by Jane Cousins
Verona actually opened her mouth and then slammed it shut. Clearly there was no love lost between the two women but either she didn’t know where the hybrid Jaguar woman was, or, given how magically deft Elena had proven, perhaps Verona couldn’t share any information about her.
“Pity. I suppose-”
“By Morgana’s dark heart, do you intend to talk me to death?”
“Not at all.” Cullen held out an open palm. “Shall we go on three? Or do you just want to start hurling-” He stepped to the right and angled himself thirty-five degrees to allow the bolt of pure white fire that Verona aimed at his chest to pass him by. A statue of a roman gladiator took the hit instead, but being made of marble it did nothing but absorb the fiery lightning. “So close.” He held up a thumb and finger with a good two inches separating them. “Would you like to try-”
Cullen was pretty sure he owed Aunt Mildred a thank you, as he ducked, stepped left, right, back, to the left again, ducked, swayed slightly forward, turned ninety degrees and came to a graceful stop. He’d just avoided seven consecutive white bolts of lightning flung his way. And was pretty sure he’d managed to do a fair imitation of the rhumba, albeit solo.
Verona stamped her foot in frustration, clutching her burned arm once more to her chest. She was still able to use the limb, obviously, but it hurt her. She could feel pain, which was good to know. Cullen filed away that piece of information as they regarded one another through a slight smoke haze that had quickly begun to fill the foyer, thanks to a smouldering painting that had taken a hit.
Honestly, the witch said that for centuries her ancestors had hidden in the shadows watching his, plotting their downfall. Hadn’t a single one of them sussed out exactly what an Archer was capable of?
It was nice to know his assessment of Verona was correct. She relied too heavily upon her powerful magic to solve every problem. She was a bully. Superior. Over-confident. Lacking in patience and blinded by hate that had been instilled in her since birth. She was also willing to do anything to achieve her aims. Over a hundred children dead, just so she and her coven could use them to avoid the three fold Karma rule that all witches must live by.
Of course she’d been sloppy then too. She hadn’t cared about the sheer numbers of children required. Nor had she been concerned by the risk of being caught. Even when Elena turned up and offered to show them a more efficient, exceedingly low body count way of achieving the same aim, he was betting Verona hadn’t really questioned Elena’s motives. As long as it didn’t upset Verona’s plans for vengeance, she probably presumed she would deal with Elena eventually, when the woman was no longer useful.
Did Verona even know that Elena was a hybrid Jaguar created by dark magic over five hundred years ago?
With Verona’s superior attitude, it was clear she equated magic with power. Thought she was invincible because she could tap into the elements of her underling witches, combine them, producing a rather theatrical display of light and sound.
But for all her talk of a centuries long vendetta, Verona didn’t seem to truly understand what it meant to be an Archer. What they were capable of. Probably why she and the other three hadn’t gone to ground after the failed hit on him. Verona was too caught up in her own power trip to be scared.
Hmmm, maybe it was time for a reality check. Time to teach the coven leader a lesson. Show her what happens when an Archer has you locked and loaded in his sights.
“You’re just delaying the inevitable.” Verona fumed, raising both hands, white hot sizzling arcs of light jumping between her fingers in readiness.
“You mean death, I presume? It comes to us all, eventually. But today isn’t my day, Verona, it’s yours.”
“Big words for such a little man. Oh, I’m so scared just because you can duck and dive. I haven’t really been trying… until now.”
Cullen smiled, he couldn’t help himself.
“What are you laughing at?”
“The funny thing is, Verona, I wasn’t particularly trying until now either.”
“Right.” Verona scoffed, her dark blue eyes brimming with condescension. “Alone. Weaponless. Watch me quake in my boots at facing off against the tiny, little Archer.”
So tiresome when the bad guys harped on about his lack of height. As if he hadn’t heard it all before. And it was a bit rich coming from Verona, who just barely topped the five foot mark. “Alone? True. Weaponless? Please, I’m an Archer, I once killed a man with nothing more than a thumbtack and a bit of chewing gum.”
