Into the Storm: Into the Storm Trilogy Book One Read online

  When it struck her, just how cooped up she felt, she grabbed her keys and walked out through the back garden into the laneway that ran behind their house. The blue sky began to turn grey, and she grinned as angry black clouds formed above her. It was like they had waited for her, had followed her. Like she had her own personal bad weather system to command.

  Energised, she raced to the top of the tor, and threw her head back and her arms to the sky as the rain began to fall, pouring down over her, soaking her to the skin, and washing away the tears that spilled over and traced a path down her cheeks. As she screamed her pain and rage to the heavens, lightning split the sky, and she laughed, a slightly hysterical note to it, as she embraced the power of her storm.

  She screamed for the thing that had happened to her, for the loss of her mother, for the look on her little brother’s face that tore her heart to ribbons every time she pictured it. She screamed because she didn’t know what to do, or how to move forward, and because she couldn’t see any way through this emotional devastation.

  There was a lull in the chaos of the weather as she paused to draw breath, then it roared again when she did. Fear vibrated through her as she wondered if she was controlling the storm. Had she called it? Did she fuel it? Then laughter bubbled out of her again, and she wondered if she had finally snapped, imagining that she could control the weather. Who was she, god? If that was true, her mother would still be alive.

  Time passed slowly, then sped up, as her mind spun and she tried to shut out the chaos of memories beating at her brain. But after what felt like hours, the ache in her bones from the cold outweighed the ache in her heart, and she staggered back down the hill.

  Mike and Brodie were at home when she returned, and tried their best to entice her into the kitchen with them, where they were drinking hot chocolate and making cookies. Turning away from their sad, hopeful eyes, she traipsed upstairs, slamming her bedroom door as she went in. Shrugging off her wet clothes, she wrapped herself in a dressing gown and piled her dripping hair up on her head in a towel, then went back to the window seat and curled up on the cushions.

  Though the weather had let up while she was walking home, now a flash downpour began, and she could hear each individual drop as it hit the glass, could sense its pathway along the cold pane of the glass, could see the tiniest movement as it made its way downwards.

  It was hypnotic, and she felt herself falling into the depths of that one drop – before she was suddenly outside again. Staring around herself in panic, she wiped the rain from her eyes and tried to focus. She was in the woods, although she had no idea how she’d gotten there, or how she would get home.

  A flash of lightning lit up the dripping trees, and she gasped as she saw Evan standing there, just metres away. How the hell did he get there? What was he going to do to her?

  Yet the chill of the rain lent her strength, and she felt her terror giving way to anger – and the angrier she got, the louder the thunder crashed above them, and the more frequently the lightning struck the clearing where they stood. And as she peered through the relentless downpour, she saw that he was quaking in fear, shrinking in on himself, his once-swaggering demeanour crumbling in the face of the wind and the rain and the rolling thunder.

  How strange, that he was afraid of a storm. That in the face of nature’s fury, his confidence suddenly deserted him, like the scary schoolyard bully shaking with fear when confronted by someone even crueller than them.

  But as she stared harder, a strange smile crossed her face, as she realised that he wasn’t just scared of the worsening storm – he was scared of her.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, voice strangled with dread, and she almost laughed. The threatening tone from their last meeting had disappeared, and his voice shook with apprehension.

  “Me?” she said, genuinely puzzled. “I’m not doing anything, other than admiring the power of this beautiful storm. A storm you seem a little nervous about.”

  “Stop it, witch,” he hissed, and she noticed the whites of his eyes glowing when the lightning illuminated the forest again, and the thunder seemed to shake the ground beneath them.

  This time she did laugh. “Witch? You’re the one with the magical powers, remember? I’m just a young girl in need of teaching, right?”

  His eyes slid from hers and moved down her body, but it wasn’t the sleazy sizing up of her supposed charms that he’d subjected her to last time, so she followed his eyes, curious – then jumped in fright. Sparks were shooting from her fingertips, and the leaves on the ground around her feet were smouldering despite the rain. There were even small flames burning in a circle around her, and she felt them protecting her with their warmth, and an energy she sensed herself pushing outwards, at him.

