I am editing Awakening the Dragon and will be releasing it. The cleaned up version will only be available on my website until the end of May. Then it will be available again in paperback and as a kindle.
To buy the PDF version and to learn more about my other work please go to my
website
The screen rights are available.
AWAKENING THE
DRAGON
Book
One of
DRAGON
CLAN TRILOGY
BY
THERESA CHAZE
Copyright 2006
All Rights reserved.
Printed in the United States. No part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form
or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or
otherwise without the prior written permission by the author.
Published by Valkyrie
Publishing
Traverse City MI 49684
www.theresachaze.com
To Susan Owens, Karry
Barolo and all the other
Beings of light without
their help this book
wouldn’t have been
possible.
PROLOGUE
It played out in the
reflection of the window like a disjointed movie put together by a
drunken editor. Some of it was fact; some of it was dream intuition.
He had snapped awake and
been pulled to the window. Sleepily, he had watched the woman that
had given birth to him, for he no longer thought of her as Mother,
walk down the path, which led to Grandmother’s cottage. He had
thought it strange. Returning to bed,
sleep quickly retook him to the land of dreams. On the wings of his
intuition, he followed her down the path. He watched her take the
key from beneath the pot and slip inside. Grandmother had been in a
deep meditation. The intruder watched her just outside the
illumination of the candle within the dancing shadows it created. He
felt rage radiate from her. Kevin tried in vain to wake himself.
Slowly the older woman stood and turned. The two women argued.
Grandmother slapped at her. The younger woman
grabbed Grandmother's arm in
mid-air and dragged her to the top of the basement stairs. He
screamed for his Grandmother and struggled to free himself from the
realm of sleep. His body wouldn’t respond. The older woman
disappeared backward into the darkness of the stairs, her hands
flaying in the air, desperately trying to find a handhold to save
herself. The younger woman
closed the door only to reopen it and flick on the light. She
descended to check her handy work. He watched the older woman’s
spirit rise; it flew to him. Wordlessly, she told him how much she
loved him and made him promise to care for all she loved. She
reminded him of the laws of karma and to guard which path he chose to
follow. He thought it strange, but promised all she asked. The
white light appeared. She entered and was gone.
The edit
jumped forward in time to a shot in the night, to finding his
Father's body on the path and discovering the note his father left
for him in the fireplace partially
burned. He hadn’t understood why his father felt responsible for
his mother’s death. He hadn’t killed her. Kevin knew this to be
a fact. That night, he had finally woke himself up
and had run downstairs only to find his
Father in the
study, staring at the late night news. In the time between then and
now, Kevin had thought and re-thought his father’s demeanor. He
hadn’t understood it then; he still didn’t. He hadn’t turned
around when Kevin called to him. The floor squeaking in the hallway
behind them had startled them both as Mother tried sneaking upstairs.
Slowly Father stood. His face was pale. Tears streamed down his
cheeks. He called to her. Mother stopped on the bottom step.
Slowly she turned. Kevin recognized her face; she was his mother,
but he didn’t know the person he saw in those cold, hard eyes.
Father had ordered him to go to bed. Kevin turned to protest that he
was a college graduate and was too old to be sent to his room; the
look on his father‘s face changed his mind. Kevin wasn’t sure
whether it was rage, shame, or soul ripping pain, but it was enough
to startle him into compliance. Raising his voice, he repeated the
order and shoved him toward the stairs. Reluctantly Kevin had
complied, walking past the woman on the stairs. He couldn’t look
at her. She reached for him. He pulled away and continued to his
room. He never looked back as the study door closed behind them.
Sometimes he wondered it would changed if he had.
Six months later, he
found his father’s body on the path. The note was in the study
fireplace. It was crumpled and partially burned. The note said, "he
could no longer live with the lie." Everyone thought he had
murdered his own mother. But they hadn’t read the note in which he
had begged Kevin, postmortem,
to be stronger than himself. He had said that because he
loved her so much, he had waited too long to tell the truth. Kevin
read and re-read the note, wanting, yet
not wanting to understand the meaning behind the words.
He hadn’t heard her
come into
the study. Mother said his name and he looked at her. Wordlessly,
he held it up. He wanted to understand. Startled, she stammered an
incoherent explanation and tried to grab it from him. He shoved her
hand away. Again the stranger he met that night on the stairs
returned. Kevin finally began to understand all he had seen that
night and the message his father was trying to send. It made him
sick. He looked into her eyes. They were full of hatred. Yet she
was still his mother. He still loved her. Yet he knew what she had
done. He didn’t have proof; but as he shoved the note in his back
pocket, he knew what she had murdered his
grandmother. Through the years, he had questioned just how
responsible his father had been in his own death. The rage burned
within, yet he couldn’t face the truth about the mother he loved
with all his heart. They never spoke of it again while he was
sober. The only way he could cope with the rising fury was to bury
it deep inside. To do his best never think of it. But it never went
away--it never healed. Instead for close to ten years
it had
festered and poisoned the rest of his life.
Kevin lifted the glass to
his lips and drained it, quickly following with a slice of lemon. He
was the editor and he was going to change the direction of the story.
That afternoon, she had finally gone too far. Ripping the pentacle
from around Anna‘s neck and firing her for her beliefs was the last
straw. He had offered to rehire her. Mother inherited Father’s
stock in the mill, so he couldn’t fire her, but he could insure
Mother would never bother her again. Tearfully she had refused,
claiming the stress of the job wasn’t worth the paycheck. If she
sued, he would understand and would pay whatever was fair to make it
right. Filling the glass, he held it up to the moonlight. The
liquid distorted Diana’s image. The liquid sparkled with the
Goddess’s full face. "Diana, great warrior Goddess, Isis,
Great Mother, Hecate, Goddess of all that is unseen."
his words were slurred, but he spoke from his heart. "I don’t
have the courage to do it myself. Hear my prayer. Moon Goddesses
both light and dark see the truth hidden in my heart. With your eyes
so full and bright, bring the evil truth into light. Help justice
prevail by removing the veil. So the murderer will be known and be
forced to atone. With greed and hatred in her heart, she forced
loved ones to part. No matter how she lies and hides, show all
others where the truth resides. No mercy or grace shall be offered
or granted--" Suddenly he couldn’t think of a word to rhythm
with granted. He didn’t care. The hatred in his heart made his
intention clear; nothing short of vengeance would satisfy him.
