Apocalyptic Mojo (11 page)

Sirius whined and a picture formed in Draigh’s mind. He laughed. “Reconnaissance is good.”

Draigh strode toward the wall and through it, ignoring the sting of power as he breeched Edwige’s magical cloak. Ducking a ball of witch fire, Draigh lunged forward, slicing his knives downward as Edwige drew her arm back for another strike. His knife hit the side of the scrying pool and Edwige sent her witch fire sizzling toward him.

Draigh threw himself to the ground and rolled. The fire singed its way along his hip, melting flesh and sending pain boiling through him.

Behind him Ardith countered the first ball of fire with a warning shot over Edwige’s head, obviously trying to subdue the rogue without killing her.

Draigh knew the witch would never let herself be taken. The mages liked to believe they were more civilized than the sorceri of the authority because they didn’t kill the creatures they hunted.

But the council submitted prisoners to slow, inhuman torture and a lifetime of imprisonment. Draigh believed it was kinder to just extinguish them. “Kill her, Ardith!”

His witch ignored him and sent a magic net spinning toward Edwige. The rogue flashed away. The capture magic hit the wall behind where Edwige had been and exploded outward, enclosing a table and two chairs in its shimmery embrace.

Draigh leapt to his feet and flew at the rogue, calling upon his powers to enhance his speed. He slammed into her and they tumbled sideways, falling into the scrying pool.

Edwige pushed off him and shot to her feet, leaping out of the large, concrete vat with unnatural agility.

Draigh floundered, fighting to follow her out. The fluid boiled around him, sizzling against his skin and sending agony coursing through him as his limbs struggled to pull him to the top. He sensed that the liquid was only a few feet deep but his body wouldn’t work with his mind to get him out. His limbs were numb, his mind unfocused.

Mercury. The witch’s scrying pool was filled with deadly mercury. It worked to numb his magics and, in large enough quantities, would mean death to his kind.

A heaviness pressed against his chest and his lungs forgot how to hold breath. The life-giving air escaped his lips, bubbling upward as he felt his heart slowing. Draigh’s mind started to shut down and his body stopped fighting. He sank heavily to the bottom of the dense liquid, a single heartbeat away from death.

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Ardith fought a desperate battle with Edwige, amazed at the woman’s ability to use dislocation magics and witch fire in battle. When Draigh and Edwige had both fallen into the scrying pool and Edwige had leapt back out alone, Ardith had still believed she could take the woman alive. But her witch fire couldn’t find her. It was like trying to hit a puff of smoke. One moment Edwige stood ten feet away right in front of her and the next she was across the room behind Ardith.

Even Sirius had only barely managed to grab the very edge of her robes between his teeth before she’d flashed away and the star pup had lost her.

Ardith scried quickly, desperation forcing her to get more creative in her magic. She threw her hands into the air and jerked her fingers wide, sending a thick, barely opaque mist of slug magic in Edwige’s direction. If only the merest fraction of Edwige’s skin or clothing was captured in the haze she would be pulled into the dense, slimy cloud of magic and it would slow her movements enough to allow Ardith to grab her.

Edwige started to flash away again, but the sleeve of her robe was sucked into the mist and, for a breath in time, Ardith thought she had her. She scried capture magic and threw it toward the witch. But Edwige twisted quickly, sliding her arms from the robe, which was immediately sucked into the slug cloud and hung suspended in the air before Ardith. Ardith’s net settled around the gown. “Shit.”

Edwige was already gone.

Draigh still hadn’t emerged from the pool. Ardith panicked, even as she spun in a circle to find the rogue again. “Sirius. Save him.”

Sirius leapt into the pool.

With a triumphant cry, Edwige leapt on Ardith’s back and carried her to the ground. Ardith’s head hit the edge of the concrete pool and stars burst before her eyes.

The witch straddled Ardith’s back, placing her hand between Ardith’s shoulder blades, and began to chant.

Immediately pain blossomed in the spot and Ardith screamed. It felt as if something was wrenching her ribs apart and she couldn’t move her arms or legs. Her mind went muzzy under the agony of Edwige’s magics.

Ardith tried to pull her magic forward but it only flared and then sputtered as cold fingers wrapped around her beating heart and squeezed it in an iron grip.

Ardith threw back her head and screamed, agony searing through her. She screamed until she couldn’t scream any longer, until all she could do was sob out a broken sound, her limbs flailing helplessly.

Something flew from the scrying pool. A roar sounded, and Edwige barely managed a shout before she was torn backward, off Ardith’s body. The rogue’s shriek trailed across the room and then dropped away, ending abruptly in the distance.

A soft whine told her Sirius had arrived and she felt his familiar bulk as he lowered himself to the ground beside her. Then the healing heat as he sent his powers into the horrible wound on her back. She bit back a cry of pain as Sirius knit her back together, clasping the pup’s dense fur in one hand for support.

