didn't so much regain consciousness as float upward out of a dreamy drugged state, closer to some kind of reality. There was water. I could hear it splashing all around me. My throat was dry and raw, swollen with the need to drink. I tried to lick my lips, but no longer had any control over my tongue. The water sounds continued and I gradually realized I was partially immersed in it. When I tried to move my hands, to scoop some of the warm liquid into my parched mouth, I found I couldn't. Hands, at the same time gentle and firm, were moving over me everywhere. Slowly, I forced my eyes open.

I was half sitting, half lying in a large stainless steel tub. Warm water rose nearly to my breasts. The woman I thought of as the nurse was running soapy hands over me, washing me as if I was a squalid infant. Under my arms, between my legs, she worked thoroughly. There was nothing sensual or even vaguely erotic in the experience. I was simply an object.

Seeing that I was conscious again, she pushed me forward with a strong hand behind my neck and began soaping my back. I saw that my wrists had been clamped into metal cuffs set into either side of the tub. My humiliation at being handled so dispassionately was profound. It wasn't modesty, exactly. Generally I don't view my body as something to be ashamed of. Although my particular tradition practices robed, not sky clad, there are a few rites, such as initiatory ablution, where ritual nudity is perfectly accepted This however, was nothing less than an intrusion on my person. Nothing, no part of me was spared the ministrations of those probing, impersonal hands.

The worst thing, even worse than the humiliation, was the knowledge that I was slowly dying of thirst, sitting in a tub of sudsy water I tried to speak. "Drink...Please."

The Nurse ignored my pleas and continued with her work. She picked up a pitcher from the floor and filled it with running water from the taps near my feet. I begged, pleaded for a sip, but all she did was pour it over my head to wet down my hair. The water was icy cold and the shock as I was doused paralyzed me. I didn't even have the presence to open my mouth, to try and catch a drop or two as water sluiced over my face. In frustration I began to sob as she washed my hair, but no tears would come. My body hadn't the moisture to spare, not even for tears.

Again she filled the pitcher. This time I was able to catch a few drops soapy water. It did nothing, except perhaps to make my craving more acute. For a moment, Nurse left the room and I was alone. The water was turning cold now, and I began to shiver. She came back carrying a large towel, Number One and Number Two right behind her. By this time, I was beyond embarrassment. They stood on either side of the tub and each took hold of an arm as Nurse undid the restraints. Neither spoke a word, though Number One leered and grinned lewdly as they dragged me from the water. I was held up, shaking and dripping between the two men as Nurse toweled me off with cold efficiency. I squeezed my eyes shut so I wouldn't have to look at them as my hair was rubbed damp and combed.

When I was dry I was taken and restrained as Arthur had been, in a bed made up with silk sheets. There was no pillow. I was so weak, dizzy and ill from thirst and whatever drugs I'd been given, the restraints seemed hardly necessary. I kept drifting in and out of a dream. It was becoming increasingly more difficult for me to discern one reality from another.

There were voices. One I recognized as Miss Kelly's, although it seemed to hold an unfamiliar note of fear. The other voice was masculine, low and sibilant. I thought I'd heard that voice too, somewhere, sometime ago.

"You stupid fool. She's half-dead! Look at her, she's no good to me this way!"

"I had to reduce her power, Malcolm, get her subdued. I know it wasn't what you ordered, but in my opinion..."

The masculine voice hissed at her, "Opinion? You have no right to an opinion. You are my hand, a projection of my will, no more. Margaret Kelly as a person no longer exists outside of me.

The sheets were drawn down, and I shivered a little as cold hands prodded at my flesh. My eyelids were lifted by the gentle touch of a thumb, and pale, colorless eyes gazed deeply into mine.

"Lady Tarish? Can you hear me?"

He was well dressed in a business suit, impeccably tailored and obviously very expensive He looked every inch the prosperous lawyer now, but I knew those eyes. Once before I had stared into their luminous, inhuman depths. I tried to flinch away, but I hadn't even the strength for that.

