Magick Rising (51 page)

anymore. It hasn’t for a long time.” Not since college . . . not since that

fateful night in Bavaria.

It didn’t stop Ian from leaning in, shoving his face into Duncan’s.

“Why—”

Ian broke off when a tap came at the bathroom door. The blond

gum-cracking waitress stuck her head in, bringing the raucous noise and

scent of stale beer and unwashed bodies along with her. “The manager

wants to know if you need anything—”

Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of the Gray brothers. Their

mother said the burly Gray men were all larger than life—one Gray filled up

a room, but two made everyone else shrink into insignificance.

Duncan’s annoyance rose, and along with it, the nature he abhorred. He

could feel menace emanating from his dark side, saturating the room with

deadly peril. Knowing she was no threat, he throttled it immediately, but the

waitress swallowed her gum and froze, staring at him like a rabbit caught in

the gaze of a deadly predator.

“We’re good,” Ian said tightly, and the tension dissipated. He tossed a

twenty in her direction, and the waitress scooped it up and fled.

“You want to know why? That’s why,” Duncan said flatly. He sat back

down, and Ian relaxed a little. “I don’t exactly enjoy frightening women and

children. But you know that.” His brother was the only one who knew

Duncan’s secret, the only one who knew about the horrific curse he

endured. The only one who knew he was a werewolf.

“The beast . . . drives me,” Duncan whispered, hating to admit he

couldn’t control his own nature. “And when innocents are attacked, I can’t

control it.”

“So maybe you should avoid places where you’re likely to see innocents

in jeopardy,” Ian suggested, his voice rising with his annoyance.

He had a point. But sometimes, the conflict raging inside Duncan’s

body drove him to seek danger, to prove himself against others, to assert his

dominance. “Easy to say. Not so easy to do.” Now, halfway between the full

moons, his nature was easier to handle. Unfortunately, during the next two

weeks, the wolf would rise within him more each day until he wouldn’t be

able to control it at all. Duncan glanced at his brother. “Are you any closer to

finding a cure?”

Ian slapped a hand on Duncan’s good shoulder and squeezed. “Sorry.

Not yet.”

Then it was too late. Wearily, Duncan ran his hand over his face. “Each

time I change, it gets harder and harder to regain my humanity. The last one

almost killed me. The next one might.” Fear shuddered up his spine. He

hadn’t even been able to
do
anything with his life, hadn’t been able to enjoy

the simple things everyone else took for granted.

“You don’t know that,” Ian protested.

“Actually, I do. I’ve been having dreams. I know it sounds crazy, but

they’re so vivid, so powerful, I know they’re true.” They urged him to give

up his humanity, become fully wolf. Worse, they were beginning to leak over

into the daytime, whispering through his mind at odd times.

“And the dreams tell you there’s no hope?” Ian asked, looking worried.

The memory of last night’s dream and the strong female presence that

accompanied it washed over Duncan. “It’s as if I’m given a choice. Become

a wolf forever or remain human and die.” He shook his head. “Either way,

I’ll no longer be . . . me.”

Fool,
the female voice whispered again, sounding contemptuous.

Duncan glanced quickly at Ian, but it was obvious he hadn’t heard that.

Maybe the strain was making Duncan go mad. Oh, great, a third unpalatable

alternative.

“I’ve been thinking,” Ian said. “There’s still one possible option.”

Duncan sighed. He’d had so many blood tests, tried so many bizarre

things, had so many failures. Then again, what did he have to lose? “What

now?” He rose to his feet and shrugged his shirt back on, the wound already

closing, healing.

Ian pulled a prescription pad from his pocket and scribbled on it. “This

is the address of one of my patients, Beth Aldiss. She might be able to help

you. She’s Wiccan.”

Duncan stared at him in disbelief. “You think herb lore or simple

hearth magick will help with
this?
”

“You never know. She’s had remarkable success in helping other

patients with reducing their symptoms with herbs or in finding alternative

ways of healing. Besides, I think you might be able to help her, too.”

“How can I help her?” It wasn’t as though he had many skills. Traveling

around the world in search of a cure had left him little time to build a career,

and the only way he’d been able to get by was to pick up day labor jobs. “She

need something built?”

“Maybe, but that’s not what I meant.” Ian paused, looking frustrated.

“Unfortunately, I can’t explain more without breaching patient

confidentiality. I’ll call her and tell her to expect you tomorrow.”

“Aren’t you worried for her safety?”

“Of course not. Your protective instincts will keep her safe. It’s only

aggressive people you have problems with.”

Duncan stared at the piece of paper in his hand, the hope of a cure

gaining a small toehold within him. “Where’s Divide?”

“West of the Springs, past Pikes Peak and Woodland Park, near Cripple

Creek. It’s a small bedroom community that also has cabins for weekend

escapes.”

Up in the mountains, where nature held sway . . . it would be a good

place to find some peace to soothe the savage beast.

Go,
the voice whispered.

Why not? Might as well get started right away.

BETH ALDISS’S HAND shook uncontrollably as she placed the dishcloth

on the kitchen counter. Scowling, she clenched her hands together until the

tremors subsided. Once they did, she switched off the light and stepped out

onto the porch of her mountain cabin for a breath of fresh air. Pulling her

sweater more closely around her in the cold night breeze, she sought peace

in the solitude and seclusion.

But in the dark of the new moon, the pines and aspens clustered thickly

around her home seemed sinister and ominous. A chill autumn wind blew,

setting the aspen leaves to quivering, as if whispering rustling secrets.

Whispering warning
.

