The Sorcerers Mark Read online

  She knew this man. At the same time he was a stranger.

  “I am Wyldelock Talan De Croft. You shall want me as none other.”

  Olivia’s dreaming mind staggered. The voice that echoed from the depths of invisible walls was that of William Talbot. No sooner had the sound penetrated her ears, he turned, peering over one shoulder, and saw her standing there, watching him. Smoky eyes were drenched with satisfaction, a half-smile curled one corner of his mouth, and the black hair that coiled over his temples was matted with sweat. The small oval face that peeked through the locks of black hair was hers! She was the object of his intense lovemaking! Olivia, embarrassed and stunned and thoroughly panicked, tried to utter a weak apology for intruding, and stepped backwards to make good her escape.

  The floor was nothing except a thin wisp of fog. Her scream wedged in her throat, ending with nothing more than a soundless shriek inside her skull. Helplessly she hurtled down, spiraling into a vast pit, the round walls spinning into a blur of color. I am going to die. The concept was logical and her fall so continuous that she had ample time to think about this brutal impending fate.

  “I will not allow harm to touch you.”

  Something solid reached out for her and rather than push away in fear, she welcomed the embrace. The fall slowed as the massive arms wrapped around her torso. Her body against his, taut muscle straining beneath the velvet crush of olive skin--she melted into the heat of his chest, her nails digging into each shoulder for protection. He would not let her hit the bottom. In his arms she would never be lost; she knew it to be true.

  “I want you.” The deep rumbling voice meant for one ear alone. She sighed to the sound, tipped her chin up, a strand of his hair caught between her lips. Naked thighs pushed into her hips, promising ecstasy if she complied with his wish. Her hand dropped down the curve of his spine and she strummed the supple flesh of his buttock.

  “Oh, my sweet Olivia, my jewel. You want me as well.”

  Plush velvet rubbed her back, a pillow beneath her head, the scent of roses--she was being pushed into the bed, the body above her encasing her into submission. His knee worked between her legs, gently forcing them to part, while kisses lavished her throat and chin. Her thin gown was hoisted, wrapped around her waist, his sculptured fingers expertly untwining the ribbon that crisscrossed the front, exposing her breasts. Heat everywhere--all over her body, in her mind--and it threatened explosion.

  “Do you want me? Tell me if it is so.”

  “Yes. Yes, I want you.”

  He had swayed over her while she lay open and vulnerable, waiting for his torso to lower to hers. She playfully tickled his waist, but as her fingers danced she discovered not skin, but feathers--and not the downy feathers of a pillow, but long, stiff, harsh feathers. Her eyes snapped opened--the aesthetically handsome man was gone and a huge bird of prey flapped over her, talons clawing her flesh, curled beak dangerously close to her throat, eyes yellow and wide with hate. It shrieked, a mocking cry of success, as though it were an atrocious mythological creature that had found its human female to mate with, and with her it would create some perverse disproportional offspring that would become a cruel god--one that would rule the elements for centuries. The bird lunged, not to kill her, but to have sex with her.

  Olivia awoke with sharp wheeze, bolting straight up in her bed, her nightgown clinging to her damp breast. Her heart was thrashing wildly. Several minutes lapsed before she could fully comprehend it had all been nothing more than a dream. But so real! The scent of roses seemed to filter through her small bedroom, the sound of a lover’s whisper resonating in her ears, the sting of razor sharp talons that had clutched at her body. The vivid scenes lessened, as reality spoke, assuring her she was indeed safe beneath her own blankets and not fighting the evil that had hidden behind a man’s dark face.

