Awen Storm Page 6

  A tall, thin man carrying an electronic board threaded between her car and the crowd. Shalane stared at the sign. It depicted her face on the body of a snake-like devil with a forked, hissing tongue. The protester forced his way through an opening and disappeared, but his sign bobbled and jigged above the crowd, moving ever inward through the long foyer until it was out of sight.

  The light must’ve changed because the line of cars inched forward. At least the mob seemed amicable enough. Traffic stopped again when the news van in front of Shalane pulled to the curb. A reporter leaped out, followed by a camerawoman. Horns blared in protest.

  “Morons,” she mumbled, eyeing her rearview mirror.

  There was a commotion on the sidewalk as the reporter and camerawoman claimed space amidst the throng. Shalane thrummed her fingers on the dash and read the closest signs.

  “FORNICATOR GO HOME!” “SHALANE CARPENTER IS A WITCH & A WHORE!” “DEVIL INCARNATE!” “GO HOME GOD HATER!” “WE DON’T NEED NO SHE-DEVIL!”

  Her favorite was a picture of her sitting on her throne chair. But instead of straight blond hair, golden snakes emanated from Shalane’s head, and she had a flat nose, enormous red eyes, and a scaly snake face. Chuckling and shaking her head, Shalane moved with traffic as the van pulled away.

  She turned right onto North Avenue and caught a glimpse of a directional sign for The Varsity, the fast-food restaurant Cecil had raved about yesterday. The throng extended around to this side, too. Some of the protestors had gathered across the street in a parking lot belonging to Emory’s Midtown Hospital.

  Blowing her horn, Shalane waved and leered, then gunned it when a big brute of a man charged her car, followed by other angry protestors. She lost sight of her would-be attackers in traffic and circled to the back entrance, where she showed her credentials to the parking attendant and pulled in next to her tour bus. Gathering her travel case and purse, she called Cecil and waited for him to come out to get her.

  Once inside, Shalane began clearing negative energy in the auditorium, while Cecil went out front to have the entrance cleared. When her cell phone vibrated, she was in the loge praying, asking God to fill the hall with joy and redemption. Expecting it to be a crew member asking a stupid last-minute question, she yanked it from her pocket and grunted, “What?”

  “Reverend Carpenter?” The male voice was strong and pleasant. And vaguely familiar. A restless flutter stirred inside her. She softened her tone.

  “Yes?”

  “This is Attorney Mitchell Albom Wainwright the Third.” She knew that name from somewhere. “We agreed to touch base once you made it to town. This is me reaching out to touch you.”

  Loaded with sexual innuendo, the man’s words triggered Shalane’s wet response. Her hand went to her crotch. The following silence was fraught with carnal tension. Her nipples tingled as she touched her vibrating clit through her pants. Another word from that sexy voice and she’d come spontaneously.

  “Hello?”

  Shalane shivered from head to toe and fell into a seat to hook a finger into her honey hole. A circular motion had her vibrating like a jackhammer. With a silent moan, she clutched the phone to her ear.

  “Yes, I’m here. What can I do for you, sir?” The last word shuddered out as she convulsed on her wayward finger.

  “Looks like Emily Hester may be gone for good.”

  Now that was a buzzkill. Pulling her hand out of her pants, Shalane wiped her cum on the cloth seat and sat up, all business.

  “The woman who was killed in the earthquake? I don’t know who you are, or why you think I care, but let’s discuss this in person. I have a show this evening at the Fox Theater. I will leave you a ticket at Will Call with a backstage pass. Come to my dressing room after the show.”

  “You want me to come…there?” The voice sounded slightly breathless. “Can’t you tell me on the phone? I’m a busy man, Miz Carpenter.”

  The hitch was almost imperceptible, but Shalane recognized it, having just had one of her own. The attorney was jerking off! She drew out her response, teasing now that she knew what he was doing.

  “No, Mr. Wainwright. Come tonight. We’ll talk after the show. I’m looking forward to it.” Peering up at the lifelike stars sparkling on the ceiling, Shalane ended the call and came again.

