Disclaimer: Character's don't belong to us, they belong to those who created and produced them.
Notes: Tragically my co-authour, one of my dearest friends passed away. I will miss her and her incredible writing talent more than I could ever say. This set of four little stories is the last thing we ever completed together and I dedicate it in her memory.
Tatania
Part 1
Anton Arcane sat for a moment, enjoying the peace of the cool, dark cave which lay directly underneath his complex. He had grown increasingly tense throughout the day as various members of his staff got over excited about their plans for the night. It was, he thought, typical of Americans to turn an ancient legend of great occult significance into a children's party.
Arcane respected the occult, he knew too much and had seen too much to doubt the power in ancient wisdoms. Tonight he needed that wisdom. All Hallows Eve, built on the pagan festival of Samhain, whatever it was called it was the night when the dead were free to walk the earth. And tonight he would see his wife again.
He laid out the trappings of the ceremony, traditional stuff, nothing too exotic or hard to find. Really just an aid to focusing his mind so that he could call Tatania to him.
He closed his eyes and forced himself to remember her, recalling all the small details that he had spent more than a year trying to forget. It hurt too much to remember her. It hurt too much to let her go.
If anyone had been interested they would have assumed that he had recovered well from her death. Not that anyone was interested. No, that was unfair, he allowed himself a small, even affectionate smile. Graham cared. His assistant had fussed around him for months, making sure he ate, nagging him to rest. It was largely to put an end to his assistant's remorseless fussing that he had put on this mask of recovery. He went back to work, resumed his interest in those hoards of nameless women who had only ever been a temporary escape from his sense of loss.
But none of it was real, nothing had healed the pain and every day just fuelled his desire to make it stop. He would have joined Tatania long ago were it not for his superstitious fear that they were bound for very different destinations.
He began the ceremony, letting the well practised ritual lift him out of the everyday to a place where he could reach out to his wife. If she could come to him, or if she would. He couldn't lose the fear that he was to blame for her death. Rationally, of course, he blamed General Sunderland for kidnapping her, and less rationally he blamed Alec Holland for not bringing her back. But nothing could absolve his own guilt. He couldn't live with that any longer. And he couldn't live without the only person he had ever loved or who had loved and understood him. He had to believe that this bizarre expression of ancient beliefs would give her back to him, even for just a few more hours.
He finished the last incantation and sat waiting, peering anxiously into the haze of white smoke that was meant to open a gateway for the dead. Arcane waited, deathly still, as the minutes ticked away to midnight. As the moment arrived he leant forward, eyes straining to see any shape in the mist.
Nothing. He continued to hope, continued to focus on the space in front of him.
"Tatania," he whispered, "please, I need you."
He felt the slightest, ice cold, touch on his hand. "Tatania?"
A soft voice whispered in his ear, "Anton? Anton my love?"