Ceremoniously, he drank the liquid, believing himself too drunk to be
heard by the Goddesses.
Across the time and space
separating deities from mortals, they heard him and the others’
petitions for justice. They heard and said, "So mote it be."
CHAPTER ONE
Rachael could still smell
the lilacs from the backyard. The bushes were in full bloom, filling
the air with their sweet scent. Beside the house, roses had already
begun to climb the trellis with this year’s new growth. At one
time, the garden had been well maintained, but not for many years.
Did she want to buy it? Or did she want to continue looking for
something closer to what she envisioned. The cottage
tugged at her heart. It was lonely and frightened. Looking at the
windows facing the back yard, she watched the reflections of the high
clouds drift across the windows. For an instant, they took on a
bronze sheen of the great air Dragon, Moltra. This just wasn’t a
spiritual place; it had been blessed by the dragon spirit. If she
had blinked, she would have missed the sign. She was meant to be
here. The path would be cleared one way or another to for her.
Opening Dragon’s Den
had been a long time dream. More than a New Age store, Rachael
called it "New Spirituality", a place to meet, learn, and
find support in a safe, loving environment. It would be a warm,
spiritual fuzzy where you could buy supplies. The Goddess provided
the finances through the state lottery and a dart revealed the
location. The move back to Northern Michigan went well. The
building she had foreseen had been quickly found and leased with an
option to buy. All the resources she needed seem to fall into her
path. In less than a month, the renovations had been completed.
The only thing missing
was a comfortable place to live and grow her herbs. The physical and
psychic noise from the other apartments made it difficult to sleep,
frequently giving her nightmares. The other houses she’d seen
didn’t have the right feel, not like this one, which seemed to say
welcome home. According to the confusing agent, who went out of her
way to tell her, it had electrical and plumbing problems. Rachael
hadn’t found anything she described on the inside. With all the
other agents, they had walked around the inside together, discussing
the pros and cons. This one wouldn’t step toe one inside. But it
wasn’t a problem. Rachael had wandered around at will, touching
and exploring. She opened drawers that normally would be private.
They were all empty, waiting for the next inhabitant. Part of her
wanted to leave a ring or a charm as a promissory note that she’d
return. So what if it didn’t have a fireplace. It did have ten
acres to walk about without interruption and garden space for her
herbs. The trees both shaded the house and gave privacy. There were
deer tracks all around the house; some led up onto the porch.
Squirrels ran around freely; several nests were perched among the
trees. The stream across the backyard was no small plus.
But did she want to take
on the responsibility when the Goddess might once again ask her to
move? Yet the security of a permanent place for the litter boxes and
being able to pound a nail where ever was real attractive. Looking
around, she saw the awakening beauty and promise of security. Could
this be her home?
"Yes." Came
the answer on the wind to her unspoken question.
Rachael looked around,
but saw no one beyond the normal forest inhabitants. A slight
breeze blew her hair across her face like a mother’s caress; she
brushed the strands back into place and continued to walk around the
yard. She stopped at the birdbath. Built of fieldstone, it stood as
a monument to the previous owner’s love of nature. Last night’s
rain had filled it, yet the water was clean. She didn’t understand
why there weren’t decaying leaves or pine needles floating. A male
wild canary flew over her shoulder and landed on the rim. Ignoring
her, it took a quick dip and shook off the excess. It briefly looked
up at her and flew away. Rachael watched it until it disappeared in
the tree canopy.
Chattering redirected her
attention. A black squirrel sat on a branch just up and to the left.
They are amazingly adaptable, she thought. "Aren’t
you the cute one?"
It dropped something.
Rachael caught it in mid air. It was an acorn.
"Thank you. But I
don’t have anything for you."
It chattered and scurried
back up the trunk into the lush greenery above.
"You talking to me?"
The agent called from the front yard. "I didn’t understand
what you said."
Reluctantly, Rachael
joined her at the front of the cottage. She didn’t like the woman.
But she wasn’t sure why. Yes, there were all the Bible quotes and
negative comments which contributed, but that wasn’t the main
reason. There was something she couldn’t define. She was younger
than herself. Impeccably to the point of being annoying, she was
dressed in the current fashion. Her hair was perfectly styled with
the perfect manicure. She was the perfectly packaged Christian,
complete with gold cross dangling around her neck and a Bible quote
for every situation. Rachael stepped into stride with her as she
walked toward her sedan.
The agent suddenly
stopped. "As I said the house is as is. Bad plumbing.
Electrical shorts and all. It’ll cost you a fortune in repairs."
"All it needs is a
little TLC."
"I have much better
listings. Closer to town. Better price. Fewer repairs. Being a
single woman you want something that will be easier for your suitors
to find." With a casual wave of her hand, she emphasized her
point. "Besides you’ll find a good man and get married, so
you won’t want to put a lot of work into a house built for one."
"Aren’t you
supposed to sell its good points? If I was the owner, I’d be
finding a new representative."
Suddenly she looked
uncomfortable. The keys jingled in her hand. "It’s not the
house. Exactly. It’s just that I like you. You deserve a safe,
beautiful house."
Rachael sucked the front
of her teeth. Here it comes, her little voice whispered to
her. Outwardly, she looked directly into the brown eyes. "Are
you saying this house isn’t?"
Again, the keys jingled
in her hand as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other,
implying she would like to return to the car. "I have another
house to show you."
"I like this one."
Hesitating, she cleared
her throat. "I’m legally bound to tell you that a woman died
here. She fell down the basement steps and broke her neck. Her son
found her the next morning."
"It’s not
haunted." Although there was something, Rachael hadn't sensed a
resident ghost.
"Of course not! I’d
have told you that." She waved her hand in careless dismissal,
yet she started toward the car. "Our church could have fixed
that. The big problem with the house is that she was a witch. And
you know what they say about them."
