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Then, glancing up at me, she said: "If I have you wear this," as she spoke, she hefted it in her hand, "I'd expect you to wear it until I say you can take it off. Could you do that? Or, would you do that? If I asked you to?"I felt an upsurge of excitement and that butterfly feeling washed over me; and I replied: "Of course! Whatever you ask!" Be careful of saying that!" She said, now smiling broadly. "Because I'll definitely expect you to wear that till I say otherwise!" Okay," I replied, still feeling the butterflies whirling around in my stomach, "I'd do that. That is, if you want me to."She grinned at that. "Well then," she said, handing me to chastity cage, which was perched on her upturned palm, "put it on." Now?" Yes, now," she said, still faintly smiling, but at the same time, her facial expression now had a more serious aspect about it; which made her words come across more like an order, than a request; and that sent a wave of undeniable excitement through me."Okay," I said,. Graydon raised both hands. His fingers touched the beadwork pattern of his headband, then moved to his temples. He inclined his head forward, his fingers making small massaging movements from the band to his temples and back. He began to chant.Mike stared, his eyes accusing, seeking to pierce Adams’s mind. Graydon’s eyes rolled behind closed lids, his head nodded, following the rhythm of his soft chant.Adams stared at them, not believing what he was seeing.What IS this shit! he mentally protested, confused. Mumbo-jumbo? They’re laying some kind of weird INDIAN shit on me? Hell, I can sit here all day. I might even get a laugh out of this show. Are these jokers for real?Over time, five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter hour. Graydon’s chant grew louder, faster, shifting from guttural, throbbing moans to shrieking cries.Marilee’s hands swept more broadly; she snapped her fingers in rhythms and patterns; her hands soaring above her sightless, expressionless face, weaving intricate.
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Dulgan got his familiar ‘I-know-something’ look. He reached into his robe and pulled out a small, round, metal-backed mirror. Runes decorated the rim, and several adorned the back side. He offered it to John. The glass front was perfectly smooth, but the image reflected wasn’t John’s face in reverse. It was blank instead.“What is this?”Dulgan patted his robe. “Part o’ a pair. ‘Bout once e’ry five ta eight days ya’ll be able ta link wi’ me fer a short talk.”“Wow.” John examined it. “Wish we’d had these a few days ago!”Dulgan snorted. “Tis th’ work o’ a Master, an’ took most o’ a year ta Make. No’ common a’ all. Th’ Shademaster let me ‘ave it, ‘n exchange fer me Makin’ a set o’ more’n two. Took me ‘bout an hour.”“Still,” John shook his head in wonder, “that’s fantastic, thanks!”“Aye, ya’ll ‘ave ta bond wi’ it later. Noo come wi’ me, an’ stay close. I fear we ‘ave little time.”Sygraid, Rhys and Ililyan bristled with questions for the Dwimar when they exited. In response, Dulgan gave a.

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