Battle for the Second Realm

Prologue I

History of the Magic Wars

The histories tell us that there were three ruling classes of magic-wielders, humans able to harness the powers of the elements.

Some sought enlightenment and chased knowledge for nothing more than the satisfaction of understanding. They looked to the heavens, they looked within, and they looked deeply into the fabric of the universe to unlock its secrets.

Others used the knowledge they had gained to lead. For whom better to create a map for the future than those that understood the seasons, those that could control the humours within the bodies, thereby lifting the curse of ailments that had plagued humankind for time immemorable.

The final group sat in contemplation, listening to the universe as it spoke to them, allowing its power to flow through them taking a shape and path of its own design.

War broke out between two of the more powerful groups. The land was twisted as fire was pulled from deep within its core; the oceans rose and deserts formed as water became a weapon; creatures living in the shadows fed on the energy spilled in the conflict. With their power and influence, the battle was set to rage on for centuries.

Until the third group intervened.

They had sat and listened as the universe cried, watched on as the destruction and misuse of the source of all energy threatened to be drained beyond any ability to recover. They listened as the whispered words of the divine asked for aid.

And they responded, allowing what remained of the source to guide their hands. They created a divide, a system of barriers to prevent free access to the source. Creatures that had been born of the shadows were bound. Layers of existence were formed to keep the worlds separate. And then slowly and methodically, they siphoned away the energy that the other magic-wielders were using so mercilessly, protecting the energy and depriving the heretics of their power.

Faced with disconnection from the source, the two warring factions united, looking to destroy this third group. And it is said that this is the moment the faeries came to the fight, battling to protect the source. No more feared opponent had ever been encountered.

Although the process took centuries, those protecting the source prevailed.

As a final safeguard, a band of warriors were created. From the blood of those true to the source and from the earth of the land they were sworn to protect, they were raised. Sent into a magical slumber. Tasked to monitor the system of barriers created to keep the world in balance, to serve those true to the source if they were called upon. Bound to serve.

It was said that the power of these warriors rivalled even that of the faerie.

And we pray that the extent of their power has not become exaggerated over time as it is also said that the forces exiled to the shadows would not rest easy, and that a day would come when they would again rise and seek out those who had imprisoned them.

Their first objective to exact their revenge against those who had wronged them.

Their second: to destroy the barriers that separated the worlds.

Prologue II

Thirst for Knowledge

Nicola looked down on the rough circular hole that the wild magic had created in the quiet suburban street. The blast area resembled some kind of war zone with shattered concrete, rubble and dust-laden smoke spreading over more than a ten-metre radius. Soot-covered faces emerged through the haze. The hiss of broken pipes and the steady tick of cooling metal were the only sounds to break the uncomfortable silence. Chunks of broken concrete were moved aside by the firefighters desperate to clear the area. A few of them nimbly scaled the network of pipes and steel that lined the inside of the crater.

Two men remained, kneeling in the mud that had formed at the base of the hole, slowly getting soaked by the water leaking from ruptured pipes. A pale white arm, remarkably untouched by the chaos at the bottom of the crater, was lifted as the firefighters searched for a pulse.

Urgency seemed to enter the scene as the men who’d scrambled to the surface ran back to the edge of the crater, handing down portable resuscitation equipment.

Who had she missed? She’d tried to protect everyone.

Nicola ran through the faces she knew surrounding the hole and mentally ticked off Michael, Ashley, Dana… All were safe. She couldn’t be sure, but the firefighters all seemed to be accounted for, and the person who lay struggling for life wasn’t wearing any protective clothing or uniform. When the firefighter in charge reached up to grab the resuscitation gear, Nicola caught a glimpse of the owner of the pale unmarked arm.

Her own unblinking blue eyes stared back.

She had been the one unprotected. She had been the one exposed as the wild magic tore through her. She couldn’t remember when her consciousness had left her body, but she’d been in this position before and she knew what she had to do.

