his past life, having kids, why guys were horny jerks or how to close a sale, including what it was okay to say.
Melissa praised his wisdom, kept him at arm’s reach at all times and kept the number in their new-formed clique increasing. The answer to any question became either, “Bill said,” or “You should ask Bill.” Of course there followed a steady stream of advice on his clothes, his hairstyle and his beard, which his new friends alternately hated or needed to manicure in a different way. When Melissa found out he bought his trousers at Target, Bill thought for a moment she would cry.
He impressed himself by wearing cologne for the first time in five years. By that second Saturday, however, he’d been properly groomed, manicured and styled, and left no question in anyone’s mind that he had graduated from trainer to ‘pet,’ mostly Melissa’s.
Chapter Three:
The Song in Her Heart
The day had come.
Angron had decreed the time for the event. Her new brother had apparently spoken with their King before leaving the Silent Isle.
Glynn donned the beautiful white robes of a Caster. In the two weeks since she had been given permission to sing, she’d had a new robe commissioned for her, just to be worn this one time. She wished only that her father had lived to see it, or her natural brother.
The cotton felt like a dream to wear. She cinched the belt tight on her trim waist. Its touch made her alabaster skin tingle, light and secure, properly demure and yet deliciously naked in the way it let her move beneath it. It imbued her with the power of her station, a Caster—the ruling elite of the Uman-Chi.
Finally, to sing ! Even if she died this day, she died on a high note seldom felt by others.
Well, perhaps not. She drifted back to reality, and let her toes touch the ground. A good enchantress doesn’t build bridges from twigs and muck. She might sing that the next harvest would be dismal, or that the herds were palsied.
She straightened her back and set her jaw, then with a wave of her hand had the Uman servants open her chamber door for her. No, she assured herself. She had not spent these days in deep training with a Master like Chaheff, learning how to focus great energy, to give crop or weather reports. This would be whatever the gods decreed it, certainly, but no less than it would be.
Glynn glided in the manner of Uman-Chi Casters, maintaining the hem of her robe equidistant to the floor. This discipline prepared her mind for the song, and for the sacrifice she might have to make. She maintained it until she entered the throne room. Ten other Uman-Chi, all in the white robes of Casters, waited for her there in the gallery. D’gattis, with the yellow mark on his robes, stood closest to the throne where she would be, as her brother had promised.
They’d drawn a chain of thirteen circles, each interlocking, on the white marble around the Circle of Judgment before the throne. The priest of a different god had consecrated each one of them. Glynn took her place within it, and D’gattis and Avek sealed her with a spell. If she should lose control, then that would be the first line of defense against the unleashed power.
Her heart raced, her mind swam with the song, its imperative, its power . Her years of discipline in the art of casting barely kept her from fidgeting. The time had finally come!
Glynn inhaled, exhaled, and looked to her wise King.
* * *
Lunch rolled around and for once Bill found himself alone. The timing couldn’t be better—he had driven and he really wanted to listen to Rush on the car radio.
That wishful thinking lasted until he saw them all in
Melissa praised his wisdom, kept him at arm’s reach at all times and kept the number in their new-formed clique increasing. The answer to any question became either, “Bill said,” or “You should ask Bill.” Of course there followed a steady stream of advice on his clothes, his hairstyle and his beard, which his new friends alternately hated or needed to manicure in a different way. When Melissa found out he bought his trousers at Target, Bill thought for a moment she would cry.
He impressed himself by wearing cologne for the first time in five years. By that second Saturday, however, he’d been properly groomed, manicured and styled, and left no question in anyone’s mind that he had graduated from trainer to ‘pet,’ mostly Melissa’s.
Chapter Three:
The Song in Her Heart
The day had come.
Angron had decreed the time for the event. Her new brother had apparently spoken with their King before leaving the Silent Isle.
Glynn donned the beautiful white robes of a Caster. In the two weeks since she had been given permission to sing, she’d had a new robe commissioned for her, just to be worn this one time. She wished only that her father had lived to see it, or her natural brother.
The cotton felt like a dream to wear. She cinched the belt tight on her trim waist. Its touch made her alabaster skin tingle, light and secure, properly demure and yet deliciously naked in the way it let her move beneath it. It imbued her with the power of her station, a Caster—the ruling elite of the Uman-Chi.
Finally, to sing ! Even if she died this day, she died on a high note seldom felt by others.
Well, perhaps not. She drifted back to reality, and let her toes touch the ground. A good enchantress doesn’t build bridges from twigs and muck. She might sing that the next harvest would be dismal, or that the herds were palsied.
She straightened her back and set her jaw, then with a wave of her hand had the Uman servants open her chamber door for her. No, she assured herself. She had not spent these days in deep training with a Master like Chaheff, learning how to focus great energy, to give crop or weather reports. This would be whatever the gods decreed it, certainly, but no less than it would be.
Glynn glided in the manner of Uman-Chi Casters, maintaining the hem of her robe equidistant to the floor. This discipline prepared her mind for the song, and for the sacrifice she might have to make. She maintained it until she entered the throne room. Ten other Uman-Chi, all in the white robes of Casters, waited for her there in the gallery. D’gattis, with the yellow mark on his robes, stood closest to the throne where she would be, as her brother had promised.
They’d drawn a chain of thirteen circles, each interlocking, on the white marble around the Circle of Judgment before the throne. The priest of a different god had consecrated each one of them. Glynn took her place within it, and D’gattis and Avek sealed her with a spell. If she should lose control, then that would be the first line of defense against the unleashed power.
Her heart raced, her mind swam with the song, its imperative, its power . Her years of discipline in the art of casting barely kept her from fidgeting. The time had finally come!
Glynn inhaled, exhaled, and looked to her wise King.
* * *
Lunch rolled around and for once Bill found himself alone. The timing couldn’t be better—he had driven and he really wanted to listen to Rush on the car radio.
That wishful thinking lasted until he saw them all in
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