Elemental Storm (The Eldritch Files Book 6)

by Phaedra Weldon

  Now came the most important part. My Elementals surrounded the altar around me. Solomon, Dharma, and Arden formed a circle around them while Mom took up the handmaiden position. I nodded to Solomon and he raised his hand. A tiny funnel formed over his finger and then elongated straight up until it touched the wards he'd placed around the house. I could feel the wrench as he manipulated the ward and broke a hole in the very top, allowing a small window to the storm overhead.

  Fresh cold air entered the area and incense smoke rose up through that hole. I piled it higher on the briquette and then lit another one and piled more on. The incense along with the combined power of the other four Elementals was meant to lure the Air Sylph to it. We waited, all of us looking up at the stormy sky.

  One minute.

  Two minutes.

  Three minutes.

  Four—

  "He's coming," Solomon said.

  I knew it the moment he said it. I could feel him descending, but I couldn't see him. I watched as the funnel unraveled with the Sylph's descent. The smoke from the incense gave him form, clung to his arms and shoulders, his neck and head. His face…the kind face I remembered, wasn't there. It was blank, like an unfinished mannequin.

  And it freaked me out.

  -Sam—-

  Where is his face?

  -The miasma has it, and it has him. He's lost in it. He's lost himself.-

  I cleared my throat to get his attention as the others parted. He was smoke from the waist down. The only time I'd ever seen him with a lower body was the time he lifted me up in the Faerie castle to confront Crwys in his Dragon form. That blankness stared at me as he glided closer. He was big. As big as Bastien. Bigger than all of my Elementals. He'd been used so heavily these past two days.

  I beckoned him closer and picked up the last part of the measure as I put more incense on the charcoal. My Sylph stood in front of me, emanating all kinds of negative. It was time for me to get to work and win him back. I held the cord over the incense and spoke the words again, watching as the Sylph hesitantly reached out and put his smoky hand on the other side of the cut cord.

  The world dropped away as I found myself in the middle of the storm. Clouds thick with moisture and electricity flashed and rolled past me. I screamed when I realized there was nothing underneath me. My Sylph reached out and caught me in his arms, just as he had when we faced down Crwys. I pushed and smacked at him and ordered him to put me down.

  His voice sounded like something coming through a voice modulator. Deep and not his own. "Do you really want to fall, God Mother's child? Pity—I actually thought you wanted to bond with me for a second—"

  -Say the words!-

  I took in a deep breath. "Sylph of Air, Elemental of Air, I give of my own free will my bond of life. Will you accept?" For a minute I wasn't sure if he heard me.

  He tilted his head to the side and faced me down with that not-face. "You are serious?"

  "Yes!"

  "But I cut my ties to you!"

  "I still care about you. Please…be with me." I reached up and it took all I had to suppress the revulsion I felt at touching his mannequin face.

  "I accept. God Mother's child, I give of my own free will my bond of life. Will you accept it?" And as he spoke, I thought I saw his face reflected from somewhere inside the blankness. It was there, just on the other side. The thing reminded me of a barrier, preventing him from completely participating.

  "I accept!" I said as I wrapped my arms around him. I was damp now, all over. My hair stuck to my face, my neck, shoulders, and back. The dress stuck to my toes felt like ice.

  He didn't hug me back and he didn't tell me his name. I pulled away and looked at him. "Won't you tell me your name?"

  I knew he was looking at me, and it felt like he was hesitating as he lowered his head. "I…please don't feel less of me…but I have…" when he raised the not-face again he said, "forgotten mine. But she says it's okay if I take yours."

  What?

  His grip on me tightened as he pinned me to him, and I said, "My name is Samantha Elizabeth Hawthorne."

  And the world disappeared.

  TWENTY SEVEN

  Getting to the Garden District was a lot easier that he thought it would be with so much less traffic. Even the streetcars seemed to be running on a modified schedule. Crwys made it to Ina's in record time. Before he knew she was alive and in New Orleans, he hadn't bothered hiding.

  It was time to return to a few old habits. Cloaking his scent and soul from her was now primary. He would keep her away from Sam, and then he would finish the job he started six years ago. And this time he'd make sure he had a body to show for it.