"No. What do they
say?" The anger rising within her, Rachael emphasized the word
"they". It was always they, never I or we, but the "they"
that never takes responsibility for what they do or say.
"The house is
tainted. Cursed. No one can live there safely any more. It has be
burned to down to purify it."
Furious, Rachael grabbed
her arm, spinning her around. "First blacks, Orientals, and
gays. And you more than implied that being single is some sort of
sin."
She yanked her arm free.
"Are you implying I’m a bigot?"
"No, madam. I’m
saying it straight out. I’ve been in your presence less than three
hours. The only nice things you’ve said were about the member of
your church."
"I don’t have to
listen to this!"
"Then leave."
Startled, both women
snapped around to face the baritone voice riding into the clearing
astride a deep brown quarter horse. "What are you doing here
Savannah? This house isn’t for sale to your church or anyone."
"You know my name is
Abigail Hanson. And I have a contract with your mother." She
snapped back.
"My Mother doesn’t
own this house or the land around it." His gloved finger
pointed first at his chest, "I do."
The digit snapped
around to point at Abigail, "and you are trespassing."
"The courts will
change that."
"Savannah, Savannah.
You and Mother need to join the rest of us in reality." His
voice was smooth, taunting her further into anger. "She doesn’t
own it. Never will."
"Judge Patterson--"
"Has been
disqualified for bias. My ever so innocent, blessed Mother,"
the sarcasm and anger dripped from his voice, making the word
"mother" more of a curse than a blessing, "will not be
able to hide behind his robes any more." He nudged the horse
forward. "Neither will any of you if something happens to my
house."
"Excuse me."
Rachael stepped closer to the horse and rider. Her nostrils quickly
informed her they’d been riding hard.
For a moment, he looked
down at the reins in his large hands.
Slowly he turned his head; the shadow from his hat obscured most of
his facial features, including the expression in his eyes. "I’m
sorry they wasted your time. The house is not for sale."
"Don’t listen to
him. His mind is tainted." Abigail cut in, trying to pull
Rachael away.
"Shut up!" He
snapped.
Direct, to the point,
Rachael began to like him. She pried the fingers from her arm,
fairly certain bruises were forming beneath them. "I’m just
looking for a place to live. I have enough battles of my own."
He tilted his head
upward, revealing the auburn stubble on his chin. "It’s
difficult to explain. The house’s not safe because their fanatical
church keeps trying to burn it down."
"Because the woman
who lived here was Wiccan?"
Surprised he tilted his
head, revealing smooth, fair skin and blue eyes. Sadly, he nodded.
"Hard to believe these days."
"Thou shall not
suffer a witch to live." Abigail hissed. "Satan took your
Grandmother’s soul. He’ll take your soul too."
Impatiently he tapped the
saddle with the reigns. "Lady, next time you can explain to the
sheriff. Now get off my property."
Rachael was impressed
with his self-control. Her little voice told her Abigail Hanson was
extremely lucky woman to be able to leave under her own power. There
was more involved in this situation than just the sale of a house.
Furious, Abigail threw
the house keys in the dirt. "I’ll drive you back to the
office." She turned heel to toe and marched to the sedan,
yanking the door open and slamming it shut behind her.
The house seemed to call
her; it was lonely. She picked up the keys, but felt reluctant to
turn them over to their rightful owner. It wasn’t fair. They
wanted to destroy it; he refused to live in it. It would be a
perfect home for her and her feline kids. Looking up at the
figure in the saddle, she hesitated. The keys were warm and
comfortable in her hand.
"You’ll miss your
ride." His voice held a hint of amusement. "And it’s a
very long walk. Especially in those shoes.""
"I’d like to talk
to you about the house."
"It’s not for
sale." The harshness quickly returned.
Nervously, she sucked the
front of her teeth. "It’s lonely."
Startled, his left
eyebrow arched and he leaned forward in the saddle; it squeaked
beneath him. "Aren’t you afraid of devils?"
"In the Wiccan
religion there are no devils."
"Are you sure?"
She looked up directly
into the blueness. They were warm, yet distant, unreachable to the
mere mortal. "Positive."
So began the battle of
wills. He was trying to impress her; she refused to look away. His
pupils narrowed, exposing a narrow band of brown. She leaned
forward, placing her open palm on the mare’s neck. The muscles
beneath quivered. The tail switched. A hoof stomped impatiently.
A fly landed on his
cheek. Involuntarily the muscles twitched: he didn’t blink. She
reached up and brushed it away.
Abigail blew the car’s
horn. The horse snorted and danced away from the disturbance.
Rachael jumped back. The moment was broken; the duel was a draw.
The horn blew again, a long blast of frustration. The horse reared.
He fought for control of the frightened animal both with the reins
and with soothing words.
Rachael dashed to the car. Through the
open window, she grabbed Abigail’s hands and yanked them away from
the steering wheel.
"You trying to kill
us?"
"Get in the car!"
Abigail snapped.
"Not even if my only
other option was walking barefoot on broken glass!"
Abigail pulled her arms
free, one bouncing off the back of the seat, the other banged against
the inside of the door. Quickly she threw the car into reverse.
"Find your own way back!" The wheels spun, kicking up dirt
and gravel as the car shot backward out of the driveway and
disappeared down the road in a huff of dust.
Coughing, Rachael tried
to wave the dust away from her face. I’d done it again, she
thought, me and my mouth. It truly was going to be a long walk
back. Hitchhiking at my age, she laughed at herself, someday
I’ll learn. But obviously not today.
The horse had calmed and
he had dismounted. Gently he ran his hands down one of her legs then
moved on to another, checking for injuries. He wasn’t as tall as
she expected; slender build, but not so much he didn’t fill those
jeans quite nicely.
Now, now she
chided herself. Nearly run over. Finding herself in the middle
of a holy war, deserted, and still having lusty thoughts. She
smiled, that’s what happens when you approach your sexual prime.
Pushing the stray strands back over her head and tucking them behind
her ear, she crossed the distance between them. "Is she okay?"
Without looking up, he
crouched. With a gentle tap of his finger, the mare allowed him to
pick up her leg and he examined the hoof. Resting it against his
thigh, he reached into his back pocket and removed a jackknife.
