Between Light and Dark (11 page)

He entered his cabin and flipped on the light. As soon as
he closed the door behind him, a sharp pain sliced through Axiom's midsection. His breath caught. A wave of electricity rolled over his body, and his vision filled with blackness.
He groaned and struggled to get to the bed, one arm wrapped
around his stomach while the other stretched forward, feeling his way. His knee struck the bedpost. He fell forward
onto the mattress, his head twisted to the side.

His muscles twitched and leaped beneath his skin as
though they struggled to break free from his flesh. He could
barely manage to breathe. The sound of the blood rushing
through his veins filled his ears. He ground his teeth and
moaned, then felt his body arch from the bed as the current
dived into his gut and pulsed there. He forced his eyes open
again, but still couldn't see; a black void had consumed
him. That void was digging inside him with sharp claws,
like some wild beast on a feeding frenzy. Be gone, you wicked
thing. You cannot take me. The words reverberated through
Axiom's head.

Images flashed through his mind, vivid and appalling. A
man beating his wife while she begged for mercy. A woman
thrusting a knife deep into a man's gut, her eyes wild with
perverted glee while his life dripped away in a pool of red.
Bombs dropping on innocent people who screamed in agony.
Parents sobbing in despair when the body of their abducted
child was located. The horrors of Earth. The despicable evils
of this realm. Things he had seen from the Light Realm that
made him ache with grief. Illustrations of the Umbrae's
tightening grip on the people of Earth.

Axiom tried to push the visions away. Was he under some
sort of attack? How could the Umbrae have entered the protected space of the circle?

The dark energy wanted to control Axiom, to take him over.
He would not let it. He forced his arms, suddenly heavy with
fatigue, over his stomach, ignoring the way his muscles
pulled and twitched with the effort. Sharp pain sliced
through his gut, confirming that the energy was trying to enter through his solar plexus chakra. He focused his mind.

Cool air stirred over his skin as he drew in his god force,
centered it, and willed it to form a hard shell over his human body. Then he called up the part of himself that was
of the Light, the part of him that he so cultivated, and
pushed at the thing. At first, it did not budge.

Axiom used more of his god force to battle the entity. He
groaned with the effort, his skin taut, his muscles straining.
Just when he thought he could not exert an ounce more
strength, a sharp snap sounded in his ears. A moment later,
all was still. He could breathe again. Praise Source, the pain
had disappeared. Whatever had tried to take him over was
gone.

Axiom lay dazed for several minutes, blinking at the ceiling and wondering what in the cosmos had just happened to
him. He eventually stood on shaking legs and stumbled to
the bathroom. He ran his hands over his face, staring at his
normally silver eyes, which currently still held the obsidian
pools of god force within them. He had utilized much power
to fight the thing.

What was it? An elemental, some spirit unleashed by the
Umbrae? A new tool they had discovered with which to
fight him? A moment later, realization dawned.

No, not the Umbrae. His own darkness. The side of him
he held always in check-yet, which simmered beneath
the surface-was sensing the blackness, the underbelly of
the Earth Realm. The demonic energy of Earth's evils was
reaching out to him. It had struggled to touch him and
bring his shadow side to life. The darkness had formed into
some type of entity. He could see it in his mind's eye, all
that evil trying to pummel its way into his midsection. He
knew if it ever succeeded, it would turn him-would take
up residence inside of him and eat away at his light until all
was destroyed, save his darkness. And then what would
happen to Laurell, the child, the coven?

He had been warned to guard against the pull of the Earth
Realm on his dark side. Darkness wanted only to obliterate
light. And the coveners were filled with light energy.

Axiom blinked and observed his eyes returning to silver.
His jaw hardened. It matters not, he decided. None within
this camp will ever see my shadow side, and it will not be the
downfall of this mission. He had never lost a battle. He would
not begin now.

Bright light flashed in front of her closed eyelids and pulled
her to the waking world. Sunlight streamed in through the
window next to her bed. Laurell sat up and yawned. It
seemed as though she'd only just fallen asleep. She burrowed back beneath the covers, hoping to rest a bit longer.
Then her stomach grumbled. Breakfast. She jumped from
the bed and ran to the bathroom. She splashed some water
on her face and took in her red eyes with a grimace.

There was no clock in her room. Breakfast was probably
already underway. She dug into her backpack and pulled out the baseball cap she'd shoved inside it on her way to the
family mansion so many days before. She slapped it on and
glanced in the mirror again. She looked tired and frumpy.
Good enough, she decided.

Outside, the crisp air carried a gentle breeze, and bright
rays winked between the trees. A nice change from the rainy
weather of the past weeks.

Laurell entered the main house and was greeted by silence. She stepped through a living room inhabited only by
statues of Buddha and goddesslike figures, and came to a
dining area.

The six-seater mahogany table was empty. The distinct
but faded scent of baking bread clung to the air. On the
wall hung a grandfather clock that chimed nine just as Laurell realized she'd missed breakfast. Great.

"You look hungry." A male voice sounded behind her.
Laurell spun around. An attractive, broad-shouldered man
with thick shoulder-length blond hair leaned against the
wall. He eyed her with interest.

"Who are you?" she asked.

