Soul of the Storm (The Wardbreaker Book 2)

by Katerina Martinez

  After my failed attempt at entering the Tempest, we’d come back to Becket’s place, to our temporary base of operations. RJ had swooped down on me in an instant, and another instant after that, he’d put me into a stable condition using only his magic. But the wound in my hand was deep, and I’d lost a lot of blood. There was only so much magic could do. The bleeding had, at least, stopped, but for now I had a throbbing hand and I was a few harsh movements away from sliding into unconsciousness.

  I walked over to the plush, velvet sofa in Becket’s living room and sat down. Everyone was there, shadows from the crackling fireplace dancing across their faces. They’d been waiting for me to clean up and come back downstairs. Of course, they’d first insisted I go to bed and get some rest, but like hell if I listened to them. Even with the blood loss, there was no guarantee I’d be able to get any sleep, not after what had happened tonight.

  They watched me slowly sit down, then kept watching me as I allowed myself to relax. They were like statues whose heads would move when no one was looking directly at them. After taking a deep breath to expel the tension, I stared around the room. My eyebrows rose.

  “You guys are creeping me out,” I said.

  “How are you feeling?” Danvers asked.

  “Like an elephant wearing ice skates just did jumping jacks on my hand, but I’ll be fine. For the record, I don’t want to talk about why tonight didn’t work. We’ve been having this conversation for three weeks and we’re still exactly where we started.”

  “Not exactly,” Karim said.

  I looked over at him and angled my head to the side. “No?”

  He shrugged. “Well, you finally jumped. So… there’s that.”

  “Hardly think that counts as progress. I almost killed myself.”

  “If you don’t want to take the credit, don’t take it. I just thought I’d say something nice, for once.”

  “That makes a change,” Danvers said, “And I’m still waiting on that tea.”

  Axel stood up, walked over to the fireplace, and poked it with the iron poker. The logs fell into themselves, kicking up a flurry of embers and tiny sparks. “This is a difficult situation,” he said, his voice low and cool; almost distant. “But we can’t abandon the pursuit now.”

  I hadn’t openly said I wasn’t planning on trying again, but Axel, perceptive as ever, had managed to figure me out. “Look, I already said I don’t wanna talk about what happened, but if you twist my arm, no, I don’t want to do this again. We’ve been trying for ages and it’s getting us nowhere. There has to be another way; a spell, a ritual, something.”

  He shook his head, then turned around. His entire body was shadow against the light from the fire, except for his eyes. They shone clear and blue despite the gloom. “There is no other way,” he said, “Our Guardians close the door to the Tempest the moment we find them. Only mages without Guardians can enter, and they can only enter once. When the doors open for you, you’ll be on your own, and you’ll only have one shot at coming out on the other side.”

  “Except the doors aren’t opening. That feeling you keep telling me I should get? I’m not getting it anymore. I used to, years ago, but it stopped, and it doesn’t make any damn sense because the Tempest is the only reason why I’m still alive right now. If I hadn’t been able to use magic to slow myself down, you guys would be scraping a pancake off the road.”

  “That’s an elegant representation of what you would’ve looked like.”

  “Using magic and getting into the Tempest are different things,” RJ said, “One of them is like trying to suck air through a keyhole, the other is like trying to kick open a door made of twelve inches of steel. You can’t force it open. The door has to open for you.”

  “We don’t have the time to wait for it to open for me. The crows could come in on us at any moment. Hell, Asmodius may suddenly decide to tell the Magister who was really responsible for breaking into his vault, and then we’d have Legionnaires knocking on Becket’s door.”

  “A fate most unfortunate for those poor Legionnaires.”

  Becket’s voice was as smooth as silk. None of us had seen him standing by the door to the lounge, but there he was, lurking by the edge of the room like a red-eyed monster wearing human skin as a disguise. He stepped out of the shadows and pushed deeper into the living room, where the light from the fireplace reached his face.