Opening it, he used the larger blade to remove a stone jammed into
the hoof. Carefully he cleaned away the remaining dirt, inspecting
for damage. He smiled and slowly returned the foot to the ground.
Experimentally she tested it by shifting her weight on to it. She
stomped twice and her ears went forward. "Good girl." He
straightened, patting the back of her neck.
Rachael released the
breath, she hadn’t realized she was holding. "Is she okay?"
She repeated.
His hands still holding
the bridle, he turned to face her. "Seems so. How ’bout
you?"
"Dusty."
He laughed and offered
his hand. "Thanks. Kevin Mitchellson."
Accepting it, she stepped
closer. "Rachael Franklin."
"New in town?"
"Month and a half."
"Why here?"
"I’ll answer your
question if you answer mine." She indicated the house and the
settling dust leading down the driveway.
"Long story."
"It’ll give me a
chance to talk you out of a long walk."
"I’ll be having
one of those as well. Belle has a bruised foot." Smiling he
removed his hat and pushed back his auburn hair. It was damp and
thinning at the temples. "This was my Grandmother’s home.
She built it when my Grandfather died and my Father took over the
lumberyard. She didn’t think it was right we live in a small house
and she live alone in the big one. But she didn’t want to leave
the grounds. She designed it herself."
"She used Feng
Shui."
With a flick of his
wrist, he snapped his hat back on. "You know the terminology.
I’ll give you that." He turned on his toes and took the
reins, heading toward the path he arrived on. "No comment.
Have a nice walk."
"No comment. What
does that mean?"
He stopped. "It
means. You’re not the first reporter who’s tried to get me to
admit my Father committed matricide then suicide."
"Wait."
"Why?"
"I’m not a
reporter."
"Then why are you so
interested?"
She searched for a reason
to give. She found none. "I don’t have a reason beyond I‘m
looking for a home. Before you ask. I don’t know why I like it.
I just do." She hesitated briefly. "I’m not looking for
trouble. I suspect I’ll get that when my bookstore, Dragon’s
Den, opens on Beltane."
He halted in his tracks.
Slowly turning, a smile replaced the sneer. "Good thing you
didn’t mention it earlier. No telling what she’d done to the
owner of the new devil store."
"Your sarcasm isn’t
appreciated." Angrily Rachael decided she preferred to walk.
She turned and towards the driveway.
"Where you going?"
"For a walk."
"It’s five miles.
But only a half mile to the main house. I’ll drive you."
"Not enough room for
me and that redwood size chip on your shoulder."
"Ouch!"
"Have a good life."
She continued down the driveway.
"Don’t you want to
talk about the house?"
It was her turn to
suddenly stop. She pivoted on her toes, placing her hands firmly on
her hips. "It’s not for sale."
He shrugged.
"Jerk me around and
you won’t like the results."
"Do what you will,
but harm none." He countered.
"So your Grandmother
taught you."
"Who taught you?"
A breeze blew her bangs
across her face; she tucked them back behind her ear. "None of
your business."
"Now who has a
chip?" Leading the horse, he walked closer. Would you like to
see the inside? You might not even like it."
"Been there; done
that."
"You got in?"
The surprise in his voice raised the tone an octave.
She nodded.
"You lie!"
"That’s it!"
She spun on her toes and marched down the driveway.
"Wait! Wait a
minute!"
The horse whined. From
behind, she heard the scuffle of boot and hoof dancing around each
other. He swore. The horse snorted. Running feet came toward her.
He grabbed her from behind. Her self-defense training kicked in and
he went flying into the dirt, landing face first. Smugly she stepped
over him. He caught her ankle. She stopped.
"Let go of me."
The anger welled up in her. His moods changed faster than anybody
she’d ever met and frankly, she wasn’t inclined to indulge him.
"Or you won’t like the results."
He spit out the dirt and
blood. His lip continued to bleed. "Are you always so
violent?"
"I don’t believe
in violence."
"Is that why I have
a bloody lip?" Without releasing her ankle, he sat up, sliding
his hold up her right leg. "I just want to know how you got
in."
"The front door."
She punctuated each word with anger. "We did have a key."
"Did Savannah go
in?"
"No. She wouldn’t."
"Aren’t you
curious why?" He released her ankle to wipe away a trickle of
blood from the center of his bottom lip. "Only three of us have
been able to go in since the coroner took Grandmother‘s body out.
Myself and two of her closest friends. The house wouldn’t let
anybody else in. Dad even tried breaking a window. The rock
bounced off, nearly hitting him in the head."
"Maybe it doesn’t
like bullies."
"Seems to like you
well enough."
"I’m not a--"
She stopped in mid sentence, realizing her words didn’t match her
actions. "Sorry. I’m not usually so aggressive."
"Really?" His
eyebrow arched. "You seem so well practiced."
Nervously, Rachael sucked
the front of her teeth. She took the class for a reason and his
behavior was it. She was sorry for hurting him, but didn’t regret
protecting herself. You simply don’t invade a person’s body
space without an invitation. She offered her hand to him. "Let
me make amends."
He wiped his lip with the
sleeve of his shirt. "Will you help or hurt?"
"Who grabbed who
first?"
"Point."
"I’m not keeping
score." She again extended her hand. "Are you?"
Taking her hand, he
pulled her to the ground. "I’d call us even."
Rachael lay on her side
next to him, admiring his profile. With it tied back, you couldn’t
tell how long his hair really was from the front. She guessed it
fell past his shoulders. His features were angular. She thought he
was attractive in a direct sort of way. She liked his ability to
maintain eye contact without being intrusive or threatening.
Kevin looked down at her.
At first, he cocked his head to the side. An expression of wonder
crossed his face, adding a new dimension of light to his eyes. He
blinked and smiled as his shield rose.
She didn’t know if he
was protecting himself or hiding behind them. But what did he
have to hide? For a moment, the battle of wills threatened a
rematch, but only for that instant.
He gently clasped her
hand and brought it to his lips, carefully wiping away the blood
first. "I’m Kevin Mitchellson."
"I’m Rachael Davis
Franklin. I’d like to buy your house."
