Awen Storm Read online

  The cave filled with a heavenly glow and her ancestor appeared. Dressed in a green gown over a white bodice, Awen knelt to caress Emily’s cheek. Her long, luxurious hair cascaded in waves around Emily’s face.

  “It’s about time you called. I thought you never would.” Awen settled beside Emily and lifted her head gently onto her lap to stroke her face. “I am always here, within you.” She smiled sweetly and touched Emily’s heart. “You need only seek me out.”

  Her nose and eyes crinkled. “Your independence keeps me at bay. But your desire, your acceptance—these allow me and my power to manifest through you. But you are afraid of me. You believe I will take over, that you will not be in control. Your fear denies me expression. It keeps me locked away, impotent and unable to help.”

  Awen’s eyes—the eyes Emily saw in the mirror every day—filled with sadness, compassion, and longing. The emotions reverberated within Emily’s soul. She nodded to Awen.

  From the corner of the vault came a soft hiss.

  “There. Nathair calls. Follow him. Your destiny awaits at the other end.” Awen bent to kiss Emily’s forehead, then disappeared.

  Half submerged in the dream, Emily crawled through the dark toward the snake Elder, one agonizing inch at a time.

  Trapped Like a Rat

  Tremors rattled the earth. A boulder jarred loose and landed inches from Brian’s temple. He clenched his eyes tight and thanked Brigit, the goddess to whom he had prayed since childhood. Somehow he knew Brigit would save him. He was too young to die.

  But his legs were pinned under a pile of rocks. He had tried repeatedly to move them, but they wouldn’t budge. Now the pain and feeling were draining away. His throat was raw from screaming for help, and all the dirt he had swallowed. The others weren’t near, or they would’ve heard him by now.

  Unless they were all dead.

  Terror squeezed his insides. He might die too, half-buried beneath a pile of rocks. How long would it take? Would rats eat him alive?

  His head swam and he thought he might puke. He held his breath to keep from hyperventilating. Why hadn’t he listened to Uncle Lugh and stayed home with Cu? They would both be alive. And watching it on the news.

  A sob escaped, followed by another. If he lived to be a hundred, Brian would never forget Cu’s scream or the sight of that boulder bashing in his head. He shivered and brought the handful of hair to his nose to breathe in Cu’s scent. Then he stuffed it in his pocket and wrapped his arms around himself.

  He thought of his mama and hiccupped on a sob. He didn’t tell her goodbye. The floodgate opened in earnest, now. Cybele MacBrayer would come unglued. First, his dad had disappeared. Now Brian. He stared up at what he supposed to be the ceiling, though he couldn’t see it in the dark. The tears stung his scraped cheeks.

  A scrabbling noise made his heart pound. He lifted his aching head and groaned when the room spun round and round.

  It was useless anyway. All he could see was black. But what was that noise?

  “Probably a rat.”

  A chill ran through Brian. The voice was familiar. He squirmed to escape and every bone in his body screamed. The rocks held him pinned like a fly in a science exhibit.

  “Wh-wh-who’s there?”

  “It’s me. Hamilton. The good news is, there are signs of habitation. We might get out of this sticky wicket alive.”

  “Where are you? I thought Cu died. That boulder nearly took his head off.”

  “My friend Cu didn’t make it, son. But I did. And I have you to thank. I’m sorry about jumping aboard without asking, but there was no time. I hope you don’t mind. You saved my life.”

  His whole body began to shake. His teeth chattered. “You’re inside me?” he squeaked. “You jumped inside me? You didn’t ask. Is that allowed?” The shudder went all the way to Brian’s toes.

  “I’m sorry, Brian. It’s typically frowned upon. But in emergencies, the lines are blurred. And I should let you know that I can hear your thoughts. And feel your feelings. Right now you’re feeling violated, and you’re afraid my presence might harm you in some way. I can assure you, it won’t. And yes, you’re still you.”

  Ever since his father had taught him how to shape-shift, or inhabit a body other than his own, Brian’s worst nightmare was getting stuck. Now someone was stuck in him.

  “I promise I’ll jump ship at the first opportunity.”

  Well, that was something.

  Brian quivered, taking stock. Other than Hamilton’s thoughts in his head, he didn’t feel all that different. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as he’d always imagined. Especially if Hamilton could get them out of here.

