Obsidian Flame (23 page)

He flew down deep until the tunnel became very dark, obsidian black, no light escaping, But he pressed on. Her memories wanted to fly at him, from every angle, to drag him away from his purpose, memories that mostly looked like the Convent. Sometimes even his own image, his body moving over hers, would show up, but he ignored it all until from the blackness emerged a pinpoint of light that grew larger as he flew toward it.

He could hear Marguerite shrieking now but he somehow knew that it wasn’t the vision causing her pain; rather it was his journey, as though this flight down this long tunnel had hurt her. He could now see the sheath that needed to be pierced—and whatever her current pain, this would be infinitely worse, as though her obsidian flame power had needed to be cloaked until exactly this moment.

*   *   *

Marguerite had never known such pain. She felt as though Thorne had taken a flame torch with him and just burned her mind up as he went. The only advantage seemed to be that while he made this journey, the vision lumbered above her unable to crash down as it usually did, maybe because she was in such pain.

Hold on,
came from deep within her mind. Uh-oh, this was about to get worse.

She grabbed Thorne’s arms and dug her nails in.

The penetration was ferocious, a blinding stab of pain that made her earlier shrieks sound like kitten meows. But his first effort wasn’t successful.

Oh, shit.

This shield is tough. I’m sorry, Marguerite, I’ve got to try again.

Just do it!
She sank her nails harder, probably too hard, but Thorne held rock-steady.

This time when he punched, her arms spasmed, but at the same time she felt the barrier break apart. She also heard Thorne from deep within her mind holler,
Holy shit. I’m on my way out. Look out.

This time, however, the pain was gone and in its place was a kind of euphoria she’d never known before, a rising stream of pleasure that rushed up through her mind and kept rushing until she saw stars and more stars, until she was looking at the universe above her, the entire galaxy spinning around and around.

She didn’t know how long it was before she came back to earth, or back into her body, or whatever this was exactly, but when she did she knew something had changed. The power she had always experienced as a Seer felt more rounded and complete, certainly bigger and stronger and just there, omnipresent.

She couldn’t yet see Thorne. She was too lost in the middle of the experience.

But she was aware enough to know that she still had hold of his arms and that he was rubbing her back very gently. Her hands were wet, but she didn’t know why. Her fingers even slid around.

So this was obsidian flame, the breadth of it. She tried to measure it but what she felt the most was how easily she now held the vision at bay—as though it had moved several feet from her and sat limp in the air, powerless to affect her anymore. From this time forward, no vision would ever again crash down on her.

She didn’t know if she should feel relieved. Certainly she had more control, but a corresponding thought sliced through her: What would be the price of such control? What would be left of her life now? Where would her precious freedom be?

Thorne, thank God, didn’t intrude on her thoughts; nor did he speak to her. He just continued his gentle touch on her arms, her shoulders, her back, soothing her, comforting her.

He was a good friend, tremendous support, an anchor. Who else could have done for her what she needed? Who but a warrior could understand that sometimes pain just had to be tolerated?

She smiled when it occurred to her that he’d essentially just popped her obsidian flame cherry.

She finally drew back and looked him in the eye. She could tell he was no longer in her mind. She was pretty sure that obsidian flame had shot him the hell out of there. “So did you get fried or anything?” she asked.

He smiled and shook his head. “I got a taste of what you endured, but it was more like a punch in the ass when I left the center of your power.”

“You know, you seem really pleased with yourself.”

“Not with myself. I’m pleased because I can feel the difference in you, in your obsidian flame power. It tastes complete, and very big, as though before it was just a shadow of what it could be. But how did you know you needed it pierced?”

She shook her head. “I remember Fiona went through something similar but it wasn’t Jean-Pierre who had done the deed. It was Endelle.”

“Well, I’m sure it was no picnic.”

“I felt like you were carrying a blowtorch and had it lit the entire journey. And once you got there, you used a chain saw to cut through some really sensitive tissue.”

“Good to know. Okay, so tell me about the vision.”

“It’s just there, waiting. When I’m ready.”

He smiled. “That’s fantastic. So obsidian flame has done this for you, given you command of these visions?”

She nodded. “I think so, at least to the degree that they can’t just incapacitate me.” Her hand slipped down his arms. She drew back and gasped. “Look what I did to you?” Her horrible inch-long nails had dug into him and created a bunch of small wounds. Blood oozed down his arms. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”

But he scoffed. “Please. You really think I’m not used to much worse? Besides, I could tell how much this recent penetration hurt you.”

At the sound of the word, she smiled. “I haven’t had a penetration hurt that bad since I was fifteen.”

“Oh, now, please don’t bring that up. That is so not the kind of thing I can handle.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thorne, how old are you?”

“Two mil.”

“And, uh, just how many women have you
penetrated
in the past twenty-four centuries?”

He could only grin, so she leaned up and kissed him full on the lips. “Wish you’d been the one, if that makes you feel better.”

“It does.”

“But man, with the size you are, that would have hurt a helluva lot worse than what I went through.”

“Again, I need to remind you that I don’t want to hear about you with other men, even if you were just a teenager. I’m also guessing we need to take a look at this most recent vision.”

“Right.” She frowned as more of her intuition kicked in. “I have a feeling this vision concerns you, just like the last one, so maybe you should just jump in.”

