Thea Harrison - Oracle's Moon

Grace’s heartbeat pounded in heavy, hard slugs. She gestured to her bad knee and said hoarsely, “You did this?”

Therese’s Snow White beauty was gone. “You’re going to take their word for it? They’re so alien; they don’t even have bodies.”

“Your bigotry is not my issue,” Grace said. “Did you do this?”

“It’s not bigotry!” Therese said. She looked terrified and ashen, her lips bloodless. “All the Elder Races occupy positions of power and prestige. Their lives are filled with a sense of entitlement. They have more Power, more money, more influence in government, and they live so long they get deeper entrenched into everything they touch!”

“I’m standing in the ashes of my own house,” Grace spat. “Your political rhetoric doesn’t have a hell of a lot of meaning to me at the moment.”

Therese’s voice picked up speed and desperation. “We’re second-class citizens in our own country, Grace! You can’t believe just anything they say—”

Grace screamed, “ Did you kill Petra and Niko ?”

Any composure Therese might have retained splintered. She screamed back, “ You bet I did, and I would do it again if I had to !”

“Maybe it’s time to start experimenting with my Power now,” Grace said to Khalil, as her breathing turned ragged. She pulled all of her rage and pain together and threw the expulsion spell.

Therese flinched and gasped, but other than that, the spell seemed to have no effect on her. It did, however, slam into Ismat, who was standing just behind her. The spell threw him back against the wall. Ismat fell in an ungraceful sprawl on the ground then looked up at Grace, wild-eyed.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Grace said to him, as he climbed slowly to his feet. “That must only work on Djinn.”

Khalil said, “I will teach you fighting spells.”

“Fine, but for now, I know something else that’s offensive,” she said between her teeth. She strode up to Therese and ducked as the other woman swung wildly at her. Then she threw her full body weight into a roundhouse punch. The blow connected. Therese’s head snapped back, and she dropped like a stone. Grace wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her throbbing hand as she looked at the woman sprawled in front of her. Khalil gripped her shoulders from behind. She turned to him and whispered, “Okay, maybe we can get a little bit of revenge.”

“We will go to find Isalynn now,” Khalil said. He looked entirely merciless. “And we will hunt down all the others who did this.”

“I will take this creature to the witches’ sheriff’s office,” Ismat said as he reached down for Therese.

“Join us afterward,” Khalil said.

“That will be my pleasure,” Ismat told them.

One of the twins said, “We will continue the work here.”

“Thank you,” Grace said to them. She turned into Khalil’s arms. He held her tightly. She leaned against him as the cyclone took her.

Her sense of their impending separation was growing. It settled as a heavy knot of dread in her middle.

She thought she had changed that. Instead that future felt closer.

What were they doing—or not doing—that brought them forward to that place?

Would Khalil want to say good-bye and leave? He had stopped earlier, when she had asked him. More than that, she could feel his emotions and the profound, fierce pull of desire he felt whenever he looked at her. She recognized the feeling. It was the same way she felt when she looked at him. She could never have enough time to assuage her hunger for him.

What had she missed? Why would that damn sword fall?

After a formless time, reality took shape around her again. The ground grew solid. Khalil held on to her arms as she gained her balance and looked around. Ebrahim took form beside them.

She had known Isalynn lived in Indian Hills, an affluent neighborhood of Louisville, but she had personally never been to the house. They had arrived in front of a spacious two-story colonial brick home, highlighted beautifully by the afternoon sun and positioned attractively on a large landscaped plot of land. A Lexus and an Acura sat in the driveway, while a more humble, older model Ford Focus was parked in a space beside the garage.

This house did not glow with Power, as most witches’ homes did. Perhaps Isalynn practiced her craft away from her house, but Grace suspected it was more likely that the Head of the witches was simply that adept at containing the evidence of her Power.

The front door opened as Grace and the two Djinn approached the house. The Head herself stood in the doorway, dressed casually in slacks, sandals, simple gold jewelry and a red blouse. She was striking even from a distance, with her long, strong body and bold, sensual features and rich, cocoa skin. A sharp intelligence glittered in her eyes. She was joined in the doorway by an older Hispanic woman, along with a lanky teenage boy whose features and expression identified him as Isalynn’s son.

Isalynn’s frown deepened as she looked hard at the two Djinn and at Grace’s grass- and dirt-stained appearance. “I felt your arrival,” Isalynn said to the Djinn. She turned her attention to Grace. “And I see that something has happened. Please, come inside.”

Grace stepped into a large, gracefully proportioned foyer, followed closely by Khalil and Ebrahim. Although the interior was as attractive and peaceful as the exterior, neither Djinn relaxed his vigilance.

Isalynn led the way through the house, her demeanor calm and composed. “You will have to excuse us, Malcolm,” she said to the teenager. “Judith, please bring iced tea to the sunroom. After that, you may leave for the day.”

Judith nodded, and both she and Malcolm disappeared.

They reached the back and stepped inside a sunroom that was as wide as the house. Comfortable furniture was interspersed with potted plants. A laptop, files and a cell phone were set at one end of a table. Books and magazines filled the surface of a side table by a cushioned chair and ottoman. The sunroom looked over a large backyard with several strategically placed flower and herb beds, and a tennis court half hidden by bushes.

“This is my sanctuary,” said Isalynn, as if they were simply visiting. “I work as much as I can back here when I am at home. Please sit.”

Grace tried to hide how her hands shook as she took a seat.

The separation. It was almost here, almost final.

Was it death? Her death? His?

Her mind raced frantically through options of what to do, how to avoid it. She must not have hidden it very well, for Khalil watched her sharply, his face hard, and he took a seat as near to her as he could. Ebrahim continued to stand.

The simple truth of the matter was, Grace realized, she couldn’t avoid the separation if it was something Khalil chose.

“Now then,” said one of the most Powerful legislators in the country. “What has happened?”

Grace said, “A secret coven rigged my house to explode. My sister and her husband’s murderer is being taken to the witches’ sheriff’s office. And we think you’re in danger.”

At that, despite all her best efforts, the whole affair became an inter-demesne incident after all.

Isalynn sat, still as stone, her face chiseled. “Tell me everything,” she said, and so they did. She interrupted just once, to pick up her cell phone, punch in a number and say, “Thomas, the Oracle has been attacked. Send a security detail to my house and an investigative team to Grace’s. You had better notify the Elder tribunal and the other demesnes as well. We’re on highest alert.”

The whole time, Khalil seethed. The anger that had built up, the fear he had felt when Grace had pulled so hard on their connection, all boiled underneath the surface of his skin. He seethed, fighting to hold it in, to control the urge to race after the bastards who dared to hurt Grace and the children.