The thought raised the hackles on the back of her neck. A sudden

conviction seized her.
Something wicked this way comes . . .

She froze. Where had that thought come from? Was it a

premonition . . . or merely a reflection of her state of mind these past few

weeks?

A shrill, ululating shriek ripped through the night. Beth jumped, placing

a hand over her racing heart. What was that? A child in agony?

Then, as the horrifying sound abruptly cut off, she recognized the

sound of a rabbit’s dying scream. The foxes denned nearby must be hunting

again.

Beth shivered and went back inside. The woods that seemed so

peaceful during the day suddenly loomed with threats and hidden dangers.

Too often, she got so caught up in the beauty of nature that she forgot how

cruel it could be, how terrifying.

As the warmth of her cabin surrounded her with its familiar, soothing

scent of dried herbs and flowers, she calmed her pounding heart, trying to

control the uneasiness and the surge of adrenaline the screech had aroused.

She loved her home, but unfortunately, she didn’t know how much

longer she’d be able to stay in this peaceful oasis. How much longer would

she be able to continue doing simple tasks without constantly dropping

things or losing control of her body? Ever since she’d been diagnosed with

Huntington’s Disease, she’d worried about how fast it was progressing. This

horrible disease had already stolen her future. Inevitably, it would claim her

body, her sanity, then her life.

Beth immediately chastised herself for the negative thought. Knowing

depression was one of many symptoms she had to watch out for, she shook

it off and let the warmth of her home surround her with its familiar soothing

scents. She relaxed a little, trying to control the unease and the surge of

adrenaline the screech had aroused, and contemplated her options.

She was working with Dr. Ian to do everything possible using

conventional medicine, holistic remedies, and lifestyle changes to keep

herself healthy. It wasn’t enough, though, so she’d asked for guidance from

some of the minor gods and goddesses, hoping for a cure. Unfortunately,

they all told her to seek help from another, though they were vague about

exactly who that would be.

She suspected they meant one of the stronger gods or goddesses, but

she’d put it off, afraid the cure might be worse than the disease. The last time

she had tried contacting a goddess on a higher level of the Roman pantheon,

Beth had created such a strong rapport with her that the goddess had

wrested control of Beth’s body for a brief time. It had scared Beth so much,

she’d vowed to never try it again.

But she couldn’t put it off any longer—it was time to find help. This

time, she’d call on Aesculapius, the god of healing and medicine, the son of

Apollo himself. Now that she knew what to expect, maybe he wouldn’t be

able to catch her off guard. Besides, tonight was a new moon, perfect for

new beginnings, and she wanted to get it over with before Dr. Ian’s brother

arrived the next day.

Striving to stay positive, Beth bathed and prepared for the ritual.

Learning Wicca had been like coming home to a familiar, well-loved

sanctuary. The wisdom of the Roman pantheon of gods and goddesses

cherished her, comforted her. That was one of the things she found so

appealing about this religion—other Wiccans had different beliefs, different

ways of communing with nature or the gods. This just happened to work for

her.

She loosened her long blond hair from the confinement of its braid and

left it free and flowing to keep her own energy free of constriction during

her supplication. She set up her altar, cast a circle, called the quarters, and

took a deep breath. “Aesculapius, God of Medicine and Healing, hear my

plea. I beseech you, please guide me in my search for healing and health.”

She didn’t know how others experienced the gods and goddesses, but

for her, the answers came as stray wisps of thought, sometimes hard to

distinguish from her own, and often tantalizing and faint. But if she was

patient and quiet, an answer would usually come. Beth stilled, waiting,

hoping the god would respond, yet fearing his appearance at the same time.

Nothing but empty silence. Was this the wrong god? Beth subdued her

anxiety. There was no room for it in the circle—only acceptance, love, and

gratitude. She continued to wait, patient, reverent, hoping.

Tension suddenly rose in the circle, and a thrill raced through her. She’d

never felt such a palpable presence before. “Aesculapius?” she murmured.

He surged toward her strength, threatening to overwhelm her defenses,

testing her mettle. Fear spiked within her, but Beth kept her personal shields

strong, holding hard against the curious probing of the god—oddly

indifferent, yet compassionate at the same time. They struggled for a

moment, until the god suddenly ceased his onslaught.

Triumph flared within her. She was strong enough to resist him.

What would you have of me?
His question reverberated in her mind like

echoes in a vast library filled with the wisdom of the ages.

With trepidation, Beth asked, “Will you aid me in my search for

healing?”

His answer came clearly into her mind.
Seek not My help, but that of another

who would claim you as Her own. Do not delay, for opportunity knocks but once.

With that, the god’s presence faded and was gone.

Struggling to remain calm, Beth thanked the god, closed the circle, and

returned to the living room. She curled her fingers around a warm cup of

cider to contemplate her answer.

For once, the words themselves were quite clear, and the meaning was

unmistakable. Hope rose within her. Could there really be a cure for her

disease? Was it possible she could beat this terminal illness? But which

goddess did he mean for her to contact?

Beth was grateful for the answer, but, perversely, she wished the god

had been just a tad more specific.

A pounding noise boomed through the house, jerking her out of her

reverie, making her heart thump rapidly again. Someone was at the door.

Who could it be? In this isolated area, she never had to deal with

salesmen, and it was too far out of the way for friends to just drop by.

There was one way to find out. She crossed the room, flipped on the

outside light, and peered through the peephole. A man—a stranger.

“Beth Aldiss?” he rumbled. His deep voice sent her hackles rising once

more, making her wonder. Was he the wickedness she had sensed?