Magick Rising (43 page)

“Powers protect us,” Rose gasped and sat back for a moment, hands

clenched in her lap, fear in her face. Seeming to gather herself, she shook her

head slowly and resumed the task of caring for the man though her

movements were more hesitant.

Since all lights had been off and only firelight and candlelight

illuminated the room, Celeste almost missed it.

Nearly.

But there it was. With his shirt now removed and head resting once

again on a small pillow, the man twisted in his unknowing state, and the faint

flickers of light revealed it. The paleness of a scar against his skin.

Directly where Celeste had buried the dagger lifetimes ago.

Erik lived.

ERIK’S SKIN BURNED where the witch’s hands touched him. Not from

pain, but in awareness. Though his eyes were closed, he knew when her gaze

skimmed over him. Why? Why did these things penetrate the sporadic

darkness he’d spent eons battling? The numbness that never waned.

But as much as these things bothered him, they were nothing compared

to the vision that pierced his mind when her fingertip traced the crescent

scar on his side. That touch brought agony along with the fire. It also

brought an image of a knife piercing his side and the hand that thrust it. The

hand was that same one now tending him. Gently. Carefully.

Anguish at those memories surged through his veins warring with a

desire sparked by the hands of the woman who’d approached him first in

the truck.

Was it possible that a hand capable of death, as his vision showed,

could also nurture its former victim?

“Is he injured?” the older woman whispered.

“Not that I can tell,” answered the younger one with an almost

imperceptible tremor in her voice. “We’ll have to watch for signs of head or

internal injuries.”

Erik continued to listen as the women talked. He could tell from their

exchange that there was caring and a comfort level that comes only from

long acquaintance. Eyes still closed, every nerve ending was alert to the

touch of the younger witch’s hands. He didn’t know much about her, but

somehow . . . instinctively, Erik knew magic flowed through the hands of

the woman who touched him. As he knew death also flowed just as easily.

Why care for me now if she spilled my blood before
?

On the fringes of his new, painful, physical awareness, Erik sensed

knowledge. An answer to the questions was there, but as too often, it eluded

him when he tried to push through, though not as quickly as in the past.

Lifetimes as a military strategist taught him to know when to push and

when to wait for the wisdom . . . or the enemy . . . to present itself.

He could wait. This time, this lifetime, would show him what the two

before refused. The unexplained visions and bouts of darkness would either

be explained or prove he was insane.

Either way, Erik would have the answers he wanted or would die in

pursuit of them.

Again.

ERIK LISTENED TO them as they took care of him. Celeste knew it, but

didn’t confront him. It was all too confusing. Somehow the incantation

from the Grimoire coupled with the ceremony had worked this time. But,

how?

It must be the offer to exchange myself
.

Brushing back the damp, dark hair from Erik’s forehead, Celeste saw

the resemblance. The face was nearly the same though signs of experience

and time were etched in the tanned skin. A scar followed his hairline, puffed

and fresh.

This man had seen battle not too long ago. Not just some man, Erik.

Erik had lived on somehow. Somewhere. The signs of age and the fresh scar

proved this. Again, more questions than answers.

Where did Victor fit into this? Hadn’t she and Erik bound him to

darkness?

Celeste knew Erik lay before her as certainly as Victor had glared at her

for dark seconds from Erik’s eyes. How was it possible? What twisted

resolution had the ceremony produced?

How had her plea been answered in so convoluted a way?

Rose took the muddied boots and wet clothing and left the room. The

crackle of the fire echoed in the space. A reminder that time still moved

forward.

Cautiously, almost reverently, Celeste touched the crescent scar on

Erik’s side again with a shaking hand. Sadness fell heavier across her

shoulders.

Erik grabbed her wrist in a painful hold.

Startled, Celeste met his gaze while managing to suppress a scream. No

longer closed, Erik’s eyes reflected only himself—and something else. Not

Victor, but rage, questions, and even pain. Physical or emotional? Only Erik

knew that.

“Who are you, witch?” Erik held firm when she tried to pull her arm

free. “Why did you stab me? When?”

Forcing herself to stillness, Celeste’s heart broke into smaller pieces. He

didn’t know her. Didn’t remember how the knife ended up buried in his

side. Only knew she’d stabbed him.

Please, no. How can he not remember what was between us
?

How is it possible I feel more pain than I have in the past lifetimes
?

Erik jerked her arm, as though to force a response.

Celeste met his gaze squarely. “Celeste. I am called Celeste.”

She read only confusion in his eyes, her name meant nothing.

“I didn’t stab . . . I mean I did but not in the way you seem to

remember.” Celeste didn’t know what to do, how to respond to this Erik

who didn’t know her. An Erik with no memory of his part in his death. An

Erik who’d looked at her with Victor’s eyes only a short time ago. “You have

no memory of me? Of what happened?”

The man’s grip tightened painfully, though Celeste forced herself to

reveal nothing of the discomfort and fear it caused since she didn’t know

which man controlled the pain being used against her.

“Your name feels familiar. Your scent . . . or something . . .” Erik’s grip

loosened a fraction. “A vision of your hand on the hilt of the knife that

caused the scar in my side came to me. Nothing else.”

“I’m sorry there is no memory for you beyond that horrific moment.

Maybe it will come.” Celeste pulled her wrist from his now loosened grip,

absently rubbing the skin that already showed bruising from the force of his

hand. “You have no reason to trust me, yet, but know that I won’t harm you

if you are the man I believe.”

