PRINCE OF THE WIND (30 page)

"To tell you the truth, Golden One, I do not care for this big city of yours. I feel crammed into this place."

Goldie smiled, obviously liking the nickname he had given her. "Then you’re more a country boy at heart, huh?"

"Country boy?" He thought that over. "Aye, you might say that I am. I prefer being in the open to the stones of the keeps." He shrugged. "I suppose my time at the Labyrinth instilled in me a need for open spaces."

"Do you have a girlfriend?" she asked, continuing to pack.

"An amorata?" At her puzzled look, he clarified. "A sweetheart?"

"Yes."

"I have one such."

Disappointment crossed Goldie’s face. "Where is she?"

He sighed. "In Irishland, I suppose."

"Ireland," she corrected. "Don’t you know for sure?"

"Ireland," he repeated, making a mental note. "No, I have been there with her only once in the flesh, once in my dreams. I will return when it is time, I’m thinking."

"You don’t want to go back there?"

"I fear that is the Realm of the Gatherer as well as the home of my amorata."

"The Realm of the Gatherer?"

Riain scratched his head. "It is where the Dead go to make Peace with the Wind."

"Heaven?"

He had heard that word once. "Aye, heaven, I think." He frowned. "And the Abyss would be your…?"

"Hell."

"Most likely it would be."

"I don’t believe in hell. I believe you make your own hell right here on earth."

"And heaven?"

"Heaven is nothingness," she answered. "Heaven is the ceasing of life and the release of the soul from the hell it has created for itself. Heaven is eternal peace."

"Strange notions," he observed, shaking his head. "In the Realm of the Gatherer, you meet those who have gone on before you—grandparents, friends, instructors. It is a place where there are no bodily needs such as thirst or hunger and where all is gentleness and light."

"Yeah, well, that’s the same ‘heaven’ the nuns tried to drill into me in parochial school. I’m sorry. I don’t buy into all that." She looked hard at him. "Especially now that I’ve met you."

His brows drew together. "Why has meeting me changed anything for you?"

"Because you’re not supposed to exist, Riain Cree. There aren’t supposed to be werewolves, Reapers, vampires… Now that I know there are…"

"Then you should realize that heaven and hell can exist as well."

She turned back to her packing as if not liking his conclusion.

Riain walked to the window. He could feel her uncertainty and—he was sure—a touch of anger. "How long will it take us to reach your home?" he asked, wanting to change the subject.

"Four hours. We’ll be there for supper if we leave now. I would like to beat the rush hour traffic."

"That is a long walk."

"We aren’t walking. We’ll take my car."

His face turned pale. "We will have to sit in one of those horse-less things that roll?"

"A car, Riain," she sighed. "And yes, I’ll be driving."

He swallowed. "Is there no other way?"

"Only if you want to fly," she snorted.

"We could do that!"

"No, we can’t," she replied and closed her overnight bag. "I don’t have the money and—"

"I could fly us," he said eagerly.

Slowly, she lifted her head.

"Aye, I can!" he said, coming to her. "I can carry you on my back or—"

"No," she whispered.

"I could! You don’t weigh that much and I can carry your traveling case in my hand if you do not wish to hold it."

"No," she said, louder.

"Think, Golden One! Four hours by land is only a matter of perhaps an hour by air ,and there is no traffic to speak of!"

"No!" she said, the word an emphatic denial.

"Why not?" he said, his lip thrust out in a pout.

"There are airplanes flying up there…" She pointed to the ceiling. "Can you imagine what would happen if one of the pilots saw two humans—"

"One human being, one horse," he corrected, grinning.

"Oh, now that would be one for the F.A.A. annals! UFOs are one thing. Flying horses are another! The pilots would be grounded for life!"

"I can not carry you if I am in my nature Raven form. It would have to be by horse or—"

"No! And that is final, Cree!"

They glared at one another for a moment, then his shoulders dropped, realizing he’d lost the battle of wills. He folded his arms. "All right, but I will not enjoy this."

"As long as you don’t get car sick, it won’t matter." She snatched her overnight case. "Let’s go."

"Car sick?" he asked, frowning.

"I’ll explain later."

