The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)

by Joy Nash

  Cybele swallowed a gasp. The sound caused Dusek’s eyes to flick past Arthur. Arthur moved to block his line of sight, but not before the Nephil’s lips curved.

  “Your whore is very beautiful,” he said.

  “Fuck off,” Cybele spat.

  Dusek chuckled. “With pleasure, if you will join me.”

  Incensed, Arthur launched a second blast of hellfire. This one didn’t even make it as far as the first. It sputtered and died halfway to its destination. Fuck.

  Dusek threw back his head and laughed. “Do you truly believe you can touch me? Such innocence. But we are wasting precious time with this banter. Let us proceed to the matter at hand. I went to great lengths to bring you to Wales. I want the task done.”

  Arthur scowled. “We didn’t come to Wales because of you.”

  “No? Did you imagine your vision of Merlin and Nimue was a true memory? Why, of course you did. I created it most delicately, after all.”

  If the ground had suddenly shifted beneath Arthur’s feet, he couldn’t have felt more off balance. “You’re lying.”

  “Am I?”

  Was he? The ancestral memory Arthur had been so grateful for...could it have been false after all? Could the vision have been a product of Dusek’s alchemy, rather than a glimpse into Merlin’s life? He couldn’t quite believe it. The images and the emotions had seemed so real.

  But Dusek had been in Wales before he and Cybele had arrived. Arthur had no doubt that he was the foreigner who’d tainted the Spencers’ second guestroom. But that didn’t explain everything. “How did you get into this cave?” he demanded. “It’s sealed by celestial decree.”

  “The same way we did,” Cybele said. “Jack brought him here. Or rather, the angel possessing the boy.”

  “Clever as well as beautiful,” Dusek murmured, his eyes flicking down her body. He tapped the strange liquid disc at his chest. “The angel has returned to me now.”

  “Lies,” Arthur said. “No angel would do the bidding of a Nephil.”

  “It is almost frightening how little you know,” Dusek said. “However, I’ve neither time nor the inclination to enlighten you.” He swept a hand toward the island. “Merlin’s staff awaits. You, Arthur Camulus, will bring it to me.”

  Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t retrieve it on your own, can you? That’s why you’ve gone through all this trouble to bring me here.”

  Dusek’s expression darkened. “Merlin has set it into the rock with an unrelenting magic. A most aggravating habit of your ancestor. I suspect the staff will yield to his heir, however.”

  “Maybe not,” Arthur said. “Maybe nothing can remove it.”

  “If that were true,” Dusek said. “Heaven would not have sealed the cave to prevent its retrieval.”

  That had the ring of truth about it. Gabriel had been desperate to prevent Arthur from entering the cave. Was Merlin’s staff Arthur’s for the taking?

  Dusek’s left hand lifted a slight degree, the face in his golden ring blinked its eyes. Arthur frowned. Nothing untoward occurred, however, and Dusek’s hand soon relaxed back to his side.

  Arthur took a step toward his parents’ murderer. “When I retrieve Merlin’s staff, I’ll keep it. You have to know that.”

  “That is, of course, a choice you may make. However, know that the celestial seal remains intact around us. Unless you have an angel to help you pass through it, you will die in this cave. As Merlin did.” His shoulders lifted and fell in one smooth movement. “I will, of course, regret the loss of the staff. But I will be greatly consoled by my possession of your lover.”

  “My lov—” Arthur spun about. Cybele no longer stood behind him next to Jack’s unconscious body. His heart thumped painfully. “What have you done? Where is she?”

  “Calm yourself, Arthur. I assure you, I would not harm as much as a hair on her head.” His eyes glinted. “A Druid dormant, especially one ripe for the Ordeal, is exceedingly hard to come by.”

  Arthur swore viciously. The magnitude of Dusek’s magic stunned him. The Nephil had snatched up Cybele and Arthur hadn’t even noticed. A crushing sense of inadequacy descended upon him. If Dusek forced Cybele into her Ordeal, she’d become his thrall and his bridge to Druid powers.

  Over my dead body.

  His skin and eyes burned. His wings rose. Hellfire crackled all in his hands. He was poised for battle, but how could he hope to win? He fought back his demon rage. His mind raced with fury, but he needed calm. He needed focus.