  He seemed to feel it too, because he paled even further, and if she wasn’t so scared herself she would have laughed. For a moment she almost gave in to the panic, afraid of what was happening to her, what she was capable of doing. But the rain around her eased in answer, soothing her now with a gentle caress, while it continued to pelt down on him as he stood cowering before her.

  Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she tried to centre herself – and felt the palms of her hands tingling, then a crackle of electricity zinging through her long, wild hair. She felt strong, and powerful, and strangely in control of a situation that should have been sending her crazy.

  “I’m sorry,” he said shakily, and her eyes snapped open, alighting on him again and noticing this time his misery, and his shame. She glared at him, about to unleash a torrent of words on top of the rain he was drowning in, words of anger and scorn, words he needed to hear, and deserved to be lashed by.

  But abruptly she was thrown off balance as she felt something pulling her away from him, away from herself. In an instant she was back in her bedroom, crouched on the floor, the window open and rain pouring in on her. Shivering with cold, she stood up to close it, then collapsed back onto the window seat.

  Strange images swirled through her mind, and she stared down at her hands. They were no longer tingling, no longer sparking. And she was dry. The fear that she was losing her mind was interrupted by a knock on the door, then her dad poked his head into her room.

  “Sorry darling, I’ve been knocking, but I wasn’t sure you could hear me,” he said, voice full of apology, eyes full of apprehension. Was it his knock that had brought her back from… wherever she’d been?

  She looked at him quizzically, and he slowly entered her room, a steaming cup in his hand, which he nervously offered to her.

  “It’s lemon balm tea with mint leaves,” he explained hesitantly. “Rose brought it over, and said it would be good for you. Apparently it supports those who are grieving emotionally, and it helps them to sleep better too.” He broke off, worried she would be offended. “You should see how big the bag she brought us is – she said I need to drink it every night too.”

  Rhiannon stared up at him. At last she was present enough to see his pain and his nerves around her. God, the poor man. He was trying – he had to, because she’d deserted him – but he was just as lost as she was.

  “Thanks Dad,” she said finally, reaching out for the cup, and he smiled with relief. She was relieved too, that she’d managed to calm her mind enough to take it, because her first instinct had been to smash it out of his hand, or hurl it across the room. But it wasn’t his fault she was hurting.

  She knew that her mother had wanted her to tell her dad about… the thing that had happened to her… when she was ready, but how could she do that to him? It was painfully obvious that he wasn’t coping very well as it was, the devastation of his beloved wife’s death coming close to destroying him, and the burden of caring for their two children far more than he could handle right now.

  Already he was uncomfortable around her – he’d looked plain scared when he’d seen her wrapped in a towel after her shower the other night. She felt for him, the awkward man who’d always left the girlie teenage stuff t
o his wife, preferring to see Rhiannon as his young daughter still. Even hinting to him about what had happened to her would send him over the edge, and so she knew what she had to do.

  Not that she’d spared much thought for that night anyway – it had been submerged by her grief and pain, drowned beneath her guilt and anger and loss. Compared to her mother’s death, well, what did anything else matter?

  And so she swallowed it down and buried it deep within…

  Chapter 9

  Healing Her Heart

  Beth... Twenty years ago...

  After another bitter argument with her mother over her supposedly inconsiderate behaviour – because having her own opinion of her own life was clearly frowned upon by her parents – Beth slammed the front door and stormed off towards the village, not caring where she walked or where she ended up, just knowing she had to get away from the house, and the toxic relationships within it.

  She didn’t want to be angry all the time, or bitter, but as soon as she’d walked into her childhood abode a week ago, she had reverted to her childhood self. Angry, resentful… hell, she’d probably regressed back a few years in age too, because dealing with her mother made her want to contradict everything she said, whether she agreed with it or not, and deny even the vaguest of similarities between them.