“Bored now.” Verona flicked out her hands but Cullen was ready. He had jumped into stage two defence mode. Where you presume that your opponent will predict your next moves, so you bypass those and think three moves ahead. Often, that involved nothing more than staying still, as your enemy fired a barrage of ordinance, or in this case, fiery lightning around you.
“Frustrating, isn’t it?” He couldn’t help but taunt as Verona ceased fire, absently cradling her burnt left arm in her right hand. “When your opponent can anticipate every move you make.”
“Anticipate this.”
Cullen was too busy moving to roll his eyes. But seriously, when you want to actually catch someone off guard, you don’t give them a warning. You just bloody do it. Still, it took an awkward high jump, a tucked roll, twist, and another roll. Not just to avoid the ten bolts Verona sprayed his way, but to ensure he refrained from touching any of the black tiles, accidently setting off a trap. Casually he brushed off some dirt from the front of his trousers. “Are you starting to wish you’d done a bit more homework on Archers or-”
“It was just dumb luck. You won’t be able to avoid my sting forever. It only takes one, you know, and you’ll fry like a moth hitting a bug zapper.”
“I had presumed as much.” Damn it, six minutes and twenty seconds had passed by since Headmistress Hulme had lit out on Trix’s tail. He’d been hoping he could manoeuvre Verona on to a black tile and no muss, no fuss, contain the witch in a shaft full of waiting, icy cold water. But she had her feet planted firmly in place.
Verona wasn’t prone to spill her guts of any future plans or information on Elena’s whereabouts. Time to end this so he could track Trix and make sure she was okay. “I think it’s my turn, don’t you?”
Verona eyed the two knives that appeared suddenly in Cullen’s hands. Except for a brief flicker of wariness in her dark blue eyes she didn’t seem overly impressed. “White lightning melts metal.”
Cullen didn’t bother to give any warning, he just threw the knife in his left hand. Watching as it flew true and straight, punching right through the barrier of flaming white lightning Verona instinctively brought up to shield herself. Her eyes widening in shock for a split second before she was falling backwards, hitting the marble floor with a dull thump.
Moving to stand over her Cullen double checked that the witch was dead. His aim had been perfection. The stone knife lodging in her heart. Severing the left ventricle. Death in one point seven seconds. Yet only a fool didn’t double check. Sometimes the heart was located further to the right. Or they wore a pacemaker. But no, ding dong, the witch was well and truly dead. Dark blue eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling.
Metal might melt but not stone. Verona had all but spelled out to him which weapon to use and how to kill her.
One stone knife later. Bullseye. One witch dead.
Now to hunt for the second. The fire witch Dotty Hulme. By the Mists, he hoped Trix was safe and playing it smart. Hopefully holed up somewhere and waiting for him to back her up. Yeah, except Trix was sneaky and fierce, he couldn’t see her doing anything but confronting Headmistress Hulme.
Cullen found himself running, his heart pumping hard. Fear. It was not an emotion he was overly familiar with but right at this moment it all but swamped him. The idea of Trix hurt, dead. He found himself ignoring all his training for the first time in his life and running faster, uncaring of the noise he was making. Right now he was just a man, desperately running flat o
ut to save the woman he loved.
And he intended to make that very confession as soon as he found Trix, kicked the witchy Headmistress’s butt and saved the day. He pictured it now. Trix would be so happy and grateful she’d throw herself into his arms and never let go. He clung to that image as he moved through the house faster and faster.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Playing tag with a pissed off fire elemental witch, what had she been thinking? Dashing down the wide, and despite the now flickering scones, gloomy foyer, Patricia was beginning to question her sanity. Resolutely she kicked all self doubt to the kerb. No, she wouldn’t have been able to look herself in the mirror ever again if she’d remained curled up in a ball under a protective sound shield, and let Cullen face off against superior witch numbers.
