by Keri Arthur
They even felt like those stones. All the others we’d come across had felt ancient and powerful. These stones—like the others—were undoubtedly both old and potent, but there was also a foulness emanating from them. It was as if they were something that should not exist in this time or place.
I took a step closer. Pinpricks of energy snapped at my skin, drawing blood. I shivered and stepped back. While I had no doubt that Mike had disappeared through this gateway, there was no way in hell I was about to follow him. I might have risked it had it been only my safety I had to worry about, but I was a mom-to-be now, and I wasn’t about to jeopardize the health of my son by exposing him to something that felt so . . . unclean.
I retreated to the wall and walked around the stones. I didn’t learn much. I didn’t understand cuneiform, and I wasn’t about to call the one person in my life who did back into the line of fire. I might have promised to call Uncle Quinn if I needed help, but I wasn’t about to risk Hunter finding out where they were hiding for something as minor as this.
Which meant that as far as Mike went, we were at a dead end until he showed up again.
I sheathed Amaya, then left the house, making sure that I left everything as I’d found it—everything except the rear-door locks, and there wasn’t much I could do about that except hope that no one noticed it.
“So this would appear to confirm that Mike is at least working with the dark sorceress,” Azriel said, as I climbed into the car.
“It confirms that both my mother and I are blind fucking fools.” I thumped the steering wheel. “Damn it, how could he keep something like that a secret for so long? Mom wasn’t an innocent when it came to the arcane—why did she never sense something was wrong until it was altogether too late?”
“The Aedh placed a spell you,” Azriel said. “What makes you think they didn’t also do the same to your mother?”
“I guess. It’s just—” I stopped and shrugged. “I guess I’m just sick of being three steps behind everyone else in this game.”
“It’s possible Mike is not aware that we suspect him. That will play in our favor.”
“Only for as long as it takes him to realize someone broke into his house. He’s going to suspect it was us.”
“Which may or may not matter to him. He needs you, remember, so if it prompts any sort of action, it’s going to be another attempt to ensnare you.”
I glanced down at my hand, remembering the somewhat slick feel of his initial handshake. “Do you think that’s what he was doing in the restaurant?”
“No. I think he was simply trying to uncover both what you knew and what you suspected. I also suspect you will hear from him sooner rather than later, probably with another invitation for dinner.”
“Over which he’ll try to magic me.” I rubbed my wrist and hoped the ribbon bracelet was strong enough to withstand the onslaught of dark magic. “Do you think he’s Lauren?”
Azriel raised his eyebrows. “That is a question you should answer, not me. You know him. I don’t, nor can I read him.”
“I’d like to think he’s not, that we couldn’t be that gullible.” My lips twisted. “But then, I’ve already had more than enough proof of that with Lucian.”
“Everyone is entitled to make a mistake,” Azriel commented sagely. “At least you rectified yours by ridding this world of his presence.”
“Yeah, but revenge didn’t taste as sweet as I’d hoped.”
“It never does.” He reached over and squeezed my hand. “Let’s dwell on the problems we can do something about, not the ones we can’t.”
“Good idea. So where the hell do you think Mike might have gone?”
“We know Lauren has at least two warehouse bolt-holes. It is possible that we have not found all that either of those places conceal.” He shrugged. “Given the relative ease with which we found that first one, it is entirely possible that she allowed us to find what we did in the hope we would then discard it.”
“Then let’s head there and see if we can pick up Mike’s signal.” I started the car and pulled out into the street.
“And if we do? We have no idea whether Mike is merely working for her or if he’s our sorceress herself, but either way, I doubt it would be wise to confront either of them in one of her lairs.”
“No, but at least we’d finally have a concrete lead.” And once the bastard stepped away from protection, well, one way or another, he was ours.
It didn’t take us all that long to cut across to the warehouse. I parked in the street behind the building, then glanced down at the tracker Azriel still held. It was deathly quiet.
Mike wasn’t here.
“It is still worth checking the building,” Azriel said. “The witches are here. If nothing else, we can see how their progress with that second barrier goes.”
I nodded, climbed out of the car, and walked around to the front of the building. It wasn’t much to look at in its current state—the wind rattled the rusted iron roof and whistled through the small, regularly spaced windows, many of which were broken. Like many of the other buildings in the area, its walls were littered with graffiti and tags, and rubbish lay in drifting piles along its length. But its bones were essentially good, and I couldn’t understand why it had lain derelict for so long; it would have made several smashing apartments.
But once again there was an odd, almost watchful stillness about the place. It was a stillness that seemed to affect the immediate surrounds, which were unnervingly quiet. Even the roar of the traffic traveling along nearby Smith Street seemed muted.
I shivered, despite the heat rolling off the man walking so closely beside me. This place had always seemed . . . wrong . . . to me. More so now, perhaps, because I knew what evil its dark interior sheltered.
