Death of an Adept

Philippa drew a deep breath and slowly let it out, settling into trance. She could feel the others' support as she gathered herself for the attempt and began casting back for memories of her pregnancy with Adam. Calling to mind the strong, secret rhythm of his heartbeat in her womb, her remembrance of the first time she had become aware of him as a distinct presence, she visualized their two lifelines entwined within the vessel of her own body. Then she began a conscious willing to reweave each and every tie that bound her to her son, fashioning the strands into a shining net that she finally cast outward, flinging it as far as she could.

She sensed a faint resistance as she started to reel it in, but she focused the pull through the links of her body and blood, through the necklace that had been Adam's in a distant land and time, through the skean dubh that was working tool in his present life - and down the silvery strand to the locket holding his likeness and a curl of his hair. She could feel her hand starting to tremble under the strain of channelling so much intent, could see it trembling as she let her gaze drift toward it - but then the pendulum itself began to vibrate, of its own accord. And then it began to circle slowly clockwise - and then counterclockwise - and then clockwise again.

"What…?" came Victoria's soft whisper, cut off at a nudge from Christopher.

Philippa did not move, holding her focus against increasing strain, but the locket continued to circle, refusing to take direction. At length she gave a long sigh and closed her eyes, letting the locket and skean dubh sink to the map and then slip from her fingers as she bowed her head in her hands.

"What happened?" Christopher asked gently. "Philippa, are you all right?"

She sighed again and lifted her head, weariness and discouragement writ stark across her face.

"He's out there," she murmured, "but I couldn't get past whatever's shielding him. They must be holding him somewhere that's incredibly well protected - quite probably Rae-burn's own bolthole."

"And given how well we can hide psychic activity," Christopher said archly, "we have to assume that Raeburn probably has similar expertise in that regard. Clearly, he does, or we should have been able to break through by now."

"I agree. But having said that," Philippa went on, "it occurs to me to wonder whether Raeburn would risk compromising such a secure retreat by using that location to carry out whatever he has planned for Adam. In other words, would he risk fouling his own nest? Also, given the way Callanish was used, and Raeburn's known predilection for working with ancient god-forms, I can't imagine that he'd pass up the chance to enhance his working by tapping into the power of some other ancient site.

"This gives us a two-pronged possibility of attack: By compiling a list of all the likely sites in the country, we may be able to narrow down some possibilities for his physical destination tomorrow night. And if they do move Adam to one of those sites, probably in the next twelve hours or so, they'll have to bring him out from under the heavy protection of wherever he is now. They can't maintain the same kind of cloaking on a moving subject that they can while he's stationary, in a long-established safe-house."

"That assumes that they will move him," Victoria pointed out. "What if they don't?"

Philippa shook her head. "I don't want to think about it; I can't think about it."

"I think you ought to get some rest," Christopher said quietly. "You're too worn out to - "

"I'm worried about his rest - which may be eternal, if we don't find him!" she retorted, rounding on the clergyman with all a mother's fierce determination. "And what if it isn't merely physical death that Raeburn is threatening? I can't give this up, even if it costs me my life!"

"And wasting your life isn't going to help him!" Julian said sharply, at the same time slipping an arm around her friend's trembling shoulders. "Get some rest, Pippa - please. We have to believe it's Imbolc Eve that Raeburn is aiming for - which means we've still got close to thirty-six hours to come up with something. If you think Raeburn is apt to use another ancient site, I'll put Julia on compiling a list right away.

"Meanwhile, you'd do us all a favor if you try to sleep for a few of those hours, so that you'll be ready to face the last ones. That's when Raeburn is most apt to slip up, most apt to get sloppy. But if you don't rest, you'll be no good to Adam."

Philippa said nothing for several long seconds, face turned away from Julian's entreaties; but then the proud shoulders unbent and she gave a long sigh as she looked up.