Stone Cold Lover (31 page)

He saw her bless and consecrate the circle with the traditional trappings of witchcraft—salt, water, fire, and air—and heard her invite the powers of the elements and the gods into her sacred space. She did so deliberately, respectfully, but quickly, and Spar knew she hurried for his sake, and for Felicity’s. Gratitude filled him, joined by excitement when she moved on to the work of the circle and began to chant the spell to open the portal.

The words meant nothing to him. He couldn’t focus on them when he had his gaze fixed so intently on the air in the western side of the circle. He realized that the longer Wynn chanted, the more the air became visible, beginning to shimmer and glow with magical energy.

Wynn fed more power into her voice, the volume increasing, the intensity building. She directed the palms of her hands toward the mass of waving air and began to draw them outward, as if stretching the diameter of the disturbance. The portal took on a recognizable shape, like an oval doorway, and inside the air went thick and gray and opaque, like a foggy horizon. The witch’s chant rose again, and her voice turned from a supplication into an audible command. With a final shout, she stomped her uninjured foot against the wood of the floor. The sound seemed to echo through the portal.

An instant later Spar gave a hoarse gasp of welcome as Kees stepped out of the mist and into the circle. Immediately he edged to the side to allow a petite human female to follow him through.

“Wow,” Ella said, wearing a grin bigger than the Cheshire cat. “That beats commercial air travel any day! We should go into business, Wynn. You know, after we finish saving the world.”

*   *   *

Fil kicked and bit and clawed like an angry badger. No way was she going to cower and sob and play the helpless damsel while some psycho fucker strapped her to a great big rock and sliced her into demon sashimi. Hell no. Felicity Shaltis had been raised to fight her own battles, and fight them she would, down to her final breath.

Not that she’d turn down some help if it arrived, of course. She was stubborn, not stupid.

She knew down to her pinkie toes that Spar was coming for her. She felt it. Not only was the Guardian incapable of deserting a human under his care, but the big hunk of granite cared for her; she knew he did. Even if he would have to leave her when this was all over, he would never leave her in the middle, so she knew he was on his way. If he could just hurry, though, that would be good.

To be honest, Fil didn’t know how much fight she had left, physically, anyway. Every time she struggled, her head throbbed even harder, and she’d noticed over the last little while that keeping her balance had begun to pose unanticipated challenges. When anything jarred her head, the edges of her vision began to go gray and blurry, and she was starting to get scared that she might end up passing out and missing her own execution. Wouldn’t that be a bummer?

She gagged when the Hierophant released her ponytail with a shove, sending her sprawling to the ground at the feet of another
nocturnis
. At least this time, she was able to catch herself with her hands, so when she predictably retched once again, she didn’t land face-first in the ick. Of course, the only thing left in her stomach at this point was bile, so it wasn’t that big a mess. Was that the kind of small mercy she should start being thankful for?

“Resecure her,” the leader ordered, his lips curving in a smile of anticipation. “And bring forward the reporter.”

Once again, Fil found herself being roughly tied in more of the scratchy hemp rope. This time, her hands were secured in front of her, but the coils bit more tightly into her raw and bleeding flesh, and the cultist tied her ankles as well. She supposed they figured since she was right under their noses, they would be able to see if she wormed her way free again. The sad part was, they were probably right.

Watching helplessly, she saw one of the
nocturnis
guide Ricky toward the altar stone with no more than a hand on his shoulder. Her old friend didn’t even protest as he was ordered to stretch out on his back and ropes were draped across him, binding his shoulders, arms, waist, hips, knees, and ankles to the cold stone.

“Wonderfully obedient, isn’t he?”

Fil nearly jumped out of her skin as the Hierophant’s words came to her from just inches away. She’d been deposited in a heap at the base of a withered pine tree, and the man crouched beside her, his gaze fixed on the preparations at the altar.

“Of course, he has no idea what he’s doing, just as he had no idea when I had him call and ask to meet you at your apartment,” he continued, sounding casually pleased with himself. “It’s amazing how easily controlled some minds are. It barely took any effort to strip away his reason and put blind obedience in its place.”