Her heart had stopped once before during a gruelling ten-hour surgery and she’d awoken to the disorienting experience of looking down on her own body. The surgeon, controlled and purposeful, had methodically gone about the task of resuscitation.

Nicola knew at that time, as she did now, that mere moments mattered in this one instant more than at any other time in her life. She instinctively knew that panic, if allowed a foothold, would literally kill her.

She stilled her mind, found her focus. She needed to be as controlled as the surgeons had been years before. With calculated calm, she forced herself to become more.

More what?

More solid.

More real.

More tangible.

The words mattered little; it was the intention that mattered. She needed to refocus her being. She could not allow herself to dissipate. With only her thoughts to ground herself, she found the gentle pull of her body. Once sensed, the connection grew with a kind of weight and she allowed herself to descend. Resisting the uncomplicated comfort that surrounded her, she embraced the complication of self, knowing that now wasn’t her time.

Her mind flinched as it re-entered her body. The restriction of flesh felt claustrophobic, but she’d known what to expect and she stretched her senses out to regain contact with fingers and toes. As her consciousness poured through the empty vessel that was her body, she encountered unexpected resistance.

Pathways were being blocked! Areas that should be empty had already been filled. Nicola felt a moment of panic.

Was she too late? Had she been out of her body too long? Was the damage too great? She struggled for composure and felt the resistance flex; her hold on her own body was forcibly pushed outwards and her grip weakened. Trying to regain focus, she searched for any mental or physical handholds that could help her anchor herself. Desperate to find a way to pour around these blockages, Nicola sensed the other’s presence too late. As the pathways and avenues that led into her body were being barred against her, Nicola recognised the mind behind this unexpected expulsion.

Trevlor had taken control of her body.

Nicola was losing cohesion. Knowing the fight for her body had been lost, her mind raced for a solution. The wild magic linked so intrinsically to the physical plane wasn’t available to her, and she felt her clarity of thought diluting, distracted by the images of her family before her, so bright, so complex, so engaging. She almost became lost in their light. There were so many points of brilliance surrounding her, each begging her attention. She found her mind split in a myriad of directions.

How different everything looked now that the connection to her body had been severed.

As she felt her consciousness drifting down the many paths before her, whispered voices accompanied her journey.

Need to see.

Need to know what happens.

She never went this far last time.

Need to know.

NEED the answer. The voices were one from many, and a prickling of annoyance disrupted her gentle journey into dissolution. Irritated by the chorus of thought, Nicola’s focus became drawn to the susurration that surrounded her and she tried to understand the many voices, tried to understand what they were talking about. Need the answer. Will never get another opportunity. Need to know.

NEED.

THE.

ANSWER.

What answer? What opportunity? The greedy hunger in the words was almost obscene in its blatant need. A prickle of recognition. She had encountered this single-minded thirst for knowledge once before, when she’d been on the receiving end of an unwavering, unforgiving transfer of information. And wasn’t she now paying the ultimate price for the answers she’d received then.

As Nicola focused on the whispers, the sounds shifted to include the rustling of pages. The questing, hungry voices faltered as Nicola recognised an opportunity. She remembered the dry, dusty feel of the paper, and she mentally traced the now familiar symbol with her mind’s eye. As the symbol clarified in her mind, Nicola felt herself being pulled, as if she were nothing more than metal filings drawn towards a magnet. What remained of her was rushing towards her own home, to where the gypsy book lay, sitting in an upstairs cupboard, shoved into the back corner of the highest shelf. Put there specifically so that no-one would accidentally come across it.

With each layered detail of remembering, her scattered thoughts gained weight and descended, not towards her own body but towards the greedy pages of the book.

The book lay open, pages turning as if blown by a strong wind, restlessly flicking back and forth, the dry rustling sound of the pages mixed with the voices in her head making thought almost impossible.