  I didn’t feel the need to ask him to explain what he’d meant. He had, in fact, made himself perfectly clear. Anyone stupid enough to assault his home was probably going to have to deal with one hell of a demonically induced headache if they wanted a chance at getting anywhere near Becket himself. Not to mention, it wasn’t like he’d just sit and wait for them to get through.

  There was a reason why he, the Magister’s brother, an infernal, could simply… be. Infernal practices were forbidden by the Magus Codice. Demonologists found to be summoning demons could face punishment by exile, at best. Those found to have made pacts with demons would be made to deal with worse fates than that.

  And there was Becket, a man the Magus Codice couldn’t—or wouldn’t—touch; and we were his guests.

  “I don’t think anyone would be stupid enough to come here,” I said.

  Becket cocked an eyebrow. “I seem to recall you breaking into my house once… it feels like a lifetime ago that happened.”

  “Yeah, well… we’ve gone over that.”

  Please don’t make me apologize again.

  “We have,” he said, after a pause, “And I see no reason to go over it again. I also see no reason to continue along this particular line of discussion. No one is going to hurt any of you while you’re under my care. There is, however, something I feel like I should bring to your attention.”

  “What is it?” Axel asked.

  Becket gestured toward me. “If it would please you all, I would prefer to discuss this matter privately with Isabella.”

  “Uh… is everything alright?” Danvers asked, slowly starting to stand.

  “There’s absolutely nothing anyone needs to worry about right now,” Becket said, “I would simply like a moment of her time. We won’t be long.”

  Danvers stared at me with the kind of stern-faced look only another girl could understand. Do you want me to go with you? I shook my head, then groaned from the effort of getting back up off the couch, and sighed. “Alright,” I said, “I was feeling woozy sitting down anyway. Karim, if you’re making tea, I’d love one.”

  “I didn’t say I was,” Karim said, “And I resent the role of kitchen-wench that’s been thrust upon me… but fine.”

  I walked over to Becket, who led me up the stairs and toward his study. The house was quiet, and cool, as it always was. Outside, crickets were chirping. In a couple of hours, they’d just stop, and no one knew why. Well, maybe Becket did, but I hadn’t asked him, and I probably wouldn’t.

  Puffs of condensation formed around my mouth and my teeth started chattering. I must not have been doing a good job of hiding it because Becket threw a warm, woolen blanket around my shoulders once we’d entered the room. I wrapped myself up in it and rubbed my chest with my hands.

  “I apologize,” Becket said.

  “For what?” I asked.

  “About the cold. It took me a while to get used to it, too.”

  “You got something against central heating?”

  “It would be useless even if I turned it on,” he said, pointing at a thermostat. “Demons, you see, suck the warmth out of their surroundings.”

  I started scanning the room. “Is there one in here right now?”

  Becket, smiling, shook his head. “No, they’re all safely locked away, I can assure you, but there are enough of them in the house that, well… they keep this place cold. It doesn’t help that you lost a great deal of blood tonight. How are you feeling?”

  “Rough, but I’ll make it through.”

  “Of course you will… please, have a seat.”

  “A seat?”


  “Unless you’d prefer to stand. However, sitting will prevent you from toppling over once the strength in your legs gives out. I can see them buckling already.”

  Becket’s attention to detail was infuriating at times, and unnerving at others. Very little escaped his red gaze. Sometimes I wondered if he could read thoughts, the way Axel could. I didn’t know much about Demonologists, except that some of them kept demons as… pets? Prisoners? Trophies? I wasn’t sure exactly for what reason anyone would want a demon for a roommate, but I was sure I didn’t need the answer.

  As a mage, I was curious; as a human, demons could stay the hell away.

  I decided to sit down on the chair across from him. Becket then produced the small brown box we’d retrieved from the Magister’s vault and set it on the desk in front of him. He ran his fingertips along the top of the box, then turned his eyes up at me. I watched him, saw the way the red rom his pupils seemed to almost swirl and shift, like the color was alive.