"I’d love to sell
it to you. But it’s not up to me."
"What was all that
before?"
Laughing, he released her
and fell back into the dust. "Oh, legally it’s mine. I pay
the taxes. I still come twice a week to water the plants.
Occasionally I even dust. But it’s not really mine."
"Unique perspective.
Very Native American."
"With this hair
color?" Kevin lifted himself onto his elbow. "What
brought you to Coyote Springs?"
"A dart."
"A dart?"
Sitting up, Rachael
pushed the stray strands back over her forehead, once again tucking
them behind her left ear. "I was born sixty miles from here. I
wasn’t happy. Family stuff. I worked my way though college at a
small shop making incense and essential oils. It was owned by
Beverly Franklin. She was like a mother to me. I earned my MA in
business."
"She was your
teacher?"
"Beverly taught me
more than the arts. She taught me unconditional love. Because of
her, I was able to release my anger and guilt, but mostly my fear."
"Fear?" He
leaned closer, resting his folded arms on his bent knees. "You
don’t seem to be afraid of anything."
"Even as a child, I
saw things others didn’t. Now I know how to deal with them."
"Grandmother taught
me how to use my gifts. She was an herbalist and a healer. She
cared about everyone."
"Beverly never turns
anyone away." Rachael smiled. "I’ll be carrying her
line of products. She’ll also be teaching a class this fall.
Anyway to shorten a long story. I won a lottery, which provided the
prosperity for the store." She hesitated. "I asked the
Goddess where she wanted me to go, then threw the dart. This is
where it landed. Two out of three. Three out of five."
"Didn’t want to
come back. Got the picture."
"Too close to the
family."
Slightly nodding, he
stood and offered her his hand. "I understand. Completely. If
it wasn’t for Grandmother and my promise to care for the mill’s
workers, I’d boogied on out of here long ago."
"It’s amazing what
we’ll promise in the name of love." She nodded, but stood on
her own and started brushing the dust from her jeans. "We all
have free will."
"In any case. On to
the next step."
"Which is?"
"You opening the
front door and going in by yourself."
"Any particular
reason?"
"Humor me."
Rachael held out her open
palm. "Keys please. Unless I’m suppose to use open-says-me."
"Good trick if you
can do it." He reached into his shirt pocket, taking out the
keys the agent threw to the ground. He held them out. "If that
doesn’t work, use these."
She took them. For a
moment, their fingers touched. A shock went through her. It wasn’t
sexual exactly, but the strong electrical impulse of his life force.
It wasn’t light; it wasn’t dark. The color was gray. At some
time, he had been tempted, leaving footprints on the dark path. But
what or when, she couldn’t read. She curled her short fingers
around the keys and walked around him toward the house.
Climbing the front steps,
she wondered why here, why him? She opened the screen door
and inserted the key. It turned easily. The door swung open.
Suddenly she felt nervous; more than she knew was at stake
She stepped in, closing
the door behind her. It still smelled musty. No not musty, but the
dusty settledness of a lonely house. The sun cast patterned shadows
of the lace curtains across the floor and up the opposite wall.
Plants were everywhere. Most needed transplanting. On the table in
the corner, an asparagus fern had begun to wilt as the roots cried
for more room. Rachael remembered seeing larger pots and soil in the
kitchen. She picked up the fern and carried it down the hall to the
back of the house.
The kitchen was cooler
and darker than the more sun exposed front of the house. It was also
the definitely heart of the house. Even in the shadows of the day
and the tree, the room had a light of its own. She placed the fern
on the counter next to the sink. Taking the largest pot from the
shelf next to the back door, she filled it half-full with soil.
Returning to the sink, she taped the clay sides of the fern's pot,
pulling it free. With her available hand, she dug a hole in the soil
of the new pot adjusting the depth and width to fit the root base.
The soil was dry, leaving a find dust on her fingers and under her
nails. Turning on the water, she rinsed her hands and adjusted the
temperature. She watered the fern allowing the water to fill and
flow through the pot, continuing down the drain.
She felt gratitude from
the plant. A random act of kindness. She leaned forward and
looked out the window. There was so much that needed to be done.
Trimming. Pruning. Transplanting. Suddenly she felt as if she
was no longer alone. Looking around the room, she saw no one, yet
the feeling persisted.
"Who’s here?"
The sensation lessened,
but remained.
Rachael knew she was
being watched. Sensing the ones, who had crossed, was one of her
families talents, but she was the only one of the last two
generations who chose to develop it. Running her hand along the
counter top, she sensed the love that had once filled the room. Not
only in the food that had been prepared here, but also the intimate
chats between loved ones around the small oval table in the center of
the room. The woman who designed and had the cottage built was a
strong, loving soul who knew how to find the good in the darkest
shadow. Rachael wondered if that is what killed her. She smiled to
herself looking at the hard on the eyes wallpaper.
"What are you
doing?"
Startled, Rachael spun
around, her fingers catching with the spindly shoots, partially
uprooting it. "It needed transplanting." She felt
defensive and angry with herself for being so caught off guard. She
patted the plant back into place. "It was going to die."
His voice softened. "I'm
sorry. When you didn't come out, I got worried."
"Why?" She
shook her head, the long strands dancing around her waist. "There's
nothing wrong with the cottage."
"That's not it."
Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned against the
flowered-papered wall. "It's the house. Some places have
energy of their own. Most can't handle the level here. It's too
intense. For me I can last a couple of hours. After fifteen
minutes, my skin begins to itch. After about a half-hour, my head
begins to ache and it only gets worse. Most people can't handle it
that long."
"I don't know what
you mean."
"An energy vortex--"
"I know what that
is." She snapped, not meaning to. "Sorry. But you're
implying there is something wrong here. Miss Abigail," she
motioned quotation marks around the name, "implied the same
thing. I haven't found problem one. The water works. It tastes
good. No bare wires that I can see. I haven't tried the furnace."
"You are comfortable
here." The surprise was evident in his voice. He relaxed his
arms, allowing one to drop to his side; the other he tucked in to his
front pocket. "You've been here almost a half-hour. It hasn't
affected you."
