There Can't Be Shadows Without Light

There Can't Be Shadows Without Light

Druantia's Children – Book Three

L. S. Fayne

Copyright 2011 L. S. Fayne

Publication by Fayne Artists

ISBN-13: 978-1-60903-024-7

Smashwords Edition

License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of L. S. Fayne.

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Some historic events are written into a fantasy forum. The author reserves the right to Freedom of Speech to express her views on some historic events. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Epilogue

From the Author

BOOKS BY L. S. FAYNE

19th Century Series:  The O'Byrne Daughters

Budding Magic:  Book One

It's Just Magic!:  Book Two

Gathering of the Raven:  Book Three

20th Century Series: Druantia's Children

Christmas in the House of O'Byrne:  Book One

Druantia's Braids:  Book Two

There Can't Be Shadows Without Light:  Book Three

INTENDED AUDIENCE

L. S. Fayne writes for adults fourteen and up.

Return to TOC

Prologue

Druantia had searched through the heavens for the one called Sherimae. She was one of the Seraphim, but Druantia was finding that she did not partake in the normal duties of the Seraph. This was making it very difficult for her to be found. Normally, the Seraph remained in the first of the heavens where they watched the mortals through the turn of centuries. They did not usually notice the individual sparks of mortal life. To them, these sparks were just a constant flitter of light. They studied the Plains of Existence for all mortals whether it was on the world Druantia called Earth—or on others. They mainly—sang.

Druantia once again stood at the barrier of the first heaven. One such as she—part angel—was not allowed to enter. Once again she was told that Sherimae was not within. She made her way back to her garden, a garden designed by the Host to replenish her energies.

Druantia looked at her image in the still water. She still looked mostly human. The shape and slant to her face was delicate and humanly. Her body was a full bodied woman with high breasts. Although full bodied, she was warrior strong. Her fiery red hair was up in the twenty-one braids. It was her eyes which gave testimony to the elfin blood her mother had also carried. They were emerald green with slanted white pupils. She couldn't really see anything in the reflection from her father. He was a Grigori angel. One of the few of whom was not destroyed during their fall.

You are looking for me? Sherimae flew to stand beside Druantia. She dimmed her burning light so that Druantia would have ease looking upon her.

You meddle in the affairs of man, Druantia stated.

Druantia wanted to seem sure and bold, but knew that this one saw all. Druantia needed answers. Sherimae had not hurt her children, but Druantia did not like her interference. She also didn't understand why one such as her would interfere at all. Sherimae was so far above Druantia in the ranks, that Druantia was surprised she had even bothered to seek her out. Druantia knew none of the others would have bothered.

I have, Sherimae nodded and stretched out her hand, come.

Druantia tried not to stare at Sherimae, but her light was so beautiful. She glowed brightly, her eyes shined with a vivid blue light. Her hair was golden and hung down between her wings. She stood with her four sets of wings folded inward. Druantia knew Sherimae had another set which opened upon flight, but Druantia had never seen them—would never see them. Sherimae was so swift in flight that only another Seraph could see the sixth set.

Come, Sherimae commanded again.

Druantia took her hand. To Druantia it seemed that they had arrived, before they had even departed. The first thing she realized was the song. It blazed with power. Her heart pounded into the very beat of it. Every aspect of sound resonated together and through her. She lost herself to the essence of its perfection.

Sherimae touched her arm bringing her back to the here. She looked forward curiously, and drew in a sharp breath upon the realization that she was in the first heaven.

We are in the East of the First Heaven. Do not look upon the Host in the West, Sherimae warned her. Even you will be blinded by them. I've brought you here to see outward—look!

Druantia looked outward not really understanding what she was seeing.

From here you can see all the mortal worlds, Sherimae told her. See the constant flickers—and shadows. A time will come when there will be enough mortal souls to tip the balance of light and darkness. At that time the mortals of light will be called upon to fight against the darkness. Your children will be the first to be called.

Pawns of war? Druantia said angrily to her.

Oh no! Sherimae denied, The mighty leading the weak!