  Never had she experienced such a vivid dream and it left her trembling so badly she could barely hold the glass of water to her lips. To ease her quaking nerves she swung her feet onto the floor, taking several deep breaths. It was the dead of night, a crescent moon peeking through the branches of the willow tree outside her window. The dream didn’t dull as quickly as the darkness outside did. Without realizing it, she was rubbing her knee, easing what felt like a burn. Lowering her gaze she noticed that the burn had taken the shape of a hand, three fingers clearly outlined, curled, knotted and pointed. The man, seductive, alluring, and then the huge bird, fierce and driven--first one, then the other--and then the two liquefied into one eerily sensual creature. Risk. She knew that to carry on with one so mysterious would harbor extreme risk.

  Olivia watched as the burn on her knee dissolved. It was the very spot where William Talbot had touched her as they sat together on the beach and talked.

  He was real. So, too, was the darkness.

  * * * *

  Providence, chance, luck. None of these words had meaning for Wyldelock. He discovered, so long ago, that once the untapped power of the mind was controlled, then all else was conquered--the need for sleep, sustenance, water were minimal. And externally he could bend time and space, manipulate objects, transform matter, all simply because he wished it to be. His mind was his own. Concentration was the key and deep meditation the only renewal he needed in order to seek out desire. Because he could control with such ease, he rarely objected to the temptation to command other minds. And the female mind, it seemed, was the easiest to toy with. He had saved his greatest methods of seduction for the most tender of bodies, the most vulnerable of wills, and then only when they were reaching readiness of fertility. His methods were all finely tuned for even though Wyldelock wrapped his pride within a cloak of ultimate power, there was one chink in his perfected armor--lust. He could swim the most dangerous of seas without the need of air, he could soar through thunderclouds without need for deflection, and he could burrow through walls of wood, stone, earth without need for projection. But the scent of a young woman, untouched by any other, her body ripened--this was what cracked his dominion over his own mind--a weakness in his body, the need to satisfy the sexual craving so that he could derive strength from the act, so that his blood would course quickly through his heart and brain, so he could find rejuvenation. Lust was his weakness; it was his greatest secret, for what dragon wishes to expose a tender underbelly while swirling over an army of soldiers? His greatest secret, and yet known to one who was once his dearest friend, the one who would use the weapon against him in seeking the revenge that kept him filled with rage for centuries. Dietrick was preparing to bring the dragon down for he alone knew where the most tender of spots resided, where to aim his sword, all because of the request for affection he had rebuked. And if Wyldelock were not prepared for that day of clashing swords, then the outcome would be fatal. The shield of immortality would be no barrier against another who followed through timelessness.

  Through the lust, Wyldelock’s greatest instinct was self-preservation. He would have to kill or be killed, and death was not an entity he ever wanted to entertain.

  “Olivia.”

  The Keep was ready for her. Wyldelock had no need for carpenters, masons, and decorators. A few objects were delivered manually, but this was only for appearance to keep the local peasants from squawking too much. The hammering and voices that echoed from the Keep were all artifacts of his imagination to keep his impending arrival a curious aspect within Olivia’s thought. It took mere minutes for Wyldelock to restore his new home. He strode without hesitation from room to room, top to bottom, and with a mere wave of his walking stick it was ready. Except the turret. This was the room she had spent the longest exploring. This was the room where he’d appeared to her as the owl. This was to be the room where they would join. So Wyldelock had closed his eyes and delved into her requests. He created it as she had visualized it the evening she stood here. He knew she would be pleased with the care he had taken. His reproduction would add to the pleasure his body would give to her. It all had to be perfect.

  He’d
resisted the temptation to meddle with her will as they spoke together on the beach, relying solely on his charm, which in the end worked to his advantage. He was filled with a sense of extreme satisfaction that she had agreed to visit with him, her own mind one of decisiveness. It was what made her stand out from all the others he had bedded--determination, steadfastness, intelligence--and, of course, that unexploited mystical ability which he would assist to bring out. Her scent contained a curious flavor. She bore the mark of greatness. This mark would hold him steadfast to only her. She was the last conquest he would ever crave.