Marge was whispering into his ear. "Remember, my Lord, she is dangerous. She beat you once before. I suggest it would be wise to keep her..."

He stood and backhanded Miss Kelly across the face.

She fell cringing on the floor at his feet, whimpering excuses. "You weren't there, I tell you. You didn't see her in the van! It was necessary. We couldn't control her power! If it hadn't been for the damned Doctor, she would have killed us all!" Her voice held a note of frightened desperation. It gave me a small measure of satisfaction.

"I am here now. There is no power she holds that I cannot counter!" The barely contained fury in those words chilled me to my soul.

"You couldn't hold her when you had her before. She was nearly the death of you then. I beg you, do not underestimate her." Marge's voice low and shaky.

Malcolm Dennings, the man I knew to be the High Priest of the New York Coven laid his hands on my face. He glanced over his shoulder and whispered.

"Bring me a tray with tea and fresh water and fruit, melon."

The door closed quietly, so I knew she had gone. His attention was all on me again. His eyes glassy were and unfocused as murmured over me, chanting strange words softly. I began to feel a kind of heat rising all around, and then I was drifting off again. When I awoke, there was water.

"Try to sip a little, Lady Tarish." His eyes seemed to show real concern as I struggled to get the tepid water to flow down my swollen throat. It was difficult. The passage seemed almost swollen shut. How many days had it been? Three, four? A week? I had no idea how long it had been since I'd had anything to drink save those three desperate swallows, but it had been too long. Now, the water was here and I couldn't get it down.

He muttered an incantation of some kind and offered the cup again. This time I was able to take a little. I realized then, that he was holding my head gently, almost lovingly against his chest.

"I'm very sorry, my Lady. This was not what I had intended." Setting the water aside, he brought a different cup to my lips. It was some kind of a warm herb tea that soothed the angry rawness of my throat as it eased down. I took it all, then let my head fall back onto his chest, breathing deeply.

"Can you take some food?" He brought a small piece of some kind of melon, and held it to my mouth.

I accepted the food from his fingers and managed to swallow. He offered another. Soon, I was able to eat and drink easily. When I could take no more, he stopped, and lay my head back down on the bed. He sat back and looked at me, cupping my chin tenderly in soft white hands. "You will be better very soon, Lady Tarish. "Soon enough to take your role in the Rite."

I was able to find my voice at last, a tiny cracked whisper. "I will not cooperate with your ritual."

His smile widened and again I saw the gaping jaws of a shark about to close around me. "That is not necessary, my dear. Cooperation only tends to make these things dull anyway. I much prefer a lively ritual, myself." He pushed himself up. "I'll send in the nurse to take care of your more physical needs. Now that you have ingested something, I'm certain you will require her services." He bent down and pressed his lips over mine; a cold and passionless kiss. Then, he left.

When Nurse came in with the bedpan, I found that he was right. She refused to speak to me, or even listen, as she tended to my physical requirements with detachment. I wondered if maybe she was deaf. After she'd gone, I was left alone, and that was the most frightening part of all. Each time I closed my eyes, I relived the nightmare of that night in the van. I felt the surging of the raw Power coursing through me, the savage joy that had filled me as I realized the force of my will. The images came swiftly, vividly. Every time, I would drag myself awake, trembling and drenched in the sweat of my own fear. To think that I could be capable of such devastating power was the most terrible thing of all. That kind of power was more than any mortal had any right to.

Awake finally, afraid to close my eyes again, I wondered where such power came from. The tiny ring on my pinky grew tight for an instant and the key at my breast felt warm. I suddenly realized that somehow, without meaning to, I had somehow invoked the power of the talismans that night; invoked them in a fit of uncontrollable, animal rage. If the two alone were capable of giving so much power to an inept such as myself, what would be the power bestowed upon an adept, one who held also the Grimoir of Infinity? The thought rushed coldly through me. I prayed that the Doctor would not be fool enough to return with the Book. I prayed that he would use his common sense and logic and take the Book as far away as he could travel, and hide it forever. Better than that, I hoped he would destroy it. Whatever the cost to me, Dennings must never be allowed the use of that Power.

