Reluctant Adept: Book Three of A Clairvoyant's Complicated Life (33 page)

"I know nothing of the king. Evgrenya's degenerates captured me …" He seemed to think for a second and then sighed heavily. "Alas, I have no account of how many seasons ago." He eyed me. "But it would seem, by your blush, you have knowledge of Evgrenya's purpose, if not her folly."

He stepped closer, gazing at me earnestly. "Therefore, do you yet understand your plight? Once you are discovered here, she will employ all means to harness your power. And I have come to learn, there is no limit to her depravity."

His haunted expression, combined with the tone of his voice, raised the hairs on the back of my neck.

"I'll take your word for that," I told him. "Better yet, I'll take it all the way back to Earth with us. Problem is: It's hard to sidestep when I can't even pull enough magic to trip a car alarm. Is this place shackled or something? Is that how they keep you here?"

His brows furrowed. "I stay because this is
enebráig.
There is no egress."

Now, it was my turn to look confused. "Okay," I drawled. "Yeah, I can see there're no windows or doors, but presumably people do come and go? Someone has to bring you food and stuff, right? How are they getting in and out of here?"

"What you humans term 'earth magic' creates a temporary opening for one who is keyed to enter, but I've not received a visitor for many … many a season. Evgrenya has come to believe that depriving me of attention will encourage compliance. Food and water are supplied through the conveyor."

If his hoarse voice, awkward, somewhat robotic manner, and the halting lilt in the way he spoke were any indication, I suspected Caiside hadn't simply been deprived of attention—he'd been
starved
of it, maybe for years. God knew, maybe for
scores
of years. No wonder his voice had sounded so rusty.

Jesus.

I didn't know how similar our psychological makeups were, but I had to believe Caiside would need some major therapy after all of this.

"We're getting out of here," I told him. "I promise you. If I can't figure something out, then Tíereachán and Kieran will."

His body jolted. "Tíereachán?" He stared at me, mouth agape. "The amhaín's son—he, too, survives?"

"Yes. And I can guarantee he won't give up until he finds me. Besides that, I seriously doubt the king is going to sit back and do nothing. This is one of those times when being
the one
"—I rolled my eyes and wiggled my fingers in the universal 'woo-woo' gesture— "might work in my favor."

"What do you mean by …" He imitated my mid-air finger waggling. "Do you not believe yourself to be
Anóen
?"

"For a long while, no, I didn't. Now, though …" I shrugged. "I guess it's more a case of not
wanting
to be 'the one.'"

He nodded gravely. "It is a heavy burden."

"Oh, I don't know. For all I know, it could be fun if I didn't have to deal with all the assholes. Seems like everyone wants a piece of me, which has me pissed about it most of the time."

He looked startled. "It has compelled you to drink?"

"Drink? What are—?" I frowned at him and then shook my head, chagrinned. "Oh, God. No. That's slang for ticked off. You know, angry. Sorry. Half the stuff I'm saying must sound nuts to you. Just … give me a heads-up if— " I held up my hands, palms out. "Let me rephrase that. Whenever I say something you don't understand, please say so. Okay?"

"Very well."

I bit my lip. "Tell me about this place. You called it
enebráig
. What's that? A prison colony or something?"

"No.
Enebráig
is the nature of this confinement. The very rocks are imbued to disrupt spellcasting. Any spell, any enchantment, whether it be for good or ill, is reflected back to the caster."

"But why bother? There's not enough magic here to light a match."

"Not true,
Anóen
. You are merely accustomed to Earth and her vast, global reservoir. But even if that weren't so,
enebráig
also interferes with spells cast from afar where magic might be more plentiful, as you discovered when your rescue attempt resulted in— " Frowning, he blinked. "How did you so charmingly describe it? A
clusterfuck
?"

"I would never say something so unseemly," I said, pressing my hand to my chest, feigning indignation.

After a moment of wary consideration, he gave me a slow smile, but it disappeared too quickly. I could have smashed Evgrenya's face for her role in diminishing such a lovely sight.

