Between Light and Dark (2 page)

"Make your recommendation, Mobius," Willow urged.
"I, for one, will be glad to have the matter decided. We've
much work to do."

Mobius smiled at Willow, the newest member of the
Council, a weather goddess with the ability to control the
elements. Her smooth, youthful face belied her ancient
wisdom. She was ever the peace-keeper of the group, and
he was thankful for her presence.

"I'd like to propose we utilize Axiom for this mission."
Mobius's announcement met with general rumblings among
the group. Helios, a war god whose ebony skin shone with
blue highlights, frowned and pounded one large fist against
the tabletop, getting everyone's attention quickly.

"A Gray God? You wish to send a Balancer to head up
such an important mission?" Helios's words rang with concern.

Mobius noted that same unease reflected in the expressions of several others of the Council. "Yes," he confirmed.

"A Gray."

"Highly unusual, don't you think?" Helios pressed.

Before Mobius could respond, Willow interjected, "The
Grays have been integral in keeping the etheric and astral
energies equalized. They are a large part of the reason the
Umbrae have been relegated to the Astral Plane and are
unable to move into higher realms-ours included."

Rahkma, a towheaded protection deity, lifted his hand
and waved Willow's words away like pesky insects. He tilted
his head, startling turquoise eyes narrowed.

"Mobius, you make no secret you are a proponent of furthering the Grays' involvement in the Divine Council. We
all know of Axiom's desire to attain a seat here, and this mission, if successful, could go a long way toward helping
him achieve his goal. I am not fully convinced integrating
the Grays so deeply is a good idea. How can we be certain
the Umbrae will not eventually find a way to tap into the
Grays' dark halves and turn them against us? For that matter, how can we be sure they won't do the same should we
send a Gray on this mission? We all know they're easier to
turn when on the Earth plane."

Rahkma's words elicited more rumblings of discord
amongst the group. The discussions grew heated, and the
voices of the gods and goddesses hit a noisy pitch.

Mobius shook his head. He rubbed his hands over his face,
suddenly tired. "Enough!" His voice reverberated, commanding respect. The group quieted. All eyes turned to him.

"We have discussed this matter before at length. There
are no guarantees in this, no way to be certain the Umbrae won't interfere with our plan. But sending another
Light God will only result in the Umbrae making an
equally aggressive effort to infiltrate the humans. Neutralization is the best approach. We need a Balancer god to
bring in the Balancer in the flesh. We must utilize the
strengths of both the Light and the Dark. I am convinced
it is the only way."

"But Axiom, Mobius? Are we not asking a lot of a rather
young god?" Helios asked.

"We ask only that which we would ask of ourselves,"
Mobius responded. "Axiom is young, yes. But he is driven.
And he is one of the strongest of the Balancers. We need
someone like him, someone focused, someone who-"

"Won't be distracted by the pull of the Umbrae or of
Earth life." Willow finished Mobius's sentence for him.

Mobius flinched, well aware the entire Council knew of
his own similar but failed mission. At first, it had seemed successful, but like most of their battles against the Umbrae, his success had been short-lived. The night had a way
of finding new and ingenious ways to further its goal of
overshadowing the day.

Willow spoke in her usual diplomatic manner. "We've
argued this point until its edge has dulled. Let us make our
vote. The potential candidates are listed on your ballots.
You know Mobius's recommendation."

The Council set about plugging their votes into the
clear, crystal tablets that lay before each member. The sound
of their fingers tapping on the keys echoed through the
otherwise silent room. Long moments later, they had placed
the tablets into slots carved into the stone tabletop, and the
automatic tabulation system spit out a palm-sized amethyst
stone. Mobius glanced at the stone, careful to keep his expression blank before passing it to Willow.

Willow smoothed her hair from her face and raised one
perfectly arched eyebrow. "Axiom of the Grays is the chosen one.

Rahkma seemed particularly annoyed by the news. He
opened his mouth to speak, but Helios touched his arm and
shot him a warning took. The Council would only bear so
much impertinence toward the Divine Director-or any
other member of the Council, for that matter. If they could
not remain united in their vision, how could they defeat
the Umbrae?

Mobius mentally probed the Light Realm, searching for
Axiom's presence. Come. The Council would speak with you,
he commanded the Gray God.

A moment later Axiom appeared in a sea of sparkling
gray, the air shimmering with the telltale signature of a
Balancer in motion. Axiom stood, arms folded across his
broad chest, granite eyes glittering.

When he spoke, his words held all the arrogance and
determination of one who is accustomed to success. "I am
ready to serve the Council in any way I am able. I am most
grateful for your confidence, and this is my promise to you: I
will not fail."

Earth

Lake Geneva, Wisconsin

October 1

"Won't you reconsider accepting your inheritance, Miss
Pittman?" Mr. Robert Abrams, whom Laurell always referred
to simply as Abrams, spoke in his usual clipped, formal manner. Normally, Laurell found his British accent pleasing. Today, it grated on her nerves. Much as did the fact that
Abrams had insisted on meeting with her again before she
left town.

The thin, bookish man who served as the family's longtime attorney and executor of Hollywood legend Elaine
Pittman's will cocked his head to one side and watched
Laurell with what appeared to be real concern. As long as
she'd known Abrams, he'd never expressed any detectable
emotion. The idea of someone refusing such a large sum of
money clearly had the poor man out of sorts.

"I wouldn't take Mother's money when she was alive. I
won't take it now. You know which charities to donate to,"
Laurell reminded him. She would keep only what she'd need
to keep Graves Manor going. That was different. That's for
Grandma Helen. Her father had died before she was born,
and Laurell and her mother had never gotten along. Her
grandmother had been the only real family she'd known.