  “Can you?” he asked.

  “Working on it,” Hamilton said. “I can at least get these rocks off our legs. I mean, your legs.”

  “That’s okay. You can say ‘ours’. Do you feel how much it hurts? Even with the numbness?”

  “Oh yeah. I’m trying to ignore it.”

  Brian’s snicker sounded more like a sob. “I know, right?”

  The crushing weight was nearly unbearable. Had the rocks broken his legs? Would they work again? Assuming, of course, they got out of this mess.

  “I told you we would. A little faith, huh?”

  “I guess,” Brian mumbled, then something occurred to him. “At least I’m not alone. Well, yeah. I guess I am. But you know what I mean.”

  “Yes, kid. I do.”

  “Heeeey.”

  “What is it?”

  “For some reason, you living my worst nightmare makes it better somehow. But it’s still creepy. I’m sorry you don’t have a body. If it’s anything like I imagine, it must be pretty awful.”

  “Actually, not so much. You get used to it after a while. You’re still you, no matter the vessel. And it beats pushing up daisies in a decaying corpse. Well. Maybe not. If you hadn’t grabbed hold of Cu, I’d be sipping rare cognac and smoking a doobie with friends on the other side. Instead, I get to stick around and help you and my daughter save the world. Now, let’s figure out how to get out of here. Starting with our legs.”

  Animals Amuck

  Lugh MacBrayer woke bloody and bruised on a pile of gravel and red Georgia clay. Dank and close, it reeked of sulfur and open sewage. Emily and Brian were nowhere about. Nor was Cu.

  He had failed them all. Now it appeared he needed saving, too.

  Praying they had survived despite the odds, Lugh stood gingerly and brushed dirt from his clothes. Light leaked in from somewhere, allowing him to barely see his surroundings.

  He studied the room, if it could be called that. The structure did appear man-made. Dust-covered canned goods and spider webs lined wooden shelves in one corner.

  Was it an old root cellar? A fall-out shelter? Whatever it was, it hadn’t been used in a long time. He took one step and shuddered when a mouse skittered across the floor in front of him. As a restauranteur, Lugh abhorred mice.

  Spying the outline of a door, he tried to pry it open, but it wouldn’t budge. Lugh circled the room. In the far corner, he found a roughed-out closet. Light leaked around the edges of a trap door mounted in the ceiling. Cement blocks were conveniently stacked underneath.

  Lugh mounted the makeshift step and yelped when pain speared his hip. Taking his weight on the good leg, he shoved and felt the trap door give. Moving it to one side, he peered over the edge and put a finger to his nose to keep from sneezing.

  Disturbed dust swirled in the light. Barrels of feed, stacked hay, and alfalfa bales meant the space was likely zoo storage.

  Grunting, Lugh used his arms to haul his body through the trap door. He gave silent thanks he was in excellent shape. His druid training made sure of that. Other than a wrenched hip, cuts, scrapes and what felt like a million bruises, he had fared well, considering he’d lived through an earthquake and a volcanic eruption. He hoped Emily, Brian, and Cu had survived, too.

  Outside the storeroom was a long hallway. Anxious to find the others, Lugh limped as fast as he
could, sending dust into the air. He sneezed until his head pounded. Up a long flight of stairs, then another, Lugh climbed, until he was finally outside in the zoo.

  A cacophony of sights and sounds assaulted his keen druid senses. Bedlam reigned. A cheetah shrieked and rushed past, chasing an injured orangutan that crashed through the underbrush.

  Horrified, Lugh saw it strike. With one powerful leap, the big cat knocked the screaming primate to the ground. With brutal precision, the cheetah ripped out the ape’s throat, then dragged it behind a building to feed.

  A peacock screeched. Not a proud, preening call, but a dying one. Around the zoo, escaped animals fell to predators set free by the earthquake.

  Over his head, helicopters from every news station from Atlanta to Savannah buzzed. Uniformed troops poured from the belly of one on the ground that sported a National Guard insignia. They joined zoo employees, darting frantic animals, bandaging wounds, and giving orders.

