THE GATES OF INFINITY
(A cross-world erotic fantasy romance)
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Thaer is a world that mirrors our own, but
in many ways it is both the past and future of Earth. Magic and sorcery are
commonplace, and beneath the vast sands of Cairos and the waters of Venicia lie
secrets that may hold the key to travel between worlds and time itself. All
things are tied to the presence of a legendary pirate captain, a skilled mage,
and a sorceress who has never known her true origins.
As the spells weave amid treachery and betrayals, the
tempestuous storm gates are opened and salvation or destruction looms in their
swirling, fiery depths. Will time be turned inward, or can the Fate of two
worlds truly rest on the success of a terrified reporter from modern day New
York? A woman whose fate was written in another world and time, and who now
holds the key to the unpredictable power contained within the Gates of
Infinity?
PART
ONE begins:
It began several hundred years from
now. Life conspires to take us where we are meant to be, even when we do not
ourselves know the direction in which we are traveling. Thus it was that my
uneventful existence began, and ended, with a single drop of blood, spilled
unsuspectingly on a honed and gleaming pirate blade. In the now distant year of
nineteen hundred ninety-nine, in the town of Avalon Inlet, somewhere in the
hidden coastal regions of Northern Maine, I encountered the capricious Lady of
Destiny. It is, even now, an incredible tale of adventure and, yes, of romance
that is the stuff of dreams. My name is Verity, Veranna, or even Verianya—and
if you will let me, I will tell you of my assignation with a magical and
thrilling life forever altered by the whims of Fate....
“The entire place is a work of art,”
Verity Mathison said with genuine reverence. She’d been stranded in the
picturesque town since the previous evening, when her car had quite
inexplicably decided it didn’t want to go any further. Being a
journalist/novelist did have its advantages; in this case, as a freelancer, she
tended to not keep ‘office hours’. Finding the small town with the fanciful
name of Avalon Inlet was a writer’s dream come true. Not only was the place not
on any map, it was something out of a time long passed into history.
The young shop girl smiled the expression
pretty with pleasure at the compliment.
“We’re a small community,” she said,
voice soft with a slight lilt. “Things don’t change much from year to year.”
“Is everyone here of generations past, or
does the town have any new blood?”
“Once in a while strangers find us and
decide to stay,” she answered, still smiling, though with less sincerity than
before.
“Why aren’t you on the map?” Verity
wondered, looking around the crowded antique shop. There were vast riches in
this place, the writer mused, examining a display of weaponry that had to be at
least a couple of centuries old. Since she had entered the shop, a tiny thrill
of excitement had been growing stronger within her as the minutes passed. In
spite of the lack of sense in it, Verity felt as though she’d found some lost
part of her soul reflecting back at her as she examined the array of artifacts
that filled the quaint shop.
“How much is that one?” she asked,
pointing to the shiniest and least ornate of the swords that were arranged on a
wall behind the counter.
“It’s not for sale,” the clerk told her,
eyes now sharp, thoughtful, and unmistakably wary.
So that’s your game, Verity thought with cynicism. The price had just jumped
considerably, she knew. But, like everything else, it would have a
price.
In spite of her decree, the girl reached
up and lifted the shimmering blade from its place amid the other swords. Motion
fluid and graceful, she spun the cutlass and offered it to the curious
stranger, hilt first.
With a combination of near-fear and
undeniable excitement, Verity stared at it. The lurch of her stomach was
eloquent testimony of her surprisingly intense nervous state. With a will of
its own, her hand rose and she watched in detached fascination as her fingers
closed around the well-worn grip of the archaic weapon. As soon as her hold was
solid, she was forced to drop the sword; heat seared her flesh and she cried
out, cursing furiously as the pain pulsed upward along the length of her arm.
The shaken clerk stared at her as though
she’d gone mad.
It wasn’t the pitying look one gave a
lunatic, however. There was sincere terror in her eyes as she watched the other
woman, and Verity knew she didn’t help the situation by glaring at her in
unjustified accusation. That didn’t lessen her anger, of course, because somewhere
inside her, she did blame the hapless girl for not warning her of the
potential threat in accepting the sword from her hands.
Not waiting for comments, or assistance,
if the girl was indeed planning to offer any, Verity turned on her heel and
left the shop. As she glanced back, she caught the name of the place, The
Mahjrah Treasure Chest. She was now quite unimpressed with the
pirate’s plunder.