  The encounter had been so brief. Wyldelock ached, having to leave her sitting there alone on the rock. His stamina was being strictly tested. They had been alone and he was her superior. How easy it could have been to unite with her there, fold her slenderness over the rock and bond with her. She might struggle with him at first, but physically he could easily overwhelm her body. But he was not an animal and neither was she simply a vestibule for his pleasure. No. She was far different than the other vain virgins he’d soiled and then abandoned. Olivia was unique, and their sexual encounter was going to be an act of total unification--body, soul, spirit. More than an exchange of fluids, they would drink of each other, he growing strong to condemn his enemy and she unlocking the powers that a bloodline had secretly donated. She would thank him for the revelation. She could only understand through compliance. Thus, patience had to be adhered to, for both their sakes. Still, Wyldelock burned as badly as he burned the night he woke in the cavern of damp earth and soiled straw. His need was doubling by the hour now that he had been so close to her without gratification. He had to have her soon or he would wither like an autumn leaf and rot beneath the snows of eternal blackness.

  “Olivia.”

  He had touched her, placing his hand briefly upon her knee. An essence had flowed through him from that fleeting touch, reminding him of her exclusivity. He couldn’t help but ponder why she harbored this rareness, but for the interim he could not waste time questioning reasons. The new day would bring her to his home and he had to ready himself for that visit. Once they were united then he would seek answers to the spirituality behind their attraction. But they had to bond first, and the act was making him shiver uncontrollably in expectation.

  Wyldelock was consumed with the images of impending acts of sensuality. He could not shake the picture of her smile from his mind, even though he considered himself a master over his thoughts. It was a source of obsession. To alleviate the burden, he decided it shrewd to share the images with her and fell into meditation, whereupon he could infiltrate her dreams. A dream would build within her the hint of sincere pleasures, enticing her inquisitiveness to the extreme. She would dream and then he would prove those dreams a reality. Wyldelock shed his clothing and in the darkness of the turret knelt, summoning his thoughts to meld with her sleeping mind, so that she could begin to understand how much she needed him, and how he needed her.

  She appeared in the window and he coaxed her inside. His eyes closed, he illustrated what a passionate lover he would be. He watched with her as she approached the bed and gently he proved she was the object of his unfailing devotion. There could be no boundaries once they were joined as one. She had nothing to fear. Yet she had recoiled and stepped away, her trepidation opening as a dark pit. He caught her, held her, extolled his physical attributes to her, and carried them both back to the bedchamber.

  She caressed him! The bliss rippled through Wyldelock’s meditation, this small success a prelude to what would come. “Oh, my sweet Olivia, my jewel. You want me as well.” Her confirmation in itself was an ecstasy he could barely contain. “Yes. Yes, I want you.” He was victorious. Her dream would cement the future.

  Then she screamed in terror. Her eyes were filled with pain and she pushed him away, so suddenly and so fiercely, he lost control. Alone in the chamber he knew she had awakened, his magic broken. Mortified at the loss he rose, trembling to an anger that besieged every sense. “Olivia!”

  “Never again, Talan.”

  Wyldelock shrieked fury. A huge grotesque Phoenix flapped its wings in jubilation for foiling the scene of passion. It squawked, hopping from side to side on curled claws, filling the room with the foul stench of its rotten breath. The face was human, as were its protruding genitals, the creature glaring at Wyldelock through malevolent searing eyes.

  “Dietrick!”

  “Yes! It is I.”

  Wyldelock’s fists shook with rage. Dietrick had intruded upon her dream, threatening repulsive molestation within this manifestation. He was the source of her terror and he continued to flaunt the attempt by displaying the oversized male attribute that bounced as he bounced, from one claw to the other. And he laughed, further instigating his determination to foil Wyldelock at every turn.

  “Soon, brother. The pit of damnation waits. The souls of those you have sinned against demand retribution. I will satisfy their lusts by insuring you never satisfy yours.”

