Hazel picked up a pillow from the bed and screamed into it. Morgan was infuriating. She looked down at her hands and was no longer surprised to see her fingertips glowing and crackling. She took several deep breaths and focused on isolating the sensation she was feeling.
She moved her hands and watched the exchange of electricity between them. It was as if she was creating miniature bolts of lightning. She smiled to herself, pleased she was able to control the power with more ease now. Instinctively, she picked up her phone to call Raven, to tell her of the small amount of progress she’d made. But she changed her mind, remembering their last exchange.
Hazel shook her head, an attempt to clear the last hour from it, and went back to studying the book in front of her. Morgan was right about one thing: Even if Hazel could help Raven, the decision would still need to be hers. She just wanted to be able to offer options, which was already more than Morgan had ever done for her.
She continued to skim the pages until she came upon something that made her ears ring and the hair on the back of her neck stand up. This is exactly what I’ve been looking for.
Chapter Sixteen
Raven sat up, her breathing labored. The sweat from her fitful night of sleep forced her shirt to cling to her skin. “Fuck.”
She rubbed her face as she got out of bed and made her way into the bathroom, trying to shake the images of demons disintegrating into a pile of ash from her mind. She pulled off her shirt as she watched herself in the mirror. The minor bruises and scrapes had disappeared overnight, and she held her breath as she removed the gauze pad from her ribs. Only minor scratch marks remained, looking more as if she’d had an unfortunate run-in with a housecat. She tossed the pad into the small wastebasket, wondering not for the first time why the scars in her mind couldn’t heal as easily.
She brushed her teeth and walked to the nightstand, picking up her phone. She opened the text from Hazel in her notifications. I’m sorry for upsetting you last night. I just want you to be happy, whatever that means. Please be careful today. Raven felt her face warm as it always did when she thought of Hazel. She’d overreacted last night, a combination of her injuries and a lifetime of feeling tethered to a fate she never chose. Hazel had a way of highlighting her resentment toward her predetermined path. Maybe it was because no one had ever cared about what she wanted before, or maybe it was because Hazel made her want other things. Either way, it was her burden to bear, not Hazel’s.
I’m sorry for getting upset. It was a long day. I’ll be back soon. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard. She wanted to tell Hazel that she missed her, to let her know that if they’d met in a different place or in a different time, things would’ve been different. But she opted to say nothing, tossing the phone next to her bag.
After examining the map again, she packed up her few belongings and headed for the door. She was going to need a clear and focused mind today. She could dwell on the what-ifs later.
It didn’t take long to get to the apartment building her necklace had pointed her toward. She sat in the parking lot for several minutes, watching as people walked in and out of the building. Everyone seemed to be going about their day, unaware of the dangers unfolding right beneath their noses. Raven never stopped being amazed by this fact. Sometimes she wished she could trade places with any of these people, anyone who had the privilege of living their lives, complacent of the realms and their significance. She shook her head at their blissful ignorance.
She checked her weapons, attached two to her hips, one to her leg, and walked into the building. She stood in the lobby and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to let her senses take over. The abilities that came along with the shadowhunter gig were limited, but she could sense, locate, and determine where demons and dark magic hid. It only took a few moments for the hair on the back of her neck to stand up and for an apartment number to appear in her mind.
She walked over to the elevator and rode it up to the fifth floor. She had to keep herself from laughing as the sounds of Muzak filled the small space. Here she was, ascending five floors to torture information out of a dark witch, listening to a terrible rendition of “Every Breath You Take” played on something that only slightly resembled an instrument.
The doors opened while she was still laughing at the irony of it all, and there in front of her stood Lucien McCoulter. She froze, surprised by his presence. To his credit, he had the decency to look panicked before he turned and bolted.
“God dammit,” she said under her breath as she sprinted after him.
He darted for an apartment and fumbled with his keys. She caught up as soon as he got the door open. She shoved him inside, turned, and locked the door behind her.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t catch you?” she asked with her hands on her hips.