  Leaving town the day high school finished had been her one successful act of defiance. Living in London for a year, she’d felt like herself for the first time, free to think how she wanted to think, live how she wanted to live – god, even eat what she wanted to eat. It was even better, and more freeing, when she’d moved to France for a year, thus avoiding even the occasional visits home she’d suffered through while still in England.

  Admittedly it had been weird at first, having people ask her opinion, let alone value it, because she’d been so used to deferring to, or being over-ruled by, her parents in every aspect of life. But she’d thrived in her new circumstances, and had blossomed into a happy, confident and independent young woman, loving her job, and her life.

  The moment she’d come back here though she’d become her miserable old self again, giving in to her parents because it was easier than arguing with them, and feeling once more that her opinions were of no consequence and her dreams were stupid, petty, unrealistic and unachievable. Standing up for herself just wasn’t worth it – she was already worn down, exhausted from her few minor and ill-fated attempts at rebellion. How was she going to survive another month?

  Tripping on the sidewalk, she finally lifted her eyes to her surroundings, and was surprised to find herself outside Rose’s shop. As she gazed at the beautiful shiny crystals, colourful clothes and books in the window, she smiled. There were magical novels, spell books, tomes on shamanism, druidry and witchcraft, and even one on how to create rituals that would change your life. She could sure use one of those!

  Next her eyes alighted on a sign listing all the healing modalities offered, and she realised it wasn’t just a shop and a place of ceremony, it was a healing centre as well. Maybe that was what she needed, but she was too scared to go inside.

  As she turned to walk away, the door opened, and Rose poked her head out. “Hi Beth,” she said, voice gentle and loving, and full of acceptance. “I was hoping you’d come by. I just had a cancellation, and I thought you might like to take it – learn about the so-called oogeldy-boogeldy that your mother so despises.” And she grinned a cheeky grin.

  An expression of deep longing lit up Beth’s face, but it was quickly replaced with a look part fear, part suspicion.

  Responding to the first, most honest response, Rose guided her inside. “Sweet girl, there’s no charge, and no expectation of anything in return. The room’s already set up, and it would be a shame to let it go to waste,” she insisted.

  “It’s an energy healing, so there’s no physical contact. You just have to lie there, fully clothed, and relax. Worst case scenario, you leave feeling a little more peaceful than you do right now. And who knows, maybe it will help you in more ways than you can imagine. Would you like to?”

  Beth wrestled a little longer between fear and hope, but the latter finally won out, and she nodded shyly.

  Smiling, Rose led her up the stairs, and Beth tried to focus on the sense of peace and wellbeing she’d experienced at the ceremony the other night. When they reached the landing, they turned away from the street side of the building where the ritual space was, and entered the small, cosy room opposite. A candle was burning on the table, while an oil vaporiser infused the room with a soothing blend of lavender, chamomile and another herb she couldn’t identify.

  As Beth stood uncertainly on the threshold, Rose beckoned her inside. “If you’d just like to take your shoes off and lie down on the massage table, you can let me know if you’d like another blanket, or need some more pillows. Then just close your eyes and relax,” the priestess instructed her.

  “I’ll be doing reconnective healing, which is hands-off, and will be working my way around the table, so don’t panic if you sense movement around you. You may experience a warmth or even a tingling in your limbs, or it may feel like my hands are on you, although they won’t be. Or you might not feel anything physical – there’s no wrong or right way, so don’t stress over the outcome,” she continued, voice gentle and reassuring.

  “Some people feel teary, while others laugh – it’s nothing to worry about, just emotions being dealt with and released.”

  The healer paused for a moment, and it seemed she was wrestling with whether or not to continue. “Sometimes I receive messages while I’m working, from my guides or yours, so if I do, would you like me to tell you afterwards, or would you prefer not to know? Some people aren’t interested in that side of it, which is absolutely fine,” Rose offered.

