Carpathian 06 - Dark Fire

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    outcropping of rocks. She took off her shoes and strode in. The icy cold cleared her head enough that she could reason again.
    Darius was not dead or hurt. Nothing was wrong. The bond between them was growing because he merged his mind more often with hers. They shared an intense intimacy that was not meant for humans.
    Without his mind touching hers, she was feeling the loss. That was all. It was simple. She just had to learn to live with it.
    Tempest waded farther out into the stream so that the water poured over her knees and the current urged her to follow its course. She became aware of the insects in the air, their constant hum, their buzzing about. They were darts of color, a whirring of gossamer wings. She listened in the way Darius had taught her, in utter stillness, with the water flowing around her and her mind centered on the tiny creatures teeming with life.
    Tempest watched a brilliant blue dragonfly hover above the stream. Very slowly she looked around and saw butterflies gathering. So many beautiful colors, wings beating in the air. They came from everywhere, brushing up against her, landing on her shoulders, her arms. Entranced, she stayed attuned to them until she feared she was gathering too many. Abruptly she released them, and they gracefully began to take flight.
    Musical notes seeped into her mind as the birds began a concert, a rivalry of sound. Various species vied for air waves and tried to outdo one another. She listened intently, repeating the sounds in her mind until she was certain she had each separate song, each meaning, before she answered them.
    One by one she called them to her. Holding out her arms, she sang to them, coaxed them, her throaty warbling luring the birds from their branches and nests. They flew around her, circling low, dipping to inspect her warily before settling on her arm.
    Chattering and scolding, the squirrels came next, rushing forward to stop at the edge of the water.
    Slowly, with great care, Tempest made her way toward them, all the time still talking quietly to the birds.
    They fluttered around her, cooing and singing, trilling their favorite tunes to her. Two rabbits moved hesitantly into the open, wiggling their noses at her. Tempest stayed very still, reaching out only with her mind to include them in the circle of communication.
    It was a bird that first warned her of danger. Riding an air current high above them, its sharp eyes caught a stealthy movement in the brush several yards from the gathering. It keened an alarm, cautioning those below that they weren't alone. Tempest turned around quickly as the birds took flight and the squirrels and rabbits raced to safety. She was left alone in the clearing, her bare feet still in the water. The man partially hidden in the thick brush was busy taking a series of pictures. He looked all too familiar and, worse, all too triumphant. He had obviously taken photos of the animals swarming around her.
    Tempest sighed and ran a hand through her hair. At least she hadn't managed to draw out anything major or exotic. No bears or fox or minks. But she could still see the reporter's tatty little rag with her picture on the front, captioned Birdwoman of the Dark Troubadours. What a great article that was going to make. How did she manage to get herself into such messes?
    "Hello again. You seem to be following us around," she greeted Matt Brodrick, hoping she didn't sound as afraid as she felt. She hated being alone with men, and this meandering stream in a remote wooded area was about as alone as it got. "Did you get some good pictures?"
    "Oh, yeah," he answered, allowing the camera to hang loosely around his neck. He began to move Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    toward her, looking cautiously around. "Where's the bodyguard?" he asked with great suspicion.
    Tempest's feet moved of their own volition, wading backward into the middle of the stream as Matt Brodrick strode toward her.
    "I thought that bodyguard stuck to you like glue."
    "Where would you get an idea like that? I'm the mechanic, not a band member. He sticks to Desari, the lead singer, like glue. That's his job. I can give him a message the next time I see him if you'd like."
    Something about Brodrick made her uneasy. She knew he was more than a nosy reporter trailing after the troupe, but what he wanted, she couldn't guess.
    "Someone