He walked backward until his knees hit the sofa and then tried to stand a little taller. “You should be dead.”
She took the gold-plated knife from its sheath and used the butt to scratch her head. “And why is that? Was it you who sent the hellhound? I sure hope not. I just came here for information, but if that’s the case, I’ll have to kill you, and I really didn’t want to kill anyone today.” She pointed the knife at him.
“You have no idea who you’re dealing with.” Lucien stuck his chin out, a small act of defiance.
She drew the other knife from its holster and made a show of examining it. “Oh, I think I do. In fact, you’re sorely underestimating how much I do know. For instance, I know you’re Samuel Cranwell and that you followed Sarah Hutchinson here from Salem Village after dragging her into the witch hysteria.” She tapped the blade to her chin, enjoying the ability to toy with him. “Which, by the way, what the fuck was wrong with you people?” She shook her head. “I also know since you’ve been here, you’ve been sowing the seeds of discord, riling people up with your religious extremism, inciting their fear into violence. And I know that you came here with two other whack-jobs, or as you call them, your kids, and that you think you’re going to win.” She closed the distance, putting the tip of her knife under his throat. She changed her voice to a whisper. “But I have really bad news for you, Sammy. This is my world. You don’t belong here, and I can’t wait to send you back.”
He eyed her up and down with a look of disdain, as though she, a woman, could never be a worthy adversary. “We’re not going anywhere. It’s you who will be banished to Hell. Count on it.”
Raven smiled and pushed the tip of the blade a little deeper into his skin. “They must not teach you much about shadowhunters at dark magic school. You’re not banishing me anywhere. You couldn’t summon the power to kill me even if you had the brains for it.”
He licked his lips, his tongue white and pasty from fear. “That may be true, but Blaise does.”
“What are you talking about? Morgan killed Blaise hundreds of years ago.” She searched his eyes for an indication that he was lying but didn’t find one.
“You sure about that, shadowhunter?” He put his finger on the tip of her knife and pushed it down. “I assume you defeated the hellhound since you’re standing in front of me and that you’re smart enough to have checked its brand. Where would I have gotten it?”
Raven took a step back and looked him up and down. “Another witch is fucking with you. Blaise would have shown himself by now if he was still alive.”
“You sure about that? Sure enough to bet your life on it, or Morgan’s? Or Hazel’s?”
She stepped to him again, bringing both blades to his neck, crossing them over one another. “I really need you to give me a reason not to kill you right now.”
The room became unbearably hot. The air was forced out of her lungs by a presence so powerful it could only be forged in the darkest recesses of Hell. She fell over, grabbing at her throat, willing her body to do what it was designed to do and breathe. She heard a crackling noise and strained to look up.
A figure stood in front of her, draped in a black cloak. An aura of red emanat
ed from somewhere behind it. The room smelled of sulfur and wet dirt, and she gasped as her chest constricted.
“You dare to be so arrogant and doubt my existence?” The voice was intoxicating. If melting butter had a sound, this would be it.
Raven tried desperately to stand but was held in place by a force she couldn’t see. “It’s impossible.”
“Yet here I am.” He moved closer.
Raven looked up. Her vision was blurring, but she could make out a stream of electricity transferring between the entity and Lucien. Lucien seemed to be in a trance of some kind, but Raven couldn’t determine what was happening between the two of them. She’d never seen anything like it.
He moved his left hand out of the cloak and toward her face. His fingers were gnarled and cracking at the knuckles. “Who am I?”
Raven coughed, fighting against her involuntary need to respond. She bit her tongue, not wanting to give this thing the satisfaction of an answer.
He gripped her chin and squeezed. His fingers were soft despite their appearance. “Who am I?”
Raven’s hand shook against the force holding her as she groped for her blade. He’d released his hold on her voice, wanting an answer. “A guy who really needs to work on his pickup game?”
