The Crossing (Immortals) (16 page)

Adrenaline tying knots in her stomach, she stomped on
the accelerator, careening into the right lane and skimming past the car on the left with mere millimeters to
spare. The driver shook his fist, but she'd already cut back
in front of him. Acutely aware of each passing second,
she sped toward the strongest power sink in the vicinity
she could locate without her map. The site was more
well known than she would have liked, but beggars couldn't
be choosers.

Gliding off at the next exit, Artemis slowed at the bottom of the ramp and scanned the tourist signs until she
spotted one that pointed the way to Clava Cairns. The
prehistoric grave site contained three prehistoric burial
mounds, each ringed by a circle of standing stones. It was
a rare place, where death and life magic met in balance.
Tonight, Halloween, the veil between life and death
stretched thin, making that power even more accessible.

The road narrowed as she left a small town behind. She
entered a cleft of land between two rising meadows.
Samhain festivities were in full swing-parked cars and
tents lined the road, and black-garbed figures clustered about small balefires. She abandoned the stolen minivan in
a low, muddy spot no one else had claimed. The tires sank
into muck past the rims, but that hardly mattered. She
wouldn't be coming back.

Keeping to the shadows, she made her way toward the
cairns, skirting costumed humans-faux vampires, fake
demons, stage-worthy goblins without a drop of magic
among them. A black-robed, kohl-eyed Satanist-his aura
indicated he possessed at best a smattering of magic-cast
her a baleful eye. She only hoped he managed to survive
the night unscathed by true evil.

She kept her senses open to genuine sorcerers and death
witches, and magical creatures of all kinds. Vampires,
ogres, werewolves, faeries, Sidhe, selkies-all represented
complications she couldn't afford. Best to avoid them.

She ventured as close to the cairns and standing stones
as she could. The burial mounds had long been empty of
corpses, but the magic that had caused the ancients to lay
their dead in this place was eternal. The cairns were positioned on the joining of several ley lines. That natural
power, combined with the magic of the long-ago witches
who'd consecrated the earth for burial, vibrated beneath
Artemis's feet.

Electricity hung in the air, as if a storm approached,
though late afternoon sunlight slanted through crisp,
clean air. Shadows were long; sunset was only minutes
away. Artemis's hand crept to her throat, her fingers wrapping the comforting weight of the moonstone in its protective pouch. Soon the prize would be in Malachi's hands,
and she would be on her way to Zander.

She faded into the crowd, a look-away spell providing
privacy. She reached into her pack, pulled out her photo
wallet, and flipped to the most recent picture of her son.
She'd taken it at a playground, last spring. Her heart
squeezed with her remembering.

"Watch, Mommy!"

Zander hoisted his skinny body to the top of a knotted climbing rope, a good fifteen feet about the ground. Before Artemis
could react, he launched himself into the air, hanging suspended
for an instant, arms spread, before landing on his feet, sure as
a cat.

Artemis swallowed the soft-landing spell in her throat as
Zander ran to her, all smiles. He'd spoken the spell on his own.

"Did you see that, Mommy?"

"Yes. That was great, baby."

"Aw, Mommy, don't call me that. I'm not a baby anymore."

He was right. "Of course you're not."

"And my magic is strong."

"Yes. It is."

And that was the problem. Her son's magic was strongand his talents, like hers, were almost equally split between life and death magic. Zander's potential had caught
the attention of psychic cps command. When Artemis realized what was happening, she'd left the military, taking
advantage of a wave of troop reductions that had followed
the Immortals' victory over death magic last year. She
didn't want Zander following in her footsteps. She didn't
want him learning the dark arts, as she had. She didn't
want him dealing with vampires, death sorcerers, and
demons, as she had.

If only she'd realized her dealings with one particular
demon had already placed her son in jeopardy. How could
she have been so complacent? The Immortals' defeat of a
foul Old One didn't mean evil itself had been destroyed.
Dark and light were two sides of a coin. Equal forces with
a mutual dependency. One Old One might be gone, but
there were others, equally depraved, to fill the void.

