Awen Rising Read online

  “It wasn’t a dream.”

  Emily jerked up straight. The voice was feminine with a foreign accent as in last night’s dream. Her heart pounded. Had the words come from the no-longer-purring cat?

  “Of course, silly girl. Nothing wrong with your hearing, is there?”

  Emily’s stomach lurched. The cat had spoken. Which made it no ordinary cat. Or something very out of the ordinary was happening to Emily.

  “Yes, on both counts,” the cat concurred in a light tone. “I am no ordinary cat. And you are no ordinary human.”

  Emily whipped around to face the tabby, unseating Ralph, who was eyeing the cat with newfound interest. “This is not possible. Cats do not talk.”

  The tabby was silent, amber eyes staring.

  “Who are you?” Emily demanded, more than slightly freaked.

  “I believe the real question is: who are you?”

  “B-but what is your name?”

  The eyes blinked. “Yours first.”

  Irked, Emily hissed, “Emily Mayhall.”

  “Really?” the cat yawned. “Before you can know me, you must first know you, Emily Mayhall.”

  “Then what should I call you?” Emily snapped, “Madam Freud?” The cat looked down its wide nose.

  “Nonsense, child. I answer to many names, none my own. You, Emily Mayhall, may call me Hope.”

  So, he was a she. With a French accent. And they had something in common.

  Hope lowered her head, inviting a rub. Unable to resist, Emily massaged the delicate cheekbones with her thumbs, working her way to the muscles along Hope’s throat and behind her ears. The tabby’s satisfied purr tickled Emily’s fingertips. Ralph looked on, perturbed.

  The doorbell warbled and Emily jumped, disturbing both cats from their perch.

  Earth Dragon

  T he two cats hit the floor running. Emily opened the door to the kitchen and they scrambled through, skittering across the polished hardwood floor to round the corner and vanish down the hall to the back of the house.

  Through the peephole Emily spied her new aunt. What was Morgan Foster doing here? She stood inspecting an elegant manicure, decked in skinny jeans and a leopard-print turtleneck that hugged her ample bosom beneath a faux-fur vest.

  Removing the safety latch, Emily opened the heavy, metal door. Morgan was through and wrapping her in a bear hug before Emily could say hello or how do you do.

  Releasing her, Morgan announced, “We’re going shopping, get dressed. Those California duds won’t keep a possum warm. You need clothes and Hamilton’s still—um—sleeping.” When Emily winced, Morgan added, “Your daddy’s paying. Courtesy the lawyer.”

  The prospect of new clothes and warm shoes was tempting, but Emily was loathe to leave her safe haven. Especially in the rain.

  “I’ve barely had tea,” she protested feebly.

  “Which means you haven’t eaten either.” Morgan’s cajoling tone was oddly soothing.

  Emily shook her head.

  “Well get a move on, girl. Time’s a wasting. We’ll stop at the Lullwater for brunch, then pop on over to Lenox Square to get you some clothes. It’ll give us time to get to know one another. Plus, I can show you a bit of Buckhead, Atlanta’s crown jewel.”

  Emily kissed her do-nothing day goodbye. “Could you give me fifteen minutes to get dressed and do my face?”

  “Of course, sweetheart. Mind if I fix myself a cup of coffee?”

  “Not at all,” Emily tossed over her shoulder. The woman had grown up here, after all.

  First a talking cat and now a bossy aunt. This day was shaping up to be as crazy as the last. She paused in the bedroom doorway. A talking cat. With stripes and a fat, ringed tail.

  Diving into the closet, Emily yanked her suitcase off the shelf and threw it on the bed. She opened it and ran a finger under an invisible slit. The false bottom opened with a click.

  Withdrawing the antique manuscript from her mother’s box, Emily placed it beside the suitcase and carefully leafed through the parchment pages until she found a picture of the striped cat. Like Hope, it was broad and shaggy, with yellow eyes set wide on a face that boasted distinct black markings. Coincidence?

  Emily thought not. Anxious now to get away from the house and its many secrets, she returned the manuscript to its hiding place and dressed in a hurry.