The man grinned, pale blue eyes sparkling with amusement. "What? You don't know about me yet? I'm hurt."

Laurell blinked. "I'm sorry, I-"

The man's chuckle cut off her apology. "Just teasing. You
are, no doubt, the infamous Laurell. I'm Reese. I'm part of
the coven. Anne and I-" He hesitated. "Well, she was special to me."

"I'm sorry," she said, feeling his sorrow. Trying to lighten
the moment, she asked, "So you know all about me, huh?"

He shrugged. "Well, not everything of course, but enough
to know your importance to the mission. And enough to see
that you missed Fiona's breakfast, which never makes our
High Priestess too happy." His warm smile made it clear he
wasn't too worried about the High Priestess's wrath.

He motioned her to sit. "The pancakes were the first to
go, but I could get you some cereal if you want." He skirted
the dining table toward the kitchen.

"I don't expect you to wait on me," Laurell responded.

"Oh, don't worry, I won't. I'm getting myself some too."
He disappeared around the corner and returned balancing a
carton of milk, two bowls, spoons, and a box of cereal. Laurell's stomach growled. Cereal sounded fabulous. She sat at
the table, and Reese slid into the chair next to her.

"Didn't you get any pancakes either?" she asked.

"Actually, I did," he said.

"You're eating again already?"

Reese rubbed his taut stomach and winked. "Good genes."

Laurell eyed his trim physique with envy. She never
trusted people who could eat like horses and never gain a
pound. Of course, she'd always wished she were one of those
people. She poured her cereal and took several bites, grateful
when her stomach stopped rumbling, then filled a glass with
orange juice.

"So how many people are there in the coven?" she asked.

"Including myself, seven."

"An odd number for a coven, isn't it?" She'd always
thought covens had thirteen members.

Reese shook his head. "There's no particular number
necessary. That's a Hollywood movie thing."

"Well, I only took one course in paganism in school.
I'm trying to remember everything I know about Wicca
and witchcraft."

Reese nodded. "So you know something about Wicca
then? I guess that makes sense, since you're a natural witch."

Laurell glanced up at Reese and shook her head in confusion. "Why does everyone keep calling me a natural
witch? What does that mean anyway?"

Reese tiled his head in question. "You don't know?"

Laurell sighed. "It seems I'm the last to know anything."

Reese lifted his eyebrows in question. "A natural witch is a
hereditary witch. You know, someone who has magical blood
in their veins, whose ancestor was trained in the craft."

"You've got to be kidding me. Someone in my family was a
witch?" Laurell's mind reviewed the family members she
knew personally or had learned about from her grandmother.
In all of her stories of times and relatives gone by, her grandmother had never mentioned anything as interesting as a
penchant for the paranormal. As far as Laurell knew, her relatives were a pretty staid, conservative lot.

She shook her head. "No way. It's ridiculous."

Reese winked at her. "Is it?"

The Book of Shadows is a witch's journal. The moment Reese
had left the dining room, Laurell remembered. She'd read
about such journals in her paganism class. She jumped from
the table and hurried back to her cabin, heart racing, afraid
her grandmother's Book of Shadows, which she'd stuffed in
her backpack and all but forgotten, might have disappeared.

The book was still there. Laurell let out the breath she
hadn't realized she was holding. She trailed her fingers over
the worn leather cover, flipped to a random page, and began to read. The entry was from Grandmother Helen.
She'd have recognized the handwriting even if the entry
hadn't been signed and dated.

I have been having such vivid dreams lately. Visions of
darkness and despair. Hardly a night passes when I am
not pulled from my sleep trembling with fear of some
strange, intangible menace. I've tried scrying for an answer, but my pendulum hangs in stillness and my crystal
ball remains cloudy. The tarot spreads I've consulted all
point to upheaval and strife, but the particulars elude
me. I feel in my bones our family is connected to this
situation. I've tried to talk to Elaine about it, but she
only listens to my concerns with amused disbelief. She's
never embraced her heritage. Now, she thinks the can cer is rotting my brain. I've told her there is a far worse
affliction than this disease, and it is coming and she
must be prepared. If only Jonathan had lived. He was
sensible. He would have listened to me. Everything
would be different.

At the mention of the father she'd never known, a familiar emptiness filled Laurell. The entry was dated less
than two months prior to her grandmother's death. Laurell's chest tightened thinking of her grandmother, to
whom she'd been so close as a child.

So it was true. Her grandmother had been a witch. Based
on other entries in the book, her mother's brother, Luke,
had been a witch as well. Luke was in a fatal car accident
when Laurell was seven, and her remembrance of him was
a hazy image of warm brown eyes and a wide smile. The
book contained numerous entries by both her grandmother
and her uncle; some of the entries dated all the way back to
Laurell's great-great-grandfather.

The pages were worn and difficult to read in some parts.
It was a wonder the thing hadn't fallen apart, but it was
clear each owner had taken exquisite care of the book. Except for Laurell, who'd shoved it unceremoniously in her
backpack with her beef jerky, chocolate bars, and wallet.
Of course, if she'd had a clue as to how precious it was,
she'd have treated the book with more care. She glanced
around the room, spied a silky purple cloth covering the
dresser, wrapped it around the book, then slid the text under the bed.