“I agree.” He took a deep breath then pushed his mind against hers.

This vision was like a black cloud, which really didn’t bode well for the contents. She held her obsidian flame power at the fore and very slowly opened the door to the future streams. The images wanted to rush, but she simply thought the thought and they slowed.

She was back at the Convent, inside the cell she shared with Grace. That sight alone was enough to almost make her want to shut the whole thing down. Instead she held steady and let the next images come. It was as though she stood in the center of the cell facing Grace’s bed, her former cot behind her. As she began to pan toward the wall with the desk that sat between the beds, the images simply became murky and unrecognizable, something that never happened in her visions.

She felt uneasy. She had a sense that there were two people in the room, Grace and someone else.

I don’t understand. Why did the images stop?
Thorne sent.
I mean, what the hell happened to them?

She thought for a minute. She extended her senses toward the vision once more, then she knew.

Oh, shit, Stannett.

You mean he’s interfered?

Exactly.

Sonofabitch.

She prompted the vision once more, hoping that perhaps there was a way to enhance her obsidian flame power in order to overcome the interference. But she could feel that her new power was flowing in a perfect stream—yet there was nothing she could do to affect what Stannett was doing. He was one powerful vampire.

She closed the vision down and pulled back to look at Thorne. He disengaged from her mind so that the familiar rubbery sensation followed. She was alone within her mind once more.

“That was your Convent cell,” he stated, frowning.

“Yes, it was.” She felt restrained in her spirit.

He put his hand on her arm and met her gaze. “What are you not saying? I can feel your hesitation. What’s going on?”

She looked up at him, at his somber expression, the pinch of his lips. It was simple: She didn’t want to go down this path.

Unfortunately, this path involved saving Grace, her friend, her cellmate. She even suspected that it would involve all the devotiates in the Convent as well.

“Is this an attack?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” That at least was the truth. “All I know is that Stannett is blocking the vision. Maybe he suspected I’d be reading it, or maybe he’s just taking precautions. I don’t know.”

“And you think this is serious?”

“I know it is.” She let her gaze fall to his chest. His tank was cut low so that she had a view of the swell of his pecs and the fine hairs on his chest.

She didn’t want to say the rest—that she also suspected she would be able to see the hidden part of the vision if she had help. She would have to involve another Seer in the situation, to engage with another Seer in the future streams, to create a connection that she did not want to create.

She squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want this to be happening, for aggressive visions to be the reality of her life; she hated that she had been thrust onto the stage of world events because she was a Seer of great power and because she was obsidian flame.

But there was another truth here, a very dark one. She didn’t have to respond to this vision and she didn’t have to take her place in ascended society. She had a choice. She really did. She could go her own path, especially now that she would be free of the crashing visions. She had control.

She still had a chance at the life she’d dreamed of for so long, she really did. She could taste it. All she had to do was back away from this, not take it to the next level, a level she saw so clearly it made her dizzy.

But what would happen to Grace if she failed to act?

Truth? She didn’t know for sure, but it wouldn’t be good.

Her gaze fell to the carpet. She was only faintly aware that she was breathing hard.

She put a hand to her forehead.

“Marguerite, what’s wrong?”

The next level.

Connection. That thing she despised.

She wanted her freedom.

One obscenity after another rolled through her head. Though she remained physically close to Thorne, in her mind she was mounting her wings and flying up and up and up, into the stratosphere. Never mind that she couldn’t breathe or that her wings were icing over.

Oh, God, this could not be happening. She wasn’t ready for this. She didn’t want this, not even a little. She was at a crossroads and the choice was simple: either go forward with what she knew to do and save Grace and how many other devotiates, or leave this colony right now, live her life the way she wanted to live it, embrace her freedom.

She didn’t want this. It wasn’t fair.

“Marguerite, talk to me.”

She pulled back. Her gaze fell to his arms and to the blood now dried in swaths where her long nails had pierced him and her fingers had slid around. It looked like a child had finger-painted on him.

But Grace was her friend and she would die if Marguerite didn’t act. She could feel it now in her bones. This much she knew, this much Stannett couldn’t hide from her, that Grace would die this very night without her help.

The next breath she drew had a singing quality, part hiss, part gasp.

In the end, however, there was no choice, no choice at all. Grace was her friend, had helped keep her sane, had shown her respect when everyone else was afraid to. Only Grace had stood up to Sister Quena on Marguerite’s behalf.

Though her heart was breaking because the freedom she had fought for was now disappearing, she lifted her gaze to Thorne. “I need to reach pure vision and I need to do it now. If we want to save your sister, and the other devotiates in the Convent, I have to reach pure vision.”

“Oh, God. What do we do? Do you need Fiona?”

She shook her head. “I’ve thought of her, of course, but I know that for what I need to accomplish, only another Seer will do. I need Brynna. I need you to go to the club and bring her back here. Will you do that for me?”

Thorne met her gaze squarely and dipped his chin a little. He nodded. “I’ll be right-fucking-back.”

As he lifted his arm and vanished, she drew in a deep breath. What did it say about him that he simply stared into her eyes, made an assessment, and took charge? That familiar swelling in her chest happened again, the sure knowledge that she loved him and trusted him.

But did he understand even a little what she was giving up tonight, forever?