The room crackled with a strange, undeniable power. Creed felt wide-eyed and completely awake, but like someone had pitched him headfirst into a dream or some alternate reality.
As he watched, not quite trusting his own mind, a tangible link seemed to form between the Sibyls’ big oak table and the mirror showing the image of the old woman as she danced.
Herbert started to wake up. He twitched. Then he moaned. Finally, he screamed.
From seemingly a thousand miles away, the
other
screamed with him.
Creed jerked from the rush of terror that didn’t belong to him.
Before the sensation completely died away, Herbert was gone.
He didn’t lift up or float or vanish in a shimmer of sparks. He was simply on that table at Cynda’s feet one second, then gone the next.
Creed gaped at the mirror.
Herbert was in the image now, lying at the feet of the strange old Mother. A pair of gigantic wolves entered the picture and paced toward the fallen man. Cynda slowed her dance, then gradually reversed her direction. The Mother did the same, and seconds later, the image clouded, then faded completely away.
“Fuuuuu-uuuuuck meeeeeeee,” Andy said, staring at the empty place where Herbert had been not two minutes before. “What did you
do
?”
Cynda stopped dancing and tossed Andy a look. “We didn’t kill him. Happy now?”
Riana folded her arms and sighed. Her back was still to Creed as she said, “I hate doing that.”
“No choice,” Dani said. “Did they have any suggestions?”
Cynda shook her head. “Shit’s happening everywhere. Mass Asmodai attacks, people going missing, and yeah—alliances between the Legion and other fringe groups. Thank the Goddess a lot of them are pip-squeaks and weirdos like Herbert, or we might have a full-scale war on our hands.”
“Don’t we?” Andy muttered. Creed had to agree. He studied Riana’s trim lines. Her shoulders were tense. Even though she wasn’t looking at him, he knew she was worried. Hell, he was worried, and he didn’t understand half of what was happening.
“We’re to keep up patrols as usual, but make every effort to capture and question members of the Legion, or anyone who has even
seen
a Legion member theCynda tossed the sword to the floor and started to dance around Herbert’s unconscious body.
Creed swallowed. He wasn’t certain he had ever seen anything so bizarre. Yet Cynda moved deliberately, with purpose, and Creed sensed another change in the room. More tension. A brightness. A sense of something big about to happen.
The other five Sibyls stood in a straight line, holding hands. They seemed to be supporting Cynda somehow, concentrating their formidable energies and lending them to her. The flames ringing the table flared higher, and the chimes started a different sort of ring. Creed could swear the sound was dancing along with Cynda, from pipe to pipe and set to set, circling, circling, just as the fire Sibyl was circling.
After a few minutes and a growing swell of chime-song, Cynda shifted to dance in front of the oldest, darkest, most ornate mirror. The way Creed and Andy were sitting, they were facing it with her. Creed kept his eyes on the glass.
His gut clenched when fog appeared in the mirror. It brightened, as if someone had trained a light on the mirror’s center. Then it started to swirl.
Every hair on his body came to attention as a wild energy buzzed around the room.
Something’s happening. Right now.
“What the fuck?” Andy whispered. She stood slowly, letting the pad and pencil drop to the couch behind her.
The
other
shouted in Creed’s mind, and he stood beside his partner. If he’d been wearing his sidearm, he might have put his hand over the grip like Andy. He couldn’t take his mind off that mirror, or the image forming inside the glass.
A woman came into clear view, dark-haired like Riana but much younger, dressed in flowing brown robes. She was standing in a stone chamber, and huge sets of chimes hung all around her. The big pipes swayed and hopped on their strings, and Creed knew they were ringing, too.
On the table, Cynda started to whirl in a circle, arms over her head.
The woman in the mirror bowed, then paid rapt attention. Every so often, she nodded. Creed had a sense that Cynda was telling the younger woman everything that had happened recently, along with what they had learned from Herbert.
A lot like giving a report. Just…more complicated.
Cynda’s dancing slowed, and the woman in the mirror danced for a few moments. Her gestures were more clumsy, less polished, but she got through whatever she wanted to communicate.