They are not strong enough, Druantia stated instantly. She could feel the shivers as they raced up her arms.

It will not matter, Sherimae told her softly. "It will be so. They will choose it. You have raised them well. They follow the light and will not allow darkness to succeed."

Not all of them choose the light, Druantia denied. Many have not chosen at all. They just live their lives as it is brought to them. They are not warriors!

The fight will not be fought with might, Sherimae looked at her, "but with will and grit. Mortal death will not be part of this conflict. It will be the maturity of the souls—when the lights stop flickering—a final decision. It will be the strength of conviction—passion—which will be the final weapon."

What have my children to do with that? Druantia demanded.

"It will be the creative ones, the artists, the poets, the musicians and singers who influence mortals to live in the light—to seek the light. I meddle now, so that the strong will be stronger. The Dogs of Oor, have also risen to meddle once again with the mortals—talk to Milaih. The mortals hold the balance. It will be they who decide the fate of all. It is so."

Druantia looked up with surprise at the mention of Milaih. She was an alpha female, one of the Dogs of Oor. She had been Druantia's own protector when she had been mortal. Druantia was surprised by Sherimae's knowledge. Most of the Host only acknowledged her as Rhebul's daughter. They did not concern themselves about details.

When? Druantia shuddered.

When the mortals—flesh, soul, and spirit unite as one. Then they will choose. Mortal creatures will become more influential than all of us together—light and dark, Sherimae pointed outward once again. "The balance will belong to them. When they realize their own power—the true war will begin in earnest."

Druantia looked out into all the worlds. Many chi were indeed constant. They no longer flickered—they were mature souls. Time and experience had made them so. There was more brightness than darkness, but Druantia knew the brightness could be dimmed by greed, lust, cruelty, depravity, and hate. In darkness, they could be as powerful as in light. Druantia trembled. She looked again at all the mortal souls flickering across all the worlds. She looked at Sherimae with shock. The very core of The Host's and the Daemon's existence would be ruled by the mortals! Sherimae nodded her head solemnly.

Which is why the darkness hates the mortals so, Druantia whispered. I had never understood before. I didn't understand why they bothered so.

Yes, Sherimae whispered. "They cannot stand the light anymore than we can abide the darkness. There are also many of the Host who though they love the Divine—do not love all who the Divine brings forth—mortals. Both those of the light, and of the dark, would rather mortals not reach their full potential. Both sides instigate difficulties to keep mortal beings from their evolution."

Druantia had to wonder if Michael was one such. She couldn't help but wonder why he had allowed the fallen one to continue to harm her children.

Do not ask, Sherimae cautioned, the affairs of the Upper Choir are somewhat convoluted. They will not answer to us, but may take exception to our questions. It is not always wise to be in their regard.

What of you? Druantia asked.

"I love the mortals, Sherimae smiled and turned towards Druantia, as I also love you."

Druantia paused, feeling shock. Very few of the Host noticed her, most indeed, ignored her. Her own father barely acknowledged her. She knew she was loved, but most were angels of the Lower Choirs, those more involved with mortals.

There was a lad, Sherimae's eyes went dreamy, the first to gain my notice. He was a poor boy by mortal standards—a herding boy. He was a son of Jesse, most now know him as Melekh David. His song rang strong and true. He was bound to be great. I loved the essence of his songs. The power from within was so bright I had to seek him out. I watched him—watched his life unfold. I did not return to the Choir when he moved on. I went in search of more mortal songs. Your Vevila has a similar song. When she sings her light shines through all the darkness. Her light, if you look, does not flicker. It is strong and bright.

I had concern that she would not grow due to not having re-birth experiences, but she finds her own experiences. Druantia looked towards Vevila. Indeed, her light never wavered. I thought her light was so because she is almost immortal,

It is because she is no longer fragmented, Sherimae corrected. "She is one with herself—whole. There will come a time when either darkness or light—will win over the other. There will be no more compromise—no more safe havens for either. It will be either all Light—or all Dark."

If the dark were to win, Druantia couldn't help but ask, what of the creatures of the light?