My eyes closed again and I slept. This time, I dreamed of Arthur.

When I woke, Nurse was there. She poured water into a basin and sponged me as I had seen her do to Arthur. I didn't try to speak to her this time. After running the towel over my body, she applied some fragrant oil to my Chakra points. I remembered where I knew that smell. It was the same scent I had recognized on Dennings. I squirmed, against my bonds, uncomfortable having that smell rubbed into my flesh. She ignored me and finished her task. That done, she held a cup of herb tea to my lips, watching carefully as I drank it down. Finally, I was fed small pieces of bread dipped in milk. She wiped my mouth clean with a linen napkin and gathered her things on the tray. Silently, she left, closing the door behind her.

I was alone only a few minutes this time, before Dennings entered. He had exchanged his suit for an ornately embroidered black silk kimono. A gold and silver dragon, outlined in metallic red threads with turquoise scales embroidered deeply along its back, decorated the exquisite robe. A red braided satin rope knotted loosely around his waist held it closed. He sat on the edge of the bed and lifted my head.

"You are looking much better Lady Tarish. How are you feeling?" His words betrayed nothing more than concern, but his eyes... his eyes were glowing.

"You seem to know me well enough. What am I supposed to call you?" My voice was still little more than a strong whisper, but it was sufficient.

His lips turned up into a small smile. "You are indeed better, my Lady. I see the spark of life has returned." With a smooth finger, he stroked the hair from my eyes. "As to what you are to call me..." He stopped and seemed to consider, letting his smile widen. "I think, dear Tarish, that you will call me Master."

I turned my face away, refusing to meet those eyes. He turned it back with gentle pressure. "My mortal name is Malcolm Dennings, but you will find that Master suits me well."

I thought of all I had read about the man since Arthur had first told me who he was. He was enormously wealthy, of course, and his legal practice boasted popular authors, movie stars, and various other fabulously wealthy luminaries on his client list, along with the odd politician or two.

"You have heard of me?" He smiled again, removing his hand from my face and pushing the silk sheets lower as he began to explore.

I tried desperately not to let him see the stark terror that was building in my eyes as his hands moved lower, probing gently, insistently down the length of my body.

"Tarish? Have you nothing to say?" His voice was taunting, teasing. I sensed he wanted me to beg, to plead with him. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"I read the papers. I know who you are, Mr. Dennings." I tried to ignore his touch. "I also know what you are."

"Do you also know that tomorrow night, you will be taken in love by the coven? Initiated and dedicated to the Dark?"

I answered him with far more bravado than I felt. "I understand that will be raped by a group of half hysterical idiots led by a lunatic with a god complex. You don't scare me, Mr. Dennings. You can violate me, my body, but my soul is beyond your reach. I will follow the Light from this incarnation to my next until my own Karma is fulfilled and there is nothing you can do about that."

I had spoken softly, quietly, but with a conviction I felt in my heart that I'd never known was there. The understanding finally sank in. Though my mortal body in this incarnation could be desecrated, I was still the master of my own soul. Nobody could take that from me. Like the talismans, it had to be freely given, or be useless.

For a moment he said nothing, then, "They have chosen well, my Lady. You may be correct. However, when the Doctor returns with the Grimoir of Infinity..."

"He will not!" This time I spoke with more conviction than I actually felt. "He "understands what is necessary and he knows I understand. He will not deliver the Book to you, or anyone like you. Not in this life or any other."

He seemed to reflect on that a moment. "If that is true, it still leaves me you. Perhaps not your soul yet. Perhaps never. But for now I do have you, and I will be your Master." The sheet was discarded as he pressed his body down on me.

There is a place each of has, a private place in our minds where we can retreat when reality becomes too much to cope with. I went to that place and was safe, as Malcolm Dennings practiced his mastery.

When he was done with me, he stood over the bed gloating, adjusting his robe, "I was gentle with you tonight, my Lady. Tomorrow I will have to set an example." He smiled again and I shuddered, looking away. "I am not a brutal man, Tarish, but I am capable of brutality."