  **

  Mitchell hung up the phone and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass of the computer screen. The leer was classic Mitch Wainwright, post-coitus. He rearranged his package and zipped his pants. Throwing the catch towel in the trash, he leaned toward the screen to type in Shalane Carpenter’s name. He’d checked her out one other time but didn’t remember much of what he’d read.

  There were ninety million references. That was mind-blowing in itself. Mitch clicked on the first, then paged through the list, skimming. Depending on the site, Shalane was a sorceress, a budding evangelist, a murdering witch, a Hollywood love-child, and his favorite—an omnisexual nymphomaniac.

  There was a whole website dedicated to Shalane’s effect on men, with instructions on how to avoid falling under her spell. According to it, just being in the witch’s presence was enough to make men do crazy things. And not some men. All of them. And women too, if what he read was true.

  A vague unease stirred in Mitch’s gut. Hadn’t he just experienced that very thing? Merely hearing her voice across the phone had turned him into a pervert. He burst out laughing. As if he wasn’t one already. He read a few more anecdotes, then clicked on the link about how to block her mojo, snorting when it asked him to enter contact information.

  “Hardly,” he mumbled, clicking back out. He’d read everything about Shalane he needed to know. Knowledge was power and Mitch had stalled the advances of many a determined woman over the years. He was sure he could handle the evangelist-witch.

  But his disquiet continued into the afternoon as Mitch tried to go about his law firm business. When the office began closing in around him, he gave up the hope of being productive. Bidding his secretary adieu, Mitch drove to the courthouse to file a motion. But his eyes wandered to the Beemer’s digital clock and he calculated the time until Shalane’s curtain call.

  He shoved the thought aside. He was not going to that witch’s performance. Not tonight or any other night. Having had money and privilege his entire life, Mitch refused to be led around by his dick. Ramming the shifter into third, he squealed the high-performance tires.

  Thirty minutes later he was at Phipps Plaza in the Men’s Shop, trying on suits. Though he told himself he needed a new one, the niggling agitation said otherwise. He pushed thoughts of the provocative minx away and shimmied into a pair of black peg-leg trousers that, buttoned and zipped, proved to be exactly right.

  The clerk handed him a pale pink shirt. Mitch held it to his chest. Liking the effect, he put it on with the pants. He donned the matching, severely-cut jacket with thin lapels and the outfit was complete. He turned from side to side, then moved to the larger mirror, craning his neck to see his ass.

  “Well, look at that.” He broke into a grin and squared back to face the mirror. “Not bad, if I say so myself.”

  But it needed something. A tie perhaps? Or maybe he’d leave the top two buttons open and show a little chest. Mitch was no bodybuilder, but he did stay fit at the gym.

  The clerk appeared with several neckties. He tried each but decided he liked it better without. He was dressed, without being over-the-top. Or looking like an attorney on the prowl. Not that he was going to Shalane’s performance. But he had new duds just in case.

  Magdalena

  Using the flint and gauze from a tuft she kept in her pack, Magdalena lit the dry twigs she’d gathered outside. The flames caught and grew brighter. Smoke tendrils reached for the flue-like opening tucked in the corner of the forward chamber. She had yet to explore the dark nether regions of the cave, preferring to stay close to the entrance for now.

  The fire grew stronger and Magdalena added deadfall from the willow-grove outside th
e cave. When it was hot enough, she added denser branches until the fire blazed. Pouring water from the nearby spring into a collapsible metal cup, she placed it on the coals and glanced over at Nergal the Destroyer. He rested on the bed of newly-greened boughs she’d laid for him.

  Magdalena had recognized the general the moment he’d charged into her office. He was the last being she would have chosen to be her rescuer, but she was grateful nonetheless. The fearsome Draco had collapsed as soon as Magdalena laid the branches, falling into a fitful sleep.

  By the light of the fire and the opening in the ceiling, she inspected the livid gashes across Nergal’s face and chest. They oozed blood and pus, having opened during their flight from Agartha. She must clean and treat them. With luck, the infection had yet to go internal. If it did, the general would most assuredly die.

