“Right. And she keeps a bunch of mutilated keres below the dungeon.” Aurora touched her finger to her lips. “Well, I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I’m pretty sure Erish was involved in the ker massacre. It’s too much of a coincidence. How many people have armies of keres? That was rhetorical. The actual answer is not many.”
“But the keres at the massacre weren’t real keres. The auras were all wrong. They were glamoured.”
“I still think it’s Erish. She’s obviously got a weird thing about keres.” Aurora sipped her drink. “In fact, I think they used to serve succubi.”
“That’s what Ambrose said. It does make sense. Maybe Erish created the new keres with magic. Maybe she’s the new master I’m supposed to serve. And if she wanted me, she probably has Miranda. I have no idea why. Must be our extra souls. I don’t suppose you have an idea of what Erish’s game plan might be?”
“I think old demons like her just get bored after several millennia on earth. And maybe she’s hoping to get you out of the way so she and Caine can worship each other’s bodies or whatever succubi do with incubi.”
Rosalind folded her arms. “She can have Caine to herself. I’m not going to stand in her way.”
The temperature in the room chilled, and a shadow loomed across the flagstones. Rosalind whirled to see Caine standing in the doorframe. His deep silvery aura curled around his body like the milky way.
A shiver crawled up her spine. “Do you know that you have a deeply unnerving way of entering rooms?”
Ignoring her, he stepped into the light, raising his hand. He held a long strand of hair pinched between his fingers.
“You found a hair,” Rosalind said.
He looked almost affronted. “Of course I did. I don’t fail at things. I just need you to tell me if this belongs to your sister. Can you sense any of her magic on it?”
Rosalind plucked it from his hand, wrapping it around her finger. She closed her eyes, trying to get a sense of an aura. After a few moments, a vibrant green flickered in her mind’s eye, and her nostrils filled with the scent of cedar and hawthorn groves. “No. It’s mine.”
“Gods damn it,” Caine said.
“Guys.” Aurora stood, her gaze locked on the TV. The screen flashed with a red and blue graphic that said Breaking News. In the next second, the graphic was replaced with an image of Malphus, staring into the camera like a mug shot.
A newscaster’s voice spoke over the picture. “We have a breaking news story. Two more of the Cambridge Coven members have been identified. The first is Malphus Mountfort. Authorities believe he and his brothers are planning another attack. Residents of Cambridge are asked to vacate the area.”
Rosalind hugged herself. Here we go.
“We would like to emphasize,” the newsreader continued. “The accused have magical capabilities, and they are very dangerous.”
Rosalind touched Caine’s arm. “He’s safe in Lilinor—” She stopped her sentence as the image on the screen was replaced with a still photograph of Rosalind outside Abduxiel Mansion at dusk.
Dread tightened her chest. In the photo, she was holding a human skull and laughing, and the camera continued to zoom in on her grin. The image and the tightening close-up made her look like some kind of maniac.
Drew, on the other hand, had been cropped out of the picture.
The newscaster continued, “A fourth member has been identified as Rosalind Atherton, the twin sister of Miranda Atherton of Maremount. The government’s demon-hunting task force has explained that these witches use human skulls to invoke demon plagues, and as part of a ritual of human sacrifice.”
Her photo disappeared, replaced by a video feed of a woman standing in Harvard Square.
A news reporter thrust a microphone in her face. “What do you think the government should do to combat this growing evil?” the reporter asked.
The woman’s eyes were red-rimmed, and the wind toyed with her wild blond hair. “We need to take extreme measures. If they’re murdering innocent people, if we’re all at risk… I’m all for human rights and all that, but if demons are going to slaughter everyone right here in the middle of a city, we need to do whatever it takes to stop them.”
Rosalind’s mouth went dry. This is all working out perfectly for the Brotherhood.
The reporter turned to the camera, speaking into the microphone. “Some citizens are asking for a return to public executions, even talking about using burning as a deterrent—”
Caine flicked his wrist, cutting off the sound.
“I was watching that,” Rosalind said, her legs shaking.
“I think we got the idea,” Caine said. “They want to burn us. It’s not news.” He arched an eyebrow. “They did get a wonderful picture of you cackling over a human skull, though. Is that something you do often?”
