Seduced by Crimson (30 page)

"The phoenix fruit?"

She nodded.

"But you were chanting already. I remember the taste of it…" He frowned even as he nodded. "I remember you tasting the fruit, and the chanting___" His voice slid into awe. "I
really
remember that." Then he abruptly grinned. "This is so cool."

She rolled her eyes, glad he was having fun.

"Okay," he said, sobering. "There was something before that, something before you ate the fruit."

She closed her eyes, focused on just her breath, then on the memory before the ugly.
Not on of the ugly; stay with the excitement
. The naive, stupid, childish excitement before everyone in her entire life was brutally slaughtered. Her throat tightened. She smelled the blood and mud. She heard the screams. She…

"Stay with me, Xiao Fei. Stay right here. With syrup and strawberry pancakes, in LA."

She swallowed. "They were waffles, not pancakes."

"See, you knew that. That's because you're okay. It's all over." As he spoke, the waitress walked by, pausing long enough to reach in and grab their dirty dishes. She had long fingers and an even longer reach. She snatched up the syrupy plate.

Xiao Fei's hand wrapped in a death grip around the waitress's wrist. She didn't even remember moving, but she heard the woman's squeak of alarm as they both froze, plate suspended in the air. Fortunately, Patrick was there to reassure the waitress that Xiao Fei wasn't a psycho.

"Uh, we'd like to keep that plate, please." The server nodded, her overly mascaraed eyes still trained on Xiao Fei. "You can let go of her wrist now, sweetie," he added.

Xiao Fei hoped she could. Taking a deep breath, she forced her fingers open. Index finger, middle finger, last two fingers, thumb… The plate returned to the table with a loud clatter.

"Iheldthetree," Xiao Fei said.

Patrick's gaze was on the retreating waitress, but it abruptly snapped back to her. "What?"

She didn't wholly remember. She could feel the root in her hand, the rough scrape of the wood, the dirt that wedged under her nails as she gripped it—even the slickness around the edge of her palm as her blood soaked everything. Brother Solvann was on top of her, his shoulder an unbearable pressure against her spine, the roll of his heavy head against her side. But when she hit the dirt, her hands had grabbed… whatever was there. Her nails had dug into the dirt and one hand gripped mud, the other a root—a large, pulsing root of the lumpy tree.

"It wasn't on the surface, not on top of the ground," she murmured. "I had to dig to it. I was trying to get out from underneath. I had to claw… and the root was there—solid, strong." She glanced up at Patrick, needing the steadiness in his calm green eyes. "Alive. It was alive. Brother Solvann…" She shook her head. "Wasn't."

Patrick extended his hands toward her on the table. Her left hand remained slack, welcoming his touch, allowing him to surround her in his presence. But her right hand came alive.

Just as she'd done with the waitress, Xiao Fei latched onto his wrist with her left hand. She knew she'd probably given the waitress bruises, but not Patrick. His arm was hard, the bone solid, the sinews strong. He didn't even flinch, but held her gaze with a power that enabled her to go on.

"Alive," she repeated in a whisper.

"It was an old tree," he encouraged. "There's power in trees, especially ancient ones that protect holy ground."

She bit her lip. "It kept me alive." She struggled with her thoughts, struggled even more with her words. "I don't understand how, but it shielded me. It taught me. I knew things were happening because I held on to it."

"The amulet." He was clearly remembering her dream. "The monk chopped off the demon's hand, and then he chopped the amulet with his ax, right?"

"Yes," she whispered. The abbot had swung the ax. The blade went through that amulet, through the demon's severed hand and…

"Straight into the tree," he said. "You understood what happened because you were clutching the tree root. You bonded with the tree."

She nodded. That made sense. Well, actually, it didn't, but it made as much sense as anything else.

"All that power—from the amulet, from the demon, from your sisters—surged through the tree and came to you."

"No." It hadn't come to her.

"You were linked to it. You were part of it," he argued.

"I survived. I was right there. There were bodies everywhere…" Her throat closed up, but she forced herself to continue. "They walked right by. The demons didn't see me."

"You were part of the tree then—your energy and its intertwined. It protected you." Patrick smiled. "We druids believe in great tree spirits, in their power to love and protect. You have been richly blessed."

Xiao Fei swallowed and saw a drop of water splash on their intertwined hands. She stared at it, and another splash fell a few inches away. It took her a moment before she realized she was crying—and that she had pulled his hand tight to her chest. She'd drawn him all the way across the table so that his hand was pressed against her heart. Thank goodness he had long arms.

