Sword of the Raven (8 page)

 Archer grinned. “Well, hallelujah, look who found her appetite. And you’re not a hot mess anymore.”

“Thanks, pal.” She blew him a kiss.

“You can get out the butter.”

“After that shot, I should make you fetch it yourself.” Chuckling, she opened the stainless steel door and scanned neat shelves.

Beside the platter of grilled salmon on the countertop, Archer’s cell phone vibrated and then burst into the Killers’ “Somebody Told Me.” It spun in a circle on the countertop, blaring.

“That better not be Rini bitching about the liquor stock downstairs again,” he muttered, snatching it up.

Head in the fridge, Delaney listened to him bark out, “When?
Are you sure?”
A brief pause. “Where?” Another pause. “On the way.”

Delaney emerged with the covered glass butter dish. “Problems at the club tonight?”

He held her gaze, bottomless dark eyes somber. “Brace yourself, baby girl.” As he shoved his phone into his pocket and clasped both her hands in his, her heart sank.

“Archer? What’s wrong?”

“Something’s happened to Connor. He’s been life-flighted to Sisters of Mercy Hospital’s trauma unit.”

* * *

Inside the hospital, overhead fluorescents garishly illuminated corridor after endless corridor. The smell of disinfectant layered over more sinister odors made Delaney’s stomach jitter.

They hurried to the third floor ICU desk where a nurse consulted her computer for interminable minutes. Finally, another nurse appeared and led them to a small private waiting room. She quickly departed, saying a doctor would speak to them as soon as possible.

 “They said he was
fine
after the riot.” Gut churning, pulse raging, Delaney paced the tight space. “Where’s the doctor? Why won’t anyone tell me Connor’s condition? They sequestered us in a private room—this is not good!”

Van moved into step alongside her, tears shimmering in her eyes. “We’re here for you, Delaney.”

Archer stood sentinel by the open doorway, arms folded, feet spread. “Keep it together, ladies. Don’t go worst-case-scenario until we have to.”

“I need to be with my brother!”

“I know.” He nodded reassuringly. “If the doctor doesn’t show soon, I’ll track somebody down.”

Delaney paced to the window, staring into the gathering darkness below. Her focus narrowed on a tall, long-haired man dressed in jeans and a black duster lounging against a street lamp. She jolted. Even from here, Rowan MacLachlan was clearly recognizable. Was he stalking her?

Soon you’ll understand.
He lifted a hand.
Godspeed, Delaney. See you on the other side.

Again, as she watched, his form began to fade into mist. The other side? She spun. “Archer,
quick!
Come—”

A slender blonde wearing green scrubs and carrying a clipboard walked into the room. “Connor Morgan’s family?”

All else forgotten, Delaney faced the newcomer. The serious young woman meticulously shut the door behind her.

The news wasn’t looking positive.

Delaney swallowed hard. “Yes. I’m Delaney, Connor’s sister. This is Vanessa and Archer, our other siblings.” In every way that mattered.

“I’m Doctor Adams, a neurologist on staff here. Let’s sit down.” She commandeered the mauve-printed club chair opposite a small gray sofa.

A sit-down. Definitely
not
positive. Delaney woodenly followed the doctor’s lead and perched opposite her on the sofa. Vanessa flanked her on one side and Archer on the other.

 “Your brother was brought in several hours ago.” Doctor Adams consulted her notes. “According to the prison, he was not involved in the riot, and behaved normally afterward. He spent the afternoon reading in his cell. He thanked the guard who brought his dinner and ate all of the meal. During a routine head-count around sunset when he didn’t answer the guards, they entered his cell to find him unresponsive and not breathing. He was given CPR and immediately life-flighted to our trauma center.”

“What the hell happened to him?” Archer asked.

“We don’t know. There’s not a mark on him. No masses or bleeding in the brain, no symptoms of infection, nothing irregular in his blood-work.” The clipboard pages fluttered down, and Doctor Adams looked at Delaney. “Does Connor have a history of head injuries, drug or alcohol use, allergies, seizures, or anything you can think of that would give us a lead?”

“No. He’s normally very healthy.”

The doctor’s mouth pursed. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid Connor’s prognosis isn’t good.” She rifled her notes again, and Delaney clenched her hands in her lap. “We’ve run every possible test. Full blood work-up, EEG, cerebral blood flow, an MRI, a CAT scan—” She rattled off an incomprehensible list. “Connor isn’t breathing on his own, his other reflexes are completely unresponsive, and he shows very limited brain activity.”