Artemis, of all people, should have been more wary. She
knew better than anyone how demons operated. She'd
spent years outwitting them and had made more than one
deadly enemy. She should have anticipated the attack on
Zander.

Guilt threatened to swallow her whole. If only she'd set
stronger protections around her son. If only she'd been
more vigilant. If she had, maybe Zander's small body
wouldn't be lying in a hospital bed. Alive-the beeping
monitors proved that. But there was no light behind his
beautiful eyes. His physical form was just a shell.

His soul, his life essence-it was gone. Stolen.

Tears threatened. She blinked them back. She shoved
the photograph into her pack-she shouldn't even have
looked at it. Not now, when her meeting with Malachi
loomed large and everything depended on the next few
hours. She needed to be on top of her magical game.

But when she cleared her mind, it was only to make
room for thoughts of Mac. Gods. How humiliated he
must have been when he'd awakened to the backwash of
her putrid spell. How enraged. She could almost see his
green eyes snapping with fury.

She slid her anthame from her pack, anxiety rising. Was
he still looking for her? She only hoped fracturing his
mark on her had done its job in throwing him off her trail.

Sunset was almost upon her. The crescent moon was
just visible in the western sky, riding low. The moonstone
pendant was a hot, heavy presence between her breasts.
She moved into position directly atop the cairns' major ley
line. She would have preferred a position closer to the
burial mounds, but the fenced-in area and its adjacent car
park was far too crowded with magical folk. She'd have to
make do.

Bending, she scratched a circle on the bare ground with
the tip of her blade. The invisible power line ran exactly
through the circle's center. She conjured a ring of protection and stood within it. Calm descended as she pulled the
magic of the sacred earth into her body.

The revelers all around grew frenzied in anticipation of
sunset. Shucking their clothing, they danced naked
around their fires. Only a few minutes now, and it would be time to open the portal and enter Malachi's death
realm. If all went as planned, she'd reemerge before dawn
with Zander's soul.

She drew a sharp breath as the sun touched the horizon.
Extending her left arm, she set the tip of her knife to the
tender skin on the inside of her elbow. The activity outside her circle receded to the edges of her consciousness.
Sounds fell away; the ground seemed to dissolve. Her lips
moved, forming words so ugly, so dark and deadly, the fabric of the human world rebelled. The air grew thin, space
itself stretched. The blade pressed to her skin; the point
pricked. A droplet of blood dripped down her forearm.

She spoke Malachi's name.

Pure death magic gathered. Her balance faltered, and
her stomach roiled. She bit back a surge of bile. It took
everything inside her to stop from breaking her circle and
fleeing. Tightening her grip on the anthame's jeweled hilt,
she turned the blade to the air before her. The fabric of
reality, already stretched thin, had been made even more
vulnerable by her death spell. A single slice would rip it in
two. She angled the blade for the final cut.

It never came. Brilliant green light stunned her vision.
The beam struck the flat of her anthame's blade, spinning
the knife from her grasp. It turned hilt-over-tip, its honed
edge slicing through the outer edge of her circle before
embedding itself in the mud.

Her protective spell shattered. In the same instantbefore she could move, before she could even thinksomething hit her from behind, sending her sprawling.

"No!" she gasped. Her first thought was that Mac had
caught her. Gods, no. Not now. Not when she'd been so
close.

Strong magic-life magic-held her facedown on the
muddy ground. Artemis struggled, kicking, trying to turn
to look at him-but got exactly nowhere. She grunted out
a quick death spell and flung it behind her.

She heard the spell hit, but the pressure didn't let up in
the least.

"Come, now." A cold, feminine voice dripped with
disdain. "That was pitiful. Can't you manage anything
stronger?"

Artemis's blood froze. Her captor wasn't Mac.

"Who-oof." She choked as something shoved her face
in the mud. "Let. Me. Up."

"I think not, witch."

The force controlling Artemis rolled her swiftly onto her
back. She blinked up at her captor. Tall and delicate, the
woman appeared to be no more than twenty. She wore a
green silk gown, the bodice trimmed in gold braid. A gauzy
skirt with a pointed handkerchief hem skimmed her knees
and calves. Her bare arms were decorated with gold bangles,
and golden sandals shod her delicate feet. Blond hair, intricately braided, wrapped her head like a golden crown, leaving her graceful neck-and pointed Sidhe ears-bare.