  Bubbles appeared on the surface of the water and Magdalena removed the cup with a tong from her bag. Adding a pinch of powdered elderberries, she stirred the brew gently with a twig of yew and set it to steep with the twig. After a short while, she removed a shallow dish and poured a measure of the decoction. She lay two wads of gauze in the dish and replaced the cup over the coals to keep it hot.

  Returning to Nergal, Magda dribbled the cooling brew into the face wound. The general stirred, then quieted again as she delicately spread the gauze over the laceration. When she placed the second swatch over his chest and pressed, Nergal lashed out, knocking her backward onto her hindquarters. She returned to Nergal’s side and placed the back of her claw on his forehead. The Draco’s fever raged.

  Guarding against another attack, Magdalena prodded Nergal awake and bade him drink the rest of the healing draught. With more patience than she felt, she sat with him, coaxing down one sip at a time until he’d consumed the lot. By the time he finished, his forehead felt clammy, and the great lizard shivered violently.

  It took all her might, but Magdalena slid him and the bed closer to the fire and laid down beside him, conforming her body to his. To warm him faster, she told herself, though the proximity to the macho Draco aroused something in Magda she hadn’t known was there. When his shivers abated, she rose on all fours and studied Nergal’s bandaged face. Revulsion warred with the newfound feelings.

  She leaped up and hurried through the convoluted entrance to the grove of willows. The stench of sulfur and burning flesh still clogged the air, triggering her gag reflex. She climbed the first hill, the tallest between the cave and Agartha. From its crest, she peered beyond the other peaks to the city. Fires raged, and the cries of the dying, though muted and faraway, tugged at Magdalena’s heart.

  She was not like Nergal or the other Dracos. Magdalena had a soul, inherited from her half-human father. Or so her mother had said. Magdalena never met him. And never would. He had died long ago, his life ended by a Draco intolerant of his half-blood status. One of General Nergal’s soldiers, according to her mother.

  Magdalena had harbored a deep distrust for Nergal and his kind ever since. She’d kept her heritage to herself for fear of persecution and had even paid to have her official records altered to protect her secret.

  On reaching majority, Magda had abandoned the requisite warrior training to be a healer. That earned her a shunning by her mother and littermates. Unable to bear the emotional and physical exile, Magda left the rich northern regions. She wandered long and settled in Araf for a short while before taking up residence in Agartha.

  A local doctor took her on in both places. Eventually, the one in Agartha died and left his practice to Magdalena. She worked hard to turn it into a safe place for the less fortunate. And had rejected few throughout the years, working day and night, if the need presented.

  Which had left little time for romance, other than the occasional fling. She found most males too callous, or too enamored of themselves. So Magdalena had spent her life helping others. All in all, it had been a good, if lonely, existence. And it had kept her off the Dracos’ radar.

  Above the city, smoke billowed into a mushroom shape and spread out along the plain. Tears formed and slipped down Magda’s cheeks. What would she do now? Dejected, she turned and picked her way through the pines to the bottom of the slope, recalling her old mantra. One day at a time.

  For the moment, her lot was tied to Nergal’s. Assuming he lived. He needed powerful medicine, more than she could provide from her emergency stores. If only she had access to her office, assuming it still stood.

  One day at a time. One moment at a time.

  Meanwhile, she would scour the countryside for healing herbs and barks. Without them, the Draco would die.

  **

  A thousand spears stabbed at Patty, some razor-sharp, others dull and wretched. She was in Nergal’s body. His face throbbed and she tried to sit up, but his chest screamed bloody agony and his back refused to obey. She laid there instead, a mighty Draco, helpless and unable to move.

  But Nergal must. Or he would die.

  Using his arms as levers, Nergal shrieked and collapsed. Every muscle in his back clenched to the point of anguish. Trying again, he managed to make it to a seated position and looked around panting. He was in the antechamber of the cave. But how had he gotten here? The last he remembered was leaving the city with the doctora.

  The doctora.

  Patty-as-Nergal peered through the twilight. A fire crackled nearby, but the smoke had not filled the cave. How had the doctora managed that? His gaze followed wispy coils to the top of the chamber where the smoke exited the low ceiling. There was more to the doctora than met the eye.

