“You’re sharing my blood with them?” Becka asked.
Knowing Mimir was planning to drink it was one thing, but to have nearly a dozen other Shadow-Dwellers would also partake caused Becka to hesitate. She wouldn’t just be giving Mimir her power. These nine acolytes would also share her power.
“They are loyal devotees to the cause,” Mimir replied. “We would not have reached this moment without their dedication and effort.”
Another round of applause rolled over the crowd, filling Becka with disgust.
Hanna cried out behind her, and Becka couldn’t help but look. When she glanced toward Lydia, Becka’s heart skipped a beat with fear. Despite the fae prodding her with their batons, she barely moved. Her head rolled limply to the side, her skin ashen.
Mimir’s attention followed Becka’s. “Well, that one’s lost its thrill.” She pointed to Quinn. “Get started on her lover.”
Becka’s stomach turned as they hit Quinn with their batons, ripples of electric sizzle rippling over his flesh as he jerked against his bound wrists. A credit to his Oak stamina, Quinn didn’t flinch or wilt under their blows. His focus remained on Becka as he shook his head.
A repeated, yet muffled “No” was his litany to her.
Mimir would pay for this. Becka didn’t know how, but she’d end her.
“Chop, chop, little nugget,” Mimir said, a near-gleeful timbre to her voice. “Their pain won’t stop until your blood is in my hand.”
Becka refocused on the altar and the dagger in her hand. She lifted her hand above the chalice, steeling her will as she set the dagger’s blade to her palm. But then something caught her eye.
The chalice wasn’t empty. A dark, viscous liquid sat pooled in the base.
“Why is there already blood in the cup?” She frowned at Mimir. “Couldn’t you at least have washed it out from your last kill?”
Mimir planted a hand on her hip, wagging the blade-tipped pointer finger of her other hand at Becka as she replied, drops of blood flying as she gestured. “The chalice is not dirty! That’s my blood intended as a reward for my most devoted.”
A murmur of appreciation rose up from her patiently awaiting acolytes.
“Wait, so you don’t just drain fae for their powers? You swap blood with each other too?” Becka asked, hearing the blatant disgust in her tone. Blood drinking had long been taboo within fae culture, one of the few acts one could be exiled from the territories for committing.
“How else do you think we’ve grown in power over the years? Drinking gifts second-hand is not as potent as direct from the source, yet it has served us well and leaves no corpses for later discovery.”
A wild, disgusting idea hit Becka square in the solar plexus. She reached down and picked up the chalice in her left hand while still holding the dagger in her right. The golden chalice had a definite heft, but it was more the weight of Becka’s decisions that gave it the gravitas it held in this moment.
Mimir took a step closer to her, but then seemed to think better of it, and held her ground near Quinn.
“Hold, Becka.” A deep reverberation in Mimir’s voice sounded like a command, as if she was trying to use magic on her. Except with Becka’s gift, the effort was pointless. “That’s dangerous. It won’t work for you without the proper preparations.”
Becka heard the lie in Mimir’s voice like a clarion bell, confirming her intuition.
She heard Quinn pull against his bonds, the chain above him whipping in the air as he fought to free himself.
Looking Mimir in the eye, Becka raised the chalice to her lips and drank Mimir’s blood. The liquid was still slightly warm, but there was no mistaking it for blood. Pushing past her revulsion, she swallowed as much as she could, guessing Mimir would make a move to stop her at any moment.
“Fool!” Mimir cried out, her eyes wide with shock. She didn’t get any closer. “Tie her up!” she commanded the guards.
Becka set the chalice down on the altar when a sudden wooziness permeated her senses. Becka fell to her hands and knees before the guards reached her, the pain in her head spreading like a wildfire until it suffused her torso and limbs as well.
Mimir stepped close. Becka tried to reach out and hit Mimir with her Null power, but she couldn’t move past the pain. So much for the powers of the Ancients. The next moment, the guards had gripped her arms, pulling them roughly behind her and wrapping a rope around them. They then stood over her, as if waiting for her to do something impressive.
