Dagger Magic

"Not exactly," McLeod said. "But there at first, I wasn't sure you were totally in control. This last bit was a fairly straightforward conversation with someone called Annet Maxwell, who I can only assume was a past-life persona, but before that, you suddenly cried out, "No!"

Adam nodded. Remembering the flashback to fiery martyrdom as a Templar Knight, he could well believe that the pain's reliving had found expression in his voice.

"I hope I didn't make myself heard as far as the house," he remarked with a grimace.

"No, no, it wasn't all that loud - and you calmed immediately. But you did give me a start. I even considered trying to bring you out." He cocked his head at Adam. "What did you find out?"

"Well," Adam said, "I'm certainly satisfied that this unhappy lady is, indeed, the cause behind what's been happening at Carnage Corridor. She's been trying to see the face of the driver who hit her and her husband. But instead of going back in memory to the accident itself, she's been looking into real cars in contemporary time - and the drivers swerve and crash, trying to avoid hitting her."

Pursing his lips in a silent whistle, McLeod shook his head.

"That's only the beginning," Adam went on. "She has a historic past that could have a significant bearing on this present crisis. But to use it, we'll have to find a way to break down the barriers that Claire Crawford has since erected in her own mind, between the past and the present."

In as few words as possible, he related his experiences on the astral, including visual details of his churchyard encounter with Annet Maxwell. By the time he had finished, McLeod was looking both extremely interested and extremely concerned.

"So this is not the first time she's had to cope with multiple bereavement," he said thoughtfully. "I can certainly see how Annet Maxwell's experience might throw some beneficial light on this present situation - both for what she's lost and for what she's done inadvertently - but bringing together those two aspects of herself could take a while. And in the meantime, what's to stop her from causing further accidents?"

"We'll have to stop her," Adam said with bleak candor, "and there are no easy answers. In the short term, I could probably leave her with a posthypnotic suggestion to forbid dreaming about the accident, waking or sleeping - but that's a stopgap measure, at best. In the long term, that kind of repression would only lead to more trouble - maybe even plunge her into psychosis - which would only make her that much harder to reach.

"No," he continued, "the impetus to stop these astral forays has got to come from Claire herself, by breaking this compulsion of hers that she must find that driver. We all hope he'll be found, of course, but not at the expense of more innocent lives."

"So, what do we do?"

"Well, just now, she's under the illusion that she's doing nothing more than reliving her own accident. So what I must do is to strip away that illusion, to lay bare the underlying truth."

"Do you think she can handle that truth?" McLeod asked dubiously. "How is she likely to feel when she finds out she's inadvertently killed nine people?"

"We'll deal with that issue when we come to it," Adam said. ' 'Right now, our main priority is to ensure that no more innocent people get hurt or killed through no fault of their own. Let's see what we can do."

Returning to Claire, Adam eased himself back down into the chair beside her and gently touched her wrist.

"Claire, listen to me," he said softly. "You've done very well so far - so well that I'd like to venture a bit further. You understand that you've been reliving your accident in your dreams. Could I clarify a few points? May I ask you a few more questions?"

Claire's cropped head made a slight movement up and down.

"Thank you," Adam said approvingly. "Now, the police reports say that your accident took place shortly before midnight. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And the car that struck you and your husband was red - a red Mercedes, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"Was there anyone else in the car besides the driver?"

"No."

"Good. That all tallies so far. Now, leaving aside the recall work we did earlier, I'd like you to tell me, please, when you last had the dream."

A small furrow appeared in Claire's smooth forehead. "It was yesterday morning," she murmured. "It woke me up."

"About what time was that?"

"It was seven minutes past eight," she replied. "I looked at the clock."

Adam exchanged a glance with McLeod, for the time coincided almost perfectly with the reported time of Malcolm Grant's accident.