"Earlier it was
longer than that."
"The energy hasn't
changed.
"Without a good
airing, it never will."
"I open the windows
twice a week and keep it clean.
"Short term it
works." She softened her tone, sensing he was doing his best.
"The house would eventually accept you."
"It’s been over
ten years. It doesn’t want a master; the cottage wants a mistress.
But not just any woman. A specific woman who knows how to channel
the energy of the ley lines that interconnect in the back yard."
He looked away. His gaze slowly drifted along the floor to the back
door. "I also have other reasons."
"Which are your
own."
His eyes focused on her,
the blue seemingly brighter, more alive. "I won't sell the
house. I'm not ready to let it go yet." He hesitated. "But
you can live here. No rent. No strings. Just take care of it.
Maybe with someone living here, they'll think twice about burning it
down."
"I see." Her
internal alarm went off, as her own past distrust of men surfaced.
She shifted her weight away from him. Taking a deep breath and
centering herself, she asked the Goddess for advice for the present
situation, qualifying that the sign not be too ambiguous to be
useful. She closed her eyes and exhaled. She reached for her
center, the place of knowing without reason; it was her place of
faith. An image came into focus. It was the house. The gardens
were once again cared for and lush. The roses had reached to top of
the trellis. She could almost smell the full blooms. A breeze blew
through the trees, changing the shadow patterns on the
well-maintained lawn. A blue jay swooped through the back yard and
landed on the tree stump. A deer walked out of the brush. She
walked to Rachael, nuzzling her palm. Gently she scratched between
her ears. It was peaceful.
Blinking she opened her
eyes. Kevin still stood in the same position. Rachael never knew
how long her attention would be focused inward. This time it seemed
to be only moments. She looked upward to meet his gaze. "There
will be rules."
"Rules?"
"No unexpected
visits. Midnight or otherwise."
"Excuse me?"
Confused he tilted his head, but did not shift his eyes. "Oh,
if I had wanted you as a sexual partner--" He stopped himself.
Glancing downward, he scraped the heel of his left boot on the toe of
the right. "It'd be your idea as well. Any others?"
"I consider the
house my own. I make any changes I want."
"If the house lets
you. It's cool by me. You pay the cost."
"Agreed. Lastly.
When you are ready to sell, I want first option. And I want it in
writing."
"Agreed." He
extended his hand. "Will a handshake hold until we can make it
legal?"
She took his hand.
Electricity shot through his palm. He would bear watching. He did
have talents and the will to use them. "Works for me."
"When would you like
to move in?" He released her hand. Reaching past her to open
the window, his shoulder brushed against her. The light scent of
cinnamon surrounded him.
He knows his stuff, she
thought. "Consider it mine now. But it'll take me almost a
week to move in. There are a few things that need changing."
"Like the locks."
She didn't like it; he
read her too well. She'd have to set up her defense systems as soon
as possible; she wasn't going to let him see one vulnerable area in
her life. Gently she pushed him away from her.
Smiling he backed off.
"I'll go get my car and drive you back to town. I'll have the
contract drawn up. You'll have that long to change your mind or have
the utilities changed over into your name."
"I won't change my
mind."
He nodded and reached
into his pocket, pulling out his key ring and taking two keys off.
"Here are my keys."
"Thanks. She took
them from his out stretched hand, carefully avoiding contact with
him. "I'll wait for you here. There are other plants that need
my attention. I also need to make a list."
"A list?"
"Of what paint to
buy. That wallpaper has to go."
He laughed from deep
within. Stepping backward, he half turned and patted the flowered
pattern. "Good luck. It's been here a while."
"Obviously since the
sixties."
He wiggled his finger in
front of his face. "Wrong. Grandmother loved it so she had it
specially made in the eighties. She said she always wanted to have
full blooms even in the dead of winter."
"According to Feng
Shui, this is my relationship space. It'll be some shaded of pink,
red or white."
"You have all that
now."
She forced a smile.
"They're lovely, I'm sure."
He laughed and shook his
head. "Good luck. You'll need it."
Adding an Irish lit to
her voice, she cocked head and leaned against the sink. "It's
nota me who needs the luck blessing but anyone who comes without
being invited to do so. This be a peaceful private place. I being a
mind to keep it that way."
The color drained from
his face. "I see."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing." He
staggered back, as if she had struck him. Quickly he turned on his
heels and was gone.
Rachael stared at the
empty doorway not knowing how to respond or what to think of his
behavior. She slowly shook her head. He was too confusing to
understand. She didn't want to try. Instead, she counted the empty
pots and the amount of potting soil remaining. She calculated there
was enough soil to transplant three more plants. There was a
philodendron in the bedroom and a spider plant in the dining room
that were in desperate need. She would decide on the third later.
Walking up the stairs,
Rachael wondered about the woman who lived here before. The décor
wasn't the typical grandmotherly type. It was a house of contrasts.
In places, it was loud and bold, hard on both the ears and eyes.
Beneath the intense color was a pleasant base that brought it all
together. It was the accumulated feeling that gave the cottage a
very strong sense of peace, that made the outside world seem
unimportant.
Her footsteps echoed up
the stairway and down the hall. A fine layer of dust hung suspended
in the air like invisible cobwebs. She resisted the temptation to
try to brush them away from her face. She opened the bedroom door.
The sun shone brightly through the southern window, making the room
warm and dry. She checked the plants. All of them needed water.
Opening the window, she
stood in the cool breeze, allowing it to freely blow through her
hair. The scent of lilacs drifted up from below. Closing her eyes,
Rachael smiled, grateful for the blessing. The birds sang.
Somewhere nearby a couple of squirrels chattered. She opened her
eyes. They were in an elm half way to the top. They chased each
other, stopping every few moments to chatter, then continued the
game.
The door slammed behind
her. She jumped and spun around. The breeze had visibly stirred the
dust and slammed the door. "Okay. Okay." She spoke aloud.
"I'll get back to business. New pot for you" She picked
up the philodendron. "And a round of drinks for everyone. But
don't be thinking that this makes you the boss. I still haven't made
it official."