  **

  By the time they reached Lenox Square Mall, Emily felt she had known her aunt forever. Morgan was charming and vivacious, and in spite of her age and having children and grandchildren, easy to talk to. Emily found herself filling in details of the missing years with something akin to relief.

  Until Morgan brought up men.

  “You never married?”

  Emily despised the blush that stained her cheeks. “No. I’ve had a couple of serious relationships and was engaged once. Nothing else amounted to much.”

  “No one’s swept you off your feet?”

  Her tone was teasing, but Emily blanched at Morgan’s unfortunate wording. She kept quiet about Trey and the awful accident. “Well. Put it this way: I haven’t met ‘him’ yet.”

  “Ahh. The elusive ‘him.’ I was lucky,” Morgan gushed. “Mine found me in high school. We’ve been together ever since. You’re young, sweetie. And you’re right, he’s out there. I promise.” Morgan patted her arm and pointed to a designer’s sale rack.

  “Look! What a pretty sweater. It’s your color, too. You must try it on. And, oh look, this one, too.”

  **

  It was late afternoon when Emily and her aunt emerged from the mall, arms laden with bags of outer, over, and under wear, none of which belonged to Morgan. Across the way in a parking lot, people waited in front of a food truck that blared Country and Western music while feeding the homeless. Guards patrolled the perimeter, stun-guns at the ready.

  It was warmer now. The sun chased in and out of gathering rainclouds that scudded across a bruised sky. A wind from the south drove the storm, carrying the welcome hint of spring.

  Emily opened her mouth to comment on the change, when a massive groan rose from beneath them, like the bowels of the earth were ripping apart. She froze mid-stride, flashing back to her first encounter with the elusive Hum in Peru. Most had never heard of the Hum, though it had been reported on for decades.

  To Emily it sounded like giant shears slicing through metal. She shivered as the noise rose and fell to an otherworldly rhythm. Shouts, barely audible over the screeching Hum, came from the vicinity of the food truck.

  Guards ran across the parking lot, rushing toward them and the eerie noise. Emily turned to yell “run,” but her aunt beat her to it.

  “To the car,” Morgan bleated and broke into a jog, surprisingly agile in three-inch heels. Emily bounded after her, wincing. She longed to cover her ears, but her arms were full.

  She reached the cold-fusion powered VDub. Shoppers scurried past trying to escape the godawful racket. Others looking dazed were swept up in the scramble. The guards converged on the parking lot.

  “Ahh-wen. Ahhh-wen. Ahhh-wen.”

  Was Emily going nuts? She had heard a similar voice by the Venice pier. And that name every night in her dreams. She fell into the seat beside her aunt and shoved the packages in the back. Buckling in, she mouthed a silent prayer of protection. The Hum had found her again.

  Morgan threw the car in gear and hastily retreated. The parking deck moaned as they exited the lot and pulled into traffic. Twisting in her seat, Emily watched the scene unfold behind them.

  Sirens heralded the arrival of first responders. Morgan braked for a fire truck that wove through traffic and passed, siren blaring. A news helicopter sped through the sky to join the fracas. Pandemonium reigned.

  **

  Talav ceased her subterranean gyrations to listen. She sensed activity, but not the druid Awen. Why had she rebuffed Talav’s advances again? Did she not know the world hung in the balance? Or had she fallen prey to the memory veil she and Ooschu were experiencing?
/>   “Why, oh why?” the earth dragon roared, not caring whether the humans heard. None would recognize it for what it was. Nor would they remember, if they did.

  Not knowing what else to do, she bellowed louder, angry at herself, angry at the Awen, and angry she had no help. Ooschu was enroute to the east coast, but it’d be days or longer before she arrived, and the other Keepers still languished under the sleeping spell.

  At her wits’ end, Talav sent up a request for divine intervention. Her magic hadn’t done much good of late, not where the Awen was concerned.

  **

  The parking lot disappeared from view and Emily faced forward, one eye on the visor mirror. Another helicopter approached the scene. Civil defense sirens blared danger, warning Buckhead and the surrounding areas to take cover.

  She glanced at her aunt. “That was the Hum!” Morgan ignored her to maneuver the rapidly-snarling traffic. “Every time I hear it, it scares me more,” Emily babbled, riding the keen edge of hysteria. “That was a big one.”