A tear found its way beneath my closed eyelids and he brushed it away. "By the end of the Rite you will call me Master. Whether or not you give up the Key and the Crown..." he sighed, "...is something only you can decide. But think of this, Tary. Is it fair that you should suffer? Why should the responsibility rest solely on your slender shoulders? There is far more that is dark in the cosmos than is light. Inevitably, dark shall win dominion. Why should you sacrifice yourself to merely postpone that eventuality? By whose will is it that you offer yourself?"

I made him no answer. I had none.

Nurse came in to clean me up when he had gone. It may have been my imagination, but I thought she was less gentle with me. As she began to clean me up, she gasped, "His mark!" So, she wasn't a mute anyway. There was a small tender spot just above my left breast. In all the time I had been in Nurse' S care, she had never uttered a single word. But now as she moved her hands expertly along my torso she had spoken those two shocked words, "His mark".

I strained to lift my head, to see that sore spot above my breast, but I couldn't. "What mark? Whose?" Nurse had regained her detachment, however, and simply went on with her work she used something astringent, slightly acidic to cleanse me of Malcolm Dennings intrusion. It burned a little. I thought I saw a look of satisfaction flit across her placid features as I winced, sucking in air through clenched teeth. In helpless frustration I began to pull at the restraints. Nurse responded by treating me with uncustomary roughness as she changed the linen. She fed me indifferently, then left, closing the door behind her.

In a few minutes, I had another visitor, Marge Kelly.

"So," she breathed, running her fingers along the periphery of the tender area.

"So what?" I asked, I had really begun to hate Marge Kelly. I'm ashamed to admit it, but a part of me was pleased to see the bruised and swollen lip.

She stared at me for a moment, her grey eyes cold as the North Sea. "He has marked you."

I'd begun feeling physically much better since my treatment had improved, That was good, and bad. I was getting tired of being treated like an object, a non-person, and I wanted to strike back. My tongue has always been prone to getting me into trouble.

I smiled, "Jealous?"

I don't know why I said it, except that sometimes my mouth runs faster than my brain. In spite of or maybe because of being raped by Malcolm Dennings, I found I was itching for a fight. For a second her swollen lip curled up into a snarl and I thought she was going to hit me, but I blundered on, unable to stop myself.

"You can't harm me, Marge, remember? I hold the Key and the Crown."

That stopped her in mid swing and I went on. "You saw that night, didn't you? You know what Power I am capable of. Beware, Marge, I am almost up to par again. The Power comes easily to me."

I'm not sure what I was trying to achieve, other than maybe plant a small seed of doubt. Perhaps it was nothing more than wanting her to feel a little of the fear I had been subjected to. At any event, whatever brinkmanship I accomplished was very short lived. I saw the doubt slip from her mind as she regained her composure.

"You are quite right, Tary. I believe Mr. Dennings is being far too careless with you. Her eyes narrowed. "He is my Master, that is so, however I am charged with your safety for the moment. I would be remise in my duty if I were to permit you to escape."

Her finger traced a design along my cheek, but I met her gaze steadily, refusing to be further intimidated. Marge's smile broadened. "I like you, Tary. You have so much to offer. Your skill is raw and untried, but you have a great talent for magic nonetheless. That talent should be nurtured."

"Not by you!" I spat.

She went on as if I hadn't spoken. "But magic requires concentration. I may not harm you, that is clear. There are however, measures which will insure you cannot call the Power to you. Indeed, I think I must take such measures."

The sheet was blown off the bed by a gust of wind which chilled be, causing gooseflesh to rise along my skin. It died as quickly as it had been born.

"Oh very impressive, Marge," I said, tensing my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering. "That'll show me!"

Her smile remained fixed as she began at my feet drawing her nails very lightly up over the insides of my legs. They left pale white lines behind as she drew them around in circles on my stomach, then up and across my breasts to my neck. As the lines faded, the itching began. It started slowly at my feet, following the lines she had traced to my neck. Soon, my discomfort was acute. There was no rash, just an incessant itching. I began to squirm.

©2000 by Trish Reynolds