  Beth nodded uncertainly. “I guess that would be okay,” she replied, although she was feeling even more nervous now, and starting to have second thoughts.

  “You might hear a voice or get messages yourself, so feel free to speak them aloud if you want to, so I can help you remember them afterwards, or just take them in on your own. And if you have any questions at any point just ask me. There’s no standing on ceremony here, so if you feel uncomfortable in any way, just tell me to stop – there’s no pressure at all, okay?”

  Beth nodded again, still nervous, but no longer looking quite so apprehensive. Slipping her shoes off, she lay down on the table, positioned the pillow under her head and lifted the blanket up over her body. Motioning to Rose that she was ready, she closed her eyes, and the older woman gently began, holding her hands near her patient’s temples, a few inches above her physical body.

  At first Beth was wary, feeling vulnerable with her eyes closed, in a small dark room with a virtual stranger, but gradually she relaxed into it, and exhaled the breath she’d been holding. A beautiful warmth enveloped her, and she smiled, loving the feeling of floating free. She imagined she saw a great web of golden strands above her, stretching out through a universe of stars and sparkling, shiny hearts.

  For a moment she felt dizzy, as though she was flying above the planet, too high and too fast for her fragile human body to keep up with. But then that settled too, and she was floating again, at one with the world and at peace with herself at last. Tears leaked out of her eyes and trickled down onto the table, but she let them fall, understanding on some level that they were releasing toxic emotions and fears she’d been holding on to for so long.

  As she had that thought, she felt a soothing touch on her forehead, and the warmth and peace crept down into her mind, into her heart, into her very bones. Thinking it was Rose’s hand on her brow, she opened her eyes for a moment to thank her – and saw that the healer was standing at the other end of the table, arms held out over the tops of her feet.

  Surprised, she quickly closed her eyes, and her mind filled with a vision of a much older woman, with long and wild silver hair flowing loose around her shoulders, and a face of such wisdom and beauty it took her breath a
way. Deep lines were etched into her face, but they were lines of character and strength and kindness, lines that only added to her beauty.

  The woman smiled at her, and Beth was suffused in a cloud of warmth and protection. “Arm yourself with this feeling beloved,” the woman said, and Beth strained to work out whether she was speaking aloud or if it was mind to mind. “Wear it like a cloak, and hold it tightly around yourself, to be reminded of your own strength and beauty and wisdom.”

  The scent of the candles reached Beth then, and she inhaled deeply, feeling a calmness flow into her. But she was sad when she realised that her focus on that had driven the vision away. For a moment she felt bereft, as though she’d lost a dear friend, but then she heard the echo of laughter, and a voice whispering to her that she could connect with her at any time she needed to.

  For a while Beth concentrated on her breathing, just inhaling and exhaling, enjoying the freedom from stress, from thought, from the battle she seemed to be constantly engaged in – between liking herself and despising herself, between seeing herself as the person she wanted to be, who was at war with the person she became around her mother.

  Suddenly she felt tingling on her legs, like tiny bubbles, as though she was sitting in a bath filled with champagne, sparkling with light and energy. She giggled, then clapped her hands over her mouth. “Sorry,” she whispered, opening her eyes for a split second and glancing down to the end of the table where she assumed Rose was still standing – and was surprised again when she saw that the healer wasn’t holding her hands over her legs, but was now at her left shoulder.

  “It’s okay sweet girl, it’s all okay,” she crooned softly, soothingly, and Beth felt her eyes closing again, without her even being aware that she was doing it.

  The silver-haired woman from her vision returned, and handed her a red rose, a yellow rose and a pink rose. “Flowers of forgiveness, of joy and of love,” she said. “Forgive yourself beloved, and try to let go. Your mother sees the world differently to you, for her own reasons, and her actions and reactions are not a reflection on you. She won’t change, she is as unyielding as stone, but you can change the way you respond to her, and the way you see the world. Choose to let go of your angst towards her. Choose love.”