The Witch's Dream - A Love Letter to Paranormal Romance (Black Swan 2) (32 page)

"Here." Deliverance ran through the pass. She followed him along the ride and in five minutes they were safe inside his semi-secret lair. He caught his breath quicker than she did and stood waiting patiently with a huge smile on his face.

"All this time that I've been trying to give you tools for self-defense and worrying about what would happen if you tried to ride without me... why didn't you tell me you have etherin level magicks?"

"You knew I'm a witch. The only thing that's changed since I've met you is that now I have an explanation for it. It turns out that I'm an hereditary with an extensive and probably powerful legacy. If that wasn’t impressive enough for you, it so happens I'm half demon. Why wouldn't you presuppose that I have an advanced command of magicks?"

"Why indeed?" Deliverance grabbed her up in a bear hug, twirled her around and then dropped her to her feet.

"Hey. Still trying to get my breath here."

He grinned. "The Latin was a little cheesy."

"Yeah? Well, everybody's a critic. Worked though. Didn't it?" She grinned back at him.

Deliverance saw this incident as confirmation of what he had already suspected; that the potent combination of hereditary witch and demon had made his daughter more powerful than either one. The whole was very likely greater than the sum of the parts. Only time would tell the full extent of her unique abilities.

Litha had to admit that the days had passed quickly. Occasionally she thought about Storm and wondered what he had thought and done when she vanished right out of his arms. Of course she knew he must have been surprised, but had that been actual desire she'd seen in his eyes before he accidentally pressed her into a pass? It was hard to look at Deliverance without being reminded of Storm because his black-as-midnight eyes were so very much like those of her father... the demon. She tried to avoid examining that too closely.

An errant question about Storm’s own lineage danced across her brain, but she batted it away as fanciful. Certainly he could be her own personal incubus in the sense of being irresistible.

Where Dad was concerned, Litha was beset by a little sadness. He said he liked living alone, but that didn’t preclude being lonely.

"Stay with me longer," he pleaded. "There is so much more I'd like to show you."

"Not more relatives."

"No. Not more relatives."

Litha sighed. She would never have expected to feel even a little bit torn. "The way you felt about Rosie, that's how I feel about Storm. I don't want to be away from him any longer. It doesn't mean I don't... that I haven't gotten a lot out of our time together. I just need to see him and try to make him love me."

The demon looked alternately shocked and mystified. "He doesn't love you?"

She sighed and looked out at the navy blue water of the lake. "I... think we were moving in that direction when I disappeared, but he's confused and not ready to admit anything. I'll never know what would have happened unless I go back."

An appropriately demonic and very wicked smile spread over Del's face. "Would you like me to persuade him?"

Litha suddenly stood up straighter as panic crossed her features. "No! I don't... you've got to promise me you'll never..."

He laughed as he threw himself into a soft leather chair. "Just kidding. You have your own innate ability to enthrall. Combine my magnetic hotness with your mother's green eyes and red lips? There's not a dangler in any dimension who could resist."

"Dangler?"

He cupped his generous manhood with his right hand.

She gaped. "Ew! And once again let me say ew! Are we coming any closer to observing those ground rules for acceptable behavior we've talked about? Repeatedly?"

"What's the problem? I'm dressed."

Litha just stared at him, thinking she wouldn't live long enough to bridge the cultural gap. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. "Well, you might be surprised how many
danglers
manage to ignore me altogether." She sat down across from him using purposefully graceful movements, having stopped just short of throwing herself into a leather chair exactly as her father had just done. Blood will tell. "I'm glad you think I'm attractive. So long as it's in a
purely
paternal way."

His smug look faded as the demon's face became smooth and serious. "I don't think you're attractive, Litha. I'm absolutely positive you're the most beautiful person in Loti Dimension. And I should know."

"Wow. Maybe having you for a dad isn't completely
awe
-full."

"I shall disown you if you ever twist a pun my way again."

"Disown me?" She laughed. "Wouldn't you have to own me first? Come on. Puns are classified as word humor and word humor is intellectual humor. Therefore, the highest form."

"My house. My rules." He shrugged with the practiced nonchalance of someone who had either been an acting parent for a long time or watched a lot of sitcoms. Litha thought his adaptability was really quite something - perhaps a survival trait, the result of a challenging evolution. "Anyway, I do like the name Storm. It's a good demon name."

Litha didn't have the heart to tell Deliverance that Storm's first name was Angel.

"His eyes are a lot like yours."

His interest sharpened. He was clearly enjoying the idea of that. "Well, then. Perhaps he is kindred to Abraxas demons. And perhaps that's why you are drawn to him."

A smattering of information paraded across her consciousness. Storm had demonstrated innate talent for magicks by nightwalking spontaneously, especially during the instance when he was able to direct the projection of himself. According to his file he was scary smart, considered by many to be the quintessential Black Swan hunter with a record that indicated a gift for "hunches". She couldn't help thinking how ironic it would be if The Order's proudest and best turned out to be part demon.

"You're no' responsible for that harebrained mutt. 'Tis Simon's problem," Ram argued when Elora insisted that she couldn't feel good about leaving with Harry's disposition unresolved.

"Technically you're right, but that doesn't change the fact that it
feels
like it would be wrong to just pick up and leave. I'm the one who told him we'd find him a new home. That sounds a lot like responsibility to me."

Ram softened. "You're always creatin' angst-driven, internal conflicts profoundin' the philosophies of honor and normally, I admire you for it greatly. I truly do. But this time is different because Harry is just no' worth it."