Becka could barely breathe through the pain, but Mimir’s shrill voice drew her attention well enough.
“Now you will get to watch those you love most suffer while you lay helpless. Perhaps next time you will be more amenable to following directions once you’ve had a taste of true suffering?”
Mimir grabbed the dagger off the floor and stalked over to Quinn, stabbing it into his gut again and again. Blood gushed from the gashes, Becka unable to help him as his lifeblood flowed out onto the floor.
She couldn’t bear to see Quinn dying in front of her, but she couldn’t look away either. Tears flowed down her cheeks, warping her vision.
Mimir glanced over to Lydia and shook her head. “That one’s practically already gone.” Then she walked over to Hanna and stabbed her twice in the side in quick succession. Hanna’s keening wail was halfhearted, as if she knew no one listening could do a thing to stop her pain.
Finished with her stabbing, Mimir paced the stage. “If you think my blood will help you, you’re wrong. All you’ve done is delay the inevitable.”
Becka’s newfound intuition gave Mimir’s pronouncement a definitive maybe. Not helpful, intuition!
“It’s not like you’ll even know how to use my powers without training.” Mimir leaned over her. “Do you know why I’m in charge?”
“You’re the oldest?” Becka managed.
“The time for jokes and banter is over, Becka. I’m in charge because I’m the best. The Shadow Maker elevated me to this role after I’d proved myself decade after decade to him. Whatever taste of my power you just gained, it’s inconsequential compared to my expertise and the full force of my will.”
And yet, Mimir had gone to such great lengths to get Becka’s power, the one she didn’t have yet. Surely there was an edge there. If only Becka knew how to leverage it?
“Then why not just kill me?” Becka asked, wishing something would dull the ache burning through her body. “Take my blood and be done with me.”
“I would, Becka. Trust me, I would love to string you up and flay the skin from your body until you begged me a few times over for a merciful release. But you’re the one who’s been gifted this transformative power, and so YOU HAVE TO BE USEFUL,” she said, screaming the last few words down onto Becka.
Would Mimir act out against House Rowan now? At least they were ready for it, after the prior Shadow-Dweller attacks. Becka shuddered at the thought, knowing there were Shadow-Dwellers there waiting on Mimir’s word before doing whatever horrible things Mimir might imagine.
What if her family found out Becka had drunk fae blood? Would she be exiled from fae lands?
“I need to salvage this situation,” Mimir said to herself, resuming her pacing.
In that moment, something shifted within Becka. Her headache faded like mere dust in the wind. Her body quieted as nerves which had felt like they were on fire settled into some new alignment. Most profoundly, her awareness shifted as if someone had turned the volume of the world around her up to eleven. Whatever powers she’d ingested from Mimir, it felt like they had upgraded her with entirely new wiring.
“Blessings to you,” Becka whispered against the floor, a brief but heartfelt prayer to the Ancients. For the first time in forever, the persistent dull throbbing in her head was completely, utterly gone. Something had happened earlier when she was intimate with Quinn, some fundamental shift of her powers. Like a block she hadn’t even known was there had been lessened. Now, with the addition of Mimir’s blood, it was
gone entirely.
Yet when Becka looked up at Quinn and saw him hanging limp against his bonds, her mind raced. She had to do something, and quickly.
But what could she do?
Chapter 29
A fast-moving guard rushed up onto the stage, coming to stand in front of Mimir. “Mistress, there’s activity at the eastern perimeter.”
Could the enforcers have found them? Becka almost didn’t dare hope.
“Unfortunate,” Mimir replied, glaring down at Becka. “Relocate to backup location theta,” she directed the guard, who nodded and then took off in the direction he’d come. Mimir turned to Becka’s two guards. “Get her up and be ready to move.”
She turned to her acolytes. “Handle it. I trust the worthy will prove their worth.” The acolytes gave Mimir quick bows and then followed the guard.
Mimir turned and addressed the assembly as Becka’s human guards hoisted her to her feet.
“Sadly, my pretties, our plans for the evening have changed. Use the north exit. Make haste!”
