“Try to relax for a moment. Let your thoughts go very loose.”

Fiona released a sigh and closed her eyes. She breathed in the fresh air that smelled of sycamores and Oak Creek. Then, as if from a great distance, she heard a kind of weeping-shrieking sound, very faint, Fiona, help me.

Her eyes popped open. “It’s Marguerite. She’s in trouble.”

“The woman in the Convent? Thorne’s woman?”

“Yes, but her telepathy is so faint. I’m going to try to get closer to her.” Once more she closed her eyes and let her telepathy travel as far as it wanted to go, in the direction it wanted to go.

A moment later she felt herself next to Marguerite. I’m here, she sent.

I’m paralyzed, returned to her.

What do you mean?

I can’t move. I can’t speak aloud. I’m bound in some kind of cloth. I’m in a vehicle of some kind, like an ambulance. Please tell Thorne. I’m being transferred to the Superstition Mountain Seers Fortress.

Oh, no. How is that possible? We’ll let Thorne know. He can talk to Endelle and change this.

A pause followed. Endelle approved this fucking transfer. It was her idea.

Marguerite, I don’t know what to do. How can I help you? Tell me what to do.

Another pause, but this one seemed less frantic, as though there was less telepathic noise in the background. She could feel Marguerite thinking.

Finally, Marguerite sent, Form a telepathic link with me. That way, I can reach you anytime and you can reach me. Will you do that?

Fiona clasped her hands together in her lap and held on tight. Marguerite wanted access to her telepathy day or night. The link would bind them. She didn’t want to be bound. I don’t want to be bound … to anyone. I was a blood slave for a hundred and twenty-five years. I … I don’t know if I can do that.

Another pause. Marguerite’s voice in Fiona’s head was softer this time. I’ve been trapped for a hundred years. I get where you’re coming from. Fuck. Was that a mental sigh that followed? Marguerite continued, I won’t force this on you. I’m so sick of being forced to do all this shit. Owen Stannett was at the Convent earlier. He made me pick up my own future stream ribbon. I hated it, hated being forced to do it. And worse, that ride was so full of fucking symbols that I didn’t get what it meant, red and black flames and a swirling blue high in the sky. I got sucked into that weird vortex. So no, forget the link. Laughter followed. Besides, it sounds like all I have to do is start shrieking your name and you’ll come to me.

Fiona laughed. I think you’re right. But—

But what?

Fiona’s heart started to thump in her chest. She felt dizzy. Did you say black flames?

Red and black. Why? Wait. I remember hearing the words “obsidian flame” in a recent vision. Do you know what this means?

Fiona felt goose bumps travel all over and she shivered. Jean-Pierre moved up behind her and surrounded her with his warm arms. She relaxed against him. He was so damn thoughtful. He really wasn’t helping their present predicament.

But to Marguerite, she took several minutes to explain all about obsidian flame. With Jean-Pierre cuddling her and keeping her warm beneath an ever-lightening sky, she talked about her gold variety and about practicing with Alison; about the recent battle in Honduras and that she had traveled telepathically to Jean-Pierre, even helping him to fight off an attack by an Upper ascender.

Are you with Jean-Pierre? Marguerite asked. I mean, like you’re together? Are you his woman?

Fiona felt a blush bloom on her cheeks. Yes, I guess I am. I don’t want to be. We’re stuck in this breh-hedden thing. Do you know about that?

Yes, and thank God that’s not what’s going on between me and Thorne. Just another way of being trapped if you ask me.

Exactly. Fiona breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, someone got where she was coming from.

Wait a minute, Marguerite sent. Can you describe this Upper ascender? Maybe it’s the same one, I mean the one at the Creator’s Convent.

Fiona looked back at Jean-Pierre, who at that moment leaned down to kiss her bare shoulder. Another set of shivers, different in nature this time, sped down her back. “Jean-Pierre. Stop that.” But even she could tell there was little force behind her command. When he continued, she spoke a little more firmly. “I’m talking to Marguerite. I think she might be the red variety of obsidian flame.”

Jean-Pierre’s eyes went wide. “Is this true?”

Oh, why did the man have to be so handsome. She licked her lips, swallowed, and worked at focusing on the matter at hand. “Marguerite wants to know what the Upper ascender looked like. She saw him, in the future streams, just before the attack at baby Helena’s christening. She thinks they might be one and the same.”

“I did not see him but for a second or two. We hurt him, you and I, Fiona. We burned his lower legs, both of them. He was flying backward. He had very dark hair, though. I remember that: very dark and very long and curly. He was quite good looking, I think. A straight narrow nose.”

