“*Now* can I kill her?” said Chris Alan to no one the woman could see.
“At your discretion, Chris Alan,” said a voice out of thin air. Kidnapping brought the death penalty within Covenant Law, their kidnapper was before them – and not even an Elemental could survive being pierced by a Starblade.
But Chris Alan’s conscience was not so easily overridden, not even by his own righteous indignation. He was a lover, not a fighter. Instead of drawing Shalhevetyah, he drew on his Gifting. Light burst from his clenched right hand as he began gathering what felt like enough power to bring that wretched Protean *and* her bizarre pet to their knees.
The woman’s eyes grew wide, but she stood her ground. Her dragon screamed and flapped its wings, but made no move either to attack or to retreat.
“*Enough*!” Chris Alan’s Light, and with it much of his anger, vanished at the sound of that rebuke.
A tall man strode out of a door “stage right” of where the woman and her dragon were standing. He appeared to be in his prime, with just a touch of gray at his temples setting off his plaited, jet-black hair. His simple walking stick likely was ceremonial in some way, as he obviously had no real need for it. The hard lines of his face were softened by a short, plaited beard, which showed no gray at all. His robe, though unadorned and ankle-length, looked as if it were made of spun silver; his sandals were finely tooled. He had a hooked nose, bushy brows, olive skin and big, bright eyes, along with a dignity like that of a philosopher-king.
“*Amethyst*!” he went on in the same forceful manner – one that reminded Chris Alan of how his father spoke when some “brilliant display of illogic” tipped him over the edge. “What game are you playing, in the name of all wonder? When I told you to find a suitable companion, I didn’t tell you to pick one half your biological age!”
*Suitable companion? Half her biological age?*
“*Hold it*!” said Chris Alan in the way his mother described poetically to her readers as “grabbing the very air and boxing his audience’s ears with it.” It was not the Gift of Prophecy, just part of his natural capacity as a Protector when his temper flared; but it usually stopped people short.
Not even the newcomer (who Rafael, still in Contact Lens Mode, showed was truly a force to be reckoned with) could ignore *that* tone of voice, not even coming from a schoolboy. But he was neither intimidated nor deflected by it.
“You’re a Lightchild, son, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“How old are you in Standard Years?”
Chris Alan ignored the implications of the technical reference for the moment. “I’ve just turned fifteen.”
The man turned to the woman with a scowl. “You know, Amethyst,” he went on, “I really ought to let him kill you *both*.”
“Who is she, sir? And who are *you*?”
“How did you know the cat and I were one and the same?” the woman interrupted before the man could answer.
“It was pretty obvious, but just in case, a little bird told me. You're about to meet him. *Alpha Mode*, Rafael, *blades drawn*.”
Two contact lenses contracted, left Chris Alan’s corneas, coalesced, and expanded within seconds into the form of a radiant blue-eyed man with white hair, gold wings, and a long white robe, holding two slender, curved swords crossed over his chest. Chris Alan drew Shalhevetyah and pumped Light into its blade, just to underline his point.
“Impressive,” mocked the woman. “But now that I know what I’m up against, *neither* of you will ever touch me.”
“Think again, Amethyst,” the man said firmly. “You haven’t *begun* to see what he’s capable of doing – and neither has he. But already he’s every bit as powerful as I am – *potentially*.”
The woman swallowed, hard, as Chris Alan’s eyes grew wide with astonishment.
“I am Eli Lamdan, Elemental, and Archon of the Adamim on this world,” the man went on. “This is Amethyst Bellatrix, my adopted daughter – if you will. As you’ve surmised, she’s a Free Elemental, and a Protean. She’s also the original quantum-mechanical cat – what some people would call ‘Lady Luck’ personified.”
