Awen Rising Read online

  Shalane faced the howling crowd, body vibrating to the roar of adulation; clapping hands, stomping feet, and voices calling Shalane’s name as if she was the God they’d come to worship. Riveted by sixty-thousand hungry eyes, Shalane laughed—a deep, throaty yodel with, some would say, a donkey-like bray.

  When the band rose to play the opening chords of Hallelujah and Shalane commenced to sing, a hush settled over the stadium. In rare form, she rendered a poignant version of her pièce de résistance, teasing the crowd like she would a lover, softly and sweetly, then finishing with a fiery frenzy.

  The crowd went wild, wolf whistles and all. After another minute of tumultuous applause, the auditorium quieted.

  Shalane spoke into the mic attached to her collar. “Welcome to the beginning of another glorious day with God.”

  The applause and catcalls resumed. Arms thrown wide, Shalane pushed back at the pain behind her eye and basked in the adoration.

  The Hester Family

  F or the second time in as many hours, Mitchell Wainwright found himself speeding into a parking lot, this time at Emory University Hospital. His family, the Wainwrights, had helped build this place. Then, after the war in 2029, they helped rebuild it, erecting new stone walls that stood ten-feet high. When manned, it was a formidable fortress.

  Good old Emory. Mitch’s alma mater. The affiliated teaching-hospital was the finest in the country. It was also where, Mitch was convinced, he had been abandoned by his real father. The same birthday and hands were not the only things Mitch shared with Emily Hester.

  A shadow flickered across Emily’s shuttered face and fear jolted through him; a fleeting, yet alarming thought that she’d read his mind. Shaking it off, Mitch scrambled from the car.

  If the rumors were true, Emily’s mother kidnapped her to keep her away from magic. He and his cohorts were relying on that.

  She caught up to Mitch at the elevator and crowded in behind him. “What should I do when we get there?”

  “Do nothing and say nothing until I tell you.”

  Daggers flashed from the jade eyes. Emily wrinkled her nose, dug a lipstick from her purse, and used the mirrored wall to stain her lips.

  Mitch kept one eye on the numbers flashing over the door and the other on his half-sister. Half-sister, bah! He lowered his eyelids to hide the familiar surge of resentment as the white-hot bubbles expanded to fill his chest.

  In spite of the bitterness, Mitch had been meticulous in his search, and couldn’t help feeling pride in finding Emily. The other firm hadn’t come close in twenty-four years.

  Now he was delivering his half-sister to Hamilton Hester, the man who had yet to acknowledge Mitch’s identity, much less welcome him to the family empire.

  Frustration fueled Mitch’s hatred. It had taken all of his considerable acting skills to be cordial over pizza. Emily was the one person who had what Mitch wanted—claim to the Hester Empire and the Druid throne. But more importantly, the power that came with both.

  **

  Emily stepped from the elevator and ducked behind the attorney as a cacophony of sights and smells assailed her jangled senses. A muttering medic wheeled a man past them on a squeaking gurney. Sniffles rose from another left alone in the hallway. The smell of antiseptic mingled with the rot of illness.

  At Emergency Admissions, a harried mother with two crying toddlers cuddled a screaming baby whose arm stuck out at an unnatural angle. An old man clung to a frail woman who wheezed and hacked, like Ralph chugging a hairball.

  Ralph. Shit. He needed out of his carrier. Instead, she was at the hospital with skinheads and winos and sick people. She peeked around the corner of a wavy glass wall, where a baby cried feverishly in a waiting room filled to overflowing. The suffering pressed against her from all sides. Emily wrapped her arms across her chest and whimpered.

  “We can’t wait, dammit,” Mitchell growled. He elbowed his way to the window, ignoring the protests from those waiting in line.

  “I am Mitchell Albom Wainwright the Third. I need to locate Hamilton Hester. He arrived a short while ago by ambulance.”

  They were directed to a different desk by a flustered clerk. There they waited for an impatient ten minutes while the staff located Hamilton Hester.

  Turned out, he had been admitted on arrival and whisked to surgery. More than that, the attendant refused to divulge, even though Emily was his daughter and Mitchell played both the attorney and the Wainwright-name card.