When Mimir turned back around, she surveyed the stage. The torture attendants had walked over, standing close to the altar.
“Should we finish them off before we go?” one torturer asked nonchalantly, with no more gravity than if they were asking for a snack before hitting the road.
“No!” Becka cried out.
Mimir arched a brow at her, the cruelty in her expression sending a jolt of fear through Becka. The Shadow-Dweller reached out her hand toward Quinn’s head. Becka sensed, rather than saw, the metal chain above his head weaken, and then snap, sending him rolling to the floor where he landed in the puddle of his own blood.
Becka tried to memorize the movement of energy Mimir had used to work the trick. Since she now had her magic, she could see what Mimir did, and which magic was involved. It wasn’t complex, but her focus was absolute.
When Mimir turned to Hanna, Becka watched the magic intently. Mimir did the same trick to the manacles at Hanna’s wrists, first pouring her energy into the metal, and then heat-expanding it with laser precision. The metal cracked a moment later with a loud snap which echoed through the chamber. Freed from her restraints, Hanna slid off the cross in a slow, slumping motion.
“Bring them with us,” Mimir directed the torturers. “But leave the other one. She won’t last past the next few minutes, anyway.”
Becka looked to Lydia, whose pallor had gone ashen. The faintest of breaths told her Lydia was still alive, but Mimir was likely right. Her heart aching, Becka realized Lydia wouldn’t last much longer. Knowing there was nothing she could do for Lydia wrenched at her.
Looking around the room, most everyone had cleared out, but she could still hear people moving around in the hallways and rooms next to the large hall.
But she might still save Quinn and Hanna, if she was strategic. Under her Aunt Astrid’s tutelage, Becka had learned the theory of how all magic functioned. She knew novices lacked focus and stamina for their magical works at first, but both were usually improved over time and with practice.
Although fae culture tried to maintain that mental illness was a human trait, there were a few tales of erratic, unbalanced fae, who, due to their considerable powers, had wreaked destruction through the lands. One, Wolfgan Konrad of House Willow and the Moon Guild, had a profound ability to sway others’ emotions. What had started with songs and chants meant to inspire, transformed into propagandist missives and calls for single-minded worship of Wolfgan as the redeemer of all fae.
The fae houses had overpowered Wolfgan and his followers by banding together, joining magic and outmaneuvering them.
Unfortunately, Becka didn’t have numbers on her side, but she did have Mimir’s range of fae powers. Could she function as a magic cooperative of one?
Now that she’d seen Mimir use the Earth and Fire magics specifically, she might be able to emulate the effect, but with much less focus and direction. Also, the effort would surely drain her, meaning she might only have one chance to try it. Plus, catching Mimir off guard would be like sneaking up on a viper in an empty, well-lit room.
So she had all that going for her. Becka resolved to watch and wait for an opportunity, hoping it would come before someone died.
They followed Mimir at a slight distance. While Becka awaited a perfect opportunity, the guards half-carried, half-dragged her through the den back to the hallway she’d entered from before. Mimir was mumbling to herself as she strutted down the hall. Becka couldn’t see behind the two men carrying her, but heard the others behind them.
They passed the room where she and Quinn had been held and continued all the way to the end of the hall. The door flew open with a flick of Mimir’s wrist, revealing a private room filled with plush violet couches, oil paintings of fruit on the walls, and orange shag carpet.
The guards pulled Becka into the room, made sure she was up on her feet, and then let go of her. The torturers dragged Quinn and Hanna into the room, leaving them just inside the door. Hanna appeared unconscious, but Quinn looked up at her, his vision keen despite his terrible wounds.
Mimir walked up to a picture, reached out, and pulled it away from the wall. It moved on a hinge, swinging open and revealing a safe stashed in the wall.
“It’s like you stole this entire room from the seventies,” Becka said.
Mimir didn’t look back at her. “I’m glad you’re amused.” She held out her hands toward the safe, which lacked a visible lock on the door. Becka watched as Mimir wove intricate threads of magic, directing them at the unseen lock. Fascinated, she watched as Mimir activated layer after layer of the complex lock.
