Divine by Blood. P.C. Cast
didn’t you just tell your dreams to take you somewhere happy?” She’d looked at me like I was totally nuts and told me that people couldn’t control their dreams. I’d (uncharacteristically) kept my mouth shut until I could get home and ask Dad about it. Dad had explained that people usually couldn’t control their dreams and that maybe I should keep it to myself that I could. Which I pretty much did after that, although the weirdness of my ability didn’t dampen my DreamLand enjoyment.
In Partholon my dream weirdness turned to magic. Epona often communicated with her Chosen through dreams. Actually, it’s more accurate to say that the Goddess’s Chosen has the ability for astral projection, which Partholonian priestesses call the Magic Sleep. In other words, the Chosen’s (moi’s) sleeping soul projected anydamnwhere at the whim of Epona. Which is as cool and as disconcerting as it sounds. Epona has projected me everywhere from the middle of a bloody Fomorian battle where my bodiless spirit saved my husband’s life, to a Partholon birth, attended by singing, laughing women where I witnessed the miracle of new life.
For most of my pregnancy, though, Epona had kept my Magic Sleep trips to a minimum. Well, that is after Nuada was vanquished, Rhiannon was entombed and I was returned to Partholon (where I definitely belong). So I was surprised when my dream of Hugh Jackman rubbing my feet while Brandon Routh rubbed my shoulders (both were, of course, in their full superhero costumes) and argued over which one of them was more worthy of my very personal attention that night (I was leaning toward Brandon. He is, after all, super.) was interrupted by my spirit suddenly popping up through the ceiling of Epona’s Temple like a wine cork surfacing in a cask of my favorite red.
“Oh, jeesh.” I gulped big breaths of night air (yes, I know, I didn’t really have a “body” but just trust me on this—it feels like I still have a body). “Ugh, feeling sick…feeling dizzy…feeling…” I suddenly realized why I was feeling so discombobulated and I grinned. “Feeling not pregnant!”
Epona’s silver laughter seemed to float musically in the air around me. Did you expect to feel pregnant after you gave birth, Beloved?
“Well, no. But it’ll be awhile before I get back into those little leather riding slacks that are so cute. So I guess I just figured I’d still feel fat and bloated the night after I gave birth.”
The spirit recovers quicker than the body from childbirth. I was relaxed, loving the sound of my goddess’s familiar voice in my head, but my aimless floating came to an abrupt end with Epona’s next words. And it is good that the spirit recovers quickly. Tonight you need to make a difficult journey, one that was not safe for you to attempt in the last stages of your pregnancy.
“What is it? Not the Fomorians again?” I tried to keep my fear in check, but just the thought of those creatures abroad with my newborn daughter helpless, asleep…
It is not Fomorians.
I had a moment to feel relieved, and then I remembered what had happened just before the exhaustion of labor and birth had caused me to fall into a deep sleep. “Rhiannon.”
Rhiannon, the Goddess agreed.
“But she’s dead!” I blurted.
Yes, Beloved. Rhiannon is dead.
“I—I didn’t know that she was alive inside that tree all this time.” The thought of it still made me sick. I’d played a part in putting her there, as had Clint. His part had cost him his life.
Rhiannon’s choices entombed her alive. Not you—not Clint. As usual, it seemed Epona could read my mind. You should know, Beloved, that before she died, what was broken within Rhiannon’s soul was finally healed.
“I’m glad,” I whispered, meaning it.
She was healed and her spirit rescued from the dark god, but Pryderi still lusts to control one who carries the blood of my Chosen.
“Myrna!” I gasped. “He’ll go after my baby?”
He may, Beloved, just as he tried to draw you from me.
I snorted. “No damn chance of that.”
With you and ClanFintan by her side, there will also be little chance Myrna will listen to Pryderi’s dark whisperings.
“We sure as hell won’t make the mistakes that were made raising Rhiannon,” I muttered. Rhiannon had been spoiled and cosseted and basically never told no. (Note to self: remember to jump square in Myrna’s butt if/when she gets mouthy.) “Myrna is going to know the meaning of ‘no you may not, little girl.’”
So you see, Beloved, it is not Myrna about whom I am worried.
“Huh?” I said succinctly.
Ready yourself, Beloved. And remember, I will be with you.
I had just enough time to start to worry about where the hell Epona was taking me when the clear sky over the temple began to swirl as if a weird, inverted tornado had materialized. I blinked at the dark cone shape that shifted and opened to show me a tunnel of fire. And before I could say, “Billy Jo Bob loves his first cousin” my spirit was sucked into that roiling inferno. Knowing I was no longer physically attached to my body made no damn difference. It still felt like my heart was literally being squeezed within my chest. I couldn’t breathe. In a total state of panic I opened my mouth to scream, and my spirit exploded from the tunnel. I was thoroughly disorientated. Nausea engulfed me. I gulped huge breaths of cool air, wondering (and not for the first time) at how a spirit body could come so close to projectile vomiting. But soon the familiar hovering sensation calmed me and I felt my vertigo fade. I glanced down, and realized where I was. Happiness shocked through my spirit, chasing away the last of the nausea. I was back in Oklahoma, floating over my childhood home. Slowly, my spirit body began to sink through the achingly familiar roof, and very soon I was hovering in the middle of my parents’ living room.
I stayed very still, just wanting to soak in the room. Nothing had changed. It was clean, but messy. You know what I mean. My parents have a real home where people actually live and love and laugh instead of a cold, heartless showpiece. (I mean, please, even my opulent chamber in Epona’s Temple gets messy sometimes!) Books were strewn all over the end tables and whatnot. (My parents read constantly. Their favorites are paranormal romances. Yes, even my dad reads them. Promise. Which is proof that men can evolve beyond the subhumanoid level of Sports Illustrated and Maxim.) There was only one small table lamp on and it was turned down so low that it actually took me a little while to realize that Dad was sitting in the chair next to the lamp. He was sound asleep.
I smiled and firmly told myself I would not cry. Just the sight of Dad made me feel warm and safe and loved. Man, I’d missed him. I felt the little shiver that told me Epona had worked some of her magic to make my spirit body visible, and glanced quickly down at myself. Thankfully this time I wasn’t naked. Then I looked back at Dad and, with another grin, opened my mouth to shout a big Surprise, Dad, it’s me, when the book in his lap moved. And kicked. And made a little cooing noise.
“Holy shit, that’s not a book!”
At the sound of my voice Dad’s body jerked. He blinked, squinting around the room sleepily, clearly thinking he’d been dreaming. Then he shifted the baby (BABY?!) from the crook of his arm to his shoulder, where he patted the diapered behind gently.
“Dad, where the hell did that baby come from?”
Dad’s body jerked in surprise again. He followed the sound of my voice up and his eyes widened. “Shannon? Is that you, old Bugsy?”
“It’s me, Dad.” Then before I could say anything else he said, “Is everything all right with you? Did anything bad happen today?”
“I’m good, Dad—great, actually. I had a daughter today. Her name is Myrna and she’s amazingly beautiful. You’re a grandpa!”
“Bugsy old girl, that’s wonderful!” He