Fil swallowed another mouthful of bile. “Is that how you found me? You used Ricky to lead you to my home?”

“Of course not.” He chuckled. “I knew exactly where you lived before I contacted Mr. Racleaux. You weren’t all that hard to find, you know. Not while you wear the Master’s brand.”

The Hierophant reached out and used the tip of a glinting silver knife to pry open the fingers of her left hand. He scratched the blade over the lines of the mark still visible on her palm and smiled a truly nasty smile.

“I’m sure you thought you were safe once the witch cast her little spell, didn’t you? Well, it was inconvenient not to be able to just bring you to me with the tie to the Master, but even with that severed, I could still find you. This glows like a beacon, if you know the correct way to look. It just took me a bit longer this way to realize the Hierophant’s plans.”

Fil’s head reeled, this time with shock instead of concussion symptoms. “The Hierophant? I thought
you
were the Hierophant,” she choked out.

The man beside her laughed. “Oh, dear me, no, Felicity, my love. How could I be the Hierophant? Our leader is one with the Master, a position I would not presume to take myself. He guides us from the right hand of the Defiler, much the way the pope leads his merry band of deluded fools he calls the church. No, consider me more in the way of a cardinal. An adviser to the Hierophant, but no more, I’m afraid. Yes, it’s quite a fitting analogy, and I do look so very fine in red.”

With that, he dug the knife into her palm until blood welled to the surface. Laughing, he dragged a finger through the crimson fluid then raised it to his face and painted it across his cheekbones in wide stripes of carnage. Felicity curled her lips and spat right in his eye.

The backhand caught her by surprise, toppling her to her side and turning the world briefly black. She didn’t completely lose consciousness, because she could hear the
nocturnis
moving about, hear the Hieroph—no, the cardinal—hear him barking orders to his fellow sociopaths. She retained the ability to hear and to smell and to touch, but she couldn’t see until the darkness lifted. She found herself on her side facing the trees, trying desperately to summon the strength to pull herself back up into a sitting position.

And damn it, if even that felt like the equivalent of climbing Mount Everest on her knees, how the hell was she supposed to get herself out of this mess?

For the first time, Fil felt the urge to give in to fear, not just for her own sake, but for Ricky’s. Even if the man was still under some kind of spell, he didn’t deserve what the Order had in store for him. He didn’t deserve to suffer and die so that some group of sick fucks could pretend they’d have a place reigning in hell after the Darkness consumed the world.

Biting back a sob, Fil stared into the woods and willed Spar to come to her.

“It’s nearly two, sir,” she heard a man say. Barf boy, maybe? “We should begin if we hope to wake the Master and have him prepared to receive the sacrifice at the proper hour.”

“Yes, by all means, let’s get started,” the cardinal said, his tone jovial, even excited. Clearly this was a man who enjoyed his work. “Time waits for no one, does it?” He snapped his fingers. “Wakey, wakey, Mr. Racleaux. It’s time for you to rejoin us.”

A sense of deep dread overcame her, and Fil rolled herself over to face the altar once again. She wasn’t close enough and didn’t have the correct angle to catch a glimpse of Ricky’s face, but she could see the way he suddenly lurched against his bonds.

“What the fuck is going on?” she heard her friend shout. “Where the hell am I? Who are you people?”

“We’re your liberators, Mr. Racleaux,” the cardinal purred. “We’re going to liberate your soul and make a much better use of it than you’ve done so far. Shall we get started?”

He raised his arm and Fil caught the way the blade of his knife reflected the firelight for a moment before he brought it swinging down in a violent arc. Then she heard the echo of a scream, and she couldn’t tell if it was torn from Ricky’s throat, or from hers.

Chapter Twenty-three

Spar flapped his powerful wings as he flew high above the city of Montreal and coasted out over the river that bordered it. Wynn clung to his neck and waist, muttering something about crashing and dying and about 206 broken bones. He tried to ignore her. She felt wrong in his arms, but she had insisted on joining the coming battle, sprained ankle or no. When Ella had begun arguing on her side, he had given up and agreed to carry her to the ritual site.