Her glittering green gaze was eerily familiar.

"Are you... are you Mac's mother?" Artemis whispered. "The Sidhe queen?"

"Silence, witch. You're not fit to pronounce my son's
name."

Gods. She was screwed. And the sun had all but sunk
past the horizon. She tried to keep her voice even. "You're
right, of course."

"I can't believe he bedded you." Niniane's delicate nose
wrinkled. "He must be insane. You stink of death magic."

"He... he's through with me now. I'll never see him
again. There's no reason for you to attack me. Let me go,
please."

"Believe me, there's nothing I'd like better than to never
lay eyes on human scum like you again. Unfortunately, it's
not that simple. I've heard disturbing reports from the
faeries. My son has been shirking his duties. Get up."

Artemis lurched to her feet, yanked by Sidhe magic almost before the command had reached her ears.

"Follow me."

The Sidhe queen wove easily through the crowd, a lookaway glamour deflecting the attention of the Samhain revelers. Artemis had no choice but to follow, her legs jerking
as if controlled by puppet strings as she moved farther and
farther from her ruined circle, from her anthame, from the
portal to Malachi's realm. From Zander.

Sheer horror squeezed the air from her lungs. There
was no question as to where Niniane was leading her. To
the place where Mac should have taken her. The Sidhe
Council.

"Please. No. I can explain."

"Your chance to speak will come, witch. For now, you
will be silent."

Like hell she would. Gathering her magic, she gasped
out a death spell.

The charm fizzled like an apprentice witch's first solo
charm.

Niniane whirled about, every inch of her body vibrating
with rage. "You dare attack me?"

With a flick of a finger, the Sidhe queen pitched Artemis
backward. She landed hard on her butt. A tingling curtain
of green sparks showered down all around her, forming a
shimmering cocoon.

Niniane lifted a hand and murmured a wisp of a spell
Artemis couldn't quite hear. The matted grass near Artemis's
right hand began to glow. When the light died, Artemis
was left staring at what looked like an oversized fox hole,
secured by a round wooden door. The Sidhe queen grasped
the tarnished brass handle. The door opened easily. The
first few steps of a stone stair came into view.

Artemis drew a breath. "What is that?"

"A Sidhe barrow," Niniane said. She cocked a perfect eyebrow. "Surely a stalker of faeries like yourself knows
of the barrows."

Artemis did. And if she weren't so panicked, she would
have been fascinated. Sidhe barrows-most likely thousands of them-existed all over the Celtic isles, their entranceways hidden even more thoroughly than a faerie
village. According to legend, the mounded earth barrows
led to a network of magical underground passages that
provided near-instant transportation between entrances,
no matter how many human miles apart the doors lay. It
was rumored the Sidhe barrow network even included
passages to the Celtic Other-world, Annwyn.

And to the Sidhe Council.

Niniane jerked Artemis to her feet. "Down you go,
witch."

"No, I-"

"No arguments."

Mac's mother wouldn't be swayed. Desperate, Artemis
eyed the curtain of green sparks. Could she break the spell
that bound her and dash through the barrier to safety? She
had to try. Working swiftly, she gathered death words and
crafted them into a dense, ugly pattern in her brain.

She took one step toward the stair, eyes downcast, keeping Niniane in her peripheral vision. A second step brought
her to the doorway. She placed a foot on the top stair.

Niniane's stance shifted; her shoulders relaxed, just a
fraction.

Artemis took advantage of the slight opening. She flung
her spell, felt the restraints fall from her limbs. She spun
about and bolted, through the shower of sparks, across the
meadow, cursing the tall grass. If only she could get back
to her circle before Niniane caught her...

A deadweight struck her square in the back. The next
instant she found herself stopped dead, her hands bound
behind her with magic that burned her wrists. Niniane appeared in her vision. If Artemis thought the Sidhe
queen angry before, it was nothing compared to how enraged she was now. "Please. My lady, let me expl-"