They stood in the middle of the large, circular driveway
of Graves Manor, the only remaining asset in the Graves
family legacy. The mansion had been built as a summer
home shortly before the Chicago fire of 1871 forced Laurell's great-grandfather to retire from his brewing business.
Laurell's mother, Elaine, had agreed to keep the mansion
going. She'd set up a house account and provided for her
mother's needs. It was the one selfless deed Laurell could
remember her mother performing.

"Your grandmother was always adamant about keeping
Graves Manor from falling into strangers' hands, but if you
do decide to sell, I will assist however you wish." Abrams's
words intruded upon her thoughts. His tone indicated his
assistance in selling the house would not include his approval. But of course, Grandma considered him a friend. He
wants to honor her wishes.

"I've no immediate plans to sell," Laurell reassured him,
adjusting the backpack she wore, as one strap threatened to
slide free of its clasp.

She'd once thought to raise children of her own here
someday. A pang of grief swept through her. Eventually she'd
be forced to let the place go; there would be no child to inherit it. She pushed these thoughts from her mind. Abrams
was watching her expectantly. "You've had your hands full,
getting Grandma's affairs in order, and now my mother's."

"I am happy to help in any manner I am able," he said.

"Yeah, well, I appreciate all you're doing. I know I haven't
been around much." That's an understatement. She hadn't
spoken to her mother in years. And she hadn't visited her
grandmother in six months, hadn't even known her grandmother had cancer. Some granddaughter I turned out to be.

Abrams cleared his throat. "Such a tragedy. To lose your
grandmother and mother within weeks of each other."

Laurell opened her mouth to respond when a frisson of
electricity shot through her, stealing her words. She gasped
in surprise. Something foreign stirred in her belly, and her
limbs tingled.

"Are you quite alright?" Mr. Abrams asked. "You've gone
pale."

Laurell gave a forced half smile. "I'm fine," she said.
Whatever it was, the sensation had quickly disappeared.

Mr. Abrams twisted his hands and shifted from one foot
to the other. Nervous energy, she thought. He's trying to find
something soothing to say. Or maybe he's afraid I'm about to
croak, too.

"There's some other reason for our meeting besides giving me a second chance to change my mind about Mother's
money, right? You told me on the phone you needed to deliver something to me."

"Oh yes, yes. How could I forget?" Abrams hurried to his
car and returned with a large black book. He handed it to
Laurell. Her eyes swept over the worn leather binding. The
words scrawled across the front read Book of Shadows and
rang with an odd familiarity she couldn't place.

"What is this?" she asked.

Abrams shrugged. "I thought you might know."

She shook her head. "No idea. Where did it come from?"

"It was your grandmother's. Along with Graves Manor, it
was passed to you at her death," he explained. "I should
have given it to you sooner. My apologies. It slipped my
mind during the rush to get Helen's affairs in order. Then
with your mother's passing . . ."

Laurell ran her fingers over the cover and absently stroked
the smooth leather. It smelled old, like a library book no one
had checked out for years.

"Grandmother didn't give you any info about it?"

Abrams didn't respond at first. His gaze held a distant focus, as though he were deep in thought. He blinked. "Pardon? Uh-no. No information at all, I'm afraid."

Poor thing. No doubt this was too much emotion for the
man for one day. She decided she should put him out of his
misery.

"Well, if there's nothing else-" Laurell offered him her
hand and he took it, his fingers icy cold against hers. For a
moment, he gripped her hand so tightly, it hurt. She started
to pull away, and then he abruptly released her hand. It
happened so fast, she wondered if she'd imagined his death
grip.

"It has been my pleasure to work with you and your family, Miss Pittman. If I can be of further service, please don't
hesitate to contact me," Abrams said.

"Thanks."

He paused for a moment, as though struggling to produce some words of comfort, but gave a weak smile instead.
He climbed into his beige sedan and drove away in a swirl
of dead leaves.

Laurell held the book against her chest. In her other
hand she clasped the roses Abrams had given in condolence. What to do with them?

She sighed and followed the winding cobblestone path
leading to the family gravesite. She stopped in front of her
grandmother's grave and knelt to place the flowers on the
ground. Her chest felt empty, cavernous. She was alone in
the world now. In that moment, she hated her mother almost as much as she'd once loved her. How could it be that
her mother preferred death to the shame of her husband's
betrayal? Riley had been a total fake; any fool could see
he'd married Elaine for the status it afforded him. She bit
her lip. How could Mother's reputation have meant more to her
than I did?

Laurell glanced at the grave closest to her grandmother's. Despite her resolution not to visit her mother's
plot, she moved in front of it and dropped her backpack to
the ground. Something compelled her to reach out and
touch the words etched into marble. ELAINE PITTMAN1961-2007-MAY HER STAR SHINE ON.

Riley had picked out the headstone. He'd presided over
the funeral with his usual bad acting, milking his role as
grief-stricken husband. The press seemed to have forgotten
he and Elaine had already filed for divorce.

If Laurell heard him tell his story about how Elaine had
threatened to kill herself when he told her the marriage
wasn't working, and "then-(gasp, horror, shock)-she did
it" one more time, Laurell swore she'd shove one of the
man's overpriced designer shoes in his mouth. Maybe it
would break one of his overly bleached teeth.

A harsh October wind whipped through the solitary
graveyard. She shivered and pulled her peacoat higher and
tighter around her neck. It did nothing for her ears, which
had begun to ache with the cold.

She momentarily regretted chopping her hair into its
pixieish cut. Her mother wouldn't have approved of the
haircut. Of course, that had been part of the pleasure in
getting it chopped. Laurell rubbed her hands over her arms
to ward off the cold, thinking her mother would have
hated her size-twelve figure as well. She certainly didn't
look the part of a Hollywood actress's daughter.