“I don’t understand,” Vanessa whispered.

Dimly aware of Archer’s arm sliding around her, Delaney made her numb lips form words. “What are you going to do for him? How do you treat this?”

“There’s nothing more we can do, except wait and monitor his vitals.” Sympathy stamped the young doctor’s face. “You should prepare yourselves for hard decisions…and if you have any other family, they need to come immediately.”

“So you’re just giving up on him?” Delaney’s nails bit into her palms. “No! That’s
not
acceptable. Connor’s strong. He’s a fighter, he’ll beat it.”

“You need to face the facts, Ms. Morgan.” Dr. Adams leaned forward. “Unfortunately, every medical indication is that your brother will continue to deteriorate. Again, I’m very sorry to have to tell you this, but in all likelihood, he’ll never regain consciousness.”

Hopelessness overtook Delaney. But only for a moment. “You don’t know Connor won’t wake up. You don’t know my brother. I’ve read about people recovering from comas after
years.”

 “Every medical situation is different. And your brother is not in a coma, he’s in a serious deep vegetative state,” Doctor Adams said. “Patients who’ve awakened from comas show far more brain-stem function than your brother. Connor isn’t responding at all—to any stimuli. The best thing for him, and for yourself, is not to cling to false hope.”

Delaney shoved awkwardly to her feet. “I want a second opinion. And I want to see my brother.”

“Certainly.” Doctor Adams rose. “I understand how difficult this is. I’ll arrange both.” She glided out.

“Connor wouldn’t just quit on me,” Delaney insisted to Van and Archer as they stood up beside her. “On us.”

Van patted her shoulder. “Of course he wouldn’t.”

“Delaney.” Archer’s voice was gentle as he reached for her. “You need to be prepared to accept…”

“Don’t say it.” She thrust out her hands, warding him off. “Don’t believe them. They don’t
understand.
There are weird details about our prison visitation I haven’t had a chance to tell you. Something’s not right. I’m
not
abandoning him.”

“Nobody’s asking you to.” Sorrow etched his features. “We’ll take as much time as you need.”

A gray-haired nurse leaned into the doorway. “Ms. Morgan? You can visit your brother whenever you’re ready.”

Delaney turned to her friends. “I have to… I need to… Can you just wait for me here? I– I need to be with him by myself for a little while.”

“Absolutely.” Archer moved to hug her, but she backed away. One touch, and she’d fall apart. She had to stay strong for Connor.

“Go ahead, Lanie,” Vanessa said. “We’ll wait.”

Delaney followed the motherly-looking nurse past rows of glass doors. Past patients who slept, patients who cried, past the rattles and hums and blips of machines attached to bodies invaded by so many tubes and wires they no longer resembled human beings. Desperation and pain hovered in thick clouds, making the air too heavy to breathe.

She knew which room was Connor’s because of the armed policeman stationed outside. Another insult to her brother, who’d already endured so many. The cop demanded I.D., and she had to fumble inside her purse for it, then sign a visitors’ log.

Delaney straightened her shoulders, slid open the panel…and tiptoed into the dim quiet.

Through the darkened window, lights in downtown high-rises glowed like thousands of eyes peering into the room. Illuminated by a low light bar over the headboard, Connor lay on the bed, covered with a white blanket and encased by railings on both sides. His eyelids were closed, a ventilator tube taped into his mouth. His face was an expressionless mask. IV tubing snaked from a needle in his left hand to a bag of clear fluid hanging on a metal pole. Beneath the faded hospital gown, his chest rose and fell with barely perceptible breaths.

“I’m here, Connor.”

The only sounds were the whooshing ventilator and the beep….beep….beep of the monitor recording his scarily slow heartbeat.

She stumbled closer, her own heartbeat thundering in her ears. The cloud of despair swallowed her alive. Only Connor’s body lay on that bed.

Her brother wasn’t anywhere in the room.

She knew it, as surely as she knew her own name.

Sorrow choked her. But then, her name wasn’t even her own, was it? Nothing in her life was really as it seemed.

No matter what kind of freaky shit goes down during the next forty-eight hours…stay far, far away from me.