She had no idea whether the book could support life, but when needs must, the devil drives. Nicola hesitated for a moment resisting the magnetic pull of the book, but with little other choice available to her she allowed herself to flood through its pages. There was a moment of resistance, and then the cover slammed shut, encasing her in pages of memory.

Home Life

Michael needed to walk, needed to move. There was no solace to be found in his home. He wasn’t certain if it was the absence of his mother’s calming presence or the fact that her body now harboured the mind of a deranged mage that was causing him so much difficulty. Probably both.

He listened as the faeries planned how they were going to track down his mother’s soul. The process sounded so simple, so academic. Michael knew days before the worried looks and the noncommittal responses that they were not finding the tracking as easy as they had made it out to be. Michael told himself for the hundredth time that he would know if his mother were truly gone. He would sense her absence. But an increasingly disturbing thought kept creeping into his mind, disrupting his certainty.

Would he really know if she was gone?

Didn’t every person hoping for the return of a loved one convince themselves that everything was okay because they still felt a reassuring presence? That they still expected them to walk around every corner.

He’d been brought up to believe that nothing could separate them. Nothing. Not even death. That was what Michael’s mother believed – but it was easy for her. She’d always sensed the presence of those who had passed. Nicola said she mourned the ability to pick up the phone to someone who’d passed and tell a funny story. She missed the ability to reach out and offer comfort or receive it in turn, but she never lost her connection to the individual – this connection she claimed to retain. She’d often joked that the spirits liked to vex her with moving things around the house or hiding them so completely that no amount of searching would find them. Only when Nicola had finally called off the search, always with acknowledgment to the individual whom she believed had moved them, would the items appear, and in the most unlikely of places. Shoes on kitchen benches. Books in the bed or under the covers, even after the bed had been freshly made. Things impossible to reason away with a logical explanation.

Michael wished he possessed his mother’s certainty. He needed her presence; he needed to see his mother looking back at him through her dark blue eyes, not the demented gaze of the unhinged freak that strode around their home as if he were some kind of overlord, wearing his mother’s body like some cheap suit.

The faeries’ most recent discussion about their progress in finding his mother had been the tipping point. Azuradien and Malcarielle had arrived at their family home, appearing as nothing more than petite humans with slightly pointed ears. The wings that only appeared in the human realm when the faeries became agitated or enraged were nowhere to be seen. The progress of the faeries, or lack thereof, in finding his mother was causing a great deal of anxiety amongst his family.

When Azuradien, the faerie king, with his white hair and long flowing beard that spoke of authority and wisdom, stood at the kitchen table to explain how another string of options that had been put forward with supreme confidence now had to be scratched off the list, Michael felt emotions a little more intense than anxiety.

As proposed initially, his mother wasn’t inhabiting the mind of another person or animal living nearby. They’d searched at least a two-kilometre radius from the house, saying any farther was unlikely to be fruitful either. Dana had stormed out of the room upon learning this, always comfortable expressing her emotions in public.

When the conversation turned to life forces, potential hosts and long-term viability, Michael too had had enough.

How had it come to pass that in less than a week his mother had gone from only being ‘lost’ to now being less than ‘viable’?

They were talking about her as if Nicola were merely a specimen in a jar, something that might simply cease to be. The faeries’ lack of empathy, their basic inability to grasp the slowly escalating desperation that he and his family were feeling, was creating more tension than any of them could bear. Michael would have appreciated the agitated appearance of wings, the lifting and swirling of their long hair as their distress caused the air currents to swirl around them. But the faeries stood before their family, having returned to their default position of being the teachers in this situation, and lectured them on life forces.

The faeries, with their thousand-year lifespan, appeared to lack awareness for the abject fear that Michael and his family were struggling to keep at bay. He hated them a little for their detachment. What did the faeries have to fear? They could run back to their ethereal kingdom, protected by their spells and enchantments, live their long, untroubled lives and sit back drinking tea, contemplating the great mysteries of existence. Meanwhile, Michael and his family had to deal with the simple fact that the clock was ticking. If they didn’t find Nicola soon, she would be lost forever.