Besides, despite the small measure of sensible terror that nibbled at her innards, Patricia was finding her adventures with Cullen to be rather exhilarating. Perhaps she had been denying that part of herself for way too long. Sure, she lived on the wild side daily, facing off against dangerous fiction and non-fiction works alike. Just last week she’d had to deal with a rogue brain-eating twelfth-century anatomy book.
But the dangers that lurked in the Library, though copious and varied, didn’t really challenge her on every level like working with Cullen. Taking on new personas. Facing off against witches. Tracking hybrid Jaguars.
Matching wits with a man of Cullen’s calibre, it was unfortunately proving intoxicating.
Good Goddess. She was closer to the precipice of becoming attached to the Archer than she had thought. Grrr, no, she would tamp down on any and all notions that there could ever be anything long term or permanent between her and Cullen. They had different destinies. And it was time she did him a favour and shoved him back onto his true pathway, once and for all.
Didn’t mean she couldn’t have fun with this last face off with Dotty Hulme though, and at the same time pump her for any information she could on the hybrid Jaguar’s plans. Find out if it involved revenge upon Matias Yanez for killing Elena… Conchetta’s former lover, and the magical high priest who had turned her into what she was. If that were the case then everyone in the Southern Sanctuary was potentially in danger.
And once this was all over, well, it had been fun. Some seriously great memories to take into the next stage of her life. Fifty, single and unstoppable. She vowed to work smarter, not harder. And she would look for new ways to challenge herself. You should never stop learning, growing, challenging yourself. Words to live by.
Hmmm, and if she seriously wanted to add the element of danger back into her life, all she had to do was re-start the family book club. Oh, the terror. But she wouldn’t be bored. Or sitting around moping about Cullen. Wondering what he was doing. If he was seeing someone. Someone who would fit neatly into the Archer world, and whom he could raise little Archers with.
Grrr, now she really wanted to hurt someone. Luckily she had a volunteer.
Turning, Patricia stood in the middle of the gloomy foyer and waited. Dotty Hulme wasn’t just a big, solid woman, she was clearly unfit. Frustration ate away at any last minute nerves Patricia might have been entertaining. She was so ready for this to be over.
This end of the hallway had been transformed into what Cullen had referred to as the big game section. Referencing the many stuffed animal heads that festooned the walls. A shudder of distaste ran down Patricia’s spine, even though Cullen had assured her that none of the animals were real. Instead, they were creations of a very talented animatronic specialist, who was an expert in home defence.
It was just important to remember which ones would open their mouths if you got too close and spit out fire. Something Patricia had been very aware of when she’d run quite deliberately into the waiting arms of Dotty and Verona earlier, and allowed them to capture her. Making sure as they made their way to the front of the mansion, that she led the way down the very centre of the foyer.
But now. All bets were off. Knowing which faux stuffed animal heads produced fire was relatively simple. Any animal that originated from Africa was a fiery trap.
Of course many would have said using fire to face off against a fire elemental witch was an exercise in foolishness.
But Patricia hadn’t just quit being a family Enforcer and cloistered herself away in the Library. No, since then she had spent the intervening years transcribing hundreds, nay, thousands of Enforcer encounters with deadly foes. She was experienced at analysing the strengths and weaknesses of supernatural creatures. She was no Archer… but she was just as good.
If nothing else, over the years, she had learnt that all too often what their opponent believed was their greatest strength, was in fact their greatest weakness. She doubted that Dotty, or any of her gal-pal witches had spent any time testing the boundaries of their magical powers. Challenging themselves. Honing their gifts so they could use them as a barrage, or the equivalent of a razor sharp knife.
The nice thing was, if Patricia was wrong, she could improvise, change strategy mid-stream. She totally had this.
And as Dotty Hulme finally limped to a halt ten feet away, her dark eyes glittering with rage. Patricia pushed away the last shred of doubt. Unable to help the small smile from lifting the edges of her mouth as she contemplated the other woman’s bird nest hair, with literal feathers still in it. The streaks of dirt marring her caramel coloured corduroy trousers and sparkling cardigan, with more than a few of the sparkles missing, and several more just hanging on by a thread.