Ardith passed out under Sirius’ diligent efforts, waking sometime later to the sound of shouting outside. She pushed herself to her feet, weak and wobbly, and looked around. “Where’s Draigh, pup?”

Her familiar sent a picture of the hunter flying out the door with the witch wrapped in his arms. Though she knew it was Draigh, she hardly recognized him. The hunter had massive teeth, like some kind of wild animal, and looked nine feet tall, with sharp looking black claws on the thick fingers clasping the witch’s arms as they went over.

Ardith figured she was seeing the form he’d worked so hard to avoid showing her when they’d made love.

In the vision, Draigh turned to look back as he tumbled off the ledge, and she gasped at his eyes, glowing silver and wild with fear. Despite their strange color, his eyes looked more animal than human.

Ardith stumbled to the door and looked down. The witch lay in a bloody pile of pieces and parts on the ground below, the web’s power sparking around her as if it had been ripped to shreds along with her body.

Draigh was there too, standing in the midst of a platoon of human soldiers with massive guns trained on him from all directions. He stood still and defeated, enormous arms shackled behind him and chains around his feet. His head was bowed.

Why didn’t he fight them? What was wrong with him? Ardith lifted her hands, hoping she had enough mojo left in her to fight the humans and rescue the hunter. But a large, black hand grabbed her arm, stopping her.

She turned to look into Blackthorne’s dark brown gaze. “No, Ardith. It won’t help him if you get captured too.”

“Why isn’t he fighting them? He’s much stronger than they are, especially in that…beast form.”

“There’s mercury in the cuffs and chains.” Blackthorne cocked his head, fixing Ardith with a speculative look. “You care for him, don’t you?”

She automatically shook her head. “That’s absurd. I feel like I owe him a debt, that’s all.” But as soon as she said the words, she knew they were a lie. She did care for the hunter. Too much. To distract herself from that dangerous thought she told Blackthorne, “I don’t understand what just happened here. It’s obvious from the sheer numbers and the equipment the humans have down there that they weren’t just passing by. They came here to capture someone specific. Do you think they came for Edwige?”

Blackthorne shook his head. “No. It was a trap. Edwige knew we would come here. I’m afraid she set us up.”

Ardith shook her head. “If that’s true it didn’t exactly work out for her as planned. Edwige’s dead. She’s in tiny little pieces down there.”

“That is what she wanted you to believe. Look closely.”

Ardith looked down at the torn body on the ground and frowned. At first she didn’t see it, but as the body started to change she realized what Blackthorne was telling her. The torn flesh was already turning gray and sloughing off the bones. Black blood ran in a disgusting pool from beneath the ravaged corpse.

Ardith looked up at him, fear filling her breast. “It’s a zombie. Oh my god, Blackthorne, that nearly flawless specimen was a zombie?”

Blackthorne nodded. “It appears that Edwige has perfected her zombie-making skills.”

Sirius joined them on the ledge and Ardith automatically reached for him, grasping his thick fur as her head spun. The human soldiers loaded Draigh into a big white truck and looped thick chains through the handles of the closed doors once he was loaded. It was obvious the humans understood what kind of power they were dealing with. “More important, Blackthorne, where the hell is the real Edwige? And if her zombies are this strong, just how powerful is this bitch?”

CHAPTER NINE

“What the hell do you mean he’s going to be executed?”

Lady Penelope’s sharp, black gaze followed Ardith as she paced. The woman was being surprisingly patient with Ardith’s anger, which had been volatile since she’d been called into the council chamber to discuss next steps.

The Devil’s Glen incident had blasted through the human world. Reports of hundreds of men, women and children slaughtered by Edwige’s zombies had created an explosive environment that had people rioting in the streets and spurred the government to declare they would make an example of the magic wielding creatures they already had imprisoned.

It had been five days since Ardith had watched Draigh get hauled away in that truck. They’d been the longest days of her life. On Blackthorne’s insistence, she’d tried going through official channels to get him released. But, though the human government was understanding of their dilemma with Edwige to a point, they had massive hysteria to deal with and they figured killing a few magic users was the quickest way to soothe the population.

Ardith knew that wouldn’t be the end. In fact, now that the general population knew about witches and things that go bumpity bump in the night, it would be just the beginning of hell for all of the magical races.

“What would you have me do, Ardith?” Lady Penelope’s soft tones were as surprising as they were terrifying. Generally the woman ruled with an iron fist and strident tones. She only moderated her tone when she was getting ready to strike—to throw her victim off.

But Ardith was way past caring. “Blast our way into that prison and bust the hunter out.”

Behind the Lady, Blackthorne’s dark face creased with disapproval but he stood silent sentinel over their leader.

