The Witch's Dream - A Love Letter to Paranormal Romance (Black Swan 2) (21 page)

Storm thought he could see wheels turning as he watched her liquid green eyes come up to meet Simon's. He watched even closer when her tongue peeked out to wet her naturally red, bottom lip.

"I honestly don't know." She shook her head. "But I’ve heard that you can't win if you don't play. And that sounds right to me."

"Well said, my dear. You'll have the entire journey to come up with a plan." Simon turned to Storm. "Sir Storm, I'd like you to accompany our tracker as her escort."

Ram took a step toward the Director. "We usually do things as a team. I know we're one down, but at least allow me to..."

"One of you is going, Sir Hawking: Storm, you, or your wife. The other two are needed to deal with the reason you were brought here in the first place - the werewolf sanction."

Ram gave Storm a look that was half apology and half worry.

Storm knew Simon didn't tender the escort assignment as a request. It was a direct order from his temporary commander so he didn't bother to verbalize a protest. What would he say anyway?
"Please don't make me go with her because she's a maddening, indescribably beautiful and intriguing woman who makes me squirm. And I'm a pathetically fucked up asshole."

"Storm!"

He shook himself internally and, pulling it together, realized the Director was addressing him. "Yes. Sorry."

Simon turned to say something into his cell phone and waited for an answer. Litha was studiously avoiding looking at Storm, which made him want to rankle her by staring until she felt prickly all over.

Simon snapped the phone closed and looked at the two of them. "Your plane will be full of petrol with a fresh pilot and ready to go at 0600."

Litha nodded, turned, and walked out of the room without another word or glance backward.

Storm slept fitfully. He dreamed that he rose from his bed having decided that if the witch would not come to him, he would go to her. He walked straight through the walls of several apartments between his and hers, passing sleeping occupants as if the walls were visible, but not solid. Even in his dream he recognized that it was odd he knew he could do that. Finally, he stepped into her room where she was sleeping soundly in her white nightgown.

He left her undisturbed while he slowly perused the artwork, marveling at the fact that the room was virtually papered with representations of the Sonoma Coast vineyard, the same one that he had picked out for himself when he was home visiting family and not yet out of his teens. How could she possibly be obsessed by the
same
place? Unless she was using magicks to trick him.

The room was lit by moonlight, but somehow, in the most surreal way, he was able to see each piece of art clearly. There were pencil sketches, charcoals, oils, acrylics, and watercolors. He spotted the little watercolor Litha had tried to give him and was sorry he'd said no. All he had to do was reach out, take it, and say, "Thank you." Like a halfway decent person. He wished he'd done exactly that. He wanted that little watercolor square more than any priceless art treasure to be found across the Princes Street Gardens in the National Museum of Scotia.

After he had studied every rendering, he was drawn to stand over her bed. He could hear her deep breathing and found that he was breathing in and out with the same rhythm. He should have felt like a voyeur, but didn't. Clothed in white nightgown, lying on white sheets, he thought she could have been an angel in peaceful repose on the fluff of a cloud. The pale background made the contrast of black hair and red lips all the more inviting. As if she could feel the weight of his stare, she stirred and turned onto her back and was, to his mind, the essence of beauty sleeping.
You can do what you truly wish.
Impulsively he bent down and kissed her slightly parted lips softly, then brushed his own lips back and forth so that he would imprint the sensation and not forget the exquisite feel of her.

"Storm?" As Litha's sleepy voice poured over his phantom body it seemed to give him more substance. He pulled back as she sat up in bed. "What are you doing?"

"After hours visiting."

"Hmmm." She studied him as she contemplated that and then suddenly said, "Well, go away."

He was deflated from being summarily dismissed, but decided to man up and give her another chance to reconsider. "You sure?"

"What do you want, Storm?"

What did he want? He looked around. To look at the art? To see where she lived? To watch her sleeping? Yes to all of those things. But that wasn't all.

He opened his mouth to say: "I want you to move over so I can crawl into bed with you," but, instead, found himself waking in his own bed to a shout of frustration. He brought his fist down on the mattress beside him and growled hard enough and long enough to leave his throat scratchy.

Litha's dream self lay back and chuckled. The finer points of nightwalking require a little training, a little talent, and a
lot
of practice. Still, she had to hand it to him. He did try. ***

CHAPTER
13

Storm knocked on Litha's door at 0515. There had been no plans made for him to call for her, but he wanted a chance to see the inside of her room. He had to know if it would look like what he remembered from the dream.

She opened the door looking as bright and awake as if it was noon, wearing a dark print skirt and a white silk, v neck tee shirt under a deep forest hoodie that made the green in her eyes pop even more than usual. Abruptly she opened the door wider and turned away saying: "Come in. I just have to zip up my bag."

Litha's personal living quarters were tiny compared to her spacious work space, but everything was in its place. The floor was carpeted with a large rose floral pattern on a background of forest green like the hallway outside. Her small, black leather shoulder strap bag was sitting on top of a bed made with an old-fashioned, white, popcorn crochet spread.

Girly. And romantic.
But what he had come to see was the walls. He couldn't see the walls though. They were covered with art renderings of his vineyard, exactly the way they looked in his dream, except that these were in color.

Litha saw that he had stopped in front of the little square watercolor she had tried to give him and was staring at it.

"If you change your mind," she said with a kindness he didn't think he deserved, "I'd still like you to have it." He shook his head no. "Suit yourself," she said, pulling the bag onto her shoulder.

