Death of an Adept

A squeezing around his right bicep told of a blood pressure reading being taken. His gaze drifted dimly to Mallory's hands, applying the cool bell of a stethoscope to the pulse at the inner elbow, and then beyond, where he was distantly amused to see a padded restraint now buckled around his wrist. He found himself idly wondering whether they really thought he was in any state to break free.

"Yes, indeed, you're doing just fine," Mallory murmured, the hiss of released pressure punctuating his brisk smile as he laid his stethoscope back around his neck and unpeeled the Velcro securing the cuff. "We certainly wouldn't want you slipping away on us prematurely. You have a very important social engagement to keep - though it won't be that posh society wedding that has all the tabloids in a twitter.

"Wedding of the season: dashing Edinburgh psychiatrist to wed American trauma specialist," the taunting voice continued, still sounding faint and far away. "What a pity they'll all be disappointed.

"Still, I don't imagine that pretty fiancee of yours will waste much time grieving, even if she will be cheated of a title. I might pay court to her myself, after you're gone. I expect her main regret will be that your failure to consummate the marriage means she won't inherit any of your wealth."

The door had opened and closed on his final remark, and a brief whisper of moving air raised goose bumps along Adam's exposed arms as another presence took Mallory's place.

"Now, Derek, it isn't sporting to tease our guest." Rae-burn's face materialized above Adam's - lean and vulpine, and looking very smug. "A very pleasant good evening to you, Dr. Sinclair," he said silkily. "How are we doing today?"

Even if Adam had wanted to reply, the endotracheal tube would have prevented it. He closed his eyes, just able to turn his face minutely away.

"Now, Dr. Sinclair, that isn't very sociable," Raeburn purred. "I had hoped you would grow resigned to your situation. In case you've lost track, the Eve of Imbolc is hardly twenty-four hours away. Can you guess what that means?"

Behind his closed eyelids, Adam could guess at all manner of possibilities, none of them comforting, and knew that his  captor's blatant reference to Imbolc was clearly intended to provoke a fear response - and did, especially bolstered by the drugs in his system. The beep of the ECG monitor made audible confirmation of the increase in Adam's heart rate.

Sickly dispirited at this betrayal by his body, Adam nonetheless found himself opening his eyes with a start as the sound abruptly stopped - and caught Mallory's smarmy expression at the reaction as he adjusted a knob on the monitor. Raeburn, meanwhile, did not scruple to go into more explicit detail regarding his plans, clearly relishing the opportunity to further discomfit his victim.

"Oh, I can imagine what's going through that very fine mind of yours. You've probably already concluded, and rightly, that you're to be a featured participant in a very special ritual tomorrow night. The celebration will be in honor of the lord Taranis. It promises to be the crowning achievement of my career as well as an occasion of particularly satisfying personal revenge.

"And when all is said and done, I shall have succeeded where the Head-Master failed - where you thwarted his ambitions. I shall have made a slave of Taranis himself, so that all the lightnings of the Realm of Storms will be mine to command."

Adam's chest rose and fell on an involuntary gasp, and he would have spoken if he could, for the megalomania displayed in Raeburn's boast was exceeded only by the immortal peril inherent in what he proposed - even more for Raeburn himself than for Adam. Nor did the Lynx-Master seem to recognize the danger. While the Lords Elemental might condescend to allow the illusion that mortal grasp could contain their favors, they were by no means subject to human authority. Even less were they inclined to tolerate human presumption. What could Raeburn be thinking?

But Raeburn apparently mistook his captive's gasp for purely personal fear, because he settled negligently on the side of Adam's bed to elaborate on his boast.

"Do you doubt my claims, Master of the Hunt?" he purred. "Perhaps I failed to mention my new ally. You shall meet him tomorrow night on what was once his home ground. His name is William Lord Soulis. You have heard of him, haven't you?"

Adam closed his eyes as his mind reeled into disbelieving dismay, spinning him perilously near the brink of unconsciousness again.