“You’re really not an outdoors person, are you? Surprising for a witch, I thought you lot were all rah-rah, naked under the moonlight giving praise and thanks.”
“What are you? You’re no mundane, but you’re not an Archer.”
“Ah, finally clued into that, did you? You’re going to laugh at the irony, Headmistress, I’m a Librarian.”
Dotty Hulme’s scowl deepened, her eyes almost disappearing as they narrowed into slits. “A Librarian?”
“Head Librarian actually. Of the Southern Sanctuary. Hmm, this is usually the point in the discussion where you should turn pale and start to look as if you have bitten off more than you can chew.”
Dotty brayed out a hard, unamused laugh, that echoed around them. “I don’t think so. I am a Morgana witch, no longer bound by the Karma three fold rule. You are the one who should be shaking in your too tight jeans.”
“You’re just jealous about how fabulous my ass looks. But seriously, I’m not sure if Verona kept you wilfully ignorant of the greater supernatural world, or, if all of you were so focused upon revenge against the Archers you never bothered to question if there was more out there. Didn’t you ever wonder if there were people, things, bigger, and much badder than you and your witchy friends?”
“And you… the Librarian, oh, excuse me, Head Librarian, are bigger and badder than me?” A hard toothy smile broke across Dotty’s face.
“See, you don’t even have enough sense to wonder why I stopped running, when I could have clearly gotten away from your lard ass. Are you really so blinded by hubris and the need for revenge that you haven’t figured out yet that I lured you here?”
“Lured me?” Another braying chuckle was issued.
“Yes.” Patricia bit down on the frustrated sigh that threatened to emerge. Facing off against one’s foe, getting them to spill all their secrets, it seemed so easy in the books she read. Perhaps Dotty Hulme hadn’t read the same books. “Before we get started, just answer two questions for me. Where are the children’s bodies buried? And what does Elena have planned?”
“You think I took note of what Elena was up to? You’d be better off asking Mara. The little sneak couldn’t switch off her nosy ways. And as for the children?” Dotty held up her right hand, a red ball of flame forming, the edges beginning to flicker a bright pure blue. “I’m a walking crematorium, there are no bodies to be found… except for those Elena claimed.” Dotty snorted an undignified laugh. “Oh, that’s got your attentio
n, hasn’t it.”
“What did she need bodies for?”
Dotty’s wide shoulders shrugged as the ball of flame grew in size until it was the equivalent of a basketball. “Don’t know, didn’t ask.”
“You should read more. You’re really not living up to the typical villain stereotype. More and more I’m getting the feeling that you are nothing but Verona’s muscle. Telling me about Mara? Big mistake. Because all that information does is label you as expendable. Hah.” Patricia laughed softly. “And from the look in Verona’s eyes back there, she’s thinking the exact same thing.”
“I have been a loyal and dedicated follower of Morgana. Verona respects and values my contributions to the coven.”
“Please, the tide has turned. Your value to Verona has expired. Your operation at the school, exposed. So no need of a Headmistress. Sure, sure, she’ll still require someone to do her dirty work for her. But I think she’ll want a fresh crop of newbies to reign over. Women who will be suitably awed by her. You, you’ll just be a reminder of past failures. A past in which the Morgana witches exposed their existence to the Archers. And if you know nothing else about Archers, you must know that once they have you in their sights, they never give up until their target is obliterated. You’re not really covert, on the run material.”
“Verona would never betray a sister witch.”
“Please, you don’t believe that. She thinks of you as a bodyguard, cannon fodder. The first time she needs a distraction when the Archers find you, she’ll throw you to the wolves and escape. And she won’t look back.”
“Lies.” Dotty hissed from between clenched teeth. “Why do you insist upon talking, talking, talking?”
“Oh, I’m just wasting time, testing to see how long you can sustain a fireball of that size without any measurable decrease in your powers. Call it professional curiosity.”
Dotty’s smile was all smugness and clenched teeth. “Indefinitely.”