“Drew showed up here to buy that skull from me.” She took a deep breath. “And someone just happened to be there, snapping a photo that perfectly incriminates me in the Brotherhood’s scapegoating plan.”
“I told you I should have killed him when I first met him,” Caine said.
“Fine. You were right. Probably.” Her chest tightened. “Drew was at the keres attack, and he worships the mountain goddess. And you know who else worships the mountain goddess?”
“I bet you’re going to tell us,” Aurora said.
“Whoever lives in that mountain fortress we saw in the scrying spell. The one with the harpies, where they’ve locked up Tammi.” She tapped her finger against her lip. Loyalty binds me, my ass, she thought. “I’m going to pay Drew’s Brattle Street home a little visit.”
“You really think he’ll be there?” Caine asked.
“I don’t know, but while you’re looking for stray hairs, it’s worth a shot. And anyway, maybe I can find something of his to use as part of the tracking spell.”
“When we left Drew’s house,” Caine said, “there were helicopters overhead, ready to bomb the whole block out of existence. If your little mage friend was truly working with the Brotherhood, then his house will still be standing.”
Rosalind’s mind whirled. Working with the Brotherhood. Would the ancient magic-fighting organization really use a mage to do their dirty work? Their whole purpose was to hunt demons and “witches”—their derogatory name for mages. Their reason for being was to rid the earth of Angelic, and to collect souls for the god of iron and blood.
On the other hand, they’d stop at nothing to get what they wanted. What if they’d use magic just long enough to achieve supreme power on earth? They’d be unstoppable.
Dread crawled up Rosalind’s throat. For all she knew, Miranda was playing right into their hands. A lunatic witch, working for the witch-hunters.
Good thing I’m a trained witch-hunter, too.
“Sometimes the ends justify the means,” Rosalind said.
“What are you on about?” Aurora said.
Rosalind gazed at the TV, which soundlessly replayed the image of her holding the human skull. “It’s what Josiah used to say. The Brotherhood’s sole purpose is to destroy magic, because that’s what Blodrial wants. But perhaps they’d be willing to use magic to achieve their goals.” She met Caine’s gaze. “While you’re looking for a way to track Miranda, Aurora and I are going to find out if Drew’s house is still standing.”
Chapter 17
T he heavy summer air on Brattle Street felt charged, as if a storm was coming, and a warm breeze rushed over Rosalind’s skin. Aurora walked beside her, examining her long, silver nails.
Rosalind’s whole body was tense. Drew. The bastard had been so eager to convince her that Caine was behind the keres slaughter—and for a second there, she’d nearly believed him. Who wouldn’t be suspicious of a monster described in the history books as a ravener? A demon who’d murdered kings and queens?
And yet, she still had no clue why Drew would want to set her up, or why on earth Drew would hate Caine. What was his problem? She didn’t even know Drew. Granted, there were one
or two shadow demons who might want her dead, but a mage she’d never met? He had absolutely no reason to want her burned to death.
The huge yellow mansion came into view. Aurora pointed at it. “Is that Drew’s place?”
“That’s it,” Rosalind said. “And there I was, certain that Drew had saved my life with his stupid potion. He was just setting me up all along.”
Her stomach fluttered as they approached the white picket fence. Aurora unlatched the gate, and Rosalind stalked up to the house. This time, no ward blocked their entrance, and Rosalind strode right up the steps to Drew’s black door. She knocked twice and waited, biting her lip. What am I gonna say to this guy? If he was working with the Brotherhood, he would try to turn her in. She’d have to be on her guard, and rip the magic-dampening ring right off her finger if he tried anything.
“He’s not home,” Aurora said. “I don’t smell anything human except you.”
“Are you sure?” Rosalind asked.
“I smell something—not human. It stinks of caves and carrion.”
Rosalind crinkled her nose. “I’m not sure I want to know what that is. But I want to get something from inside his house, so we can do a tracking spell.” She tried the doorknob, and the door swung open into the darkened hall.
