Djinn by Poppet

Author:Poppet
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, thriller, occult, demon, oracle, djinn, possession, american indian, portland, urim dice
Publisher: Poppet

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Sasha:

Spotted Eagle picks up his rattle and begins to shake it with the beating of his drum. In the spirit lodge, rain touches my blistering skin, soothing, cooling, reminding me of the great Earth Mother who never forsakes her children.

The rattle becomes the hoof beats of the wild palomino running free, it's the corn sprinkled into the bowl to be ground for food, it is the splashing of children playing in the river, morphing to the last tear a mother cries in grief before looking up with renewed determination to walk gentle, even if none have shown her the courtesy. Melancholy sadness shrouds me with her hair, kissing my cheeks and reminding me that desolation comes before renewal. The winter before the birth, when it's coldest and the wind is harsh.

Challenges lie ahead before spring can bless where our feet walk. Nothing will bloom until we've endured the coldest part of this soul winter.

Spotted Eagle changes the tempo and the heat rushes in at me, bringing me back to where I am. It's fevered, pushing at us in waves until we go under, swallowed by the Great Spirit, diving deep in the ecstasy of union, every beat pushing out the venom of not forgiving. Sucking all the pain from my pores like heat fleas, taking out the poison in body tears, washing away the grief of my parent's death, the fear of Cindy's poltergeists, the demon ...

Big eyes loom over me, dark and onyx black, glistening wetly. The veins in my neck pulsate painfully against asphyxiation – Graham's undead eyes – Heather screaming – Cindy laughing – planchette tap dancing over her skull in time with the spirit drum – Cindy becomes Graham, her body a skein of pain, wrung tight so blood drips slowly into a barrel from her split skin and boneless frame, screaming, it rips my sanity into prayer flags flapping in the wind, the Eagle flies to me, taking me higher, circling upward, the wind is cool, the sun cold, the glare blinding – Hold tight brother – Do not lose me – It's Jon Spotted Eagle, taking me to the summit to wash in the Great Thunder. Tension runs out through the soles of my feet like a radiator leaking anti-freeze – the color is squalid and vile, turning away, I step into the thundering white waters to be washed of guilt.

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