Visions of Magic (25 page)

So the two of them kept moving, driving when Torin's incredible stores of energies had been sapped. Cars were easy enough to come by. Magic allowed them to take what they needed, leaving behind no memory of their having been there. Being a car thief wasn't high on Shea's list of occupations, but then she preferred being a thief to being dead. Over the following days and nights, Shea saw more of the country than she ever had before and knew that if she hadn't currently been listed as Public Enemy Number One, she might have even enjoyed the trip.

As it was, all she felt was trapped. The motel was small and clean, but had been decorated sometime in the seventies. There were pink and orange shag throw rugs on the floor and wildly flowered bedspreads. The walls were painted a dark pink and boasted a wallpaper border of orange and pink daisies at the ceiling.

Under other circumstances she might even have been amused at the place—it was like stepping back in time. But for Shea, this room was yet one more box in a series of boxes where she'd been holed away, denied any freedom of movement. Wherever they were, that closed-in feeling rose up like solid white gold walls around her and Shea wondered if she'd ever really be free again.

Every night on television, the news channels displayed their Witch Alert Boards. Tiny colored pushpins dotted maps of the country and showed exactly where witches were being caught and imprisoned. There were talk show hosts who made jokes about flying witches and suggested to their audience that they study the night sky and lock up their broomsticks. There were children playing MP and witch on the streets.

And worse—for them anyway—there was a reward of fifty thousand dollars being offered for Shea's return.

That she didn't understand at all. She was a witch, just like so many others being herded into camps and prisons all over the world. Why was she being singled out?

“Stay inside,” Torin said as he walked to the motel room door. “I'll get food and be back in a half hour. Stay away from the windows and don't open the door to anyone.”

Irritated, Shea snapped, “I get it, okay? We've been doing this for days, Torin. I know the rules.”

His jaw clenched, but he only nodded as he left.

The moment he was gone, she regretted tearing into him. After all, he was all she had. The Eternal had been by her side through all of this, had kept her safe, and she felt the connection between them growing every day. She didn't need to see the spreading tattoo on her skin, already circling around to her back and toward her spine, to know that the bonding between them was almost complete.

She felt it with every breath she drew.

Every time he touched her, she knew that she belonged with him and no other. Every time she thought about her past or her future, he was there. A part of it all. He was the only person in the world she could count on. And even he was still somewhat of a mystery.

He hadn't told her any more about the last great coven and what had happened after the portal into Hell had opened. He'd insisted that she remember the rest of it herself.

“You know enough now,” he had said, holding her close, their bodies still locked together. “I've given you some of the knowledge, but the Awakening must come from within you. You must be able to draw on your memories as well as your power if we are to complete this task before the month is up.”

“But the month is nearly half over,” she whispered now to the empty room. “And I don't have the answers I need yet.”

Oh, she was learning, remembering. Her dreams were filled with ancient images. Of Shea and Torin through the years. She saw him, unchanging, unflagging, always there, always near her. She saw herself, crafting spells, calling on magics—and those dreams had quickened her latent powers and given her a road map of sorts to spells and chants.

Yet, the most important information continued to elude her.

Shea scrubbed her hands up and down her arms and fought the tendrils of uneasiness that crept through her. Without Torin in the room with her, she felt vulnerable. Amazing how much
space
the man took up. And the aura of strength and fearlessness he gave off was usually enough to quiet her own anxieties.

She was so rarely alone now, every sound, every rattle of the windowpane made her jump. She half expected one of her former prison guards to leap at her from out of the shadows. To lock her down again and carry her away.

Away from Torin.

She could study the book she'd plucked from Sanctuary again, but she believed she had learned as much as she could from the ancient volume. Written in Old English, it hadn't been easy to read, but the spells and enchantments contained in it had fed the opening power within Shea.

She would return the book and take another as soon as they neared another Sanctuary. Until then, her subconscious continued to examine what she'd learned for ways to use it. Even as her power grew, she felt herself straining against the cage that enclosed her.

How could she complete her task if she was never to step out of the protective circle Torin had drawn around her?

With the walls feeling as though they were closing in on her, she moved to the window, and despite Torin's orders, carefully pulled back only the edge of the garishly flowered drapes. Instantly, she drew a relieved breath. Just looking at the outdoors was enough to calm the nerves pulsing inside her. But even as she admired the sweep of the world beyond the glass, she remembered that she had enemies and they could be closer than she'd like.

She quickly scanned her surroundings and idly noted that most roadside motels looked exactly alike. Lowslung buildings with mostly empty parking lots lying beneath lights that flickered until they winked out altogether. At least this one, she thought, offered a view of a stand of trees just across the street.

Lifting her gaze from the trees, Shea stared up at the waxing moon shining down from a star-swept sky. The crescent-shaped moon didn't throw much light, but its pearly glow mesmerized her. The longer she looked, the more she felt herself responding to an inexorable psychic pull. Whispers resonated in her mind and echoed in her soul. It was as if the universe itself was reaching for her. Her skin felt charged, as if there were small electrical pulses beating within her bones.

She took one long breath, then another. Power grew and bubbled within and she realized what she had to do. This magical pull on her soul was something she couldn't ignore. No matter what enemy might be waiting for her, no matter Torin's fury when he found out she'd disregarded his orders, the moon called and she must respond.

F
or one second, Shea paused to consider the danger inherent in what she was about to do. Her instincts were important, though—hadn't Torin himself been telling her so? Insisting that she trust the Awakening? Besides, she told herself, when she had accepted the mating, she had also accepted the danger. So she really didn't have a choice, did she?

