Death of an Adept

Smiling faintly, Adam reached up to brush a hand downward over Harry's eyes, which closed as his head lolled forward.

"Go back to sleep, Harry," he murmured, though Harry had already done that. "Lay your head against the seat-back." His hand pressed Harry's head back to a reclining position. "In a moment, when I touch your wrist, you're going to remember what you saw and felt when you touched the body, but you'll find yourself able to keep a distance from it, no matter how intense the memory might get. These weren't your experiences; they belonged to someone else. I'll be your anchor; you've nothing to fear. Remember - now."

His hand clasped Harry's wrist on the final word, and the counsellor's eyes stirred beneath closed eyelids, lips parting slightly.

"What do you see, Harry?" came Adam's quiet prompt.

"Stone walls all around…"

"Go on."

"They - give me to drink from the divine elixir… the wine of vision and sacrifice. By - by water and earth, by fire and air, they summon one - best left sleeping… He comes… but the blood is required… And it is mine…."

Harry's breathing was coming faster now, his heart rate increasing, and Adam stroked his free hand across Harry's brow to deepen his trance.

"Step back and observe, Harry," he murmured. "Do not feel - only see."

"They - they force me to my knees. I know what is to come! The triple-death! A blow to my head, profaning my office - the cord drawn tight around my throat!"

As his mouth started to gape in obvious distress, his free hand lifting vaguely, Adam barred it with his own.

"Only see, Harry. Only see."

"Aye. Only… see… I see the blade above me in the torchlight… the flash of iron like lightning, just before the coup. The kiss of darkness as the blade strikes here!" Harry's hand lifted again toward the side of his throat, but he had now managed to distance himself from his reporting. "Blood - blood gushes into the cauldron… to feed him…."

"To feed who, Harry?" McLeod whispered.

"Dark presence… long discarnate…"

"His name, Harry…" Adam breathed.

Slowly the dark head shook. "I don't know. He has no name where he now dwells. His touch corrupts. Feeding, he besmirches souls… And he will walk again, if Francis be not stopped…."

Blanching, McLeod darted his gaze to Adam, mouthing the surname, Raebtirn!

"Francis who, Harry?" Adam whispered. "Francis Rae-burn?"

"Aye. The great Betrayer… He betrayed the Head-Master… and now he has betrayed me. Death - is welcome, to escape him…."

Harry shuddered then, anguish rippling across his face, and Adam pressed his wrist harder.

"Harry, withdraw from the memory now," he ordered.

"You've done very well. Go deep asleep now, and hear nothing until I touch you on the wrist again."

As he released Harry's wrist, he turned his gaze to McLeod in wordless invitation for comment.

"Bloody hell," McLeod murmured. "Raeburn sacrificed his own man. And what was this shit about a presence with 'no name where he now dwells,' who feeds on blood and besmirches souls and is about to walk again?"

"I really don't think I want to know," Adam replied, "though we're going to have to find out. Do you think it's time we levelled with Harry?"

"Aye," McLeod replied. "I think it is."

Before bringing the counsellor around, Adam gave him access to the memory of that night at Strathmourne when he had helped deal with the Hand of Glory - for that was information Harry needed, in order to make an informed decision regarding his future with the Hunting Lodge. Emerging from trance, Harry sat silently for several minutes, hardly looking up as McLeod started the engine and set them on the road back to Edinburgh. Adam remained in the back seat beside him, watching him closely, imagining he could almost hear the thought processes as Harry's nimble legal mind turned over all the permutations available from the information presented thus far.

"I think I need to know more about the Randall Stewart murder," Harry said at last, turning to look Adam fearlessly in the eyes. "The parts the papers didn't talk about at the time. And then I think I'd better hear about this Francis Raeburn."

They gave him a thorough briefing during the hour it took to drive back to Edinburgh. By the time they were approaching the Gogar interchange, Harry appeared anything but daunted. On the contrary, the gleam in his eye bespoke a keen commitment to the challenge offered.

"I appreciate your candor in trying to warn me off," he told his two listeners, "but now that I've heard you out, I don't really think I have the right not to take up this gauntlet, even if I may be stepping in over my depth - at least in the beginning. Somebody's got to stop this Raeburn and his ilk. If I have the wherewithal to help - and it appears I do have something to offer - not to lend a hand would be criminally irresponsible of me."