  Lugh waded through the commotion until he found himself at the far end of the gorilla compound, opposite where they were when the quake struck the zoo. He ran toward the chasm, hip screaming agony with every step. Wiping his face, Lugh ignored the blood that came away on his hand. Whatever was wrong, he would deal with it later. First, he had to find Emily, Brian, and Cu.

  On the opposite side of the rift, rescue workers maneuvered a backhoe into place, disturbing the shifting talus. Rocks skittered down the sharp incline and gathered momentum.

  He squinted up at the newly-formed peak and recalled the thrill of riding it into the air. Then the terror of falling when the top crumbled. Turning, Lugh peered down into the chasm where the others had disappeared.

  At the bottom, he spied what looked like a gorilla partially buried in the ruins. The others huddled in a makeshift enclosure above the fissure.

  Hearing a roar from somewhere behind him, he turned to see a lioness and a lynx battling over a dead hyena. Lugh’s head swam. Bending forward, he drew a ragged breath and sought the still place inside of him. Breathing fouled air, he felt the quiet grow. Calm slowed his racing pulse. The ache in his gut lessened, and his hip eased.

  From this place of power, Lugh reached out with his senses and searched for Emily’s energy signature. It was faint, but steady. Next, he found Brian’s trace. His was slightly askew, but pulsing strong. Cu, Lugh couldn’t sense at all. Nor his hitchhiker, the former Grand Druid, Hamilton Hester.

  For one sorrowful moment, Lugh let himself grieve for the majestic dog and the man who had always treated him as an equal.

  A baby emu nipped by, chased by a coyote. Roused from his melancholy, Lugh drew an imaginary circle in the wreckage, took three deep breaths, and spoke a spell to subdue the animals.

  Their cries quieted. One-by-one, the frightened beasts returned to their cages. A cry went up from rescue workers as they witnessed what some might call a miracle. Grateful for the small triumph, Lugh hung his head for the ones he couldn’t save, including his companions.

  A flash glinted off something in the fracture zone, and hopeful adrenaline flooded his limbs. Without care for his safety, he slid down the slope, dislodging rocks and debris. A paramedic waved and yelled something Lugh couldn’t hear over the whump of the helicopters and the backhoe’s maneuvering.

  Slipping and sliding, he picked his way down the tricky talus. By the time he reached the bottom, his head was throbbing and his vision had gone slightly blurry. But he recognized Cu’s collar.

  Falling to his knees, he frantically dug rocks and dirt from his buried pet. Tears dripped on the backs of his bloody hands, and he couldn’t help thinking of the first time he’d seen the dog lounging on an old blanket in front of his fireplace.

  He’d been so opposed to keeping him. Now all Lugh could think was how much he would miss the big lug. And that if Cu was gone, Hamilton Hester’s spirit was gone too. Which didn’t bode well for the Awen Order.

  Or the world.

  Debris rattled down to land beside Lugh. The paramedic that had yelled at him earlier picked his way gingerly down the hill. Ignoring the stout man, Lugh continued pushing rubble off Cu until he freed the dog’s head. He scooted closer and rocked it like a baby.

  As the burly paramedic neared, he yelled over the din, “Sir, you’re hurt. Let me help you.”

  “I’m fine. Just help me dig my dog out.” Lugh looked up from his dead pet.

  The paramedic squinted against the sun and studied Lugh’s face. Lugh stared back, wondering what else could be wrong.

  “Sir, I need to examine that gash.”

  Placing a hand on Lugh’s shoulder, the paramedic spoke into a wrist unit, urgency punctuating every word. “Bertram, get down here with a Stokes basket. We have a head injury. A bad one, from the looks of it.”

  Lugh touched his crown. It was a gooey mess. Nausea hit him, and the world went wonky. He slumped to the ground.

  The not-so-gentle paramedic shook Lugh’s shoulder. “Stay with me, Sir. Keep your eyes open.” He tapped Lugh’s cheek. “Sir! Look at me!”

  But the effort was too great. A gentle fog stole through Lugh’s body and he sank into the bliss of unawareness.

  Danger in Agartha

  Nergal crept along the alley, intent on reaching the medical clinic. Shibboleth, the warlord from Gamma Reux had claimed command of Nergal’s forces, and his goons had beaten Nergal to a bloody pulp. They’d left him for dead in the chutes outside Irkalla. The doctora in charge of the clinic was purported to hold no sympathies for Shibboleth or his new regime.