Red balls of fire ignited under the cloak where his eyes should be. He tightened his grip and jerked her into a standing position. “Say my name.”
The smell of her searing flesh filled her nostrils as she railed against the pain. “No.”
He tossed her backward, and she landed on her back, knocking the wind out of her. He was suddenly on top of her, his mouth next to her ear, his finger dragging down her stomach. “I’ll make sure you never forget who I am and what I’m capable of.”
Smoke billowed from her stomach as the sound of her skin sizzling from the brand filled the air around them. The onslaught of blinding pain pulsed though her body. She stifled a scream and clenched her jaw. “You will lose.”
He placed his hand on her forehead, his index and pinky finger latching on to her temples. “Make sure you tell Morgan that I’m back.”
It couldn’t have been more than half a second until she felt wet grass under her head. Raven rolled over onto her side, unable to stop the coughing fit raging through her body. She looked down. Parts of her shirt had been burned away. She tugged at the material to see what he’d done. Her flesh was raw, open, and blistered. The edges of the wound were singed black, and blood dripped from the sections he had taken a bit longer at.
“Raven?”
As it came closer, she recognized the panicked voice as Hazel’s.
“What the hell happened?” Hands were on her a moment later, rubbing her body up and down.
“Take me to Morgan.” Raven tried to stand, but the pain was crippling.
“You need medical attention. I’m calling EMS.” Hazel was trying to hold her in place as she fumbled for the phone in her pocket.
Raven reached for her hand. “Hang up the phone and take me to Morgan. A hospital isn’t going to do me any good.”
Hazel seemed to remember who she was and where they were. She nodded. “Instead of trying to move you and risk hurting you more, I’m going to get Morgan.”
Raven nodded and grazed Hazel’s arm again before she left. “Thank you.”
Hazel gave her a smile that seemed forced, then disappeared. No more than a minute later, Raven found herself lying on the floor in Morgan’s parlor.
Morgan carefully opened her shirt. “What happened?”
Raven forced the words out through the pain. “Blaise.”
Morgan’s eyes grew larger than Raven ever remembered seeing, and after swallowing hard, she said, “That’s not possible.”
Raven clutched her hand. “Please fix this so I can tell you everything I know.”
Morgan blinked a few times and then focused. Her hand glided over the burnt flesh. “Try to relax and open yourself to me.”
Raven felt her skin cool, and she almost wept at the relief. After a beat, she looked up at Morgan and searched her eyes, unnerved by what she was seeing. “What is it?”
Morgan shook her head. “I healed the wound, but I can’t seem to do anything about the brand.”
Raven wrenched her neck to get a better look. Her flesh was no longer burned, but an eight-inch scar in the shape of a B stared back at her.
“What does that mean?” Hazel asked as she leaned over, her eyes full of panic and anger.
Morgan looked disturbingly out of sorts. “Blaise is alive.” She hugged herself. “He wants to seize control of the realms.”
“Which realm?” Hazel asked.
Morgan looked up, her pupils large with foreboding. “All of them.”
* * *
Hazel sat on the couch, allowing her body to rest against Raven. She hadn’t meant to do it, but the information was all so much, it was completely overwhelming. She’d been listening to Morgan talk for almost thirty minutes straight, and she still couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
Hazel finally raised her hand. “I just want to make sure I’m understanding everything correctly. Blaise was the wizard you trained back during your time with King Arthur. I didn’t think that was a real thing, but we can get back to that later.” She took a deep breath before she continued. “You overthrew Blaise when he became too powerful and banished him to Hell. Now, thousands of years later, he’s back.”
Morgan continued pacing. “I cannot fathom how this is possible, but yes, that’s the abridged version of events.”