I would perish, Sherimae answered bluntly. Some of the angels might be of light and dark, but I was created purely from the light. There would be no sustenance for those like me. The dark would also perish if light was triumphant. Dark might be attracted to the light, but too much light and darkness burns away. This is why they hate the mortals so. Mortals were created to procreate.  We—cannot. The divine seems to have lost interest in building more angels.

How say you? Druantia mocked at her disenchantment. What of the Grigori? What am I? What is in the creator's chamber right now?

The Grigori were a mistake, Sherimae hesitated uncertainly.

Am I, Druantia looked at her firmly, a mistake?

No, Sherimae said with certainty. I have to think on this.

Humankind, Druantia frowned, are not light or dark. I'm not sure they can be.

But they evolve, Sherimae argued.

Maybe, Druantia said not so certain, but evolve to what end. Maybe they will evolve to be complete, but that does not for certain mean darkness or light. There are always other possibilities. What is in the Divine's chamber?

We do not know, Sherimae hesitated and then admitted. We do not understand it.

So it is, Druantia said as she looked out at the millions and trillions of lights, creation.

Return to TOC

Chapter One

April, 24th 1983

Mariposa was beautiful in the spring with its new flowers, the fragrant underbrush, and green leafed trees. The air was filled with spring freshness. The roads wound about sharply letting the driver see the serene granite walls of the mountains as they rose into the sky, and the tall Sequoia trees as they waived in the clouds above. Susan Andrew didn't see any of this as she drove around the narrow curves. She was totally fixated on one thing, finding the O'Byrne!

Susan took a deep breath and forced herself to relax her grip on the steering wheel. Her knuckles were white from gripping it so tightly. The skin on her palm was irritated from the surface of the wheel and her own sweat. It should have been a pleasant Saturday morning. She had nothing planned for today except maybe reading a crime novel. But Susan had woken with another panic attack. This time the attack hadn't abated. She ran from the house without any idea of what she was doing. She just had to get away. She jumped into the car and drove. It wasn't until she had driven into the hills that she thought of Natilie—and the O'Byrne. They were magic—maybe they could help her!

She knew the house had to be here somewhere! She pounded the wheel when she saw the same trees come into view again. She pulled over to the side of the road. She was driving around in circles! Natilie had said the house was up a straight gravel road. There weren't very many places to even access the old highway anymore. She had been sure it would be here!

She put her head on the steering wheel and tried to think of exactly what Natilie had said. She clinched her eyes tightly in thought trying to ignore the pain from her pounding head. Natilie was eating lunch—again. Susan smiled. It was right before school had gotten out for the summer. She was showing her pregnancy—and proud of it.

Natilie had been sitting at a crowded table in the Commons. Her enormous lunch was spread out in front of her. The other kids were eeuing and awing her lunch. She remembered laughing when she spied the pickles on the peanut butter sandwich. She had been startled when Natilie laughingly looked up and captured her eyes with her purple gaze. She had froze—feeling the fear that Natilie's purple eyes had provoked. At that moment she was inside the little car again, and Natilie was telling her that Theresa was going to jump from the bridge. Natilie was speeding around all those narrow curves, not once looking at the road in front of them. She had been terrified. She kicked herself again, remembering Natilie's hurt expression on seeing the fear which the memory had sparked.

Susan had pulled the fear back and knelt beside the table. She nervously explained that she was putting in the years counseling reports, and didn't understand Natilie's address.

Oh, she remembered Natilie saying. "That's because it's on the old highway. You have to use Miller's road to reach that part of the highway. The other side is all broken apart and falling into the river."

She had taken Miller's road! She looked into the rear view mirror angrily getting ready to turn around yet again! Startled, she pivoted to stare out the back window. The gravel road was right in back of her! The O'Byrne name was clearly printed on the pillars of the seven foot gate. A stout iron fence circled the property. How could she have missed it? She shivered and asked herself again if she was doing the right thing in going there. These people were witches! Not cute little make-believe witches either, but powerful beings. They radiated with energy. Stupid! She chastised herself. She wouldn't need to be here if they were just ordinary people. She desperately needed some kind of divine help!

