Spring Rain (15 page)

I told you enough.

The man was an asshole dead. She didn’t want
to know how bad he really was alive.

That’s why I need your body. To take the
stone and stop her.

“I’m afraid … I’m not going to standup to
flames or a fight.” Dawn shifted and grimaced. The flash of pain
blinded her, and she sucked in a breath, freezing in place for a
moment. When it faded, she released the breath through gritted
teeth. “I think something’s wrong.” She touched her stomach. “I
need to go to the hospital before we go to Idaho.”

There’s no time. The equinox is coming.

“And our power is magnified. I know. But
this isn’t right. I’m going to the hospital now.” She started down
the hallway towards the elevators.

I didn’t want it to be this way, Dawn. I
wanted us to be partners.

“We are.”

Suddenly, she was falling … and then not.
The sensation was less physical and more like she’d been dropped
into herself. Aware of her body, she wasn’t able to control it. She
was in a cool, dark, quiet place.

“Bartholomew! What happened?” she cried and
reached out. Her hands met a wall. She followed it around in the
dark to a corner, then around to another. The room was three meters
by three meters with no door she could feel.

I’m taking over.

“No! You swore!”

It is necessary for my survival.

His survival. Not hers. Not her child’s.

“But … but what about me?” she
stuttered.

You are disposable. But your baby … now I
need her. Her soul is too young to fight me. I can displace it.
Become her. Rise again.

Terror shot through her. “You swore to spare
her.”

I swore not to hurt her, and I won’t. I need
her alive.

Fury and desperation snapped inside her.
Dawn smashed her fists into the wall, screaming at him, unable to
break free of the place he had trapped her.

She beat the walls until she was too tired
to raise a hand then rolled onto her back, staring into the
darkness. Of all the plans and hope for the future she had made,
the one she couldn’t see past was what happened to her child when
Bartholomew seized control of her. Beck and Morgan no longer
mattered.

“I won’t let you,” she whispered
hoarsely.

You can’t stop me, and I’m going to destroy
the only person who can.

“No. Beck won’t let you.”

Farewell, Dawn.

“Next time, tell me how long this takes in
advance,” Beck said with a grunt. For four days, he’d shown up at
dawn and disappeared into a haze of Light and earth magick only to
emerge close to midnight, starving and oblivious to the passage of
time. Earth’s grumbling warmth kept the chill of a spring night
from reaching him. It had rained for two days straight, and the
earth smelled damp while the faint patter of rain filled the air.
Soaked, Beck turned his face towards the dark sky and let the cool
rain trickle down his features.

The utter absorption into his task kept his
thoughts from returning to Morgan like they did when he wasn’t
immersed in the task of creating a shield around the Light in case
Dawn tried something with or without the stone.

I did not know how long it
would take,
Sam replied.

Beck glanced at the furry creature. “Aww,
Sam. You look adorable, like a wet puppy.”

The yeti gave a tired laugh.

Beck raised his hand over the newly created
barrier, satisfied when an arc of Light followed his movement.
“This is amazing. This feels more natural.”

We extended the safeguards from the ground
into the sky. But Beck, the shield is two fold. It will protect the
Light but it will also prevent it from growing.

“It’s temporary, Sam,”
Beck said firmly.
I hope.
He was afraid to admit the truth, that he had no
idea what was going to happen. “Sam, can I ask you something about
this?”

Sam twisted his shaggy head towards him.

“If … something happens to me, will this
protect the Light until the next Master or Mistress of Light is
born?”

Beck, it will not come to that.

“We don’t know that. This is personal as
much as professional,” Beck said with a forced smile. “If it takes
my life to appease Dawn, then I will feel better knowing my Light
witchlings have a refuge.”

It will, yes.

“Good.” Beck drew a deep breath. “Good.”

I am aware of the thoughts you do not voice,
too.

