Visions of Magic (41 page)

“Come
on
,” she whispered. “Focus, Teresa. Make it work.”

Red sandstone rock formations surrounded her. With sunlight slanting across them, the rocks had always seemed to glow a brilliant orange and red. Now, under a forbidding gray sky, they were filled with shadows, their wind-carved surfaces taking on shapes of faces that seemed to watch her.

She was just outside Red Rock State Park and hoping that both the weather and the harsh terrain would keep tourists at bay.

October in Arizona meant cooler temperatures and an influx of the visitors who came to Sedona not only for the natural beauty but to gather at the many vortexes in and around the city. The vortexes were sites of spiritual ceremonies; they drew the mystical and the curious every year. Teresa had gone to a few ceremonies herself over the years, knowing as she did that there was far more to the spiritual plane than most people suspected.

Now, though, she drew on the spirituality of this place to open the heart of her magic. She waved one hand, directing the lightning toward a tower of red sandstone rocks. The jagged bolt of pure power slammed into the ground twenty feet away from the target, and she knew that wasn't nearly good enough. If she were attacked, “close” wouldn't save her life.

Teresa fought to hone her magic. To perfect the power that had begun to quicken inside her only days ago. She had known what was coming all her life. What she was destined for. But the mystery had been
when
her magic would appear. The world wasn't a good place for witches these days, but magic ran in her blood, stretching back through her family's maternal line for generations. She should have been able to draw on that legacy, but in the face of this new and overwhelming power, she was lost.

She stood tall, her cowboy boots planted far apart, to give her a sense of stability she was sorely lacking. Gritting her teeth, she concentrated and swung her hand out again to direct another whip of lightning across the desert. Instantly, a jagged bolt flew—in the wrong direction.

“No!”

Teresa shrieked as her black truck exploded into a fireball. Flames jumped into the air, plumes of smoke twisted in the wind and flaming tires shot off the body of the truck like Frisbees from hell. As thunder rattled the sky and the wind howled, Teresa stared at the smoking hulk of her truck.

“Son of a bitch.” She kicked the sand and thought not only of the incredibly long walk back home she had to look forward to, but also about her now burned-to-a-crisp cell phone. She couldn't even call someone to help her. She was stuck in the desert—no water, no food, no way home.

She'd grown up here, so she wasn't a stranger to the desert. But the thought of a long walk back to town through the rain with the storm chasing her sent her stomach to her knees. Add that to the fact that she couldn't quite shake the feeling that she was being watched . . .

Steeling her spine, she pushed thoughts of unseen watchers to the back of her mind. If they were out there, somewhere, there was nothing she could do about it. The important thing now, she told herself as she stared at the fire, black smoke billowing, was control. Just how in the hell was she supposed to protect herself from the dangers coming if she couldn't manage her own powers?

What good is it to be a witch,
she demanded silently,
if you can't freaking control the magic?
Disgusted, she muttered, “Could this day get any worse?”

As if the gods were answering, Teresa heard a distant pulsing beat, like the heartbeat of a giant. The thrumming sound seemed to jolt up from the desert floor to her feet and into her chest, where it pounded along with her own suddenly galloping heart. Stunned, she just stood there, trying to assimilate it when she realized something else.

The sound was getting closer.

She whirled around, her gaze searching, straining to see past her surroundings to whatever was coming. Her own heartbeat was pounding in time to that otherworldly sound. She scanned the dark skies in all directions. The shadows of the craggy mountains jutted up from the desert, scratching at a sky still churning with ragged bolts of lightning.

Thunder boomed, but just beneath that awesome noise and power, there was something else. Something low-pitched and dangerous, like a tight-throated growl from a predator. Fear tightened into a hard knot in her belly. She trembled, swallowed hard and felt her breath catch in her lungs as she found the source of that growl. Against the lowering gray clouds, there was a darker spot.

A blot of black that was headed right for her. An instant later, Teresa identified the heavy, beating sound. The
whup-whup-whup
of helicopter blades churning through the air. Heart sinking, she looked around at the emptiness surrounding her and knew she was in deep shit.