"Xiao Fei?" he asked.

"It died." Another drop fell: a cool kiss on her overheated hand. "The tree. I felt it die. All that power and energy. It couldn't handle it all."

"Did it use its last energy to shield you? To protect you?"

Maybe. She didn't know.

Liar
! She did know. The tree had died protecting her. Tears continued to drip on her hands. She was traumatized by the death of a tree. "I need therapy, big-time," she said.

"Yeah, probably. Though it seems to me you're doing a good job of handling your bizarro life."

She took a breath, then another. Bit by bit she unclenched her hands. She untucked her hand, his hand—
their
hands—from between her breasts and released his wrist. She unclenched everything about her body.

He slid back into a more normal position across the table from her, but he kept hold of her left hand. Then he touched her right with the gentlest of caresses. "We'll get through this," he promised.

She released a laugh. It was short and pitiful, and sounded like a chair squeaking across a linoleum floor, and yet it felt good. "How? We don't have any new answers, except maybe that I'm a twisted shell of a woman."

"You're a beautiful, amazingly strong woman."

She snorted in derision. He couldn't possibly mean that, even if he looked like he was serious.

"Besides," he added after a moment. "I've figured out what we did wrong with the gate. We'll get it right tonight."

She stared at him, her mind completely paralyzed. He couldn't possibly think they could do that again. "We're both exhausted. We haven't got the power."

"We'll close the gate tonight, Xiao Fei," he said firmly. "But we have to do it in a sacred grove."

"Do…
it
?"

His skin flushed slightly, red flooding his lean face. "Yeah. In a sacred grove with… um… with druids chanting around us. For… um… protection." He arched his brows as he twisted awkwardly in his seat. "There are demons still after us, you know."

"Sex in a grove with druids watching," she repeated.

"Chanting. And yes, uh, watching. But not us. For demons."

She laughed. It was a real laugh this time, though it might have been tinged with hysteria. And when she could finally draw breath, she patted his free hand with hers. "And here I thought I was the only one who needed therapy."

May 30, 1992

Patrick
—

I write to you in desperation, as a lather writes to his son's best friend, but also as the old and faded man of the world sends a plea to a young, new hope.

As Jason's father, I watched you grow and mature. I know you think I saw nothing, that I was too busy as the Draig-Athar to see what you and my son were doing. But you were good boys being boys, and so I allowed things to progress without interference. Such is the way of druids, and I thought it wise.

But now I see more. Old age has robbed me of my duties and given me time to think and see, and to judge events with wisdom.

Something is terribly wrong with Jason. Something that should never have begun, much less turned into a business. I have already tried to talk to him, but he will not listen. I beg you to help me. You are a full druid now and understand the consequences of his actions. You have studied the same texts he did, and you know the forces he manipulates. But mostly I beg your help because you were once his best friend.

Please help me save my son before he brings disaster upon us all.

In hope,

Tom Boden

Patrick had a plan. He knew generally what to do, if not the exact details. All he had to do was set it in motion. Which meant he had to start managing the mounting pressures of real life out there in
Crimson
City
. Except, of course, the more time he spent with Xiao Fei, the more it felt like she was real life and the rest was nonsense.

But such a fixation would be irresponsible. With a sigh of regret, he pulled out his cell phone to take charge of his duties. Xiao Fei understood. She leaned back in their tiny booth, cradled her tea in her lap, and closed her eyes. He had turned on his cell phone, but he didn't dial. He was too arrested by the change in her face.

She was meditating. Her face muscles relaxed, her body quieted, and she seemed to shrink into herself—but not in a bad way. It was more like watching a bird unruffle its feathers. In the same way, Xiao Fei became smooth and quiet—and from the deepest well of her spirit, her power began to grow.

Patrick had long since learned how to feel energy, how to sync up with power's ebb and flow. But it had always been the Earth's power—sometimes distorted or blocked, sometimes twisted and aimed in the wrong direction, but always derived from the Earth.

Xiao Fei was different. Her power was her own. Same signature, same frequency as the Earth's, but her power was completely self-contained. She was a tiny little planet unto herself. And when she meditated, as she did now, that power grew exponentially. Her vibration strengthened all around her. The table, the building, the people, and most especially himself, grew healthier, happier, and more whole in her presence. No wonder she was deadly to the demons; she was perfectly attuned to the world they sought to subdue.