to engender violence of some kind.
All it took was one wrong word at the precisely wrong time and fireworks exploded, turning a demonstration into-in this case, at least-a near riot.
“The morning news was filled with coverage,” Cora said. “People climbing on the Lincoln monument, fighting, for heaven’s sake, in the Reflecting Pool. It was a disgrace.”
Deidre sighed and leaned back in her chair. “It was disappointing, I know, but every movement has its share of hotheads, right? I mean, the important thing here is just how many people showed up. It was incredible.” Her eyes shone and her smile flashed. “We never expected so many!”
“Yes,” Cora said wryly, “I know.”
Deidre winced a little at her tone. “I’m not trying to make things difficult for you, Mother. But this is important to me. I hate seeing how witches are being treated-rounded up and bundled off to internment camps? It’s practically prehistoric!”
Cora chuckled. “Not nearly so dramatic, honey. You know that I’ve been working to solve this problem…”
“Oh, I do,” Deidre told her, sliding a glance around the dining room in the president’s private quarters as if to make sure no one was left to overhear them. “And it’s great, really. But unless everyone steps up to protest what’s happening, nothing will really change.”
“It’s dangerous, Dee,” Cora told her daughter. “You could have been killed in that mob scene yesterday. If the Secret Service hadn’t been there to pull you out…”
“But they pulled only me out,” Deidre complained. “My friends were left to fend for themselves.”
Dropping her fork onto the Reagan china with a clatter, Cora said, “You can’t expect the agents to save everyone, Dee. You are my daughter. It’s their duty to keep you from harm.”
“Protect me but fry the witches. Is that it?”
“Watch your tone.”
Instantly, Deidre got hold of herself. “Sorry. Look, I’m doing what I have to do. I don’t expect you to approve, Mother, but you can’t stop me from this.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Dee,” Cora told her, reaching across the table to squeeze her daughter’s hand. “I can do whatever I like. Not only am I your mother, but I’m the president. If I think you’re in danger, don’t for one minute believe that I’m not going to act.”
Deidre looked into her mother’s eyes and what she read there must have convinced her because her attitude shifted and she said, “I’m sorry I worried you. I’ll try not to let it happen again. But I can’t promise to stop my work with the RFW. It’s too important. To me. To the world.”
Cora patted her hand and nodded. “I understand completely. But you must understand that I will do whatever I think necessary to ensure that you stay well.”
“Of course,” Deidre said and squeezed her mother’s hand. “So, let’s talk about something else. Did I tell you I found a condo I might want to buy?”
Cora sat back and watched her daughter, smiling at all the appropriate times, while she silently made plans to talk to the agents assigned to Deidre. Yesterday, her daughter’s safety had been compromised. She might have died.
Cora would not allow that to happen.
Chapter 40
I always think of you.
Torin’s words were simple, Shea reflected, but so profound. He was everything to her. She never would have thought that any two people could bond so completely in such a short time.
But these last few days had been the most amazing of her life. It was as if the magic itself was a living entity, separate from her, yet a part of her at the same time.
She was even dreaming about spells and enchantments. She woke up knowing the lore of crystals. She could create a talisman or craft a love spell. She could now list medicinal herbs and how they should be used. Her mind was filled to overflowing with the knowledge of the many lifetimes she’d lived. She remembered more every day. It was all there, in her mind, her heart. She had only to uncover the last of her own deeply buried secrets.
Torin carried her into their bedroom. She squinted against the bright afternoon light glancing off the water with a knife’s edge. Automatically, she dimmed the light, but kept the brilliance of it. Because she wanted the curtains open to the light. Wanted the terrace doors open to the wind.
She drew strength and energy from the elements of nature and felt the sunlight and wind and sea filling her cells, becoming a part of her.
It was cold, but that was easily remedied. A wave of their hands and they felt only the kiss of the wind, not its bite. Torin laid her down on the bed and stretched out alongside her. Shea snuggled in, pillowing her head on his chest, listening to the silence within, still puzzled by the fact that a man so richly, thoroughly alive could have no heartbeat. She kissed the spot where beneath his shirt, the mating tattoo coiled.
“If you begin doing that,” he warned quietly, “there will be no talking.”
“Right,” she said, feeling the sparks within her ignite. Being close to him only made the magnetic pull between them that much stronger. Shea ached to feel his warm skin against hers, feel his hard, thick body pumping into hers. Her core tingled and her breathing became fast and shallow as she fought to resist the lure of the mating. “Okay,” she said after a long minute. “Talk first. Then sex.”
“I agree,” he said, his arm tightening around her. “So, that night. I’ve told you most of it already, but you’re now remembering it for yourself, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” Everything Torin had already told her still resonated inside her. And as her memories had risen to the surface of her mind, she had seen it all so clearly, as if a part of her were trapped on that long-ago night and she was doomed to relive it over and over again in some twisted sort of loop. Like a mental journal, the pages of her life flipped past, showering her with the long-dead echoes of horrific sounds and scents and colors.
Yet, despite everything, there was a small, very secret part of her that was… excited by the memory. There was a dark place within her that relished every scream, every jolt of terror, every moment of danger that clung to the ancient images.
In the deepest part of her heart, Shea worried not about Torin’s trustworthiness but about her own. She couldn’t tell him what she was feeling. What she was dreading. But the truth was, Shea was terrified that along with her newfound powers the woman she had once been was being awakened.
That witch had been willing to lose everything that mattered to her in her quest for knowledge and power. What if she hadn’t evolved as much as Torin thought she had? What if the darkness was still there inside her, simply locked away behind a door of secrets?
“You and your sisters would listen to no one,” he said, his voice soft, low with memory and regret. “You were set on a dark path but couldn’t-or wouldn’t-see it. There was hunger for knowledge, yes. But more, there was the promise of power. Power such as no one had ever known before.”
The afternoon sunlight, the luxurious ship, the tumult of her present life all faded away as Shea closed her eyes and let the lost images inside her rise. She saw it all, experienced it all, as his voice continued.
“The coven drew down the moon, gathered their energies and pushed their combined strength through the Artifact.”
She saw it, as she had that long-ago night. Lightning whips of white light, brilliant in the dark. Jagged, scorching, the air sizzling as bolt after bolt jumped from witch to witch, the light itself growing, becoming something else.
“The black silver glowed and hummed with the accumulation of power. Lightning was everywhere, like a living beast.” He paused, lost in his memories. Shea shuddered as her own mind continued playing out the scene.
“There was a blinding light,” he said in a whisper. “Brighter than the sun at midday. And in an instant, everything changed. The Artifact opened a portal.”
“The Hell gate,” Shea said, feeling the sudden rush of a twisted sort of excitement along with a growing
