Elemental Soul (The Eldritch Files Book 5)

by Phaedra Weldon

  I hated that he called Crwys an old fossil, but in truth, my Dragon was way older than Cromwell and didn't look a day over twenty-nine.

  The conversation ended. I replayed it over and over in my head as I watched Cromwell lay out the evidence against Blackwood. I listened to the witnesses Cromwell paraded in front of the Elders. Ivan's participation, and Crwys's, was omitted and a new string of evidence I'd never heard presented. But it was Ben's testimony that laid out a convincing argument for conviction.

  The facts as presented were that Edmund Blackwell had used Circe, aka Olivia Graham, a known Arcane-infected Witch turned Ceremonial Magician, to take attention away from his attempt at a land grab. If he'd been successful, he'd have owned over fifty percent of the magic-saturated land in Louisiana. On that land had been a Cairn and the Aces pack. The Aces had set up a treaty with the New Orleans Eldership a century ago to live on the land and help keep New Orleans safe. If a Ceremonial Magician took possession of the land, that agreement would be discarded and the Lycans would encroach into New Orleans again.

  Blackwood wore gray robes beneath the defendant chair's chains. He'd been silent and I could see the shimmer over his face where someone had placed a silencing spell on him. I guessed it was to keep him from interrupting the proceedings with shouts of defense.

  Wasn't there some kind of public defender for accused Magicians? But come to think of it, Cromwell had been accuser and executioner that day he'd warlocked me to save face in front of the rest of Parliament. I hadn't received a trial at all. Just guilty by association.

  Had I forgiven Cromwell for doing what he did? No. Did I trust him? No.

  Was I watching him with a close eye? You bet I was.

  He'd quietly manipulated too many events and entities this past month, including the NOPD. That seemed out of bounds. Even though it meant me not going to jail for Inamorata Devonshire's shocking death and burial in her own yard, a property in my name. I didn't kill her, but Cowens weren't going to accept me telling them a Vampire did it.

  They excused Ben and Cromwell called his next witness. "Tzariene, Summer Queen of the Realm of Alfheim."

  What? Wait a minute. I was supposed to testify after Ben. When did Cromwell convince Tzariene to be a part of this? And how was he going to get her into the hall?

  Faeries couldn't exist in our world. If their bodies touched the ground they turned to ash, so I didn't understand how he planned on calling one in to testify—until I saw the door open and several Clerics in their official robes wheeled in a seven-foot oval mirror. I recognized the mirror and looked around for its owner. When I didn't see her, I settled back down and watched. So did my Elementals as they materialized in their smallest forms and sat on and around the chair. My little male Sylph on my shoulder, my female Gnome at my feet with her axe, my female Undine on the top of the high-backed chair, her mermaid tail flickering over the side, and my male Salamander at my right hand. I wasn't the only Witch with their Elementals present—but I was the only one with four.

  Cromwell helped them position the mirror at the witness stand, and after the Clerics left the room, the Grand High Master held out his hands, drew a perfect white pentagram in the air in front of the mirror, and then pierced its center with his athame.

  Once he sheathed his blade, the mirror clouded and Tzariene appeared. She looked better than the last time I'd seen her. She'd lost more color to her skin, which for her was a good thing. Pink and silver flowers adorned her horns, complimenting the pale pink gown barely covering her lithe form. Tzariene was Titania by another name, and she was rumored to be the most beautiful of the Faerie queens.

  "Hail and well met, Cromwell Dryden." Tzariene's voice rang out in the hall like bells.

  Cromwell bowed before her. "Hail and well met, Queen Tzariene. May I swear you in?"

  "You may."

  Cromwell put his hand to the mirror's surface and Tzariene matched hers with his. "Do you, Queen of the Summer Realm, protector of Spirit and all creatures, swear on the five Elements to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but?"

  "I do, lest my blade turn against me."

  It was an old Witch oath he gave, and one we used in our own ceremonies, so the words meant something to everyone present. Except me, since I'd never taken part in Witch politics. I also didn't think it meant anything to Tzariene. Faeries never swore to tell the truth, even when it was all they could do. I knew we were in for a very edited version of what happened.