  One hand came up to cover the moonstone and press it into his chest. He drew a slow breath. “Where is she? I need to see her alive and well before I touch that staff.”

  Dusek nodded. “As you wish.”

  His ring’s face moved again, its mouth opening wide. A subtle veil lifted, revealing Cybele. She lay at Dusek’s feet, wrists and ankles bound with hellfire.

  Arthur stared. Teleportation? That wasn’t a power associated with Alchemy. What the fuck was going on?

  Dusek smiled at Arthur’s shock. “Yes, Arthur, it is true. I have power beyond your understanding. And I might have had more, much more, if Mab hadn’t snatched you from my grasp seven years ago. Ah, well. Perhaps it was all for the best. Cybele may not be heir to Merlin, but I sense her power is strong. Enthralling her will be my pleasure.”

  Cybele’s eyes were wide with pain and fear. Arthur didn’t move his gaze from her as he said, “Let her go. Then I’ll think about getting the staff for you.”

  “Hand me the staff,” Dusek replied smoothly, “and perhaps I will be inspired to release her. Though—” His lashes lowered. “Now that I think on it, perhaps not. Cybele as my thrall may be the greater prize.”

  Arthur nearly choked on a surge of panic. “I vow, Dusek. You will regret the day you crossed my path.”

  “Strong talk from a weak man. I grow weary of it. Bring me the staff. Or bid your lover farewell.”

  And if Arthur couldn’t pull the staff from the stone? What then? But no, he wouldn’t think of that. He fixed his gaze on the staff’s crystal, on the sparks erupting from the orb, only to fall into the black pool. With one slow downstroke of his wings, Arthur lifted into the air and glided over the water. He touched down lightly on the island.

  Here, the wailing filled his ears, blotting out all other sound. From across the water, Arthur had thought the island flat and smooth. Now, standing behind the waterfall of light, he saw it sloped to a shallow pit in the center. Merlin’s staff, standing upright in the center of the depression, was taller than Arthur expected. The twisted wood, with its orb set in finger-like branches, rose higher than his head. As the vision Dusek had forced on him had shown, the wood was not one species, but three. Oak, rowan, and yew.

  At the base of the staff, scattered over the stone, lay bones.

  He stared. Ribs and vertebrae. Pelvis. Femur. The bones of two arms. Merlin, unable to breach the celestial seal the archangel Raphael had set over the cave, had died beside his staff. His skull, released from its spine, had rolled a short way to one side. His ancestor’s hollow eye sockets seemed to stare straight through him.

  A deep chill invaded Arthur’s body.

  “He got what he deserved.”

  Arthur jerked around to find Dusek on the island beside him. Damn. The bastard moved as swiftly and silently as death itself. His cloak was gone, as was his shirt. His chest, hairless and slender, radiated an aura of wiry strength. Black wings rose above his head. Arthur’s gaze darted across the water. Cybele still lay in the same place, wrapped and writhing in hellfire.

  The Alchemist’s voice dripped with contempt. “Merlin was so very powerful and yet so very foolish. The combination of traits seems to be a Druid shortcoming.”

  “How did you find this place?” Arthur demanded. “It was hidden by Heaven. My ancestors searched for centuries without uncovering a trace of it.”

  “That,” Dusek said, “is a story for another day. For now, you will do as you’re told. Retrieve the staff and deliver it d
irectly into my hands.”

  Arthur darted a glance at Cybele as he weighed his response. She wasn’t close by, but did it matter? Distance seemed no impediment to Dusek’s magic. What could the Alchemist do with a Druid staff once he had it? In the normal scheme of things, a rival Nephil would require a Druid thrall to perform Druid magic. What power would Merlin’s staff bring to Dusek? It was impossible to tell.

  Arthur didn’t want to find out—he couldn’t risk Dusek getting his hands on the staff. No telling what havoc he could wreak with it. Somehow, Arthur needed to get Cybele, the staff, and himself out of the cave alive. He had no idea how all that was to be done. He suspected, however, that his only hope was to grab Merlin’s staff and not let go.

