Hunted (War of the Covens 1)

After a while, when the sun had fallen behind the trees and the moon danced in the sky, Caia decided it wouldn’t be rude now to take her leave and head off to bed. She was buzzing with a newfound desperation to find Jaeden.

“Caia,” Marion called to her as she wandered up the back porch.

“Yes?”

“I know what you’re trying to do. In your dreams.”

“What about it?”

“Marita told me a little about how it feels to be connected to Daylights. She’s dealing with a potential rogue magik from the coven who’s in Scotland at the moment. To find him, she delves into his head in her dreams, like you’re doing with Ethan. She told me when she’s inside, it’s like she’s sharing his body more than his thoughts and that to tap into that part, she can’t just sit docile and wait.”

“I don’t understand.”

“She said she visualizes the space she occupies inside him as a room with a door that leads to his thoughts. Some are easy and all she has to do is open the door and everything she needs floods into her. Others, she spends some time kicking down the door.”

Huh. “You think that’ll work?”

Marion smiled apologetically. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t have trace magik. But I believe Marita when she says that’s what she does.”

Caia stood a moment looking at her. If what she said worked, Caia was going to kill somebody. Something that simple and it’s been within my grasp all this time? She wanted to huff and scream like a petulant teenager. Instead she smiled tightly, thanked Marion, and headed up to her room.

“Well now,” Ethan said and she felt his excitement as he gripped the cage bars. “You seem to have recovered nicely from your wounds.”

He was rewarded with a meek whimper.

“Sounds like I’ve definitely broken you now, girl.”

NO! Caia screamed, desperate to claw at him somehow, maybe take those evil mitts of his and rake his own damn nails down his face.

He was smiling as he bent down to the floor. Caia could see Jaeden, sitting upright, her slender arms wrapped around her knees drawn tight to her chest. She’d lost so much weight, her cheekbones sharp, her blue eyes stark in her narrow face. Her eyes didn’t flinch away from his, but Caia saw no emotion there either. She just stared numbly at him, like a zombie.

“You know, I was going to kill you since I really have no strategical use for you anymore, but … I think I’ll keep you as my punching bag until you die of … well, unnatural causes.” He laughed and stood up and walked away.

Caia screamed and screamed, trying to make him walk back so she could keep an eye on Jaeden. Finally she exhausted herself, and by then, he was back in the old-fashioned sitting room, staring at the television. Across from him was a young male magik Caia had seen once before. Unfortunately, they’d never said anything interesting to one another while she’d been … visiting.

Suddenly Caia remembered why she was here.

Right, right! She wanted to smack her own head. She was to visualize a room. And a door. She took a deep breath and did just that. A long, narrow, cold room with the stench of evil, and at the end … a black door. She walked toward it, trying to stay calm. She stopped outside it and smirked at the sign on the door: Ethan’s Evil Brain.

Who says you can’t have a sense of humor even in the darkest times?

She tried the door handle and found it locked. Oh yeah, Ethan was going to be a tough door to break down.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! She threw herself with everything she had against the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Next her legs were flying at it. Thump thump thump—oof! Marion never mentioned that this was would actually hurt! Frustrated as all Hades, Caia took a running throw at it and despite the burning pain in her ear where she had smacked against it, she was happy to hear the splintering of wood. She got back to her feet and stared triumphantly at the cracked middle panel on the door. A few more beatings and the place would be hers for the taking.

Ten minutes later, Caia stepped through the door and into a world of pitiless darkness.

She shot up in her bed, drawing in gulps of air. Sweat ran down her forehead, had gathered under her arms, and her PJs stuck to her like a second skin. Her whole body ached as if she really had been throwing herself against the door.

Glancing at the clock—10:15—Caia hurried out of bed and into her bathroom where she did a quick cleanup. No one was in the house and she couldn’t feel any of them, so she threw on some jeans and a sweater and grabbed her car keys.