Laughing she propped the
pot on her hip and opened the door; she slide the footstool in front
to prevent it from slamming shut again. She continued down the hall
and stairs into the kitchen. Placing the pot on the counter, she
walked to the shelves. "Would you prefer blue, green or ick--
the magenta?" She didn't expect an answer on any level, but it
was a nice touch to ask. She picked the blue. The magenta would
wait until absolutely necessary. She filled it half-full with soil
and returned to the sink.
Humming to herself, she
moved into the moment. The past no longer existed. The future would
wait. Her only focus was caring for the plants. The philodendron
was transplanted and watered. She left it in the sink next to the
fern. Picking up the watering can, she filled it and returned to the
bedroom.
It was the same as she
left it. No ghosties had moved the settled dust or closed the
window. The air did seem a bit fresher. That was all. Starting in
the right corner, she watered the plants in a clockwise fashion. Why
she didn't know. She didn't even notice until she was half finished.
It was habit, she supposed.
Finishing, she stood in
the middle of the room. It was a little odd shaped, yet pleasing to
the eye. It would take finesse and creativity to work around the
L-shaped wall with the sloping ceiling. The wall seemed to be an
afterthought or a sudden extension to the room. It gave it
character. The dresser in that corner fit so well she might keep it
and refinish it to match her own furniture. The bed she wasn't to
sure about. The four-poster was too dark for the room and filled
most of one wall. Testing the mattress, she found it soft and
comfortably inviting. She resisted the temptation to lay down on it.
Besides, she liked the warm hug of her own bed.
Through the window, a car
could be heard pulling up. Rachael thought it was a bit soon for
Kevin to be back. Maybe his horse's hoof wasn't as injured as he
originally thought. She closed the window, reminding herself to tell
him which plants had been watered.
Rushing downstairs, she
went directly to the front door and opened it. Stepping on the front
porch, she saw the familiar sedan. Abigail opened the door and got
out, holding Rachael's purse before her.
"So he stranded
you?" She smugly walked toward the house. "I'm not
surprised."
Rachael didn't think she
could possibly dislike the woman more; she was wrong. Crossing the
yard, she retrieved her purse. "Wrong. He went to get his car.
But it'll take longer, since you injured his horse."
"Too bad."
"So sad. I can tell
how sorry you are." The sarcasm dripped from Rachael's voice.
"For the record. I'm moving into the house."
The shock visibly
registered on her face. "I don't believe you."
"Believe this. You
and your church are not welcome at any time for any reason."
"We could help
you--"
"Do nothing!"
Rachael snapped. "Something else you should know. I am the
owner of Dragon's Den. We open in ten days. You do anything to
annoy my customers or me and I'll have you in court so fast you won't
have time to count your beads."
"You're another
one!" Abigail stammered.
"You bet your sweet
fanny!"
She physically stepped
away from Rachael, the coloring draining from her face, making her
lipstick seem more obscene against the paling skin. With a trembling
hand, she made the sign of the cross. "We can still save your
soul. Repent your wickedness." The fear in her
voice drowned the conviction, but she did not stammer.
"You leave me in
peace," Rachael continued, "and there will be peace between
us. Harm me or mine---"
"And you'll what?"
Abigail cut in, rallying her courage. "Curse me? Send your
devils to haunt me?"
"No. Call the law."
"They can't protect
you from God."
"God I have no fear
of. Nor do I dislike the true followers of the Christ energy. The
ones who actually do no harm in his name. The ones who actually walk
the path of peace, wisdom and love are truly children of God."
Rachael stepped closer, pointing her right index finger at the
retreating figure. "It's the pretentious bigots who falsely
claim to work in His name that to do
the damage. The ones who judge others and refused see how their own
actions do harm. It‘s the ones who
twist the doctrine of love and peace into reasons to lie, cheat and
kill that give all the others a bad name. I know many actual
Christians. They don‘t promote arson or attack others who don‘t
walk the same spiritual path."
"We follow the
Bible. It’s God’s words that lead us." Abigail snapped
back. Just as quickly, her voice softened. "Please let me lead
you back to the one true God."
"What makes you
think your beliefs are more valid than mine?" Without waiting
for Abigail to answer, Rachael shifted her weigh on her back foot and
quickly continued. "You stand on street corners, invade our
homes -- what makes you think anyone wants to hear it? The only
Christians I have problems with are the ones who try forcing their
beliefs on me. The ones who threaten me
when I refuse to join the flock. I have a religion. It feeds my
soul and gives me comfort."
"I am charged to
spread the word of God." The angry edge returned to Abigail’s
voice.
"Preach it to choir.
No one else wants to hear it."
"I’m doing God’s
work!"
Rachael slowly shook her
head. "That's been the claim for centuries when people do evil
to others."
"I'm not evil!"
Abigail stopped. Staring up at the sky, she screamed. "I love
God! I hold no other before him."
For a moment, the forest
became alive with sound as Abigail's voice scattered birds and
squirrels. Chattering and squawking they drown out the echo of her
voice. Then there was silence. A single bough from an oak fell
between them. Rachael sensed it was time to end the conversation
before her own temper awakened and permanent damage was done to both.
There was nothing she
could say to bring peace between them. Rachael turned on her heels.
She marched into the house and slammed the door behind her. Leaning
against it, she realized for the first time she was trembling. Why
couldn't people just be kind to one another? Live and let live.
Religions didn't need to clash. Everyone had their own path; all we
needed to do was respect each other enough to allow everyone to
follow their own.
Outside, the car door
opened and closed. The car started and pulled out of the driveway.
She didn't watch. She wanted a cup of tea. No, she needed a
cup of tea. Spearmint and Chamomile. Any witch worth her
salt would have them growing in the garden. There was a kettle and
cups in the kitchen. The stove worked. All she needed was to find
the main ingredients in the backyard. Taking a deep breath, she
headed for the back door.
Quickly she found what
she needed. The full kettle was already steaming on the stove, but
had yet to whistle. Washing the herbs in the sink, she wondered
about the woman who had died here. Did she have to face the same
kind of bigotry?
"No."
Startled, Rachael turned
around. The room was empty, yet the voice had been so clear and
distinct. The feeling of being watch had returned and intensified.