She quickly did a u-turn and drove up to the gate. It was closed. She got out of the car feeling unsure. She looked around apprehensively—hoping—and yet hoping not—to see someone. Just past the gate was a small courtyard with a six foot granite wall. The granite wall had steps going to a manicured lawn up above. The gravel road traveled beside the courtyard and wound into a cluster of trees.

She approached the gate and touched it hesitantly. She jumped back startled when the gate suddenly swung wide open. She stared down the drive and shuddered. She could just turn around. She mentally spanked herself for being such a coward. She squared her shoulders, got into her car, and drove through the gate. She shivered as she watched the gate swing shut behind her. For better or for worse—she was here.

She drove past the courtyard and into the small cluster of trees. The road wandered past the trees and up the hill. The house was suddenly in view. Her eyebrows rose with astounded wonder. The house was very grand. It was a colonial house and stood three stories high. An elaborate porch circled around the front. She could see that the house had been newly painted to a soft caramel color with dark brown window shutters. In fact, there was still scaffolding towering upwards towards the third floor windows. Three of the window shutters had not yet been painted. The house was enormous.

Two men and an elderly woman were sitting on the porch. They were obviously enjoying the fine morning. The men stood as her car approached. She felt heat flush up her cheeks. She had not considered the possibility of meeting O'Byrne men. She looked down at her old rumpled, paint streaked shirt with regret. She had been in such a state that she hadn't changed her clothes in days. Her hair was a greasy mess and she needed a shower. Idiot, she scolded herself for thinking such thoughts.

She sighed with relief upon seeing Adell step out the door. Adell didn't seem surprised to see her. Susan shrugged. She would actually have been surprised if Adell hadn't expected her. After all, she was the Matron to the House. Natilie had told her that Adell had a magical bonding to the property, and knew everything which went on with it.

She saw that Adell had cut her hair. Its dark brown wavy mass had been down to the bottom of her butt. Now, it was cut to just shoulder length and layered about her head. From there, Adell's eyes looked coal black, but Susan knew that when she was upset or passionate about something, they tended to glimmer with little purple sparks. Susan acknowledged that Adell was a beautiful, full bodied woman. She stood with pride and self assuredness. Natilie had that—that sense of personal self worth and confidence.

Susan climbed out of her car. It felt like it was taking her an awfully long time to walk from the car to the stairs leading up to the porch. Natilie came out onto the porch carrying Tawny. Susan could see Tawny squirming, trying to get down. Susan was surprised to see that Natilie's child had such blond hair. No one else in the family was blond. Maybe the father was blond?

Susan focused on the man closest to the stairs. He appeared to be tall and gangly. His eyes were piercingly dark. At first her confused thoughts told her that Sam Elliot was standing on the porch. She shook her head confused. She frowned as her vision shifted and a total stranger was standing there staring at her. She could see that his hair had been dark brown early in his life, but was now dusted liberally with gray. He had a bushy, gray-black mustache, but no beard. She sucked in her breath when the sun caught his eyes and reflected the glint of purple.

Her vision slowly shifted to the other man. He had dark brown hair and brilliant blue eyes. Judging from the crinkles around his eyes, she figured he must laugh a lot. He had a strong muscular build. He was a very fine looking man. Adell was standing very close to him. Susan could practically feel the binding which drew them together. This man must be Natilie's father, Phillip.

She guessed the old lady would be Natilie's grandma. She didn't appear to be as old as her snowy white hair had suggested. Susan could see her rosy cheeks and serene smile. Her hair was pulled up into an elaborate French braid. She was slight of build and wearing blue jeans and an old shirt. Gardening gloves were sitting on the table in front of her. Tall glasses of iced tea were sitting out in front of them. Susan felt as if she could kill just to get one sip from the cool drinks. She was so thirsty.

Adell's expression was one of deep concern. Susan rubbed her aching temple feeling confused. She didn't understand Adell's expression. Why was Adell concerned for her? Did she already know about what was going on? Was she part of it? Why were the stairs so high? They hadn't seemed so high when she was in the car.