There were two entrances into the building on West Street. The first one remained heavily padlocked, but the other—a roller door over what had once been a loading bay—was where we’d gotten in previously. Someone had done a rough repair job on the broken section of the door, but the welding didn’t look too good and I didn’t think it would take more than a kick or two to be rid of it. Which was precisely what I did.
I got down on my hands and knees and squeezed through the small hole. The witches had woven an exception into the magic that warded this place to allow Azriel to enter, but it seemed to have a wash-over effect on me, because this time there was very little in the way of resistance or stinging as I crawled through the small gap. I still felt it, but it wasn’t resisting me like it had previously.
I rose and dusted the dirt off my jeans as I scanned the area. The large loading dock and the offices that lined the upper area hadn’t changed, and I couldn’t smell anything in the air that suggested anyone was in this portion of the building.
Azriel rose and stood beside me. “The witches are still here, but I cannot feel the presence of anyone else.”
“I’d normally say that was a good thing, but in this particular case, I’m not sure it is.”
“That would depend on what lies behind the hidden door and whether the magic that protects it also interferes with my ability to sense souls.” He pressed his fingers against my spine and guided me toward the stairs. “We may yet find either Mike or our sorceress here.”
I snorted softly. “Do you really think it’s going to be that easy?”
“No, but one can always hope.”
We went through the end office—the one the farthest away from the trapdoor Jak and I had fallen through during our first visit—and moved into the deeper darkness of the main warehouse. The roof here soared high above us and was snaked with metal lines and some sort of conveyer system. The windows lining the left side of the room were so thick with dirt that very little outside light seeped in, and on the right side, there were several small, rubbish- and rat-filled offices. The concrete floor was stained with rust lines and thick with grime.
Azriel drew Valdis. Her flames flared across the shadows, making it easier to traverse the s
pace, especially in the end third of the building, where the sludge from the old machines was thickest and as slippery as hell.
I briefly wondered where the ghost of the woman who’d led me to the hidden doorway was. I couldn’t sense her presence anywhere near, but maybe she was simply keeping watch now that there was no immediate danger.
We reached the inky wall that protected the stairwell down into the basement. I led Azriel around to the two-foot-square doorway Rozelle had woven into the sorceress’s magic and crawled through. Magic immediately hit me, but its feel was clean, pure, caressing my skin rather than attacking me.
The witches were still at work on that door.
I grabbed the metal railing and made my way down to the basement. It was a cavernous space, all concrete, and filled with lines of dust-laden, somewhat rusty metal shelving—all of which were empty. Whatever the inky barrier was protecting, it wasn’t this particular area.
I led the way through the shelving. Rozelle turned around as we approached. She was tall and pretty and looked all of twenty. Given that most witches didn’t usually begin training to be masters—which was what she was doing at the Brindle—until they were at least thirty, she’d either become very proficient at a very early age, or she was much older than she looked. I suspected the former, if only because Kiandra had placed a lot of faith in her.
“We’re almost through,” she said. Though her eyes were bright with excitement, her skin looked pale and the droop in her shoulders suggested weariness. “The spell protecting this entrance is nothing any of us has ever seen before. It’s been quite a learning curve unpicking all the interwoven threads.”
I glanced past her. Six witches sat within a protection circle in front of the section of wall that held the hidden doorway. The crisp, clear magic that rolled across my senses was emanating from them, but underneath it, I could still feel the caress of the sorceress’s dark and oddly dirty magic. But it was an energy that was flickering, fading, fast.
I returned my gaze to Rozelle. “So whatever the magic is protecting, it’s something our dark sorceress cares about greatly.”
Rozelle nodded. “We suspect it could be her ritual room. There is no other reason for a spell of this intricacy.”
“And if it is?”
“We destroy it. She will undoubtedly have other, minor rooms she could use to cast spells, but the loss of this one, situated as it is on a main ley-line intersection, will severely curtail her ability to create major blood magic.”
I frowned. “Why? Couldn’t she just make another one somewhere else?”
Rozelle shook her head. “Blood magic is a difficult and dangerous art, and it cannot be performed any old where. It would have taken her years to set up her ritual space so that she was secure and well protected from the forces she is summoning.”
“If that’s the case, why isn’t she here, protecting this place with everything she has?”
Rozelle’s cheeks dimpled. “Because we are not without some skill ourselves. She has not attacked because, as far as she is aware, this place is as safe and as secure as it ever was.”
“Using magic to counter magic. Nice.”
“We thought so.” She turned to face the circle, her gaze narrowing. “It shouldn’t be too long.”
“Do you think there will be any sort of spell or trap inside?”
“Possibly. We’ll ensure it’s safe to enter before anyone does so.” She glanced past me. “But in case it is protected by something more mundane than a spell, I would have your sword ready, reaper.”
Azriel didn’t comment, but Valdis’s flames flared brighter. Surprisingly, Amaya had nothing to say about being left out of the possible killing spree, but maybe she was merely waiting to see whether there was something worth attacking before she started complaining.