"Who’s here? I know there is someone. Show yourself or be
gone." Impatiently she looked around, waiting for a response.
Nothing. Yet the atmosphere was charged; she couldn’t see it but
she could feel it dance on her skin. Not an itch nor a tickle, it
felt as if ants trailing feathers where marching all over her body.
Absent-mindedly she scratched her arm, while looking around the room.
It was to trying to play games, she had aces and trump. She pulled
out her traveling altar out of her purse. Inside she found the baggy
of sea salt and took it out. "Spirit hiding between realms.
Seeking to be the one at the helm. I call your forth," Rachael
poured salt directly on the floor in the form of a circle, "in
this time and in this place, limiting
you to this now blessed space. Appear now so that I may see and hear
what keeps you in this place." Rachael waited. The circle
remained empty.
"I was waiting
for my replacement." The voice held the remains of Irish
accent. Not so much that she was born within Ireland, but more
likely her parents were and the speech pattern migrated into her just
as her parents migrated to their new home.
Again, Rachael was caught
off guard. She spun around to face a woman with golden red hair
streaked with gray and white. Her face was lined yet appeared
vibrant, as was her whole stature. She was slender and strong; her
posture carried no signs of the age that her face and hair implied.
"Who are you?"
Rachael turned to meet her squarely. "How is that you appear
outside the sacred circle?"
Her arms gracefully
spread. "This is-was my home. I could not leave until another
had come to be its guardian."
"You’re Kevin’s
Grandmother?"
She nodded. "You
may call me Grandmother if you wish."
"No. Thank you."
"As you wish. Then
Sarah. That is what I was called before I died." She pointed
to the kettle. "Your water is nearly ready and my time is
short."
"Are you looking for
justice?"
Again, she nodded. "That
and more.’
"What do you need me
to do?"
"Let the justice
unfold as it will. You being here has already set it in motion. The
one who murdered my son and me will be called into account. But you
must be careful." Her image intensified. "I have searched
the world for the one who had the strength to channel the energy of
this place--the one who could complete the cycle set in motion so
long ago." She smiled and held out her hands, palms facing
Rachael. "What I couldn’t prevent before, I have been able to
recreate with the new matrix, where justice could be met and the
scales balanced."
"I don’t
understand."
"You will child.
But only after you have truly awakened the dragon within you."
She stepped closer, raising her arms before her palms upward. "You
must choose. Now. But do not do so lightly. By accepting these
gifts, you will be one of the hubs of the wheels of justice."
Rachael didn’t know
what to say. Deep inside, she had already made the decision. It was
long ago, remembered only in dreams of a faraway place. It was an
oath that was sealed in blood, hers and many others. She knew
without knowing how that she and three others were the only ones.
Four pillars to support the way for the others. She knew this to be
true, yet her conscious mind balked. She had fought so hard to free
herself from unwanted ties and obligations. She closed her eyes and
sought the truth from her soul. Breathing deeply she connected
with the whole of herself. As if with a will of their own, she
raised her hands over Sarah’s, the palms pointing downward.
Rachael opened her eyes and met her gaze. "I accept your gift
with all the responsibilities and challenges it brings."
Sarah nodded. Her hands
lifted upward. The center of her palms glowed and slowly began to
spin as the vortexes formed. Rainbows of color swirled and mixed as
the speed increased. The whirling increased until the colors were
smeared together. The matrix had formed. Only then did she raise
them to meet Rachael’s. Intertwining her fingers with Rachael’s,
she nodded.
Rachael nervously smiled
and prepared herself. It felt like a tiny mouse was trapped between
their palms. Soft movement entered through her palm chakras. Her
hands glowed with the rainbow matrix.
Rapidly it spread up her arms and filled her body with a loving power
that Rachael never even imagined existed. Every cell, every nucleus
energized with the new power. Images flashed in her mind too rapidly
for Rachael to remember. Instead, she stored them until the time she
would need the information. Sarah released her and stepped backward.
Slowly Rachael sank to her knees, resting her face in her palms.
"You must make this
your own as soon as possible. Change the energy matrix. The one I
created will no longer protect you. I have waited so long for you
because this is a very power place. The energy comes directly from
Gaia. Through the ley lines, you can touch all the others. There is
nowhere in the world you cannot reach once you learn the matrix code.
"
Rachael looked up at her.
"But how?"
Sarah quickly cut her
off. "Gaia will teach you and the others of your tribe who will
follow from the other place and time. After they have gathered, Gaia
will show you the way to right old wrongs and to heal festering
wounds. But until then you must make this place a beacon of light so
they may feel the energy and be awakened to the memories of the
before time. Allow it and it will give you strength beyond what you
could possible imagine."
"I don’t
understand."
She smiled. "You
will child. Soon you will. Call the tigers, the leopards -- all the
cats of power and wisdom. They are very close to your soul. Join
them with the spirit of this place and your own dragon tribe. Once
they are partnered, no harm can be done to you or yours." She
disappeared, returning only as a shapeless image. "Tell Kevin
--" she momentarily hesitated, but quickly resumed, "that
his hatred will destroy him and all I created." Her voice took
on a distant, hollow tone. "Tell him to remember what I told
him." She vanished; only this time she didn’t return.
Rachael stared at the now
empty space. Never before had she experienced
anything so intense. Slipping into the nearest chair, she leaned
forward; crossing her arms on the table, she used them as a pillow.
The familiar dizziness washed over her. Early in life she learned
the more she fought it, the longer it lasted. However, if she simply
gave in, it passed quickly without any lasting effects. The
visitation left her with more questions about the cottage. If she
was to be part of the balancing of justice, she would need to know
more. But who could she ask? She hadn’t been in town long enough
to find a circle she knew well enough to trust to do a séance, nor
had she developed a trust-bond with any of the other Wiccans in the
area. Contacting the dead alone could be very dangerous, so she
would have to rely on the living to give her the information she
needed.
Taking a deep breath, she
cleared the remaining fuzziness and looked around the room. The
burner had been turned off and the kettle moved. Steam rose from the
spout. It was ready. And so was she.
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