She put her hand on his cheek and nodded, then sent these details to Marguerite.

Marguerite’s voice in her head returned as a solid punch. He must be the same one. I would have described him exactly the way your warrior did. He held himself in the air through levitation alone, high in the air, no wings, so that he could look down on the battle from above. That’s how I saw all the death vampires moving on that shithole of an outdoor chapel.

Let me tell Jean-Pierre.

Go for it.

Fiona drew her mind from the conversation with Marguerite and once more focused on Jean-Pierre. He had pushed her long hair aside and was kissing her upper left wing-lock. She drew in a soft breath and gasped. “Oh, my God,” she whispered.

What’s going on? Marguerite asked.

Without thinking, Fiona sent, Jean-Pierre is kissing one of my wing-locks. Oh, shit, I shouldn’t have said that.

But Marguerite growled softly. It’s the fucking best.

Marguerite, she drawled, attempting to chide her.

Don’t get pissy with me. Besides, if he’s kissing a wing-lock, maybe we should sign off.

Not yet. I want to tell Jean-Pierre what you said.

She drew out again, but this time, she twisted sideways and pushed him away from her back. “Would you stop that?”

He chuckled and folded his hands behind his head. “Very well.”

“This is important. Okay, so here’s what she said.” She relayed all the information about how the Upper ascender levitated high in the air.

Jean-Pierre whistled. “There is so much power in the Upper Dimensions. I am not surprised.”

“What do you think we should do—with Marguerite, I mean? What if she is an obsidian flame?”

“I think we must speak with Madame Endelle and Thorne. This may change the transfer to the Fortress.”

“You think?”

“Which do you think Endelle would prefer to have? A gifted Seer to whom she might have partial access, or an obsidian flame that she could command at all times?”

Fiona recalled Endelle’s extreme behavior leaping all over her office when she discovered what Fiona really was. “I see your point. I’m going to tell Marguerite. Would you let Thorne know? I have a profound sense of urgency about this.”

“Bien sûr, chérie. Of course. I will do it even now.” He held out his hand and folded his phone into his palm.

Fiona twisted to face front once more, though she felt Jean-Pierre’s warm palm on the center of her back as his deep voice rumbled an explanation to Thorne.

She dove within her mind once more and let Marguerite know all that they were doing. I’ll keep you informed. You know, I just thought of something. Let me try to contact you. Let me move away from you and let’s see if I can reach you the way you reach me, okay?

Sure. I’m not going fucking anywhere.

This made Fiona laugh. She didn’t know if it was the fact that both women had shared the same terrible long captivity, but she liked Marguerite, profanity or no profanity. She began to pull away, drawing the telepathic thread closer and closer to Sedona until she felt it almost snap back in place. She knew one thing for sure, all this practice was improving her skills.

Marguerite, she sent. She waited. Nothing happened. Great. Now what should she do?

She focused on her telepathic thread and extended it just a little. She concentrated very specifically on what she knew to be the sense of the woman when she communicated mind-to-mind with her. Then she spoke her name in a sharp command, Marguerite.

What the fuck! Why are you shouting at me?

Again, Fiona laughed. I’m so sorry. Okay, I’m going to try this once more, but I think I’ve figured it out.

She pulled the thread back until it popped into place. She took another deep breath, closed her eyes yet again, and focused. This time, when she extended the thread, she sent in as quiet a voice as she could manage, Marguerite, are you there?

Much better, idiot woman.

You make me laugh.

Good. There’s just one thing. Owen Stannett has a lot of power, which means that he’s probably got the Fortress shielded. I don’t know if we’ll be able to communicate.

Okay. Okay. Well, we’ll take this one step at a time. Now, where had she heard that before?

I’m signing off now. Sweet Jesus, those bitches drugged me last night then paralyzed me this morning. If I ever get out of the Fortress, I’m burning that goddam Convent down.

You go girl, Fiona sent.

You go girl? Really? The sarcasm didn’t drip, it flooded.

Hey, Endelle says that all the time when she’s impressed with something I’ve done.

Well, then, if Endelle says it. More flooding sarcasm.

All right. All right. Jean-Pierre’s tapping my shoulder. I think we’re heading out in a few minutes to see Thorne. I’ll contact you as soon as I know something.

Good. Was that a mental yawn? Later, sweet potater.

Yes, Fiona definitely liked Marguerite. Bye.

She pulled the thread back.