In the brief silence, there was a loud crack, and a doorway-sized section of the concrete wall began to shimmer, waver, fading in and out of existence and providing tantalizing glimpses of a rusted metal door. The flickering got faster, more violent, as if the magic that concealed the door was fighting back. Then, with a sigh rather than a bang, it bled away, and the solid metal door was revealed in its entirety.
I instinctively took a step forward, anxious to see what might lie beyond the door, but Rozelle grabbed my hand, stopping me from going any farther.
“Wait,” she said. “We’re not finished yet.”
I took a deep breath and tried to curb the impatience that rattled through me. We were dealing with a dark sorceress’s lair, and god knew how many traps might wait inside. But that still didn’t stop the need to get in there, to know whether Mike was just a lackey or our shape-shifting sorceress himself.
Though why I was so certain I’d find confirmation inside, I couldn’t entirely say. Maybe it was just wishful thinking.
I crossed my arms and watched the witches continue to work on the door. Their magic was sharper than before, holding a knife-edge that bit into my skin without drawing blood—meaning, no doubt, there were even darker spells on the old metal door itself.
Five minutes passed. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, trying to curb impatience and the growing need to know.
Their magic peaks, Azriel said. It won’t be long now.
As if his comment was a catalyst, the metal door began to groan, to creak. Its metal hinges seemed to get longer and longer, as if there were two opposing forces holding either end, stretching them thinner and thinner.
Then, with an explosive roar, they shattered, firing shards of thin metal through the air. Rozelle ducked, as did I, and the deadly missiles flew over our heads and pinged off the shelving behind us.
As the dust settled, it revealed the metal door lying at a downward angle, suggesting there were steps just beyond the doorway. The candlelit room beyond appeared to be large. Nothing moved within the room. Nothing leapt out at us.
I remained where I was. There might not be hellhounds and whatnot inside that chamber, but if there were candles lit, there might very well be magic.
Two of the six witches sitting within the protection circle rose, chanting softly as they joined hands and stepped onto the first step. The tension running through me ramped up several notches as they gradually disappeared downward, but there was no immediate or obvious response.
After several minutes, the sharp sense of magic eased, and one of the witches reappeared in the doorway.
“It is safe to enter,” she said, voice weary. “We have deactivated the remaining spells.”
I glanced at Azriel, who raised an eyebrow at my unspoken query, then took the lead, skirting around the witches’ protection circle but pausing on the top step. I stopped beside him. This chamber, unlike the others we’d discovered, had not been hewn out of the earth. It was obviously part of the building’s fabric, a deep, wide bunker that, like the room behind us, was longer than it was wide. At the far end of the room several large black candles burned, their light barely illuminating the heavy stone table that stood between them. Even from here I could smell the blood, desperation, and fear that clung to the stone like a well-worn cloak.
“Her ritual table,” I murmured, trying to ignore the urge to turn around and run, as far as I could, from this place and that table.
“Yes,” the second of the two witches said. She tucked her brown hair behind her ear and gave a small grimace. “It will take some time to fully nullify its power, I’m afraid.”
I frowned. “You can’t just use holy water on it?”
“Oh, we can, and will. That will at least prevent her from using it in the short term. Longer term, however, needs a more careful destruction. We need to ensure this table can never be used again, either by our sorceress or anyone else of her ilk.”
My eyebrows rose. “Meaning ritual tables are handed down from one generation to another?”
She nodded. “And each generation enriches the stone with their dark energy. That is why this sorceress has been able to do all that she has—this
stone is very, very old. You may come farther into the room, reaper,” she added. “It is safe enough for now.”
Azriel walked down the remaining dozen steps. Valdis’s fire cut across the deeper shadows, revealing more metal shelving. Unlike those in the other room, these were filled with earthen jars, glass bottles in just about every hue imaginable, and all sorts of witch tools. But I couldn’t see anything in the way of an athame, and there were certainly no chalices, which meant that while this might be her main ritual site, she certainly wasn’t keeping her most important ritual items here.
It is possible they were kept in those chests we saw in her Gold Coast home, Azriel commented. It would make sense to keep her most important tools close and safe.
I guessed it would. I clattered down the stairs after Azriel and walked across to the nearest shelving unit, my gaze running across the different bowls, jars, and bottles. If Mike was involved in this whole mess—and really, any doubt had now all but disappeared—and had placed a geas or some other sort of spell on Mom, then there would be something here belonging to her. Hell, there might even be something here belonging to me. We’d already found strands of my hair in one of her other lairs, and I doubted that would be her only cache.
As I walked up and down looking at the shelving, Rozelle came down into the room, two heavy-looking canvas bags gripped in her hand. Once she’d reached the base of the stairs, she placed both on the floor and opened one of them, revealing several large bottles of liquid. Holy water. The cleansing of this space was about to begin.