Beside him, Kees flew with a similar armful, but he seemed more than content to have his mate wrapped around him as they soared toward the small, unnamed island Wynn had identified. Ella appeared to fit against the other Guardian as if she had been made just for him, and Spar felt the stab of envy straight into his heart. He knew what it felt like to hold his mate that way, and he only hoped he would be fortunate enough to feel that again.

“Look!” Kees shouted to gain his brother’s attention, pointing down to the glow of fire visible from the air though a break in the island’s thick tree cover. “I think we’ve found our
nocturnis
, brother.”

A growl was Spar’s only reply. He began to spiral his flight path in toward the clearing, grunting when the witch in his arms leaned forward and sank her teeth in his shoulder.

“What in the name of the Light was that for?” he demanded.

“Well, I wasn’t going to let go of you long enough to smack you upside the head,” Wynn shot back. “You can’t just fly in there and give them a clean shot at you, for the Goddess’s sake. Haven’t you ever heard of the element of surprise? We have to sneak up on them.”

“Let Kees and Ella sneak up on them. I think they will be sufficiently surprised when I land on their heads and crush their puny human bodies into jelly.”

“Fine, but if one of them uses a lightning bolt to blow your head off, don’t say I didn’t warn y—Aaaaaaahhhhhh!”

Her words trailed off into a shriek of terror as Spar inverted his body and began a tight death spiral toward the light that glowed from inside the tight ring of trees.

*   *   *

At first, Fil thought she heard the sound of an eagle screaming as it swooped down on its prey. Then she thought it might be Ricky, screaming again as the cardinal inflicted yet another wound to join the dozen or more he’d already given to the helpless reporter. Almost as quickly she realized Ricky’s cries had turned into pleading sobs that begged for mercy his captors didn’t possess, and eagles didn’t normally hunt at night. Something else had to have made that noise, and it sounded like a woman.

“Someone is coming!” barf boy shouted, looking around nervously.

“Who?” one of the others demanded, sounding less than impressed. “The Guardian? Even if he saw through our little impersonation, so what if he comes? There are seven of us here, and once the boss finishes off the reporter, the Master will be wide awake and ready to hear our call. One Guardian against all of us?” He snorted. “I like our chances.”

Fil didn’t, not when a bolt of blue-white light rained down from the sky, swallowing up the braggart and barf boy in a giant magical bubble. Finally, the cavalry had arrived.

The clearing erupted in a mass of confusion, shouting, and general chaos. Into the thick of it sailed not one, but two battle-ready Guardians, each looking like a participant in an Emote the Rage contest. With his spear in hand and feathered wings spread wide, Spar looked like one of God’s avenging angels on the warpath. The figure she assumed had to be Kees appeared more like a demon, but knowing he was on her side made her take his bat-like wings, fangs, and heavy curving horns in stride. Better with her than against her, she figured.

The two of them landed in unison, the solid thunk of their feet hitting the earth the sweetest sound Fil could imagine. Their wings kicked up a small storm of dirt and dried leaves, and even away from the action Fil had to squint against the debris. She could see well enough to make out that the Guardians hadn’t come alone. Wynn and Ella jumped to the ground as well, Ella immediately squaring off against the
nocturnis
while Wynn scanned the area looking for her. She gave a hoarse shout and nearly sang a chorus of hallelujah when the witch’s eyes locked on her.

“Oh, my God, did you send down the magic bubble?” she demanded when Wynn knelt at her side. “Because that was kind of awesome. I’m going to have to make you teach me that.”

“Nope, that was Ella. And I want to learn it, too.”

Fil quickly turned to present her bound hands. “Can you get me out of these? Quick.”

The witch drew a knife from her bag of tricks, which this time was draped across her front like a sling. “I came prepared.”

Wynn sawed through the ropes, careful not to slice off any more of Fil’s skin than she’d already managed to shed herself. She couldn’t stop herself from tugging impatiently, and even before the last loop sprang free, she was yanking her hands apart and reaching for the ties around her ankles.

“Aaaaaghhhh!”

The pained cry had Fil’s head jerking up and toward the altar. While Kees and Spar battled the
nocturnis
and Ella cast spells around the clearing like a wild woman, the cardinal had turned back to Ricky and plunged his knife deep into the other man’s belly.