Catch her! Adell shouted to Shade.

Shade leaped down the two steps just as Susan started to topple downward. He caught her almost taking them both down the stairs. Startled, he looked into her pale face. It was very delicate. Her breathing was very shallow. She had a large ugly bruise stretching across her cheek, and reaching up past her temple, and into her hair. It looked to be a few days old with its bluish purples and blacks. He could see a hint of the dark brown, vibrant hair which was trying to grow out from beneath the dull brown hair dye. His eyebrows rose questioningly. She looked to be in her early thirties. He frowned as he carried her up the stairs. She was too light. Adell opened the door for him leading them all into the house.

Who is she? Phillip asked curiously.

This is Susan, Adell answered frowning, the counselor at Natilie's school.

Oh, Phillip frowned, the one Natilie drove off with.

Hey, Natilie retorted, it was an emergency.

Huh, Phillip shrugged.

Adell had told him that everything was okay, but he kept waiting for the knock on the door by the F.B.I. It wouldn't have been the first time.

Shade carried her inside and carefully placed her on the sofa. He could feel her weakened state. He had felt her nervousness and apprehension just before she had collapsed. For whatever reasons, she had not been taking care of herself. She was even a little—whiffy. He slowly fed her a little energy. He had to be careful because she was resistant to his push. Some people would actually latch on to him and try to suck him dry—try. Some, like her, could be damaged by too strong of a push.

Adell took her hand. Even in her state, Susan was tightly shielded away. Adell shook her head. She could not read her. The only magical tool she could use would be intuition. Adell's gift of intuition worked best when she thought about the different scenarios of a situation. She would know what was right when it clicked into place, but sometimes the reasons behind such events were so strange that it could take some time before her mind would seize onto the right answer.

Lilly will be here today or tomorrow, Phillip reminded them. Is she okay until then, or should we call an ambulance?

She'll be all right, Lidia lightly touched Susan's swollen face, low blood sugar—and shock. Something has scared her badly.

Natilie carried Tawny to the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor. Tawny was about six months old and getting heavier by the day. Natilie smiled as she noticed the little pointed tips of her ears peeking through her blond curls. Tawny had been conceived during a Faerie Rave party. Natilie had no idea of just how much human, and how much elfin she was. Natilie didn't care!

She peeked into her parent's room and saw that Travis was sleeping. She smiled as she looked at her little brother. He was sucking his thumb. He was only one month older than Tawny. His cheeks were flushed, and his dark brown hair was damp from sleeping. She didn't want him waking up, so she took Tawny to her own room, and placed her in the play-pen. Tawny pointed at Fauna and laughed excitedly. Her golden eyes sparkled. Natilie eyed the little beast.

I have to go downstairs, Natilie told it. You are to watch her. No more Puff games!

Certainly, little Nat, Fauna told her. We will have fun—yes!

Natilie sighed. As if she had a choice. The little creature was from Faerie. It had attached itself to her and Tawny. It had blond curly hair which coated its entire body. It had large pointed ears, and large, green, cat-type eyes. Its delicate horns grew out just above its forehead.. It could vanish at will. It now tapped its claws, impatient for her to leave.

Tawny chattered to the creature. It chattered back. It didn't dawn on Natilie to tell her family that what they thought was baby talk was actually an elfin language. Natilie thought Tawny had been born with the language. As soon as she could make sounds, elfin words started emerging. Natilie had learned the language because the creature had poisoned her, and given her the language. She was glad it hadn't done likewise with her daughter. If it had, they'd be trying to figure out what to do with its hide! Natilie sighed. It adored Tawny and was a good protector. Natilie just wasn't sure about some of the games it liked to play, Puff being one of them—Puff as in the Magic Dragon—literally.

She took the elevator back down. Determinedly, she called the moon-blade to her. It was instantly in her hand. The moon-blade had been gifted to her by Druantia. It was in fact, the same blade in which legends had been written. No one could even touch it except Druantia—and now herself. Natilie had come to realize that when she held the knife, her sight was less sensitive. Unfortunately, the knife was large, almost as large as a sword. It was rather obvious, and tended to frighten people when she carried it about in public.

