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"Hel o. You know you're out of body, don't you?" The voice beside me was familiar, and as I turned I saw Greta, walking beside me. She inclined her head.
"We're fast-tracking you. After the incident this morning, we can't wait too long, or you won't be able to control your powers. The Panteris phir is helping you learn to control shifting into your panther form, but it won't prevent you from losing your temper and using your Death Maiden abilities before you've been instructed in the proper rituals."
I stared at the sidewalk as we walked. The cracks were fil ed with snippets of grass and weeds. Nature always found a way. It broke through al man-made structures in time; it reclaimed even as it was destroyed in the never-ending war.
"He kil ed that woman and her baby. He had to die." The look on the murderer's face stil haunted my thoughts. I wasn't sorry he was dead. As Menol y would have said, "One less slime in the gene pool."
"Yes, but when you use your powers as a Death Maiden, you must always wait for orders. Either from our Master, or from me." She caught my eye.
"Unless His Lordship gave you leave, and I didn't know about it?"
I gazed steadily ahead, not speaking. It wasn't that I wanted to be obstinate, but I didn't want to discuss my relationship with Hi'ran with her. I was his only living emissary, I was the one he wanted to get with child, and I didn't want to think about him touching the rest of them, even though I knew that I was simply one in a harem of women.
But she must have seen it on my face. "You wil never have him al for your own, and he cannot touch you until you are dead. Accept the reality. He's one of the Harvestmen--an Immortal. He's beyond even the gods."
"I know," I whispered. "I'm just lonely. And he makes me feel . . ."
"Please, trust me when I tel you that you're special to him. You are his chosen one. He won't let you remain alone. There are wonderful things waiting for you--long before you enter the realm of the dead. Don't begrudge the rest of us what joy we have. We can never receive the chance he's offering you."
I stopped then, turned to her. No guile or anger flickered in her eyes--simply wistfulness. "You love him, don't you?"
"I do. We al do. Joining the Death Maidens, being chosen to serve him is one of the best things that ever happened to me. I met my death wil ingly because I knew I'd be joining him. My life was horrendous, but now . . . And every one of us wil tel you that being his servant is a blessing, not a curse. In fact, that's where we're going. You must realize that you are not acting alone."
"I'm going to meet the rest, aren't I?"
She nodded, a faint smile creeping across her face. "Yes, you wil meet your sisters tonight." And then, in a whirl of smoke and mirrors, she caught me up and we raced ahead, a blur in the night, shadows running under the moon, Death Maidens on the prowl.
We might have entered a sheik's palace or a harem out of One Thousand and One Nights, or some epic fifties Cecil B. DeMil e movie. The room was dimly lit, opulent, and lush, and I realized we were no longer in Seattle but in some distant place, like the glade I'd been in when I first met Greta. Giant pil ars, evenly spaced throughout the hal , held up the domed cathedral ceiling.
The wal s were invisible, hidden behind sparkling curtains that draped languorously across them, a silken paradise swathed in yel ow and red, in pink and ivory, embroidered through with golden threads.
Against one wal , upon a raised dais, dozens of scattered pil ows matched the drapes, inviting me to come sink into their splendor, to rest, to dal y. Here and there, ornate tables held trays of fruit and pitchers of what smel ed like fine wine and mead. Dipping bowls fil ed with honey, platters of cheese, and freshly baked bread covered the surfaces.
As I turned, I saw one wal covered with a rack containing weapons of every sort. They were polished but used--no decorations here. Urns my height held giant fronds of grass and autumn foliage, and a fireplace big enough to walk into crackled with a fire that fil ed the room with warmth.
The decor might be stunning, but what caught my eye most were the women. I counted them--twenty-one in al , including myself. Blondes, redheads, brunettes--some with fair skin, others with skin the color of burnished ebony, tal and short, thin, fat . . . mostly human but a few who looked Fae. They were al unique, but one common bond connected them: every one of them looked content.
A few were reading, a smal group were discussing something around one of the tables, a pair of taut, muscled women sparred with daggers and swords, but as Greta walked me to the center of the room, al eyes gravitated my way. I held my tongue. This was their home--their abode. I was the guest, and I would let them lead. Within seconds, they gathered around me, chattering brightly.
"You brought her!"
"Good to see you here. It's about time--"
"You're Delilah, right? Delilah of the Fae?"
"You've final y come to meet us!"
The questions and comments came fast and thick, but I sensed no animosity and began to relax. And as I relaxed, I began to talk with these women of the grave, these women who were now my sisters in spirit.
"Yes, I'm Delilah . . . I'm original y from Otherworld, but I'm part human."
"You're stil alive, aren't you?" One particularly lithe young woman, Japanese by her looks, and with hair that flowed to her ankles, cocked her head and laughed then. "What funny hair you have. I like it, though."
I grinned. "I got skunked--it's a long story. And yes, I'm stil alive."
It felt odd, as they pul ed closer, to realize that al of them--al of these seemingly corporeal women--were spirits. But before I could dwel on that thought, I found myself herded over to the pil ows where they drew me down and sat around me.
Greta held up her hand, and everyone quieted. She must wield more power than I'd thought.