Elora looked up. "You made a verb out of profound?"

She was wearing a filmy scoop neck nightie cut to just above the nipples as she sat on the side of the bed mulling over her husband's point of view. Without self-consciousness she appeared to be concentrating on nothing in particular in the direction of the floor in front of her feet. She heaved a big sigh that caused those barely disguised nipples to press against the see-through fabric.

"Oh, 'tis no' fightin' fair."

She looked up just in time to see Ram pull off the tee shirt he'd just put on and lunge at her.

Elora had been on the phone every day as a volunteer in the search for a new home for Harefoot O'Moors. She had finally convinced the leader of the Elk Mountain Tribe in Idaho to consider taking him in exchange for a sizable donation to the Tribe's treasury by The Order. In some ways the idea of buying a home for Harry seemed distasteful, but Elora was willing to compromise idealism for practicality in this instance.

The timing couldn't have been better. The king was coming to Edinburgh to meet Harry and make a decision. Simon had sent a small charter to Coeur de Lane to pick him up and take him to Spokane where there was a large enough runway for one of The Order's company jets. If they could get this adoption wrapped up quickly, she could leave for Kay's wedding with a clear mind.

She was held up in a meeting with people from the Department of Science and the Department of Interspecies Relations, who had been asking for a chance to question her about her experiences surrounding the journey and adjusting to life in a new world. They had started to piece together some information that might prove useful to the future of interdimensional travel.

It was not a "need to know" meeting. The little round table group was informal and they were happy to share what they knew or suspected. First, they had figured out that Elora's transport device must have been programmed to search out a delivery destination according to two priorities: the dimension had to have a counterpart to her Monq and there had to be an "Elora placeholder". In this case, it was a young version of herself who had died at age twelve from a case of pneumonia that didn't respond to treatment.

They were proceeding on the working assumption that only one life signature can exist in a single dimension at a time; therefore, the need for a "placeholder". But they were quick to add that the idea was theory in the popular sense of the word and not the true scientific sense.

She had stayed to listen to some of the brain storming theories about other versions of ourselves in alternate dimensions, maybe hundreds, maybe thousands that shared a bit of consciousness that was networked through dreaming; the idea was that some dreams were being simultaneously experienced in another reality by another version of ourselves.

The idea was being proposed that, if another very similar dimension - such as Elora's home world - was close to developing the means by which to slip dimensions, others probably already had the technology and still more would be following shortly. That would mean that, at some point in the future, there could be so many comings and goings as to guarantee chaos. It would be a boon to crime and bounty hunters as well. It could also be a worst nightmare scenario for a secret society whose mission was to keep humanity safe.

One of the biggest surprises for Elora was the fact that the person sitting at the head of the table was none other than her youthful dog sitter, Glendennon Catch. She knew he was doing an internship with the Edinburgh office of The Order, but had never asked exactly what they had him doing when he wasn't responsible for Blackie.

It seemed his ability to find patterns that were, in practical terms, invisible to others was being applied to the files of unsolved cases and to issues of preparedness for what multi-dimensional travel might mean to the future of the organization. Elora noticed that, whenever anyone said anything, all the esteemed heads turned to see how Glen would react.

She looked at him like she'd never seen him before and it appeared that, in some ways, she hadn't. She gave him a look that said, "No. Way. Shut the fuck up!"

Joining the wordless dialogue, he gave her a little shrug and a boyish grin that she interpreted as, "I know! Right?"

Just as they started talking about the possible future need for a Department of Multi-Dimensional Anthropology, Biology, Psychology, and Linguistics, she looked at her watch and practically leaped from her chair. Offering quick apologies, she jogged to Simon's office and hoped the werewolf king had been delayed.

To her relief, she wasn't late at all. Simon put his phone away, but as he rose to greet her his eyes moved to fix on something behind her. The werewolf king had arrived.

Elora turned to see a striking male striding toward them purposefully. He might have been younger than he looked. He had a deep tan, and excessive time spent in the sun tends to age skin prematurely and deepen lines. He appeared to be, perhaps, mid thirties in human terms.

Everything about him looked hard and unmoving except for full, youthful lips and long, shiny, silky-looking hair. He wore a silver gray business suit that matched the color of his eyes. It appeared to be an Italian fitted, silk and wool blend with just enough sheen to suggest expense without looking like gangster chic. The fact that it was three pieces made the incongruity even more intriguing.

His medium brown hair fell to his shoulder blades and, though at odds with the look of the suit, he had used a leather thong to catch it at the nape of his neck like a symbol implying, "Do not mistake for domesticated." That hair had the sheen of youth and vigor, naturally highlighted with sun streaks ranging in shades from lighter brown to blond. It was a look that high-end salons in fashion capitals had tried to recreate without success.

Elora was thinking: "Geez. And some people say
my
hair is pretty."

On the streets of Edinburgh he would draw attention for the depth of his suntan alone. Of course, there was plenty more to make him stand out from a crowd than just sun kissed skin.

The werewolf's pulchritude was not the least compromised by the gorgeous fall of hair. If anything, it offset and accentuated his blatant masculinity. He walked with the athletic grace of a wild animal, but also with the self-confidence of a man who had slept in a vat of testosterone. Since he had left his suit coat unbuttoned, the eye was naturally drawn to the fact that every stride pulled the pants fabric tight enough to accentuate that he was well endowed.