  His pain spiked when he pushed the thin metallic sheet she had stretched over him to one side. He slowly scooted crab-style to the nearest wall, then waited for the agony to subside. When it eased a little, he braced against the pain and dragged himself, grunting and groaning, claw over claw, up the rough wall.

  But his legs wouldn’t hold. He bellowed in agony and crumpled to the floor, almost losing consciousness. Involuntary tears coursed down the scales of Patty’s flat cheeks. She gritted razor-sharp teeth and pulled herself up the wall again, centimeter by centimeter.

  Intense pain shot down her legs. Nergal-Patty fell to the ground, where he wallowed in the dirt like the maggot he’d become. Where was the damn doctora? Had she sentenced him to death? With the last of his strength, Nergal rolled to his back and consciousness fled.

  Patty shuddered awake in her own bed and hugged her shoulders. If the Nergal dreams didn’t stop soon, she just might go mad.

  Magical Mind

  Emily propped against the headboard, mind spinning. Not only had Talav caused the hum, but there were evil alien lizard-men living inside the earth. She knew intuitively they were the danger about which the druid Elders had warned.

  “Can you tell me more about them?” she asked. “I believe I saw one in another’s mind the other day.”

  “You read minds!” Talav gurgled. “I knew you couldn’t be totally powerless.”

  Emily nearly choked on her own saliva. “Gee, thanks. No, I do not read minds. I merely checked a witch’s pulse and had a vision of the lizard-man.”

  Talav stopped her awkward shuffle-stepped dance. “That’s reading minds, Awen. Even if you didn’t try.”

  Emily rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Tell me about the lizard-men.”

  “They are known by many names, but call themselves Reptilians, Draconians, or Dracos for short. You humans simply call them aliens. They live within Earth’s mantle, in what they call UnderEarth.” Talav’s lips wrinkled in a dragon pout.

  “That is what I remember. I know there’s more, but the rest is a total blank. Like someone or something wiped my memory clean. I get occasional flashes, but they come to naught. It is disturbing to be so afflicted. Dragons are normally immune to such conditions. Only powerful magic could’ve done this. Which is even more disturbing.”

  “I’m still wrapping my brain around the presence of dragons and aliens on Earth. Now you tell me someone magicked away your memories? Wh
o could do such a thing? The aliens?”

  “Maybe.” Talav hesitated, then shook her head. “But not likely. They cannot see us dragons. Or more accurately, can’t remember seeing us. To the Dracos I do not exist. Same as to humans.”

  “I see you.”

  The dragon queen batted lashes Emily hadn’t noticed before. “Yes, but you are an exception, Awen. To answer your question, I detected no magic while in the reptiles’ midst. I believe it had to be someone else. Someone powerful enough to wipe a dragon’s memory.”

  “Who is that powerful?”

  “Only the Awen.” Talav wagged a baffled snout. “But what do I know? My memory has been ransacked.”

  Goosebumps raced up and down Emily’s body. She was sure these lizard-men were the threat the druids faced. The dragon queen gave an approving nod.

  “Are you listening to my thoughts?” Emily rose to her knees and thrust her chin at the dragon, who batted leathery eyelids and feigned innocence. “How rude! I did not give you permission.”

  “And you wouldn’t, would you? Dragons have no shame when it comes to listening. It’s a veritable compunction. And one of the perils of hanging out with us.” Talav shook her jewel-encrusted head and colored lights danced from floor to ceiling and back again. “We can’t help it.”

  “And that makes it okay?” Emily sank back on her heels, hugged her knees, and glared.

  “Of course it does. If it is one’s nature to do a certain thing, it shows a lack of integrity to do otherwise. Isn’t it worse to deny one’s propensity? To neglect to embrace that with which one is gifted?”

  Unable to argue with the dragon’s logic, Emily expelled a loud breath of displeasure.

  “While I searched for you, I kept an eye on the Dracos. They like to fight, even with each other. Nasty creatures the whole lot.”

  “And creepy looking.” Emily shuddered, imagining what it would be like if the earth was overrun by the warring creatures.