  He was acutely aware that, as a plan, it wasn’t much. What was he going to do with the staff once it was in his hands? Would his instinct and his chaotic magic take over? If it did, he could only hope that he and Cybele would survive whatever the hell happened next.

  “Go on.” The Alchemist’s voice, low in Arthur’s ear, vibrated with anticipation. “Take it.”

  Arthur moved closer. Magic emanated from wood and crystal. The staff was, Arthur realized, the source of the wailing. The sound brushed into his mind. His head lightened; his vision blurred. Something like a long, mournful bell rang in his ears.

  He approached the staff. It generated heat as if on fire. Arthur’s fingers burned as he reached for it. Touching it, he knew, would be like plunging his hands into a living flame.

  He welcomed the prospect. He sensed the fire could—would—purify him. Make him whole. Banish his uncertainty and cast light onto his Nephil ancestors’ forgotten memories.

  The staff was his birthright. It was power and pain, and it would complete him. He reached for it. But just before his fingers grasped the prize, the ground heaved and the cave exploded in golden light.

  “Stop.” A sonorous voice rang out. “In the name of Heaven, I adjure you!”

  What the fuck? Arthur, blinded, grabbed at the place where he thought the staff should be.

  His fingers closed on air.

  SEVENTEEN

  “Luc. Luc!”

  The call, insistent and tinged with panic, penetrated the haze in Luc’s brain. He tried to ignore it and sink back into insensibility. Whatever was going on, he didn’t want to face it.

  “Luc!”

  Small hands gripped his shoulders and shook. Though a spray of bullets healed in seconds, magical wounds, left untended by magical remedies, festered. Luc’s wounds responded to the jarring movement. The stripes of Mab’s whip and the bites of her vipers burned like fire, sending streaking agony to every cell of his body. His spine arched. His breath hissed through his teeth.

  “Oh.” His assailant jerked back. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  He thought about lifting his hand and waving whoever it was away, but the motion seemed like too much effort.

  “Go...’way...” he whispered instead.

  “No. I can’t. You gotta wake up!” The voice trembled. Its owner was on the verge of tears. How odd. Who cared enough to cry over him?

  “Please, Luc. Please. Wake up. It took me forever to get in here, and I don’t know how much time we have. I’m so afraid...” A choking sob finally came. “I’m afraid Mab will kill you. She thinks you can lead her to Cybele...”

  Cybele.

  Beneath the pain and shame, a deep emotion stirred.

  Cybele. His sister, his twin. Mab’s prize. No. He would not let Mab have Cybele. He would not see her enthralled to Rand. Not while he still drew breath.

  He cracked open an eyelid. Even that small movement hurt. A pale face dotted with freckles hovered inches away.

  “Zephyr?”

  Her blue eyes went wide. “You’re awake!”

  “Barely.”

  He shoved into a sitting position, gritting his teeth against the raw, searing pain. It felt as though Mab’s lashes were striking all over again.

  “I unlocked the manacles,” Zephyr said.

  He flexed his shoulders, wincing at the pain. “How?”

  Zephyr held up a key. “Can you walk, Luc?”

  “I hope so.” He eyed the key. “But what about the magical protections?”

  “Rand didn’t set any,” she said. “I guess he figured you weren’t strong enough to go anywhere.”

  “No one’s even guarding the cellar door?”

  She snorted. “Hunter, Evander, Rand, Starr, and Tempest are all up there. But they started a poker game, complete with snow and hooch. Hunter and Evander passed out.”

  “Rand and the witches?”

  “They went to bed.” She made a face. “All three of them together.”

  “Mab?”

  Zephyr shrugged. “She flew off right after Rand threw you down here.”

  Luc considered the information. “How long ago?”

  “About five hours. It’s almost midnight now.”

  Gritting his teeth against the pain, he shoved his body upward. First to his knees, then to his feet. Everything spun. He closed his eyes and grabbed for the closest support, a square brick pier.

  Zephyr hovered anxiously beside him. “Are you okay?”

  He took a deep breath. “Yes.” He had to be, didn’t he? He couldn’t be here when Mab returned. She’d burn every bit of information about Cybele out of his head. And while he didn’t know where she was, he could guess enough about where his twin might have gone to put her in grave danger.