  Wyldelock lunged at the massive beast, his fury snapping into every muscle. It vanished, the cackling soon after, leaving Wyldelock as a heap on the floor, gasping for breath and cursing the existence of an enemy who had discovered the capacity to break into his dominion. He was left with no other recourse but to wipe the whole dream from Olivia’s mind. The turret glowed red with his bitterness. Through the glowing haze he lifted tears of frustration as an apology to her.

  “Olivia!”

  His cry, nothing more than a long single trill, echoed over the churning seas and was lost.

  Chapter Four

  “Did I hear you up in the night?”

  “Yes,” Olivia answered, following her mother out the door. “I had a strange dream, but for the life of me I can’t remember it now.”

  Mother swung her carpetbag over one shoulder as they started their trek into town. The car had choked and spluttered and died, but at least it was parked in the yard before it had finally given up the ghost. A strict budget meant it would remain stationary for the time being. Olivia was thankful. She wanted a chance to talk to Mother. The opportunity arose instantly. “Is something troubling you?” Mother asked.

  “William has invited me to visit with him this evening.”

  Mother grinned. “William? So, you’re on a first name basis. How did that come about?”

  “I met him on the beach yesterday.”

  “Well now,” she teased. “If he’s invited you to visit, he must be interested in you.”

  “I don’t know what to think of him. He’s very polite, but ... I get the feeling he’s hiding something.”

  Mother stopped in her tracks. “You’re not letting all the gossip sway your opinion, are you?”

  “No,” she said absently. “Well, maybe a little. I just can’t figure why someone like him would come here.”

  “You’ll have to ask him that.”

  “I did already. He’s less than forthcoming with his answers.” They continued in silence. As much as she abhorred rumors, they swirled through her mind anyway. Gangster, murderer, criminal, none of which made sense, yet she entertained the idea his uniqueness was born of some dastardly deed. “What do you think?” she asked.

  “I think he’s refreshing.”

  Why was it that Olivia couldn’t get an answer that might satisfy her inquisitiveness? “You must have a better idea than that,” Olivia scolded.

  “Sweetheart,” Mother said. “Get to know him a little better. Then make up your own mind. Different isn’t always wrong.”

  “Tell that to the people around here.”

  “Ollie!” Mother stamped her foot. “Don’t you dare judge anyone by the way these people talk. Look what they say about us, and is that true?”

  “I’m not so sure anymore.”

  Mother gaped, flabbergasted.

  “I know, Mother. I know there’s more to this family curse than you admit. I found a diary in the Keep, one that belonged to Amelia Byrne. Her husband died at forty and so did his
father and his mother before that. Statistically speaking that conveys a little bit more than mere coincidence.” Olivia’s voice was stern. She rarely spoke to her mother this way and fully expected chastisement. Instead, she was surprised to see Mother visibly blanch.

  “You went inside?” Mother asked feebly.

  “Yes, I had a look around. I found the diary and I kept it. Amelia wrote about a curse on the family. She knew her husband would die and she wrote about her fear for her son. Why? What’s it all about?”

  “It’s got nothing to do with us, Ollie.” Mother had paled, contradicting the validity behind her words.

  “I’ll ask Gran, then.”

  “No! You mustn’t bring this up with Gran. She gets upset easily and I don’t want her troubled over this.”

  “Tell me, mother.”

  “Now’s not the time.”

  Olivia reached out to touch her mother’s arm. “Please. I have a right to know.”

  “You shouldn’t have gone inside that old building alone. And you should never have taken anything from it.” Mother’s cheeks flushed and she wobbled, pressing her hand to her forehead. “I need to sit down,” she said weakly.

  They took a few steps to a bench, its seat still covered with morning dew. The dampness seeped through Olivia’s dress. She ignored the discomfort, worried more about her mother’s sudden state. Her heart pounded with a mixture of anxiety and lament, both overruled by the nearness of a few answers.

  “It is true.” Olivia could hardly shape the words. Her mouth had gone dry. “There is a curse. And it has something to do with William Talbot, doesn’t it? That’s why he’s here.”