Rosalind stepped inside, her skin growing cold. She could still see traces of Drew’s coppery magic, but there were other types of magic now, too: greens, blues, silvers, shimmering faintly.
She shivered. When she’d come here just a couple of days ago, it had seemed like such a warm sanctuary from the whirlwind of demonic forces. Now it seemed cold and empty.
She led Aurora down the hall into the living room, where Drew had tried to kill Caine. The room was dimly lit, with only pale moonlight glinting off the copper plates on the walls.
Rosalind glanced at Aurora. “Do you still smell the carrion thing?”
Aurora inhaled deeply and shook her head. “It’s gone.”
“That’s… odd.”
While Aurora began rifling through a liquor cabinet, Rosalind crossed to a desk in the corner. She cast a sharp look back at the vampire. “Do not drink anything here. The guy makes potions, and he’s not trustworthy.”
“Oh.” Aurora returned a decanter to the table.
Rosalind turned to the desk, pulling it open to reveal an empty drawer. She pulled open another drawer, finding it similarly bare. “He doesn’t have any stuff.”
“Maybe he just moved in,” Aurora said. “You said he was from Maremount.”
Rosalind’s eyed the copper plates on the wall. Loyalty Binds Me. With the eagle carvings, it looked like some sort of heraldic image—a family crest. She crossed to mantle, reaching up on her tiptoes to pull it off, and ran her fingers over the carved bird. “I’m going to try one of those tracking spells. If he’s involved in all of this, like I think he is, we can use this to find him.”
Aurora’s brow crinkled. “You know a tracking spell?”
Rosalind shook her head. “No. but Cleo—my second soul—does.” She touched her iron ring. “Any chance you know Angelic? From what I gather, the powerful spells need more than one person.”
“I’m not great with Angelic, to be honest. I’ve mostly just listen to Caine.”
“If I begin, can you repeat what I’m saying?”
“Probably.”
“I’m going to take my ring off and hand it to you, so I can access her knowledge. If I seem like I’m getting out of control, I need you to tackle me to the ground and shove the ring back on my finger. Okay?”
“Am I allowed to bite you?”
“No.”
“Outrageous.”
“And if I seem like I’m losing focus, remind me about Tammi.”
“Got it.”
Rosalind tucked the copper plate under her arm, sucking in a deep breath. She pulled the ring from her finger, gasping at the sharp burst of vernal magic. Her nostrils filled with the smell of hawthorns and moss, and the magic brushed over her skin with a feeling of floral petals and dew-slicked leaves. She was dimly aware of someone pulling the ring from her hands. Good riddance to that horrible thing.
She scanned the room for that beautiful blue-eyed man, but he wasn’t here—only a vampire with a sour expression.
“Rosalind,” the vamp said.
Her lip curled. Not that name again. Her hands flew to the vamp’s throat. I will choke the life from this demon.
But the creature grabbed her wrists, fangs lengthening. “Rosalind. You’re making it very hard for me not to bite you. Remember Tammi. You’re supposed to find Tammi.”
Tammi… The girl with the nail polish and the outrageous cat obsession. The girl who’d brought Rosalind water when she drank too much at one of the frat parties, the girl whose hair smelled like vanilla shampoo. A dream of opening a cheese shop. Talking in her sleep about her grandmother’s banana pudding. Homemade dresses. Parents who’d disowned her for not being a son.
Rosalind used these memories to claim space in her own brain, competing against the whorls of green magic. Gritting her teeth, she envisioned the aura growing smaller, tightening into a smaller and smaller ball, until it was only the size of a marble—a shining, green sphere in the center of her mind. She opened her eyes again, glancing at Aurora, who still gripped her wrists.
Aurora narrowed her eyes. “You better not try anything funny again.”
“I’m okay, Aurora. It’s me, Rosalind. I’ve got it under control.”
Slowly, Aurora released her wrists, and Rosalind glanced at the ground—she’d dropped the copper plate. She stooped to pick it up, then traced her fingers over Drew’s family’s motto. “Now I just have to get Cleo to give me the spell.”
She closed her eyes, unsure how this part was supposed to work. All the other times she’d accessed Cleo’s knowledge, Caine had already begun the spell. She’d just joined in.
