Visions of Magic (9 page)

Shocked, Torin narrowed his gaze on her. The Eternals were legend among witches, he knew. Their existence wasn't a secret. But how had she recognized him as such? He felt no recognition for her. A buzz of warning slid through Torin's veins. “How do you know of us?”

She laughed shortly. “Word travels,” she told him, running one hand through her short, spiky black hair. “When witches get together, we share information. I ran into a woman a year or so ago who told me about you guys.”

“How do you know I am one of them?”

She shrugged. “Who else could have gotten in here?”

Accepting that, he stepped closer and caught her scent, an earthy aroma that reminded him of both forest and sea. It was a blend of scents that usually clung to women with magical abilities. As if the elements themselves, gathering in the woman's blood, were surfacing through her pores, allowing her to be one with nature and the very earth that would bolster her magic. There was something else here, too, he thought, trying to make sense of it.

“Who told you of us?” Was there another Awakened witch out there that they must find? He had thought Shea to be the first. And if there was another, where was her Eternal? Why hadn't he found her?

Though there were witches all across the globe, there were only a select few to whom Eternals were bound. They were the chosen ones. Members of the once mighty coven that had paid a deadly price for their arrogance eons ago.

Instantly, the witch behind the bars shook her head. Face pale, eyes blazing, she said, “I'll only tell you if you get me out.”

Still the sirens blared, shattering the night. Women up and down the cellblock screamed and cried out for help. At the end of the long, dark hall, the steel door swung open and a wide swath of light slashed through the shadows. Guards shouted. A burst of gunfire chattered outside the walls and in response the caged women shrieked and moaned.

The dark-haired witch never broke eye contact with him. “I can tell you what you need to know,” she said quickly. “But not unless you get me out. I don't need your help after that. I can teleport.”

The abilities granted to witches were wide and varied. If this witch was a teleporter—one who had the ability to shift across distances, much like an Eternal—then he could leave her to her own devices once she was free. And he needed to know what she knew.

Torin bit off another curse and threw a look down the hall at the group of guards rushing inside the prison.

“Get me out and I'm fine,” she said, words tumbling from her mouth in a desperate rush. “But I'm marked for execution and unless you help me escape, the knowledge you need dies with me.”

“Damn all of this straight to hell.” He was caught. If he wanted her information, he must free her. Besides, he was wasting time standing there arguing with her. “Stand back.”

Reluctantly, she did.

Torin brought forth the flames, fighting the drag of the white gold surrounding him. The fire burned for him as always, although diminished slightly. He centered the flames on his right hand. The living fire crackled and spit as he reached toward the lock on the white gold cell bars. He'd have only moments before direct contact with the gold began to affect his powers. If this took too long, he could find himself as trapped as the witch—and forced to fight his way out. Though that wouldn't present a problem, it would take time he didn't have. He had to risk it, though, for the information she offered. He laid his burning fingertips to the locking mechanism and instantly felt an icy draught push through the flames, flooding into him. Torin held fast, his gaze fixed on the lock, his powers centered on the task.

Flames fought with ice. The witch urged him to hurry. The prisoners continued to shriek and scream.

“Stand down!” a guard shouted, running now, heavy footsteps echoing through the hall, despite all the noise.

Torin paid him no attention, but the women in the cells were doing all they could to slow the guards. Bits of food, books, magazines flew through the bars, aimed at the armed men. The prisoners were risking everything to help one of their own escape. No doubt in the hope that one day it would be their turn.

Rune appeared in a flash of flame alongside him just as the lock gave way.

“What the hell?” he demanded, looking from Torin to the witch rushing out of the cell.

“Not now,” Torin told him, reaching for the witch even as she threw herself into his grasp. He fought through the dampening effect of the white gold, called on the flames once more and let them engulf him and the witch as a deadly hail of bullets flew at them.

S
ounds echoed softly in the cavernous prison as the women settled in for the night. Sighs and sobs and whispered prayers were a constant murmur that sounded like the rush of wind through trees. The darkness was alive. With the fluorescent lights off, the only illumination came through each prisoner's narrow window. The glass was dirty and beyond the pane were heavy bars that Shea suspected were also coated in white gold. But at least she had one small slice of the outside world to cling to.

Alone in her cell, she did her best to shut out the murmuring, the despair. With her bed made, she lay on the hard mattress and stared out that window, wishing she were anywhere else.

Somewhere out there Torin was looking for her. She was convinced of that. No man who had promised a mating ritual with the seriousness he had would allow her to escape him. And now that she was praying he'd show up, the question was, would he be able to find her?

She closed her eyes and focused her thoughts on the tall man with the fierce gray eyes. He'd called himself an
Eternal. Her
Eternal. Why did that sound familiar? That one word seemed to resonate with her. She brought his face into her mind and concentrated with everything she was.

How odd, she noted absently, that only hours ago,
he
had been the enemy. Now, he was hope. Before, she'd worried that he was somehow connected to the strange dreams and visions that had been haunting her. She no longer cared. She'd take the dreams. Whatever he had planned for her had to be better than this.

With his image firmly in her mind, she finally slept and the dream came.

In her dream, Shea recognized this place. She was herself and yet at the same time she was someone else. Someone in a different time. The woman who lived here. Worked here.
Loved
here.

She turned and caught her reflection in the shiny bottom of a copper pan. Familiar, yet strange. The green eyes she recognized, but the thick black hair was different. Her face was heart-shaped and her lips were red and full. She was
. . .
another.

In a dream that was so real, she smelled the peat smoke, tasted the warm, earthy scent on her tongue. Even in sleep, she felt flustered, as confusion spiraled through her mind. How could she be so at home in a place and time that wasn't hers? How could she know that there was a village just a mile or so away? And that the herbs hanging over her head were for medicinal uses?

“T
hey shot you.” The witch pushed out of Torin's arms once they'd reached the nebulous safety of the treeline and stared at the bloodstains on his shirt.

“It's nothing.”

He'd flashed from the prison just as the bullets went flying, but still a couple of them had caught him. The bullets had passed through, doing little enough damage that he would be healed by the morning. Torin was unconcerned about a few bullet holes in his flesh. Compared to a slice from a broadsword, they were barely more than insect bites. Instead, he focused on the situation.