* * * *
The following day, fool that she
sometimes was, Verity returned to the Treasure Chest and again was drawn
like a magnet to the rack of weapons on the back wall. The sword hung in its
place, seeming to stare back at her in subtle challenge.
“Have you come back for old Ehtionne’s
sword, miss?”
The girl from the previous day was gone;
in her place was an ancient man, stooped and weathered by time. But, his eyes
were sparkling with vitality and shrewd intelligence. As Verity gazed into
those keen dark eyes, the sensation of edgy excitement began churning deep
within her.
“Ehtionne?” She repeated, at a loss to
form more than the single word query.
He nodded, then hobbled around the
counter and gestured for her to follow him. They stopped in a small alcove that
was separated from the main area of the shop by a curtained doorway. Once inside,
Verity discovered a tiny gallery of aging paintings. The old man pointed to the
largest of the collection and her heart felt like it wanted to grow wings and
leave her body as she stared at the face of a stranger who’d haunted her dreams
from childhood.
“My God!” she breathed in unequivocal
shock. “He’s real.”
The old man looked inordinately pleased,
and she tried not to resent him; there was no reason for such emotion.
“You recognize him.”
It was more a statement of presumed fact
than any form of real question.
Verity shook her head.
“No,” she denied. “I must have seen his
face in books. I’ve researched this area’s folklore and pirate legends.” Even
as she made the assertion, and tried desperately to believe it, she knew it to
be a lie. The old man knew, too, she could read it in his steady brown eyes.
“There are no photos of Mahjrah in any of
your books, miss,” he assured her in a soft, almost regretful tone.
As she had the day before, Verity ran.
This time she didn’t escape the confines of the shop. When she flung aside the
curtain and would have bolted for the doors, she ran straight into the young
girl who’d been there the previous day.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, her
voice and eyes glaring with anger.
“Leaving,” Verity snapped, her responding
irritation more reflex than anything genuine.
“That part of the shop is not open to the
public,” she informed the visitor. “It’s our storage room.”
“Storage room?” Verity repeated stupidly.
Anger flared in the next instant, and she glowered at her. “The old man took me
in there,” she told the annoying girl. “And it sure as hell doesn’t look like a
storage room!”
The clerk was giving her that disturbing
look of pity and fear again.
Verity was furious.
“If you don’t believe me,” she snarled at
the shop girl, “he’s still back there.” She turned, yanked aside the curtain,
and was met with the solid presence of a heavy door, the sign in the center of
it proclaiming that it was to be used by ‘Employees Only’.
“If you’ll wait, ma’am,” the girl said,
ice in her tone now. “I’ll allow you to speak to the manager.”
Gawking at her, Verity numbly trailed her
back into the main room, then watched her disappear behind another door.
Silence engulfed the shop and she continued to look at the partially revealed
doorway that had led to the small gallery.
“Are you still interested in the cutlass,
miss?”
The voice went through her, and she was
enraged anew. She whirled around and the old man smiled benevolently.
“What the hell is going on here?” she
demanded, taking a step toward him.
He calmly walked to the other side of the
counter and took the sword from its mounting. He twirled it with remarkable
skill and Verity took an involuntary step backward when he held it out for her
to take.
“No, thanks,” she assured, sarcasm in the
tone. “I’ve already had that experience once, and it’s quite enough.”
He appeared amused all over again and
wrath rose in her throat as a bitter bile. He was laughing at her!
“All right,” Verity snapped viciously.
“Give me the damn thing.”
Her fingers closer over the hilt and she
braced for pain.
It never came.
Enthralled by the feel of the weapon in
her hand, she stared at it. Her other hand rose to stroke the smooth, cool
metal of the saber and a whisper of something powerful trembled along the
length of her arm. Oblivious to anything else, she touched the edge of the
silvered blade with the side of her thumb. A prick of pain warned her that
she’d tested well-honed metal rather foolishly. Blood welled and spilled onto
the blade, a single crimson teardrop of life.
The reaction was immediate, and
terrifying.
The polished metal clouded, became
translucent, tinged with the scarlet of blood; then the images began to
coalesce before her spell-bound gaze. The small shop in Avalon Inlet no
longer existed. Her head felt like it was spinning, and reality growing ever
more distant, yet closer, as well. Someone screamed as Verity fell into the
chaos that she’d glimpsed in the gleaming blade of the sword...
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