  He parked the car a few houses down, then Ivan, Kyle and himself jogged back to the front of the house. He spotted an unfamiliar car where Sam usually parked her Jeep and assumed it was her. He made sure her pistol was in his holster before he guided the other two through the front gate to the front door.

  "Stop!" came a commanding voice from the shadows. A voice Crwys knew.

  He stood and exposed himself in a house light. Levi melted out of the shadows and lowered his weapon. The two of them grinned then allowed themselves a quick bro-hug. "I thought Lethe had you," Levi said in a low voice.

  "How did you know she was here?" Crwys said.

  "Because that bastard right there"—he pointed to Kyle—"led me down to the basement, telling me he had something to show me, and this chick came out of no where and jammed a stake into my heart. I don't think she knows how it works. That doesn't kill us." He looked at Kyle. "It just pisses us off."

  "Don't blame Kyle. He was possessed."

  "Yeah. That's what Sam said."

  Crwys put his hand on Levi's arm. "Where is she?"

  "She's out back with the rest of them. They're doing some bonding ritual."

  Crwys took off past him and ran into the house with the others right behind him. His boots pounded against the hardwood and tile as he ran to the large glass doors to the back yard. He saw the balefire through the bushes and flowers and something else in the center that looked like a funnel of air.

  "What the hell is that?" Kyle asked as everyone looked outside.

  One second after that, everything exploded as the glass doors blasted toward them.

  * * *

  I don't think I ever really understood the concept of blinding rage until that second; the one after my Sylph took my name. Somehow I knew this wasn't his rage. Livid hatred for everything. The world. Birds. Clouds. People. Airplanes. Even bees. Though I'd always loved bees. But this kind of rage is not only blinding, but also deafening, to a point where there is no sound but the beating of your own heart.

  My heart.

  In that second, that one infinitesimal span of time, I reviewed centuries of life. But it wasn't my life. I hadn't lived that long. Nor had I seen the things these eyes had seen. It wasn't the experience of my Sylph, but of someone…else.

  A fraction of that second passed before I knew it was something else. Not human. But it had once been human, a long time ago. It was definitely female, that much I could connect with. But the rest—it was alien and sort of—primal. Images of pyramids, statues in the sand, tents under palm trees, and a view from a palace made of black and silver marble. I saw a youth shot through the heart, and that image switched to one where I was the one looking out, not in.

  The cacophony of images, the incessant flipping of pictures stopped and I found myself gasping for air as I stared up at the soft beige ceiling above me. The rafters were curved and formed a star in the center. Five points for the five poles of power. But that image, which had given me happiness—which gave this woman happiness—was dimming.

  When I cast my eyes downward I could see the hilt of a scimitar sticking out of my chest, the curved blade just visible against the silks of my robes. I wrapped bloodied fingers around it as I struggled to breathe. Something filled my throat and I choked. Warm blood bubbled up, and I turned my head to the left to let it flow
from my lips. But then I saw my sister, the priestess who took me in from the streets and taught me the Old Magic, lying beside me. But her eyes were staring at me. Dead.

  "No…" came a breathless moan from the other side, but I didn't have the strength to turn my head. I knew the voice. I had served her with compassion and duty. My Queen.

  My Hera.

  I, the part I knew as Samantha, dissolved into the death of this woman as I pulled back and saw a tall, dark-haired woman kneel on the stone beside the dying me. Or her. I was losing direction. I pulled back when the kneeling woman shook her head and spoke in a language I didn't understand but I had heard before.

  I might not have known the words, but I understood the grief as I watched the spirit of this woman, in the body I had just stepped into, half rise and twist like smoke. There were shouts around the room and I looked away to see more bodies. All of them women. The priestesses had been slaughtered.

  Why?

  For what purpose?

  Why was it always the weakest that suffered?

  But who is to say we are weak! We had power once, but it was stolen from us. By a usurper in the garden. By a weaker, sniveling creature with no right to the kingdom denied to us. But I…no, no not me. I was Sam…and I was she whose last breath caused a cry of unimaginable sorrow from the open scream of the woman that found her. I knew her face, I recognized the crown of gold and sunlight upon her brow, and I recognized her light as I heard the trumpet of the Gods and smelled the sweet crisp bite of an apple on my lips.