Michael’s family might be the ones destined to protect the world from the evil of the doll Anarcus, but they were a family first and right now that was all that mattered. Forget the lives that were being consumed by the doll’s manipulations, forget about it all. His family was only functioning because there was still a chance.

Michael took in a shaky breath and wiped at his eyes. The faeries continued to drone on, discussing life forces and time frames. Michael couldn’t listen any longer. He pushed away from the table. With forced control, he returned his chair to its correct position. With shaking hands, he dug his fingers into the fabric of the chair and fought the instinct to hurl it at the faerie king and his aloof daughter – and their dispassionate discussion.

There was no doubt Michael hated them right now. Hated them for their long, impervious lives. And he hated himself a little too because in that moment he would do anything for his family to have long, impervious lives.

So, before his emotions could get the better of him, he drew his shoulders back, prised his fingers off the chair and walked calmly towards the back door to find his sister. He was determined that the faeries would see none of his pain.

Dana was striding around the back lawn like a caged lion, glaring angrily when an obstacle forced her to change direction. Sheba followed at her side, tail down, head lowered, her eyes searching every corner of the yard. For a large black Doberman, Sheba was doing an excellent job of looking small and vulnerable. The agitation in both of them was palpable.

Michael sat at the edge of the lawn, outside of their circuit. He didn’t want to be the object that got in their way. But he sat close enough to feel part of them rather than separate, knowing that Dana would come to him when she was ready.

It didn’t surprise Michael that his older sister’s powers manifested as her having an affinity with animals. Sheba was the family dog, but everybody knew she was really Dana’s. Dana just had a way with Sheba that was more than a standard owner-pet relationship; they shared emotions, even personality traits. His big sister might be small for her sixteen years but she was no shrinking violet; she was always intimately in touch with her emotions – and she wasted no time bottling things up, you always knew where you stood with Dana.

As Michael waited, he absently plucked at blades of grass. He’d always been the more patient of the two of them. They might look like twins with their dark blond hair and olive skin, but their personalities couldn’t be more different. So Michael sat and waited for Dana to burn some of the negative energy off.

It didn’t take long for Dana to circle around the yard and then sit down beside him and let him know the full extent of her outrage. The fear for their mother was etched into her face. The inability to act in any meaningful way was eating her up inside.

* * *

‘Why the hell have they been wasting time searching animals around here?’ Dana said. ‘Don’t you think Sheba and I have already done that?’

Michael didn’t answer her – he knew her well enough to know it wasn’t really a question.

‘If she was in some other body, she would have made her way to us by now. She would have found a way to communicate with us. She wouldn’t just sit around having tea or eating bugs or whatever the hell it is they think she would be doing. She wouldn’t be doing that! She would come home. Mum would come back to us!’ Dana wiped a tear away angrily and continued her circuit of the backyard.

‘Even around school, I haven’t found any sign of her,’ she said.

‘I know, Dana,’ said Michael, almost under his breath. ‘The bonded are searching the second plane, but there seems little point. Titan would be able to find her if she was over there.’

‘He hasn’t found a trace,’ said Dana.

Even in death, Titan still watched over them. Animals didn’t have the same distinction between life and death as humans did. Sheba’s brother had simply moved from one plane of existence to another when he passed away. Now Dana could reach him too – it was one of the few perks of their new-found powers.

Sheba paced beside her whining softly. Realising the stress she was causing the dog, Dana reached down and stroked her head, then she sat next to Michael and pulled up chunks of grass and threw them across the garden.

‘We’re thinking too laterally. We need to think like Mum, not like them!’ A piece of lawn with roots and soil attached flew across the garden and hit the window. The faeries, still calm and unaffected while they sat around the kitchen table, turned and looked at Dana as the thud drew their attention. The clod of soil had disintegrated on impact; a shower of soil scratched its way down the glass. Dana defiantly glared at them. She knew her gaze held all the raw emotions that she was struggling to contain. And she didn’t care.