“My God, Connor, what have you done?” Anger spiked hot and hard, eclipsing her grief. “I
won’t
lose you. Not after everything we went through, everything we survived.” She lowered the rail on his bed with a decisive thump. “You’re
not
walking out on this fight.”

What was mine now belongs to you.

“You’re
mine, and I won’t let you go, do you hear me?” She grabbed his too-cool hand in both of hers and focused all her thoughts, all her energy on her brother. “Connor Eamon Morgan,
where are you?”

The moment she made contact, her head started spinning. Then the room started spinning. The lights outside the window swirled past faster and faster.

Got bigger.

Closer.

Whirling, dizzy pressure built, smothering her. Slashing pain pushed against her skin from the inside out. A scream boiled up into her throat and stuck there, her mouth stretched in mute agony.

Gasping for air, she clung to Connor’s hand and silently challenged the roaring power attempting to tear them apart.

The only thing that can force me to let go of my brother is dying!

So Death came for her.

Chapter 5

Giant black wings rose in the night sky outside the spinning window and beat against the glass. The windowpane rattled and screeched. Glass shattered. Frigid air and razor-sharp shards blasted into Delaney’s skin. The smell of blood clashed with tearing pain, and then Delaney shattered, too.

Broken into millions of molecules, she tumbled into the dark, icy whirlwind, over the window sill, out the opening. She went blind.

Falling, falling. Cold, blind and out of control.

Mid-air, she landed on downy softness…those huge black wings? Her broken essence was swept upward. She soared impossibly high.

Higher.

Ever higher, until she lost track of time and space. A tremendous sonic boom exploded around her, inside her…

And then there was nothing.

* * *

Delaney’s hearing returned first. Freezing wind moaned in her ears. Scraped her body. Laying flat on her back…where? Her fingertips twitched, and scraped powdery sand.

Forcing heavy eyelids open, she stared up at a leaden sky. Spent cinders whipped down and stung her chilled limbs. Groaning, she struggled to sit up and look around.

Her fingers dug into the powdery substance piled beneath her—not sand, but deep drifts of cold, black ash. She froze, paralyzed by fear.

What had once been a vast, mountainous area was a nightmare of scorched ruins. Black hills bristled with immense spires of scarred tree trunks. Jagged, charred rocks thrust out of the ash. Skeletons of burned bushes scrabbled in the bitter wind, wafting the stink of decay.

No sun, no moon, no clouds…just ominous gray overcast. No colors anywhere, except—whoa! She looked down.
Her.

She was glowing.

Her skin cast a brilliant golden glow that radiated six inches outward.
Toto, we’re not in Oregon anymore
.

And what in the name of all that was holy—or maybe not—was she wearing? Not ruby slippers, for damn sure. A fitted strapless mini-dress of sleek black feathers, and black leather knee-high lace-up boots. An ornate dagger was strapped to her right thigh. A long black cloak and a sword rested beside her. Deadly in its beauty, the graceful pommel bore four glittering, blood-red garnets entwined with the exact triadic knot as the charm she’d found. The charm that still dangled heavily between her breasts.

When she touched the blade with a tentative, glowing fingertip, the weapon hummed, and lit up with the same golden fire. She jerked her hand away and the sword returned to normal.

She swiveled, studying the ravaged landscape. She must have passed out in her brother’s room and was having a nightmare.
This is only a nightmare.

Or…
The bottom dropped out of her stomach, and she shivered. Rowan had mentioned a frightening journey. The last thing he’d said was, “See you on the other side.” Maybe whatever had been causing her headaches and hallucinations had actually killed her.

Circumstantial evidence indicated MacLachlan was the Angel of Death. But at this point, she’d accept even his help.
Rowan?
She reached out with her thoughts.
Hey, MacLachlan, I could use a hand. Are you around?

Nothing but howling wind.

Delaney swallowed hard. She’d demanded to follow Connor, and apparently had taken flight into his Xena fantasy.

 Laughter bubbled in her throat. More laughter spilled out, then more. Until her sides ached, and tears poured down her cheeks…and the laughter morphed into sobs. Sitting on the cold, barren ground, alone and terrified, she suspected she wasn’t in fantasy land.

She was horribly afraid she’d landed in Hell.

Delaney bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.
Suck it up. Sniveling won’t help anybody. Not you, not Connor.

Thoughts of her brother snapped her out of the funk.
If
Connor was here, it didn’t matter where
here
was. Her mission was to find him.