  Morgan checked the rearview mirror. “If we’re lucky, it’s nothing more than that.”

  “What do you mean?” Emily clung to the overhead strap as they took a sharp right.

  “Geysers, volcanoes, stuff like that.”

  Images of Managua danced in Emily’s head. “No way!”

  Morgan’s narrowed eyes flashed. “I thought you said you’re familiar.”

  “I am. Or was.” Emily braced her feet against the floorboard, as they took another turn. “I left that job months ago. And haven’t watched the news. Whereabouts?”

  “South and Central America. Mid-US. Southwest Canada. None of them in a densely-populated area. Like here.” Morgan’s brow knit. “That would be devastating.”

  Emily mused out loud, “Then they’re escalating. The Hum was never linked to geologic events before. None measurable, anyway.”

  Maybe she was wrong. Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe the Hum had nothing to do with Emily, despite having occurred in her presence seventeen times in the last two years. Eighteen months, if you subtracted the last six when Emily no longer worked as a disaster specialist.

  But she was not ready to reveal that information. “What do we do now?” Her aunt was calm.

  “Now we wake your daddy from that coma. This is serious business, sugar pie. We are not prepared to proceed without Hamilton.”

  The blood drained from Emily’s face. Her hands went cold. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, young lady, that if your father doesn’t wake soon, we are going to be in a world of trouble. More trouble than we can likely handle.”

  “What kind of trouble?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

  “Earthquakes. Mass destruction. Annihilation. Armageddon. The end of the world. Take your pick.” With each horrible word, Emily sank lower in the passenger seat and buried her face in her hands.

  “Why did I know you would say that? Good God, what have I gotten myself into?”

  “Seriously?” her aunt chided, slamming on the brakes at a stop sign. All semblance of southern sweetness was gone. “Seriously? You have no idea what’s happening?”

  Emily wagged her head, wilting more beneath her aunt’s searching stare. No way could Morgan know about the pattern Emily had found. Or that the pattern may have something to do with her.

  Her dad’s sister let go a long-suffering sigh and punched a button on the dash. “Damn, damn, damn, damn, DAMN!”

  “What?” Emily was relieved she hadn’t told Morgan her theory. “What did I do?”

  “Hush,” her aunt ordered, with a stern finger to her pursed lips.

  Finn Foster’s voice boomed from the dash. “Mom! What’s up?”

  “The Hum is up, Finn. A big one. In Lenox Square’s parking lot. Emily and I had just come out. I would swear it was right under our feet.” Morgan glanced at Emily, who nodded confirmation. “The whole parking lot was vibrating and screeching.”

  “Damn,” was all Finn said.

  Emily and Morgan exchanged looks. Their sentiment exactly.

  When Morgan spoke again, ice hardened her voice. “We can wait no longer. It’s beginning, Finn. You know what to do. I will call the others and meet you at the hospital in an hour.”

  “Bring her.”

  Her? Emily? What did she have to do with this?

  “Of course. You just figure out how to wake your Uncle Hamilton. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  “Yes ma’am. I’ll see you in a few. And mom? Is tú mo ghrá.”

  “Is tú mo ghrá, my son.”

  Obsession

  S halane hung the “Do Not Disturb” sign and slammed the dressing room door. She sank into the chaise lounge and pressed a thumb in her eye socket. As long as she held the point, it felt better. When she let go, the pain rushed back.

  She dug a bottle from its hiding place and dumped the contents in her palm. The pain pills were almost gone. She’d have to call the pharmacist in Laurel Canyon.

  Taking two, she washed them down with a sip of water and fished for the vial from the local Cannabis Dispensary. She rolled a bead of oil between her thumb and forefinger and dropped it in the pen.

  Holding the stem to her lips, she inhaled deeply, keeping the smoke in her lungs as long as she could. Her shoulders relaxed. Shalane took another hit and drew her legs up beneath her, ignoring what sounded like a tap at the door.

  That doctor was a genius. The hashish was working. Her head still hurt, but she was beginning not to care.