Michael and Dana’s father, who was sitting inside with the faeries, glanced at Dana through the glass and slowly looked away. Dana saw the fury in his eyes, and smiled. She might not be the one who had to bring the faeries to account for this situation. Only one person she knew could build a rage anywhere near her own, and that was her dad, Joe. With southern Italian heritage, Joe had near-black hair and dark olive skin. He was also an emotional stereotype when it came to how he reacted to difficult situations. He did not go from zero to one hundred. With Joe, there was only zero and one hundred. Dana almost expected to see the flicker of fire near him.

The faeries had better come up with something more than ‘extended radii’ or their father was going to explode. She felt no lessening of tension, knowing Joe shared her frustration.

Her hands still trembled, so she reached for more grass. She needed to unleash some of her anger before it turned into the fear she knew was really at its core.

‘We need to think outside of the box, Michael! She’s not in an animal. Please trust me on this. We would know.’ Sheba had laid down next to Dana, occasionally pawing at her leg as if trying to remind her of her presence. ‘If I didn’t sense it, Sheba would, and she’d find a way to let me know. Michael, we would know!’

* * *

‘I’m hearing you, Dana.’ Michael wrapped an arm around his big sister, knowing that now was the right time to offer comfort. He couldn’t read Sheba like Dana could, but the Doberman’s head was now in Dana’s lap, occasionally stretching forward to nuzzle her hand, no longer fretting and pawing at her leg. He didn’t need this confirmation though; he knew his sister well enough to know her anger was fading and all the uncertainty of their situation was bubbling up to the surface. Michael felt Dana relax slightly as her head settled on his shoulder.

‘But where, Dana? She wouldn’t go into a random stranger. She just wouldn’t do that, no matter what the cost. She might have piggybacked into one of us. I truly want to believe that if she could, she would have known we were here for her. But…’ Michael shrugged, and Dana’s head shifted slightly, moving with him rather than pulling away.

‘You’re right, but what else is there? If we listen to these faeries, there’s nothing, no hope…. They’re so wrapped up in their own view of the world that they refuse to look for alternatives. And they’ve lived for centuries, so they believe they’re right. We just don’t have the time to convince them otherwise.’ Dana was plucking at the grass again and it was coming out in clumps. Michael dropped his arm so he could look into her face.

‘Could she be in something… electrical?’ Michael asked with some hesitation. ‘Thoughts are electrical currents, right?’ It even sounded farfetched to his own ears.

Dana stopped the slow destruction of the area around her. ‘I know how it sounds, but in the movies, in video games, they always transfer to something electrical.’ Michael knew he was rambling but couldn’t stop. Dana hadn’t responded. The only sign that she’d heard him was her sudden stillness.

‘Dana, do you think she could have transferred to something electrical or not?’

‘Dana?’ Michael asked again. Dana seemed lost in thought. Her eyes were no longer staring through the window. Instead, they were roaming from side to side, her brow furrowed so much like their mother.

Dana took another long moment to consider things then turned to Michael. ‘That’s not such a stupid idea. But how could we find her? We can’t just boot up our computers and search for mum.exe!’

‘No. But we can try talking to them again, get them to think a little new age. The faeries must be able to search for energy spikes, energy drains maybe, I don’t know, something.’ Michael was on his feet and walking towards the back door before Dana had time to drop the grass she was holding.

Dana threw the clump haphazardly to the side, dusted her hands off, and reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. She paused as she examined the device, laughed at her own ridiculousness, and followed Michael inside.

As Dana walked, she dialled her cousin. ‘Ashley, family meeting. We need you over here.’