  He let go of the brick pier and somehow remained standing. “Let’s go.”

  Zephyr nodded and darted up the stairs. The barest line of light shone between the door and jamb. She peered through the crack, and then motioned for him to follow. “They’re still out like the dead.”

  And smelling almost as bad. Evander, slumped forward over the kitchen table, reeked of whiskey. No wonder. He’d passed out gripping a bottle, and most of its contents had spilled out.

  Noise drifted down from the upper levels of the house. The creak of bedsprings from Rand’s bedroom, country music and female laughter from the witches’ quarters. From the dormants’ wing, the tinny melody of video game music.

  Zephyr closed the cellar door and turned the lock. Moving with admirable stealth, she slipped the key into the breast pocket of Evander’s shirt. Luc, ignoring the pain, just concentrated on moving. His back was on fire. Every movement was agony. It was a good thing Evander was out cold, because if Luc had needed to cast an illusion over his escape, he couldn’t have pulled it off.

  They passed silently through the kitchen and into the front room. Here Hunter sprawled on his back on the couch, one arm flung over his face, his cowboy boots hanging over the armrest. A fine dusting of cocaine coated his beard. He didn’t stir as Luc and Zephyr slipped past.

  They crossed the porch and yard, not speaking or stopping until they reached the shelter of a stand of cypress. Once out of sight of the house, Luc steadied himself with one hand on a tree trunk. “Promise me you’ll stay out of their sight after I’m gone, Zephyr. Always. As much as you can.”

  She shrugged. “Mab would kill any male who touched me.”

  That was true. So few females were born to Nephil and witch mothers. Dormant girls were too important to lose and any male Nephil knew better than to harm one. Still, it didn’t make Luc feel any better about leaving Zephyr. His half-sister was canny for her age, but her age was still only thirteen.

  “And anyway,” she added. “I’m good at hiding. Almost as good as Cybele.”

  “If Mab finds out about that, there’ll be worse hell to pay.”

  “I know.”

  “Be careful.”

  “I will, Luc. I always am.”

  The night was warm, the air alive with the sound of crickets and bullfrogs. Nevertheless, Zephyr rubbed her arms as if cold. Suddenly, she looked very young. “Where will you go?” she whispered.

  “Better you don’t know.”

  “Will you ever come back?”

>   He wanted to lie, but that would do no good. Zephyr wouldn’t believe any made-up bullshit anyway. “I doubt it.”

  She bit her lip, fighting tears. Like Cybele, though, she was too tough to let them fall. “Good-bye, then.”

  She slipped into the darkness. One moment she was there, the next she simply...wasn’t. Cybele had taught her well and Luc was damn glad of it.

  His legs gave out only seconds after she’d gone. His knees hit the dirt. He didn’t stay down long. No telling where Mab had gone or when she’d be back. He half-lurched, half-stumbled down the trail. His mouth felt like dirty wool. The forest was a zig-zagging blur. Flying or even shifting was out of the question. Even if he could summon enough strength to call his magic, he wouldn’t do it. If he did, Mab would feel it. She’d be on him like a rat on garbage.

  He headed for the old pickup parked by the warehouse. He only just managed to reach it without collapsing face-first in the mud. He wrenched open the door and fell into the driver’s seat. The key was under the mat. He just had to get it into the ignition. But what then? There was nowhere to run. Mab owned him, body and mind. He could hide for a while, but in the end, she’d find him.

  There was only one place he could go where she wouldn’t follow. Oblivion.

  He slammed the door and jammed in the key. The engine protested. Death. Except for that one desperate attempt during his Ordeal, Luc had done everything he could to avoid it. He’d turned his back on Cybele, on his self-respect, on his dignity. He’d gone after power and ended up a thrall.

  His brain burned with the humiliation of what Mab had done to him. He fought the memories: the whip, the fingernails, the teeth, the vipers... His body and mind manipulated and invaded at his mistress’s whim.

  Mab. Always Mab. He shifted into gear. His life was shit, and yet on some long-buried level he still couldn’t completely accept that death was the only way out. His mind spun, looking for another path out of the mire. Hunched forward, arms draped over the steering wheel, Luc hit the gas.