Becka’s heart leapt as sounds of conflict echoed down the hall. Someone was inside fighting the Shadow-Dwellers!
After a last flourish, the wall safe’s door swung open. Mimir reached inside and pulled out a chunk of granite. She spun towards them, holding the rock in her right hand while holding up her left hand toward the wall, her face twisted in concentration. Within seconds a broad, swirling portal opened, occupying most of the far wall.
Becka hadn’t witnessed how Mimir had opened the other portals, but recognized that she hadn’t used the rock in her hand in the process. Now that she’d seen it, could Becka replicate opening one?
“What’s so important about that rock?” Becka asked.
“It’s a shard of cairn.” Sounds of yelling filtered down the hall. “Go help the acolytes,” Mimir ordered the torturers, a rare lock of hair out of place, falling across her cheek.
“Yes, ma’am,” one of them replied, then they moved as one back down the hall, leaving Hanna and Quinn bleeding out onto the orange shag.
“You were so close, Becka. If you’d just given up your blood, this wouldn’t have gone down like this.” Mimir turned her attention to Quinn and Hanna on the floor, holding out her empty hand toward the pair. A flame burst out of her palm, growing into a fireball. “This is what happens when you defy me.”
“Wait!” Becka cried, taking a step closer to Mimir as she fought against the rope holding her hands together. She focused on the magic in Mimir’s fireball. Had she understood how the magic was threaded together and sparked? Becka couldn’t be sure; she was distracted by wanting to save her friends. “We could just leave them.”
Mimir shook her head, the fireball in her hand growing by the second. “You need to suffer to guarantee your compliance and I won’t risk them talking about what they’ve seen or heard.”
They said the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again, getting the same result, but still expecting a different result. That described Mimir perfectly, and Becka was over it.
Becka couldn’t wait for a perfect moment; she had to act now, otherwise Quinn and Hanna would definitely die. Becka took another step toward Mimir, only to be stopped by a guard tugging at her shoulder. Damn, she’d forgotten about them! She tried to shrug him off, but he wouldn’t let go.
Mimir looked to Quinn and Hanna, and Becka kne
w she must be about to release the fireball. Despite her wrists being bound, Becka mimicked the pattern she’d seen Mimir do just moments before, and a small fireball flared to life in her hands. The rope holding her hands together went up in flames at the same moment Mimir realized she’d conjured fire.
A wild panic filling her eyes, Mimir threw her fireball at Quinn and Hanna. Becka threw hers, hitting Mimir’s fireball en route, redirecting them both toward the doorway, wobbling out of control like a binary star on a death spiral.
In the next few moments, everything seemed to happen at once.
Mimir’s portal snapped shut with a whooshing pop.
Quinn rolled to cover Hanna, turning over a coffee table to help shield them both from the inevitable explosion.
Mimir screeched and then gasped as the stone shard she held in her right hand pulled her suddenly backward, sending her careening into Becka’s arms.
Becka didn’t hesitate. When her hands came into contact with Mimir’s flesh, she loosed her Null power full blast into the Shadow-Dweller. Except this time, the Null worked differently. Instead of eradicating Mimir’s powers, some sort of feedback loop drew all of Mimir’s powers into Becka.
Becka gasped, struggling to breathe as Mimir’s power flowed into her. Confusion, pain, and fear filled Mimir’s face. She had no defense against Becka’s power.
The fireballs hit the door, sending a shockwave of super-heated air and flame out in all directions, setting the paintings and rug on fire as it rolled through the room. Becka knew the two guards behind her were hit when they screamed out in pain.
When the flames rolled over Mimir, her exposed flesh flashed a brilliant white. If she’d still had her power over fire, Mimir would have been immune to the flames, but instead they seared her flesh.
Yet Becka stood untouched as the flames passed over her. When the surge died down, she lowered Mimir to the floor, the Shadow-Dweller’s face and arms now covered with red, blistering skin.
Shadow Underground: A Romantic Urban Fantasy Murder Mystery (The Shadow Series Book 3) Page 24