"Explain now. How does one get car sick?"

Goldie rolled her eyes and jerked open the door. She refused to answer as they took the stairs to the parking lot.

"How sick can one get?" he asked as they pushed through the double doors.

"Let it rest," she ordered. Her heels echoed on the concrete as she hurried to her car.

"Sick enough for a human to die, Golden One?"

She turned and narrowed her eyes. "You will
not
get car sick, Cree."

"I won’t?" he said, relieved, but then suspicion took its place. "Why will I not?"

"Because Irishmen do not get car sick."

He thought about that for a moment, then nodded, letting out a long breath. "You had me worried, Golden One."

"Sorry," she said through clenched teeth and continued on to her car.

Riain looked at the sleek black vehicle and thought it looked far too confining. Knowing he’d have to sit within its tight perimeter for four hours filled him with unease.

"We’ll stop every fifty miles and take a potty break," she said, as if sensing his nervousness. "How’s that?"

He wanted to ask her what she meant, but figured he find out when they’d gone their first fifty miles.

"The door’s unlocked," she said. When he didn’t move, she sighed heavily and opened the door. "Get in."

The chair within the vehicle looked comfortable, but crawling inside it proved otherwise. His legs were cramped as he sat down, and as soon as she slammed the door behind him, he felt the constriction of the surroundings.

"I don’t like this," he mumbled, looking at the ceiling, the floor, the strange round clocks before him.

"It’ll be all right," she said as she got behind the wheel. "I’ve got some Celtic music you should like and I’ll turn it on once we’re out of the city."

He nodded, having no idea what she was talking about. He scrunched down in the seat, trying to get comfortable.

"You’ll have to buckle up," she told him.

"My belt is buckled."

Goldie reached across him and pulled a band from the door beside him. Before he could protest, she crossed it over him and snapped it into place.

"No!" he shrieked, pulling at the confining band.

She grabbed his hand. "Cree, you have to!"

"No, I do not!" He tried to pull the band out of its holder.

"If you don’t, you’ll get so car sick you won’t be able to hold your head up! You want to puke for four solid hours?"

He stopped tugging at the band and stared at her. She was glaring at him, her chin lifted, her lips tight, eyes pinpoints in her angry face. For a long moment, their gazes held, then she sat back in her seat, pulled a similar band over her body, and turned the key in its lock.

As the engine started, Cree grabbed the door handle and the edge of the armrest to his other side.

"Now, sit back, relax, and let the buckle keep you from getting sick."

Riain looked at the band over his chest, decided she must know what she was talking about, and relaxed as best he could. When the vehicle began moving, he closed his eyes, feeling sweat popping up on his forehead.

"Don’t worry, Cree," Goldie said. "I’m a good driver."

* * *

"No!" Suzanna screamed.

"I will tell you how to follow him, Daughter,"
Raphian whispered in her ear
. "I will show you the way."

So furious at being told her quarry had slipped through her fingers before she could confront him, Suzanna ripped handfuls of her hair from her head, ignoring the pain and the blood that ran down her cheeks.

"
All is not lost, Daughter. You will have him. Have I not promised you this?"

"I want him now!" she shrieked.

She was flung against the wall with enough force to crack a rib.

"Be careful how you speak to me, bitch!"
The demon appeared out of the dark night, thrusting His malevolent head in her stunned face
. "I will tolerate only so much disrsepect!"

Suzanna cowered against the wall of the McHatton woman’s apartment, knowing she needed to tread carefully with the Destroyer of Men’s Soul.

"Forgive me, Master," she said in a contrite voice. "I was overcome with my frustration at missing him again."

Raphian’s maw opened; thick green acid dripped from His wicked fangs to the floor.
"One more such outburst and you will forego my help. Do you ken my meaning, woman?"

"Aye, Master," Suzanna said, tears filling her eyes.

"I will leave you to your own device and seek another to serve me! Such as you are like chaff in the wind to me. Do you understand?"

"Aye, Master." She trembled so badly, her teeth clicked together.

The demon pulled back until only his glowing scarlet eyes neared the ceiling.
"Cross me again and suffer the consequences!"
In a violent blast of sulphurous stench, he was gone.

