’t a secret. But how had she recognized him as such? He felt no recognition for her. A buzz of warning slid through Torin’s veins. “How do you know of us?”

  She laughed shortly. “Word travels,” she told him, running one hand through her short, spiky black hair. “When witches get together, we share information. I ran into a woman a year or so ago who told me about you guys.”

  “How do you know I am one of them?”

  She shrugged. “Who else could have gotten in here?”

  Accepting that, he stepped closer and caught her scent, an earthy aroma that reminded him of both forest and sea. It was a blend of scents that usually clung to women with magical abilities. As if the elements themselves, gathering in the woman’s blood, were surfacing through her pores, allowing her to be one with nature and the very earth that would bolster her magic. There was something else here, too, he thought, trying to make sense of it.

  “Who told you of us?” Was there another Awakened witch out there that they must find? He had thought Shea to be the first. And if there was another, where was her Eternal? Why hadn’t he found her?

  Though there were witches all across the globe, there were only a select few to whom Eternals were bound. They were the chosen ones. Members of the once mighty coven that had paid a deadly price for their arrogance eons ago.

  Instantly, the witch behind the bars shook her head. Face pale, eyes blazing, she said, “I’ll only tell you if you get me out.”

  Still the sirens blared, shattering the night. Women up and down the cellblock screamed and cried out for help. At the end of the long, dark hall, the steel door swung open and a wide swath of light slashed through the shadows. Guards shouted. A burst of gunfire chattered outside the walls and in response the caged women shrieked and moaned.

  The dark-haired witch never broke eye contact with him. “I can tell you what you need to know,” she said quickly. “But not unless you get me out. I don’t need your help after that. I can teleport.”

  The abilities granted to witches were wide and varied. If this witch was a teleporter-one who had the ability to shift across distances, much like an Eternal-then he could leave her to her own devices once she was free. And he needed to know what she knew.

  Torin bit off another curse and threw a look down the hall at the group of guards rushing inside the prison.

  “Get me out and I’m fine,” she said, words tumbling from her mouth in a desperate rush. “But I’m marked for execution and unless you help me escape, the knowledge you need dies with me.”

  “Damn all of this straight to hell.” He was caught. If he wanted her information, he must free her. Besides, he was wasting time standing there arguing with her. “Stand back.”

  Reluctantly, she did.

  Torin brought forth the flames, fighting the drag of the white gold surrounding him. The fire burned for him as always, although diminished slightly. He centered the flames on his right hand. The living fire crackled and spit as he reached toward the lock on the white gold cell bars. He’d have only moments before direct contact with the gold began to affect his powers. If this took too long, he could find himself as trapped as the witch-and forced to fight his way out. Though that wouldn’t present a problem, it would take time he didn’t have. He had to risk it, though, for the information she offered. He laid his burning fingertips to the locking mechanism and instantly felt an icy draught push through the flames, flooding into him. Torin held fast, his gaze fixed on the lock, his powers centered on the task.

  Flames fought with ice. The witch urged him to hurry. The prisoners continued to shriek and scream.

  “Stand down!” a guard shouted, running now, heavy footsteps echoing through the hall, despite all the noise.

  Torin paid him no attention, but the women in the cells were doing all they could to slow the guards. Bits of food, books, magazines flew through the bars, aimed at the armed men. The prisoners were risking everything to help one of their own escape. No doubt in the hope that one day it would be their turn.

  Rune appeared in a flash of flame alongside him just as the lock gave way.

  “What the hell?” he demanded, looking from Torin to the witch rushing out of the cell.

  “Not now,” Torin told him, reaching for the witch even as she threw herself into his grasp. He fought through the dampening effect of the white gold, called on the flames once more and let them engulf him and the witch as a deadly hail of bullets flew at them.

  Chapter 12

  Sounds echoed softly in the cavernous prison as the women settled in for the night. Sighs and sobs and whispered prayers were a constant murmur that sounded like the rush of wind through trees. The darkness was alive. With the fluorescent lights off, the only illumination came through each prisoner’s narrow window. The glass was dirty and beyond the pane were heavy bars that Shea suspected were also coated in white gold. But at least she had one small slice of the outside world to cling to.

  Alone in her cell, she did her best to shut out the murmuring, the despair. With her bed made, she lay on the hard mattress and stared out that window, wishing she were anywhere else.

  Somewhere out there Torin was looking for her. She was convinced of that. No man who had promised a mating ritual with the seriousness he had would allow her to escape him. And now that she was praying he’d show up, the question was, would he be able to find her?

  She closed her eyes and focused her thoughts on the tall man with the fierce gray eyes. He’d called himself an Eternal. Her Eternal. Why did that sound familiar? That one word seemed to resonate with her. She brought his face into her mind and concentrated with everything she was.

  How odd, she noted absently, that only hours ago, he had been the enemy. Now, he was hope. Before, she’d worried that he was somehow connected to the strange dreams and visions that had been haunting her. She no longer cared. She’d take the dreams. Whatever he had planned for her had to be better than this.

  With his image firmly in her mind, she finally slept and the dream came.

  She was at home, in a small cottage on the edge of a thick wood with a stream rushing nearby. A peat fire burned in the hearth and herbs hung from the ceiling rafters. There was a wide window overlooking a garden that looked lush even in the moonlight. Everything was in its place. Warm throws and pillows rested on the pair of chairs drawn up to the crackling fire.
Pots and jugs lined shelves where several precious books were carefully stacked. The bed was wide and lumpy, covered with a quilt she’d pieced together herself.

  In her dream, Shea recognized this place. She was herself and yet at the same time she was someone else. Someone in a different time. The woman who lived here. Worked here. Loved here.

  She turned and caught her reflection in the shiny bottom of a copper pan. Familiar, yet strange. The green eyes she recognized, but the thick black hair was different. Her face was heart-shaped and her lips were red and full. She was… another.

  In a dream that was so real, she smelled the peat smoke, tasted the warm, earthy scent on her tongue. Even in sleep, she felt flustered, as confusion spiraled through her mind. How could she be so at home in a place and time that wasn’t hers? How could she know that there was a village just a mile or so away? And that the herbs hanging over her head were for medicinal uses?

  She rubbed the forehead that wasn’t really hers and yet was, and tried to make sense of things.

  Then the door behind her crashed open, slamming into the wall. Heart racing, Shea spun around to face the giant of a man filling the open doorway. His long black hair was braided at his temples. He wore a simple homespun shirt and brown leather pants tucked into heavy brown boots.

  His gray eyes locked on her and her still-frantic heart leapt in her chest. She knew those eyes. Had known them, she now thought, through countless lifetimes. Something inside her loosened as even in the dream she felt pieces of a puzzle slide inexorably into place. Then she wasn’t thinking at all. Every inch of her body burned with a hunger that she recognized. Embraced. An icy wind slid through the room to caress the flames and send them dancing and writhing, making twisting shadows on the rough-hewn walls.

  “You weren’t waiting in the village,” he accused.