Swiping the back of her hand across her damp face, she scrambled to her feet. She snatched up the cloak and dragged it around herself, then fastened it at the throat. The opaque fabric, although only marginally warmer, disguised her shimmer from head to toe. When she tugged the hood over her head, she discovered a metal circlet firmly anchored in her hair, like a crown. The front banded low across her forehead, and felt like Celtic knot-work with a quartet of jewels. She’d bet on more garnets.

Sword next. Clumsy. But someone had left it for her, and she might— heaven forbid—need it. Too bad she didn’t have the vaguest idea how to wield one.

Delaney discovered a pocket inside the left flap of the cloak the perfect length to stow the sword. It slid in easily. Oddly light and flexible, the sheathed weapon didn’t hamper her movements at all.
Okay, I’m in a strange dream world where physics don’t apply. But I’m already wearing the kick-ass outfit, and doing a firefly…so roll with it.

First priority, locate Connor. What worked before? Closing her eyes, she concentrated her entire focus on her brother.

With a heavy sigh, she opened them. Of course it couldn’t be that simple.

“I’m
not
scared,” she muttered. “I just hope there aren’t any dragons flying around.”
Something
had burned up the countryside.

A steep hill loomed on her left. From the top, she’d be able to see into the distance. She trudged through the ash, wary eyes on her surroundings, hand hovering near the sword. Where was the Tin Man when you needed him?

Or Rowan MacLachlan?

She gritted her teeth.
You did
not
just go there, Delaney.
A delusion wouldn’t save Connor. And she didn’t need a man to rescue her.

Nearly at the crest of the bluff, she stopped to catch her breath, and heard…rhythmic stomping? Was that marching feet? She crept the rest of the way to the top, using the boulders as cover. About to peek over, she hesitated. If her body was glowing, her face probably was, too. She rubbed ash on her hands, which toned them down a lot. Her face received the same camouflage, and she pulled her hood farther forward. Only then did she dare surreptitiously peer over the edge.

Her lungs seized. In this place where physics didn’t apply, she could see and hear perfectly from this distance.

A sinister black granite palace dominated the valley below, its immense courtyard surrounded by iron-spiked granite walls. A large army was assembling inside the perimeter.

Delaney blinked rapidly. But the illusion didn’t disappear.

Hundreds of creatures over six feet tall. With distorted facial features and recognizable voices, they walked upright like humans…but they weren’t in the least bit human. Some had gray scales like reptiles with fangs and claws. Some were covered with short spiky hairs, and possessed extra appendages and stingers, like spiders and scorpions. The stench of evil assaulted her, made her gag.

The creatures erupted into eerie, garbled chanting, and moments later a hulking monster strode out of the palace and stood haughtily behind a glittering black crystal altar engraved with unfamiliar symbols. The creatures went silent, falling on their faces into the ash, prostrate before him.

Naked and blatantly male, and revoltingly aroused by the adoration, the beast loomed over eight feet high. He had almost human facial features, but like the others, they were ugly and distorted. Black scales covered every inch of undulating muscle. Extraordinarily long arms supported massive hands with razor-tipped yellow claws. A long, segmented tail lashed behind him, displaying a red-barbed stinger. He opened the red slash of his mouth and roared his approval, baring lethal yellow fangs. “Arise.”

His raspy voice sent primal fear slithering through Delaney. She wrapped her arms around herself.
This can’t be real.

She clung to the thought.
I’ll wake up from the nightmare any minute, safe in Connor’s room.

The army rose to attention as more of their ranks marched out of the palace…guarding a linked line of shuffling, nude prisoners. The terrified captives
were
human, each one a recognizable individual. But they appeared transparent. Their faint luminescence shone amidst the bleak landscape, reminiscent of jellyfish she’d seen in coastal aquariums. Their bodies were blotched with shadows from bruising torture. Some men, some women, and
dear Lord
, even several children.

Then a woman sauntered from the palace’s shadowed depths. She, too, looked human. However, she was solid in form like Delaney, but with no glow on. Long, straight, pale strawberry-blonde hair complemented pure milk-white skin, and man-killer curves were showcased by a practically backless black cat-suit and steel do-me stilettos. She was breathtakingly beautiful—in a sociopathic sort of way.

The woman was brandishing a whip…and leading Connor by a heavy chain fastened to a collar around his neck, like he was her pet.

Oh, Connor!
Even in this world, he was a prisoner.