  And I wasn't disappointed.

  Tzariene and Cromwell didn't lie, but they changed the events by omitting everything that dealt with Crwys's kidnapping and torture in the Obsidian Palace. Tzariene claimed Blackwood was the hooded man that misled a young and impressionable queen down a path of destruction. She testified that Blackwood convinced the Obsidian Queen that the Cairn in the woods he sought to possess, plus the wolves, were dangerous to her reign. They had to be destroyed. He used lies and subterfuge that cost the Aces dearly and nearly made the Boggarts extinct. Blackwood did this to trick the Obsidian Queen into cursing and destroying the one woman that stood in his way.

  His true target.

  Wait…what? What true target? I shifted in my seat as my Elementals moved in close. Who was making this shit up? From the looks of the faces of the Elders, they were buying it too!

  The doors in the back opened, and everyone present turned to watch as the one person I loathed more than Dionysus himself strode into the Tribunal hall.

  The one person who lured Crwys to her and then turned him over to the Obsidian Queen.

  Arden Vervain.

  She'd sacrificed Crwys to protect herself after making a deal with this same young, impressionable queen. Unluckily for her, Crwys had cursed her with his Dragon fire and it began eating her from the inside. Fear of dying forced her to help us rescue Crwys, and in the end he removed the curse, even knowing she'd betrayed him.

  I narrowed my eyes as I watched her approach Cromwell. The scars from that curse weren't visible. There was no telling what charm or magic she'd used to erase them from her face and her body. She stood tall, her shoulders straight, and she never cast her gaze in my direction.

  Arden bowed to Tzariene, and to my surprise, the Queen returned the bow. Was this rehearsed? Because I'd never known a Faerie queen to bow to any Witch.

  Cromwell pointed at Blackwood. "That man cursed our beloved High Witch Vervain after entering a land deal that took Gypsy Gardens as well as the land where Circe's home stood. He did it all for personal gain!"

  There were gasps. Some of the Elders spit. Yeah, doing things for personal gain had always been a no-no in the Witching world. But then, so was having and using Arcane Magic, but I'd totally blown through that taboo.

  None of this seemed real. I kept looking at Blackwood, where he struggled against the chains, and I was sure if he could speak, we'd get an earful. But there was no defense. Not even a charade of one. This was more like a kangaroo court than a Tribunal. No, I didn't want him to walk free. But honestly, since Crwys and I had returned from our extended holiday in the mountains, I'd been in a never-ending position of catch-up. When he and I left, Blackwood had still been a free man and Cromwell wasn't sure if they could even bring a case against him because most of the events couldn't be shared. IE, Crwys the Drachen and Ivan the Cyber Witch.

  Fast-forward to where we were now and it was obvious they'd had a few meetings and managed to create this elaborate hoax. I mean come on! That bastard sold information to Brendi that let her know there was a Dragon nearby and then showed her and Arden how to catch him and keep him. Then Blackwood damn near killed Ivan, Brendi tortured him, and Blackwood killed all those Boggarts…

  None of this was presented to the Elders. It was obvious I wasn't going to testify. I was sure Cromwell thought I'd blow it all by talking about Crwys.

  "Grand High Master Dryden," came the voice of the speaker, the head of the Tribunal court. This guy I recognized. Martin Cosgrove. One of the first families of New
Orleans and a powerful, powerful Witch. He wasn't an Elemental, but had power over three of the five Elements and a dozen Dianic Gifts. I remembered Ina—I mean Dionysus—talking about how much he didn't like Cosgrove. When the man stood, I realized he was just as domineering in physical form as he was in reputation. Over six feet tall, broad-shouldered, skin as dark as soot and white hair. His black eyes were hard and narrowed. "I would like to hear what Edmund Blackwood has to say."

  A few on the Tribunal nodded in agreement. I wasn't sure it was a good idea. I was still very much aware, and I was sure Cromwell was too, that Blackwood had viable evidence of me using Arcane. And if he used it, it would be me in that chair, unable to move or speak.