Cynda picked up speed again. Her arms moved up and down, and she circled around Herbert three times.
The other woman in the mirror nodded, then receded from view. She returned maybe a minute later, leading a bent, stooped figure dressed in heavy, hooded robes. The robes were brown like the ones the young girl wore, but with ornate green embroidery. Creed saw that the elderly woman—for the figure did appear to be an aged female—walked with a staff that had blue, green, red, and sparkling white jewels inlaid along its carved crown.
When the old woman was fully before the mirror, she straightened and pushed back her hood.
The
other
let out a shriek of anguish and terror, slammed through Creed’s chest, then dropped away like a rush of physical discomfort. It happened so fast that Creed didn’t have a chance to fall. He swayed and Andy steadied him, giving him a look that said,
What?
He shook his head and made himself look back at the mirror.
She had long white hair pulled back and braided into a single thick cord that reached to her waist. The angles of her face were sharp and abrupt, and her dark skin was deeply lined around her bright green eyes and wide mouth. Her lips were parted, showing white teeth, and her expression seemed openly hungry, almost carnivorous. The fingers gripping the staff were knobbed and bent, but somehow her hands looked too powerful and firm for a woman of her age.
A Mother?
The moment Creed asked himself the question, he knew she had to be one of the Motherhouse elders Riana had described. And the
other
was terrified of this decrepit-looking being.
Amazing.
The Mother handed her staff to the younger girl, who then moved away.
Without comment, the Mother began to dance in a circle like Cynda. At first she moved slowly, stiffly, then faster than Creed thought possible, around, around.
The room crackled with a strange, undeniable power. Creed felt wide-eyed and completely awake, but like someone had pitched him headfirst into a dream or some alternate reality.
As he watched, not quite trusting his own mind, a tangible link seemed to form between the Sibyls’ big oak table and the mirror showing the image of the old woman as she danced.
Herbert started to wake up. He twitched. Then he moaned. Finally, he screamed.
From seemingly a thousand miles away, the
other
screamed with him.
Creed jerked from the rush of terror that didn’t belong to him.
Before the sensation completely died away, Herbert was gone.
He didn’t lift up or float or vanish in a shimmer of sparks. He was simply on that table at Cynda’s feet one second, then gone the next.
Creed gaped at the mirror.
Herbert was in the image now, lying at the feet of the strange old Mother. A pair of gigantic wolves entered the picture and paced toward the fallen man. Cynda slowed her dance, then gradually reversed her direction. The Mother did the same, and seconds later, the image clouded, then faded completely away.
“Fuuuuu-uuuuuck meeeeeeee,” Andy said, staring at the empty place where Herbert had been not two minutes before. “What did you
do
?”
Cynda stopped dancing and tossed Andy a look. “We didn’t kill him. Happy now?”
Riana folded her arms and sighed. Her back was still to Creed as she said, “I hate doing that.”
“No choice,” Dani said. “Did they have any suggestions?”
Cynda shook her head. “Shit’s happening everywhere. Mass Asmodai attacks, people going missing, and yeah—alliances between the Legion and other fringe groups. Thank the Goddess a lot of them are pip-squeaks and weirdos like Herbert, or we might have a full-scale war on our hands.”
“Don’t we?” Andy muttered. Creed had to agree. He studied Riana’s trim lines. Her shoulders were tense. Even though she wasn’t looking at him, he knew she was worried. Hell, he was worried, and he didn’t understand half of what was happening.
“We’re to keep up patrols as usual, but make every effort to capture and question members of the Legion, or anyone who has even
seen
a Legion member theCynda tossed the sword to the floor and started to dance around Herbert’s unconscious body.
Creed swallowed. He wasn’t certain he had ever seen anything so bizarre. Yet Cynda moved deliberately, with purpose, and Creed sensed another change in the room. More tension. A brightness. A sense of something big about to happen.
The other five Sibyls stood in a straight line, holding hands. They seemed to be supporting Cynda somehow, concentrating their formidable energies and lending them to her. The flames ringing the table flared higher, and the chimes started a different sort of ring. Creed could swear the sound was dancing along with Cynda, from pipe to pipe and set to set, circling, circling, just as the fire Sibyl was circling.