Raven put her hand on Hazel’s knee, an apparent attempt to stop it from bouncing up and down. “I’m not so sure he actually is.” She held her hand up before Morgan could interrupt. “I couldn’t figure it out exactly, but I think he’s drawing his power from Lucien. I saw a current of energy between the two of them. The brighter it got, the more powerful Blaise seemed to become and the more catatonic Lucien was.”
Morgan stopped at the bookshelf and selected several volumes with a single swipe of her hand. “That actually makes sense. I couldn’t completely kill Blaise because his power is the very essence of evil. There has to be balance, blah, blah, blah. He’s siphoning from dark witches and projecting himself into this realm.”
Hazel took a deep breath. “How does that make any sense at all?”
Morgan continued to scour the books. “He needs the dark witches because he can’t exist without their power. He’s counting on us not being able to banish all of them. He thinks we’ll never be able to completely rid the realm of his presence. He’s like a cancer. He must have infected hundreds of them by now.”
Feeling nauseous, Hazel leaned a little harder into Raven. “What are we supposed to do with that information?”
Morgan didn’t bother looking up from her books. “They’re going to have to send a signal of some kind, alert the others. If Blaise is going to make a real comeback, he’s going to need all of their power.”
Chapter Seventeen
When Sarah and Ayotunde entered the Roanoke hotel suite they’d all be sharing while undertaking the newly revamped mission, Sarah froze at the dire expressions on the faces of Morgan, Hazel, and Raven. She shivered at the palpable tension in the room and reached behind her for Ayotunde’s hand.
“How was your flight?” Morgan asked.
Morgan’s half-cocked smile seemed a contrivance at best, but Sarah tried to relax in light of it. “’Twas a bit more frightening for Ayotunde, I suspect. Lingering purple finger marks on my thighs do betray her.”
Ayotunde shook her head. “That ride in Satan’s flying carriage be more ghastly than my travel through the portal of time.”
Morgan handed them both glasses of bourbon straight up. “Sorry, but we’re not allowing Sarah anywhere near portals of any kind until further notice. She comes in too hot and drags the worst of the preternatural flotsam and jetsam with her.”
“I shall be quite pleased never to enter another portal again as long as I walk the earth,”
Sarah said.
“Yeah, that’s a conversation for another time,” Morgan said.
“Here’s the part I don’t understand,” Hazel said as she ran her hand through her hair and stared out the window. “They didn’t actually come with Sarah. It seems like they’ve been here much longer. They’d have to be to build such a following.”
Morgan crossed her legs and leaned back in the chair. “Sarah was brought to this time because of her familiar link to you. The three buffoons had a familiar link as well, although they must not have stumbled on to them the way Sarah did to you. Time traveling isn’t an exact science. I’m not entirely sure why they showed up here a few years ago, and Sarah a few weeks ago. But you can be sure, Blaise sensed them immediately and took advantage. Darkness calls to darkness, and it was alive and well in them.” Morgan waved her hand around. “That’s all I know. Traipsing through time is forbidden because of the damage it can do, so I don’t have a lot of other information.” She glared at Sarah.
Raven stood up from the sofa and was all manner of business as she addressed Sarah and Ayotunde. “Our mission now has an additional element of danger, one that’s going to require a quadrangle of white witch power along with the shadowhunting skills of yours truly.”
“That’s why I’m now on the team instead of calling the shots from the comfort of my French provincial lair,” Morgan said. “It’s also going to require even swifter action than previously anticipated. If Blaise is trying to restore his original power by feeding off the evil energy of Lucien McCoulter and his offspring menace, we have to stop him before Blaise gathers enough strength to anchor a foothold here.”
Sarah shuddered inside. The thought of Samuel Cranwell aiding the almighty evil being in his rise against good filled her with rage. Many a time she’d regretted her part in this mission until she’d reminded herself how her husband and she had done the charitable Christian thing and opened their home to Samuel only to have him steal from them and lay false claims of witchery against her. Whatever mark her involvement in this plan would lay upon her soul, she was resigned to settle it with God once they’d succeeded in their plan.
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