  Taking another toke, Shalane reached for the remote. The God stuff was boring her silly today. Maybe something worldly would help. She surfed the news outlets, stopping on the Atlanta FIX affiliate, eager for word of Ebby.

  She straightened her legs and back, and stretched. Sitting in her throne chair for hours on end was bordering on torture. She hadn’t foreseen that when agreeing to a hectic twenty-week tour. Not nearly enough down time had been built into the schedule and every event was sold out.

  If she cancelled now, refunds would be due. And that wasn’t happening. Shalane Carpenter would just have to buck the fuck up.

  The crawl on the muted screen caught her attention. She snagged the remote and increased the volume, “…striking at 4:12 p.m. Eastern Time, the Hum occurred beneath a parking deck at Lenox Square Mall, an upscale development in Buckhead near downtown Atlanta.

  “Minimal seismic activity has been reported, but the Lenox Mall parking deck and outer lot are closed pending further investigation. Stay tuned to WFIX for breaking news and updates from Lenox Square Mall in Atlanta.”

  Elated, Shalane muted the volume and leapt from the chaise to dance around the dressing room. Her Elemental had found its mark.

  But her spell wasn’t designed to produce anything called a Hum. She stopped dancing and paced back and forth. Spying the vape pen, she scooped it up and inhaled deeply. Too deeply.

  The smoke expanded and filled her lungs until it burst explosively from every available orifice, searing her mucus membranes and wringing tears from her eyes. Spasmodic coughing wracked her lungs.

  Fighting to breathe, she coughed and hacked, flopping on the chaise like a fish out of water. She put her head between her knees, only to leap up coughing and wheezing. She bent at the waist, tears streaming down her blazing cheeks.

  When Shalane feared she might pass out from lack of oxygen, the spasms calmed enough to sip tiny bubbles of precious air. Anything more and she coughed again, which deteriorated into another hacking attack.

  This was all Ebby’s fault. Two people, ever, had gotten under Shalane’s skin. The first was dead. She’d be damned if she let the other get away. Not again. Slurping water to soothe her throat, she coughed and thought of the day she’d met Ebby.

  Innocent power had oozed from the petite blond, along with an air of sadness and mystery. Shalane had offered a private reading in which Archangel Michael confirmed her suspicions—Ebby Panera was the real deal and knew nothing of her powers.


  Unwilling to listen to her guides’ whispered warnings, Shalane had given in to her desires. She would have the fae creature, no matter what. She talked Ebby into taking private lessons, teaching her simple spells and treatments.

  With each class, Shalane had fallen deeper and deeper, fooling herself into believing a romantic relationship was on the horizon. But Ebby had remained naïvely immune to Shalane’s advances.

  Shalane had picked and prodded, honing sharp edges and correcting Ebby’s moves. In the name of perfection, of course. But the look on Ebby’s face the day she snapped and walked out was etched in Shalane’s memory.

  Never before had her methods backfired. She’d tried to recant, but to no avail. Ebby wouldn’t listen, or take Shalane’s calls. Texts, emails, messages, pings, all were returned undelivered.

  Finally, she’d driven to Ebby’s house and found it empty. A sign declared the ocean-view property “FOR RENT.” Ebby Panera had disappeared without a trace.

  Shalane had collapsed into a monumental funk, realizing too late she was in love with the young woman. She’d spent several more weeks trying to figure out what had happened. Had she waited too long to make a move? Been too intimidating? Too dike-y? Too overbearing? Whatever the case, Ebby had walked out on Shalane and dropped off the face of the earth.

  Until now. Ebby was in Atlanta. And soon, Shalane would be, too.

  The Family Business

  E mily changed into warmer clothes, pulled her data on the Hum, and stuffed it in her purse. With luck, she’d have a chance to talk to her aunt about it. She hugged Ralph and gave him a treat. The talking cat was nowhere in sight.

  Emily returned to the car as Morgan finished a call.

  “Aunt Morgan?”

  “Yes, dear?” The response was preoccupied.

  “A cat showed up here last night. A huge tabby cat. It bolted in the house when I opened the door and acts like it belongs. Does my father own a cat?”

  Morgan’s brow scrunched and she wagged her head. “We had a big tabby named Hope. But that was a long time ago.”