  When they were on yet another elevator, heading for the surgical wing, Emily broached the subject of Ralph. “I need to get back. Ralph’s been in that cage all day. He needs a potty break.” Remorse twisted in her chest.

  “Good God, woman,” Mitchell spit as the door opened. “Your father could be dying, and you’re worried about a stupid cat. What is wrong with you?” He stomped from the elevator with a backward scowl.

  Primed to give him a piece of her mind, Emily stormed the door Wainwright had entered. “For your information, Ralph is my family—” She stopped short. Strangers surrounded the attorney. They all turned to stare at Emily.

  “Who is this?” barked a sloe-eyed woman cozying up to Wainwright. The strident voice belied her petite form.

  “I would think that’d be obvious, my dear,” another drawled. She resembled the first but was taller and heavier of girth.

  The second woman glided toward Emily, merry eyes dancing and delight painting every feature of her face. “You must be Cousin Emily, come back to Georgia after all these years. Welcome home, Cuz.”

  Before Emily could react, she was engulfed in a bear hug. She fought the urge to struggle as her new cousin rocked her back and forth. She was released to arm’s length for the buxom brunette to give her a once over.

  “I know you don’t remember me, sugar.” Emily was sure she would recognize that drawl had she heard it before. “And I don’t expect you to. It’s been a long time and we were girls when you left. I’m Becca. This is my mama and your aunt, Morgan Foster. The mouthy one here is my sister, Dana.”

  Dana backhanded her sibling on the shoulder.

  Morgan pulled Emily close and rocked her against her majestic frame. “My sweet Emily, how I have missed you.” Morgan let go to beam at her. “The Hills haven’t been the same since your mother took you away. But we never gave up hope. We knew our little wren would come home to roost. Now here you are, against all odds. And there’d be no mistaking you, either.”

  “Mama!” Dana gasped.

  A frowning Wainwright cleared his throat.

  “Spoilsports,” Morgan grumbled, but her eyes twinkled. “Come meet the rest of your family.”

  “The whole family’s here?” Emily squeaked. She hadn’t expected to see anyone but her father. Not today. Not this soon.

  The others leaned in Emily’s direction. She fought the panic squeezing her chest. Besides Becca, Dana, and Morgan Foster, there was a tall, sandy-haired man; a thickset ruddy man, bald of pate and welcoming; and two young girls, one blond and blue-eyed, the other dark.

  “Not all of us,” Morgan assured. “Just those in the vicinity.”

  “I hate to interrupt the welcoming party, but can you tell us what happened?” Mitchell was as brusque as ever. Emily glared. The man’s rudeness knew no bounds.

  Morgan drew to a height that rivaled Wainwright’s and stared down her regal nose into his cold, steel eyes. Her voice dripped with disdain. “My brother wanted tea and a game of chess. I was winning, too, until the bugger started clawing at his shirt collar and collapsed.”

  Emily’s head swam. She hugged her purse like a life raft and leaned against a chair back for support.

  “I had Mary call 911 and thank God the ambulance arrived within minutes. I rode with Ham, and Finn was waiting when we got to ER. They took him back to run tests, then into surgery fifteen minutes later.”

  Mitchell pressed. “What have they found?”

  “They think he had a stroke—” Morgan’s voice broke, and she fidgeted
with a slender gold wristwatch. “That was forty minutes ago.” Tears brimmed in Morgan’s eyes.

  “How bad?” The attorney almost sounded like he cared.

  “It’s touch and go. Finn says he’ll give us an update once he’s out of surgery.”

  “At least Grandpa is here at Emory.” The sandy-haired man spoke. “If anyone can save him, it’s Uncle Finn.” He took a step closer to Emily. “I’m Sean Jr, your nephew. My daddy was your brother.”

  “Was?” The thrill Emily had felt since learning she had a brother snaked around her heart and squeezed.

  “Daddy died two years ago. It was all very hush-hush, but I personally think he was murdered.” He stared defiantly at the others. None spoke, but sadness and disapproval played on their faces.

  Emily took his long hands. “Sean, I’m so sorry. I’m sad I won’t get to know my brother. But I’m grateful to know you.” She hugged her nephew. He looked like the boy in the fountain.

  Over his shoulder, her eyes met those of the rosy-cheeked man. The two little girls nipped behind him and peeked at Emily. Sean squeezed her and let go. The man took her hand.