Suzanna buried her face in her hands and dug her nails into her forehead and chin. As oblivious to that pain as she had been at pulling out her hair, she sat and keened, her whine loud enough to cause McHatton’s neighbors to beat against the apartment wall.

"You are mine, Riain," she cried over and over. Even as Raphian snarled instructions in her ear on how to go about following Cree, she sat there repeating the mantra.

* * *

By the time the morning sun began filtering into the room, Suzanna de Vienne’s sanity had completely vanished.

And with it, any help Raphian would give her.

Maeve looked up as a shadow moved over her. She frowned. "Why are you here?"

Rhiannon eased her heavy body to the rock beside Maeve. "She will find him this evening."

"I know," Maeve snapped. In her hands were a string of brightly-colored stones.

"She will slay him."

Maeve glare at her visitor. "You are telling me useless information, sorceress."

Rhiannon rubbed her distended belly, coloring slightly at the look of hatred Maeve sent her way. "Such was the decree that I bear his bantling."

"Such was your deceitful lust, witch! Do not try to blame the gods."

The Windweaver sighed and shifted to a more comfortable position. "I have thought of a way to keep her from taking him with her into the Abyss and thus starting this entire sordid business over again in another century."

The crystal beads ran through Maeve’s fingers and landed in a jeweled pool in her lap. She ground her teeth, hating the Windweaver almost as much as she hated Suzanna de Viennes. To show her disdain, she did not reply to the woman’s words.

"You will have him for an eternity," Rhiannon complained. "Why do you begrudge me a place in his heart?"

Maeve stood, spilling the beads to the clover at her feet. "You have no place in my beloved’s heart, witch. What you have, you stole from him." She glared down at the beautiful face turned up to her. "Am I to forgive your sin and wish you well of the bairn you are within hours of birthing?"

Rhiannon folded her hands demurely. "What bothers you more, Maeve—my bearing his seed or your womb being barren so you may not?"

"Oooh!" Maeve shrieked, then started down the hill, away from her tormentress.

"Why put him through pain that can be avoided?" Rhiannon called after her.

"Go to hell, witch!"

"He can be with you the sooner if you will but listen!"

Maeve stopped, almost losing her balance in the thick heather through which she was stalking. She turned, eyes narrowed. "What are you about?"

Rhiannon struggled up and carefully made her way to Maeve. "I have a way to save him. If my plan works, he will be with you come first light."

"Why would you help me? We are enemies!"

The Windweaver grimaced, and patted her belly. "I need your help and I am willing to trade my own in exchange."

Maeve lifted her chin. "My help to do what?"

Rhiannon rubbed at her stomach, her face contorting. "My son will need a midwife, for I am—"

"Hell, no! And a pox on you for even suggesting such a thing!" Maeve turned to stride away, but Rhiannon’s firm hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"This is
his
child! It is a part of him. Will you let that part die because of your jealousy?"

Maeve shook off the restraining hand. "Think you I care whether or not that brat ever sees the light of day?"

"Think you he will forgive you when he finds out you could have saved his son’s life but were too proud to do so? Were it any other woman’s bantling, would you not do all you could to save it?"

Intense shame filled Maeve’s soul. She turned away and closed her eyes. "You are asking too much of me."

"I am asking no more than any mother would ask."

"You stole what should have been mine!"

"You could never have bared children for him. How can you say I stole what could never have been yours?"

"He is
my
beloved!" Maeve said, tears flooding her eyes. "To know another can do what I can not for him is an agony!"

"To bear his child and know he will not be at your side to see the bairn to manhood is an agony, as well."

Maeve flinched. "I will hear no more such talk from you."

"I love him, Maeve," Rhiannon confessed.

"No!" Maeve shook her head. "Do not say it!"

"And I love him enough to place him into your safekeeping, even knowing I will never see him again."

Maeve put her hand over her ears and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. "Stop!"

Rhiannon snatched Maeve’s hands from her ears. "Listen, bitch! I am giving you a way to have what you want. I am willing to help you. All I ask in return is that you aid in bringing Riain’s babe safely into this world!" She jerked one of Maeve’s hands to her distended belly. "Feel his child? Feel it striving to live?"