  “What did you need to tell me that you couldn’t say in front of the others?” I asked.

  He angled his head to the side. “I wanted you to learn what I’d discovered first.”

  I frowned. “Discovered?”

  Becket slowly opened the box and turned it around so I could see inside. I leaned over, panic pinching the back of my throat. For a moment I thought he was about to tell me it had been stolen, but no, the drowned Queen’s scroll was still sitting inside its box, the magic seal unbroken.

  “Have you figured out a way to open it?” I asked, hope now replacing the panic.

  “Unfortunately, no,” he said, “I believe only you have the power to do that.”

  “So… what is it?”

  “Do you know how old this box and the scroll inside are?”

  I shrugged. “About a thousand years? If you believe the stories, anyway.”

  “If the records are accurate, then yes, this is at least a thousand years old… and if that’s true, then the box, and the scroll inside, should be in much worse condition than this.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I have a strong suspicion when you removed this box from the Magister’s Vault, you also removed it from any protective spells designed to keep it from deteriorating.”

  “A strong suspicion… but you don’t know?”

  “The scroll is fraying at the edges. At first, I thought I hadn’t properly examined it, but I have been closely monitoring the box and scroll for the time I’ve had them, and I can tell you, they are both rapidly falling apart.”

  My stomach went cold, like I’d swallowed a whole block of ice.

  “How…?”

  “Days. Maybe a week.”

  “A week and… what?”

  Becket paused. “A week and maybe we will never know what was written on the other side of this parchment.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Tell me there’s a way to stop it,” I said, “There has to be a way.”

  “If there is, it’s beyond my expertise,” Becket said.

  “But the Magister is your brother… you’re both Demonologists… if he could whip up a spell to keep this thing intact, then so could you, right?”

  “You’re making the assumption that my brother likes to get his own hands dirty. No. Whatever spell, or series of spells, was keeping this box in pristine condition was concocted by another. Possibly an Elemancer, such as yourself—perhaps with the help of a Necromancer.”

  “A Necromancer?”

  “Necromancers have dominion over death, yes, but also over decay itself.” Becket closed the box and drew it back toward his side of the desk. He then turned his red eyes on me, narrowed them, and angled his head to the side. “You seem anxious.”

  “Anxious?” I asked, realizing just at that moment I’d been bouncing my knee. “Why wouldn’t I be anxious? You just told me I have maybe a couple of days to unlock this scroll or I may never find out what’s written inside it.”

  “We have plenty of time.”

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve failed every single attempt I’ve made at entering the Tempest. It’s not working, and if it doesn’t work, I’ll never open that scroll. Why are you not anxious?”

  Becket shrugged, a slight smile forming at the corner of his mouth. “Anxiety isn’t a flattering look for me. I would rather be calm, instead, and be able to use my full mental faculties at any given moment. In any case, I have faith in you.”

  I scoffed and showed him my injured hand. “Misplaced faith. I’ve been trying for weeks. Another couple of days isn’t going to make a difference. We need another way of doing this.”

  “There is no other way, but again, I know you’ll succeed. Forcing your way into the Tempest hasn’t worked. Fine. I’m confident a door will present itself to you, as it does for every other mage who truly wishes to brave a journey into the realm of raw magic itself.”

  I arched my eyebrows. “So, you’re telling me I have to do… nothing… and a door will open for me?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. I am, however, suggesting you may not truly want to enter the Tempest. If that’s true, it’s something I cannot help you figure out. It has to come from you.”

  I shot to my feet and slammed my hands against his desk. “Of course, I want to do this!” I snarled… and then the world started swimming. Becket was on his feet and around the desk in an instant. My vision tilted to the side, but Becket was able to help me back into the seat. After a couple of seconds, everything was right again, except for my heart thundering against my temples.

  “Here,” Becket said, handing me a glass of water.