“Don’t be absurd, girl. That will only enrage the humans further.”

“We can’t let them kill our people. It won’t end anything. It will just set a precedent for more and more killing.”

“She has a point, my lady.”

Lady Penelope blinked when Blackthorne agreed with Ardith, but she didn’t turn to him. Her terrifying black gaze stayed locked on Ardith. “Then we must give them a different target for their example.”

Ardith stared back at the woman on the faux throne, searching the cold and flawless countenance for a clue to the trap. She didn’t see anything she could identify. Still, she chose caution. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Yes you are. It is the only way. We will do our part to convince the government that danger comes from only one front. That we are powerless compared to the rogue. And that we are just as terrified of the woman as they are. Your job will be to draw her in so we can trade her life for that of the prisoners. Do you think you can do this?”

Ardith glanced at Blackthorne for help. He held her gaze but offered nothing. It was her decision to make.

Could she? She really had no choice. It was the only thing that made sense. And if it didn’t work she would just blast her way into the prison, with or without the council’s blessing, and extract Draigh. “Yes. I can do it.”

“Good.” Lady Penelope actually smiled. “Now, tell me what you need, girl.”

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“Are you sure this will work?”

Ardith glanced at Blackthorne. “I’m sure the Watcher can find Joris. What I’m not sure about is how to get the gnome to let us into his lair.” Her gaze slid up the thick column of gray smoke to the top, where it bulged outward, presumably encompassing the Watcher’s hidey hole. “I don’t think he invites just anybody in.”

Blackthorne held a large copper coin out to her. She took the coin, frowning. “You have any idea how to use this?”

“The Huntsman said we had only to hold it in the air and call for the Watcher with our minds.”

She examined it. The coin was about two inches in diameter and the top surface was engraved with words she couldn’t decipher. They were ranged around a column, not unlike the column Draigh’s guide made before it adjusted to show him what he’d requested. Turning it over, she saw the Huntsman’s odd little face carved into the opposite surface. “What exactly is it?”

“A guide coin. The authority lends them to non-hunters as temporary guides. They aren’t as powerful as true guide magic, but the copper enhances the magic embedded within and gives you fairly potent temporary guide power.”

Ardith held her hand out, palm up, with the strange coin resting on it. “Here goes.” She thought about the Watcher, called him in her mind, but nothing happened. No blue sparks, no pretty blue lights. She turned to Blackthorne. “This thing doesn’t wo—”

Pain ripped through her. She gasped, reached for Blackthorne, and tried to tell him to hold on. But the agony wrenched her internal organs, twisted her limbs. She felt as if she were being pulled inside out.

Ardith threw her head back and shrieked, certain her legs and arms were being ripped from her body.

Blackthorne reached for her.

Too late.

She felt the touch of his fingers just as her feet left the ground, and then agony became her most intimate friend.

The pain rolled over her, through her, tearing at her cells until she could taste it on her tongue. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move from the misery of it. Her muscles locked rigid under the onslaught. She screamed, writhing against the ripping agony, and wondered how long it would last.

It seemed hours before the horrendous pain started to subside and her feet touched the floor inside the Watcher’s lair. When the pain finally slid completely away, she collapsed against the wall, amazed she hadn’t been torn to pieces.

It had been even worse than the last time. She wondered how much of the pain the hunter had absorbed and realized she owed him a bigger debt than she’d imagined.

The sound of a throat clearing brought Ardith’s head whipping up.

The gnome stood before her, short and squat in his long robes. His beady eyes stared at her, showing no surprise. She knew he had to be a little bit shocked to find her in his magic hidey hole.

Unless someone had warned him.

“You return.”

Master of the obvious. Ardith grimaced, pushing reluctantly away from the wall. The bones of her legs hurt when she stood. “Unfortunately, yes.” She took a tentative step and discovered she didn’t fall on her ass.

Always a good thing.

“And you’ve made me feel so welcome.”

The beady black eyes, like hard little marbles, showed no reaction.

“Right. Sarcasm…epic fail…got it,” she murmured. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the strand of longish blond hair. She looked at it, silky and soft across her fingertips and said a silent prayer of thanks that she’d been able to find something of Joris’ when she and Blackthorne had returned to Edwige’s cave.

Tit for tat.

Edwige had taken someone she cared about from her. Ardith would take the thing Edwige cared about most.

Ardith held the strand out to the Watcher. “I need you to find him.”

The Watcher folded his spidery-fingered hands at the front of his robes. “Do you have the price?”

Ardith blinked. “Huh? What price?”

“My services require payment.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “You didn’t charge the hunter. Before.”

“I have an arrangement with the Sorceri. With you I do not.”

Ardith realized the trap and swore silently. That damn Huntsman had known the gnome would require payment. Yet he hadn’t told her. She hated the authority.