  "You will not die," this queen said in this language I didn't know, but I understood. "He will not survive the night, and you…you and your teacher shall be his doom." This queen sat up, then stood, her white robes splashed with the crimson running through her ruined temple. She raised her arms to the ceiling, threw her head back, and released a fury I couldn't describe.

  The bodies of the two closest women disappeared. The priests following the queen bowed their heads and looked away, as if they knew what their queen had just done. Then I stood outside in the baking sun to witness the devastation there. Hundreds of the slaughtered littered the steps to the temple as the queen raised her arms.

  And then they were gone. In the blink of an eye.

  "My Queen!" one of the priests said.

  "Silence," she said in a calm voice. "My daughters will take my vengeance upon them. Their names will not be remembered, and their places of power dashed to rubble. No one will ever find them and history will laugh when they are mentioned." She turned then as I heard the cry in the smoky skies overhead. I soared amid those dark places, toward the sight of two birds.

  No…not birds. Not as they came closer. And the closer I sailed, the wider my eyes grew until I beheld two creatures I had never thought to see in the skies of my home.

  "Ifrits!" someone called from below. "The Queen has released the Ifrits! The Kingdom of Atlantis will fall!"

  Cheers erupted from the people who survived the massacre below. I remained in the sky, a single, bodiless spirit devoid of a voice. I hovered there over the temple, as if the Queen herself set me there to welcome home the daughters who laid waist to a land in the sea.

  It was night when they returned, and I took in their bodies. Large, almost lizard-like with great wings and iridescent scales. One was greenish brown and glittered like gold under candlelight. The other was soft aqua colors of purples and greens and blues, and moved through the air with ease. They moved past me and landed in the courtyard beyond, and there, their mother welcomed them.

  This was how I was born, Samantha Hawthorne.

  I knew that name! So I turned to see a woman floating in the air in front of me and realized with a jolt—I knew her. And I knew the smokey man holding me in his arms. I couldn't see him, but I could feel him, and I knew without him I would fall to my death.

  This was the start of my torment, my exile as a monster, as a creature of scales and wings. They all feared me, they did. Me, who could slide into their dreams. Me, who could tell them to do a thing and they…would do it.

  I listened to her as my panic rose. I finally found my voice. "Lethe."

  Yes. And now that you know what I am, that I was born of the same curse as Azazel, your fiancé, it's time for you to take away my pain, take away my sorrows, and give me back what is mine!

  The hands of the invisible man held me tight as my body caught fire and burned not with flame, but with the agony of wrath.

  * * *

  Crwys rolled over onto his back and did a mental check of his body. He could feel everything—which was good, and unfortunately, damn painful. His hearing was muffled, but he thought he heard shouts from a distance. Someone touched him, jostled him, and he batted at them to stop.

  "Crwys!"

  Someone called to him through water, and he had to climb to the surface to break free and breathe. Something soft and warm and musky was pushed into his lips and he tasted blood. But not just any blood, a Vampire's blood. He grabbed at whatever was offering and drank, getting just enough to clear his thoughts and get whatever was stuffing up his ears out.

  Azazel! Are you all right? came Ashur's worried thought.

  "Ohh…" he managed to moan as he turned over and then pushed up on all fours. He used the back of his hand to wipe away the blood he felt on his lips. He opened his eyes and saw tile littered with dirt and bits and pieces of flowers, colored petals, and glass. When he lifted his head, he saw Levi in front of him, his wrist covered in blood but no cut or bite visible. "Hey…what the hell happened?"

  Levi helped him get to his feet. "We're still not sure. Ivan and Kyle have been helping the others search through the garden."

  "Where's Sam?"

  "We can't find her."

  "Wait…what?" Crwys moved away and stumbled over the debris to the huge hole in the side of Ina's house. Damn…and he'd just gotten it fixed. What had been a garden looked more like a demilitarized zone. A bomb had gone off in the middle of it. He saw the others as they moved dirt and debris. They were all just as disheveled, bruised and cut as he was. He saw Elizabeth Hawthorne, no longer as a wolf, limping next to Dharma as she made her way out of the mess. His memory returned of what he was doing before the blast. "What…how did they all survive?"