Carefully, quietly, she opened the door and stepped out into the still air. The late-September evening in Ohio still carried the humidity of summer. Cloying, nearly suffocating in its damp heat, the air wrapped itself around Shea like a blanket she couldn't toss off.

The scent of the trees filled her and she sensed that power quickening within her again. Witches were of the earth and the elements strengthened her with every breath.

Over the last few days, bits and pieces of magic lore and ritual had come to her. Reading the old spell book had opened the door in her mind just a little wider, to allow memories to creep in. Images, thoughts, just appeared in her mind as if they had always been there and she simply hadn't been open enough to recognize them for what they were.

She knew that a waxing moon was a good time for renewal spells. For starting over. For working toward goals.

And what better goal than staying alive and solving her own private mystery?

Heat pressed around her and a soft wind sighed past, bringing just a breath of coolness to her skin. She wore jeans, a T-shirt and boots that she had conjured magically. Starting across the parking lot, she kept to the shadows and practically tiptoed, to keep her steps as silent as possible. She paused every few seconds to listen, but all she heard was the sound of a dog barking in the distance and a few lonely crickets chirping wildly.

The motel office was around at the front of the building and the room she and Torin had taken was at the very back of the motel. Since the fire in Arizona, she hadn't been willing to put any innocents at risk, so she had insisted on staying as far from everyone else as possible.

There were only a few cars in the lot. She hurried past them, hoping no one glanced out their windows to see her. This was a risk and she knew it. Just as she knew that everything depended on her regaining her lost memories. Should she have remained in her motel room, safe but ignorant? Or was it better to trust her instincts and call down the moon while hoping for the revelation she needed?

She had no doubt what Torin's opinion would have been. But this was her choice. Her decision. She wasn't being reckless. She was being proactive.

Torin would be furious if he returned and found her outside, unprotected. And maybe it was foolish, she told herself. But at the same time, if she didn't find a way to unlock her past life, her past mistakes, how could she ever correct what had once gone wrong?

She kept her head down and hurried across the darkened parking lot. Across the street, there was a row of trees and beyond them, she knew, was a meadow. She'd seen it when they had arrived earlier that afternoon.

Shea sent furtive glances up and down the quiet road, then darted for the treeline. She pushed past the low-hanging branches and inhaled the scent of pine. Fallen needles under her feet cushioned every step, as if even nature were helping her remain hidden.

She kept walking when she reached the meadow, wanting to get as far from the road as she could. There were no homes within sight and the silence was cathedral-like. The only sounds were the soft sigh of the wind through the knee-high grasses and the distant roar of an engine as it traveled along the road.

She didn't have much time and she knew it. Torin would be back soon. She wanted to be in their motel room waiting for him.

Alone beneath the moon, Shea glanced up at the wide night sky. A hazy light seemed to filter down from the heavens and as she drew the night into her lungs, she felt the power of nature slide through her veins. This was witchcraft at its best, she thought, not even sure where that insistent thought had sprung from. A witch and the night. This was where power was to be found and knowledge gathered. This was where the heart of her strength resided.

She'd always loved the night. Even as a child, she'd felt drawn to the darkness. To the sweep of stars overhead. To the phases of the moon. More comfortable in shadows than in bright light, Shea had never asked herself why she was so much more a night person than anything else. It just . . .
was.

Now, at last, she understood.

Her body felt alive. The hot, damp air clung to her like a lover's hands. She ached for Torin's touch and knew that the pull of the moon combined with her connection to her Eternal was ramping up the desire she always felt for him.

But then, what better magic was there than sex well done?

Jolting, Shea realized that Torin's voice was whispering into her mind.

She focused her power on reaching out to him. Closing off the fact that she was outside and on her own, she simply assured him,
I'm fine. Just working on a spell.

That was true enough anyway.

Which meant, she thought as she closed her mind to him, that she didn't have much time.

Smiling, she shook her hair back from her face and accepted that the time was right. But this was magic and she had learned from her dreams and memories that high magic was best done skyclad.

She glanced around her one more time, just to make sure she was alone; then she took a breath, snapped her fingers and the clothes she'd manifested that morning vanished. She stood naked and warm beneath a sliver of moon.

The wind kissed her skin and the cool white light of the moon seemed to seep into her body, filling her with a sense of peace that was welcome, soothing. As if the moon had been waiting for her, hoping to be discovered again.

“I'm here now,” Shea whispered, surrendering to that peace washing over her. She tipped her head back to stare up into the heavens. Her long hair brushed the bare skin of her back. She lifted her hands, palms up, as if to catch the pale light drifting over her. Her eyes wide, she fixed her gaze on the milk white crescent, the center of who and what she was.

And as she stood in that soft light, words came to her Words of power. Words of supplication.

“Goddess, hear me. I seek answers,” she said, her voice strong and even. “I seek truth. The life I led is long past, but its echoes remain. Help me find my way, Goddess. Fill my heart with strength and my mind with truth.”

Her words sounded overly loud in the pervasive quiet. It was as if the very earth had taken a breath and held it. Shea felt as though she were balanced on a thin wire stretched between her past life and the present. As if one wrong step on either side would end her quest before it began.

And still, she stood beneath the moon, welcoming its light, its strength as its elemental power slid through her. The wind kicked up, caressing her with suddenly icy fingers. Goose bumps raced along her skin. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She waited, silently beseeching the moon to open the doors of her mind and give her access to all she had once laid claim to.