Maybe I should just ask her for help. She let herself envision the glowing green sphere. Cleo, I need the tracking spell.
A tendril of green lashed out. Let me out, Cleo’s voice roared in her skull.
Rosalind’s fingers tightened on the copper plate. I need to stay in control. I’m fighting a battle, Cleo. And I need your help.
The green glowed brighter. Battle, little Hunter? Cleo roared.
“I’m not a Hunter anymore,” Rosalind said out loud. “I think I might be fighting them. They want to kill me.”
The Witch Hunters are after you now? Curiosity tinged the voice in her mind. For the first time, Cleo didn’t sound angry.
“Seems that way. They announced that I was behind the keres attack in Harvard Square. Which I wasn’t,” she added hastily.
The Brotherhood only pretends to care about guilt, Cleo whispered.
In the next moment, the spell’s Angelic words appeared, emblazoned in Rosalind’s mind like a shining beacon. Still gripping the plate, she began to chant them, one after another. She repeated them again and again, until Aurora joined in with her. Aurora’s rosemary-scented aura mingled with Cleo’s, whirling together outside of their bodies.
When Rosalind finished the spell, she opened her eyes. Projected on the wall was the shimmering image of a peninsula, roughly the shape of Boston. The perspective swooped lower, showing a glimpse of a stone city gate, part of its surface defaced. Something had been hanging from it once, but was gone now. Still, one word was still clear—Maremount.
The vision soared over the city gates, rushing over a wild wilderness of ash, pine, and fir trees that seemed to stretch on forever, crossing over along the side of a river, flying above the paths of hawks and crows, until at last it reached a verdant mountain. The picture tightened, closing in on a rocky mountain fortress, its towers guarded by a legion of harpies.
The image disappeared. “Drew is with Tammi and Miranda, just like I thought. They’re in the wilderness outside the city of Maremount.”
“Looked like south,” Aurora said, holding out the ring. “Just follow the r
iver there.”
Cleo’s aura roiled in her mind again, and Rosalind’s body shook from the effort of trying to keep it in check. Grunting with effort, she slipped the ring back on to her finger, dropping onto the sofa. “Well, Caine’s got that proof he wanted now. Maremount it is.” Fatigue ate at her muscles, and she wanted to curl up on the cushions and sleep for days. It was a damn shame these spells took so much energy. “Just give me a second.”
“That aura we created,” Aurora said, dropping into a chair. “It was powerful. Let’s hope it didn’t attract anything.”
“Right. Maybe we should get going.” Still dizzy, Rosalind stood, but a scratching noise stopped her from walking out the door.
Aurora held up a hand, whispering. “Stop.”
Something scraped against the floor in the hall, and Rosalind’s chest clenched. A thick stench of carrion wafted through the air. Something tapped over the floor in the hall, coming closer, until the creature came into view.
She was nearly seven feet tall, with long, bronze hair that flowed over her naked back and bare breasts. Her eyes were the color of granite. Long, copper wings cascaded from her shoulders instead of arms, and she marched into the room on feathered legs that ended in sharp talons. Rosalind’s mouth went dry. A harpy.
“Oh, fuck,” Aurora said.
Rosalind took a step back. “What are you doing here?”
The creature’s eyes twinkled. “Right now, I’m going to kill you.”
“I don’t think so,” Aurora said, then whirled at a noise behind her. A second harpy perched in the tall, open window. Aurora hissed, fangs bared.
Shit.
Rosalind’s heart squeezed in her chest. The first creature edged closer, a dusty bronze aura whirling from her body. Rosalind reached for one of the knives in her pants, but in the next second the harpy in the widow lunged, slamming into her with the full force of a hurricane wind—right through a closed glass door.
Shards of glass lacerated Rosalind’s skin, and before she had the chance to pull herself up off the ground she felt a sharp pair of talons rip into her flesh. Pain splintered her side, robbing her of rational thought as the harpy’s claws bit into her shoulders. The harpy’s copper wings beat the night air, and in the next moment, Rosalind was lifted off the ground. Rushing higher into the air, they soared over Cambridge’s city streets, the streetlights waning to distant sparks of light.
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