He was transparent like the others, but his clear light shone much brighter. Bile surged into Delaney’s throat. He, too, had been brutally tortured.

She gripped the rock, fighting the urge to barrel down the hillside and storm the courtyard walls.
Right. You and who else against the entire Army of Darkness?

If this
was
merely a high-def production of her stressed-out subconscious, it didn’t matter. She’d lead the charge and everything would be fine. She considered the idea. What if this wasn’t all in her head? What if she really
was
in Hell? Could she take the risk?

Maybe…if only her own existence were in jeopardy. But she couldn’t chance endangering her brother.

The woman below provocatively cocked her hips and thrust out her breasts. “Balor, I want this one.” The cruelty in her tone bit colder than the frigid wind. “After all, finders keepers.”

“I’m not in the mood for your games, Ceard,” the beast snarled. “He was supposed to be mine. And reported to possess the
Aillidh.”

“Well, since he doesn’t, you won’t miss giving him up.”

 “I’ll need a hundred of the lesser humans to compensate.” The monster gestured at Connor. “Look at him. He’s still superior to an average mortal.”

 “Yes, much more strength and spirit. I’ve invested a lot of time and money hunting him down. Breaking him in will be such fun.”

“The fuck it will,” Connor spat.

The woman’s savage laugh rang out. “See?” She pursed full lips in a seductive pout. Her tongue flicked across her lower lip. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Indeed, you will.” The beast’s mouth split in a leer that made gooseflesh prickle over Delaney’s skin. “And you’ll regret that promise.”

He lifted smoldering eyes from the woman to the creatures guarding the captives. “I grow weary of waiting. Begin.”

Two of them dragged the first man in line to the mammoth black crystal altar and chained him down, spread-eagled. The monster stepped close. “What is your name?” he demanded.

The terrified man tried to speak, failed.

“I command forth your name,” the monster growled.

“P-phillip Ch-chambers.”

The beast repeated it, using a claw to carve a symbol into the altar.

Horrified, Delaney stared at the thousands of markings on its surface. Those were
all names?

 The monster’s voice rose in a guttural mantra as obscene as the lust on his repulsive face. He drew back one huge, clawed hand, and then thrust it wrist-deep into the prisoner’s chest. The man’s tortured scream ricocheted off the walls and he writhed in agony. The beast propped his other hand on the altar. His muscles pulsed rapidly and he grunted in satisfaction.

“Stop!” Connor lunged, trying to reach the screaming prisoner, but the woman brutally yanked him back, nearly strangling him with the chain.

The altar glimmered, flickering rapidly as the victim’s faint internal glow slowly faded.

Delaney slapped her hands over her mouth and dropped to the ground behind the boulder.

Oh-God, oh-God, oh-God!

Behind her, the victim’s screams went on. And on.

And on.

After an eternity, they faded to a gurgle.

The monster’s harsh pants rasped loudly in the dead silence. “Next.”

Chains rattled. “Your name.”

“M-martin Knox.”

New screams.

She had to get her brother out of there! Delaney pushed to her knees.

And came face to face with a gigantic raven.

She recoiled. Froze. The thing was seriously the size of an SUV.

Now would be a fabulous time to wake up, Delaney.

She stayed perfectly still as the raven walked closer.
C’mon… There’s no place like home…

She couldn’t stop a wince when the cold, smooth beak stroked her cheek.

At least the newcomer didn’t seem to want her for lunch. Delaney hitched in a breath. “I saw giant black wings at the window,” she whispered. “Are you the one who brought me here?”

Obsidian eyes sparkling with intelligence, the raven nodded.

“Uh…And I’m guessing you would be the Celtic goddess Morrigan in her raven form?”

A quiet caw.

Why not? Just roll with it.
“Is there a way to rescue my brother and those other captives.”

Another nod.

“How?”

The raven picked up a large rock in her glossy black beak and then flung it to the ground.

“No offense, but I don’t think throwing rocks at His Ugliness is going to slow him down much.”

The bird smirked. It picked up a larger rock, swooped, and dropped the second rock onto the first, which broke into pieces.

“What are you trying to say?” With tortured victims screaming below, she just wanted to rush in and save them.

She’d once been a victim. Never again.

Concentrate.

The sickening image of the monster draining that poor man’s life-force was forever branded into her brain. She gasped. “The altar! It’s some kind of power conduit?”