  Cromwell gave a low bow, made a symbol in the air with his finger, and Blackwood suddenly gasped as if couldn't breathe. "You've been given permission to speak. I suggest you use this time for your defense."

  Blackwood's gaze settled on me. His eyes locked with mine and my heart banged against my chest. I knew what he would say and my Elementals came to attention. They were ready for action. I wasn't sure what kind of action we would get, but we were ready. I put my hand on my chest over the scar and rubbed it, wondering if I'd hear that voice again. The one I believed was the voice of the Arcane inside of me. Funny how it had gone silent after returning from Alfheim.

  Blackwood opened his mouth and then closed it. He kept staring at me.

  "Edmund Blackwood," said one of the other Elders, a tiny man with a bad dye job and beady eyes. I didn't know his name. "You have the opportunity to speak. Don't you want to defend yourself?"

  "And say what?" Blackwood's voice rang out clear in the hall. He looked at the Elder who spoke. "You've already concocted this bullshit tale and tied it up in a bow," he looked at me again. "When we already know who the real criminal is in this room."

  Cromwell looked at me, and then back at Blackwood. "Who, Blackwood? Who is the real criminal? And I should warn you," he approached the chair where the accused sat. "You best have proof before you accuse anyone in this room of anything. Irrefutable proof."

  My gaze ping-ponged between Cromwell and Blackwood. What…what was going on? Was Cromwell daring that man to accuse me? Was he giving him the opportunity to offer that recording he had of me using Arcane? What the hell?

  I waited. The room waited. No one breathed, least of all me.

  Then Blackwood looked away. "Do what you want," he said and then he looked back at me. "But know this. I will have my vengeance, Cromwell Dryden. I will have justice, and I will have it served for me or I'll take it on my own."

  "Is…" Cromwell took a step closer to the chair. "Is that a threat against this governing body, Blackwood?"

  But the deposed Ceremonial Magician said nothing. Cromwell clapped his hands together. "And there you have it, my dear Elders. It is time for judgment."

  I already knew what they would say. Guilty. And as for his punishment? That would be decided by a committee.

  Tzariene vanished and they covered the mirror and left it where it was. As Blackwood was led away after the verdict I looked at Cromwell, all creepy smiles as he spoke to Arden. What the hell was that all about? Had that bastard goaded Blackwood to accuse me because he knew the Magician didn't have this proof? Maybe he never had it to begin with? Or did Cromwell know Blackwood didn't have the recording anymore?

  Was that it? Cromwell knew there was no evidence? It made sense. Why else would Blackwood not even take that chance? And if this was true, then…where the hell did it go?

  My Elementals vanished as I stood up and made my way through the exiting crowd of Witches toward Cromwell. I needed answers, and dammit, he would give them to me. Like for starters—why didn't he call on me to testify?

  "Samantha," Cromwell's voice stopped me in my tracks when I realized he'd turned and had been watching me approach. He put his hand on my shoulder. "A word in my office."

  His office? I looked back to find Ben, but Cromwell squeezed my shoulder. "Kyle will see to the wolf. My office, Samantha. Now."

  THREE

  CRWYS

  Crwys smelled death the second he stepped out of his car.

  Without a word, he and his partner, Detective Levi Tulose, headed up the steps of the two-story house just north of the Garden District.

  The front room of the house was well furnished, if not a bit aged. The wallpaper was a deep purple with a faded gold pattern. Scuffed hardwood peeked out from underneath faded gold and purple rugs and creaked as people walked across it. Stairs to the right led up to a cross bridge hallway above them. To the left were two open doors. One of them looked like a kitchen, the other was dark.

  There was also a smell. An odor Crwys and his partner Levi knew all too well.

  Decomposition.

  "You two the detectives Prescott sent over?" The uniformed officer that spoke wore a mask as he came from the kitchen. All of the men and women in the house, some in uniform, others in CSI jumpsuits, wore masks.

  "Yes. I'm Detective Tulose and this is Detective Holliard."

  The uniformed officer shook their hands and handed them masks. "Officer Clemons. Wear a mask, Detectives."

  "I'll be fine. What is it Prescott wanted us to look at?" said Levi.