  Keeping his stolen hood raised and his head down, Nergal hid in a doorway and peered from behind the hood. Wanted posters bearing his image papered the streets, and though a gaping wound marred his features, he was still recognizable. Still, no one had challenged him.

  Hearing the sound of a throng approaching, Nergal limped to the end of the alley and shrank into the shadows. A contingent of Draconian soldiers outfitted in full battle gear appeared on the street.

  Faraway, an explosion like the one he’d heard earlier, shook Agartha. Something big was going down. The rumbling intensified and the alley pitched from side to side, slamming Nergal to the ground.

  Biting his black tongue against the pain, he molded his tortured body to the base of the jittering building. Mere meters away, the soldiers marched past on drunken feet. They weaved, cursing, but remained upright to surge over the bucking earth.

  Straining to hear any news they might reveal, Nergal caught a grunted exchange. Enough to learn that something powerful had created a rift in the earth’s mantle, releasing kilotons of magma toward the surface.

  But for some reason, the crust had remained intact. The molten slurry was subverting and spreading through the chute system. Nergal thought of the hundreds of chutes that riddled Agartha, and the ones that connected it to all points of UnderEarth.

  Were he still in power, he would divert the flow to the nearest volcanic upshaft. Make it the humans’ problem. Instead, he was cowering in an alley, on the run in his own empire. A pariah with a price on his head.

  The magma was Shibboleth’s problem now. Unless Nergal happened to be in its path. Which would be ironic, considering he had just managed to reach Agartha without being captured or killed. Or dying from the wounds inflicted by Shibboleth’s goons.

  Struggling upright, he embraced the pain that lanced through his back, setting it afire. He would not give in to the pain or to Shibboleth. He would regain his strength and take his rightful place as leader of all Earth—after butchering the odious warlord and his henchmen.

  But first, Nergal’s injuries must be tended.

  As if in agreement, the earth quieted. The rumbling shake abated to a quiver.

  Hiding his welted face behind the hood, Nergal limped to the deserted street. He stooped to rifle a fallen pack dropped in the troop’s haste. His effort secured him a stunner and two concussive devices. Nergal tucked the weapons in the lining of his cloak. Making sure he hadn’t been seen, he hobbled to the s
hadows and continued to the clinic.

  Soon, he spied the bold Draconian letters rolling across a flashing neon sign. Qualified Medic. Always Open. Low Fee. No Questions. No Hassle.

  He slunk to the entrance and peered one last time through the gathering gloom. Few were around. Those that were hastened about their business.

  Lifting the latch, Nergal shoved the slab aside and entered the small, well-lit clinic. He ignored the riff-raff crowding the waiting area, and shuffled to the counter where he demanded to see the doctora. The frightened receptionist skittered to the back.

  Nergal limped to a nearby bench and accidentally stepped on the tail of a slender Draca, a female even more battered than him. Offering no apology or acknowledgment, he sank to the bench to huddle behind his robe and fight the pain.

  “Sir?” the receptionist squeaked. She held the inner door ajar and motioned to him. Nergal rose.

  The Draca beside him gasped. “NERGAL?”

  Recognizing the voice, he wheeled to confront the wench responsible for his near-murder in Irkalla. But the room tilted on a roaring boom and he crashed into her. Scrambling upright, Nergal disentangled from the wily enchantress, only to be slammed by the heaving earth against the receptionist cage on the opposite wall.

  An ominous rumble shook the building. Ceiling tiles rained upon the occupants of the waiting room. They climbed over one another, squealing and grunting, trying to reach the exit. The stench of fear and foul fumes thickened the air.

  Springing to action, Nergal hauled the receptionist off the floor and pushed Inanna before them past two slimy arthropods. He thrust them out the door and dove back inside. Without the doctora, he would die of his injuries.

  The rumble intensified. A crack ran up the far wall and the ceiling crumbled, giving way in the corner. Nergal limped to the back room. A Draca in medical scrubs worked to free an aging Fomorian from a tube that had been crushed beneath ceiling debris. The room lurched and the tube skittered sideways, sending the doctora face-first to the floor.

  **