She'd come into the desert to be alone with her burgeoning magic. But being alone also meant that there was no one to help her. Though, if that helicopter was what she thought it was, no one could have helped her anyway.

As the chopper closed in on her, she saw the bright yellow slash across its belly. Black and yellow. The MP's colors. Magic Police. They'd found her. Somehow, they'd found her, and she knew that if they got their hands on her, she might as well be dead.

A captured witch had little hope of escape and every expectation of execution. Though not until after torture and imprisonment, of course. Fear nearly choked her. She wasn't ready for this confrontation. She'd had no time to prepare. To conquer her magic and make it work for her.

The power she had been relishing only moments ago now felt like an anvil tied around her neck. She was about to be captured, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. She couldn't even hop into her truck and make a run for it.

She had no weapon and the helicopter was even closer now.

Weapon.

She didn't need a weapon; she was a weapon.

“Now's the time, Teresa,” she muttered, instantly lifting both hands high over her head. All around her, lightning danced, pulsed. The air was scorched from thousands of volts. Her hair lifted in the wind; her eyes narrowed on the helicopter. She stabbed one hand toward it, and a lightning bolt sizzled past the black beast, barely missing it. The chopper dodged, dropping several feet in an instant and turning slightly to allow someone to stand in the open doorway.

Someone with a gun.

“Damn it!” Teresa dove for the ground as the first crack of bullets chattering from the automatic weapon enveloped her. Still too far away, she thought wildly, but not for long. She ran toward an outcropping of sandstone rocks.
Yes, there might be snakes in there,
she thought,
but out here, there are bigger dangers.
She crouched behind a sand-encrusted boulder and jabbed her hand at the chopper again. And once more, lightning split the sky, racing to do her bidding. But it still missed the damn target.

“Teresa Santiago!” a voice shouted over a bullhorn. “Surrender now or we will kill you.”

The thunder crashed, and the helicopter blades sounded like the heartbeat of a hungry beast. Closer now, those same blades were churning up the sand, throwing it at her, stinging her skin and her eyes. She couldn't even risk turning her back to the flying sand since that would mean turning her back on her enemies. Every second that passed brought them ever nearer, and Teresa knew she had run out of time. There was no escape. She glanced around at the wild emptiness surrounding her and saw no options.

“Die here,” she murmured frantically, “or die in prison. Not much of a choice.”

So she did the only thing she could do. She stood her ground and threw yet more lightning at the men who had somehow followed her into the desert. Bolt after bolt shot toward the helicopter headed directly at her, yet none of them hit. Desperation fueled her movements, and she knew that her aim was only getting wilder but she couldn't do anything about that now.

How had they found her? How did they even
know
about her?

Fury laced her fear and somehow tangled in the threads of her power. She felt something new . . . something
old
that pulsed within her. Then it strengthened. Staring hard at the incoming helicopter, she sent one more bolt of lightning at her enemies, and this time she scored a hit. A small jagged bolt slapped the tail rotor of the chopper, sending the machine into a wild spin. Torn between elation and fear, Teresa watched as the pilot struggled for control. She didn't
want
to kill anyone, but damned if she'd stand still to be shot, either.

The pilot recovered, the chopper continued on and the gunman took up position again. Teresa braced herself for the inevitable.

She looked up into the face of death—the incoming chopper—and she lived.

A wall of fire appeared in front of her, and the bullets flying at her embedded themselves into the flames instead. Teresa staggered back in surprise, looked up and met the pale gray eyes of a warrior. Fire surrounded his body, enveloping him in a living wall of flame. His features were drawn in concentration, and his muscled body swayed with the impact of more bullets, but still he stood between her and danger.

“Hold on to me,” the stranger ordered.

Teresa didn't even think about it. She jumped into the fire that covered the man, hooked her arms around his neck and shouted, “Go, go, go!”

And in another bright flash of flames, they were gone.

Regan Hastings
is the pseudonym of a
USA Today
bestselling author of more than a hundred romance novels. She lives with her family in California and is already hard at work on the next installment of the Awakening series.