  “I’m your Uncle Don, Morgan’s husband. I was stationed in Iran when you were born, then Afghanistan after that. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Emily.” He bowed with a flourish.

  Emily smiled. “Uncle Don, the pleasure is mine. Are these your children?”

  The girls tittered. The younger, dark-haired one hid behind the older, who hid behind Don.

  “You darling girl, no. These are my granddaughters. Maria, Sirona, come meet your cousin Emily.”

  The blond took a hesitant step forward, but the little one held her back.

  “It’s okay, sweetie. Emily won’t hurt you,” Don cajoled. “She’s from California.”

  A light sprang on in both little faces and they rushed Emily, words tumbling out and jumbling together. “California! We love California! But the news said it fell into the sea. Did you live by the sea? Were you in the earthquake? What did it feel like? Was it scary? Is California still there? Did you get hurt? Is that why you came to Atlanta?”

  When the barrage slowed, Emily addressed the eldest. “I’m Emily. Are you Maria?”

  “No, I’m Maria.” The youngest jostled her sister out of the way and thrust her hand and chest out.

  “Well, hello, Maria. It’s nice to meet you.” Emily took the tiny hand and extended her other. “Then that would make you Sirona. Hello, Sirona.”

  The girl hesitated, then took Emily’s outstretched hand and peeked up from beneath lush, dark lashes. “Hello,” she whispered.

  A doctor swept into the room, dressed in burgundy scrubs and reeking of apprehension. He was tall and lanky with spiky, walnut hair that sprouted around a face that would do a wolf justice, yellow eyes and all. Fascinated, Emily stared over the girls’ heads. The doctor made a beeline for Morgan.

  The little ones twisted away and squealed, “Daddy!”

  “Mother,” Finn uttered and stepped into the circle of Morgan’s arms. The girls threw themselves at his legs. He patted their heads and looked around the room. The wolf-eyes widened when they fell on Emily.

  He nodded in acknowledgement and said in an official voice, “Uncle Hamilton is out of surgery, but still unconscious. We ruled out a stroke. But he’ll be in intensive care, at least until morning. You should all go home. I will call if anything changes.”

  Everyone spoke at once. “What happened?” “Will he be okay?” “What if he dies?” “I’m staying.” “I’m not leaving.”

  Maria’s high-pitched whine shrilled above the voices. “Daddy, is Uncle Ham going to live?”

  The doctor bent to scoop Maria in his arms. “Sweetie, that’s the plan. In the meantime, I want you to go home with Nana and Bop-Bop. You can see your Uncle Ham when he wakes tomorrow. Deal?” Finn tickled her under the chin and Maria giggled.

  He handed her off to Don and lifted Sirona, who danced impatiently with her arms in the air. Finn buried his face in her silken hair, then set her back on the floor.

  “You be good for Nana and Bop,” he told them both.

  “But I want to stay with you,” Maria whined, leaning away from Don to reach for Finn.

  The doctor touched his shaggy brow to hers. “Honey, Daddy’s got to work.”

  “Please, Daddy. Can’t we stay and help Uncle Ham wake up?” Sirona wrapped her little arms around his leg. “You know we can.”

  Finn glanced at Emily. “No, sweetie, not this time. You haven’t had supper and bedtime’s soon. Tomorrow’s a school day, remember?”

  He peeled Sirona’s arms from his legs and placed them around his neck. He lifted her off the floor and swung her around, singing, “Good night ladies, good night ladies, good night ladies, I’m going to leave you now.” The tune tickled Emily’s memory.

  “No!” Maria shrilled.

  “Sweet dreams ladies, sweet dreams ladies, sweet dreams ladies…” Finn held the last note and planted kisses on both girls’ cheeks.

  Sirona relented first, but her words dragged out in a pout. “Ohh-kaay. If we have to.” Then the girls promised everyone, including Emily, they would see them.

  They left with Don and Morgan and Finn addressed Emily. “I’m Finn Foster, proud father of those two little vixens. And you’re our long-lost Emily, come home after all this time.”

  Dana pinched her brother.

  “Ouch!” Finn yelped, rubbing his arm. “What’d you do that for?”

  “I owed you one.” Dana cut her eyes toward Emily. “Cuz, this here is the great-hope of the Foster clan, Finn Hester Foster, Emory neurosurgeon-extraordinaire.”