Without saying a word, he eased the strap of the bag off her shoulder and onto his own then picked up his own bag waiting in the hallway outside her door.

"This is heavier than it looks. What's in here?"

"I brought some tools." She smiled slyly and shook her head in that way that he was coming to realize was a signature mannerism of hers. "Just in case."

Litha thought chivalry looked more at home on Storm than rudeness, meanness, and the other unattractive variations on orneriness she'd witnessed the past few days.

They walked in silence to the front lobby. When they reached the entrance, the doorman blew his whistle and a car pulled in front ready to take them to the private jet hangar that served as The Order's hub for air travel. While the driver stowed their two bags in the boot, Storm opened a rear car door for Litha.

The plane was empty except for the two of them. Normally air travel would be planned with more efficiency, but Simon Tvelgar had given this project as much priority as possible and authorized the expense.

Storm went straight to the back of the plane, sat down in one of the big overstuffed recliners, and pulled out a carryall computer. Litha supposed that meant he didn't want to chat, which was just as well because she should be trying to keep her mind clear; an open channel for any bright ideas that might like to make themselves known. Anytime now.

This was not her first seat-of-the-pants mission, but nothing had ever held stakes like this. There were so many people counting on her to come up with something, and that something was looking as elusive as a unicorn. She was grateful that at least no one had actually said the words, "You're our only hope," or worse, "You're our last hope."

So far Litha's best idea was the method called:
"Go as far as you can see to go and then hope to Hades that, when you get there, you'll be able to see further".
Meanwhile, she didn't want to shake the optimism of Kay's loved ones by not appearing confident, even if she didn't know what the bleeding hell she was going to do. Certainly "loved ones" included the big, silent, semi-sulky guy sitting in the back of the plane by himself. Much as she didn't want to amend that, she simply had to correct to say big, silent, semi-sulky,
gorgeous
guy.

It had been cute observing him looking around her room to verify that he had successfully generated and executed a nightwalk all on his own.
After hours visiting indeed.
She had hid a smile. Though he might be a long way away from proficient, she was a little impressed that he had managed to get that far with no training of any kind.

Storm emailed Monq to say that he was escorting Litha on her mission and to ask if there was anything he could do to prepare or help. As the person who had meticulously studied the scientific journals of his counterpart, who had pioneered inter-dimensional travel in Elora's home world, Monq would know if anyone would. Since it was lunchtime at Jefferson Unit, Eastern Daylight Time, he shouldn't have any trouble getting an answer from Monq before they arrived at Siena.

A few minutes later Storm got a text from Elora wishing them gods' speed with Fortuna's blessing and asking that he please stay in touch and keep them posted. He texted back that he would and asked her to keep an eye on Kay.

Her reply: "Goes without saying."

They had originally planned to land in Florence and have a self-drive car waiting, but, an hour into the flight, they encountered driving rain and enough turbulence to have Litha looking a little alarmed. Storm took a look toward the forward part of the cabin. He could see that she was uncomfortable, but trying to hide it. He respected that. He wouldn't give two cents for a person with no sense of pride.

"It's just air pockets," he smiled as he eased into the seat next to her and fastened his seatbelt.

"But it feels real," she said, giving him a shiver of déjà vu.

The flight attendant approached. "Bad news. The front is hovering and we can't get clearance to land at Florence."

"How close can you get us?" Storm asked.

She went back to the cockpit and returned a minute later. "Zurich?"

He nodded. "It'll have to do." To Litha he said, "We'll catch a train from there."

The Zurich train station was one of the busiest in the world because of its central location. It provided rail access to Spain, France, Italy, Austria, Germany and beyond. The underground was a crowded, bustling, merchantplex with hundreds of shops and eateries all one hundred percent dependent upon modern fluorescent lighting.

Storm put Litha's bag over his left shoulder, carried his own bag in his left hand, and used his right hand to guide her through the terminal. Normally they would have been served breakfast on board the company plane, but it had been too bumpy for that. They agreed they were too hungry to wait for dining car service, so they stopped and got two coffees and croissants. Litha carried them in a little take out tray since she was the one with free hands.

Storm had bought four first class tickets so that the two of them wouldn't have to share the space with strangers, because you never know who those two other people might be. And anyone who has travelled very much knows that sometimes fellow travelers can make you want to jump out the window.

They would be changing trains at Milan in about six hours and then it would be another hour from there.

Storm stowed the bags on the compartment overhead rack. They sat on upholstered bench seats next to the window, facing each other. Once settled in, Litha handed Storm his black-with-one-sugar coffee and reached into the paper sack for a croissant. Miraculously, they were still warm and smelling fresh from the oven. Opening the sack released the aroma to tease and entice. She pulled the paper tissue part way down for him, then handed Storm a croissant before taking one for herself. He thanked her, shoved it into his mouth, and bit off half.

Recovering from the surprise of seeing a person eat half a croissant at once, Litha bit off a pointed end, closed her eyes, and moaned, partly from the pleasure of eating, as she was way past famished, and partly from the sensory experience of fresh, warm croissant baked to French Swiss perfection.

Watching Litha's eyes slide closed while hearing her moan would have been an unwelcome turn on under any circumstances, but the close proximity coupled with the implied intimacy of an enclosed cabin made the demonstration way personal. Storm froze, stopped chewing and grew instantly hard, not necessarily in that order. When he realized he was salivating, he resumed chewing while taking up a mental chant.
I am not interested in a relationship. I am not interested in a relationship.