Free Finite by Viola Grace Page A

there too if it wasn’t for one little thing. I know her.”
    Drehl blinked, and his eyes widened. “The Weshkinin Guardian dispatcher?”
    “Very good, husband. Cera Morrissy.” Rhoda started to key in the code, but her hands were shaking.
    “Let me. Relax, Rhoda. As you know, you can’t control what you paint, and I am not bound by your privacy agreement.”
    Rhoda sat back and watched as Drehl made the call, and she sighed in relief when the familiar face came on the vid display.
    He outlined the situation as briskly as he could. It would take the strange party several days to get to Weshkinin, so Cera had time to hide.
    Cera looked out at them and shook her head. “I am not hiding. This is my home and nothing is going to take me from it that I don’t agree to.”
    Drehl frowned. “If they have an imperial writ, they can make you go.”
    She nodded. “I will have to see it first. Personally, I think Rhoda has it wrong. Perhaps she was thinking of me and put me in the painting by accident.”
    Rhoda leaned over Drehl’s shoulder. “That is possible, Cera. Still, keep your eyes open for any weird priestly archaeologists that look like they bench press small cars.”
    Cera widened her eyes. “Very specific description. Thanks. I will tell my Guardians to keep their senses open for me as well. It can’t hurt.”
    Drehl nodded. “That is the safest method, good luck, Cera.”
    The perky brunette disconnected the call, and Drehl pulled Rhoda down into his lap. She sighed and rubbed her forehead with sooty fingers. “She isn’t going to take this seriously, is she?”
    Drehl rubbed her spine. “I doubt it. Come on, let’s see if you can get that freaky brain of yours to cough out any more details. Even something small could help.”
    It was a sound idea, so she literally returned to the drawing board, hoping that she could bring something to light that would explain the peculiar circumstances taking place.
     
    * * * *
     
    Cera turned slowly to face the men who had transported directly into her office and held her at blaster point. “Fine. As agreed. No consequences or mention of the portrait done on Yacaro.”
    The leader of the gathering nodded and placed the imperial writ giving them possession of Cera on the com station. She would be gone before any of her Guardians came back to the base.
    “Can I pack a bag?”
    “All will be provided for you. Stand in the circle.” He didn’t brook argument. With swift moves, they closed the link around her, and men who bore a shocking resemblance to living weapons surrounded her.
    They chanted rapidly, and in a jerk and a flash of light, she went from Weshkinin to Haloth. When they arrived, she was fairly sure that her stomach had been left behind.
    They reappeared in a huge room covered with archways and sealed doors. The interior was filled with statues, podiums with books and small pools of light that focussed on nothing at all.
    Yacaro was safe from whatever these men could do. “So, gentlemen. Why am I here?”
    “You are needed to wake the god of Haloth. We have been seeking the right sacrifice for decades. You are the closest to what we have looked for, but he is due to rise, and we have run out of options.”
    Cera felt the amusement that rippled up in that statement. She was the best choice in an ugly contest, or the last choice in a beauty contest. “What do you need me to do?”
    They didn’t answer her. They filed out and closed the single door behind them. She was alone in the room with the statues, and she had no idea what they needed her to do.
     
    She was fairly sure that she had been sitting in the room for two hours when a beam of light struck the wall. Words appeared, and to her surprise, they seemed to form a language she was very familiar with. English.
    Wake me with love, wake me with lust, wake me with tears, and wake me with blood. Hold me close, and give up your heart.
    It sounded like a poem, but there was that part about giving up her