  “A brain surgeon. Wow. It’s nice to meet you.” Emily was impressed.

  The outstretched hand engulfed hers. “And you as well. Welcome to Atlanta. The timing sucks, but let’s hope tomorrow is a better day.” His demeanor was gracious, as were his words.

  “Amen to that.” Anything from Emily would sound trite or self-serving, but she had to try. “I haven’t met my father, yet. But please, Finn, don’t let him die.” Tears rendered her last words unintelligible, but the yellow eyes conveyed understanding.

  “We’re doing everything we—” His voice broke, too. Swallowing hard, he continued. “You must be exhausted after flying all day and meeting this crazy family for the first time. Why don’t you go on over to Wren’s Roost and get some rest. We’ll let you know if anything changes. I promise.”

  Finn looked around at the stragglers. “That goes for all of you. Now skedaddle.”

  Carriage House

  T he attorney delivered Emily to Wren’s Roost with a promise to touch base if her father’s condition changed. Ralph was happy to be out of his carrier and found a patch of grass near the rear door. He did his business and scurried to the kitchen in search of food, none the worse for the cross-country flight and crazy-long day.

  Emily opened a can of cat food she’d packed for the trip. Hungry meows and the scent of salmon gravy filled the air. When the can hit the floor, Ralph dove face first.

  “You’ll be fat by the time I make up for this one, huh?” Moist smacking noises were Emily’s answer.

  Grateful for her cat’s familiar presence, she ruffled his fur and wandered to the front bedroom. She’d chosen the red room, as she had dubbed it, for its freshly-laid fireplace and the view of the forest.

  The four-poster bed and flat-screen TV were both pluses, though other than WebFlix, Emily hadn’t watched television in years. She unpacked her meager wardrobe and put it away in the chest of drawers.

  Curious about her new family, Emily meandered through the house, delight growing. Antique furniture adorned with lace doilies, glassware, candelabras, and decorative vases were everywhere.

  Cases held books and objets d'art, chandeliers graced the ornamental ceilings. The walls sported elegant paintings in ornate frames, metal sculptures, and earthen sconces. As nice as this was, the main house must be impressive indeed.

  In
the living room, an overstuffed sofa reigned supreme, with aubergine fabric that was invitingly worn. A cheerful fire crackled in the fireplace. Emily suspected Simon or Mary, of the couple Morgan had mentioned, were responsible. She made a mental note to thank them for the hospitable gesture.

  Burnished oak gleamed under Emily’s caress as she ran her fingertips along the intricate pattern of leaves and vines carved into the mantel. She touched the black-enamel screen, expecting it to be hot.

  When it wasn’t, she ran her palm over the heavy-gauge metal, enjoying its silken texture and marveling at the artisan’s handiwork. Like many of the furnishings in the carriage house, the screen was a masterpiece. The carved wooden handles matched the mantel, and though it looked quite substantial, lifting the screen to the side took little effort.

  She added logs from a nearby rack and used the poker from a matched set. The dry logs caught and blazed, filling the room with the delicate scent of cherry. While Emily worked, Ralph claimed a cushion on the hearth and curled in a ball.

  “Cat hair be damned. Love me, love my cat,” Emily mumbled. Squatting, she buried her face in Ralph’s fur.

  He had been the one constant in Emily’s life since she’d rescued the lanky cat from a no-kill shelter. He was Emily’s rock. Her anchor. Her companion. Inured to traveling, Ralph had that feline ability to land on his feet. Where didn’t matter, as long as he was with Emily.

  Now, she’d parked them in the Bible belt, home of the staunch conservatives that had commandeered the government in Emily’s early years and dragged the U.S. into a war it couldn’t win. Was she loony tunes for coming here?

  The events of the day weighed upon her, crushing her beneath its weight. What had she done? Why had she come here?

  Emily sank to the rug as anxiety rolled over her in waves, engulfing her in a riptide of fear. She drew a lungful of air and counted to eight before letting it out and sucking in another. She needed air.

  Rising on trembling legs, Emily gave Ralph a squeeze and went to the red room to don her sweats and jogging shoes. She glanced longingly at the four-poster bed. If the run didn’t help her sleep, nothing would.