She had asked Amber to melt it down for her into bracelets. Amber had looked at her totally aghast at such a request. Besides, Amber reminded her, how could she when she couldn't even touch it.

Since the birth of her daughter, Natilie's gift of sight had become so sensitive that she constantly froze up into events just by the slightest touch of things. The gloves she had been wearing were now useless as psychic barriers. Even the floor had become troublesome for her. She instinctively maneuvered around the hot spots as she made her way to the great room.

Shade spotted Natilie as she came into the room. He quickly moved a chair beside the couch where he had laid the woman. He felt proud of Natilie. It was terrifying when a gift took over a person. He could feel her nervousness as well as her determination. His own gift was a special type of empathy with nature, and a strong bonding with the property. He remembered the first time he connected with the earth. He had totally gotten lost to himself. His mind had become the land. If it hadn't been for Druantia leading him back, he would have been consumed by the earth in all its majestic beauty—and died.

Natilie was stronger than that. She was a lot like her mother. They both shared the same dark brown hair and purple eyes, but more, Natilie had also inherited her mother's stubbornness. She would triumph over her gift. She was only fifteen and looked rather delicate. The extra weight she had gained during her pregnancy had vanished taking even more weight with it. He knew she was whipcord strong. She had become quite the expert with that toothpick she now carried so easily. He had made sure of that!

Will you link with me? Natilie asked Shade. He nodded.

Natilie sat down in the chair and looked into her Uncle's eyes. She felt the warmth of the link and smiled. Shade smiled back. Adell sat down beside them. Phillip pulled her to him, and rubbed her shoulders, understanding her hurt. The last few times Natilie had linked with her mother, Natilie's gift had taken them both over. Leah said that it was because their gifts blended so well together, causing Natilie's gift to be that much stronger. For the first time in their lives, it was suggested that maybe mother and daughter not link together—at least for a while—both of them had cried.

Natilie gently touched Susan's bruise. Her grip instinctively tightened on the moon-blade as she drew in a tight breath. She could feel Shade's presence and let herself relax. She could see the large, scruffy man as he was finishing the vicious swing of his fist which had left the ugly bruise on Susan's face. His face was twisted with rage. His brown eyes were filled with hatred. As Susan fell, Natilie could see him grabbing up a knife from the kitchen counter. Susan hit the floor. She frantically tried to scramble away from the man as he rushed towards her brandishing the knife. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her upward.

Don't! Please, Natilie could lip read Susan's desperate plea as she stared into his eyes.

He snarled at her and raised the knife to slice down across her exposed throat. Her eyes were terrified. She knew he was going to kill her. He suddenly looked up with surprised shock. He dropped Susan and toppled over her, scraping the blade down her arm. Blood was pouring from the large hole in his back. He groaned—and then he died. Susan was fighting to move out from under his massive weight. Her arm dripped blood. Natilie could see her gasping for air as she struggled.

Jackie! Susan screamed to the woman standing in the doorway. Help me!

Natilie studied the woman standing there. She was of medium height, medium build, and of middle age. Her hair was short and muddy brown. Her eyes could have been either gray or a dull blue. There wasn't anything defining her. She was wearing a navy blue skirt suit with a plain white blouse. The jacket hid whatever shape she might have had.

She was frowning angrily. She put the gun away inside a hidden holster and shrugged. Natilie had expected her to come to Susan's aid. Instead, she casually walked over, took out a syringe and jabbed Susan's arm. Susan stopped struggling beneath the man. She looked dead, but Natilie knew that couldn't be true since Susan was here with them now.

A man came into the room and yelled at her, waving his arms towards the two on the floor. Natilie was surprised to recognize Susan's boyfriend, Dale Shalley. He was just as she remembered him, ruddy face, reddish hair and beard, of a medium height and build. His eyes were his only redeeming feature. They were bright, sapphire blue. At that moment though, he looked menacing. Nothing at all like the happy-go-lucky charming bum he liked to portray himself as.