Beck nodded, knowing this but unable to
speak some of what went through his mind. It wasn’t only his life
he was thinking about, but Morgan’s as well. If sacrificing himself
would save the Light or someone he loved, it was a no brainer, as
long as the Light and Light witchlings were protected. “I just want
everyone to be okay,” he murmured. “It doesn’t seem like that’s
possible.”

Dawn cannot be
salvaged.
They were the harshest words Sam
had ever expressed, and Beck looked up in surprise.

“There has to be a way.”

When Bartholomew is welcomed into someone’s
mind, the mind is his.

“Decker beat him.”

Decker is the Master of Dark. He was bred to
handle the Dark in a way no one else can.

“What about my … the baby?”

That answer is not known to me. A child
cannot be born Dark, so it would be reasonable he could not hurt
your child until after her birth. But I have never heard of such a
situation. He has Dark magick and a much older knowledge than I
have. He might know a way.

It was a relief of sorts that Sam suspected
it wasn’t possible, but it also meant there was no recourse Beck
could take to stop Dawn without hurting the baby she carried. It
was the conundrum he’d spent many sleepless nights struggling to
figure out only to come to the came conclusion.

There was no option to save his daughter
without saving Dawn, and Dawn wanted him, the Light and everything
else destroyed.

“
I don’t know what to do,
Sam,” he whispered, distraught. “I mean, there’s nothing I can
do.”

No, there is not. Not directly at least. You
can help everyone by continuing to work with the Light, by
accepting it as part of you.

“It seems really fragile. Look at this.”
Beck pointed to the ground. “It’s so tiny of a space. All the good
in the world. Right here. And the Dark is everywhere else.”

The Light is more powerful than you think.
You need to have faith in it. The Dark fears it for a reason.

“I’m the damn Master of Light! How can I be
so clueless and helpless?”

You are neither.
Sam chuckled.
This
crossroads is complicated. There is a trial involved, that of the
woman who could become your counterbalance. No other witchling’s
trial would interfere with your duties otherwise. The
counterbalance of a Master or Mistress must be stronger, tougher
than a normal witchling, and so his or her trial is far more
difficult than normal and often comes at a time when the Dark is
rising.

“Like Summer’s trial standing between the
Darkness and everything else,” he said. “Morgan’s trial determines
what happens to the Light.”

Yes.

“I always knew my father was special,
too.”

He is. Incredibly powerful to balance your
mother.

Beck bit back the urge to ask what Morgan’s
trial really was but knew Sam was never going to reveal it to him.
“Sam, there has been no Light fire witchling in five hundred
years.” Raw desperation seeped into his thoughts.

This era is where the paths of Light and
Dark are decided. Your generation determines whether the Darkness
continues to grow unchecked or whether the Light can survive and
grow. Decker is in place, as is Summer. You are as well, which
leaves the final piece of the puzzle.

“You can rationalize it all you want, but
it’s so frustrating! And nowhere near fair! The fate of the
universe right here!” Beck climbed to his feet and stretched his
stiff legs. “No pressure, Beck.”

You aren’t alone,
Sam said and stood as well.

“I have you, of course.”

And others.

Beck hesitated to agree. There were things
Decker couldn’t do as the Master of Dark, including setting foot on
campus. “You mean in general?”

Morgan.

“Yeah. About that.” He rubbed his rough
goatee and absently admitted it was in need of a trim. “I don’t
have her until she’s Light and until we find another way to
safeguard the stone without threatening the Light. And this and
that and everything else.”

You are so
dramatic.
Sam was chortling
again.

Beck rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

A subtle thrum went through him, originating
from the earth beneath his feet. He looked down and cocked his head
to the side. “Come on and show me what it is,” he told the earth
and closed his eyes to focus.

At times, it sent him images, usually too
disjointed for him to understand fully. It had once tried to warn
him about the soul stone, and it took him several days to figure it
out.

But over the past few months, the messages
became clearer. The thrum was like the vibration of a spider web
when a fly hit it: faint yet exacting to the spider that knew what
it meant. The image in his mind raced through the forest towards
the source of the disturbance.