We were
so
getting out of here, and if I ever got my chance, I'd find a way to repay his captors—in spades.

Of course, I wouldn't be doing much of
anything
if I couldn't garner enough potential to power my TK.

After another fruitless effort, I blew out a frustrated breath. "If it's not dry as a bone here, then why do I keep coming up empty?"

He paused a beat, his head tipping to the side like an inquisitive bird. "You refer, of course, not to water but to the available potential." He looked doubtful.

I scoffed. "What potential? Whenever I pull what I need for my TK, I get a big, fat nothing-burger."

Being without reliable access to magic made me distinctly uneasy. All I needed was for Evgrenya or her goons to show up. Tíer's boast, 'Now, no one can hold her,' had clearly been premature. This is what I got for getting cocky.

I paced the width of the room and raked my fingers through my hair, briskly forcing it behind my ears. "If there's potential here, I need it ASAP. I'd like to get out of here. Alex and Tíereachán are probably freaking out, along with everyone else."

I shuddered to think how Kieran might have reacted. Tíer's bellow before it all went black was bad enough. I grimaced when I considered what might have happened after my abrupt disappearance. It didn't take a psychiatrist to realize most of the people in that room were going to be pretty darn unhappy when they learned Alex had encouraged me to snag Caiside. I hoped they were smart enough to know that Alex wouldn't have encouraged me to do it if he knew I'd get sucked into the Otherworld. The idiot would have made sure I took him with me.

Caiside looked perplexed, which meant I'd been speaking gibberish again. Remembering to moderate my speech was harder than I expected it to be. Being a stress-case didn't help.

"Sorry," I said. "I need magic for my telekinesis, but every time I pull from my core, I get nothing."

"The magic here is a trickle compared to Earth's torrent, I grant you, but I would not describe it as insignificant." His brows dipped together as he considered me. "Perhaps you have little experience drawing from such a meager source. On Earth, one might cast spells with the barest of preparation since the supply fills one's center without delay. In this world, you must allow the potential to fill you beforehand. But I must dissuade you,
Anóen
.
Casting in this place, while not always fatal, may cause you irreparable harm."

"Call me Lire, okay? And you don't need to worry. With what I have in mind, I won't actually be
casting
my TK on anyone."

Please, God.
This had to work. If I couldn't sidestep my TK through the anti-magic barrier, like I hoped, I wouldn't be able to establish a conduit to Earth. And, without one, I didn't know how the hell I was going to get us out of here.

"As you wish, Mademoiselle Lire." He bowed from the waist. "Caiside, at your service." After straightening, he said, "I believe you might enjoy greater success if, instead of drawing upon your magic as though yanking fabric from its bolt, you pull but a single thread until you possess the necessary potential for your casting."

I'd never thought of my psychic abilities as something that required casting. They weren't spells. It was true that each boon required the raw power that all spellcasters utilized, but I didn't need a focus or a gesture or a chant to initiate them. In fact, my brand of magic had always come so naturally, with very little in the way of preparation, that until now, I'd never considered the minutia of
how
I went about it. This wasn't all that surprising, I guess. If your bathtub was always full, why learn how to use the faucet?

This time, instead of spooling the necessary magic with one greedy heave, as I'd always done, I imagined myself sucking the potential into my core through a tiny juice-box straw.

Slow and steady …

For the first time since arriving, I felt the reassuring reverberation of potential as it, ever so gradually, filled me. I sagged, closing my eyes in relief, and blew out the pent breath I'd been holding. It would take a while to accumulate the necessary potential to feed my TK, but at least now, I had no doubt I'd eventually get there.

"Jesus. No wonder you guys are all such skilled swordsmen," I blurted. Talking while trying to keep up a consistent pull through my imagined straw was a bit like rubbing my head and patting my stomach, but I managed. "Between your shrouds and this scant dribble of magic, offensive spells must be next to useless."

He nodded gravely. "Now you may appreciate that which inspires Evgrenya and those like her to not merely find but also control an adept."

"Because an adept can access Earth's reservoir."