Natilie continued to study the boyfriend. He didn't appear all that upset to see Susan in such a state. Natilie tried to understand his expression. After his angry tirade, he seemed to be simply annoyed. The scene in the kitchen was fading quickly. Instinctively, she reached up with her other hand to touch Susan's head. Natilie never heard Shade's shout as he lunged for the knife. She didn't notice as the moon-blade slipped from her grip and fell to the floor. They all felt the sharp spark of energy as her spirit fragmented. Shade snarled with frustration as his hand drifted right through the moon-blade.

Damn blade! Shade grimaced staring helplessly at the knife. He pulled at his hair.

What is happening? Phillip pulled Shade around.

I don't know, Shade answered shocked. "I can't feel her! When the knife slipped from her touch—something broke loose."

Natilie! Adell called out, Natilie!

"Now what?" Lidia's jaw clinched tight. She impatiently pushed her snowy white strands of hair back behind her delicate ears.

Natilie was staring forward, her expression totally blank. Adell fearfully touched Natilie's face, and checked her pulse.

Her pulse is very, very slow, Adell said feeling bewildered and very afraid.

Adell looked down at the knife, pressed her eyes shut in a desperate plea, and then tried to pick it up. Just like with Shade, her hand moved right through the knife, as if it was an illusion.

Druantia! Adell yelled out with frustration. We need you to come and move your damn knife! Natilie is in trouble!

Maybe Tickle can reach her, Shade suggested, concerned.

Phillip picked up his daughter and carried her to the parlor. Here, he placed her on the floor. He could feel the warmth on the bottom of his feet and knew Tickle was aware of them being there.

Tickle, so named for his sense of humor, was the Guardian who seemed to live under the parlor floor. He had been on the property long before the O'Byrne kin had arrived. How he got himself into their floor—no one seemed to know.

He guarded the front entry way. In some way, he tested every person who dared to enter the house. Adell grimaced, remembering some of his shenanigans. Most people just felt a warm tickle—while others—.

Adell could feel the warmth of Tickle, but Natilie continued to stare into nothingness. They looked up as the sound of scraping reached their eyes. Astounded, they watched as a book fell from the shelf. It landed face up and the pages started fluttering.

Tickle used to find books for Natilie, Adell laughed hopefully as she approached the book.

It's about astral-projection, Shade examined the pages. Martin Shawn, an ancestor, projected with so much energy, he could actually manipulate things. They saw him in the garden and thought he was a ghost. They called the priest, but by then he had vanished.

But that's not something Natilie can do, Adell frowned, She and Emily tried hard enough, but they didn't get anywhere with it.

Apparently, Shade said dryly, looking at Adell, she can now.

I've wondered, Lidia put in, "if sight was somehow connected with projection. People do see things when their floating about."

Call Leah, Phillip directed. She knows about these things.

:Leah!: Adell mind called. :We need your help up here. Natilie might be trapped up in a new gift.:

Leah's blocking, Shade reminded her. "It's Tuesday—her day off. I can sense her over by the sugar pines."

Right, Adell rubbed her head.

I'll go get her. Phillip said as he strode from the room.

Adell placed a pillow under Natilie's head. She sighed and rubbed her head. Natilie didn't deserve this! She had been through so much. Every lemon life had thrown at her—she had managed to make lemonade. When would the lemons dry up for Goddess sake?

Down in the caverns, Tina was fortifying her barrier, determined to block out the onslaught of emotions from up above. She had initiated a few months ago. Fourteen was a little early to initiate with Druantia, but she had needed the protection and training which initiating would provide. It also gave her the authority to veto her mother's suggestions. Her mother meant well, but she didn't have to live in Tina's head. She couldn't know what the constant assault of other people's emotions could do to someone's brain—and spirit.

She could feel the pull of the drama, but determinedly ignored it. There was always drama unfolding in this house. It didn't necessarily mean anything. At least now, she was able to ignore it. If she had been anywhere else, but in the caverns, she would have