In the Book

She existed. She must because she thought, and didn’t that mean she existed? Wasn’t that the big philosophical debate? She didn’t know. She no longer had any point of reference. She had no form, no body, no sense of self. She had only consciousness, tortured consciousness. Bombarded with innumerable versions of herself, she was awash in a tide that would not relent.

A hall of mirrors lay before her, infinite reflections reaching outwards in a never-ending kaleidoscope of refracted colour. Each polished surface held the face of a different person, looking back at her with scorn and anger. Each of these tormented souls wanted a voice, wanted to be heard, and if she let her eyes lay on an image for too long, their consciousness would consume her and force her to live through their eyes.

But it was impossible to turn away when you had only a memory of form. You couldn’t close eyes that didn’t really exist.

She forced her focus to move on; she had looked upon the man with brown hair, hazel eyes and strong jaw for far too long. She tried to move her attention to another panel, another likeness, but she was already too late. With a spinning sense of vertigo, the man’s tormented gaze dragged her back into the mirror, to experience his life as her own.

He stood before the bowl of water, trying to clear his mind. Until his mind achieved the clarity of the crystal-clear liquid in the bowl, he would be unable to scry.

A white-hot streak of pain tore across his back, the sound of the whip cracking reaching his ears a moment after the pain. He refused to let his knees bend. If he reacted to the whip, his master would strike again. He distanced himself from his body, focusing only on the bowl before him; the waters swirled, and an image started to emerge.

Focus.

He dropped to his knees when the next blow fell, but he registered this as only a change in perspective. The colours dancing on the water’s surface gained structure, purpose. A scene was forming, clarifying as his mind dropped farther into the cool liquid. He used the rhythmic sound of his own blood dripping to the floor to give a deeper aspect to his focus.

Water was liquid.

Blood was liquid.

They both flowed.

The image in the bowl revealed more detail. He now saw the outline of one man standing above another.

A dull crack and his body fell forward as the next more brutal blow landed. He ignored the sounds of his own ragged breathing and tried to steady the bowl that he had set to rocking. His shaking hand succeeded only in spilling more of the precious liquid. The image in the water wavered as he saw a man drawing back his arm, twisting his body to strike another. The victim knelt, bleeding profusely, his back torn open by a score of wounds. As the blow fell and he watched the victim crumple, he heard his master’s words echo from behind him as well as from the water.

‘IGNORE YOUR BODY AT YOUR PERIL. YOUR BODY SUSTAINS YOUR LIFE.’

She felt the agonising pain rip through her back as the last lash of the whip fell. The image of the man shimmered. She saw him mouthing the words AT YOUR PERIL as the vibration of the mirror intensified. The face of the man became a blur moments before the mirror exploded out in a shower of fractured images.

She didn’t flinch, didn’t turn away. She knew a mirror would still stand before her and a new image would take its place.

Once again she was surrounded by thousands of reflected faces, trapped as if suspended in the middle of a crystal, every facet reflecting a different part of her personality. Every time she caught the gaze of another of the faces, she would experience a moment of life – sometimes painful, sometimes joyful – but always as if it were her own. The problem was that she was so many people.

Lost in the maelstrom of memories, her eyes caught those of a black-haired young girl and she was pulled into her dark gaze. There was a moment of panic as the girl reached towards a book.

Search Pattern

Michael had sent out the mental call. Ashul was on his way to him, having completed another sweep of through the second realm. The bonded were methodically working their way through the realm, section by section. It was like looking for a piece of plane wreckage when you had no idea where the plane had gone down.

Michael could already feel the distance between them diminishing. It was amazing how quickly he’d gotten used to having an internal radar that enabled him to feel and track his connection to the bonded. When the sleeping warriors had woken, he’d been so wrapped up in the torment the doll inflicted upon him night after night that he never questioned their existence, nor the code that bound them.

The code was now his. By accepting the link that Smoke had offered him, Michael had accepted the bonded and all the tenets that bound them. Michael was sure that this should trouble him. Maybe at some point in the future it would, but right now he only cared about getting his mother back and the bonded were doing everything in their power to make that happen. So although he knew this was the wrong reason to embrace the link, embrace it he did.