He tipped his head in acquiescence. "Thereby providing the lifeblood for our world. Without Earth's vast potential, we would be forced to the surface to live and die as savages. Thus, since time immemorial, whoever controls the adept, controls our very destiny."

Goosebumps broke over my arms and crawled up the back of my neck. "And what about your lady?" I asked. "Does this drive to control your world's destiny also inspire the amhaín's actions? Does she want to control an adept too?"

"My lady is not immune to the desire for power," he admitted. "She has sought it, if only to protect herself and the lives of her people. But having been bent to the will of her own brother, I believe with all fervor that her ambition was tempered by that experience. While it's true that she has influenced the furthering of certain ancestral lines, including her own, she has never resorted to coercion. Of this fact, I may personally attest. Nor has she, to my knowledge, kept prisoners for the sole purpose of breeding such offspring." Shifting his gaze to our surroundings, he added, "As others do."

While I was relieved to hear this, it didn't escape my notice that he hadn't answered the one question that mattered most. Would the amhaín attempt to hold and control me?

As I contemplated whether to push him for an answer, my thoughts slid to the absurd when I sensed a growing vibration beneath my feet and found myself wondering whether Caiside had a washing machine running in the next room.

It didn't take long, though, for my mind to leap to the rational and infinitely more worrisome thought:
Nuala died in an earthquake
.

"Do you feel that?" I asked. "Or is it just me?"

As I shifted my feet into a wider stance, I looked for any outward sign to explain the tremors, but there were no chandeliers with their tell-tale swing to betray the earth's movement. Nothing to see except immobile stone furnishings and the dozens of leather-bound books stacked neatly in the four-shelf bookcase.

"I feel it, too," Caiside replied calmly, but I noticed he scanned our surroundings like a cat eying a tub of flea dip, which didn't put my mind at ease.

As a long-time Seattle resident, I'd been through my share of sizable earthquakes, including the memorable South Sound quake. Anyone who lived in the area for that 7.2 temblor remembered where they'd been and what they'd been doing when it hit. I'd been in seventh grade chemistry class where a cabinet full of equipment toppled over, shattering glass beakers and injuring several students, including me. My right ankle still bore the scars.

I backed up to plant myself against the nearest wall and waited for the ground to begin gyrating under me. Strangely, although the vibrations seemed to grow to the point of near audibility, I had yet to feel the weird swaying, wave-like motions that I associated with earthquakes on Earth. Whatever this was, it seemed too restrained to be an earthquake. It felt … more like a herd of wildebeests stampeding next door.

Caiside's eyes widened in alarm. "
Anóen
, you must leave! Leave now! The king, he— "

The ominous report of a bugle and the braying of hounds drowned out his warning, but it hardly mattered. I didn't need his explanation to know what was coming.

That type of horn call was synonymous with one thing.

A hunt.

And, with my core not even half-filled, sidestepping wasn't an option.

Son of a bitch!
Brassal must have told the king that I'd been pulled into the Otherworld, stuck inside an
enebráig
prison, giving his
Wuldrífan
an ideal chance to snap me up.

Cold air washed over me before a pack of ghostly dogs bounded into the room, their lean, dappled forms materializing from nowhere, white-tipped tails trained upward and black snouts busily scenting the frigid air. Great clouds billowed past my lips, betraying my fear-quickened breaths, as I flattened myself against the wall. Ludicrously hoping for obscurity, I gawked at their gyrating, etherial bodies. Sleek and muscular, with elongated muzzles, long legs, and unusually large, erect ears, they were unlike any Earth canine breed I'd ever seen. And, when their penetrating silver eyes locked onto my position, I knew without a doubt they were also considerably smarter.

In unison, they charged, snarling and yapping and looking more than capable of drawing blood in spite of their phantom-like appearance. And, if that wasn't enough, directly on their heels, five armored huntsmen, each astride a towering, black horse, exploded into the room, their formidable beasts adding to the discord with their stomping hooves and labored breathing. The lead horseman, who rode the largest charger, taxed the room's high ceiling with his massive horned helm, both of which marked him more plainly than a blazing neon sign as the Master of the Hunt.