Chapter 8

A/N: Here's chap. 8, I got a review (you lucky people!).

Note: This segment contains Wiccan ceremonies and Witchcraft. If you are opposed to such things, don't bother flaming/reading. It's a free country. This stuff really works.

Don't try this at home unless you are Wiccan (and as for all Wiccans - do not test the herbs and oils, are made these up and they might be poisonous to your skin or ingestion); don't initiate unless you are prepared to treat this as a serious religion for the rest of your life.

Summary: Don't flame and don't dabble.

To my reviewers:

Voakands: I know the lawyers are pretty stupid ( Normally I have a good respect for lawyers, as I might be one, but if they were good lawyers the plot would have been over at Chapter 2.

Kaiba hung up the phone heavily. A week had passed since Yugi and his friends had been by, when one of his lawyer informants had called to say that the case was stalled. Apparently, Kaiba growled to himself, the Japanese courts were too busy trying to bring some terrorists to justice.

These men where the ones who spread terror.

He turned back to the glowing computer screen, tapping the search engine for what felt like the hundredth time that night. He had to find a way to stop Shinatashi from tipping the judge in his favor. The scene would look like one straight from Shakespeare, he thought mulishly – Shinatashi, the father who just wanted to see his daughter again, the one he was cruelly cut off from – the jealous and overprotective, spoiled CEO boyfriend intent on keeping her in the country – that was how Shinatashi would try to swing it.

He looked up as he saw a violet-haired figure in the doorframe, bearing a large pot of coffee and a tray of scones. Her eyes looked askance as she swept into the study and handed him the coffee. He nodded silent thanks and looked deep into her eyes as he drained the cup, while she knelt by his side.

When he had finished the coffee, she refilled him another, finally asking out loud, "S-so, is he going to win the appeal?" Her hand shook as she spoke. He clasped both his hands around hers to study them, both of them gripping the hot coffee mug as though it was their souls.

"We'll find out tomorrow," he said grimly. Toria swallowed – this meant it hadn't been going well.

He paused in his typing and looked at her. The Fear had returned. He pulled her to him, cradling her form, kissing her softly. She leaned against him, and he held her in his arms. He heard her voice quietly in his ear:

"Don't let go."

"I won't."

An hour later Kaiba received an email to his laptop. He opened it.

From: tarynandtaryanassoctokyo.net To: whitedragonexectokyo.net

Mr. C. Shinatashi got his date early. Didn't inform witness for defense. Too late for mistrial. Money changed hands. Judge Toharo signed following form.

Kaiba scanned the document quickly. But a heavy leaden weight had dropped into his stomach. He knew what this meant – according to Judge Toharo, Ms. Toria Hallowell, formerly Ms. Cassandra Shinatashi, was to accompany Mr. Cole Shinatashi to San Francisco via Mr. Cole Shinatashi's private jet on May 13th, 2004, at 2:00 p.m.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, at two in the afternoon, Toria would be torn away from him. Again. And this time, he wouldn't be there to save her. He wouldn't be there to hold on to her.

He hit the 'reply' button and typed a single line.

What are our options?

Then the computer chirped as he punched the 'send' button.

He suddenly found Toria, returned again, with Marley in her arms. He would have grimaced at the cat, but found he couldn't as she saw Toria's eyes fastened to the computer.

"He's coming for me, isn't he?" she said quietly.

Kaiba waited. He couldn't bring himself to close the doors on this hell she was bound for, to lock her in until she was seventeen – if, under her father's care, she even lived to see those seventeen candles on the cake. But in Japan, almost on the other side of the world, it was impossible for him to stop every attack, every whisper, every slice of her flesh that tore her soul apart, again and again, until it was gone.

He couldn't. So he was shocked when he heard his own voice, dark and rough, talking without him, as his mind drown in despair and grief for what was surely her death sentence:

"Yes."

Toria didn't blink. She didn't cry. She simply said, "I need to get away for a while." Her voice was a monotone, dead and hollow. Each step measured as carefully as a computer. She turned, Marley still in her arms, and left, her shadowy figure vanishing down the hall.

She knew her fate. It had seemed this was what would come ever since she had received the letter that night at her father's house. What happened to her didn't matter anymore. She could bear pain. She could bear death. She had faced all these before. They were not as impressive as they were made out to be.

But Kaiba – her father would hurt him, if he could. He had claimed he was too 'high-profile' but nothing was too high-profile for him. She'd seen him destroy friends and enemies, and then, like a hyena, come back for the carcass. But she wouldn't let him hurt Kaiba. Nothing could save her now. But she could save him. All she had to do was trust in the magick.

Kaiba had always left the mansion to the maid – and now, as the only one who ever bothered to explore all forty-five rooms, to Toria. The gardens remained undiscovered and unused – only the gardener drifted through the beds of day lilies and cherry blossoms.

In past weeks, she had carved a niche in the mansion for her magick supplies and rituals. An ornate white marble bath led to a small garden, almost untended, left to grow wild. The moonflowers opened at night; the rabbits that the gardener shooed from the vegetable patches found solace there.

She entered the bath, her feet padding on the tiles like a steady heartbeat. She did not bother to turn on the lights, but sat in the darkness, on the cool edge of the bath. Twisted on the golden taps. Let the water flow, and remember that all witches are born from the waters of Mother Earth.