  Clemons paled, which was an extraordinary feat since the man was as white as a sheet to begin with. He put his hand to his stomach as he stepped out of the way to let a CSI technician pass by. "You'll see for yourself. Just step into the kitchen there and head down the basement steps. To the right of the refrigerator."

  "You're not coming?"

  Clemons shook his head. "Not unless you want me to puke on you."

  Levi smirked as Crwys slipped a mask over his face and followed him into the kitchen. Levi showed his badge to another uniformed man in a mask. He moved to the open basement door and bellowed down for everyone to clear out.

  Once the last technician came up and then vomited in the sink, Levi descended. Crwys shot the poor guy a pitying look and then walked down behind Levi.

  The smell worsened the further down they went. Naked bulbs lit the way and Crwys almost ran into the back of Levi. He stopped himself and was about to say something—until he looked at the basement.

  It was a good sized room, with a utility sink to the right beside a washer, dryer and hot water heater and lots of piping. He couldn't tell if the floor was made of tile, wood, dirt or concrete because bodies covered every inch of it.

  Lots and lots of bodies. They'd been stacked in neat piles, arranged by sex, age and race. A few of the piles were larger than others—the children and the men. Lots of men of all races. The smell of decay mingled with that of mildew and Crwys could see a broken window at the top of one of the walls.

  "Christ," Levi said as he took the last step and found a small path woven around the bodies, just enough space for foot traffic. But nothing else. Whoever had piled these bodies had done so with brute strength and without the help of a wheelbarrow or a hand truck. This sicko was strong. Dead bodies were heavy.

  Crwys stood near the end of the steps taking it all in as Levi moved down a few of the footpaths. He knelt down, removed a pair of thin latex gloves from his pocket, pulled them on, and then touched a body. He pulled his hand back fast as Crwys stepped forward. "What's wrong?"

  Levi didn't answer. He stood and stared around him and touched another body. He pulled back fast again, ripped the gloves off, and touched the bodies with his bare hands. One after another. He moved away from one pile to another, from the men to the women and then to the children.

  Crwys watched with growing worry. He'd been with Levi long enough to know his moods and expressions, and this wasn't one he'd seen before. Ever. "Levi…what is it?"

  His partner straightened and turned to face Crwys. But Levi's golden eyes were gone, lost in the black of his Demon as Ashur spoke; his voice dueled with Levi's. "They're dead."

  "Yeah…" Crwys narrowed his eyes. "But what else?"

  "Their souls…they have no souls."


  "What do you mean?" Crwys closed the distance between them, hoping no one from upstairs was looking or listening in because right now Levi would look like a possessed person. Which he was. "Ashur…what is it?"

  "They have no souls. When a human dies, their soul lingers, or some piece of them does. But these…there is nothing left. Nothing. Whoever killed them…whatever killed them…did so by ripping out their souls."

  FOUR

  SAMANTHA

  I did not want to be in anyone's office and the fact the bastard had robed Clerics escort me there set off my mood. He would not like the me he walked in on, that's for sure.

  What the hell did the old son of a bitch want now?

  I'd never been in Cromwell's office—not here at the Cleric office, a converted cathedral that still had mass on Wednesday nights and Sunday mornings. I didn't ask if the priest giving mass was ordained by the Catholic Church. I assumed he was. Little did the parishioners know what went on behind closed doors.

  I ignored the two Clerics standing to either side of the door and they ignored me, but I could feel their eyes on my back when I looked away. Just to show them who I was, I summoned my Elementals. Each of them flew, stomped or swam to different parts of the room, very much visible.

  The big kahuna's office was dark. Not so much in lighting, but the furniture was all dark cherry oak, if I got my wood right. And it was ornate. I would not take a guess at how old it was, or when it was made, but I was sure it was authentic and if sold at Sotheby's, would fetch a pretty price. The front of Cromwell's desk displayed scenes from the bible burned into the leather panels, woodcuts of burning Witches, drowning Witches and stoned Witches. Something to remind us of how dangerous knowledge of our world can be. Though in today's world, I wasn't so sure the Burning Times could happen again. My Salamander settled on the desk, exploring the drawers and the trinkets on top of it.