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I sat on my hands, trying not to cry, trying not to notice the darkness that was narrowing in on me. The circle of light surrounding the bench was growing smal er, the faint glow fading. Something brushed one shoulder, and I jerked around but saw nothing. A tap on my other shoulder, and I lurched to my right.
But there was no one there. Nothing to fight, nothing to see.
Breathe in slowly, then exhale. Close your eyes. Reach out with your senses.
Again, the calming voice, steady and deep, smooth silk and honey on my frayed nerves. I obeyed, breathing slowly. One breath at a time. Deliberate, focused, trying to push beyond the fear.
The movements hastened around me, and I pul ed my legs off the floor, tucking them beneath me on the bench, wanting nothing more than to shift, to turn into Panther and tackle whatever enemy waited in the darkness. The sound of a thousand scurrying insects rustling against the floorboards taunted, both terrifying me and luring me in.
Listen to me. Reach beyond the fear, move past your gut reaction. Step over the fear with your mind, and don't be afraid to go into the darkness.
Follow my voice; follow the cadence of my words, the trail of my thoughts.
His voice became a thread, and I fol owed. And when the words stopped, the energy remained, and I could suddenly see the signature. So often I'd heard Camil e describe doing just this, and I never understood what she was talking about until now. But his voice left a trail of frost, a trail of sparkles, and I hurried after them, journeying with my mind, keeping my body stil , forcing myself not to transform, not to shift.
Now, imagine a light, a brilliant light coming from within you. A light that clears away the fog and dust and cobwebs.
I focused on creating a light--on turning on a switch somewhere inside. At first, nothing happened, so I tried harder, urging the light from out of my stomach. Memories of Chase and loneliness immediately rushed through me, and I felt like I was floundering.
Let him go. Let him be what he is now. Walk through the loss and leave it behind. What ties you to the pain?
Thoughts raced through my mind, but a clear voice, from somewhere deep inside, whispered, "I'm afraid of not mattering to anyone." And as soon as I heard it, I recognized the little girl who missed her mother, who always felt more at home with animals than people, who felt like she blended into the background.
That's not me anymore, I thought. I left her behind a long time ago, but I've been carrying her baggage. Memories of childhood--of taunts and feeling inferior--passed by, screaming Windwalker! Windwalker! at me. The ring of children trying to goad me into shifting into Tabby, the snide looks of our relatives . . .
You are no longer the frightened little girl. You are a strong, capable woman. The rich, velvet voice washed over me, and I knew he spoke the truth.
Smiling, I pushed the memories aside like cobwebs. They were meaningless now. I'd conquered my childhood shyness.
As soon as I let go of that fear, the haunting visions of the werespiders, of Karvanak, of the demons crowded in. But I knew I could hold my own in a fight. As frightening as the creatures were, I knew I could face them and win--or at least take them down with me. I could stand up for myself; I didn't need anyone else to fight my battles for me. This time, I chased them from my heart without coaxing, ordering them to depart.
Suddenly, the room was silent--the sound of scuttling feet gone--and a sliver of bril iance broke through the darkness, fil ing the dim corners of my heart as the inky void fel away.>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!"