“Why would I trust you?” Disbelief and a warrior’s fierceness showed

on his face and in his gaze.

Celeste closed her eyes for a brief second sending out a silent plea to the

goddess to give her the words to say. Hoped it wasn’t too much. Or too

little. “Because you trusted me once with your life . . . and what I believed

was your death. Because I want you to have the answers you seek. Because if

we don’t find the answers together, all life in this dimension will be forever

altered.”

“You speak in riddles.” Erik relaxed against the pillow again. “Seems I

must trust you until I’m stronger or until my memories return.”

Rose returned, arms now filled with different men’s clothing. “This was

all I could find, not sure if they’ll fit. They are too big to be Brogan’s. Maybe

a former caretaker’s.”

She held out a pair of worn blue jeans and a sweatshirt.

Celeste looked back at Erik to see his eyes closed again. His breathing

was deep and even. Sleep had finally won for the moment. The clothing

could wait until he woke.

“Thank you, Rose. We’ll try them when he wakes again.”

Rose placed the pile on a nearby chair. “Again? Did he speak?”

Celeste swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Erik has no

memories of me save the knife I put in his side.”

Tenderly, Rose rested her gnarled hands on Celeste’s shoulders. “Give

it time. You have waited lifetimes. Hours or days can’t possibly seem as

long.”

“I know, dear Rose.” Celeste stopped fighting against the warm tears.

“Is it selfish of me to not want his only memory of me to be his death? I

know I said I wanted him to live again at any cost, but this seems too high a

price . . . higher even than offering my life.”

The fingers on her shoulders squeezed reassuringly for a moment.

“Let’s prepare for how we’ll deal with what will come when he wakes. Did

you see the other in his eyes again?”

“No.” Celeste straightened her spine. “But the whole time it felt as

though maybe someone listened, watched, weighed the exchange between

us. I don’t know.”

“It is here. I sense the darkness alongside the light.” Rose shuffled

toward the tall cabinet to the right of the massive fireplace. “The Grimoire

may have the answers we need.”

Celeste raised the blanket to cover Erik’s bare, muscled shoulders. Her

fingers held the memories of a time when she’d gripped his shoulder’s in

pleasure.

“Pray so, Rose, because my heart has none.”

Hours later after they’d scoured hundreds of pages in the book of

magic for clues, Rose had retired to her chambers, and Celeste fought sleep

from the chair nearest Erik. His sleep hadn’t been peaceful. Far from it.

Tossing and turning the past two hours, Erik had cried out several times.

The words and phrases made no sense to Celeste.

Send in the right flank.

Too many bodies.

Where is she?

It’s my time
.

What tortured Erik while he slept? If she knew that, Celeste might be

closer to unlocking the memories in his mind and heart.

Brushing her hand across the cracked leather cover of the Grimoire

that rested on her lap, Celeste searched her thoughts again for an answer to

what was happening from the words she’d studied in the book tonight and

over the centuries. So much magic. So many curses. So much nothing.

Help me to reach his soul, his memories
.

Exhaustion felt like a betrayal to the man she’d killed. Erik was here,

within arm’s reach, and yet still lifetimes away. Unreachable. With no

memory of her or what had caused his death, how could they work together

again against the evil she’d glimpsed for that moment in his dark eyes.

Celeste knew she hadn’t imagined it. Knew that to disregard what she’d

seen in that brief moment might be the most dangerous thing she’d ever

done.

Five minutes to rest. Five minutes to close her eyes and pretend Erik

had returned with his memory intact. Celeste smiled and lowered her lids.

If only.

BITCH
.

Victor opened his eyes and glared at the witch sleeping in the chair next

to him. A slight smile was on her lips. She’d better enjoy her pleasant dream

now, because he would make sure it turned into a real life Hell for the

woman.

Pushing down the blanket, Victor looked at the body that he shared,

that would soon be only his. Although not as handsome as he’d always

believed his own to be, it would do as an instrument if it allowed him to

fulfill what Victor knew to be his ultimate destiny.

What was a mortal body anyway in exchange for immortality and

complete control over a dimension? The first dimension of many.

Victor would tolerate this shell in order to gain what had been denied

him the night Erik had forced the knife held by Celeste into his body. Victor

had been so close to having all the knowledge and power contained in the

Grimoire. But Erik’s
sacrifice
had ripped it from him

Sacrifice? Ha. Waste was more like it. A temporary hold against the

inevitable, dear brother.

Moving as silently as possible, Victor rose and grabbed the clothing

draped on the table in front of the couch. Moving closer to the warmth of

the dying fire, Victor cursed the frailty of the human form and its need for

warmth as he yanked the pants on then the shirt.

The attire left much to be desired, obviously made for this time.

Inferior, just like the inhabitants who created it. Watching the changes

through Erik’s eyes and experiences through each lifetime had shown Victor

the uselessness of mortals. They were made only to serve. They would serve

him.

The witch had unwittingly opened a portal when she’d used the

ceremony, his name, and offering of herself to resurrect Erik. Though it was

only Erik’s soul and memories that had died a form of death, Celeste had

not known that. Victor had needed her to believe Erik had indeed died that

night in order to give her a reason to find the right magic to allow Victor to

gain the upper hand and claim this body as his alone. And to finally claim the

power of the sacred Grimoire. Once the last obstacle was removed. Erik.

Victor hated the name. More, he hated what it represented. A barrier to

complete power. Until now. This time Victor would not be thwarted. He

would destroy the only person who stood between him and his