Michael had always felt the need to protect those around him, those who were vulnerable. It was just how he was built, how he had been raised. So he was quite familiar with the motivations that drove the bonded. He understood how the sleeping warriors thought. Of course, there was a huge distinction between wanting to help others and being magically compelled to help just a few – the defining difference being free will – but Michael doubted any of these warriors had yet to be truly forced to comply. The bonded warriors were driven to fight evil as it came into the world, returning to their rest only when danger had passed. Michael believed that these warriors would fight evil in all its forms regardless – it was just how they were built.

Michael didn’t know what was going to happen to him when the bonded finally stopped the doll. The strange quirk of fate that found him offered a place amongst the bonded, amongst the sleeping warriors, did not come with a detailed contract or operating instructions. Somehow, for Michael, destiny and choice coexisted regardless of the fact they were fundamental opposites. The path that had been chosen for him just so happened to be the same path he would have chosen for himself. Michael didn’t question these things, didn’t see any point in arguing about free will just to be contrary. When Smoke had lowered her head to Michael’s hand, he didn’t think destiny, he didn’t think free will, he really didn’t need to think at all. A wonderfully intelligent, proud being had stood in front of him and offered him friendship, and he had simply accepted. Ancient pacts and magical bonds were secondary considerations. After all, didn’t all friendship come with some baggage?

Smoke was now part of him – she understood and shared Michael’s need to find his mother. Stay resolute. Your thoughts are clear. The faeries have their own measurement of time, though it may not always keep pace with your own. Ashul will support you. With her thoughts, Michael could also feel the intolerance that burned within Smoke. She viewed the faeries as allies, but not as equals.

Michael drew on Smoke’s emotions and some of her strength since they were almost his own, and marched towards the house, determined to be heard, knowing that Dana was only one step behind.

As they stepped into the house, the sound of raised voices confirmed that their dad had finally exploded. An argument was already underway.

* * *

‘We do not have the time for this. Have you seen her today, Azuradien, really seen her? She’s fading. You need to get him out of her.’ Joseph stood clenching and unclenching his hands. His face a mask of anger, his voice lowered so as not to draw unwanted attention but still menacing in its intensity.

‘We are expanding our search; we have our strongest…’

Joseph slammed his hand into the bench and although sparks did not fly, Michael noticed all digital clocks in the room flicker, and the lights dimmed briefly.

‘Well, maybe your strongest just aren’t good enough. Or isn’t it important enough to you to save a mere mortal.’ Dana had now wrapped her arm around Joseph’s waist, and what in any other pair would seem reassuring; in them, it looked nothing less than menacing.

‘Joseph, we treasure your wife, we would do anything to save her.’ Malcarielle looked towards her father for support. ‘Please understand this is not a usual occurrence.’ Her emerald-green eyes had dimmed to a swampy grey over the last week, and dark circles ringed her eyes. If not for the almost translucent skin and the constantly shifting hair, she would look like any normal tired teenager, not the hundred-year-old forest faerie that she was. Azuradien, her father, still a king in this realm, looked concerned – but he was not intimidated.

‘We are working tirelessly, we are doing all we can—’

Ashul strode into the room and interrupted Azuradien’s carefully chosen words. He bowed briefly to Azuradien and Malcarielle, then to Joseph, kissed the back of Dana’s hand then wrapped Michael in a bear hug. If not for his demeanour, you could have mistaken Ashul for one of Michael’s teammates. He stood at around six feet with ash-blond hair and the build of a midfielder. His age would be put at around eighteen until you actually looked into his eyes, then you would have to question your first impression. The way he held himself spoke leader; his eyes were all soldier, eyes that had seen too much.

‘We have also found no trace.’ Ashul’s cold blue eyes searched the faces of all present and silenced any argument with the intensity of his stare.