Beck mentally watched, the rush of the chase
flooding him. He grew aware of the earth’s magick building beneath
him and the Light crackling between his fingertips.

“Whoa,” he breathed when the magick’s sprint
stopped suddenly enough for him to wobble off balance.

You are the Light, Beck. Do not fight what
is part of you. Trust that it is strong enough to help you.

He released a breath and surrendered to the
unnerving sensation of traveling without moving. The image took
shape once more and this time, he trusted Sam and didn’t resist as
the line between him and the Light blurred. It was a little scary
to let go of himself and float, but it also felt natural, and he
knew he was safe.

He looked around, present yet not, where the
Light had taken him to check out the warning. Dark witchlings stood
in the gravel driveway leading from the main road through the
sleepy town to the boarding school. They were outside the barrier
protecting the Light, unable to move closer. Darkness gathered like
black fog at their feet as each of them summoned magick to attack
the Light and school.

Beck’s eyes snapped open, and he was jarred
back into his body. “I have to go, Sam!” he exclaimed and summoned
his magick to carry him there.

Sam’s warning stopped
him.
You are the Master of Light. You can
use lethal force when necessary. But I beseech you, Beck, to never
do so, to let your brother handle the Darkness while you protect
the Light within you. It is too easy to follow the path into the
Dark.

“I understand. I think.” Beck didn’t know
what he was going to do, but he wasn’t about to let an entire
school of sleeping Light witchlings get killed or hurt in the
middle of the night, either.

Decker was more sensitive to the Dark than
he was. If his brother wasn’t on his way, he would be soon.

The Light is powerful. Trust it.

Beck’s magick swept him away, and he
reemerged behind the shield facing the Dark witchlings, each of
whom stood in the center of a hastily drawn pentagram. Their
Darkness was butting up against the invisible wall, eliciting
sparks from the Light as it did so. He counted ten of them,
probably sympathetic to Dawn’s cause, if not her minions. Two
spirit, three water, four air, and one earth. There were only two
fire witchlings he knew about, aside from his brother and mother.
One was Morgan and the other, a lackey of Dawn’s probably in hiding
with her. He recognized some faces while those of others were too
old for him to have gone to school with.

He assessed the shield. It was surprisingly
strong, supplied directly by the Light source beneath the school
that also ran through his body and out into the world. His
connection to the Light was more solid than ever after working with
Sam this evening. He didn’t know what to contribute the newfound
sense to, aside from the fact it almost felt like the Light
accepted him where they both had kept their distance from one
another before.

That’s it,
he thought, intrigued by the idea he’d feared
using or hurting the Light so much so that he’d been unable to let
it into him fully. He no longer had to ask it to come to him; it
flowed unbidden through him, entangled with his earth magick.
Fleeting joy sparked within him as he realized what it
meant.

Whatever step he hadn’t known to take no
longer mattered, because the Light was working with him for
once.

His bubbling happiness popped when a flood
of sparks exploded in front of his face. Any fear he had about the
shield’s ability to tolerate an attack by the Dark eased as the
Dark witchlings tested its strength.

“Hey,” he called to them. “Hey, jackasses!
Back off!”

“Whatever, Beck,” one snapped.

“No weak Light witchling can stop us. You
can’t hurt anyone, remember?” another mocked. “Can’t break the
Laws.”

I’m not a normal
witchling.
It bothered him briefly to
realize they didn’t take him seriously, that his approach of
kindness and compassion was being mistaken as weakness compared to
his brother’s preference for spilling blood. He, too, had believed
the Light to be weak, something that needed protecting, rather than
something he could wield, like the magick it was.

Earth magick soothed any ill feelings, and
he drew a breath. He, along with the rest of the world, was about
to see what a Master of Light could do for the first time in over
twenty years. Beck shook out his arms, not at all certain what to
expect from the power surging through him.