Page 2 of Sweetwater and the Witch

He pulled her through the doorway and into another chamber. The room was larger than the one in which she had been held prisoner for the past day and a half. Like all the ruins left behind by the long-vanished Aliens who had tried to colonize Harmony eons earlier, the proportions looked vaguely off to the human eye. But if you dropped your preconceived notions of what constituted good architecture, it was possible to perceive a refined elegance and grace in the impressive structures.

Issues of architectural design were not top of mind for her today, however. The real problem was that Granger was not the only cult enforcer. She had counted three, and they were all clearly ex-Guild men. They carried flamers but that was not their only weapon. They had been in the Guild at some point in their lives because they possessed a talent for working some of the strong energy that flowed through the vast maze of tunnels in the Underworld. They could create and manipulate small storms of acid-green “ghost” fire. A brush with a hot ball of that kind of energy could knock you unconscious. A seriously close encounter could stop the heart.

“The witch will burn.”

The annoying chanting stopped abruptly when the small group of robed and hooded twits saw Ravenna and Granger in the doorway. An expectant silence shivered in the room. The evening’s entertainment was about to begin. This was why they had invented the wordbloodthirsty, Ravenna thought—or, in this case, talent thirsty. This bunch wanted to strip her of her psychic senses.

Like Granger, the other cult members were dressed in masks and hooded robes. There were fewer than a dozen in all. They were gathered around the man and woman seated on the glowing green quartz thrones on a dais in the center of the chamber.

They called themselves the Master and the Acolyte, but Ravenna knew their names—Clarence Fitch and Louise Lace. Fitch wore an impressive black-and-gold robe. His mask was gold. Madness glinted in his eyes. Lace was dressed in white from head to toe, including her mask.

“Bring the witch forward,” Fitch intoned.

Granger shoved Ravenna toward the thrones.

“Oh, hey, don’t stop whatever you’re doing on account of me,” Ravenna said. “Sorry to interrupt. Don’t worry, I won’t be staying long.”

“She won’t stop talking,” Granger muttered. “Want me to gag her?”

“No.” Clarence gave Ravenna a considering look. “We want to question her first.”

“If you answer the Master’s questions, he will let you keep some of your powers,” Louise Lace said. She spoke in a reassuring, encouraging tone.

A murmur of astonishment and acute disappointment rippled around the room.

“But she’s a witch,” one of the Guardians said.

Clarence glared at Louise, who visibly withered.

“I am sorry, Master,” she whispered. “I was trying to help.”

“Silence,” Clarence snapped.

“Yes, Master,” Louise said.

Clarence gripped the wide arms of the quartz chair and pushed himself to his feet. He fixed Ravenna with his mad eyes. “You will answer my questions or you will die.”

“Choices, choices,” Ravenna said. She glanced at the door in one last burst of hope, but there was no sign of a rescue party. “What’s your question?”

“How much does the FBPI know?”

“The Federal Bureau of Psi Investigation knows everything I know, of course,” Ravenna said. “I work for them. The task force should be here any minute now. Guess they got held up in traffic.”

There was a collective gasp. Stricken looks were exchanged. Louise stiffened in the big chair, clearly alarmed. But Clarence was enraged.

“You’re lying,” he roared.

Ravenna gave him a dazzling smile. She did not speak.

“She’s bluffing, Master,” Louise said. “You’re not going to get anything useful out of her. It is time to strip her of her powers.”

Clarence did not need much in the way of persuasion. “Prepare to be cleansed and purified in the fires of ice. When I have finished, you will no longer possess your dark powers of magic.”

He advanced on Ravenna. A chilling energy shuddered in the chamber. Fitch was raising his psychic talent. He was, just as she had expected, a true flatliner, one of the monsters. And he was strong—very strong.

Ravenna retreated a few steps. She had studied the para-psych profile that had been assembled on Fitch during the years he had spent in an asylum. The medication that had dampened his dangerous ability had worn off quickly after his escape a few months ago, and now she was dealing with the full force of his frightening talent.

Fitch took another step toward her. Waves of ice pressed at her, seeking to overwhelm her aura. She retreated again but found herself up against a wall. She spotted the dust bunny crouched, unnoticed, on the far side of the chamber.

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