After a few minutes and a growing swell of chime-song, Cynda shifted to dance in front of the oldest, darkest, most ornate mirror. The way Creed and Andy were sitting, they were facing it with her. Creed kept his eyes on the glass.
His gut clenched when fog appeared in the mirror. It brightened, as if someone had trained a light on the mirror’s center. Then it started to swirl.
Every hair on his body came to attention as a wild energy buzzed around the room.
Something’s happening. Right now.
“What the fuck?” Andy whispered. She stood slowly, letting the pad and pencil drop to the couch behind her.
The
other
shouted in Creed’s mind, and he stood beside his partner. If he’d been wearing his sidearm, he might have put his hand over the grip like Andy. He couldn’t take his mind off that mirror, or the image forming inside the glass.
A woman came into clear view, dark-haired like Riana but much younger, dressed in flowing brown robes. She was standing in a stone chamber, and huge sets of chimes hung all around her. The big pipes swayed and hopped on their strings, and Creed knew they were ringing, too.
On the table, Cynda started to whirl in a circle, arms over her head.
The woman in the mirror bowed, then paid rapt attention. Every so often, she nodded. Creed had a sense that Cynda was telling the younger woman everything that had happened recently, along with what they had learned from Herbert.
A lot like giving a report. Just…more complicated.
Cynda’s dancing slowed, and the woman in the mirror danced for a few moments. Her gestures were more clumsy, less polished, but she got through whatever she wanted to communicate.
Cynda picked up speed again. Her arms moved up and down, and she circled around Herbert three times.
The other woman in the mirror nodded, then receded from view. She returned maybe a minute later, leading a bent, stooped figure dressed in heavy, hooded robes. The robes were brown like the ones the young girl wore, but with ornate green embroidery. Creed saw that the elderly woman—for the figure did appear to be an aged female—walked with a staff that had blue, green, red, and sparkling white jewels inlaid along its carved crown.
When the old woman was fully before the mirror, she straightened and pushed back her hood.
The
other
let out a shriek of anguish and terror, slammed through Creed’s chest, then dropped away like a rush of physical discomfort. It happened so fast that Creed didn’t have a chance to fall. He swayed and Andy steadied him, giving him a look that said,
What?
He shook his head and made himself look back at the mirror.
She had long white hair pulled back and braided into a single thick cord that reached to her waist. The angles of her face were sharp and abrupt, and her dark skin was deeply lined around her bright green eyes and wide mouth. Her lips were parted, showing white teeth, and her expression seemed openly hungry, almost carnivorous. The fingers gripping the staff were knobbed and bent, but somehow her hands looked too powerful and firm for a woman of her age.
A Mother?
The moment Creed asked himself the question, he knew she had to be one of the Motherhouse elders Riana had described. And the
other
was terrified of this decrepit-looking being.
Amazing.
The Mother handed her staff to the younger girl, who then moved away.
Without comment, the Mother began to dance in a circle like Cynda. At first she moved slowly, stiffly, then faster than Creed thought possible, around, around.
The room crackled with a strange, undeniable power. Creed felt wide-eyed and completely awake, but like someone had pitched him headfirst into a dream or some alternate reality.
As he watched, not quite trusting his own mind, a tangible link seemed to form between the Sibyls’ big oak table and the mirror showing the image of the old woman as she danced.
Herbert started to wake up. He twitched. Then he moaned. Finally, he screamed.
From seemingly a thousand miles away, the
other
screamed with him.
Creed jerked from the rush of terror that didn’t belong to him.
Before the sensation completely died away, Herbert was gone.
He didn’t lift up or float or vanish in a shimmer of sparks. He was simply on that table at Cynda’s feet one second, then gone the next.
Creed gaped at the mirror.
Herbert was in the image now, lying at the feet of the strange old Mother. A pair of gigantic wolves entered the picture and paced toward the fallen man. Cynda slowed her dance, then gradually reversed her direction. The Mother did the same, and seconds later, the image clouded, then faded completely away.