H-a-t-e-d them.

“All right. What’s your price?”

The gnome cocked his little head, his bulbous features looking deceptively pleasant. “What do you wish it to be?”

Temper flared in her breast. She’d come all the way there…had her spleen basically ripped from her insides…wasted the time it took…and he was playing stupid games. She opened her mouth to tell him that, of course, she wished it to cost her nothing. But the glint in the little gnome’s eyes told her that would be a mistake.

A big mistake. She thought over everything she knew about gnomes in general and the Watcher in particular. It wasn’t much. But she did remember one thing. Gnomes placed a lot of emphasis on value. How much did she treasure his services? It depended on how much she prized the outcome.

Ardith caught his gaze, held it, and opened her mouth to take the biggest risk she’d ever taken. “Everything. I wish the price to be everything I have. Because that is how much I cherish your services.”

The gnome didn’t move. His expression never changed. But the glint in his black gaze deepened. Finally he smiled. “You are wise beyond your years, witch.” He extended a spidery hand and took the strand of hair. “Come.”

He stopped beside the scrying pool and reached for something on the ground, straightening with an enormous pair of scissors. “Come. Pay the price.”

For a terrifying moment she thought he meant to kill her with the stupid scissors. She hesitated. She could think of easier ways to die.

The Watcher smiled. “I wish only a lock of your hair. If I need your help in the future I will call you. That is your payment for my services.”

Expelling a relieved breath, Ardith stepped closer and knelt before him. He took a few snips from the end of her thick braid and pocketed the hair.

As she got to her feet he was already beginning to scry for Joris.

Ardith stood quietly by his side, watching. She hadn’t been lying to the little gnome. His services were worth everything to her. They were worth Draigh’s release. They were worth the freedom of her people and the hunter’s.

She would capture Edwige’s pretty little pet and use him to draw the rogue to the capital city where Draigh was being held.

Then she would kill the evil bitch herself and give the people what they wanted.

What they needed.

An example. A sacrifice. A sense that they were safe once again.

That was more than her people would ever have. Thanks to the rogue bitch, Edwige.

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A huge raven pecked at the dirt just beyond the cell’s only window. Every once in a while it would train its beady black gaze on Draigh and caw smugly. Draigh threw rocks at it for a while, but the nasty creature kept returning. He’d seen the raven before…somewhere…but he couldn’t remember where.

The cell they’d put Draigh in was barely larger than a closet. He’d heard the soldiers laughingly refer to the prison as Hotel Claustrophobia. They weren’t wrong. The tiny cells were like coffins. Dank, slimy coffins. He’d struggled to breathe properly since being locked into one.

Draigh had worn a track in the dirt floor that ran from the bars to the outside wall, all six feet of it. The cell had a single, tiny window set high in the wall. It was covered in bars made of some kind of impermeable dark metal and had no glass, so that rain occasionally filtered in to increase the mold in the disgusting place. Bugs were a regular nuisance.

He hadn’t minded the daily torture sessions the humans had subjected him to nearly as much as the enforced inactivity of the tiny cell.

The only thing keeping him sane was the knowledge that Ardith hadn’t been captured. His careful questioning of the guards told him there were only four magic wielders in the prison. Three men and an old crone who probably wasn’t even a witch.

Humans thought all witches had large, hooked noses and warty faces.

The torture had been an attempt to get him to give up the names and locations of his peers in the authority. Though he doubted the humans understood the difference between the council of witches and the authority. They seemed to think all magic users belonged to one, massive group living in a dank cave somewhere plotting how to murder and eat children.

Not for the first time, Draigh cursed that asshat Grimm for his dubious contributions to human literature. It was his fault humans had such a horrible perception of witches and warlocks.

He glanced at the bug-infested cot hanging off the wall and grimaced, choosing instead to continue pacing. With such a horrible future facing him, his thoughts fled to Ardith in self-defense. He relived their moments of incredible passion in her small, messy bed in historical Salem. His body tightened at the memory. His cock twitched.

She came alive again in his mind—her incredible jasmine scent, the satin perfection of her skin, and the way her lush curves felt pressed against his hard frame. Draigh groaned as hunger swamped him. Physical need wrapped its steely fingers around his lungs and squeezed, making the simple process of drawing air into his chest nearly impossible.

He closed his eyes and his hungry imagination pulled her forth. He heard her sighs again in his mind…felt her warm, sweet breath against his face. He rested his head against the cool metal bars at the front of the cell. His chest heaved with the effort to breathe. His fingers encircled the rough metal…squeezed the bars so hard they groaned.

Realizing he was creating his own personal form of torture, Draigh opened his eyes and pushed thoughts of Ardith away. He resumed his pacing, willing his cock to soften and his muscles to unclench.