  I took the glass and drank. It was ice cold, like the air in the room, but that was good. The coldness of the water sliding down my throat was a shock to the system powerful enough to jolt my mind back into the present.

  “Alright,” I said, “That outburst was dumb.”

  “You’re a passionate woman,” he said, returning to his seat. “No one can fault you for that, however you should learn to control them. Channel that passion before it devours you from within.”

  I took a breath, and then another sip of water before setting the glass down. “I don’t know if I’m in the right frame of mind to be taught anything,” I said, “What I want is to know what we’re gonna do about this scroll thing. I can’t go back out there and tell them this whole thing is over in a couple of days because of me.”

  “We’re not going to do that… what I want you to do is to forget about the scroll and the box, and instead focus on what I’m going to tell you next.”

  “Next?”

  Becket slid the box back into the drawer inside his desk. He shut the drawer and locked it with a key, which he then slipped into his breast pocket. “I have a job for you,” he said.

  I narrowed my eyes. “You have a job… for me…”

  “You are a thief, are you not?”

  “I’m not a… dammit, yes, I’m a thief. But not the bad kind.”

  He put one of his hands up and shook his head. “You can relax, Isabella. I’m not here to judge your morals. What I would like to know, however, is if you and your team would be interested in working for me.”

  “I can’t speak for anyone else, but I’m already living in your house, and you did kinda save my life on that rooftop the night of the heist. Pretty sure I owe you a bunch.”

  “On the contrary. You owe me nothing.”

  “Nothing? I find that hard to believe.”

  A playful grin swept across Becket’s face. “And why’s that?”

  “Well… you’re a Demonologist, right? I don’t know much about your kind or the beings you treat with, but one of the things I knew you and they have in common, is you like to make deals. It’s like you’re programmed to expect something in return for what you give, and woe to anyone who thinks they can take advantage of you.”

  “I’m afraid that’s where you, and likely many other mages, are mistaken. You are right to suggest th
at I, like my demonic subjects, enjoy making good deals. However, since the night I pulled you from the rooftop no deals were made, I have nothing to hold against you. Even my putting you up in my house came without strings.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Did you sign any contracts?”

  “Wasn’t accepting your help enough? Isn’t that how it works? It’s all in the fine print…”

  “It’s not. In order for a deal to be struck, one with lasting effects—one with the power of magic behind it—both parties must know exactly what they’re putting in and what they’re getting out. Otherwise the deal is null and void. I made no deals with you, I simply offered you shelter from the storm raging around you, and that’s why now I’m asking if you and your team would like to do a job for me. There would be pay involved, and spoils… and yes, probably a contract.”

  Maybe it was the blood-loss… or maybe it was just him, but I couldn’t get a good read on Becket. He wasn’t just a Demonologist, he was an infernal. Just by his red eyes, I knew, he’d made a deal with a demon in exchange for power of some kind. Exactly what kind of power, I didn’t know, but every mage worth their salt understood demons didn’t make deals for anything less than a piece of a mage’s immortal soul, and a mages soul was a sacred, almost holy thing.

  The story went that mages are born into this world with only half a soul. That emptiness, that incompleteness, draws the supernatural to them like blood to sharks—predators can sense it, and they mistake the mage for vulnerable prey. But that same incompleteness gives the mage access to the Tempest, to magic; it gives them a way to defend themselves against the dangers lurking at every corner of their lives.

  At the same time this mage is born, somewhere in the Tempest, a Guardian awakens from slumber, and they start calling through the void across worlds. That Guardian holds another half of a soul—a soul it is entrusted with protecting until the end of time. When a mage finds their Guardian in the Tempest, the two halves are joined, and become one.

  They say a Guardian would never let a mage give away a piece of his soul to a demon, but clearly they are wrong… because people like Becket exist. I had no idea how or why he’d done what he’d done. I tried to keep the thoughts away as much as I could, because the idea that he had at some point gone against the natural way of things made me uneasy.