  "Apparently there was a barrier built by Papa Dumaine. It held enough to keep anyone from getting crushed, at least. But there are wounds. Dharma's got a shoulder wound and Elizabeth's got a bad wound to her chest. Dharma's going to take care of her. Ivan's got debris in his thigh, but he's refusing to come inside. Kyle's got a nasty knock to his head, but he's out there with Papa Dumaine, who seems to have weathered through with the least amount of injury."

  "Does he know what happened?"

  "He saw what was coming when Sam connected with her Sylph and managed to bring in the ward he'd created over the Circle to just contain them. He left Sam out of it. If he had kept her inside—"

  "Whatever happened would have taken all of them out." He raked his hair from his forehead and closed his eyes. Crwys reached out to search for his mate, the woman he'd given his heart to. And he found her. "She's alive," he said as he ran through the hole in the house and moved over the debris to the center of the blast. There was a sphere about two feet deep in the ground where the center of the garden had been.

  "Crwys!" Kyle called out as they all ran to him. "Is Sam—"

  "She's alive," he said as he looked around, and then up. The churning storm was still there, spinning ever so slowly in a counterclockwise motion. He felt the wrongness of it through Sam. "She's up there."

  "How?" Kyle said.

  "The Sylph," Solomon said as he stepped forward. "She managed to bond with all but him. But when she tried with him—"

  "I know," Crwys said as he looked at the conjure man. "The Black Constable helped Lethe take the Sylph, and she used the Sylph as bait so that Sam would bond with him." He pointed to the cloud. "That's not a real storm up there. That's a spell, a miasma of Lethe's hatred, and she wante
d Sam to join with it."

  "What for?" Dharma said.

  "To kill her."

  Solomon nodded. "And Lethe is—"

  But Crwys didn't answer right away. Instead, he stepped back from the others and lowered his head. Releasing a part of the spell he used to retain his form was easy this time, because the pistol strapped to his shoulder still protected him from the miasma. A long, thundering noise broke the night as his wings unfurled to a much wider, bigger span than what he'd allowed in the parking lot behind Bell, Book and Candle.

  Dharma gasped, Kyle laughed, and Ivan cheered. Crwys used his wings to balance as he folded them behind himself and returned to the others. Solomon nodded to him. "It is…something I hoped to see before I passed to the Well, Crwys Holliard. You as you should be."

  "Stick around. You might see more." He looked at all of them before looking back to Solomon. "I have no idea what I plan on doing other than getting to Sam. Any suggestions at this point would be…very helpful."

  He expected Solomon to offer him wise words, but it was Kyle who stepped forward. "If I understand the mechanics of the spell she's using, her power is siphoning through the Sylph. She doesn't have a lot of magical power outside of dreams, and that includes daydreams and nightmares. In a way, the Sylph is asleep. That's what cutting his ties to Sam did."

  Crwys put that into laymen's terms. "So I have to wake the Sylph up."

  "No, Sam does. If she can wake him, then it'll break the bond and Lethe loses her hold."

  "Will it make all that go away?" Dharma pointed to the clouds.

  Kyle shook his head. "I have no idea."

  "It'll have to do. Solomon, keep them safe." Crwys spread his wings before he knelt down and launched himself into the eye of the storm.

  I love you Sam. No matter what happens, just remember I love you.

  TWENTY EIGHT

  Damali stood outside the Devonshire house and watched as a ball of fire shot up into the heart of the miasma. There you go, Azazel. Right on time. Go be the hero, though this story won't have a happy ending. She pushed the gate open and walked quickly to the front door, her boots striking against the flagstone path. The windows in the front of the house were shattered, many broken out, littering the grass below them. She'd made sure no one else in the neighborhood saw or heard the explosion by manipulating the structure of the house, the Earth minerals present in every material used to create it. She'd sensed the Witches' and the conjure man's magic, knowing they intended to do the same. But they were out magic'd in all of this, no matter how much power Samantha Hawthorne believed she had. Tasoula knew it.