She flung open the cabinet opposite the bath, bringing out an array of candles, incense, oils, crystals, and herbs. She arranged the candles in a semicircle around the bath in the dark. Placed the four quartz crystals around the bath in a diamond, pointing to the north, south, east and west. Added drops of essence of celandine and ginseng – with a special drop of catnip oil for a personal touch. Lit the incense and candles – a sudden explosion and flare of flickering light, shining off the smooth marble and into the water, dark with night and oils. She strewed the water with soft red rose petals and leaves of dill – feeling the strength of the combination of these different powers brought together as one. Then, she disrobed and slipped into the water.

She closed her eyes, feeling the petals and water soak into her wet violet hair, like being enfolded in the arms of a mother – not her mother Lillith Shinatashi, but in the arms of the Earth Mother herself.

The drifting incense swept past her face, and she lifted her head to it, in her mind's eye seeing the black fear, like thick, heavy ropes of tar, slide from her body. She saw her love for Kaiba, a glowing red heart of fire, burning in her breast, the dark shape of her father, baring him from entering her mind...

When she was sure she was cleansed and sure of her purpose, she rose from the waters, not bothering to rub herself dry. Rose petals hung on her skin, trailing across the scar in her back, enwove with her dripping hair. With deliberate sense and sureness, she wrapped herself in the violet satin cloak she kept in the hamper by the bath. Snuffed out the candles. Glided out to the garden, Marley following. Both seemed in a powerful trance. Had Kaiba seen them now, he would have been sure Marik was there, controlling them.

Under the roots of an ancient willow tree was a wooden box. She unlocked the box and revealed her supplies: a black handled knife, a staff, a broomstick, silver pentacle, four candles in blue, red, green and yellow – and silver locket, shaped like a cigarette lighter.

She swept the ground clear with the broomstick. Drew a circle in the soft ground with her staff. Lit the candles. Called forth the powers of the north, east, south, and west from the realm of spirit. Then, she knelt in the center of the circle, the silver locket in her hands.

She slipped a photo, a single lock of violet hair, and a piece of paper into the locket. Then, she focused all the power she could summon into the locket.

She saw it burn with a blazing white light, soaring with power as she pulled in the forces of Air, of Earth, of Fire, of Water, and of Spirit. She poured in power, her body tingling with the effort of channeling the energy. It seemed she was sucking the life out of the world, every drop of power into the talisman. Every ripple of energy was another ripple of her love. Until there was a giant flash of light, and the flow stopped.

She breathed heavily, gasping in fresh quantities of air. Her body whirled with the exertion of the life.

Slowly, she allowed herself a smile and thanked the Goddess. No matter what happened to her now – he was safe.

Kaiba drained his coffee and morosely ate a biscuit. A voice in his mind told him this would be the last biscuit he would ever eat. Toria was the only one who made biscuits like these. He put it down with disgust. He would never eat another biscuit.

How could he let them do this? Even if her father was put away later, it would take months – and in those months, she could be killed. Even if she lived, she wouldn't be alive anymore – not inside. He glared at the computer screen. Maybe working on a new virus or program...He had recently built a virus for infecting large systems – he called it VirtuDragon 3.0.

But as quickly as he thought of this, he rejected it. Working on a project wouldn't help.

There was a sudden chirrup from his computer. His email from blinking. He clicked it quickly, smiling at the contents.

This would help.

He had a lot of work to do.
Toria curled up in bed that night, listening to the cooing of early morning doves. The sky was lightening from pure black to a dark blue. Dawn was coming. She had been working all night – but sleep didn't seem to be coming. She clutched the silver charm in her hand, almost feeling the pulsing magick inside it. She lay above the covers, clad in her favorite black camisole and soft matching cotton panties.

She knew that soon she would have to leave this all behind – but it didn't matter. Only he mattered – and he was safe now. He had given up many things for her – but she had poured her soul into this. She felt the silver cut into her hand.

The door opened and she saw a tall dark shape entered the room, remove its cloak, and lay next to her on the bed. Without turning, she instantly knew it was Kaiba. She lay closer to him, embraced in his arms.

"Where have you been?" They both asked in chorus. And then again:

"Nowhere."

Kaiba gave a short, mirthless laugh. "I see. I won't pry if you don't."

"Agreed," she whispered. She leaned in and gave him a full kiss, brushing long brunette strands of hair across from his eyes. He closed them with pleasure.

"Sleep, love," she said quietly, kissing him softly. He pulled her closer, stroking her gently, feeling her wince as he reached the scar. But he kept holding her, feeling the smooth of her hair under his chin.

She waited until he drifted to sleep, his breathing deep and slow. When he was certainly asleep, she unwrapped herself from his arms and dressed, before opening the door. A shaft of watery dawn light came through the doorframe, and then the click of the latch.

A sudden glow of blue eyes sprung into the darkness. He reached for the space where she had been last, but found only a hard, cold silver object. He rolled over and sat up, examining it in his hand. Was it his imagination, or was it glowing ever so faintly?

Finding a silver clip on the edge, he pressed it and it sprung open. Something fell out. Inside, he found a photo of himself and Toria, embraced beside the pool, foreheads together, as though they were sharing a secret.

On the sheets were two items: a lock of violet hair and words written on a scrap of paper in Toria's dreamy, romatic script:

Don't let go.