‘Do any here question my intentions?’ asked Ashul. ‘Are my motives suspect? Are those of the bonded?’ His steely gaze demanded attention. ‘No, then let us stop this bickering. Michael, you have an idea.’ His gaze locked onto Michael’s. And with nothing more than a casual nod from Ashul, all attention shifted to Michael.

‘Ah… well, I was talking with Dana…’ Michael hesitated, never one to enjoy talking in front of a group. ‘And well, we need to think outside of the box, think like our mum.’ Michael paused, hoping Dana would jump in. When she didn’t, he continued, ‘Mum wouldn’t jump into another person, so just cross that off the list. She won’t read text messages off our phones, so possessing another person, just no, she wouldn’t do that.’

‘There may have been no other choice available to her,’ Azuradien interjected in his scholarly tone.

Four voices replied in unison: ‘There is always a choice.’

It was no surprise to Michael that his dad and Dana had spoken these words; they’d all heard them a thousand times. Nicola destroyed many a carefully crafted argument with that one phrase, usually accompanied by an irritated hand gesture, silencing any further justification. But that Ashul viewed the world in the same simplistic terms, with the same black or white mentality did surprise him. He wasn’t certain why. Maybe he’d just assumed with all of their experience, the bonded warriors would have a shades of grey approach to morality. Ashul just indicated for Michael to continue as if they had all spoken an undeniable fact and this kind of simple truth did not require further discussion.

At this point Aunty Sarah, Uncle Brent and Ashley walked into the room. Michael’s aunt did not stop to say hello, did not smile in her usual friendly manner. The look on her face indicated that she’d heard enough of the conversation to be annoyed.

‘No need to stop on our account.’ Sarah said with a carry-on gesture of her hand. ‘We caught the general gist of the conversation as we walked in. Michael, you were saying?’ Her words were clipped and it was only as her eyes turned to Michael that any warmth entered them.

Michael nodded his agreement and continued on, ‘Thanks, Aunty Sarah. Well, as I was saying, she’s not in a person. It wouldn’t have been an acceptable option, so stop looking there. Forget your searches and expanded radii. Pointless! And Dana is confident that she has not entered an animal, so unless you want to scan all the insects in the area, forget that too.’

‘Dana, your powers are new and unexplored. You can hardly be sure of this?’ Malcarielle tried to take some of the sting out of her words by laying a hand on Dana’s arm. Aunty Sarah placed her hands on Dana’s shoulders and gave Malcarielle a slightly raised eyebrow that said everything.

‘Yes, I suppose you are right. I don’t have your experience, just learning my skills.’ Dana was studying Malcarielle’s hand as if she were waiting for them to be lifted before she continued. Then, realising Malcarielle had no ability to read the room, Dana raised her head until she was looking Malcarielle directly in the eye. ‘But Sheba has been a dog her entire life and she would sense it if Mum was piggy-backing in any animal in the area. And before you ask, yes, we have checked. Double-checked, triple-checked. There’s no animal in the area showing any signs of distress. Quite the opposite. They’re showing nothing but relief now that the doll is no longer in the area. Because, yes, we have checked that as well. And before you question the integrity of that piece of information, I will point out that the animals were aware of the doll’s presence before you faeries even came into the picture. While you were holed up in your underground fortress, the animals were trying to warn whoever would listen. Well, I’m listening now, and no animal is harbouring my mother’s spirit.’

Dana was shaking slightly by the time she’d finished. Malcarielle had taken a step backwards. Through all of the emotions swirling around the room all could feel Ashley’s support for her cousin. Each of the family had their own magical gifts. Ashley’s gift was her emotions. She could sense what others were feeling, transfer her own feelings onto others and basically amp up people’s emotions if the mood took her. And sometimes even when it didn’t. Ashley had always been one of those people who could change the mood of the room just by walking into it. Her emotions were infectious. As the barriers keeping the wilder aspects